Chapter 1

London, 2027

Monday, October 11, 2027, Clerkenwell

Dale woke up to the sound of his alarm at 7 AM, feeling groggy but ready to start the day. He hit the snooze button, savouring a few more minutes of rest before finally rolling out of bed at 7:15. After a quick shower, he got dressed and headed to the kitchen for breakfast. His flatmates, James, and Alex, were already up and about, chatting over coffee and toast.

James was a software developer, typically glued to his laptop with a cup of coffee at hand. Tall and lean, he had a dry wit that often lightened the mood in their flat. Alex, a junior architect, was the more organized one and preparing to head out already.

“Morning guys!” Dale said. The others grunted back.

The TV in the corner played the morning news, mostly the usual. President Trump’s deportations were getting into swing. An activist was on the TV was complaining about the deportations, but the Labour government was keeping quiet so as not to upset relations. Meanwhile Europe was lurching further to the right causing more pressure on Britain with its more lenient migration policy. The Labour government had seen off massive riots around the country. Keir Starmer had proven highly effective in quashing the protests, if not the sentiment behind them. As further director of public prosecution, he knows how to make the law work for him, had courts sit marathon sessions and locked up anyone who dissented. He hadn’t had to introduce much new legislation. Britain had all the tools and locked people up for offences from ‘attending unauthorized gatherings’, ‘causing disruption’ to ‘causing distress online’. Under the 1976 Race Relations Act they essentially kept all of the press in line. They wouldn’t have to worry until the next election but that was another two years away. Meanwhile, things flared up occasionally, but justice was always swift. The story of the day was about France actively encouraging people to leave for Britain. The Calais camps had been cleared, “safe and legal routes” being the euphemism for an immigration system so lax that there was little need to pay someone to get over on a boat. Things where Dale lived hadn’t changed too noticeably. Central London was already quite cosmopolitan and most of the new arrivals crowded poorer areas.

As Dale sipped his coffee, a brief segment about a new disease emerging from the Niger Delta caught his attention. The news anchor called it HCV-25.

“Looks like they’re looking for an excuse to lock us all up again” Dale joked.

“Not again” James sighed.

The segment continued. There were clusters of infections throughout West Africa, but the health authorities weren’t too worried yet.

By 8:15 AM, Dale was walking to his job as an associate at an American bank. The streets of Clerkenwell were bustling with commuters, and he made his way through the crowd past Farringdon station, enjoying the fresh morning air. The office was its usual hive of activity. Dale settled into his desk, starting his day with a stack of emails and a cup of lukewarm office coffee.

Tuesday, October 12, 2027, Clerkenwell

The day started much the same. Dale went through his morning routine and walked to work. At the water cooler, he bumped into Sharon wearing a mask.

“What’s up?” Dale asked.

“Just being cautious.” Sharon apologised. “You know I’m a bit of a hypochondriac and better safe than sorry.”

“Probably no worse than COVID, and we’ve been through that”, Dale replied.

“I definitely don’t want to go through that again”, Sharon moaned.

Dale checked the news when he got back to his desk and the disease seemed to be spreading in Brazil but without any reported deaths. Dale went to the gym for squat day with his old friend Tom before working late again. They had gone to Uni together and ended up working near each other. Tom had family money which allowed him to buy a flat while Dale was still renting in a flat share. He arranged a date with his girlfriend Emily for the next day. They’d been seeing each other for going on three months. She lived in Marylebone which wasn’t that far away but worked long hours for a consumer goods company in the home counties, so they only saw each other for three or four days a week.

Wednesday, October 13, 2027, Clerkenwell

That evening, he met up with his girlfriend Emily at a cosy pub in Marylebone. Emily worked in marketing and always seemed to be full of energy. As they enjoyed their drinks, she was game planning how a potential pandemic might affect sales and what kind of repositioning they would need to do at work.

Dale stayed the night at Emily’s. While they were having sex, he wondered if he loved her. Was it just the condoms? They hadn’t gotten far enough along yet to drop them. As Emily met his thrusts she was already thinking of her presentation in the morning. They cleaned up with a quick shower and went to sleep.

Thursday, October 14, 2027, Clerkenwell

Dale met Tom for deadlift day. He was getting in a respectable 205kg for 5 reps which he was quite proud of. Tom was going on about how London had changed over the years.

“We’re really becoming an endangered species here. Two English lads in one place.”

It was hard not to notice. The Conservatives had been bad, but Labour just poured fuel on the fire, especially after the riots. To the locals, it felt like a punishment and the gloating of some commentators didn’t help with that perception. London was down to at most 20% ethnic English, and in some areas, it was much lower. Dale wasn’t particularly racist but the overt discrimination against native Brits both for universities and at work could make even the most mild-mannered person resentful. Tom was lucky because his parents could afford to get him his own flat, but most others like Dale ended up in cramped flat shares even if they were making what was considered good money. The promised benefits hadn’t arrived either, with public finances stretched as ever, taxes up and worsening crime.

