The Walls of Silence.

The cramped, smoke-filled office of the Whitechapel police squad was a fragile refuge from the chaos outside. Files piled high on the table: victim records, witness statements, yellowed photographs. Sergeant Fielding scanned the notes with tired eyes while Harrow examined a map of the neighborhood, where several red dots marked the crime scenes.

“Three victims in less than a month,” said Harrow, pointing to a new mark, “all mutilated with the same precision. We're dealing with a methodical man.” "

Fielding nodded. “But no one saw anything. Not a scream, not a suspicious figure. Whitechapel has become a labyrinth where evil lurks around every corner.”

Outside the filthy windows, the city went about its business, indifferent to the creeping horror. Yet every inhabitant knew that at night, the Ripper prowled. And that soon, the scales would tip once more toward bloodshed.