The year of our Lord 2014

     What was that I was saying about hearing from me more regularly? I cannot quite recall, as that last post was from nearly a year ago.
     I suppose I all but forgot about this journal. Though nothing dangerous or exciting took place after the invasion of my home, a week after my previous entry, my priorities were shifted elsewhere from keeping an autobiography. I am not entirely poor of family, and a friend and relation of mine responded to a letter I sent him. My cousin, Barnaby, lives out in the countryside with his wife, and was more than willing to take me in until I could straighten out everything. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, until now. I helped run his wife's bakery, and managed to save a little money on top of what my work with Moulder & Primbol had earned me. I nearly forgot about everything that had happened until, by chance, I happened upon a newspaper clipping which caught my interest.

PRIME MINISTER CAMERON RESIGNS.
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II appoints Rambilhan Screw as new Prime Minister.

     Normally, such a thing would not be of much concern to me. I never much liked Prime Minister Cameron, though of course I had nothing particularly against him. This Screw gentleman, I thought, will no doubt do a decent job. At least no worse than Cameron.
     But that photo changed everything.
     The new Prime Minister, a large man with a bald head and handlebar moustache seemed comical--certainly nothing to be concerned with. But upon closer inspection, I noticed something dreadfully chilling. Flanking our new premier were two men, tall, dressed in entirely black coats and top-hats. The man to the right was unmistakably the blonde man whom I saw on multiple occasions, the last of which being my apartment.
     I cannot explain why, but that morning I told my cousin that I needed to return to London. He and his wife bid me a fond farewell, and I took a cab back to the city. I am now in a hotel writing this. Somehow, I felt drawn back the moment I saw that face in the paper. It was as if I realised that I could not have it end like that, with he and his cronies invading my apartment, shooting at me with those preposterous umbrella contraptions, obviously trying to kill me. I know I am a fool, but how could I sit back and watch as someone who I consider to be a personal enemy ends up on Downing Street!
     I still have the "umbrella gun" from the unfortunate man in black. My first priority will be to find out exactly what the damned thing is.

❦ J.T. Marker

My Predicament - Chapter Three

The kickback was tremendous, and I was unprepared for the the effect it would have. The man in front of me was allowed only a moment of shock before falling backwards, clutching his chest and gasping for air. The white of his shirt was already becoming red with blood. All I could think of at that moment was how if I did not escape from the remaining men, I would likely end up like the man who now lay bleeding on the floor.

The blonde man was the first of the remaining men to realise what was happening. He turned to me with his umbrella (I realise how silly that sounds) drawn. Before he could fire, I rolled out of the way, hearing the thud of the projectile against the wooden floor. Getting to my feet, I held my new weapon with both hands, and swung it against the man's face. He staggered backwards into one of his associates, who turned to see the catalyst of the inconvenience. Upon seeing me, he shouted - "Hey!" - and pointed in my direction as if he expected me to freeze in place.

Needless to say, I did not comply, and instead made a break for the door. The two men who had previously guarded it were at the other end of the room at the air vent, and were now raising their umbrellas at me. I grabbed the knob, turned it, and was in the hall before they managed to fire at me. Thuds and shouts echoed through the halls, and I turned to see the remaining six men making their way toward me. At this point, other people who shared this apartment with me were beginning to open their doors to see what the fuss was about, making the whole scene almost comical. I would have laughed at spectacle made by Mrs. Abernathy shouting "What the Devil is going on, you young rapscallions?!" at the blonde man, who seemed to be nursing a heavy nose bleed.

Instead of laughing, I ran like as if the Devil himself were in pursuit.

I managed to make it out of the building by way of the fire escape on the second floor. Upon reaching the bottom of the ladder, I heard the voices of the men from above.

"He went down there!"

"Stop him!" 

More thuds, and I knew that it was them or me. Raising my umbrella, I pulled the switch, and felt the kickback. A shout reassured me that the projectile had reached it's mark. At this point, I had no time to worry about the man lying in my apartment, nor the man who I had hit on the fire escape. They attacked me, and tried to kill me first. I was defending myself. No matter the justification, though, the face of the first man, and the shout of the second would haunt my dreams for nights afterwards.

