LOG: 001 | Location: East London | Time: 02:45 AM, January 12, 2026
The London sky tonight is a sickly, pale blue—faded like the eyes of a dead fish. Even in this gleaming, high-tech metropolis of 2026, a heavy, suffocating stillness hangs in the air. I am Elias Arkham. As I sit in my studio apartment lab, typing these words, I can feel the world around me beginning to warp.
For the past three days, London's power grid has been dead. The masses believe it's a technical glitch, but I know the truth is far more terrifying. On my desk, my father's old analog watch suddenly let out a sharp, metallic screech. The second hand began to spin violently—backward.
At that exact moment, every holographic screen in my room flickered to life simultaneously. This wasn't a hacker, nor a virus. The screens seemed to writhe in agony, their blue pixels bleeding away to reveal a deep, crimson map. It was a coordinate—a point buried deep within the heart of the Sundarbans, Bangladesh.
Then, a message tore through the center of the screen:
"The last drop of blood... Have you heard the call of the sleeper?"
A cold shiver raced down my spine as I read those words. My smartphone suddenly grew scalding hot, as if something alive was pulsing inside it. I tried to hurl it away, but then I saw it—the camera lens was no longer a piece of optical glass. It had transformed into a reptilian eye, narrow and slit, observing me with ancient malice.
Outside, a deafening roar echoed from the direction of the River Thames. It wasn't the sound of an engine; it sounded like a colossal beast mourning from beneath the depths. I realize now that my safe days in London are over. Something deep within my blood is screaming, "Run, Elias! There is no place for you here anymore."
I have packed my backpack. All I have left is my father's mysterious silver locket. I don't know if I will still be part of this world by tomorrow morning.