Its doors were open, pus running down the glass as the train finally succumbed to the same rot that had already taken half the station that month. It made no sense to the outside - all they saw were unnecessary delays and perfectly good trains being left in locked sheds. They didn't see them bleed, didn't hear them cry, didn't feel the warmth leaving their engines for the last time.
This particular train was supposed to be to young to catch the rot and had been kept thoroughly away from all other trains during its journeys across county borders. When the symptoms became too bad to ignore the station workers brought up a theory they'd been keeping quiet for months.
The rot was carried by people all along.
A cull was ordered - every last train taken down and burned before they could begin to show any symptoms. It was nationwide chaos for months before brand new trains were set out - rot-proof and allegedly better than ever. Unkillable and perfect.
They were right about the former, they can't die. So when they catch the rot they carry on until their engines are clogged with blood and their lungs are too clogged with fuel to let them draw the breath to beg for death. Their undying corpses are still strewn about the countryside to this day, wheezing and choking.
Perfectly, and unfortunately, unkillable.
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