...your
Imagination.
That's right. Your capacity for creativity and imagery has always exceeded those of the ones around you. Whenever you read a book, or listen to music, or look at a painting... The words and the notes and the colours always seem to come to life, whispering their stories, always far more real to you than those around you could understand.
You've also tried your hand at a dozen and a half different art forms. You're a writer and a poet, a painter and an artist, a singer and a musician... You've even delved into martial and culinary arts, but... something has always been... missing from your own art that draws you to those of others.
Still, at the core of your being, you are somebody who sees... stories in everything. Every piece of art, every gesture and every word from everyone around you -- these all tell their own stories, and you've devoured enough throughout your life that you can listen to what's being said underneath the apparent, and see the patterns hidden from everyone else.
That's why barely anything causes you to even bat an eye anymore. You can see it all coming, like a chessmaster anticipating his opponent's next move, like a gambler counting cards, like predicting a boxer's punches from his gaze and the roll of his shoulders.
You can read everything.
"
...The next station is the last stop for this service. Tokyo-3 Station. Please mind your step as you exit the train."
The announcement is barely audible over the music gently playing in your ears, but you know you're approaching your destination all the same.
The train slides to a gradual halt, and you sling your bag over your shoulder as you move to your feet. Well, here you are. There's no one else in your compartment, and through the glass it's apparent that there's no one else on the platform, either.
The doors hiss open, and you step off--
--BZZTT--
--!!!
...You gasp, startling. What was that..?
A jolt of something you couldn't identify, shaking you like nothing else you can remember, yet seeming infinitely familiar... like an old friend, or an old enemy. A vague sense of urgency presses down on you, and the air is suddenly thick with tension despite no discernible cause for it.
Your headphones fall around your neck, but there is no sound aside from the quiet hum of running machinery. You fall into a guarded posture as you dart your eyes around, but there's no one else in sight.
The chill of the train station's air conditioning burns against your skin, and the fluorescent lights overhead are glaring in their brightness. Behind you, the train doors you just walked through seem like the gaping maw of a hungry antlion.
[
x] Run.
[
x] Wait.
[
x] Write-in : Calmly continue to the exit and head to your destination, but be attentive.