Just as Jerome Bonaparte was about to take Ham to the café to see what's going on, a pair of fair arms blocked his path, and the owner of the arms looked at Jerome Bonaparte with a puzzled expression.
The owner of the arms was a young man wearing a light blue flak jacket and jeans, holding an old-fashioned smoothbore pistol, he sternly said to Jerome, "Sir, you can't go any further! God knows what kind of atrocities those mobsters might commit against a gentleman like you!"
Only then did Jerome Bonaparte remember that Britain in 1848 was at the peak of the Chartist movement, which almost toppled the British Royal Family, and the movement continued until 1851.
"Hmm?" Jerome Bonaparte thanked the young man, he did not want to get involved in this political storm, as every major political storm meant large-scale conflicts, and sometimes, if the conflicts were too intense, they would lead to bloodshed, either his own blood or that of the enemy. He didn't want to shed blood in Britain, he just wanted to return to France safely.
Seeing Jerome Bonaparte's reluctance to move forward, the young man, after looking at Jerome's attire, enthusiastically introduced himself: "I live on Picadilly Street, and my name is George John. Who might you be?"
"Jerome Stalin!" Jerome Bonaparte, who was wary of Anglo-Saxons, casually made up a name full of dark humor.
"Mr. Stalin!" George John seriously addressed Jerome Bonaparte as Mr. Stalin, which made Jerome burst into laughter.
Who knows if the future kindly father would directly purge me for using his name!
After silently joking to himself, Jerome Bonaparte quickly restrained his smile and his expression became increasingly grim.
"Um... Mr. Stalin! Why did you laugh?" George John asked, puzzled.
"I thought of something happy! Please continue!" Jerome Bonaparte said to George John.
"Mr. Stalin, are you interested in joining our team?" George John tentatively asked.
"Your team?" Jerome Bonaparte looked George John up and down, judging by his actions and posture, the man in front of him was probably a community volunteer police officer, and an unpaid one at that.
"That's right!" George John instantly beamed as he detailed the 'benefits' of being a community volunteer police officer, like being able to legally receive 'donations', conduct 'zero-price purchases' from the poor, and, if credited, transition to a regular position within the British police force.
In essence, it's an unpaid temp job, solving problems when needed, taking the fall when trouble arises, with all the credit going to the supposed leadership of the British police.
The benefits are not even as good as the neighboring French National Guard.
"And what is your position?" Jerome Bonaparte inquired.
"I am appointed as the squad leader of the Picadilly Street volunteer police team!" George John beamed as he spoke to Jerome Bonaparte, with a demeanor that suggested he felt as though he had been appointed as a minister by the Cabinet Prime Minister.
It's good for young people to have passion, but sometimes it can lead to trouble because of it.
Having gone through his own passionate period, Jerome never tried to dissuade this "young man" (not much younger than Jerome Bonaparte himself), believing that only after experiencing setbacks would he understand not everything in life is profitable.
"I..." Just as Jerome Bonaparte was about to refuse George John's offer, he heard a shout from the direction of the café "We want bread," "We want jobs," "We want universal suffrage," "We want democracy!"
Soon the workers gathered at the café echoed the call.
Although they didn't understand what democracy and universal suffrage were, they heard from those big figures (Charter Faction) that with universal suffrage and democracy comes bread and jobs.
"Let's go! We are going to City Hall to petition!"
The call for a "petition" suddenly emerged from the crowd, and soon after, everyone echoed it, following the crowd mentality, the workers joined in shouting "petition."
The leader organizing this "rally" also did not expect the "public" would be so "enthusiastic" in supporting them (the Charter Faction), feeling as triumphant as a general commanding thousands of troops.
He jumped off the improvised podium made of two wooden boxes, and everyone instinctively made way for the leader.
A mighty "petition" force was forming at the back and moving to the front towards London City Hall, the Charter Faction representative leading the way with unemployed workers and elite classes forced into the proletariat following behind him.
The place where Jerome Bonaparte was standing happened to be where the petition force was headed.
Almost all volunteer police and special police officers (also temporary workers in Britain, self-armed, with responsibility for any incidents) were on high alert.
The situation became quite tense, and Jerome Bonaparte could even hear a volunteer police officer gulping three meters away from him.
"Buddy! Looks like we've got trouble!" George John said with a slight tremble in his voice. This was his first time facing a petition force; he had only heard about it from neighbors before.
"I agree!" Jerome Bonaparte nodded in agreement, and Ham, whom he was holding onto, also bared his teeth and barked twice.
Seeing the march approaching, Jerome Bonaparte wanted to leave, as he didn't want to get involved in such a political vortex.
Just as Jerome was about to turn and leave, George John's hand grasped Jerome's sleeve: "George!"
"Mr. Stalin, you can't leave!" George John pleaded, looking at Jerome Bonaparte.
"Damn it! I'm not a volunteer police officer! I have no obligation to help the government suppress them!" Jerome Bonaparte restrained his anger and said to George John.
"Mr. Stalin, look around!" George John pointed at the surrounding volunteer police officers and whispered to Jerome Bonaparte, "If you leave suddenly, it could cause the entire team to collapse! If investigated later, you'll be court-martialed!"
Jerome Bonaparte laughed bitterly and said, "I'm just an innocent bystander, and you treat an international friend ?"
"Sir, this is Britain!" George John responded helplessly.
"Damn United Kingdom!" Jerome Bonaparte cursed quietly.