Even if you end up in a ghost story, you still have to go to work

You barely have time to process the host's final words before several anxious voices erupt in the hall. Something is clearly wrong here.

Heavy thuds echo from different corners of the room, one after another. The lecture hall doors slam shut. For a moment, silence hangs heavy in the air.

— However, before official employment, you will undergo a brief probationary period. Nothing complicated—merely a test of practical suitability! — the host's voice remains as upbeat as ever, as if everything happening is perfectly normal. — Naturally, for an objective assessment, everyone's participation will be required. Don't worry—we will certainly notice those who try to sit idly by at someone else's expense!

An awkward ripple of laughter rolls through the hall. Most of the newcomers still don't look alarmed. To them, Daydream is still just a major pharmaceutical company with an unusual orientation test for new employees.

— And so... let us begin! — with the host's final word, the lights suddenly cut out.

The familiar walls vanish. The floor beneath your feet seems to drop into darkness, and the space around you shifts in an instant. When your vision finally adjusts to the dim lighting, you find yourself in a subway car. Old seats. Cold metal handrails. The pale glow of overhead lamps. Outside the windows—nothing but impenetrable blackness. No lecture hall. No host. No possibility of simply opening a door and walking out.

— Dear passengers, thank you for using the services of the Abyss Transport Company. — a calm female voice announces over the speakers.

The train begins to move. Slowly. Almost silently. There is still nothing outside the windows—only a thick darkness that occasionally reflects the faces of the passengers. Pale, bewildered, far too tense. For several minutes, no one speaks.

— Next station: Sorrow.

An odd pause hangs over the carriage. The name sounds wrong. Not like the name of a station, but like a word that accidentally became part of the announcement.

Ding

The train comes to a halt.

— Exit on the right side.

The doors slide open with a hiss. Behind them, there truly is a station. A low ceiling, dim lamps, gray walls, damp patches on the concrete. Nothing unusual at first glance.

— Doors will close in thirty seconds. Passengers arriving at the final station must exit the train.

There isn't a single passenger on the platform. No subway staff. No sound of approaching trains, no chatter, no announcements from neighboring platforms.

— Wait... I wouldn't advise getting off. — someone tries to stop those stepping out after noticing the station's name. It is a young man sitting next to you, appearing to be in his late twenties. He looks remarkably calm, a sharp contrast to the state of everyone else around him. — You heard what they said, "Station Sorrow." Where in Korea is there a station like that? Anyone would find it strange. — he continues, shifting his gaze from the others to you.

The seconds tick away. Twenty... Nineteen... Eighteen...