A couple of hours later, Virtue found herself gripping the wheel of her dad’s old Mustang, the beat-up dashboard rattling as she drove across Tower Bridge. The sun was setting behind her, washing the city in hues of orange and pink, and the sky seemed to glow like some kind of painting. She’d done two rides already, both pretty uneventful—an older guy who barely spoke a word, and a student who chatted about his course. She’d smiled, nodded, and kept her eyes on the road. Easy money, she’d thought.
But now, as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, something about the air felt different. Heavy. She glanced at the screen of her phone, mounted on the dashboard. The Paragon app showed her next pickup—a pin dropped somewhere deep in the city, close to the Tower of London. The name was just… strange. “Mr. Null.”
“Okay, Mr. Null. Whoever you are,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Please don’t be a weirdo.”
The bridge beneath her seemed to hum as she drove across it, the rhythmic clatter of the old Mustang’s tires on the uneven road blending with the low rumble of the Thames. She was stuck in traffic, the bridge congested with cars inching forward slowly. Horns blared impatiently, and Virtue sighed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. The engine noise was off—the timing sounded wrong, a rough unevenness that made her frown. The car had been her dad’s pride and joy, but it had seen better days. The app’s GPS flickered for a moment, then recalibrated. Virtue frowned. The screen seemed off, like the colors were inverted, and the text shifted into something she couldn’t quite read—some strange, glyph-like script.
“Come on, don’t glitch on me now,” she muttered, tapping the screen, her finger smudging the glass. The air outside grew colder, the kind of cold that seemed to seep through the car doors and wrap itself around her shoulders. She shivered. The headlights of oncoming cars seemed to dim as if swallowed by the growing darkness, and a thick fog rolled over the bridge, the London skyline disappearing into the haze. The sound of the traffic around her grew muffled, as though the entire world was being wrapped in cotton. Virtue glanced around, confusion rising. The other cars were still there, but their outlines blurred, the taillights fading in and out as if she was seeing them through a veil.
Suddenly, the Mustang’s engine sputtered, and Virtue swore under her breath, the steering wheel vibrating in her hands. “No, no, don't crap out on me!. Not now!” She tried to steady the car, but it felt like she was driving through molasses—everything around her moving in slow motion. The cars that had been around her seemed to vanish entirely, replaced by shadowy figures that moved in the fog, their shapes distorted and shifting. She blinked, her heart pounding as she realized that what had been a traffic jam moments before was now a desolate, empty bridge.
The streetlights lining Tower Bridge flickered and then blinked out, plunging her into a strange twilit world. Virtue’s heart hammered in her chest. She could barely see a few feet ahead of her, the headlights doing little to cut through the fog. The cars, the people—everything had vanished. She was alone, the Mustang barely crawling forward, the cobblestones beneath her tires replacing the bridge's asphalt without her even realizing when it had changed. “What the actual—” she began, but her voice trailed off as she caught sight of something in the mist.
Figures. Silhouettes moving on either side of the bridge, like shadowy outlines walking slowly, almost gliding. She glimpsed more figures through the mist, their strange attire barely visible. Fancy dress, she thought. Strange... Halloween is still a month away. They seemed to flicker in and out, like an old TV with a failing signal. Virtue blinked, her knuckles white on the wheel. The fog thickened, and with each passing second, it felt less like she was in her own London and more like she had slipped into a dream—a really weird, really creepy dream. Out of nowhere, a figure lurched out of the mist, its form cadaverous and shuffling. Skeletal feature, skin hanging in folds from a long face. Virtue’s eyes widened, her pulse quickening. She muttered under her breath, "Please, not crackheads... just my luck."
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Suddenly, her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a notification: “You have arrived at your destination.” Virtue squinted at the screen. There was no way she’d reached Mr. Null yet. She was still on the bridge. But as she glanced up, the road ahead was gone. In its place was something entirely different—a cobblestone street, narrow and lined with old gas lamps that seemed to flicker with a ghostly blue light. The modern bridge, the heavy traffic, the sound of London—all of it had vanished, replaced by an eerie, almost timeless version of itself. The skyline that had been familiar moments before now seemed distorted, ancient, like a version of London that never quite existed—something out of a fever dream.
The street was lined with strange architecture, buildings that loomed impossibly tall, their facades adorned with carvings that seemed to move when she wasn't looking directly at them. The air was thick, charged, like it was alive. Her heart pounded as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. It was as if she had driven straight out of her own reality into another one, another London where time twisted and reality folded in on itself.
She could feel the change in her bones—an almost electric vibration that made her fingertips tingle, the deep hum of something powerful that seemed to resonate beneath the ground. The world had changed around her, and it felt like there was no going back.
“What...?” Virtue breathed, her eyes wide as she slowed the car to a crawl. The Mustang rumbled as it rolled onto the uneven cobblestones, the tires crunching over stones that shouldn’t even be there. As Virtue continued down the cobblestone streets, she felt a strange vibration around her, a deep hum that seemed to resonate through the car. A rattle that became a roar. Her vision blurred, her head growing heavy, and before she could react, darkness overcame her.
She woke up groggy, her face pressed against the cracked leather upholstery—the same worn leather as always. But something felt different. Virtue blinked, disoriented, her senses slowly coming back to her. A cool breeze brushed across her face, and she realized she wasn't inside the Mustang anymore. She was sitting on top of a carriage, like an old-fashioned stagecoach, her seat now exposed to the elements, as though she was the driver.
Virtue slowly sat up, the world around her swimming into focus. In front of her, a horse neighed, its head turning to look at her inquisitively. The fog began to clear slightly, revealing a twisted version of London. To her right, Tower Bridge loomed—but it was huge, much larger than normal, its silhouette imposing against the dark sky. The road around her was lined with figures, no longer just silhouettes but fully revealed—a strange collection of supernatural beings.
The ones she had assumed were in fancy dress were anything but. There were tall figures with elongated limbs, their eyes glowing faintly in the dark, while others looked like twisted versions of animals—human forms with bestial faces, spectral beings that floated inches above the ground. Virtue’s heart pounded as she tried to make sense of it all, her hands gripping the reins instinctively. On either side of her, the figures in the mist seemed to draw closer, their features still obscured by the thick fog.
The bridge, the modern London she knew—it was gone. Replaced by something ancient, something that felt alive in a way that was both breathtaking and terrifying.
More figures emerged from the mist—Victorian garb, but something was off. Long coats with high collars, top hats, and lace veils, their eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. Among them were beings that looked distinctly different—elvish figures with pointed ears and elegant, flowing clothing, as well as stout, muscular individuals with thick beards and deep-set eyes, reminiscent of dwarves. Humans moved alongside them, blending into the surreal crowd.
“What the hell...” Virtue called out in alarm. Her shock multiplied tenfold when the horse tethered to the carriage turned its head to look directly at her and spoke. “You think you’re having a bad day? I just went from 500 horsepower down to one.”