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