0:00

This episode of The Wrong Station is brought

0:02

to you in partnership with Woebegone. Woebegone

0:04

is the story of Mike Walters, who

0:07

discovers a mysterious and violent online game.

0:09

What begins as an exploration of an

0:11

alternate reality game with real-life consequences quickly

0:13

becomes a search for the technology that

0:15

makes the game possible, and an exploration

0:17

of what it means to seek, to

0:20

maintain, and to use power.

0:23

For fans of eccentric, single-person narrated

0:25

audio dramas like the Magnus Archives,

0:27

with a queer perspective and lens,

0:30

new episodes can be listened to

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every Wednesday, each with a brand

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new, all-original soundtrack. You can find

0:37

Woebegone, spelled woe.begone, wherever you listen

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to your podcasts, or check out

0:41

woebegonepod.com for episodes and transcripts. And

0:44

thank you for supporting both shows. The

0:58

Wrong Station You

1:06

may wish to adjust the dial you're

1:09

currently tuned into. The

1:12

Wrong Station You

1:28

may wish to adjust the

1:30

dial you're currently using. Woebegone

1:35

is the story of Woebegone.

1:38

Woebegone is the story

1:40

of Woebegone. Of

1:43

course, the book is complete.

1:47

Woebegone is the story

1:49

of Woebegone. Of course,

1:52

the story of Woebegone

1:54

is complete. Hard

1:59

snow falling heavy. heavy among the shrouded

2:01

pines on every side, the

2:03

only sounds the thickness of falling snow,

2:07

the echo of footfalls inside her own

2:09

bones, the pounding of blood

2:11

and breath inside her own head. No

2:15

idea how long she'd been running, or

2:17

from where, or to where, just

2:20

that she had to go on to reach the end, safety,

2:23

before it all became too cold and

2:25

dark. Actually, the

2:27

kind of relief to be found in that lack of memory,

2:29

if you don't know how long you'd

2:32

been running, it was almost

2:34

like you'd just begun, almost like

2:36

you were fresh, almost.

2:41

The sky dull and gray and low

2:43

by now, backlit by

2:45

some fading distant sun. From

2:48

this bluish pall of sky, the

2:50

heavy clumping flakes of falling snow came

2:52

dark. Then, against the

2:55

darkness of pine boughs and bare trunks,

2:57

they suddenly flashed into white life before

2:59

losing themselves among the hundred trillion corpses

3:01

of their own. With

3:04

no sun, she couldn't tell how much daylight she

3:06

had left, couldn't lift four

3:08

fingers to the sky to count out

3:10

fifteen minute increments. She

3:13

could only run. Tiger,

3:16

wind, snow, wind,

3:19

tiger, steady feet and

3:21

steady pulse and breath. She

3:24

felt a little tired and her head pounded

3:26

quite badly, but she was still good

3:28

to run, still good to go.

3:31

Glanced the softly glowing chronograph at her

3:33

wrist, and it was working, but

3:35

her brain wasn't and she couldn't make out any

3:37

numbers. She blinked, shook

3:39

her pounding head and looked again. Same

3:43

result. All right, that

3:46

was a bad sign. She raised

3:48

one hand to her head and felt the

3:51

tacky crust of blood above one eye, only

3:53

now beginning to harden. The

3:55

shocking tenderness of her skull to the touch,

3:58

the flesh just now beginning to swell. All

4:01

right. All right, that was

4:03

a bad sign too. She

4:05

could not remember the injury. When

4:08

her mind ran back along the snowy

4:10

track of memory, it became lost in

4:12

dark pines and slowly mounting drifts. The

4:15

moment of shock and pain was back

4:17

there like distant sodium light in the

4:20

snow, but there was no way

4:22

through the trees to reach it. A

4:25

very bad sign. It was the kind

4:27

of thing that might make her panic if

4:29

she allowed herself, but

4:31

there'd be no utility in that. A

4:33

discipline had been instilled in her once upon

4:35

a time. You

4:37

keep running no matter what, and

4:40

now there was nothing for it but to keep running. The

4:43

pale shadows of snowy bows were trending

4:46

blue. She hoped she would

4:48

arrive where she was going soon before

4:50

the dark. She crested

4:53

a hill, only more

4:55

rolling tiger below her. The

4:57

next ridge might hide her destination, and

4:59

she knew her own pace well enough to know she'd

5:01

reached that ridge in less than thirty minutes. Despite

5:04

the snow, the footing underneath was hard

5:07

and firm, some kind

5:09

of buried road or path, perhaps.

