This metal tag isn't something I picked up from a pile of corpses. No, it was personally given to me by a respected scholar as thanks for saving the future of Victorian 'heraldry.' Let me be clear- the title of 'Master Scholar' is too modest for such a man of culture.
He also went out of his way to correct me, saying that I cannot call him 'Master Academician' yet. But, he clearly is no different from those bigwigs in the Royal Academy of Sciences!
It was purely by chance that I met this scholar. I was doing some cleaning beneath a bridge, which just happened to be the place where this bloke planned to cut his life short. There's no point jumping from there anymore, as ever since the devils arrived, a whole mountain of bodies have been thrown down there. Besides, how could such a respectable person meet his end here?
I quickly pulled the master scholar back from the edge and told him to look someplace else. But, he suddenly became excited, saying that he ought to read more, and finish writing a book of some sort.
I didn't dare ask, so the master scholar gave me this shiny tag on his own, in exchange for a charcoal pencil.
To be honest, what I wanted most was the canned food he had hidden on his person. But, how could I steal from such a respectable person? I couldn't afford to muck up the reputation of our cleaners' labor union.
The master scholar also promised that he'd credit me at the end of the article and asked me to see him at the address he provided after the article was published. He'd give me a large sum of money in exchange for me returning this metal tag.
Extremely generous, as expected of an upright person! I was moved when I saw the master scholar leave with a spring to his step. There are still cultured people left in this country, which means hope is still alive!
(When I was polishing the metal tag in the morning, I suddenly remembered that I couldn't understand a word of the newspapers those old geezers read every day. Where in the bloody hell would I go to get my money from that scholar?)