** A young woman sees a walking dead in the open streets of Whitby. A train full of corpses crashes into Kings Cross. In an Asylum, a gruesome nightmare becomes horrible reality.
All this should have been a warning to Kyle and his partner Benjamin...
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England, London Trafalgar Square October 03, 1899, 07:44 a.m.
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Beyond the dark and winding alleyways of Soho, where pitiful figures vegetated close together, furrowed like mangy animals in narrow chambers, London literally breathed a sigh of relief. The streets became broader and brighter, and the facades of the houses became white and clean. Fine coats, walking sticks, and top hats replaced clothes full of holes, dirt, and sweat. A dozen or so carriages pulled by sturdy horses crossed the busy streets of Trafalgar Square, passing the two large fountains and the awe-inspiring monument in honor of Admiral Nelson.
"One would think it would be harder to get a cab in London with an unconscious man," Dr. Archer grumbled in disbelief as he and Kyle Crowford stepped out of their vehicle. It leaned slightly to one side under the weight of the occupants and squeaked as Kyle stepped off the rusty step onto the sidewalk.
He let out a soft laugh, which was immediately dampened by a pained gasp as he heaved the arm of the unconscious O'Brien over his slender shoulders.
"You just don't understand the fundamental rules of the London streets, Doctor: if you look the other way, you don't get into trouble. Such behavior is immensely advantageous for someone in our line of work. Well, and for criminals, of course," Kyle explained to his partner, his voice a mix of caution and confidence, as they dragged the motionless villain as quickly and inconspicuously as possible into an alley behind the National Gallery and a secret passageway.
Behind an inconspicuous, heavy door made of bleached wood, they entered a dimly lit chamber. Only a single, weathered oil lantern illuminated the tiny room, in the middle of which a spiral staircase spiraled downwards. Next to a small side table, a figure dressed in plain working-class clothes sat on an old chair before a solitaire game and looked up.
In the shadow of the slouch hat, two glowing dots seemed to shine where the man's eyes should be.
Although Kyle had already passed the scrutinizing gaze of the silent guard dozens of times, his heart inevitably beat a little faster each time. He raised his hand briefly and pointed his finger at the unconscious O'Brien.