To be quite honest, I do not remember much more of that night. I did not visit the police department, as I knew that is what I would be expected to do. Instead, upon checking myself in to a cheap hotel, I used a phone booth there.

"London Police, what's you emergency?" said a bored voice on the other end of the line.

"My apartment was invaded by eight, heavily armed men. I managed to escape, but I think they might still be after me."

"Mm hmm," he said, absently. "And what did they look like?"

"They were all rather tall. None of them were under six feet, I can say for certain."

"Clothing?" he said. I was getting the distinct impression that he did not care what they were wearing, and that he was simply saying this per regulation.

"They were all conspicuously dressed in black coats and top hats," I decided to give him all the details. "They also carried umbrellas which also seemed to be weapons of some kind."

There was an uncomfortable pause which lasted around fifteen seconds. 

"Oi! Jefferson! It sounds like we've got a drunk making calls!" he finally said. "Call again when you have a real emergency."

Over these few weeks since the attack, I have been reading the paper regularly. So far, there has been nothing about my apartment being invaded. I have not seen any of the men in black, so perhaps I have lost them for now. That, or they are getting better at concealing themselves, and aren't going about wearing black. Either way, you can expect to hear from me much more often, now. 

Good day, and stay safe.

❦ J.T. Marker

My Predicament - Chapter Two

When I saw the six new figures, my immediate instinct was to escape. However, there was nowhere to escape to! I could jump out the window, but that would be suicide. The fire escape was in the hall, and the men would no doubt beat me to it. Remembering how two of them so easily dispatched Yates, my panicked mind decided the best course of action would be to hide in a closet with a heavy object. Quickly searching my room, I found a fireplace poker. I then proceeded to hide myself as best I could in my bedroom closet.

I was unsure of what to expect, but my anticipation did not last long. A loud thud issued from the other side of my door, and I knew the men were going to break in. I tightly held the poker with both hands, hoping that some miracle would prevent them from entering my home. I have only rarely had to physically defend myself against a fellow man, and therefore, the thought of actually needing to use this makeshift weapon filled me with a growing sense of dread.

Several more thuds broke the silence. The men were not talking to each other. They knew what their mission was, and were not about to betray their intentions to me. Keeping me in the dark until they had me in their clutches. Even then, maybe I would never know what they wanted me for. I know not what they did to Yates, but I have no doubt that if he needed to be struck in the head, and dragged into an alley, it could not be anything good.

A final bump, and my door was ripped from its hinges. I heard several pairs of shoes clacking against the floor, going to ever corner of my home.

"I'm not finding anything!" shouted one voice. It wasn't one I recognised.

"Keep searching! And someone get us a damn light!" another voice said. I recognised this voice as belonging to the blonde man who struck Yates.

The sound of shoes on wood came closer to my hiding place. I did not know how to react. My senses were completely dulled. My only reaction at that point was to hold my poker a bit harder then before, which was pretty well impossible, considering how tightly I was already clutching it.

I was taken completely by surprise when the closet door was opened with all the force of an M&P Armoured Steam Walker ™. At the other side stood a man with the build of one. Even in the dim light, I could see that he looked surprised for a moment, but quickly replaced it with a look of determination.

"Found -!" said the man as I struck him in the face with the poker. I made a break for my door, only to find two more of the men standing guard in front of it. I had only a moment to assess the situation before I felt something come down over my neck, and pull me from behind.

Pulled to the floor, I looked up to see the blonde man staring down at me, as if in a trance. A strained glance revealed that he had his umbrella, of all things, held over my throat. With the look a of a man in a trance, he brought down the umbrella, sealing off the flow of air to my lungs. I did not know if intended to incapacitate me, or kill me, but I struggled with him, trying to push the umbrella off me. He pushed down with a grip of steel, and I knew it was hopeless to try and resist.

But try, I did. I seemed like an hour was spent, struggling to push him off me. The other men in his the group were beginning to close in. If I did manage to escape the blonde man, one of his associates would undoubtedly catch me before I could make it even a metre from them.