Friday October 15, 2027, Clerkenwell

They were calling it a pandemic now and debating flight restrictions. Some experts felt that quicker closing of the borders would have made things better last time around. Labour was ideologically opposed to closed borders especially because of the racist overtones of shutting down flights with Africa. In either case, there was going to big a big exercise to make sure people weren’t stranded abroad. Dale wondered if it qualified as being stranded abroad if a Nigerian was stranded in Nigeria, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t the one setting policy.

In the evening Dale went for drinks with Emily and some of her friends. As he was scanning the room he thought to himself that he hadn’t done too bad. Emily was a good-looking tall brunette and a year older than him at 28. She kept in decent shape by regularly running. They had met on Tinder and immediately hit off. The sex was generally good, and she was clever and driven which he admired. Her friends were a mixed bunch that he mostly wasn’t that interested in, though he was good at not showing it Her best friend was an Italian girl she knew from university who had ended up in marketing after studying something related to the history of religion at Cambridge. Allegra was distractingly cute and if he had met her first, he wouldn’t have minded dating her instead. She was much more petite, around 5’2’’, with chin-length light brown hair and was wearing a very tight skirt that showed off her very shapely and firm ass. If he ever had kids, he wanted them to be tall, but there was a lot of fun to be had fucking a smaller girl, mostly because it was so much easier to pick her up and be in control. She was flirting with him, but Italians were typically flirtier and there was no point risking his relationship. He put his arm around his girlfriend and squeezed her ass instead. She didn’t seem to mind.

Later they went back to her place where they had drunk sex. Dale’s mind drifted to Allegra as he entered Emily from behind. He lasted for a good half hour before they both collapsed on the bed.

Saturday, October 16, 2027, Marylebone

After grabbing breakfast at Spoons, Dale and Emily went their separate ways for the day. Dale texted Tom and they met at the gym. While working out Tom reported his dating woes. Tom was gay and everything was much more body-focused when it came to dating. Having a fit body was the minimum requirement to getting yourself out there. He also saw himself as more manly and didn’t appreciate the more effeminate side of the scene or all the pride and alphabet soup activism that just risked turning society against gays again. They decided to have a guy’s night later and texted a few more friends to meet up that evening. Emily was out shopping and would be with her friends.

Dale and Tom met four more friends at Imperial China behind Leicester Square before moving on for drinks. The area was flooded with tourists but there were still a few good places to go to. After roaming Soho, they ended at Waxy’s near where they had started. As usual, the place was rammed full of a mix of tourists and locals. Dale ended up on the dance floor where a fit Indian bird caught his slightly drunk eye. They ended up snogging in a corner and his dick wanted to take things further. His head got the better of it and in the end, they exchanged numbers. Sneha might be a good backup fuck if things went south with his girlfriend. It was also a clever way to get her name after missing it in the cacophony of the pub, something that had been bothering him.

Sunday, October 17, 2027, Clerkenwell

Dale slept in, had a banana, and went for a run along the river. He managed to nearly get to Canary Wharf before turning around. The run back wasn’t as pleasant both because he was getting exhausted and because the South Bank was filling up with tourists blocking his way. When he got home, he ran some errands and thought about calling Emily. She was out at hockey practice, so he ended up sending her a text. His flatmate James was bored so they went to the Griffin for a pint. The Griffin was a strip pub, one of those institutions the city had retained where you had the atmosphere of a pub but every few minutes a lady dressed only in her underwear and platform shoes would come by with an empty glass and collect a pound from everyone for the next dance. She would then get on stage and strip. It was amazing that they had kept their prices flat for so long. The dancers mostly saw it as an advertisement for the more expensive lap dances though at this time of day, there wasn’t going to be much of that. The roster that day wasn’t that inspiring, though there was one Eastern European girl who put on an impressive performance and could have been a failed ballet dancer.

There was one South American girl who looked OK but was uninspiring on stage and two black girls that he was thoroughly uninterested in.

They cut their losses, feeling slightly seedy and got back home. On the evening TV, the pandemic news was getting a more prominent billing, and it sounded like they’d agreed on a flight ban starting at the end of tomorrow.

Monday, October 18, 2027, Clerkenwell

Monday was squat day and a busy day at work. There seemed to be more headlines on HCV, but Dale didn’t have time to follow it. Sneha sent him a text which he ignored, and Emily was having a late night at work as well.

Tuesday, October 19, 2027, Clerkenwell

Reports of HCV-25 dominated the news that morning. Things had picked up overnight. Out of an abundance of caution, the government was activating the initial stages of the pandemic response plan developed after COVID-19.

Public health messaging emphasizing hygiene, social distancing, and the importance of wearing masks was prominent wherever you went. In the office, they put out the hand sanitiser.

Dale and his flatmates joked about it, but there was a growing tension in their conversations. He received an email outlining remote work protocols and contingency plans.

“We should get organized, so we don’t run out of bog roll.” James only half-joked.

“Best to get a head start before things clear out. “Dale said.

The city was getting quiet with more commuters having stayed home. Luckily, that meant the stores were still reasonably well stocked. The selection wasn’t great because they mostly catered to commuters but at least they wouldn’t be out of loo roll. They didn’t have too much space in the kitchen but managed to get a decent supply of tins, rice, and bog roll.