The night lay unnaturally still on the outskirts of London, suspended between the quiet hush of a small town and the distant heartbeat of the great city beyond. Rain had passed only hours before, leaving the streets slick and gleaming beneath gas lamps. Thick fog crept low along the cobblestones, denser than usual, heavy with the kind of silence that invited superstition. People whispered that nights like this were cursed. That the careless vanished. That the innocent were never found. And that those who were found…were found too late. They blamed a name spoken only in murmurs. Jack the Ripper.

By daylight, he was celebrated under a different title "the Black Bones Phantom". A renowned actor of the gothic stage, beloved for tragic romances steeped in darkness and thrill. Audiences sat spellbound by his performances; some admired him in awe, others watched through the lens of envy. A gentleman of impeccable posture and refined speech.

But midnight peeled away the illusion. Beneath the fog and moonlight, the gentleman became a hunter.

Tonight, a lone street lamp flickered weakly as Jack leaned back against its iron post, posture relaxed, almost leisurely. Somewhere behind him, hidden by mist and shadow, lay the lifeless body of a woman, one who had laughed at him earlier that morning upon the stage, mistaking cruelty for wit. Justice, he believed, was best delivered privately.

A soft hum escaped him, low and melodic, carried by a polished British lilt as he examined his left hand. Long, razor-thin silver claws gleamed faintly as he drew them toward his lips, licking away the last traces of crimson with an unhurried, violet tongue.

♪ London Bridge is falling down… Falling down, falling down… London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady~♪ The tune ended gently.

Then, something shifted. Jack paused. The fog stirred, not by wind, but by presence. His head tilted slightly, attention sharpening as instinct overtook indulgence. Though no eyes lay behind the belt-bound mask, his awareness fixed unerringly on the source. His voice followed withsmooth, calm, touched with unmistakable interest.

“My, oh my…” A faint smile curved the mask’s eternal grin. “The moon is rather beautiful tonight…" His tone softened, almost pleased. “It seems I’ve been noticed.”