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reporter told the viewers about the closure of the Channel Tunnel, and then went into the history of how it was made, stating indirectly that she also had no idea what was going on, and was trying to stretch out her so-called report.
    One recorded video was played every five minutes. It was a video of a London politician being attacked by half a dozen people, and being eaten alive. The VT stopped there, as obviously the cameramen had either been attacked, or had the sense to make a run for it.
    Jack watched it for twenty minutes before turning away from the TV; the reporters and newsreaders were constantly repeating themselves, experts were brought on to be interviewed and pretended to have the answers on something they knew nothing about.
    W hy don't the arrogant bastards just admit that they don't know?
    He headed for the mini bar and pulled out a miniature bottle of Jim Beam. He swallowed it in one. This wasn't an attempt to get drunk once more; Jack's nerves were shot to pieces and the surrealism of what was occurring before his eyes had to be dealt with in whatever way he deemed fit. He headed towards the closed blinds, and stood opposite them with his hand on the cord ready to twist them open. His tried his best to control his breathing, and was dreading what was going to greet his eyes as he opened the blinds.
    Without hesitating any longer and wanting to quench the intense build-up, he twisted the blinds open and pulled the cord to slowly open them fully. As they parted, he took a careful look out of his hotel window, expecting scenes of carnage.
    The hotel was situated within Central Station, and as he looked out on Union Street, where opposite there was the usual shops like, Poundland and Burger King, he noticed there wasn't a soul in sight, which wasn't totally unusual as it was Sunday morning. Even on a Sunday morning, however, Jack expected Glasgow to have one or two souls moping about. Maybe a drunk here and there, a police presence, or the odd Eastern European beggar that the city seemed plagued with these days, but there was nothing.
    He looked back at his room and wondered if everyone had left the hotel. But where to? Somewhere remote where they could be considered safe? Or back home with their families? He looked back at his phone and read the text messages from Kerry once more. He thought about a chemical attack and maybe the gas had caused people to become crazy, but his brain suddenly reminded him from what he had seen on the TV that the theory had been quashed by the media, as nothing had been picked up.
    It appeared that whatever scientist was being interviewed, the logical answer was that it was some kind of virus. Other reports began to filter through, but they were mainly theories. One claimed it could be a gas released and was a secretive infectious terrorist attack that was made in a Taliban laboratory. Another strongly claimed it was definitely a UK based virus originally, as there was only pockets of activity in other countries, whereas the UK was almost on its knees, and he fully believed that the virus was related to the attacks at a Newcastle Biochemical Research Centre at the beginning of June.
    The religious leaders, however, predictably claimed that it was the apocalypse created by God. Jack knew that even with all of knowledge and scientific advancements today, humans still did not know everything.
    The TV suggested that whatever was happening was only happening in some sections of Europe, yet the Far East were in mass panic, including reports that planes from Europe heading for the likes of China and Russia, were told to turn back or risk being shot down. Due to fuel shortages, there were reports that some planes were landing in fields. But the information was very limited as the virus, although spreading rapidly, was still in its infancy.
    "Idiots!" Jack snarled at the television. "You don't even know what the fuck's going on. Do you? Just admit it!"
    For a full minute, he stood on his