Time was when London was a great city. People from all over the world flocked to live here. They came from every part of the country. They came from Europe. From Africa. From Asia.

They came from the far corners of the world. By boat and plane. In cars and on foot.

They took jobs, found love, brought their kids up. They lived in safety. Most of them. They made the city great. Made it a beacon of light in a new world.

Time was when, in summer, you could walk through the streets and smell a thousand smells, taste the food on the air. When you could see the smiles and the happiness on the faces of the people who made their lives here.

You could go wherever you wanted. Do whatever you liked. It was a great city. A magnet. A symbol.

The thing about time is, it ticks and it tocks, and before you know it there isn't as much left as you thought.

The seconds pass, the minutes and the hours. Days become weeks and years rush past like water flowing down a mountainside, towards the sea.

Change comes. Change came. The kind of change no one wants, except for a few.
Bad things made themselves a part of our world, and London wasn't great anymore. It wasn't anything except a memory. And they don't like memories here these days.

When summer rolls up, when the sun shines on the city, the only thing you smell is decay. The only place you can go is your own Grid. The only thing you can think is how hungry you are and what's going to happen to your family if you can't find enough food to feed them.

So sometimes, when I haven't got much left, I just find a dark little corner somewhere. There's enough of them these days. And I sit there. Sit with my eyes tight shut. And I think about what we had. Take myself back there. Go and live in another place. The place I knew.

The place I loved.

And after a while, something brings me back. A sound, usually. I open my eyes, slowly. Open them and hope. Hope that I've remembered the past so well that it's returned.

But it never has. And the clock keeps ticking.

London is dead. A new London lives. A city ruled by John Bull, the king of London and the Protector of Free Men. What you knew is no more. The familiar is strange and the creeping threat of John Bull's grip hangs over all who live within the boundaries of his power. The Centre. The Grids. His dominion. His city. His words wrapping themselves around you, as he invites you to join him in the resurrection of the metropolis, as he gives you no choice but to follow his orders. Orders delivered through the tentacles of control that reach out across the broken boroughs and crumbling streets of this once great city. Stampers. Threadneedles. Black Cabs. The Cult of the Grids. His tools of control.

Four young friends - Hector, Cesar, Kemi and Molly - trying to find their way as best they can in a Grid they have no choice but to call home. Their lives shaped beneath the hard, worn boot of John Bull's rule. Shaped in the shadowed eyes of the Stampers. In a city where Brocks hide in plain sight, waiting to whisper your secrets to the enemy. In this city, silence is the path to safety. But the voice of youth can only be denied for so long. And the words of love demand to be said.

All that is solid yields to ash. And yet, that which cannot crumble soldiers on. Hope, love, justice. Hector, Cesar, Kemi and Molly must make their choices. They must decide whose side they are on. And they must choose whether to kneel at the feet of John Bull, or whether to fight for a city that is free.
The London Trilogy follows the story of four young friends as their lives spiral out of control in John Bull's London. A city you thought you knew, ruled by a man who knows you better than you know yourself. The Centre is waiting for you. The Grids are waiting for you. John Bull is waiting for you. And he knows you will have to pick a side ...