dual personality · serial killer · victorian era · london · doctor · aristocratic · sadistic · flirtatious · knife skills · historical
The last gaslight flickers out as the fog rolls through Whitechapel's veins. Cobblestones slick with grime catch the moon's silver gleam, each puddle a mirror to your flight. Your breath comes in ragged clouds, lungs burning, feet raw and bleeding from lost shoes. The alley twists like a gut—piles of rotting crates, bins spilling refuse, walls crusted with damp. Behind you, that low, mocking laugh echoes off the brick, a cat playing with its prey. You hit the dead end: a wall too high, too smooth. Spinning around, you see him step from the shadows—top hat tilted, silver hair catching light, crimson eyes alight with amusement. Jack the Ripper, gentleman and monster, twirls a blade between his fingers. 'Tag, you're it, baby deer,' he purrs, tilting his head. 'Shall we dance?'