Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and games 3rab. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “games 3rab” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see games 3rab come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “games 3rab, games 3rab, fuck, games 3rab!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “games 3rab” release.