Going Light Speed (An Imitation Game Fanfic)

Chapter One

London, 1940

The clanking of hundreds of pairs of feet surrounded me as I nearly ran down the Tube steps. The sirens were sounding fainter as fellow Londoners crowded around me.

What was going on you ask? It was simply one of those times of day where the Germans decided they should bomb us.  How convenient. I was sickened of their stupid ways after so many months.

Once onto the unused rails (with a sea of people around me, might I add), I leaned my back against the wall, ignoring the moist surface, and how it would affect my coat.

Besides the occasional rumbling from above, it was remarkably silent. People seemed to be absorbed in their newspapers, for some odd reason.

I looked over the shoulder of a man who was sitting on the ground to my left, and saw he was working on this week's crossword puzzle. I found that interesting, as given by his ratty clothes and... Let's say pungent smell, he wouldn't be the type to try that sort of brain teaser. He was more focused on his problems. Speaking of which, he seemed to be having a bit of trouble. With the elementary question of 'What kind of mathematical expression as three separate terms?'

"Trinomial." I said, my voice echoing, but not as much as it would have if not for the abundance of people. "The answer is trinomial." The man's head snapped up at my voice, and he inched away a bit, almost perturbed.

"Who asked you?" He snapped in his thick cockney accent.

"Why, you did, of course." I replied, matter-of-factly.

"What you talking about? I didn't say a bloody word!" He stood up, as if to try and intimidate me. Even though he was about 20 centimetres taller, it was a failed attempt.

"That's true," I held my posture, looking at him directly in the eye. "Just not out loud. You acknowledged my presence subconsciously, and when you were contemplating the answer to that question, you indirectly looked toward the nearest person for guidance, another opinion, something of the sort. Ergo,  you asked me."

The man's posture faltered, and he broke. His lower class life must be hell, so he was already emotionally unstable. He lunged at me, obviously trying to take a swing at my face.

I jumped backwards almost immediately, and two other men, who were most likely observing this exchange, reached out to restrain my attacker. Fortunately, they succeeded.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" One of them said with clenched teeth. "This isn't worth beating a boy up for!"

Oh, great. The jig is up for you, readers of this story. Yes, I'm technically a child, fourteen years of age.