5:12

That was good. His roads and paths

5:14

led somewhere, but

5:16

then again maybe it was just a frozen river.

5:19

No, no, don't think like that. Don't

5:21

think like that. Just

5:23

keep running. Nothing

5:25

for it but to keep running. She

5:27

tried to keep focused on the act of running, but

5:30

her thoughts just kept coming back to the question

5:32

of what she was doing here. She

5:34

cast about in the snowdrifts of her mind and came

5:37

up with the word, race.

5:40

I'm in a race? If she was

5:42

in a race, she would have things with her. Surely.

5:46

She dropped one hand to her hip and

5:48

found the hard plastic of a handle that felt

5:50

similar to her grip. Some kind

5:52

of pistol? A flare gun. Surely,

5:55

though the letters on its orange barrel swam in

5:58

front of her vision in the fading light. Yeah.

6:02

A flare gun. She. Was wearing

6:04

a sigh belt as well before

6:06

flares talk through elastic loops. To.

6:09

Empty loops and the belt. One.

6:11

Flair in the chamber of the gun. Which.

6:13

Meant she fired one already. She.

6:16

Did not remember when. Couldn't.

6:18

Remember loading a second one either. Or.

6:21

Making the questionable decision to run with a loaded flare

6:23

gun at her hip, Worse.

6:25

Than questionable. Outright

6:27

dangerous. And. Yet.

6:30

Some. Instinct kept her from unloading the

6:32

flair. Maybe. She'd had a

6:34

good reason to keep the weapon loaded. Weapon.

6:38

Know flare gun isn't a weapon. Maybe.

6:40

There was a landmark she wasn't supposed

6:43

to miss. some narrow window where rescue

6:45

have would pass across the sky. Some

6:47

opportunity to brief to risk reloading the

6:49

orange gun with freezing hands. So

6:53

she ran on. Not. Stopping

6:55

not slowing, Down along

6:57

the wine and winding track the

6:59

ankle deep snow while more snow

7:02

and more drifted down and a

7:04

distance faded out to white and

7:06

the temperature slowly drop. The

7:08

light slowly been. What

7:11

else? What else? She must have something

7:13

else on her body that could be

7:15

of use. At. The hip opposite

7:17

of flare gun. She found a pouch. And.

7:19

Inside the familiar crinkle of impact

7:22

rations and hydration gel wrappings, a

7:24

dry rattle of analgesic pills and

7:26

their plastic bottle. Thank.

7:28

God thank God. It

7:31

relief of not just finding these things, but

7:33

being able to remember what they were. Her.

7:36

Head was killing her. Why?

7:39

It's something hit her. She. Raised one

7:41

hand and found heavy swelling. A.

7:44

Gem of hard scabs blood above one

7:46

I. Saw.

7:49

That was a bad sign. But.

7:51

There wasn't much point and thinking about it right now.

7:54

He just had to keep running. To.

