U.K. London, England
June 9, 2026
Eight Years After Contact
On Tower Bridge, a man stood overlooking the Thames. On one side was the proud, war-torn nation of the United Kingdom. On the other side was a horde. A savage enemy that fought without mercy. Without remorse or regret. T'was only hatred that fueled the enemy to keep pushing forward.. This man overlooking the Thames was one, Captain Domnall. The 3rd Battalion of Scotland had seen better days as well as the City of London itself. This however, would perhaps be the last time the Union Jack flew proudly over the once great City of London. This was Britain's last stand. This tiny island was all that stood between what could only be described as the Equestrian Reich and the rest of the world. Nearly 100 years before, Adolf Hitler stood where Prince Shining Armor of the Equestrian military stood now. The fires of the blitz grew closer, brighter, and hotter. Too his right was the Houses of Parliament, to his left was the London Eye. Some of the greatest landmarks of an empire built by over a millennium of conquest and trade. Never before had anyone said the sun would set on the British Empire.
Domnall set his eyes on the poor men chosen to server under him. Only sadness filled their eyes as they knew of their inevitable death. Everyone of them had been issued a cyanide pill. Not particularly painless, but quick enough fortunately for the poor men that would choose plan-b. The smell of smoke clouded the air and made everyone gag and tear up at the retched smell of soot and ash. For three days they had defended the bridge, and refused to let any soul that wandered by march across the Thames. Every now and then there would be some fool dumb enough to think they actually could prance onto the bridge without being pumped full of 7.62 mm rounds. "Captain Domnall, Sir!" A squeaky voice called out. "Yes, Private Graham?" The captain peered over his should to address the soldier.
