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