The Siege of London – Circadian Rhythms of War

Water dripped from the old concrete tunnels.

The sound came steady — drip… drip… drip — echoing through the blackness like a pulse.
The infected moved through the dark like shadows, silent and unending crawling toward the heart of London.

At their head, Leon marched shirtless, his eyes glowing red, his veins pulsing like molten wire. Steam rose off his body with every step. His jaw was still, but his hands shook— not with fear, but the strain of what he was becoming.

Beside him skipped Nara, humming softly to herself, her voice lifting like a child’s lullaby, a grin slicing across her pale face.
In her hands, she carried two curved sickles, blades blackened and serrated, still dripping with blood.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Leon muttered.

Nara twirled one sickle idly. “Can you blame me? It's beautiful.”

“Where’d you even get those?”

“Aren’t they awesome? A soldier tried to gut me with one,” she said, licking a drop of blood from one edge. “She missed. I didn’t.”

Leon sighed, glancing upward — faint light filtered down through the cracks above as the city trembled like a wounded beast.

“I’m just saying, you could tone it down. These people….they’re still human. Like we once were.”

“Oh, come now, sourpuss,” Nara bumped his shoulder playfully. “Don’t get all moral on me now. With every scream, every soul that breaks….we bring him god closer to perfection. If they had any sense they’d join us. We’re doing them a favour.”

Leon said nothing. His mind pulsed faintly — a whisper brushing his thoughts.

Do not falter.

Destroy anyone who stands in your way.

Zero’s voice.

Leon breath caught, he closed his eyes. He saw flashes— the Alps, the dome, then Everett and Elcy— and then, silence.
He whispered, “As you command.”

The siren wailed across London — a haunting relic of a war that should have never returned.
People stopped in the streets, staring at the sky as the red emergency lights pulsed through the fog.

Then came the sound — a low, hollow rumble from beneath the city.

Beneath Westminster – 01:42 a.m.

The tunnel ceiling cracked open as steam burst from ruptured pipes. Leon raised his hand, shielding his face from the debris.

“They’re above us,” he said quietly. “Surface patrols.”

Nara grinned twirling her sickles. “Perfect. I was getting bored down here.”

Her spine cracked. Bone split flesh forming a pair of skeletal wings that unfurled like broken glass. She launched upward through the ceiling, leaving a spray of blood and dust.

Leon followed, slower — deliberate, composed. When he emerged, the air hit him cold and sharp with the smell of smoke and iron. The skyline stretched before him — the London Eye, Big Ben, the fortified walls of Westminster Palace blazing with defensive lights.

Above them, drones circled like steel vultures.

Soldiers huddled behind their barricades along the Westminster Bridge, rifles trembling but ready, waiting for the inevitable.

Spotlights swept across the Westminster Bridge. Troop carriers blocked the roads. Refugees were herded into underground stations as the first reports came in.

Captain Rowan’s radio hissed.

“Movement! South Bank breach! Two hostiles confirmed—Bloody hell…she’s flying…!”

A soldier leaned over the river railing, flashlight trembling. “Bloody hell….what’s that?”

It came at once.

A sound —less an explosion, more a deep, grinding exhale—rolled across the river. Shapes moved under the surface, gliding like sharks, ready for a feast. And then, with a splitting crack, a hurricane of released pressure slammed into the riverbanks. Police vans toppled. Windows shattered in spiderweb shrapnel. The shockwave sent people to their knees, clutching their ears, screaming at a pain that wasn’t sound alone.

Pale bodies of impossible proportions, glowing veins, broke through from the deep.

“They’re here! They’re….”

The first infected bit off the soldier’s head. Then more crawled onto the concrete and within seconds the bridge was overrun. The soldiers in their barricades tore through them with bullets, some fell but others their flesh sealed as fast as it split.

The radio exploded into static, then screams.

Rowan turned to his Lieutenant, cursing.

“Deploy the Iron Line. Lock down Westminster! No civilians in or out!”

Explosions rolled like distant thunder from the tunnels below. Muzzle flashes lit the fog, each burst a stuttering heartbeat of a dying city. The air reeked of diesel, smoke, and something far older — the metallic tang of blood on the tide.

“They’re crawling up the embankment!” a soldier shouted.

“Light them up!” Rowan screamed into the radio, raising his rifle and heading toward them.

Gunfire rose. Shells sparked against the concrete but for every body that fell, another climbed over it.

01:48 A.M.

Nara danced along the rooftop of a building, her wings dripping blood.

Her laughter carried across the river.

“Look at them! Scurrying like rats!”

She hurled one of her sickles downward. It spun through the air and cut through a drone before burying itself into a soldier’s chest.

“Strike out!” she howled.

Leon landed beside her with a crash, eyes glowing like embers. “Enough.”

