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In: Deadlands, Fallen Flags

Agency Internal Dossier
TOP SECRET – US EYES ONLY
Verification Code 3-18-15-23-12-5-25
Subject: Dr. R. Percy Sitgreaves, PhD (Mechanical Engineering from Columbia University)
Author: “Tom Bondsley”, Field Agent

Dr. R. Percy Sitgreaves, owner of Infinity Press (the publishers of the Smith and Robards New Science Catalog) and former R&D scientist for Smith and Robards proper, is a bit of an anomaly among modern scientists. And after all the other dossiers on the subject, that is not a claim made lightly. Not only does he practice both modern magic and modern science, he professes theories that combine the two in some way. Nonsense of course. but it seems to have aided his endeavors in both fields. I attempted to speak to some of our local scientist operatives to leverage this benefit, but they either laughed me out of the room or claimed they already knew the theory intimately, but refused to speak more on the subject because I “wouldn’t understand.” This was often followed by asking how the name was spelled. One would think subtlety would be more common among Agency operatives. Regardless, R. Percy Sitgreaves is a man of many mysteries well worth further investigation, not the least of which is what that damned R stands for.

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Dear Diary, after a laborious and unnecessarily invasive customs process that lost me a rather expensive penknife, I’ve settled into the Mormon State of Deseret in general and Salt Lake City in specific. I’ve lucked into a rather nice room in a social club on the outside of the “Junkyard”, as it’s called, the air of which has left an indelible impression on my lungs. Speaking of, I can’t help but notice from the equally dirty language on the way in that none of the workers seem satisfied with their lots in life. No surprise, given that their bodies are being exchanged for bread and circuses, as it were, and their injuries are resolved at their own expense only insofar as they return them to work. This place is a powder keg, the wick dampened by staccato drips of water from the Church, Hellstromme, and the backbreaking despair of indentured servitude. Which is exactly why I plan to get out before things come to a head, longarm in tow. The rifle, that is. Not a mechanically lengthened arm. Curse this town for making me clarify that.

-Recovered from a soot-stained page in the diary of an unnamed debt collector, written mid-August, 1877

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Agency Internal Dossier
TOP SECRET – US EYES ONLY
Verification Code 20-5-19-12-1
Subject: Dr. Gregory Tremane, PhD/Professorship (Electrical Engineering from Massachusetts Institute of Technology)
Author: “Tom Bondsley”, Field Agent

Dr. Gregory Tremane is, to put it mildly, a doddering old man beyond his years. Interacting with him is almost an exercise in futility, but it’s clear from his works that he is a beyond brilliant, if largely absent-minded scientist. To his credit, he’s found a way to put himself wholly off the junkyard power grid, though there’s speculation that the method he uses to power his house fried his brain years ago. Even still, for multiple reasons, he is dangerous and not to be overlooked. Not only is he the mind behind Smith and Robards’ now-famous “Electrostatic Armaments”, his house itself is a deathtrap of disrepair on top of a mountain. Recommend biweekly surveillance. By more recently recruited Agents. It would not do to lose a more experienced Agent to a ninety-foot drop in the name of checking in on a man that’s barely aware of his surroundings.

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Agency Internal Dossier
TOP SECRET – US EYES ONLY
Verification Code 5-4-5-14
Subject: Dr. Thomas Huntington, PhD (Theoretical Physics, Military Engineering from École Impériale des Arts et Manufactures)
Author: “Tom Bondsley”, Field Agent

Dr. Thomas Huntington is a peculiarly normal man. Every Agency standard says that a man of his education, especially in an epicenter of advanced research, should show dangerous eccentricities, unstable nature, or at least occupational obsession. But Huntington goes to town, has coffee and plays chess, buys a few parts at the store beneath a bit of charming small talk, and goes home for a quiet night of work. He’s [Several illegible, scrawled out words follow] functional. The only oddity outside of his work is that none of his friends know where he lives. To ensure everything was secure and contained, a stealth team followed him home to find him drinking tea above his schematics and listening to classical records. Dull, harmless, the perfect investigation subject to clear off the list, if not for the fact that his current project is listed as “Trans-Dimensional Displacement Device”. By name alone, can’t let this project go untracked. Regardless, have ordered investigation teams to reduce checkup frequency to once per week. It is my opinion that a man such as Huntington can’t get into too much trouble in that length of time.

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Dear Diary, our train has finally come to a stop behind the twisted, torn out shell of the last train that went through. The warped rails rattled me to my bones, so I was looking forward to having a short walk on Terra Firma, but the train was apathetically beset by men and women in black dusters before we got the chance. Seizing the opportunity, I managed to extract a good deal of information from one of the greener looking ones. Apparently, the team that supports my quarry, having ingratiated themselves with the local law enforcement, were taken by █████ ██████ to a place called ███ ██████. There, the group known as ███ ██████ asked them to contain a rather powerful ████████, as they’re called. It’s my understanding that ████, one of the group I follow, had no choice but to reluctantly accept. With any luck, they’ll fall, and the gun will be a few reams of paperwork away from my possession. I’ll simply have to wait around and see if they manage to ██████ ███ ████ ██████ ██ ████████. My next entry will be on the page following, however. The dark-dustered fellow I was speaking to has asked to see my diary for a moment, and I prefer to write my entries in full, with no interruptions.

-Recovered from a hastily redacted page in the diary of an unnamed debt collector, written mid-August, 1877

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