If you're reading this, then congratulations! You'll soon be one of the few that know the truth, and by then I'll likely be gone. Not dead. Just, gone. Vanished. Erased. Snubbed out. Mark my words, it will happen. But before that day comes, I'm determined to share the information I have, information that many would prefer to remain out of reach. But information the public deserves to know.
I'll start with how I managed to get myself into this mess, right in the centre of the spider's web. Apologies in advance for the hazy details, but I'm going to have to be vague to keep them off my trail for much longer. Anyway, to put it simply, I had hit rock bottom when they found me. Homeless on the streets of Her Majesty's London, without a single helping hand in sight. At the time, their offer seemed too good to be true. "One-Hundred Thousand Pounds Sterling", I was told, with private healthcare, house and car thrown in too. In hindsight, I should've realised it was.
If you're not from the UK, but have ever visited London, you'll understand what I'm about to say perfectly. Doesn't it all seem a bit... magical? The gold of the crown sprinkled on every street corner, post-box and lamppost? The palaces and towers that everyone visits eventually, with their guards, gates and the presence of royalty only metres away? The Houses of Parliament and the London Underground, mundane and boring to those familiar with them, yet quirky and alluring to those from outside? One of my co-workers once described London as the "Disney of Capital Cities", and I'll be damned if that isn't exactly what they want.
Simply put, it is all a front for something much greater.
When you visit London, they want you to make fools of yourselves trying to make the Queen's Guard smile. They want you to buy into the excitement of Royal Weddings, and to shake your heads at the Parliamentary debates. They want you to read conspiracy theories about what happened to Princess Diana, and they want you to believe them. What is the truth? I don't know, and neither will any of you. The point is that you'll sit there and ponder. Ponder and ponder and never, for one moment, look deeper than that thin layer of magic.
Because if you do, you may just find another London entirely.
Whatever I had expected when I first signed the contract, it was nothing compared to the truth. My job was nothing special: I was a glorified cleaner, responsible for cleaning up after the All-Stars, picking up the trash and keeping my head down and mouth shut. If I recall correctly, the official term used was "disposable employee", but I digress. When you work in UnLondon, things are never that easy.
UnLondon is an enigma, something that hides in plain sight and yet remains concealed to a near-perfect degree. It is also worth mentioning that UnLondon is only a nickname, used by those with no official business or importance there, and only spoken publicly by those with nothing to lose. Unfortunately, I am a member of both groups. Official names include "SC Templar", "SC One" and "SC Crowne", with the "SC" standing for Sub-City and the rest standing for god-knows what. I have reason to believe similar facilities exist in many cities worldwide, with rumoured locations including the Paris Catacombs, The Vatican and the City of Moscow to name a few, but I have no solid evidence to support these claims. Then again, procuring evidence against a secret of this magnitude is a near-impossible task, so you'll just have to trust my word.
Over roughly nine-months of my employment in UnLondon, I stumbled across my fair share of sensitive information, not entirely by accident, but not outright deliberately either. Of course, it wasn't easy. What other cleaning jobs do you know that force you through two months of psychological examination, interrogation and conditioning before they let you near the place? And that isn't even including the security measures underground.
Practically every door is magnetically sealed, openable only with the correct key-card and fingerprints that change daily. When on the job, there is never a moment when you aren't in the immediate vicinity of an armed guard, security camera or narrow-eyed supervisor. When you aren't working, you're confined to your accommodation, with every blind spot covered, every mirror two-way and absolutely no phone service to speak of. Some call the UK the "most watched country on Earth", and they'd be right. Because the secrets of UnLondon are that valuable.
