Swindon, 1874:

"Welcome to the Swindon Police Department!"

The dainty, dark haired, young woman gleamed at Jonathan Wither from behind the reception counter, while the brown owl on the perch to her right seemed to watch him with critical eyes. Why a police station had an owl was a question in of itself, but it were unusual times that brought Mister Wither to Swindon and he presumed that those times also were responsible for this odd choice in staff.

Not even five years ago, circumstances like this would have been unthinkable, especially in one of the largest cities in the Empire. The British Empire had flourished and only the most foolish would dare to oppose the Crown. But the more the Empire would expand it's borders, the more uneasy the other nations would become. Finally a territorial disagreement with the Kingdom of France escalated to a war, that many people thought of as long overdue.

During the past five years, the fronts of war were moved many times and more and more resources were withdrawn for the sake of victory. When the Royal Army finally started to thin out, the Crown decided to send the police to the front as well. This turned the tides of war, but left an emptiness in the country, that provided new freedom to a lot of factions. Once more the street were ruled by gangs, the rich and powerful began to make their own plans and deep in the underground heretics planed to overthrow the Crown and bring back the forbidden religions.

To bring control back to the authorities, officers like Mister Wither were transferred from the country to the big cities. Jonathan Wither indeed was your typical small town bachelor, with dark hair that yearned the touch of a barber and bright brown eyes, not yet corrupted by the terrors of the Swindon underground.

"Sir?"

A skinny man in uniform approached Mister Wither. Judging by his appearance, the man came from the southern colonies of the empire, but his English was perfect. He nevertheless seemed nervous when he offered his hand to Mister Wither.

"Sergeant Kleril will see you now, Sir."

"Thank you, Mister...?"

"Mijan...Lieutenant Apar Mijan. It's...aw...a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

"Yes, thank you...Aw...after you, Sir."

"I'm afraid, I don't know the way yet."

"Yes! Yes, of course...my apologies...please follow me."

They left the lobby and followed the checkered corridor. To his surprise, Wither noticed that the young woman was following them. Finally Mijan stopped in front of a closed door and knocked.

"S-Sergeant Kleril, Mister Winter is here to see you."

"Wither", Wither said.

"Yes, yes...apologies, Sir! Mister Wither is..."

"For Crown's sake, just send him in!", the female voice inside the office yelled.

Wither nodded to Mijan and entered the office. As the young woman tried to follow him, Mijan yet again raised his voice. As good as he could.

"Anna, what are doing? You have to staff the reception!"

"Lenny is taking my shift."

She pointed at the grumpy looking owl on the counter. Mijan tried to protest, but Anna just shrugged and closed the door behind her before he could say anything.

Sergeant Kleril's office was dominated by the professional mess of an experienced officer. Maps of the city and adjacent places covered every single wall and her desk was buried under files, news papers and empty tea cups. Sergeant Amanda Kleril herself was tall, dark haired and younger than she actually looked. An experienced observer would know, that Sergeant Kleril was in her early forties, but her pale skin and tired eyes, without any doubt the result of many nights of hard work, seemed like a mask of age. Still she didn't seemed overworked, but concentrated and organized. Her tied-up hair and proper uniform were proof of that.

"Mister Wither, pleasure to meet you. Please sit. Can I help you, Miss Crissly?"

"Nope." Lost in her thoughts, Anna Crissly started to wander around the office.

"Then leave us alone and do your bloody job!"

"Lenny is..."

"Right now!"

The young woman frowned and left the office like a child that has been send to it's room.

Sergeant Kleril took a deep breath before she looked at Wither.

"Those are the people I have to work with, Mister Wither. I certainly hope you are going to be a breath of fresh air."

"I presume all your good men are hiding in some trenches right now?"

"Careful, Mister Wither. You'll find that the Inquisition can be quite fast in this city. I would advise you to keep your criticism to yourself."

"Right, sorry. It's an honor to be here, Ma'am."

Sergeant Kleril showed the hint of a smile before she started rummage around her desk.

"Which town did you say you are from?", she asked.

"Redhill. We mostly deal with smugglers and drunks."

"Well, we do have our fair share of both here. But the most pressing matter right now would the Skinner." While speaking, she took a piece of news paper and showed it to Wither. Large black letters formed a quite typical headline:

SKINNER STRIKES AGAIN.

Just this morning a fisherman discovered the horrible mutilated corpse of another unfortunate victim of the Skinner. The identity of the victim has yet to be discovered.

"Do you know, why they call him the Skinner, Mister Wither?"

"The Butcher was already taken?"

"Hilarious. Let's see how chipper you feel after taken a look at this poor fellow."

With those words, she presented Wither a couple photographs. Immediately Wither's face turned pale and his breakfast came dangerously close to leaving his stomach. The photograph showed an autopsy table with the corpse of man on it. The victim's gender was the only thing Wither could recognize. Beyond that all he could see were muscles and sinew. The skinless body showed deep wounds at the throat and forehead. The eyes were missing.

"I hope you have a strong stomach, Mister Wither. Because it's going to be your job to see this bastard brought to justice."

She leaned back in her chair and spread her arms.

"Welcome to Swindon!"