7:56

Bought two pills and wash them down with

7:58

a gel pack. And said. cleared taking

8:00

four pills, but wasn't sure how

8:02

many she'd taken already. She tucked

8:04

the torn gel wrapper into a trash pouch of the

8:07

small of her back. It

8:09

was half full already. That

8:11

was a bad sign, too, because it meant

8:13

she hadn't just begun. It meant

8:15

she'd already been running for a long, long

8:18

time. This time

8:21

she managed to keep her thoughts from spinning

8:23

out of control, focused on nothing but the

8:25

path ahead. And

8:27

soon the fear and worry faded into

8:29

the snow behind her. She

8:32

ran free. Turning

8:34

aside from her smooth trail, she began to climb

8:36

through thick snow to the top of that ridge

8:39

she'd noticed ahead of her before. Was

8:42

it the same one? Yes. Yes,

8:45

it had to be. But when she

8:47

reached the summit, there was no destination waiting for

8:49

her on the other side. Only

8:51

more long distances, tiger

8:53

pines, and that wide,

8:55

flat trail winding through the distance. A

8:59

suggestion of tall hills at the edge of

9:01

sight. But that vista was shrouded

9:03

by the veil of snow slowly wrapping the

9:05

world around her. She

9:07

barely stopped to take in this view, only

9:10

caught it on the run as she bounded down the

9:12

far side of the ridge. That instinct

9:14

drilled into her in some forgotten place

9:16

and time. Keep running, break

9:19

momentum, and you won't get it back. Slow

9:22

down and the chill

9:24

creeps in. The chill. God,

9:27

she was so cold. Her

9:29

toes already ice blocks in

9:32

her shoes, slowly losing all

9:34

sensation. All right. Run

9:36

faster, then, to speed the pumping

9:38

of her blood. And she opened up

9:40

as she reached the shallow snow that flat,

9:43

meandering stretch again, the

9:45

trees blurring faintly with her speed

9:47

or weariness as they grew thick

9:49

on either side. And

9:51

something, she thought

9:53

she saw something, bounding

9:56

through their shadows parallel. Something

9:59

big. And

10:01

though she knew what she was seeing

10:03

must be some trick of the mind,

10:05

she tapped into not-so-bottomless reserves of strength

10:07

to lengthen her stride even further. Whatever

10:11

moved behind the darkness of the pines kept

10:14

pace, the four-legged

10:16

form loping and slithering through

10:18

variegated black and whiteness. Four

10:22

legs. Six

10:24

legs. No. Four.

10:27

But that meant it would be faster than her over short

10:29

distances. Still, whatever it was,

10:31

she could probably outrun it if she could just

10:33

keep her pace and distance. Not

10:36

many predators that size had stamina to speak of. Even

10:39

canines could be run to exhaustion by a good human

10:41

runner, especially in the tiring snow.

10:45

And she was a good runner. Even

10:48

with the rest of her identity winnowed away, she

10:50

knew this about herself. Even

10:52

with the world itself narrowed to just the ground ahead

10:54

of her, it was her purest self,

10:57

her truest expression. She

11:00

was that which ran. Yet,

11:04

snow, that creature in the

11:06

darkness of the woods, kept

11:08

its pace. From the way

11:10

it bounded, seeming almost to swim through the

11:12

snow, she could tell that this

11:14

was its natural environment. Even

11:17

now that it had emerged from the edge of the trees,

11:19

she couldn't fully see what it looked like. The

11:22

snow too thick, only

11:24

a bounding grayness, sometimes

11:26

cat-like, sometimes bear-like,

11:29

sometimes almost snake-like as it

11:31

followed alongside. She

11:33

dipped deeper into rationed reserves and lengthened

11:35

her stride a third time. For

11:38

a minute the distance between them widened, but

11:40

then the creature also put on a burst of

11:42

speed, churning snow along the

11:45

riverbank, by the edge of

11:47

road not fifty feet away. That

11:49

burst of blurry speed carried it past her,

11:52

forward into the blinding static. It

11:55

was almost fully dark on the tiger by now,

11:58

Almost a full white-out too. The.

12:00

Creature, whatever it had been, Was.

12:02

Gone and snow ahead. So

12:05

she beer toward the opposite bank if

12:07

it was a frozen river she ran

12:09

along. After all, she decided it must

12:11

be. Yes, While hadn't

12:13

the creature attacked? Maybe. Because this

12:15

was ice beneath your feet may be

12:17

was strong enough for her one hundred

12:19

and twenty pounds, but not for the

12:22

three hundred. some odd kilos of. Who

12:24

knows what. It

12:26

was now full door. Full.

12:29

Door. Of. A snow so

12:31

blinding light the surface of the world

12:33

glowed dim with whatever feeble radiance bounced

12:36

over the dark horizon. Near.

12:38

The injury on her forehead. Or

12:40

probing things. Discovered an earpiece. When.

12:43

She tapped at once. hissing static

12:45

noise crackled in her ear. And.

