Jason had been running long enough for the pain in his leg to become almost abstract. The bullet had torn through his calf somewhere back on the road, but adrenaline had kept him moving. Now the wound was beginning to matter. Blood had soaked through his trouser leg and worked its way into his shoe, making every step feel wet and heavy. He could hear the men behind him, their voices bouncing between the old buildings as they closed the distance.

“Jason!”

He didn't look back.

The abandoned station appeared through the darkness ahead. Its roof had collapsed in places, weeds had taken over the platforms, and most of the windows were either broken or boarded up. He had no idea why he'd run here. Perhaps because he'd known the place from years ago. Perhaps because, at this point, he would have run into a graveyard if he thought it would hide him.

The station hadn't been in service for years, yet there it was, sitting quietly beneath the weak yellow lamps, its windows glowing with a dull interior light. One of the carriage doors was open.

“Fuck it.”

He crossed the platform and threw himself through the open doorway. The doors closed almost as soon as he was inside, sealing him away from the voices outside. Jason stumbled down the aisle and collapsed into the nearest seat, pressing both hands against his calf.

For a while, he could do nothing except breathe.

The carriage was old but strangely well kept. Dark wooden panels lined the walls. A few lamps trembled overhead with the movement of the train. There were no advertisements, no route map, no timetable and, most importantly, no passengers.

Jason kept looking at the door. He expected it to open. It didn't. The voices outside grew distant. A moment later they were gone altogether. Only then did he notice the sound beneath him. The train was moving.

There had been no engine noise, no announcement, no familiar jerk as it pulled away.

One moment he had been sitting at the station. The next, he was leaving it. Jason reached for the door between the carriages and tried the handle. Locked.

“Great.”

He returned to his seat and stared into the fog. There was nothing beyond the glass. No buildings. No road. No lights from distant towns. Just grey darkness flowing past the windows.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there. Time became difficult to measure once the outside world disappeared. Then music began somewhere ahead.

The melody was familiar, though he couldn't place it. He pushed himself up and started towards the next carriage, using the seatbacks to keep his weight off the injured leg.

He opened it. The next carriage was unlike the one behind him. The seats were gone.

In their place stood a roulette table beneath a brass lamp. The green felt looked new, almost too clean for a train that seemed to have been abandoned for decades. A roulette wheel turned slowly on its own, the little white ball circling the numbers with a soft, steady click.

Jason stood in the doorway. A stack of chips sat beside the wheel. He stared at them. Then at the empty seats around the table.

“Hello?”

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He limped between the machines.

Most of them were dark. Their screens reflected his face as he passed, pale and sweaty beneath the weak carriage lights.

Then one machine came alive.

PLAY?

Jason stopped. The screen changed.

ONE MORE BET?

His expression hardened. He looked at the machine for a long moment before turning away.

“Not tonight.”

He continued down the aisle. Behind him, the machine began to play a winning tune.

Jason stopped. For a second, he almost turned around. Then he kept walking. The next door opened onto a casino. Not a train carriage pretending to be one.

A real casino.

Long tables stretched beneath chandeliers. Green felt, polished wood, bottles behind a dark bar. Cards lay face-up across several tables, as though players had simply vanished in the middle of a game.

The smell brought back memories he had spent years trying not to think about.

Smoke. Whisky. Cheap perfume.

The excitement that filled the room just before someone turned over a card. That feeling had always been the problem. It wasn't really the money. It was the possibility.

The next hand could fix everything. The next spin could change your life.

One more bet.

Jason moved towards one of the tables. A pile of chips waited in front of an empty chair. Beside them was a folded piece of paper. He picked it up. The first name made him stop. So did the second. Then the third.

Friends. People from work. A neighbour who had once trusted him enough to lend him money. Names he had avoided seeing on his phone. Names he had promised to pay back. The amounts were written beside each one. At the bottom was a total.

Jason read it twice.

