The Electric Eagle

Chapter 2 - The Age of the Flood

On Valentine's Day, five months after the Shard collapsed, London lay immersed in water. Where steel and glass once reached towards the sky, murky waves lapped against crumpled buildings. The bars and restaurants of Soho had turned in on themselves, folding on top of the winding streets. Once lined by peaceful walkways, the Thames now spilled into the surrounding neighbourhoods. The roads around Bermondsey had sunk into canals, with boats carting canned goods and large containers of drinking water to homes south of the river. Towards West London, the Houses of Parliament had entirely collapsed, its historic halls filled with sewage and sea water. Out into Chelsea, large town homes stood completely empty, oak furniture and designer fabric bobbing along the streets. Over in Camden Town, a river now flowed down from Regent's Park, crashing into The Underworld bar. The roads once alive with punk rock, rainbow fabric, and pint of pale ale, sunk beneath the floods. The Overcasts were now disseminating a new message, that humanity had entered the Age of the Flood. The party had complete control over the screens and skies, and thousands echoed their teachings.

...

Confined to his attic, Finn's online world had dwindled to a mere shadow of its former glory. That Saturday morning, he slumped over the computer, aimlessly scrolling through Cast Social as the relentless rain battered the roof above. The home screen of the app was a soft sky blue, a hue that was initially designed to evoke feelings of calm, but now only served as a reminder of the sky he could no longer see. The widgets surrounding the central feed blinked with a cold efficiency, each one a gateway to the various Cast-owned apps that had become an inescapable part his online life. They were interconnected threads of a digital web that now funnelled fanatical teachings to the few who could still access the internet, feeding off their desperation. For months, before the Overcasts launched their own server, the internet had been switched off completely, plunging Finn into a suffocating silence. The only solace he found during that time came from the books that littered his attic. A bartered copy of Sherlock Holmes lay beside him, its once-crisp cover now softened, a testament to the countless nights he had spent lost in the mysteries of Victorian London. The book now sat beside his computer, alongside a photography book his mother used to keep on the coffee table in their living room. Its pages were now teared and splattered with faint rings of tea. Finn had poured over the pages again and again, his fingers tracing the soft shapes that depicted a world of light and colour, so far removed from the grey reality he now faced. The isolation had become a constant companion, a heavy weight that settled deep in his chest. He had lost touch with all the friends he once knew from Dulwich College, their faces now nothing more than faded memories in the back of his mind. Scrolling mindlessly through the Cast app, he searched for any sign of them, any hint that they were still out there, lost in the rain. His eyes glazed over as he flicked through post after post, each one blurring into the next. As he scrolled, a photo of a large open space full of bright green plants and futuristic rooms shaped like bubbles flashed up on his feed feed. Underneath, comments appeared and disappeared quicker than he could blink accusing the Overcasts of disseminating fake news about the Spillships. He sighed and clicked off the window. Nothing felt real from this room. These days, his online world was just as confusing as reality. The charismatic and confident Finn, the boy that girls had pinned after and teachers had fawned for, now sat alone atop a sinking ship.

The attic room was thick with the smell of damp, the scent of decay seeping up through the floorboard. Finn nestled his head in his arms, the fabric of his sweater rough against his skin as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back tears. Despite his futile efforts, the sobs came anyway, shaking his thin frame as he cried for everything he had lost. The sound of his cries echoed in the attic, bouncing off the walls and mingling with the constant patter of rain. Just as the violent wave of emotion threatened to consume him, his phone vibrated. The sudden sensation shocked him back to life, jolting him from his sorrow. Finn lifted his head, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand as he reached for the device. He pressed the home button and the screen lit up, casting a soft glow across his tear-streaked face. In that moment, the world outside the attic seemed to pause, the rain slowing to a gentle drizzle as if waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next. Finn's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the text message, his breath catching in his throat. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the screen, a small wave of hop rushing through him.