A man, barely gone from being a boy slept in the heart of London. The boys heritage was a confusing one. Nobody knew who his father had been, though suffice to say he wasn’t there. His mother was, when she spawned the boy, a young woman from the south of France. She had moved to London two decades earlier to be close to the specialist clinic that dealt with the rare disease that her son had contracted at birth. With their medication he was able to live a perfectly normal life, even if this move meant that she would not. She had stayed once the medication had been spread across the world as a standard practice because she had come to like England, and her son’s routes were there. It wasn’t until the fated day of judgement that she regretted her move.
The man’s hair was brown and cut short, to allow him to leave it without brushing each morning. His features were typical, blending in with most people he could easily be mistaken for the relative of many people. The young man, scar and blemish-less, was tall and fit, from years of sports and decades of running.
The young man awoke with a start as explosive sounds pounded all around him. He leapt up from his bed and raced to his window, pulling the curtains aside so harshly that he almost ripped them from the wall. His eyes poured over the sight that greeted him. His ears hadn’t been wrong. There were explosions, hundreds of them, blowing houses away in a single hit each time. The town that young Gregory Murphy had grown up in was being torn apart piece by piece.
His eyes allowed tears to drip down and his mind allowed fear to grip him. This was judgement day. The UEA had finally amassed their fleet in a position to strike back at the countries that had started this war against them. They were bombing London, the greatest city to stand since the final terrorist acts in 2018. They had the ability to blow the city away in a single shot, one nuclear missile head on into the centre of the city would take it all out, and there would be no risk… but they chose the slow and painful approach. They would blow up every single building and then…
Greg’s bedroom door burst open, and an older woman flew in, tears pouring down her face, fear causing her to shake as she crossed the room, staring out the window. “Gr-Greg.” She stuttered, looking, not out at the city but at her son. “W-we ha-have to go.”
“No.” Greg said simply, staring out as everything that he once new was destroyed. “There’s nowhere we can go… not and survive…” he sighed, allowing a new wave of tears to flow down his face. “The city is gone, and we have no defence…” The young man continued to watch as more and more of the city disappeared under the wave of these explosions. He knew it already, they were all dead. No force in this world or the next could save them from their fate, and he was resigned to it.
His mother sat down on his bed. Shock spread through her like water flooding into a bottle. She was quickly overcome and unmovable.
Greg did not move to her, instead he continued to gaze out of the window. The bombing was coming closer and closer. They only had a few minutes left… if that.

A loud bang sounded behind them. A bang not of explosives. It brought Greg out of his gazing and into his room. He turned to a man in full battle attire. His eye was bruised and his nose bloody. He staggered into Gregory’s room and fell to the floor.
for some reason, unexplainable to Greg, he felt compelled to help the soldier. They only had a few moments to live, why not use it to aid someone?
Gregory knelt beside the soldier and looked down into his eyes. “It’s all right.” He said to the man who appeared to be dying. “In a moment you won’t feel the pain.” He smiled. “The Blitz is happening outside. Soon, there won’t be anything.” Unsurprisingly this thought did nothing to relieve the man’s fears. He stared wide eyed at the man and reached for his wrist, where a number of buttons laid waiting to be pressed.