It was then my salvation came in a very strange form. An inconsequential detail at the time it seemed, but positioned behind the blonde man was a wall, and on the wall was positioned an air vent. The entire event happened in about three seconds, only one of which I saw clearly, but something seemed to pull at the blonde man from me. He dropped his umbrella, leaving it in my grasp, and for a moment I lived in the bliss of freedom from his grip.

This bliss was short lived, as I saw to my combined horror and relief that my attacker's foot disappeared into the vent.

His 'friends' seemed even more terrified by this than I, as they completely abandoned all interest in me, and were now doing a most peculiar thing; aiming their umbrellas as if they were rifles. Even more peculiar was the fact that they actually seemed to be doing something. Small pops issued from each of the umbrellas, and thumps were ringing out behind me, against the wall. What appeared to be small bullet holes were beginning to surround the air vent.

Barely even thinking, I felt around the umbrella, try to see what being used to convert these objects into weapons. One of the five remaining men finally seemed to remember what he was there for, and aimed his umbrella at me. In that moment, I found a small switch that a normal umbrella does not have. The only thing going through my mind at that moment was survival.

In less than a second, I aimed and fired.

❦ J.T. Marker

My Predicament - Chapter One

Let me first say that M&P, while paying well, were awful employers. Those favourable things I said about them in the early days of my journal? They were complete lies. I have no respect for them, other than how their technology got us through several wars. Even then, I cannot give them much respect, as it was also their technology which rendered much of Russia and China near uninhabitable wastelands. It is for that reason that the Clockwork Dragons are such a danger here in London.

Now, immediately after my March 17 post, I was sent to several more workhouses. Nothing particularly of note with the workhouses themselves, but what happened on the way was of much interest. After the incident outside the pub, I was under considerable stress. I was now constantly looking over my shoulder in search of the men in black. It was only a matter of time before I spotted one of them skulking in an alley. Contrary to the previous times I have seen them in daylight, this man was not talking to anyone. This time, he was watching someone - watching me!

Despite knowing even then what was the best course of action, I did not confront him. Something in the way he stared at me from the shadows frightened me on a fundamental level. I could not bring myself to go anywhere nearer to him.

After I carried out the inspection, I took a different route than usual. I think that I may have at one point intended to spend the night at an inn. But somehow, I felt safer in my home, so that is where I soon returned. On the way, I caught a glimpse of the two men in a fruit market. They nodded to each other, then went separate ways. I wasted no time in an attempt to lose the two of them by blending in with the crowd.

Upon returning home, I turned off all the lights. I closed the blinds and lit a small fire. For dinner, I simply warmed up some soup. Eventually, I peeked out the window. I saw the two of them standing on the other side of the street. They seemed to be speaking to each other, but I did not open the window to find out what was being said. I did not want to alert them to my awareness of them.

The next day, I set out as usual, but I took a different route. No matter which twist and turn I took, one or two of the men seemed to be on my tail. Even when I was inside the assigned workhouse, I kept looking over my shoulder. I swear to God above, I saw one of them going down a hallway.

This time, on the way home, I intentionally got myself lost in order to throw the men off the trail. I knew not what they planned to do with me if they got their hands on me, but I was in no hurry to find out. When I did return home, I was confident that no one had followed me. Naturally, they would be there eventually, but in the time it took for them, I could call the police. Since the shooting, the entire street has been under surveillance. The police would crack down on anyone who was reported as suspicious. I turned out the all the lights, and went to the phone, dialling the police department. 

But before I was even connected, the generator failed quite suddenly.

Now faced with the problem of no power, and the inability to contact the police, I looked out the window to the street. As luck would have it, I was just in time to see a man in a long black coat dashing from an alley, soon followed by his accomplice. Two men. As far as I knew, there were only two men, so my confidence (combined with panicked adrenaline) was boosted, and convinced me that I would be able to defend myself if it came to that.

Then I saw six more of them running out of the alley.

Damnation! A librarian is giving me a funny look. I will need to purchase this receptacle and continue at the inn. 

Good day, all!

