I had 45 seconds of freedom.
Ms Freaky was talking to what I can only describe as the receptionist, showing her two little notebooks, getting them stamped, and peeling back the bandage on her wrist to show the woman what was underneath.
I probably should have bolted then, but by the time I’d convinced myself that jumping from a moving train really was the lesser of two evils, Freaky Chick had returned to her seat and was shoving one of the little notebooks into my hands.
She told me to guard it carefully. Turns out it’s some sort of passport, complete with unflattering picture and strange red coloured stamp inside.
I really would have handed it back right then but the train jerked and chugged, it’s wheels squealing as the breaks were applied. Freaky Chick braced herself and held her seat. I, being less prepared, didn’t.
From my position of heap-on-the-floor I cradled my injured elbow, which I’d deftly managed to land on, and through the haze of pain, I was vaguely aware of the wall opening again.
“You gonna pussy-out every time you bump that thing?” said Oracle as she helped me to my feet.
I squeezed my lips tight, sucked in a big breath of air through my nose ready to tell her to go to hell…and promptly choked on the stench.
As I coughed and sputtered in an attempt to dislodge the offensive smell from the back of my throat, Oracle grinned and said, “Welcome to Tropolis, Tag.”