Dawn was breaking.
The thick fog of London began to lift, revealing the chaos that still simmered beneath its streets.
At the East London Police Headquarters, the weight of the night's events pressed down on the officers gathered inside.
This was the central command for the most crime-ridden district in London, a city within a city where lawlessness and order constantly clashed.
The Meeting Room
Chief Douglas tossed a stack of case files onto the long mahogany table.
His face was carved with deep frown lines, and his steely gaze swept over the assembled officers.
He did not shout.
He did not scold.
But his silence was far more oppressive than any reprimand.
Everyone in the room was a high-ranking officer—police superintendents and senior inspectors.
Their dark blue uniforms were adorned with golden insignias, and their reinforced bowler hats distinguished them as London's elite lawmen.
These few dozen men could command over seventy percent of the city's police force at a moment's notice.
Yet under Douglas' stare, not a single man dared to meet his eyes.
"Gentlemen," Douglas finally broke the silence, his voice gravelly, burdened with years of war and bureaucracy.
"Do you realize that as of today, East London's crime index has reached a staggering 71.2%?"
He took a deep breath and lifted his smoking pipe, letting out a puff of white smoke.
"Smuggling, gang shootouts—these are daily occurrences now. Innocent civilians are caught in crimes they have no part in. Just last month—June to July—twenty-three people were murdered, and more than eighty people went missing."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"And who is responsible for this?"
He picked up another report, flipping through its pages.
"The Pyle Family, the Razor Gang, the Kore Brotherhood, the Three Penny Society—these are just a few of the crime syndicates that have turned East London into a battlefield."
"And let's not forget the Forty Madmen, the Street Boys, and the countless other gangs infecting our streets like a plague."
"If this were any other part of London, this level of disorder would be unthinkable."
Some officers shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
They knew the underlying issue was more than just organized crime.
Many of these gangs had connections to members of Parliament—corrupt politicians who secretly protected them for personal gain.
But no one dared to say it out loud.
Not even here.
Not even in front of Douglas.
"I know," Douglas continued, exhaling another cloud of smoke.
"Some of these groups are backed by certain short-sighted rats in Westminster."
"But that is not the main problem."
His voice hardened.
"The real problem lies within our own ranks."
Silence.
No one spoke.
The Elephant in the Room
Douglas had served in the Royal Navy, personally awarded knighthood by the Queen herself.
He had no fear of speaking his mind.
Others, however, were not so bold.
The truth was—
Despite East London being the best-equipped police district—despite every officer carrying firearms—despite higher salaries and better training—
Crime continued to rise.
Which meant—
The failure had to come from inside the department.
A New Problem
Douglas set his pipe down and picked up a new file.
"Aside from these long-standing issues, we now have another incident that requires our immediate attention."
He waved the document in the air, his expression grim.
"This happened recently at the Whitechapel Police Station. I'd like to hear your thoughts on it."
The officers visibly relaxed.
They knew how Douglas operated.
He'd scold them first—but after that, it meant work needed to be done.
And if they did the job well—
They might avoid more lectures for a while.
They flipped through the detailed case reports.
Within moments—
Expressions shifted from indifference to shock.
"'Jack the Ripper'?"
"A vigilante killing a suspect inside a police station?"
"This is..."
Brilliant!
For several officers, their first reaction wasn't horror—
It was approval.
The public, as well as some members of Parliament, had been pushing for the return of harsher punishments.
With crime rates spiraling out of control, many believed the police were too soft.
And here was someone who had taken matters into their own hands.
A ruthless execution.
A clear message to criminals.
Some officers couldn't help but admire it.
Of course, not everyone agreed.
"This is a blatant challenge to police authority!"
"Another self-righteous fool playing 'hero'?"
"Or maybe it was just a personal vendetta."
"This is madness!"
"Still… this detective's skills are impressive. If we had more like him, these rats wouldn't be so bold."
"Gentlemen."
Douglas rapped his pipe against the table, signaling for silence.
"In addition to these reports, the Whitechapel precinct also sent over a set of crime scene photos."
"Take a look."
A stack of black-and-white photographs was passed around.
At first, there was only silence.
Then—
A sharp inhale.
A murmur of discomfort.
A quiet curse.
Each officer who examined the pictures reacted the same way.
Shattered bones.
Torn flesh.
Organs ripped from bodies.
A scene straight from hell.
Seven minutes later, as the last photo was passed around, Douglas spoke again.
"This incident is far too sensitive to ignore."
"No matter what, this self-proclaimed Jack the Ripper has violated multiple laws."
"We cannot allow this to continue unchecked."
His solution?
"I propose we assemble a task force—experienced detectives with no scheduling conflicts—to investigate this case."
"Additionally," he continued, "I suggest we invite this private detective who solved the original case to assist with the investigation."
"What do you think?"
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Chief, what a brilliant insight!"
"I completely agree!"
"An excellent decision!"
Douglas sighed internally.
These guys…
They all loved agreeing with the boss.
The meeting was winding down—
Until—
A sudden knock at the door.
A uniformed officer entered, breathing heavily.
"Chief Douglas, sir!"
"There's something outside that requires your immediate attention!"
The room fell silent.
And then—
Douglas stood up.
"Let's go see what fresh madness awaits."