❦ J.T. Marker

Return of the Real-Estate Inspector

These past few weeks, I have set my receptacle for automatic posts to this space. I assumed it to be working, so I never bothered to check. Only now do I realise that, in fact, nothing was posted. I have finally narrowed down the possibilities to one: M&P has managed to bypass the block I set up. As a matter of fact, I believe they have always known of the contents of this journal, despite my efforts at preventing such a thing.

It was a tedious and tiring process, setting up all sorts of safeguards, hoses, mites, and anti-invasion appliances, but I finally managed to ensure that nothing I say will be censored by M&P.

Now, I imagine that to the person reading this, I might not be making much sense. Allow me to explain; M&P do not like anything being said against them. They do not like it when their employees go off on  private adventures. They also do not like anything unusual being associated with them. I'm afraid what you see here is me, breaking all ties with the great Moulder & Primbol Industries in the interest of my personal liberty.

The first post I made after "Back to the Old Routine" concerned the wellbeing of child labourers in the workhouses. This was apparently the last straw for M&P, as that was the first of the posts they deleted while it was still in the nether. I found out only recently that M&P bought this site, and have complete access to the journals of anyone who works under them, like myself. To them, the thought children working for them in their workhouses is completely reasonable. To many, in fact, the reality of child labour is nothing to be alarmed or ashamed by. To me, it is something that no human being should experience. I was just like one of those children for most of my childhood.

As I have said, I was not aware of my posts never seeing the light of day until I looked over the original files and noticed a rather heinous spelling error in one. When I opened my journal to correct this, I saw that none of the files I had written since March 17 had been posted. I have them set to post automatically, so this struck me as rather odd. Nonetheless, I believed it to be a fault of the machine itself, so I ran various updates in the hopes the problem would correct itself. It was then when I noticed a message had been delivered to my receptacle mailbox. Upon opening it, I read a long newsletter of new policies which I could not care less about. However, what struck me was the announcement that M&P were now in control of the site.

That is not the only reason I have neglected to post in such a long while. I am currently in the Margaret Thatcher Library, using one of the public receptacles. The reason for this is that I am no longer safe in my home.

I am confident that I have broken many rules by setting up the protection I am using against M&P, but it is no matter, as I now have enough money from my employment (however short) with them, I think that I will buy this receptacle from the library. They were going to have to replace this model anyway. I will fill you lovely little charmers in on what happened tomorrow. Right now, I need to rest. Too much running.

❦ J.T. Marker

Back to the Old Routine

It has been over a month since my last post. Let me apologise for this. My life has become lively, now that good old M&P is sending me to inspect workhouses again. It feels good to be contributing to society in such a way. Unemployment will not be as much of a problem when my job is done, as each workhouse has the capacity to support a great number of people. 

The following are workhouses I have inspected. To be brief, I have broken them down their details into a simple system. Date of Inspection, Name, Size, Workability, Ventilation, Attitude of Manger, Quality, and Final Verdict. 

Date of Inspection: Feb 16

Name: Plinners Home For Those In Need Of Work.

Size: Medium, with a comparatively large courtyard.

Workability: Reasonable space and layout. Several walls might need to be taken down or modified.

Ventilation: Not bad. It could be better, but a logical investment might be widening the windows in the main work area.

Attitude of Manager: Pleasant, but ignorant of the outside world. He seems to think that Tony Blair is still Prime Minister. M&P might consider putting someone in to help him run the place.

Final Verdict: Yea.

Date of Inspection: Feb 20

Name: Mullwin Towers.

Size: Large exterior, cramped interior.

Workability: See above. Loading bearing walls would need to be moved for the sake of machinery.

Ventilation: Next to none. I could smell more human by-products than is healthy, and most light was from incandescent bulbs.

Attitude of Manager: Flamboyant, pompous, and overall a lot of fun to speak to.

Final Verdict: Nay.

Date of Inspection: Feb 25

Name: Jack Hall.

Size: Massive to the point that it is hard to navigate.

Workability: Given a map and a horse, or a bicycle, it would be the most efficient workhouse in the whole of the Empire.

Ventilation: So much so that it is freezing cold and wet.

Attitude of Manager: Unavailable. The head governess showed all the friendliness of an electric eel.

Final Verdict: Yea.

Date of Inspection: Feb 28

Name: Marshal & Jim.

