And what a mind to be in.

Today, however, seems to be a special day. Today is the day when it will... do something. As though a disease has festered in its mind, or an irritation in its "wheels", the Train begins to search in a fervor for something unseen.

A greeting etches itself onto the front and sides of the "train".

ᛡᛂᛚᛚᚮ×ᛆᛚᛚ.

ᛐᛁᛐᛁᚡᛁᛚᚢᛍ×ᛁᛍ×ᛆᛐ×ᚤᚮᚢᚱ×ᛍᛂᚱᚡᛁᛌᛂ.

It is unclear if anyone is actually around to see the message, but the Train deems it relevant to post anyways. Although it doesn't seem to be that the Train is looking for people. No... if I were to hazard a guess, I would say the Train is looking for a way out.

The train continues its escape. Fruitlessly, but it tries. What can be done? Perhaps the problem is a lack of vision...

The familiar silence of the environment grows from ambient to eerie. The train stands stock still, no sign of life outside of the thrumming of magic in its gem.

The gem.

It begins... to rise? Unevenly, one ear first, then the next. The head levels, then rises lopsidedly, then levels again. Like a mass of tens or hundreds trying to unsteadily lift the block of emerald with the tips of their fingers. Rising, rising, rising... it is a slow process. One foot, then two feet, then three. A pillar of flesh raised from a blowhole in the head of the train. At its apex, the tips of the emerald block stand thirteen feet above the ground.

Any onlooker now would likely feel baffled at the sight. Queasy, if they were squeamish and caught the details in the light. Under the mauve, featureless skin of the rising pillar, tiny ripples squirm under the surface. A muscular neck that extends up, up, unnaturally out, and then begins to move.

The rest of the train settles on a bright, caterpillar green, in stark contrast to the mauve flesh pillar that swings from side to side. Something resides underneath that emerald chunk; something not unlike a pair of humanoid eyes. The only pearly pair on the entire vehicle. They are barred from exiting their fleshy prison by the emerald that surrounds them, provides them structure. Forced to do the work of the massive, hulking brain below.

With fresh sight, these eyes scan the area.

Its single set of eyes wavered and woggled over the scenery, passing over detail after detail. The thick vine of muscled flesh steadily held the gemstone-encased eyes to where they needed to go. With how large the train is, the environment looked rather claustrophobic. To the average soul, that tightness would usually only seek to lengthen the time, the minutiae, the banality. The anxious ticking of fingertips. Did the train feel these things? Take notice? Did the train consider time spent to be the same as time wasted?

It would make sense. Punctual; the best public transport was ever punctual. It always had somewhere to be.

So where was this train going?