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To: O5-10
From: Researcher Jakub B , ID : AJ#0885674
Subject: Re: JOURNAL SUMMARY REPORT : EXHIBIT #07995684351
This is my full summary, I didn't add any information that wasn't already in the journal, as you requested; though I did give my opinion on a few unanswered questions to help reach the conclusions needed.
EXHIBIT #07995684351 SUMMARY REPORT : RESEARCHER JAKUB B.
The screech of the passing train echoed in his ears, the scream made by thousands of metal components clashing together would be near-deafening to the average person; fortunately enough for Mr. Francesco, daily dealings make him practically immune to the noise. After walking a small distance up the platform, Ben took a seat on the cold bench, giving himself a moment for his tired nerves to adapt to the sudden drop in temperature - after doing so, he checks his watch: 11:53 AM.
Working full-time at the most popular restaurant in West London wasn't an easy job, especially when you have to balance a completely separate, (semi) stable life on the side. The result of this physically cannot be good on the brain, which is probably why he suffers from chronic depression and severe anxiety. The aftermath of spending 8 hours (minimum) at work everyday to come home to an unloving wife and a child who barely knows you definitely takes it's toll on a person, enough to give Ben Francesco an uncountable amount of sleepless nights; wondering where he went wrong.
As Ben sits there, counting the seconds as they go by endlessly, he feels it coming on. The same intruding thoughts that tell him life isn't worth living. Over the years, he's learned how to overcome such waves of suicidal conception, but sometimes it becomes too much and overwhelms him, leading him to nearly-giving in - even making him go all the way once or twice.1 In the midst of his mind's pleas to jump into the unstoppable incoming mass, he manages to calm himself down by holding his head in his hands. The intrusive thoughts are more powerful when he doesn't sleep.
Once again, Ben checks his watch: 12:04 PM. His train arrives at 12:06 AM, so he makes a mental note to re-check his watch frequently. Due to his lack of sleep the previous night, this was hard to keep up with; his eyelids folding shut every few seconds - Ben had to continuously force them open. What was previously a battle to stay awake, had become a battle to not fall asleep. He lost this battle, only being jolted awake by the yell of the train's wheels' movement being halted. Another mental note: 'Sleep at night. Not in the day'.
Forcing foot after foot, Ben reached the thin door and pressed the lit-up, neon green, "open" button, forcing the doors to retract into the walls on each outside direction, allowing his entry. The first thing he noticed when stepping in was how clean and new the train looked opposed to the usual stinking, dirty London Underground ones, Ben was unsure as to whether it was just this carriage or the entire train, as the outside looked just like any other that he'd take to work daily.
He took the last empty seat and held the "power on/decline call" button on his new Nokia phone2, playing that specifically catchy sequence that is also edited to be the standard ringtone. 'Zero new messages' was displayed on his screen. He turned the phone off, looked at his watch again: 12:06 PM. After considering for a short moment, he concluded that he'd probably be able to pull off a short 20-25 minute nap before his stop, so exactly that he did; resting his head on the dark glass behind him, Ben dozed off.
A long, loud whining sound woke him. Instinctively, Ben checked his watch: 12:06 PM. Immediate confusion followed, and after that, panic. Looking around, Ben instantly realised that there was nobody else here, despite the train being packed of people before he went to sleep - he then began trying to poke his finger through his hand3, after figuring that he was not intangible and definitely awake, he started to notice subtle differences on the train; for example: it seemed to be moving significantly faster then it was when he boarded, and the freshness in there had vanished - now looking like it hadn't been cleaned in a thousand years. It smelt like piss, and there was visible mould in a few corners. The humidity levels had increased by a large amount but the general temperature seemed like it was below 0 - which he thought made no sense at all, which it probably didn't. The biggest change overall was the colour scheme, it had gone from a grey and pale yellow floor-wall-ceiling combo to a sinister, darker tone of each colour already present.
Ben made an attempt to open the doors, which he soon found out wouldn't work, he concluded that it was probably because of the train still moving, and the buttons to open the doors usually only work when it is stopped. The next thing that come to mind was breaking out, despite his slightly scrawny build, he decided that he could try. After multiple attempts at smashing the glass, even using his briefcase to do so4, he concluded that the glass couldn't be broken - to him it felt like smashing against a wall made of thick steel; injuring himself more than the enemy.
After figuring that escaping in this moment was impossible, Ben began pacing up and down the carriage, trying to think of a way to leave this 'prison'. He collected himself and sat down, trying even harder to figure a solution. He theorised that he could reach the train driver and convince him to stop the train or explain what's going on, so with high hopes for a way out, he stood up and made for the next carriage.
It wasn't until he actually reached the door into the next carriage that he realised he didn't know which way the driver is, if there even is one. After some thought, Ben decided to travel in the direction he was already going in, and then if it happened to be that it was the wrong way, he'd just turn around and come back.
Ben pushed down the dirty, metal handle and pushed with enough force to swing open the old, weak door - which wasn't a lot. He instantly felt the wind on his face. It was extremely powerful compared to normal, pushing him a few feet backwards, it felt to him like he was in the middle of a raging tornado, although in comparison it was probably a little bit less. Pulling his briefcase up to his face to block the wind, he pushed with all the might he could muster and managed to make it across the tiny bridge, and into the next carriage; which seemed like an extremely similar version of the last one.
