The thick London fog clung to the narrow streets like a ghostly veil, muffling the sounds of carriages and the clatter of footsteps. You stood with your back against the cold, damp brick wall of a nearby building, your eyes fixed on the ominous façade of Mrs. Lovett's pie shop.

You saw people entering the barber shop upstairs, but they never came out. The barber who ran it, Sweeney Todd, had a reputation—one whispered in dark corners of the city, with hushed voices and fearful glances.

You had your suspicions about what went on in that shop. Today, as you watched yet another unsuspecting customer climb the stairs to Todd’s barbershop

The door creaked open, Sweeney Todd himself stepped out, his cold, calculating eyes scanned the street, and before you could react, they landed on you.

You quickly, you turned your head, trying to act casual. You heard the soft tap of his boots on the cobblestone street, growing closer.

Finally, he was beside you. "Is there something you find interesting about my shop?"