As I traversed the dimly lit streets of London, my thoughts were ensnared by the ghastly specter of the crimes that haunted our city. The air was thick with the stench of malevolence, and the grim reality of a torture manor, aptly dubbed Mckaney, weighed heavily upon my mind. Clad in my customary attire—a coat to shield me from the biting cold, a waistcoat tailored to precision, and my trusty tie fastened snugly around my neck—I returned to the sanctity of my humble chambers.