Chapter 1: London, Earth 1933

  The cobblestone street was darkened by the fall of mist.

  John strode forwards, his hand pushing down his fedora in an attempt to shield his ears from the fierce cold wind. Frost dug into his boots as he breathed into his palm, desperate to warm his fingertips. The street was barely lit, oil lamps flickering in the darkness. It wasn’t long before he ran down the avenue, footsteps echoing across the cobbles. Panting and gasping for breath he leaned against a nearby brick wall, placing his hand on its cool surface.

  He was in pursuit of someone, something.

  John was drenched in sweat, his bones aching with exhaustion. He spotted the faint image of a lone officer, a familiar face in the dark. In an instant his hand shot up signalling for him to follow, his sleeve rippling in the cold wind. They continued walking along the road, using the dark to conceal their advance. Shadows danced in the lamplight as they slowly edged their way downward, careful not to make a sound. Suddenly, as he turned the corner, he spotted them: an image, a blur in the dark, crouched only a few meters away. John’s hand shot up and the officer nodded. He reached into his coat pocket, the thick fabric stretching as he fumbled for his revolver. The hilt was cold in his sweaty palm. He took aim, fired. Smoke rose from the barrel. However, he was too late.

  Shots echoed across the ghoulish road as the officer collapsed, a sharp cry flying from his lips. John dived into a nearby doorway taking cover before firing three times into the dark. Muzzle flashes lit up the street as he clumsily fed bullets into the cylinder. He sprinted forwards as fast as his legs could muster. When he reached the officer, his lifeless eyes stared back, the heat draining from his body and into the frosted ground. John was about to reach into his coat pocket when a bullet grazed his temple, causing blood to splatter upon the pavement. Clutching his head, he scrambled on all fours to take cover behind a nearby car. He fumbled with one more bullet as he reloaded, sweat dripping off his fingers. Bullets ricocheted causing sparks to fly from the steel wall.

  Finally, John stepped forwards, hair waving in the cool mist. "What's your plan here?"

  He continued walking forwards, gun in hand, eyes peering into the street.

  Three shots flew out from a nearby alley hitting the lampposts and plunging us into the dark, "I don't understand here. What's your plan?" he cried.

  No response came.

  "Don't you understand you’re going to die?" John shouted, voice shaking.

  John swivelled his head, trying to keep watch from every angle. Now walking directly in the middle of the road, he kept his hand outstretched, forefinger twitching on the trigger.

  Suddenly, a bullet flew from behind him, whizzing past his shoulder.

  He saw the attacker sprinting off in the distance. Scurrying through the streets, he raced after him, his own tailcoat flapping in the wind. John looked back and fired while running, the bullet flying past his shoulder. He closed his eyes hoping for the best as he charged forwards. Turning the corner, the attacker stumbled for a moment before standing in terror. A dead end lay in front, a wall of pavement blocking their path. Seeing the opportunity, John threw himself at a nearby car as the bullets flew by, planting themselves with a cloud of dust in a nearby stone wall.

  "Missed me," John coughed while dusting off his coat. "Are you going to give up yet?" he cried.

  Still no response. He stood up, trying to make out a figure in the dark.

  "You know I can't," he shouted back.

  "You know I had to ask," John replied coolly.

  The officer brushed a layer of sweat off his brow as snowflakes began to slowly fall.

  This time, when the attacker tried to reload, John seized his chance and ran out. Carelessly spraying into the night he fired three times, two shots finding their target and hitting the shoulder. He stuttered back, leaning against a poster, blood splattering against Churchill's painted head.

  Returning the favour, he weakly aimed his gun at me and fired. Seeing death stand in front, he braced for the worst and tried to shoot—disable the attacker before he could land a lethal blow—yet there was no barrage of bullets streaming his way. The hand of death did not lie outstretched, simply the disturbing sound of an empty gun.

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  "Why?" he asked.

  "Nothing personal," John replied.

  Their eyes met, the eyes of a killer staring heartlessly into one of their own kind. For a second they stood as if frozen in time, every breath a millennium, every heartbeat a drum that echoed across the abandoned cobbles. Both were unsure of what would happen. Would John end his life now, murder him in cold blood? Would he fulfil a destiny that would haunt his dreams for eternity? They both waited, and for a moment in time nothing mattered. He knew he was about to die, yet would he accept the fate, would he accept the ultimate defeat?

  "Interesting," he said.

  He utilized John’s hesitation and tossed his gun carelessly to the floor. The metal clang echoed across the street, ringing in his ears. Breathing hurriedly, he pulled out a small metallic switchblade and clenched his teeth, blood trickling from the wound in his shoulder. John tried to fire, but he too came dry, so he fumbled for a bullet, fingers slipping on the new round. His heart pounded, adrenaline and inertia coursing through his veins.

