Catacombs

It feels like eternity.
My wrist starts bleeding.
I can’t feel the pain anymore.

We turn onto platform 16.
There is no train here.
Rushing.

Down the stairs at the end of the platform.
Dark tunnel, connecting all platforms like an underground concourse.
Service vehicles, bunker-like cells and offices, more shuffling and yelling.

More pain.
We rush away up a rusty stairwell.
We must have made more than a kilometer.