The following has been transcribed from the audio recorded on the Dictaphone recovered from Miss Layla Wilkes during her arrest.
This is Layla Wilkes, investigating for the Ashborne Gazette. It’s currently twenty-past midnight on the eleventh of June nineteen-eighty-four, and I am outside the front door of Sun Cream Co factory.
This is my second visit to the factory, the first being on the tenth of June nineteen-eighty-four, when I was given the official tour by the Company’s CEO, John Smith. But the mask of officialness hides a multitude of sins, and I want to find out what they didn’t show me.
Sun Cream Co has always been mysterious. They hold the monopoly on Sun Cream in the entire country, purely because they have the best product. No one knows how they make such effective Sun Cream, and they surely aren’t telling us. On the tour, I only got to see the cream being bottled. I still have no idea how it’s made. Mr Smith claimed that the recipe is a secret. I don’t believe in secrets. So here I am. I’d also like to state for the record that I am not breaking and entering. An inside source from the Company – who I shan’t name – provided me with the information that, unbeknownst to only a few at the factory, their security system is broken and my visitor’s tag from yesterday’s visit will give me access to the entire complex. It’s not supposed to, but it does.
And here we have our first test. Let’s see if our source is any good.
Source is definitely good. Let’s see what we have here.
[door opens and closes] [footsteps]
There are security cameras but no personnel. Night-time lighting. The usual works.
Nothing new just yet. Still pretty near the entrance.
Ah, here we go.
Yes! Okay, let’s see here. It’s an office. Mr Smith. Not a lot out in the open. Don’t think I’ll be able to access his computer.
The filing cabinet won’t open, none of the drawers.
There’s something on the desk. Something about subjects. Subjects of what? Can’t tell anything from this, it’s all in corporate speak. Heavy corporate speak. Hang on.
[camera click] [Transcriber’s notes: Two pictures were recovered from Miss Grant’s phone: one of a document confirmed to have been sitting on Mr John Smith’s desk, and another taken in the basement of the factory building showing cryotubes connected to tubes]
Nope, the desk drawers won’t open either.
Now, this looks interesting. Heavy door. Warning signs and private signs.
And in we go. Stairs. Long and dark staircase.
Not a lot so far.
I can see the bottom.
Okay, at the bottom. Light switch, that’d help.
[two successive clicks]
Wow. This room is huge. If I’m remembering correctly, we should be directly under the factory floor. Which makes sense, seeing as there’s a load of tubes hanging from the ceiling. They’re connected to… pods. What on Earth are those things?
[camera click] [footsteps]
There’s these… cylinders. And something in them. Looks humanoid. There are a lot of tubes. Tubes hanging from the ceiling going into the top of these pods then the pods themselves are full of tubes.
Oh, my gosh…
Oh, please, no… [voice strangulates] [throat clearing]
[voice is louder and distorted] There are tens of these pods in here, all with these tubes going up to the factory floor. There are… [gag] There are children in there. Oh, gosh, what are they doing with them? Oh, I can’t…
[footstep] [gag] [vomiting] [thud]
[Transcriber’s notes: The remainder of the tape lasts for four hours, twenty-four minutes, and seven seconds, and comprises of background noise (machinery and Ms Wilkes’ breathing). It is assumed that after this time elapsed, the battery on Ms Wilkes’ Dictaphone ran out]
by Ellen Grace