Oliver Fog

An Aeon pocket watch made in Geneva, Switzerland, in 1852. Generations of the Fogs have relied on it to confirm the time despite not being able to see through the fog. He would adjust the time on it weekly to ensure the time at which he got off work was always accurate.

The factory distributed standard work gloves to its workers. Made of thick synthetic material, these gloves may look unremarkable, but they effectively protect the workers' hands. Much like their wearers, these gloves are plain and quiet, yet undeniably reliable.

A top hat worn by the last Fogwalker, highly waterproof.

At some point, it became the symbol of the Fogwalkers. Oliver Fog inherited this hat after his father died. Given his age, however, it might be a bit too tall for him.

The wrench in the interviewee's hand bears the marks of years of use. It is the most reliable and trustworthy tool they use in their day to day work.

An umbrella wand custom-made at J&S Umbrella Workshop, London, by the last Fogwalker, and a highly efficient conductor of arcanum energy. The handle and the body are made of the same piece of ebony, which makes it hard and durable. On the body is carved "For My Son Oliver": it was supposed to be a present for Oliver on his 18th birthday, but unfortunately he got it as an inheritance.

A headlamp, a standard piece of protective gear for workers, used to check each other's position and ward off the cold. That said, its primary function is to light the way ahead.

The gloomy rain in London never stops, in the past, the present and the future.

In ancient times, the fog brought about by rainy weather was the biggest headache for the defenders of the city. Thus, the Fog family, aka, Sir Fog, which could absorb the fog, was established.

They were hired by the officials of London to deal with the frequent fog in the city and restore visibility for the good of the citizens and military. Armed with their trademark black pointed umbrellas, they constantly weaved through the fog to find the location where they can work most efficiently.

Over time, the family became known as the Fogwalkers.

However, the industrial revolution changed everything.

The chimneys that were constantly built and the endless smoke and dust emitted in the city were pushing them to the limits of their abilities.

Nobody understood the dangers of these seemingly harmless fumes better than the Fogs did. They were distressed and called for help, yet their voices remained unheard.

Finally, the accident happened in the winter of 1952.

The memory of that winter day always jumps into his mind when he recalls the past.

On that day, the fog outside was so thick that it seemed on the verge of breaking the window. It was so dark that no light could be seen. London looked as if it had been swallowed by a poisonous snake, and all that everyone could see was a foggy, steaming hell in its belly.

Oliver's father kept coughing as if he was going to cough his lungs out of his body. His figure, which used to stand so tall, was now bent over and no different than a dry, withered branch.

"It's my, as well as our responsibility..."

The hand resting on Oliver's shoulder disappeared, and his father put on his top hat again. The moment he pushed the door open, the greedy fog immediately devoured that once lofty figure.

Oliver picked up his pocket watch, wore his bowler hat, put on his coat and rested against his umbrella, just like that lofty figure he remembered.

Now, there is a new Fogwalker in London,

but there would never be another person like his father.

Oliver Fog: I have a question for you before the interview.

Pandora Wilson: Please go on.

Oliver Fog: How are the sales of your magazine?

Pandora Wilson: Objectively speaking, we're doing quite well.

Oliver Fog: That's good... *clears throat* The unscrupulous London City Council is exploiting children and has been enforcing overtime illegally! I hereby protest!

Pandora Wilson: ...?

Oliver Fog: On behalf of all workers, I hereby take my stance!

Oliver Fog: We demand an eight-hour workday, workers' compensation, and to leave work on time! Everyone should get off work on time! Friends, every minute you work overtime is a form of disrespect for your own life!

Oliver Fog: That's what I want to say, Miss. Have you written it down yet? If you don't have any more questions, I'd like to knock off.

Pandora Wilson: Is being interviewed also considered being on the clock?

Oliver Fog: Of course.