An ordinary friday afternoon

Deep within its insane structure, it might have once resembled an ancient steam-driven locomotive, but unknown forces and warped energies had transformed into something else entirely. The thunder of its arrival could be felt by senses beyond the pitiful five known to humankind, echoing trough the planes that existed and intersected beyond the veil of reality.

Behind it came a tender of dark iron and a juddering procession of boxcars, their timbers stain with aeons of blood and ordure. [He] knew without knowing that millions had been carried to their deaths in these hellish containers, carried to whatever loathsome destination this horrifying machine desired before finally being exterminated. The vast daemon engine slowed, the sleepers driven beyond sound in their torment as the towering machine halted at the edge of the platform.

From: Dead sky, black sun, by Graham McNeill

- M