The Fall of London
The biting November wind whipped through the skeletal remains of London, carrying with it the stench of decay and burnt memories. Elias Vance huddled deeper into the tattered remains of what was once a designer overcoat, its silk lining long ripped away, offering little resistance against the encroaching cold. He pressed his back against the crumbling brickwork of what had been a bustling Pret a Manger, now a silent tomb filled with the ghosts of hurried lunches and lukewarm lattes.