It was just like any other day in London save for the lack of fog. There was no premonitions of doom, no foreboding signs. That's when it happened. The light, hot and blinding, stretched from horizon to horizon. In less than a second, the blast of radiation hit the Earth, every town and city, every part of the surface all at once, causing an atomic reaction unlike anything previously seen before. The magnetic field of the planet changed. Electronic devices were instantly fried. People minding their own business anywhere without significant protection from the sun were vaporized, leaving only their shadows behind.

Once the flare faded, there was no life left to continue to enjoy the day. Iconic London black cabs and red double-decker buses, suddenly without drivers or passangers, crashed into each other and the sides of empty buildings. Boats cruising along the Thames, both commuter vessels and cargo ships, hit pylons and piers they might have docked with. Bridges and roadways were damaged and impassible. The sky has turned to a hazy green. Pubs and museums stand open but empty. The grass at St. James Park and the gardens of Kensington are shriveled and brown.

This is what our Apocalypse looks like.

Only those stuck in the London Underground Tube system managed to survive the initial flare. And what's more, the strange solar activity has ripped open a hole in the fabric of space-time, dumping people that should not be there into the heart of the city where the Trafalgar Square lion stands guard.

The disaster is not yet over. Oh no. There is so much more to come.

Welcome to London Lost.