London time, 4:35 AM
4 minutes until deep crimson alert arrives.
It's beginning to drizzle from the sky. Next to Whitehall, in the Westminster District, beneath the compound alloy fiber reinforced concrete defensive layers of several meters thick of No. 10 Downing Street, an underground bunker.
The elites of Great Britain scurried through the intricate network of tunnels, each clutching one or more phones, racing against time to gather intel, communicate information, and seek assistance.
Armed officers, plainclothes agents, and soldiers dispatched urgently had no clue of what was happening and could only stand at the corridors' doorways, acting as security statues.
Meanwhile, they perked their ears, attempting to piece together the truth of the event from the snatches of conversation leaking from the surrounding cacophony of phone calls.
