Day 647

The last train at Oxford Circus was always crowded despite the late hour. People arrived in varying states of sobriety and proceeded to jam themselves into whatever remaining space the carriages had to offer, which was not a lot.

None of them noticed that the train was a different colour to the usual underground red/white combination. This train was solid grey with the London underground logo on the side, writing back-to-front. Even the seats were different, they were all small fold-up ones, a single row on each side and all with seatbelts. Still nobody noticed the differences and proceeded to buckle themselves in without a second thought. The rest stood, grabbing the dark grey poles for dear life as the train jolted into its journey.

Their next stop should have been Green Park, proceeding from there to the awaited destination of Brixton just as the prerecorded voice announced but that stop never came. It took a fair while for the passengers to notice and even then most remained ignorant until the end.

As the few who were aware enough to realise began to panic, the train began its descent. It was gradual at first, hardly noticeable but it grew steeper and steeper as the minutes progressed. The temperature rose with each gradual turn of the train and soon each compartment stank of sweat.

Before long the people standing found themselves gripping onto the poles to prevent themselves from slipping down the carriage. The seated people counted themselves lucky but in truth were in far more danger. Eventually the train seemed to plateau.

The announcer, now sounding like a man with who'd gargled gravel instead of the smoother woman's voice, advised that they were drawing close to Victoria Station. He didn't once mention that they'd bypassed Green Park but instead listed a dozen other stations that nobody had ever heard of.

By now everyone was sweaty, exhausted and a tiny bit afraid that they'd all gotten the wrong train entirely but none of them said anything until the train pulled to a complete stop at what the announcer had called Victoria Station. It might have been a Victoria Station at one point, perhaps at the first point when the underground was still being developed?

Even with the doors still closed, waiting for someone to push the release button they could taste the soot and grime that coated everything on the platform. Dim gaslights were sparsely placed along the murky blue walls and flickered worryingly as if they could go out at any second. Despite the eerie feel of it the passengers refused to spend another moment inside the train and after a few tense seconds all rushed for the doors as fast as they politely could.

Those who made it up the stairs found themselves in a mimicry of Liverpool Street Station only covered with the same sooty grime that "Victoria Station" had been. There were no people and no electric lights, only gigantic gaslit chandeliers. They found every exit locked and no other train in sight but for the one they arrived on. Every window showed only dirt except the skylights. They showed some kind of city with countless black snake-like things slithering across every surface and gradually descending towards the trapped passengers.

With only a few stragglers remaining, seatbelts refusing to open, the doors slid closed and melted together. With passengers tightly secured the train began to drive off, down the steep tracks and increasing heat.