The Legend of the London iBus

They say that one day Apple decided to conquer not only phones and laptops, but also… London buses.

And thus appeared the iBus — the world’s first “smart transport” that decides on its own whom to take and whom to leave behind at the stop.

Some believe it was an experiment in technology. Others insist it was the result of a secret alliance between Silicon Valley and the London fog. And a few whisper that it was never meant to be a bus at all, but a moving portal disguised in shiny black metal.

Features of the iBus

If you own an Android device, the doors won’t even twitch. Instead, a cold, mechanical whisper comes from the speakers:

“Not compatible.”

Payment is automatic. Without asking, the iBus charges your bank account not only for the ticket, but also for an iCloud subscription, three mysterious “security updates,” and a hefty fee labeled “For the Beautiful Design.”

There is no “Stop” button inside. Only a glowing “Upgrade to Premium” panel, which allows you to disembark before the final stop… if you are willing to pay the price. Those who refuse sometimes circle the city endlessly, like flies in a jar, staring at the same rainy streets for eternity.

Instead of showing routes, the electronic display above the driver’s seat projects cryptic warnings:

• “Error 404: Stop not found.”

• “Installing update… 3 hours remaining.”

• “Passenger soul storage: 95% full.”

The seats, smooth and impossibly comfortable, are rumored to whisper the dates of future iPhone releases directly into your ears. Passengers report that after sitting down, they feel the urgent, uncontrollable need to buy something — anything — with an Apple logo.

Some say that if you dare to fall asleep inside, you wake up somewhere outside time itself: an infinite Apple Store, where white walls stretch forever, and the only sound is the voice of Siri, asking softly:

“Would you like to restart your life now?”

Historical Rumors

According to the oldest stories, the iBus was born in the underground chambers of Westminster, during a secret midnight meeting between Apple engineers and the so-called “Fog Magicians of Albion.” The fog was not just a backdrop — it was an ingredient. They bound the damp mist of London into the body of the machine, making it part bus, part spirit.

The iBus does not run on gasoline or electricity. Instead, it feeds on missed calls, unsent text messages, abandoned shopping carts, and the indecision of commuters. The longer you hesitate at its doors, the stronger it becomes.

Some say the bus actually grows larger each year, swelling with human doubt until one day it will blot out the entire sky. Others whisper that the fog itself is now alive, trained to listen for footsteps, breaths, and—most dangerously—hesitation.

It always appears at 5 p.m. near Big Ben. That is the exact moment when thousands of Londoners think the same thought: “Maybe it’s time to go home?” But those who step inside rarely see home again.

The iBus does not take you where you want to go. It takes you where it thinks you deserve to be.

Tourist Tales

• One tourist swore he boarded the iBus in 2010 and got off just ten minutes later… in 2025. His hair had upgraded to GreyOS, his jeans had converted into sleek Apple trousers, and his backpack had silently transformed into a laptop case.

• Another story tells of a man who muttered: “I’d rather walk.” The iBus immediately synced his steps to Apple Health, charging him 99 pence per step for the rest of his life. He is still walking somewhere in Hackney, bankrupt but strangely fit.

• A Canadian woman claimed that Siri’s voice spoke directly from the walls: “Would you like to travel to the past, the future, or the Genius Bar?” She chose the past, and was last seen in 1977, purchasing Apple shares at $0.04 each. Her family is now mysteriously wealthy.

• And, of course, the most famous tale: some passengers swear that Steve Jobs himself rides the iBus. He sits quietly in the back row, dressed in his black turtleneck, nodding only at those who own the very latest iPhone. For passengers with older models, he simply turns his head away. They say the shame is unbearable.

But there is also a darker rumor: when Jobs vanishes at the end of the ride, his seat does not stay empty. Instead, the next passenger finds themselves dressed in black, holding an iPhone that has not yet been released, and realizing—too late—that they have become part of the legend.

The Curse of Missing the iBus

Yet some insist it is worse not to board the iBus at all. Missing it three times brings a terrible curse:

• Your Oyster card will never scan again, no matter how much money you add.

• You will always arrive at bus stops exactly one minute after your bus departs.

• And worst of all, when you look at your reflection in the windows of passing buses, you will see not yourself, but your cursed double — forever running, forever late.

The only cure, legend says, is to wait at Big Ben for seven nights in a row, whispering softly: “Update me, oh iBus.” If the bus accepts your plea, it will take you back. But beware: those who return are often dropped off in the Apple Store, unable to leave until they have bought the latest model.

Cult of the iBus

Over time, the iBus has gained a strange following. There are rumors of secret fan clubs that meet in Shoreditch, dressed in matching black turtlenecks, chanting in unison:

“One more thing… One more thing…”

Some commuters claim to have seen people leaving small offerings at bus stops — half-eaten apples, broken headphones, outdated iPods — all in hopes of pleasing the iBus.

A few rare individuals, called The Synced Ones, tattoo glowing Apple logos on their wrists. They say these tattoos pulse whenever the iBus is near, like a ghostly notification.

And late at night, if you listen closely near Westminster Bridge, you can still hear faint voices echoing through the fog, murmuring about storage space, cloud backups, and the price of eternal upgrades.

Why Tourists Fear the Fog

That is why, when tourists in London hear a strange humming sound behind them in the mist, they stop, hold their breath, and glance back nervously. Locals lower their voices and whisper:

“It’s him… The iBus.”

And if the fog thickens, some say you can see the outline of pale faces pressed against the windows, trapped between worlds, waiting for the final software patch that will set them free.

Others claim that the bus itself sometimes stares back: its dark windows flicker like screens, reflecting not the streets of London, but other cities, other times, other lives that might have been.

Epilogue

So beware: the iBus is not just a bus.

It is a legend, a curse, and perhaps the strangest ghost story London has ever known.

A reminder that even in a city of centuries-old myths, sometimes the most frightening ghosts are made not of chains and shadows, but of glass, metal, and the endless need to upgrade.

Professor Victoria