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Really, it all started with the cold. It had probably been there earlier than we thought, of course. Biding its time as these things do. Waiting for just the right moment, a show of weakness perhaps, to reveal itself and descend on our unsuspecting city.
	It was the seventh day of January that the cold made itself known. On that day, the icy wind that swept through London seemed to corrupt every inch of its concrete and steel being. The people on the streets and in the bars and aboard the trains all withdrew further into themselves, as though in the vain hope of keeping warm. Gloves and hats and scarves were worn, but to no avail. The cold that crept through London that day chilled far more than our skins.