Size: Medium. 

Workability: Efficient. Nothing is too far from anything, and it was easy to navigate.

Ventilation: Stuffy, but not particularly uncomfortable. Not much would need to be done to improve it.

Attitude of Manager: Unavailable. His secretary seemed to be interested in me on an uncomfortably intimate level. Have her replaced. 

Final Verdict: Yea.

Date of Inspection: Mar 1

Name: Seeder House.

Size: Small and cramped.

Workability: None.

Ventilation: None.

Attitude of Manager: Satan.

Final Verdict: Nay.

Date of Inspection: Mar 4

Name: Coalburn House.

Size: Medium.

Workability: Reasonable, but could use some improvement. The bathrooms are far too close to the dining hall. The intent is usually to keep them close, so if a worker is to ingest something disgusting, the loo is well within reach. Paradoxically, this is the very reason some workers may have to use the loo in the first place. 

Ventilation: Quite terrible. Improvements would have to be made before the place is suited for the needs of M&P.

Attitude of Manager: Better than some, I must say.

Final Verdict: Yea.

Date of Inspection: Mar 8

Name: The Pulpit.

Size: Small.

Workability: Good. Everything fits together like clockwork. Next to nothing would need to be done to adapt it. 

Ventilation: Quite good. The windows seem to be specifically designed for what I'm looking for.

Attitude of Manager: Pleasant and warm. Never in my life have I met someone who seems to have opened a workhouse for the one purpose of improving the lives of their fellow men.

Final Verdict: Yea.

Date of Inspection: Mar 13

Name: The Uncle.

Size: Large and drafty.

Workability: A little less room would be desirable. Also, a ceiling that does not threaten collapse at any given moment.

Ventilation: Far too much.

Attitude of Manager: He seems to think his workhouse is the best there is. I didn't have the heart to tell him he was right, I told him he was wrong. He told me he was right. The rest is better left to the imagination. 

Final Verdict: Nay.

Date of Inspection: Mar 16

Name: Josiah's Maximum Fun Room.

Size: ... Honestly, I don't know what to answer. It seemed almost variable.

Workability: If building automata was a children's game, this would not be the way I played the game with my children.

Ventilation: None.

Attitude of Manager: Insane, and dangerous to society.

Final Verdict: Nay.

And there you have it. I have been a busy man, haven't I? I am running out of workhouses to inspect, so we shall see how much longer this journal exists.

❦ J.T. Marker

Curious Happenings

WARNING

This post has been blocked from VAPR Receptacles on PRS. If your VAPR Receptacle is connected to PRS, please disconnect, then connect to PUS.

The affair is finally over. A long lost relative of the Brilbees was located in Spain, and it has been decided that the workhouse legally belongs to him. I admit, that the whole thing seemed almost comical, but I swear to God that one has never lived until they have seen a judge bury his face in his hands as the jury raises Hell over how none of them know how to speak Spanish. I could tell by the end of the hearing that everyone was satisfied that a resolution had been reached, though annoyed by the imminent language barrier they would face.

I paid my respects to the late Mr. Brilbee this afternoon, after the final hearing ended. I felt saddened by this, as I realised that I never really knew the man quite well. Such is life and death, though. One never has all the time to meet and become acquainted with all the people they want to.

Two unexpected things happened to me, Tonight. The first, happened when I entered the pub. I walked in as I always do, expecting nothing unusual. But without warning, quite suddenly, everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me. There was a moment of terrible silence, as if they were seeing something otherworldly in me. Paranoia has been running high since the shooting on my street, but I have been to the pub several times since that event. I knew not what might be the catalyst of this reaction.

I waited for any reaction, any at all. I simply did not feel comfortable sitting down as the eyes of the room were on me. Finally, sound began in one corner of the room: Clapping. In the same amount of time the room had taken to silence, it was suddenly filled with the joyous sound. The bartender (who I should mention, by the way, is named Jim,) hailed me over with a filled glass. 

