It has become quite clear to me that something sinister is happening in East London, or “the Mystic East” as it is better known. There are a number of preparations afoot for some event in 2012, which my man Fortescue informs me is the year of the Olympic Games. I clouted him lightly, and explained that this was quite impossible, as the government has little money to spare for the likes of improving the NHS – how could they possibly afford to spend billions of pounds on an event that will last only a few weeks, and a sporting event at that? Fortescue further informed me that it would have long term benefits in terms of regenerating the area for the local community. I clouted him once more and countered that “regeneration programmes” such as the one of which he spoke primarily result in land values being driven up and the area becoming unaffordable for said local community. That silly Fortescue. I would dismiss him, but he has a family.
So I “Googled” 2012, and discovered this:
Apparently, according to the Mayan calendar, a major apocalyptic event is to take place in 2012. I felt that this warranted further investigation, and so set out for the Docklands.
My first setback came when I discovered that the Docklands Light Railway was not running from Bank, due to “planned engineering works”. Evidently someone (or something) had heard I was coming. I transferred to the Jubilee Line, alighting at Canary Wharf. My suspicions were correct – the area had been utterly devastated.
I inquired from a passer-by what had happened to cause such a wasteland. She explained that it was “always like that”. Either she had been indoctrinated by whatever power was behind this or – perhaps worse – she was spreading deliberate misinformation to hide the truth. I pitched her into the water for safety’s sake.
Then, emerging from the water, I beheld a sight that almost caused my bowels to evacuate:
I knew not what these strange quadrupeds were, but one thing was for sure – I would not stand a chance of outrunning them. If they took an interest in me, I should have no choice but to submit to their strange and eldritch will. Fortunately, they passed me by – seemingly without even noticing me, as if I were an ant crossing their path.
Although I am not a religious man, at that point I offered up a prayer to whatever divine providence might have spared my life.
I witnessed others of the quadrupeds at work further down, together with a smaller variant, which I shall dub the “sentry caste”.
These were not the only effects of this strange invasion. I noted that some variety of bioluminescent alien flora had taken root beneath a flyover:
This disturbed me perhaps more than the quadrupeds (or “Walking Machines”, as I have dubbed them), for it suggested that these xenian creatures had literally “taken root” within our city. Who could tell what insidious changes these biological horrors were effecting upon our environment? Indeed, not far away I witnessed some hideous mutational effects:
I hope, dear reader, that you will not judge me too harshly if I confess that my instinct at that moment was to run, to flee this corrupted quarter and not to ever return.
Yet I determined to explore further. For, as I have stated, I believe that I am the first to have witnessed this infernal happening, and as such, it falls to me to alert the general populace. I also decided that also fell to me to reconnoitre, to learn as much as I could about our extraterrestrial foes in the hope that I might perhaps find some weak spot by which they may be defeated.
The great discovery came some minutes later. On the far side of the river, in a district that does not seem to have a name, I spied this:
Students of so-called “flying saucer” lore will no doubt have worked out the true nature of this object. It is clearly nothing less than an alien spacecraft. The similarities between the construction of the Walking Machines and those yellow structures visible atop the dome confirms this.
Immediately I telephoned Fortescue and demanded that he send a telegram to Whitehall right away. I gave him such information as I had. He told me that, in fact, the mothership had been there for some time, and was a popular music venue known as “the O2”. I patiently pointed out to him that this name was clearly some sort of cover-up, as O2 is the name of a telecommunication company, and for a concert hall to be named after them would be akin to slathering advertisements across Piccadilly Circus. He elaborated, saying that it had once gone under the sinister title of “the Millennium Dome”.
If I do not survive the coming apocalypse, let this page be my memorial. As I returned home, I saw this warning: