It was 1:28 pm. I missed lunch and my train. What is this rotten luck I'd been plagued with these days? First, my girlfriend broke up with me. Then, I got demoted. Then I woke up late today. And then I find out that somehow, despite 1 pm not being the typical rush hour, Kowloon Tong station is still more packed than can-packed sardines. 

"Due to an incident involving the train that departed at 1:11 pm, all train services are now suspended. We sincerely apologize, and we advise you to consider any other means of transportation." 

Others yelled, raged, and protested, and so did I. I stepped up to one of the MTR employees, towering over her, demanding answers. "What sort of service is this? Why suspend all trains just for one pesky little incident? It was probably only some old fella who tripped and fell and drew a bit of blood!" 

My voice was loud, and I made sure she saw my press card, my camera bag. That usually works wonders. But the employee only stared in my direction for a few seconds, confusion showing on her face. She shook her head as if she heard and saw nothing. As if she hallucinated me standing in front of her. 

"Hey," I told myself. "Isn't it the main character's job to figure them out and single-handedly save the whole world and all the oblivious NPCs? Maybe it's time." I feel my heart thumping with fright and excitement as I make my way up to the platform; a detective marching into a crime scene, a hero marching the battlefield where he can finally shine, to save the world.

The platform was quiet, deserted. Not a person seen in sight. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, lowering my camera – what exactly did I picture before? People sprawled on the ground, unconscious, blood everywhere? News like this would certainly make it to the front page of the newspapers. And the reporter who risked his life to uncover the mystery would certainly be remembered by many people, finally basked in glory...

"Calm down," I told myself. "Don't make a fool of yourself. This is a great chance for your career. Imagine the headlines – imagine! Just like the last few times, when your reports nearly made it to the front pages –"

A loud ding startled me, and I turned to see a clock striking at 1:11 pm. A thin layer of sweat coated my forehead as I glared at the clock. None of the clock's hands were moving forward. They were... glitching, spasming as if some mysterious force was stopping them, caught in a stuttered dance.

My excitement died down. All that was left in my chest was fear, fear of the unknown, of the unsettling things that happened today. A weird sensation washed over me as my vision began to swam in and out of focus. The world around me felt less realistic, blurrier – as if I no longer belonged to it. As if it was trying to reject me. I stumbled, and my camera slipped from my grasp.

I stared in disbelief as my body began shimmering – literally. My fingers, under my frightful stare, became transparent, ghostly, see-through. I opened my mouth, but all I heard was the rustling of the winds. 

All of my things had fallen to the ground now – well, all except my clothes. I watched in despair as all of them began disintegrating, melting into the ground until no trace of them was left at all. Amongst all this ridiculousness, I heard another sound. A distant rumbling.

I squinted. To my far left, a train approached, looking just like any other MTR train. Miraculously, the closer I inched to the train, the less dizzy I felt. Every fiber inside me was screaming not to go onto the creepy train that appeared out of nowhere, but everything except for the train faded into nothing but a haze of colors. 

I thought of my vanished things. I looked at my transparent body, took a deep breath, and boarded the train at 1:11 pm.

Instantly, I felt better as I collapsed on a seat. My body slowly reversed to its normal state, my spinning vision subsiding. It wasn't until minutes of calming down later I noticed all of the passengers were staring at me. 

The silence was deafening. There weren't many people on board, yet I found some of them suspiciously familiar. All of their stares were hollow, and so were their voices, seeming like mere shadows of their former selves. "You are late. Our captain is kind enough to wait for you to arrive."

More NPCs? I thought, scanning the seemingly normal MTR train – minus the creepy passengers. They'd stopped staring at me, instead chattering amongst themselves. The old man sitting next to me resumed his slumber. 

I stared at him. It felt so out-of-place, seeing him here. His clothes were the expensive sort, and I was positive I'd seen his face on TV before. He was accused of something... fraud? Scamming thousands of people? I couldn't recall the exact details as I was too busy scowling in disgust.

Next to the old man sat a young boy, both of his arms and his neck heavily tattooed, the smell of nicotine reeking off him. His bright blonde hair reminded me of a vile case my colleagues followed – a 13-year-old harassing and assaulting another young girl who was just walking by him. Uneasiness and repulse welled up in my throat as I slowly but surely recognized the faces, one by one. They were all criminals, and somehow, they all boarded the creepy 1:11 pm train.

The truth hit me in the gut abruptly. I stared at my hands, which were no longer transparent. If all the boarded passengers were criminals – what did that make me? 

"I'm not a criminal!" I blurted out, but nobody batted an eye at all. "I'm not!" I repeated. "I'm Henry, a faithful reporter reporting nothing but the truth and the news to the public! It's not like I hurt anyone!" I tried leaving the carriage, but an invisible barrier stopped me in my tracks, and I felt as if it directly burned into my soul as I came into contact with it. I couldn't even go find the "captain" – surely he could help. Surely. 

"Please!" I yelled to no one in particular, panic coursing through my veins. "There's – there's been a mistake! Please! I'm innocent! I haven't broken any laws! Please, get me off this creepy train!" And so I continued screaming, until my throat went hoarse, until I sank to my knees, legs feeling like lead, staring at the distorted scenery flashing by as the harbinger of judgment sped towards the unknown...

Little did Henry know, as soon as he boarded the train, a mysterious force began its work. News reports of the disappeared train and passengers faded into nothing, their existence wiped off the canvas of the world. His girlfriend, whom he thought loved him so much, forgot about his disappearance. And so did the world, forgetting about all the criminals on that train, things reverting to their original states – as if someone had pressed a reset button, went back in time, and plucked the criminals out of the victims' lives, leaving them unscathed, all scars and wounds vanishing. Crimes that weren't carried out in the first place can't hurt anyone. And of course, all of Henry's exaggerated, vile reports disappeared – ones that he spent hours and hours working on, trying to catch readers' eyes, indirectly ripping apart the victims' healing wounds yet again. 

Little did all the passengers know, the train, once an ordinary MTR train, morphed into an express, sending them to their well-deserved destination. Some might call it the Fields of Punishment. Others might call it Hell. But nevertheless, one thing is for sure – they will finally pay for what they did to others, and suffer the same, if not greater, pain.