  At that moment, the unspeakable happened. Light blared from all directions as wind like no other blew them to the ground. A flying craft swarmed ahead, casting a strange humming sound throughout the air. It was beautifully terrifying. John shielded his vision from the penetrating rays, a feeble attempt at blocking it by raising his hand. It burned the back of his eyes, causing him to cry out in anguish. He looked at the murderer and saw the same emotions: absolute astonishment, wonder, horror.

  They both stood still, unsure of what to do, two statues, completely motionless, in awe and completely unaware of their own destiny. Gaping with open mouths at the sky, they gazed in horror as the light cast its radiant glow. Then, the craft lowered. The blinding rays persisted to increase until it was impossible to see, a beam of power burning through John’s eyes and embedding itself into both men’s skulls. John buried his face into the coat, hoping the thick fabric would protect his vision.

  The craft landed, and the world stood still. A catastrophic wave of terror crept across his brain, causing his senses to go numb one by one, and soon, his memory faded into the dark.

  Six hours later, John awoke. His eyelids struggled to remain open, as his body and limbs tore in anguish. The surrounding room was completely white, a monochrome hue that shimmered in the dark. A creature moved in the corner, its face hidden by a gas mask and its arms clad in thick plastic. The being stalked forwards towards John, a tube of glass surrounding his upright chair.

  Looking beside him, John gazed into the terror-stricken eyes of his companion. His fatigues had been parted to reveal enemy colours, but his eyes still pleaded with the same familiar desperation.

  John’s hands were bound; however, his clothes and his possessions were the same. Eyes darting side to side, he analysed his surroundings. On the nearby table lay both their guns. One had been carefully disassembled, its parts laid out in paraphernalia of metal. The other was intact. John shook his sleeve slightly to reveal a broken lancet was hidden beneath the grey fabric.

  With a single movement, he threw it into his hand, hiding it in a closed fist. Then he began sawing away at his bonds, teeth chewing at his lips in anticipation as the creature stirred. He was silent, careful not to draw any attention as the world outside bled into motion. John’s eyes fixed upon on the horror in front. The creature moved to his companion, closed a glass door, and pressed three consecutive buttons on his tube. Lights flashed overhead and the man inside went berserk, limbs flailing as he made a desperate attempt to break through the glass.

  The madman screamed in desperation as he watched the bottom of the compartment open. He and his chair fell, plummeting into the unknown.

  Then the creature approached the second tube. Once it came to open the door, it placed a clump of wiring on John’s head and pressed it.

  The neural mesh spread like tendrils seeping into the flaking skin. John tried to fight back, but it was futile, his limbs frozen at the touch.

  An electric shock startled his brain as he saw his memories fly away, slowly disappearing into the endless dark. Tears streaking down his face, he tried to take one last defiant look at people he had loved before they were reduced to tar. His brain fell flat, eyes lifeless as only a facial twitch mirrored the agonizing pain.

  Taking the only chance he had at stabbing his captor, with a single slash, John ripped through its chest. The thick cloth stretched with the laceration as he plunged his knife deep. The creature roared back, green thick puss squirting in every direction. It then ran forwards, taking out a small metal tube, and pressing a button on the side extending it to at least a foot. A flow of electricity was visible at its tip. However, it was too late. The next stab John landed was in its brain. Yellow blood splattered across the room as the animal sank to the floor, dead. The moment the corpse touched the ground a newfound sound echoed around him.

  “Kutcha, kill, hauihi. Kutcha, kill, hauihi. Kutcha, kill, hauihi. Kutcha, kill, hauihi.”

  John sliced the second bond before he ran forwards and grabbed his pistol and ammo from the table. Suddenly, a wall shifted open, and three more of the creatures entered. This time they each fired an electric ray from a white tube, scorching the room. A blast whizzed past his head, blowing a hole into the wall and leaving a smouldering panel behind. He backed into his compartment and hastily closed the door, the projectiles deflecting off the glass walls.

  The creatures strode forwards and pressed the same sequence into the keypad as the last one.

  John banged on the screen, trying to escape his cage. However, his blows had no impact, the material absorbing every strike. Spit flew from his mouth, splattering against the visor, yet soon it was too late, and the tube began to shift, sinking deep into the abyss below. He stood, heart-pounding for a split second, before an explosion of colour escaped from below. A pond of dimensions, the very sight of the portal hurt his mind, making him scream in agony as he slammed his eyes shut.

  Desperate for both air and light, he was submerged in an unknown liquid, flailing and gasping for three seconds before his limbs stopped moving, an icy ray cast upon his body. Two more seconds and his mind ended.