Newromancer

Illustration by Chris Bianchi from Le Gun for Toby Litt's 'Newromancer'

“Oi, you!”

He means me.

“Yes, I mean you, young feller-me-laddie.” Should have stuck to the backstreets, but I thought the peasouper was thick enough to keep me hidden.

“Right. See this building here?”

How could I miss it?

“This building is officially on fire.”

I look up at the vast concrete frontage of 300 Oxford Street, the former John Lewis building. 300 Oxford Street is definitely not on fire, although I know exactly what the Fire Warden means.

And thank the Lord it is a Fire Warden, not a Crip. Our boys in blue have some major firepower, and dogs. Major dogs.

“What on Earth do you think you’re up to, breaking the curfew? Don’t you know there’s a war on?”

This Fire Warden is albino, pug-ugly, and sounds like he’s enjoying 2040 much more than any of the rest of his (I’d guess) fourty years.

He has an automatic shoved down the waistband of his trousers. From what I can see of the handle, this looks real enough, but most of the Wardens’ weapons are fake — carved out of wood then painted grey. The man’s helmet is definitely papier-mache and chickenwire — I can see the crosshatching on the underbrim. Can’t see much else, though, because he’s shining his torch right in my eyes. It’s been a long time since I faced a light so bright. This must be what proper squint-making sunshine was like.

“Now, look lively and sharpish and all that milarkey and get yourself back down the underground while this raid’s still on.”

Read all at the Times Online Eureka magazine