As the bus accelerated into the lightless tunnel, the terminal faded into a blur of neon streaks. Kaelen looked at the holographic driver. She stopped knitting, looked at him with pixelated eyes, and whispered, "Destination: Nowhere. Enjoy the ride."
The Scrapper lunged. Kaelen was faster. He vaulted over the bench, his boots clattering against the metal grating. He dived through the closing doors of the 404 just as the Scrapper’s metal fingers scraped against the glass. DETBITINIS AUTOBUSOS TERMINALAS 1.39
Just then, a low-frequency rumble shook the floor. A battered, matte-black bus pulled into Bay 12. Its doors hissed open, releasing a cloud of cooling vapor. There was no driver, only a flickering holographic interface of an old woman knitting. As the bus accelerated into the lightless tunnel,
Kaelen sat on a bench made of recycled polymer, watching the "ghost buses"—autonomous, translucent pods—glide into their docking bays. Terminal 1.39 was the lowest level of the central hub, a place where the air tasted like ozone and burnt rubber, and the passengers were mostly those trying to disappear. Enjoy the ride