Four Foot Eight

North Wembley

A strange shimmering pattern appears in the air outside the station, and three figures appear out of nowhere. They seem to be out of place, and look around themselves in some confusion.

"I still don't understand why we have to do it this way. What are we doing here?"
"You know the rules. Transporting directly into the middle of the city would be too risky - it's almost impossible to find somewhere where we can arrive unobserved."
"Okay, whatever the Captain says. I guess we should head to the rendezvous, then.

They walk into the station. Then they walk out again.

"What exactly did he mean by "cash or valid Oyster card"?"

Wembley Central

It's a weekday afternoon during the school holidays and the grey skies are filled with swirling drizzle. Everything in sight glistens damply, including the scattering of passengers huddling under the canopies waiting to go somewhere else, preferably somewhere indoors. The station PA comes to life.

"For the attention of the children on the northbound platform - please note that ball games are strictly prohibited on London Underground stations for safety reasons. Please stop playing football and pick your ball up immediately. Thank you."

One missed pass later the players discover that in a match between a football and 160-odd tons of train, it's usually the train which wins.

Stonebridge Park

Andy is in an irritable mood, because he's got a hangover. He's got a hangover because Laura was away on some business trip or another last night - a meeting in Glasgow, apparently. With Laura away, Andy had a fun evening out with the lads. All good fun - curry then beer and plenty of spectator sport in the pub when the pissed guy at the next table started making indecent proposals to a couple of tourists.

After too many pints he staggered in and fell asleep, then woke up late and had to rush out of the door feeling lousy. He's also reeking slightly due to not having time for a shower. And why the hell is Laura's mobile engaged for so long at this time of the morning?

Harlesden

The man standing on the half-empty northbound platform at eight o'clock in the morning has a slightly smug look on his face and a cheerful manner that's rather at odds with the masses huddled away from the drizzle on the southbound platform opposite awaiting their trains to Oxford Circus and Embankment and Piccadilly Circus. He whistles a happy tune as a southbound train arrives already more or less full and the lost souls opposite stuff themselves into its sweaty interior.

When a northbound train appears he looks up from his book and smiles to himself. Where on the train shall I sit today?, he wonders. Commuting against the flow. Yeah, that's the way to do it.

Willesden Junction

A middle-aged woman sits on a platform bench. From a bag at her feet she produces a black notebook before unscrewing the cap of an expensive-looking fountain pen, riffling through the pages of the notebook and sitting with pen poised.

A couple of teenagers walk by chattering loudly, and she frowns at them. When a man passes by talking on his cellphone she slams the notebook and pen down and leaps to her feet.

"If you don't MIND...", she shouts, "some people here are trying to CREATE."

Kensal Green

The young woman waiting for a London-bound train has a nervous face that won't stay still. It flits constantly between anger and pleasure, anticipation and fear as her mind registers the thoughts of the handful of people waiting on the platform.

As the train pulls in she can see that it's nearly full. Not good. The doors open and she rocks on her feet as a hundred different minds start shouting at her about work, about hangovers, about whatever someone's listening to on their iPod. A flood of raw, conflicting emotion tugs her this way and that as she concentrates hard, painfully forcing her own consciousness to regain control of her body enough to get her on board the train.

Sometimes it isn't easy being London's only genuine telepath.

Queen's Park

"This is Queen's Park. All change, please, this train terminates here, all change."
"What? I want to go to Harrow & Wealdstone!"
"Sir, this train terminates here. Could you get off, please?"
"No, it doesn't terminate here. I want to go to Harrow and this train will be made to go to Harrow and I'm not moving until it does."
"I'm sorry, Sir, but this train really isn't going to Harrow. Would you please get off now so we can clear the platform?"
"No! This train is going to Harrow. Give me one good reason why this train can't go to Harrow!"
"Engineering work this weekend. The line's closed. In fact, the track's mostly not there at all right now, so this train couldn't get to Harrow unless it could levitate. There's a bus outside the station for points north of here."
"Ah."

Kilburn Park

A figure stands at the south end of the northbound platform, head down, eyes closed, toes just a few inches from the edge. A distant rumble builds into the rushing wind of an approaching train as the figure stands stiffly still, fists firmly clenched.

The driver sees the figure a couple of seconds before reaching the platform and whistles frantically, but too late - the train hammers out of the tunnel and sweeps all before it in a screaming whine of hard deceleration.

Silence. The doors open with a rumble. The figure opens her eyes and steps onto the train through the open doors in front of her. She looks around to see a nearly-empty carriage, smiles nervously and takes a relieved seat.

It's a start, she thinks. Not much, but it's a start.

Maida Vale

A visiting brass band from a corner of rural Bavaria wish to return to their hotel at Charing Cross one evening at around nine o'clock. They trail down the escalators, instruments in tow, and wait quietly for the next train. When it arrives, they squeeze politely into the rear carriage between the commuters and evening party people on their way into town.

As the train pulls out of the station a traveller arrives on the platform. While mentally cursing her luck and checking when the next train is due she notices something odd about the sound of the train as it sweeps past.

Weird, she thinks. I've heard tube trains make a lot of noises, but they're usually clattering and banging-type noises. Definitely not oompah-type noises.

Warwick Avenue

A distracted man with a personal stereo and a big grin on his face wanders off the end of the down escalator and turns towards the southbound platform. Once on the platform, big grin still plastered across the front of his head, he paces around the platform impatiently waiting for a train to arrive.

Up he paces, then down again. Up and down in an aimless yet amiable manner he wanders. He turns round to peer at the "next train" display, takes a few more paces and suddenly realises he's run out of platform.

Just managing to keep himself upright he staggers backwards, narrowly avoiding planting himself head-first across the live rails. He looks perturbed for a few seconds before pulling himself together and resuming grinning and pacing, only this time paying just a little more attention to where he's going.