He looked on, facing the direction he was travelling in, trying to calculate how long it would take him to reach the end, upon doing this, he realised that he couldn't actually see an end. An overwhelming sense of panic washed over him, followed by dread and a slight hint of fear. 'Shit. What do I do? Where do I go? Where the fuck even am I?' are just a few of the things he thought to himself in his moment of crisis. This continued on, with Ben even beginning to question his own perception and if any of this it was actually real, he realises that the thought process he was utilizing in the moment led him no closer to freedom, and was simply a dead-end. The only option was to keep going.
After taking a moment to regain his composure, Ben began walking again. Forcing step-by-step, not from fatigue but more-so from the instinctive after-panic adrenaline rush he was feeling, which was becoming so great that it was starting to make him feel like punching through the metal wall itself, although his rational side knew that this course of action would only injure himself, he carried on walking - thinking deeply about his wife and child, using them as motivation to continue moving, telling himself that they need him to escape, and that he can't give up.
Multiple hours later, Francesco was still walking. Massively fatigued from the constant movement, he tried to resist the clutches of unconsciousness - which he did succeed at for a while, but eventually he became so tired that even holding his briefcase seemed too much a burden to be placed on his shoulders. Through fear of the unknown, Ben refused to sleep, especially after what it achieved him last time, continuing his journey to freedom was the only thing on his mind, aside from the instinctive claustrophobia and overwhelming sense of dread5.
His body was completely reawakened when the window behind him shattered inwards, like a plastic balloon being stabbed by a samurai sword; adrenaline took over and didn't even give his fight-or-flight instinct time to activate, although there was no apparent real threat, the heat of the moment made him decide that escaping the situation was by far better than facing a potential threat.
Ben could hear the fine leather slapping off of the floor as he ran, each step's echo bouncing off of the empty, tube-shaped carriage walls; firing back at him like an assault rifle. The musty, humid air caused him to fatigue quicker, leading him to a point where it felt impossible to move another step forward - and as he tried to do so, he collapsed.
Black. Everything was black. Not in the sense that he had gone blind, in the sense that the electric had gone out and he was inside an endless, underground tunnel with no natural light sources. Ben felt around him, in an attempt to figure out where he was. Lying on the dirty, wet floor, he grabbed onto a pole in the middle of the door-seat walkway and pulled himself up - trying not to imagine what liquid he could've been lying unconscious in a few seconds ago. The air felt thicker now, the humidity had increased, and the temperature the opposite. It was at this point where he really began to question himself. Wondering how accurate his perception actually was to his real surroundings, maybe he overslept and was still sitting in his original seat on the actual train he was on, heading toward another long day of scrubbing dishes. If he were any more gullible, he probably would've believed it was some kind of really bad nightmare where he was unable to identify if he was asleep or not; deep-down he knew that this wasn't the truth.
Ben reached into his pocket, grabbing onto his phone and feeling for the correct button. Turning it on, he checked the time: 12:06 PM. He then used the weak flashlight to scan his surroundings, the same as each and every carriage he'd been through so far. Every time he moved, he felt the burning pain of fatigue, greater than ever before in-fact, even though he'd just awoken from a sleep6.
When facing the direction (he thinks) that he came from, Ben holds his head against the door, closing his eyes and trying to give himself a moment to form a plan, and what to do next. Whilst doing so, he is practically jump-scared by the light flickering on. With all of the conflicting emotions and thoughts, it's probably easy to be scared by little things - especially when you're unable to identify them straight away.
Turning to face the light, Ben's confusion and curiosity as to why it randomly turned on led him to make his way over to it, but then in the same instant he took a step forward, the bulb popped, blowing short waves of electricity around and then ceasing; returning him to the darkness. Almost representing his motivation for escape. At this point, Ben had basically given up, he sits down, placing his head into his hands and really tries to think of a good reason not to take the easy way out7. Right when he began to conclude that there was nothing that could be done, at all, to escape - he felt the rays of light bouncing off of his closed eyelids. There was hope.
It grew brighter the closer the train come. It was a stop. An empty stop albeit, it didn't matter. "West Kensington". The same stop that he got on at. It didn't matter in this moment, all that Ben could think about was there being something that wasn't the train. A way out. Ben's eyes streamed tears of emotion as he ran to the doors, waiting, the same way a puppy waits for it's owner, to press the "open" button and be free of his nightmares. Finally, some hope for the future.
This flame of hope was quickly burned out when the train didn't stop. Ben just stood there, pale-faced, almost lifeless; questioning how bad his luck could possibly get - as it turns out, not much worse than this. Ben slowly turned around and slumped himself into one of the grimy, carpet seats that nobody really ever wanted to sit in, especially on an unending train with no exit.
In a fit of rage, Ben threw his briefcase at the window opposite him, crying heavily, yelling and punching things; really, it's not an unjustified reaction to having your last hope crushed in front of your own eyes, especially when it pertains to your own life.