Then he folded the paper and put it back on the table.

“No.”

“You still have time.”

The voice came from somewhere behind him.

Jason turned. A man stood near the bar. Black suit. Dark hat. Hands resting loosely at his sides.

There was nothing remarkable about his face. If Jason had passed him on an ordinary street, he probably wouldn't have remembered him five minutes later. Yet something about the man made the room feel quieter. Jason looked at him.

“Who are you?”

The man didn't answer. Jason pointed towards the casino.

“What is this?”

The man's eyes moved across the tables.

“You tell me.”

“I need to get off this train.”

“Then get off.”

Jason stared at him.

For some reason, that answer irritated him more than anything else.

“That's it?”

The man looked at him.

“You've been trying to get away all night.”

Jason's jaw tightened.

“I was trying to stay alive.”

“Were you?”

Jason said nothing.

The man glanced at his bleeding leg.

“You should deal with that.”

Then he walked away.

Jason watched him disappear through a door at the far end of the casino. He followed. The casino was gone. The next carriage was filled with machines. Not just gambling machines this time.

Phones. Bank terminals. Old television screens. Everywhere he looked, something was displaying a number.

A balance. A transaction. A payment overdue.

Jason walked between them, his injured leg dragging behind him.

One screen showed a house. Another showed a car. Another showed a bank account with a balance large enough to make him stop.

For a moment, he imagined it was his. Then the number disappeared. The screen showed a woman sitting at a kitchen table. She was crying.

Jason knew her. He looked away.

Another screen showed a phone. His phone. The display was filled with missed calls. He took his own phone from his pocket.

The screen was blank.

He looked back at the machine.

“Stop.”

The screens continued changing.

He moved faster.

The carriage seemed longer than it had been before. Every door led to another version of the same thing. More money. More promises. More things he had wanted badly enough to believe he could afford them.

Eventually, the machines disappeared. He found himself standing in an empty carriage. At the far end were two doors. There was no connecting carriage beyond them. No windows. No seats. Just the two doors standing side by side.

Above one was a single word:

JACKPOT

Above the other:

PAYOUT

Jason stared. A strange laugh escaped him. Of course. Even here. Even now. It had come down to the same choice.

He had always told himself that one more win would settle everything. One good night. One lucky hand. One impossible turn of the wheel.

Then he could pay everyone back. Then he could start again.

Behind him came the sound of footsteps. Slow. Unhurried.

Jason didn't turn around.

“Jason!”

The voices of the men who had chased him through the station. They were getting closer.

He looked at the door marked PAYOUT. It seemed almost reasonable.

Take what was left. Walk away.

Finish the game.

His hand moved towards the handle. Then his eyes shifted to the other door.

JACKPOT.

For years, that word had been enough.

Jason smiled. Not happily. Almost sadly.

“One more bet.”

He reached for the handle.

Morning light fell across the platform. Jason stepped off the train and stood still, blinking against the pale sky. For several seconds, he didn't move.

There was no fog. No casino. No strange carriage. No man in a black suit.

Just an ordinary railway platform and the distant sound of traffic beginning another day.

Jason looked down. His leg was still bleeding. He laughed under his breath. Maybe it had been the blood loss. Maybe he had imagined everything.

He turned towards the station exit. A hand closed around his shoulder.

Jason froze.

Two men stood behind him. The taller one looked at the blood on his trousers, then at Jason's face.

“You really thought you could disappear?”

Jason didn't answer.

The man held out his hand.

“Let's talk about your debt.”

Jason looked at the open palm. Then towards the railway tracks. The train was gone. There was nothing left but the tracks stretching into the distance.

Whatever waited behind that door, whatever choice he had made in that strange place, it hadn't paid his debt.

The man tightened his grip on Jason's shoulder.

“Come on.”

Jason looked once more at the tracks.

Then he walked. His leg hurt. His debt remained. And somewhere beyond the morning fog, a train was already moving.