July 17th 03:13 AM GMT London Underground - Central Line The CCTV feed flickered once-twice-then went dark for exactly 3.4 seconds. Just enough time for someone to disappear. The man stepped off the eastbound train at Bank Station, blending into the early morning lull like a ghost. He wore a gray hoodie, jeans, and mirrored sunglasses-at night. No one looked twice. No one ever did. The black duffel bag at his side dragged slightly, its contents heavy and packed tight. He walked with purpose, left at the escalators, right down the maintenance corridor. He held a key card. Swiped once. Green light. The corridor beyond was dark. Dust hung in the stale air like fog. Pipes ran along the walls, dripping with condensation, hissing occasionally like something alive. He moved fast-he'd walked this exact route a dozen times in simulations. Every camera had already looped. Every motion detector was offline. He was a ghost in the system. At precisely 03:17 AM, the man opened the bag, revealing a matte black cylinder the length of a forearm. Wires. LED timer. The kind of thing that made cleanup teams throw up. He set it down beneath the steel grating of the track's main junction-then vanished into the dark the same way he arrived. When the explosion hit, it wasn't just a blast. It was a message. Four thousand miles away and exactly simultaneously, a fireball erupted under Manhattan's Lexington Avenue Line-killing twenty-nine and injuring over two hundred. The President was awakened mid-sentence during a NATO briefing. London's Prime Minister was evacuated to an undisclosed bunker. Sirens echoed across both cities as phones buzzed, social feeds lit up, and fear gripped the world like a vice. But that was only the beginning.
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