What Can You Do with 10 Stops Left?

What do you do when a stranger sleeps through the world? She's been curled in that seat since you boarded, honey-blonde tangle against the plastic, overheard in the empty car that isn't empty anymore. Thirty minutes of tunnels and station ghosts, and she hasn't stirred once—not for the announcements, not for the door chimes, not for the last passenger's boots on the platform outside.

Now it's just you and her.

Ten stops left. No one else around to see.

Its a Race Against the Clock