12:48

She tampa twice and L A D

12:50

hi been blazed into life. Something.

12:53

Had come loose me your pieces housing. Made.

12:55

By the impact of whatever had caused her head

12:58

injury. polite, Had a tendency to

13:00

flicker. To. Tap earpiece again to

13:02

try and stabilizer like. It

13:04

went out. Stride. Again, Again,

13:08

And. Just as she was beginning to panic,

13:10

the white beans blazed once more, cleaving

13:12

the snowy, dark. Not.

13:15

A moment too soon. For there

13:17

was a tumble have fallen boulders jutting out

13:19

into the frozen river. And. Is

13:21

a light flared back into life? It

13:24

revealed the creature crouch a top

13:26

those stones. And. Ready to spring.

13:30

Cadillac. Immense.

13:32

And gray stripes. Not. With

13:34

forelimbs but six and a

13:36

wide shovel like head with

13:39

black eyes of fire with

13:41

yellow eyes shine the teeth

13:43

like white needles like fishes.

13:45

Teeth. The. Thick for blowing in

13:47

the when. Except were

13:49

burned and black and Patch wept on

13:52

one side of it's chest. To

13:54

shouted and slipped in the snow.

13:56

Scrambling is the creature bunched itself to

13:59

leaked than. He was balanced and running

14:01

again as the creature crashed down behind

14:03

her and the ice cracked. no lo.

14:05

Thunder ripped out beneath her feet to

14:07

put on a burst of speed like

14:09

she'd never known she had of ground

14:12

beneath her. split and she was scrambling

14:14

on all fours is a great plague

14:16

of ice founded in the black water

14:18

erupting around her. And then she was

14:20

back on steady footing, sprinting and sprinting,

14:22

not daring to look back even if

14:24

she been able to see anything in

14:26

the darkness and swirling snow to strained

14:28

her ears over the sound. of her

14:30

own pound and hearts trying to catch

14:33

any sound of heavy pause pounding behind

14:35

her. But. She

14:37

heard nothing. And after a few

14:39

moments she had to slow down. Or

14:41

else collapse under the ice to catch your breath.

14:45

Was hard to slow heart and pace

14:47

and breath but you did the best

14:49

she could. And after several

14:51

minutes past, the adrenaline began to drain

14:53

away. Leaving her depleted.

14:56

Tired. But.

14:58

You didn't allow her pace to slow too

15:00

much. Keep. Running. Don't.

15:03

Think keep running. Know.

15:06

The night was growing colder. Even

15:09

through her thermal suits, the petroleum

15:11

jelly, and clean burning heat of

15:13

impact rations, she was getting cold.

15:16

After. The spike of adrenaline. She couldn't feel

15:18

her toes anymore. Or fingers

15:20

would be next. That's.

15:22

Whatever discipline it brought her here kept

15:25

her on program. After a while, the

15:27

adrenaline crash past and she was back

15:29

into a rhythm of Paulson breath and

15:32

steady studying see pace. She felt her

15:34

body could keep up until he died

15:36

of dehydration. if need be.

15:39

So. On she ran and she was sure

15:41

by now she'd left a treat your far

15:43

behind and ground beneath the ice. Shortly.

15:48

Afterward. She forgot

15:50

about it's existence altogether. Then.

15:54

Is the clouds parted in a bright

15:56

half moon showed through. The. white

15:58

robed wide and out or around her, and

16:01

the black trees receded to the edges of

16:03

her world. She ran

16:05

through an imperian realm of endless white,

16:08

and the path around her was like a

16:10

white highway leading home. She

16:13

turned off her headlamp, and

16:15

for what felt like a hundred years she ran

16:17

like this, forgetting everything but

16:19

the bliss of running and the oneness

16:21

with the world and the

16:23

light of successive moons blossoming across the

16:25

turning sky. Then

16:28

the clouds drew back in, and

16:30

the chain of little moons went out. She

16:33

had to flick her headlamp on again, and

16:36

a few minutes after that the

16:38

road ran out. She

16:41

slowed. Then, for

16:43

the first time in much longer than she

16:45

could remember, stopped, stared

16:48

at the snowy bank of tumbled stone

16:50

ahead, at the

16:52

rising wall of dark snow-cowled pines.

