6x: Poly Track

Then I saw the figure.

Standing at the edge of the track, right where the old switchyard split into three rusted spurs. A woman, young, wearing a soaked lab coat over something that might have been a dress. No umbrella. No bag. Just standing there, one hand raised, palm out. poly track 6x

Behind us, the amber lights of Track 6x flickered once, twice—then went out, as if we had never been there at all. Then I saw the figure

Track 6x began to narrow. The amber lights grew sparser. I killed the autopilot and took manual control, feeling the poly track's subtle warp through the steering column. The rain started—not a clean rain, but the greasy, chemical drizzle that fell in this part of the city. It beaded on the windshield like tiny oil slicks. No umbrella

"Who's asking?"