Lorien was in a foul mood.
Sure, this country was called Great Britain, and across the Channel was Frankreich.
But after weeks of careful observation, he could now say with certainty—
This was not the British Empire he knew from history.
The fact that some cities, figures, and historical events shared the same names?
Well, for that, he'd have to ask Max Planck, the father of quantum mechanics.
If anyone demanded an explanation—
The answer was simple:
"Quantum Entanglement."
Which meant…
There should be no logical reason for a real Jack the Ripper to exist in this world.
Yet here they were.
Someone was impersonating his creation.
Someone was killing prostitutes, using the name of Jack the Ripper.
"You commit the crime, and you want my man to take the fall?"
"What kind of nonsense is that?"
Lorien's fingers drummed against his chin as he mulled over the situation.
If this continued, Jack Arnold might end up carrying the same infamous title as the Jack the Ripper from Earth's history.
That idea left a bad taste in his mouth.
Jack Arnold was his first progeny, the strongest under his command.
To have his name smeared by some copycat?
Unacceptable.
"I need to unmask this murderer first."
"Then, I'll let Jack take care of them."
"Let the world know—'Jack the Ripper' doesn't appreciate impostors."
Of course, he had to be careful.
The more lesser vampires Jack created, the weaker the overall quality of their shared power became.
He needed quality over quantity.
For now, The Penitent Cross had only two blood-bound followers: Green and Michel.
Handpicked for their potential.
The ordinary recruits?
Those had already grown to over thirty.
Under Evens' careful management, they now had a fixed meeting place, a proper hierarchical structure, and had started building connections with local power groups.
A proper organization was taking shape.
Lorien's plan was twofold:
Publicly—he would join the police investigation, tracking "Jack the Ripper" from the shadows. Privately—Evens would deploy his followers to hunt down leads, filtering out weak members in the process.
"For now, you should lay low," Lorien told Jack Arnold.
"Help Evens oversee The Penitent Cross."
Jack gave a silent bow in acknowledgment.
With that settled, there was one last matter to handle.
His bounty money had arrived.
London East End, Blackfriars, Hammer Street No. 1145
The safehouse was long abandoned.
The bar had shut down weeks ago.
At first, the Corey Brothers Gang had planned to track down the bounty hunter known as J—
The man who had stormed their headquarters, executed Orlan Smith, and collected his bounty.
If they let such humiliation slide, their reputation would be in shambles.
They had started organizing a hunt—
Until they heard something chilling from their informants.
It wasn't just them.
Half the Blackfriars underworld had been wiped out.
Four different gang strongholds had been cleared out in a single night.
Each target was a ranking member in their respective organizations.
Two of them?
Nobody even realized they were missing until the next day—
When all that was left of them was a puddle of blood.
Upon learning this, the gang changed their tune.
No one wanted to die next.
Instead of pursuing revenge, they sent a few lower-ranked thugs to pretend to investigate.
No one wanted to risk their neck chasing down a monster.
Across the Street – A Café
Inside, seven undercover detectives sat among the patrons.
They had disguised themselves as ordinary citizens, pretending to read newspapers or sip coffee.
"You think this 'J' bounty hunter will show up?"
One detective lowered his paper, whispering to his partner.
"He should," the other muttered, adjusting his glasses.
"According to the bartender, 'J' left instructions to be contacted when the police delivered the money."
The police had already dropped off the bounty.
They were now waiting to see if the infamous bounty hunter would appear.
The official stance within the police department?
They approved of 'J's methods—
So long as he didn't break the law, the department was willing to turn a blind eye.
But they wanted to know who he was.
If possible, they'd identify him today.
Inside the Abandoned Bar
A young bartender, clearly nervous, dialed the number he had been given.
The receiver crackled, and then—
A cold voice answered.
"Who is this?"
The bartender swallowed.
"It's me, the one who gave you Orlan Smith's file."
"The bounty money has arrived."
"But I think the cops are watching the place."
The voice on the other end remained calm.
"Understood."
"Leave the money in Orlan Smith's office."
"No one else should be inside."
"Got it!"
The bartender hurried upstairs, carrying a black suitcase.
Upon entering Orlan Smith's former office, he placed the suitcase on the desk, flipping it open.
Inside, bundles of cash sat neatly stacked.
His fingers twitched—
20 pounds.
That was more than a week's wages for a guy like him.
The voice on the phone interrupted his thoughts.
"Take 20 pounds for yourself."
"Consider it a tip."
The bartender hesitated—
Then quickly grabbed two ten-pound notes before shutting the case.
"Done," he whispered.
"It's all yours now."
He hung up, calmly walking out of the bar.
Once he reached the street, two detectives patted him down.
When they found no cash on him, they let him go.
One Hour Later
The police had been waiting for movement.
But…
Nothing.
No one entered the abandoned bar.
No suspicious figures appeared on the streets.
The detectives in the café exchanged glances.
Something was wrong.
"Check the money," their commander ordered.
Two officers hurried inside the bar, rushing up the stairs.
They burst into Orlan Smith's office—
And froze.
A cold draft swept through the room.
The black suitcase was gone.
Vanished.
Meanwhile, Back in Lorien's Apartment
A shadowy mist coiled on the floor.
Within it, Lorien stepped forward, emerging from the darkness.
A heavy black suitcase sat on his desk.
His hands itched with anticipation.
He rubbed his palms together.
"Alright…"
"Time to unbox!"
TO BE CONTINUED…