16:56

Her river had become a lake, and

16:58

now her lake had come to its end. That

17:01

can't be right. Maybe she'd

17:04

gotten turned around. Maybe she'd

17:06

been running upstream this whole while when she'd

17:08

been supposed to be running downstream. Maybe

17:10

she wasn't supposed to be on the river at all. Maybe

17:13

she'd been following some road or trail and

17:15

gone astray as it crossed the water's path. Maybe

17:19

she couldn't remember. She

17:22

wished she could remember. She

17:25

checked her ration belt. Almost

17:27

empty now, the pills all

17:29

running low, the flares, one

17:33

in the chamber of the pistol, three in

17:35

the elastic loops of her thigh belt. She

17:38

couldn't remember having fired any. Couldn't

17:41

remember loading one in the chamber

17:43

either. It was a bad idea, surely, to run

17:45

with a loaded flare gun at your hip. The

17:48

woods rising up ahead. Something

17:51

in them frightened her, but

17:53

she couldn't remember what. Five

17:56

seconds now, or six that she'd been

17:58

standing there. Too

18:00

long. She could feel the

18:03

cold snout of exhaustion sniffling at her heel

18:05

and behind her ears, the

18:07

chill already creeping in. There

18:09

was only one way to get them off of her. Outrun

18:12

them. Nothing else for

18:14

it. So she drew

18:17

a fierce breath and plunged ahead, vaulting

18:19

up the frozen rocky steps of the bank

18:22

and then plunging through the trees. For

18:24

some reason her body understood but her

18:27

clouded mind not. The pistol

18:29

flare was clutched white-knuckled in her hand.

18:32

The breath already ragged in her chest as

18:34

she plunged through thickets and then opened bands

18:36

of snow. Through thickets and

18:38

over bands of rock and back

18:40

beneath the sometimes shining, sometimes hidden

18:43

moons. Through taiga wind

18:45

and snow and wind and taiga,

18:47

she ran and climbed and fought

18:49

the tiring cold. Now

18:52

something was running alongside her, half

18:55

hidden in the snow. Something

18:57

bounding, bear-like, cat-like,

19:00

snake-like. Now the

19:03

snow was deep, thigh-deep, and she was less

19:05

running than wading through it as the creature

19:07

followed at the edges of her sight. Fear

19:10

built swiftly in her, her pounding

19:13

heart and pounding head and disunited rhythm

19:15

as she climbed. The

19:17

woods rose and rose and the creature

19:20

followed with her, sometimes led

19:22

her, bounding up and up

19:24

the rocks and vanishing, appearing,

19:27

vanishing again until she came to a

19:29

wooded circle of the summit with tumbled

19:31

boulders and a soaring vista all around

19:34

of dark taiga bleached in frozen

19:36

waves, and the

19:38

five moons sinking up above

19:40

and a white stripe of

19:42

clear snow slashing wide across

19:45

the landscape down below. The

19:47

deep rumble behind her, a

19:49

growl rising to make ice crystals

19:52

tremble from the bows. She

19:54

whipped around, the orange pistol flare in hand

19:56

and leveled it. She

19:58

stopped moving. For too long,

20:01

but she was trembling too much to aim

20:03

without total stillness, and

20:05

she was sure that this time if she ran, the creature

20:08

would not hesitate to bring her down by

20:10

the ankles or the spine. And

20:13

so, the energy, the heat pouring

20:15

out of her, the

20:17

weary cold seeping in, she

20:20

stood with flare-gun leveled at the trees,

20:23

and from the darkness it emerged, its

20:26

black eyes unthinking in the moonlight,

20:28

its wide, uncanny smile bearded

20:31

with icicles, its thick

20:33

fur pleated with ice, except

20:35

where chunks of burned flesh had been blown

20:37

away on its chest and shoulder and

20:39

above one eye. Come

20:42

on, then. Her voice

20:44

ragged with exhaustion, rusty

20:46

from lack of use. How

20:49

long since she'd spoken last? She

20:52

barely even recognized the sound in her own head.