The reason for this warm welcome? Apparently, word had gotten around that the 

"Brilbee Hearings" had finally come to an end. I have not read a paper in days, but the afternoon edition today had small announcement about it. And since these hearings had become famous around London for its tediousness, and I am a known frequenter of this particular pub, everyone decided that I deserved a round of applause for - as Jim put it - not blowing my brains out from boredom.

It was a strangely fitting end for the whole situation. I ate, drank, made merry, and generally forgot about the whole affair. It was also most refreshing, to say the least.

If only the day could have ended there, I would have been the happiest man in the British Empire. However, things took a strange turn after that. In fact, I am still uneasy about the whole thing, as it happened less than an hour ago. I will try to reconstruct the events to the best of abilities.

I left the pub. Everyone inside was wishing me a good night, and congratulating me on my "accomplishment". The night was cold, and I could see my breath in front of my face. I had barely stepped onto the sidewalk when suddenly, a man ran out from the alley opposite to me. I thought of it as nothing more than a vagrant, on the run from a constable. I decided that I had better not get involved, so I made for home.

Only, I was not fast enough. I felt a hand grasp my shoulder, and I turned around instinctively. I was greeted by the sight of Yates, the man who I had asked about the tall man. He looked panicked and flustered, and was not wearing a coat or vest. I guessed that he had left his home in a hurry.

"Marker! You have to help me!" he gasped, breathlessly. "I saw something I shouldn't have!"

"Slow down, my good man," I said, putting both of my hands on his shoulders. "First, let's get you into the pub. You need to warm up! What the Devil are you doing, dressed like that in this weather?"

"You bleeding fool!" he sputtered, shaking off my grip. "You don't understand; they're everywhere! I can't go in there!"

"What? Who?" I said, now becoming quite confused. "I can assure you that-"

"No, no, no! Get me to your home! Maybe they won't follow- Oh, Lord!"

Yates' expression changed from terrified and angry, to terrified and helpless. He looked passed me, to a point somewhere to my south. I turned to see what Yates saw. There, barely two metres from where I stood was the tall man. He carried an umbrella under his left arm, and in the light of the gas lamps, I could see his face clearer then I had before. It was that of an older man, grizzled and pale. Other details were still obscured by the low light, however. I heard the sound of shoes on pavement, and turned to see that Yates was running toward another alley.

"I say!" I called after him. "Where are you going?!"

I could tell that he had no intention of answering me. He ran like a man possessed. I turned back for an instant to see that the tall man had raised his free arm. He snapped his fingers, and I heard a sickening crack from behind me. I turned back to where Yates had been an instant before to see him sprawled across the sidewalk.

It took a moment to register that there was someone else standing above him. You can imagine the shock I felt when I realised that it was a man of similar height and dress to the one behind me. He also carried an umbrella, and from the position he held it in, like a cricket bat, I could tell that it must have been the weapon with which he had struck Yates.

Yates groaned, trying to get up. The man in the black coat grabbed him by the right shoulder, and hoisted him to his feet. Yates offered no resistance. I turned back to the first man, saying, "I say, what in God's name in going on here?"

"There is nothing to see, here," he responded in a deep, cold voice. "Return to your home."

"My good sir, I happen to know the man your friend has just struck," I persisted. "May I inquire as to why you must treat him in such a way. Has he done something of an illicit nature?"

"That is of no concern to you," he said. "Return to your home."

"I'm afraid that it is," I said, growing impatient. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Sir, you need not worry about your... friend," said a new voice. It was high and cold. I turned to see it was the second man. He was younger than the first, and had blonde hair that fell from under his top hat. "He is in safe hands. We will not harm him."

With that, the two men made off through the alley which Yates had ran out of when I first saw him. I was far from reassured by the tall man's words, but what could I do? I returned to my apartment, and tried to fathom what had just occurred. I was confused, and, quite frankly, scared out of my wits. Typing this has helped a great deal, but I still have no Godly idea of what I have witnessed.

Obviously, Yates did something to make the two men angry with him in some way. Perhaps they were members of a gang? Undercover police? Multiple theories came to me, but none made sense. 

Perhaps some of you have an idea of what might be going on? I know that next to no one reads my journal, but it would be appreciated if someone could help me understand this.

I'll work on getting rid of that warning on the top of the page.

❦ J.T. Marker