A group of high-ranking officers followed Chief Douglas as he strode out of the East London Police Headquarters.
Gathered at the station entrance, a cluster of detectives were whispering amongst themselves.
Seeing the chief arrive, a middle-aged inspector stepped forward and saluted.
"Chief Douglas, sir!"
"What's the situation?"
Douglas glanced at the young detective who had stammered and fumbled his report earlier.
Realizing he wouldn't get anything useful out of the man, he waved him aside.
"Take a break. I'll see for myself."
The bespectacled inspector took a deep breath before speaking.
"Sir, a few moments ago, several bloody sacks were discovered outside the police station."
"They're leaking blood. Likely linked to a serious crime. We didn't dare open them without your approval."
Douglas' expression darkened.
"So if I wasn't here, you lot wouldn't know what to do?"
"Do I need to personally authorize every little thing now? What's the point of having you around, then?"
His tone was sharp, and though it wasn't directed at anyone in particular, every officer present lowered their heads.
"Show me."
The inspector quickly led Douglas and the station superintendents toward the discovery site.
The air around them was tense.
Even the highest-ranking officers weren't immune to Douglas' scoldings.
The Bloody Sacks
The police station was centrally located, surrounded by law offices, psychiatric clinics, and private hospitals.
Across the street stood a well-known newspaper office, the Penny Gazette.
A short walk later, the group arrived at the alleyway behind a row of residential buildings.
Under the dim glow of a streetlamp, a pile of five burlap sacks sat beside a garbage bin.
The ground beneath them was slick with seeping blood.
Douglas inhaled through his pipe, the acrid scent of tobacco mixing with the stench of blood.
"Open them up."
He gestured toward the bags.
"Be careful. And someone organize a quiet street patrol. No need to stir up the public."
A burly inspector named Cohen nodded.
"On it."
He turned and headed back into the station to gather a discreet search team.
Meanwhile, the bespectacled inspector hesitated.
Realizing no one else was stepping forward, he sighed, then bent down to untie the first sack.
The bag was heavy.
He gritted his teeth and, with help from a few detectives, managed to heave it onto the pavement.
As the sack opened, the stench of blood grew thicker.
A leg slipped out first—pale, lifeless, bent at an unnatural angle.
The First Body
Douglas, always one to lead by example, stepped forward and lifted the corpse out himself.
It was a man, clearly dead.
His clothes were soaked through with blood, and his body bore four gunshot wounds.
The fatal shot had punctured his lower back, likely shattering his spleen.
Death would have been agonizing—but swift.
Douglas glanced at the corpse's face.
The man's hands were bound behind his back, and his eyes were covered with a white cloth, tied tightly.
The fabric dug deep into his skin, leaving a sunken imprint around his eye sockets.
And on that white cloth, written in dried, smeared blood, were a few crooked words:
[Oran Smith, 80 pounds.]
One of the superintendents spoke up.
"Oran Smith. He was a mid-level enforcer for the Kore Brotherhood."
"A gang member?" Douglas muttered, exhaling a stream of smoke.
"If you recognize his name, that means there's a bounty on him, yes?"
He tapped the "80 pounds" written on the cloth.
"Is that the correct amount?"
The superintendent hesitated.
"I… believe so. If not exactly 80 pounds, then close."
Douglas nodded, signaling for the rest of the sacks to be opened.
Lined Up for Sale
Within minutes, five corpses were laid out side by side.
Three had been gunned down.
Two had only knife wounds—the cuts clean and precise, done with an exceptionally sharp blade.
Each body had a white cloth covering their eyes, with their names and bounties written in their own blood:
[Zafarullah Box, 95 pounds.]
[Chesson Whiteman, 70 pounds.]
[Gilbert Johnson, 66 pounds.]
[Robindes Cayo Donner, 105 pounds.]
Even in the morning light, the sight was eerie.
It wasn't just the brutality—
It was the message behind it.
Douglas clicked his tongue in frustration.
This wasn't what he expected when he took this job.
The East London crime wave was already overwhelming, and now, in the span of just a few days—
He had to deal with:
① A murderer brazen enough to slaughter criminals inside a police station.② And now, a bounty hunter who delivers corpses like morning newspapers.
"What Are We Supposed to Do? Arrest Him?"
Douglas squinted at the corpses.
Judging by the state of decomposition, these men had been killed only a few hours ago.
And their bodies had been delivered directly to police headquarters.
A clear statement.
This killer wasn't just capable.
They were also smart.
They targeted only wanted criminals, technically doing the police's job for them.
Hell—
They were actually helping reduce the crime rate.
Under normal circumstances, Douglas should order an arrest.
But this was East London.
And in East London—
Bodies in the street weren't the biggest problem.
A Mysterious Note
The bespectacled inspector suddenly bent down, retrieving a crumpled piece of paper from Oran Smith's pocket.
"Sir, take a look at this."
Douglas took the note.
It read:
"Good morning, dear officers."
"Apologies for disturbing your breakfast, but I must take a moment of your time."
"You see, whether I dine on French foie gras or stale bread next month depends entirely on your response."
"I believe you recognize these men. Their names are written for your convenience."
"In short—I have completed a few of your outstanding bounties."
"As such, I expect payment."
"Please send my earnings to the following address: London, East District, Blackfriars, Hanmer Street..."
"And don't forget to add a little tip."
"Signed,A hardworking, law-abiding citizen—
—— J.
Douglas' Response?
He clenched the note between his fingers.
His scarred brow twitched slightly.
And then—
He took a deep drag from his pipe.
Exhaled.
And muttered under his breath:
"Well, I'll be damned."
Meanwhile…
Across the city, a certain bounty hunter strolled into his cheap apartment, his coat flapping in the wind.
Behind him—
The first light of dawn touched the horizon.
And the game had only just begun.
To be continued…