20:55

Can't run the race this far. Let's

20:58

see you try to finish it. The

21:01

Snowrunner gathered itself and

21:04

leapt. She clenched her fist

21:06

around the grip and trigger. A

21:08

streak of red erupted into the night,

21:10

and the impact came with a thud

21:12

and a tormented yowl, and then the

21:14

creature's momentum carried it into her, and

21:16

she was knocked airborne and then she

21:18

hit the ground hard and rolled over

21:20

heavy boulders, and her head almost split

21:22

open, and she thought she was screaming,

21:24

and then she was sliding down a

21:26

snowy slope like a child at Christmas,

21:29

and somehow a flare was in her hand, and

21:31

the pistol's orange breach was open, and she was

21:33

ramming the flare home and snapping the

21:36

barrel shut as she forced herself to

21:38

her feet, and the creature was rioting

21:40

in the snow behind her with a

21:42

burning star-lodged crimson in its already ruined

21:44

fur, and she raised the gun and

21:46

fired again, and a neon

21:49

comet struck the Snowrunner in its flank,

21:51

and the creature screamed and scrambled backward

21:53

through the trees. She

21:57

let out a breath. white

22:00

cloud of crystal on the night, her

22:03

earpiece gone, only

22:05

reflected moon and snow to see by now.

22:09

Hard snow, falling

22:11

heavy down among the shrouded pines on

22:13

every side, the

22:15

only sounds the thicknesses of falling

22:17

snow, the echo

22:19

of resounding blood and breath inside her

22:22

head. The cold

22:24

all seeping in. She

22:26

needed to get moving. She knew that much.

22:30

But where? She looked

22:32

around all sides, the spreading

22:34

vista of the tiger she had never

22:36

seen before. From

22:38

there, there in the distance, thank

22:40

God, what looked like a white

22:43

road meandering wide through the dark and

22:45

snowy pines. That had

22:47

to be her route. It had to be. A

22:50

shame she should have wandered off so far

22:52

off course. And

22:54

so she racked a new flare into the orange

22:56

pistol and holstered it, began

22:58

to run until the weariness

23:01

wore off and she was back into

23:03

her rhythm and the sound of

23:05

steady footfalls echoed through her bones. She

23:08

noticed with a surge of hope the

23:10

half-filled footsteps leading down toward the road.

23:14

Somebody had been this way before, not

23:16

long ago. She was on the

23:18

right track. She came down

23:20

through woods and out onto a white, wide

23:22

open avenue, a highway

23:25

that spread until the trees had all but

23:27

vanished on either side, imperian

23:29

realm of endless blowing white

23:32

and her heart lifted as she tracked the

23:35

fading footsteps of the one who'd gone before.

23:40

A trail of slowly freezing blood had reached

23:43

her neck by now. One

23:46

flare in the pistol's chamber and

23:48

only one flare on the belt upon her thigh

23:52

and in her hip pouch. All

23:56

supplies were running low. The

24:08

Wrong Station is made possible with

24:10

the generous support of our listeners

24:12

on Patreon. Visit today at patreon.com/thewrongstation.

24:15

This week's episode, Snow Run,

24:17

was written by Alexander Saxton and

24:20

performed by Anthony Botello. Thank

24:22

you to Colorado Tao,

24:24

Outlast Chance, Morikoto, Greg

24:26

Schrader, Daniel Williams, Aurelian

24:29

Ember Gardner, Brian Christopher,

24:31

Peter Armstrong, Eduard Morisette,

24:33

Kurt Hooper, Christopher Naccarato,

24:35

Adrienne Ainsworth, Sophia Silviera,

24:37

Rachel Favors, and Ransack0894 for

24:41

helping us keep the lights, well,

24:44

off. The Wrong

24:46

Station is co-produced by Alexander Saxton,

24:48

Anthony Botello, and Jacob Duarte-Spiel, with

24:50

music composed and performed by Alon Citram

24:53

and arranged from Viola and performed by

24:55

Viola Schmidt. You can follow The Wrong

24:57

Station on social media, at thewrongstation, and

24:59

email us at thewrongstation at gmail dot

25:01

com. And until next

25:03

time, thank you for

25:05

listening.