The 23:05 Train

It was one of the last trains of the evening. Line 3. The orange line.

Most cars were nearly empty; a handful of passengers clung to the overhead bars, eyes flicking toward the floor or out the dark windows. The rhythmic clatter of wheels against the rails was hypnotic, a pulse beneath the city’s quiet.

About eight stops from the final station, the overhead screens—usually filled with bright, mundane ads—flickered violently.

Static crawled across the panels like tiny, crawling insects. The familiar advertisements dissolved into a fuzzy green haze, then the lights dimmed slightly, and an unfamiliar voice filled the train.

“Someone among you is an imposter. They tried to hide. But now the time for unveiling has come.”

The words were calm, measured, but the effect was immediate.

Conversations halted.

Phones were lowered. Passengers turned to look at one another, eyes widening in suspicion.

The static cleared.

On the screens appeared a face: sharp, symmetrical, with eyes that seemed to pierce right through every person on the train.

It was unfamiliar—but at the same time, it carried a strange sense of recognition, like a half-forgotten memory.

“Look around you,” the voice continued. “The one who does not belong is here. Step forward, or be revealed.”

A shiver ran through the car.

People glanced nervously at strangers.

The man in a business suit sat rigid, hands clutched tightly over his briefcase. A young woman in a hoodie shifted uncomfortably, clutching her bag. The elderly man on the bench leaned on his cane, narrowing his eyes at a teenager wearing headphones.

“This is some kind of joke,” muttered a woman near the back, forcing a laugh. “Some viral ad campaign, right?”

No one responded.

The voice filled the space, vibrating through walls, seats, and even the air in their lungs. The lights flickered again, casting the passengers’ shadows in jagged, exaggerated shapes.

“Enough pretense,” it said. “Step forward, or be revealed.”

A tense silence followed. No one moved. Eyes flicked from one person to another.

Slowly, a man in a hooded jacket rose from his seat. Head down, hands clasped, he had been sitting quietly, ignoring the others.

Now he lifted his head, and the lights revealed his features—ordinary at first glance.

But the screens zoomed in.

The subtle shimmer in his skin became clear. His eyes, once brown, now reflected rainbow-like iridescence. A soft hiss escaped him.

The passengers instinctively recoiled.

“Finally,” the voice said. “You see me now. And you will see who I really am.”

The man’s body began to shift. Limbs elongated unnaturally, the jacket falling away as his form twisted, reshaping itself into something impossible. His face fractured into countless reflections of the passengers’ own faces, flickering in and out like broken mirrors. He hovered above the floor, a being of light and shadow, of shapes and memories.

A woman whispered, “What… what is that?”

“I am the truth,” the figure said. “The version of yourself you hide. The lies you carry. The mask you wear. I am the imposter you refuse to admit exists.”

Panic rippled through the train car.

People muttered, cursed, backed away.

The young woman in the hoodie clutched her bag tighter. The business suit man swallowed audibly, trying to maintain composure. The elderly man leaned forward, suspicious, eyes darting.

Suddenly, the voice shifted. “Or perhaps,” it said, “the imposter is not me. Perhaps it is one among you.”

Every passenger froze. All eyes turned to one another, suspicion sparking like electricity. Whispers erupted.

“Who… who is it?” someone demanded.

“Maybe it’s that guy,” muttered a teenage girl, nodding toward the hooded man who now hovered in impossible form.

“I was here first,” argued a young man near the middle. “Maybe it’s you!”

Accusations flew. Fear transformed into paranoia. Passengers pointed fingers, huddled together, avoided the eyes of anyone who seemed “different.”

Every movement, every glance became a potential threat.

The hooded figure hovered, still speaking. “The imposter is here among you. Deny it if you like. Pretend if you must. But one will be revealed by truth, by fear, by choice.”

A man in his thirties, scruffy and pale, stepped forward suddenly. “I know who it is!” he shouted. “It’s her,” he pointed at the woman near the back. “She’s been watching us all, pretending to be afraid. It’s her!”

The woman gasped. “No! I—”

“You see?” said the figure softly.

“Suspicion divides you. The mask of the imposter exists in all of you.”

The train slowed as it approached a station bathed in pale, unnatural light. The doors opened, revealing a platform that seemed impossibly wide and empty. The passengers hesitated, uncertain whether to leave the train or stay trapped inside with the inhuman figure.

The figure descended toward the aisle, form coalescing once more into the hooded man’s familiar shape—but no longer entirely human. His eyes glowed, his skin pulsed, and his features shifted, reflecting the fears of everyone watching.

“I am a reflection of what you hide,” he said. “The part you refuse to see. The lies, the secrets, the fears. And one among you…” He pointed a finger that fragmented and multiplied simultaneously, landing on several passengers in turn, “…has been hiding not from me, but from themselves.”

Tension exploded.

Fingers pointed, accusations ricocheted.

People argued, cried, laughed nervously.

Every face was suspect.

“You don’t have to step forward,” the voice said softly, echoing in everyone’s mind. “But the truth cannot be ignored.”

A few passengers hesitated, frozen with indecision.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, a young woman took a step toward the doors. Others followed, one by one, some stumbling, some trembling, but all moving forward.

As they stepped onto the glowing platform, the figure flickered, fragmented, and began to fade, dissolving into shards of light that scattered across the floor.

When the last passenger had stepped off, the figure was gone. The screens went dark. The train sat empty, silent, a shell of its former self.

For a moment, only quiet remained.

Then, faintly, the voice whispered:

“Remember… the imposter is always within.”

Each passenger, standing on the glowing platform, understood. The revelation had not been about one of them alone, but about all of them. The imposter was not only a being on the train—it was the fear, the doubt, the hidden selves that each person carried inside.

Outside, the city pulsed with lights and life. But inside the hearts of the passengers, the train’s secret lingered, unshakable. They had confronted the truth, stared into their own hidden selves, and survived—but nothing would ever be the same again.

Some glanced at one another, new suspicion lingering in their eyes. Others stared at their reflections in the train windows, suddenly unfamiliar.

And somewhere in the distance, the faintest shimmer of green static blinked across the screens—an echo of what had come before, a reminder that the imposter was not gone.

It was within all of them. Always.