Jack the Ripper
It doesn't make any sense, but somehow I have to say it.
A weak man like me is doomed to succumb to the pressure of two women shooting back and forth.
Ah.... The authority of the emperor who ruled the world has fallen to this level....
I can only deplore it.
"And where is that edible college girl named Jorgie now? It doesn't look like she brought your entourage with her...."
"Ah! She's in a town called Bad Kanstadt."
"Bad Kanstadt? Why is she there?"
At my question, Bismarck gave me a puzzled look.
That look.... Very rude!
"Isn't there someone in Bad Kanstadt whom the Emperor usually watches with interest?"
"Huh?"
"Well, his secretary, Herr Jorg, happens to be a world authority on gasoline and other engines, so we sent him over in a hurry."
At Bismarck's words, Bertha Benz, who had been listening to our story from the side, snorted.
"Hoot! Our Herr Herr is the darling of the greatest engineers in the world, and thanks to the fact that he was trained from an early age, her pure skill is among the best in the German Empire.... she's probably even better than us in some ways, since his young age makes his brain work faster."
"....."
"Ah, my dear Horch. Still, I'm glad you didn't swallow your tears on the cold prison floor, longing for us...."
Bertha Benz is very emotional, like a mother.
Bismarck's eyes turned red at the corners when she thought of her child, Horky.
Does this mean that she was born a woman, even though she pretended to be strong on the outside?
"Bismarck, why are you crying? Is it because you're sentimental?"
"Yes. Karl Benz alone is a world-class engineer, and even his wife and daughter are authorities.... I can't imagine how much faster the technological power of our German Empire will grow, so tears cover my eyes."
"....."
"After all, the scientific power of our German Empire is the best in the world!!!"
I worried needlessly.
It's my fault for expecting family affection from this crazy nationalist asshole.
***
August 7th, 1888.
Whitechapel.
A room filled with the revelry and aromas of intercourse, but on the other hand filthy with the collection of society's filth.
A man walked through the room, frowning.
"Dirty. Filthy. Filthy. Filthy. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Horribly dirty. What a low, dirty place to be!"
"....."
"Don't you think so?"
"You're right, Professor, I don't dare believe it's the same Anglo-Saxons."
He stares in disgust at a London garbage dump with 62 brothels and 1,200 men and women working as prostitutes.
This is Whitechapel, home to 80,000 worms who can hardly be considered citizens of the great and glorious British Empire.
The capital of the British Empire, a world superpower in the mid-19th century.
London was teeming with Irish immigrants, a quarter of the population wiped out, and Jewish refugees fleeing pogroms in the Russian Empire and Eastern Europe.
An exploding population.
An abundant workforce with shrinking wages.
An increasingly degraded environment.
As this vicious cycle spiraled out of control, working and living conditions in London continued to deteriorate, leading to an explosion of poverty.
Robbery, violence and alcoholism were commonplace, and endemic poverty forced many women and men into prostitution to survive.
For some it was a struggle to survive, but for others it was a crawling worm.
"Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Are you trying to tell me that you and I are citizens of the same British Empire?"
"It's a mixture of immigrants, yes, but it's also a mixture of citizens of the great and glorious British Empire, isn't it?"
"Hmm. Same Anglo-Saxons.... They're not the same people as us, they're just inferior peoples who were culled because they were inferior, for example.... Ah! It's easier to think of them as black or yellow."
"....."
The shocking sight of unwashed and dirty bodies rubbing against each other.
The horrifying sight of sex being bought and sold for money.
A repulsive, horrifying sight that even a God who emphasizes love and compassion would abandon human beings.
There was a figure watching the scene with a scowl, and his name was Gavrilo Princip.
For some reason he seems to be from Serbia, but since 1888 he is a citizen of the British Empire, the world's superpower.
A real citizen with the right to vote.
"In the past, blacks and yellows blossomed into glorious civilizations. How are they now, with superpowers so powerful that even we, the British Empire, can snap our fingers?"
"...A delicious piggy bank of our own."
"Yes. The Qing Empire, which Napoleon called a sleeping lion, became a ripe pig after losing the Opium Wars to our British Empire."
Professor Cabrillo said, his eyes shining.
He sounded like a racist, but he wasn't.
Simply put, his theory could be called racial classism.
"Many anthropologists say that inferior races should be exterminated, but I disagree with that premise. They're not exterminated because they're inferior, they're inferior because they're exterminated."
"....."
"But what about these bugs, don't you see them as germs that are culling us Anglo-Saxons, the most superior people in the world, and making us an inferior race?"
"...Germs are always multiplying."
"That's why I insist on eradicating these filthy Whitechapels whenever I go out in society, because germs are always on the move."
Gavrilo principle, a very medical man.
At his words, the woman next to him nodded.
As the professor's only female protégé, she had preferred to play rather than think about racism, classism, haves and have-nots before entering the university.
But slavery...
No. Now that she was a graduate student, she found herself increasingly moved by his stories.
Fuck.
It's even weirder that I'm not colored by the race, race, race bullshit I hear every day.
***
The British Empire, where the right to vote was distributed according to wealth, only to citizens who paid taxes.
If you have the right to vote in such a monetarist world, you must be a bit of a snot in the society of the British Empire.
Why would someone like that crawl into Whitechapel, the dregs of society?
Because...
"I can't believe that I, a surgeon, have to sell my feet to get a cadaver for my dissection lab..... That sucks."
It's the end of the 19th century, near the end of the glory days of the British Empire, when the sun never seems to set.
As if fanning the last of its brilliant flames, various disciplines and technologies blossomed across the British Empire.
Unlike the proletariat, which was increasingly thirsty for a red revolution, the British bourgeoisie, unable to contain its overflowing wealth, invested astronomical amounts of money in the medical and pharmaceutical industries in order to live longer, healthier lives and enjoy this wealth.
However, the explosion of medical and pharmaceutical technology was not matched by the number of dissected cadavers.
Not surprisingly, the value of cadavers has increased exponentially.
That's why the university professor took to the streets to save them.
He couldn't just order a bunch of ignorant proletarians to pick up the rotten stuff, so he had to do it himself.
'As a citizen, I am horribly reluctant to come to Whitechapel, but it cannot be helped; we must give our students a wide range of opportunities to become great pillars of our beloved British Empire.'
True Anglo-Saxon students in his class are more loved than others, more deserving of opportunities than others, and more worthy of learning than others.
It's a belief.
The Anglo-Saxon zone of the British Empire cannot be culled and reduced to an inferior race or ethnicity to any other race or ethnicity.
To remain the most superior race or ethnicity in the world, the Anglo-Saxon Zone must continue to develop its superiority.
But as long as Whitechapel remains, what will the great and glorious Anglo-Saxons do in a few hundred years when they are looked down upon as inferior and stupid by the inferior and stupid people of the Indian Empire?
The future is an unknowable thing.
Who knew that the inferior, barbaric Teutons would unite and suddenly become one of the three great powers of the world?
Who knew that an independent colony, torn in two, would challenge the might of the British Empire?
A reunited Italy would dominate the Mediterranean.... Uh, no.
We can continue to ignore this.