“Oh, don’t be such a bore—”

“We’re not here to play.”

He raised his hand. From the river below, hundreds of pale shapes rose, black blood glistening under the spotlights.

“Cleanse them,” he yelled.

The swarm obeyed.

The Prime Minister was watching through the drones, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the table. Every camera feed showed chaos — soldiers firing into crowds, civilians screaming, bridges collapsing under the sheer weight of the infected.

“What’s the evac status?”

“Fifty-eight percent,” the communications officer answered. “Most of the east line has been evacuated. St. Thomas Hospital has been overrun by civilians, we’re experiencing a looting problem at the moment.”

Voices came through the radio.

“They’re breaching Waterloo Bridge!”
“Lambeth is overrun! We need medics!”
“Multiple hotspots across the Thames corridor! — we’ve lost South Bank entirely!”

Major Carver grabbed the radio.

“All units fall back to Parliament Square! We hold the line there!”

Then she turned to a communications officer.

“Where the hell is the Colonel?”

02:10 a.m. – Parliament Square

The Houses of Parliament, Square Garden and Westminster Abbey burned.

Explosions rained down, blowing up buildings but it was in vain.
Nara hovered over the chaos, her wings shimmering in the firelight, eyes alight with ecstasy.

“Do you hear it?” she whispered. “The city’s singing.”

Leon stood beneath her, flames reflecting in his eyes.

“You’re losing control.”

“No way,” she smiled faintly, “I’ve never felt more in control.”

A voice emerged through their minds.

Then, a ripple — not sound, but vibration — through their minds.

My children…

Zero’s voice.

You have done well. London will serve as the revelation. Let them witness the dawn of their new god. I’ll be arriving soon.

Leon knelt instantly.

“Your will be done.”

02:13 a.m.

The surviving soldiers tried to hold the tunnels. One soldier, bloodied and panting, clutched a radio.

“They’re everywhere—Christ—there’s too many!”

“Fall back to the north tunnel!” the Colonel shouted. “We can hold—”

The ceiling above cracked open, and Leon dropped through like a thunderbolt. His hand shot forward, impaling the Colonel through the chest with a blood tendril.

He turned to the remaining soldiers. “Lay down your arms and live.”

One soldier raised his gun shakily. “Fuck off. You’re no god. You’re a plague.”

He raised his hand, the tendril that had killed the Colonel, reshaped back into the soldier’s head before he could shoot.

“You should have surrendered,” Leon whispered.

The Prime Minister turned toward the holographic map of the city— red dots spreading like infection through the Thames corridor.
“How long until civilian zones are clear?”

“Not long enough,” muttered Major Carver.

“What do you think of deploying an anti-air and drone strike?” she asked.

Major Carver turned to stare at her. “Our soldiers are still down there ma’am.”

The Prime Minister looked toward the window — the entire skyline of London now the colour of wet charcoal.

“It looks like the end of the world out there. Their sacrifice will be acknowledged. If London falls, there won’t be anything left to defend.”

02:15 A.M

Nara now perched on the railing of Westminster Bridge, her hair whipping in the wind. The fire reflected in her eyes as she grinned.

“All this beauty,” murmured. “And all it took was a little death.”

Smoke thickened. A soldier screamed, “RPG—ready—fire!”

The rocket streaked across the air.
BOOM!

Then a short whistling sound as the RPG flew towards her. She grinned and slammed into it exploding on impact.

Rowan exhaled. “Take that, you bloody witch.”

He stomped toward the smoldering mess, spat, and raised his rifle. “Go back to hell, you—”

The puddle twitched.

The blood moved.

It clumped together, writing, reforming into limbs. Nara’s laughter rose from the clumps. Rowan immediately started firing running back to the soldier with the RPG who was reloading.

Nara stood, now fully formed.

“Yes,” she purred stepping from the smoke. “That’s it. Don’t stop now, give me all you got. Destroy me until I can no longer Move!”

Rowan pushed the soldier and took the RPG himself aiming.

“Get ready, you devil. I will hang your head on the flag for all to see.”

“I’m waiting,” Nara said spreading her arms. “Come and take it!”

Back at the Swiss Base

Emily slammed her fist on the console.

“Goddammit! What happened Victor? I thought we had him?”

“I don’t....I don't know,” Victor replied defeatedly.

“They are in London,” Kiyora said showing them a livestream from a refugee running away in Westminster Bridge. Victor leaned in close watching as an RPG exploded near the refugee and the camera fell to the ground.

Leland came in from a bathroom break, rubbing his hands with a blue handkerchief. The moment he saw the stream, he didn’t hesitate.

“How soon can we get in touch with Prime Minister Hartley?”

“I’ll look into it,” Kiyora answered stepping out.