The loud gunshot snapped John Wither out of his unconsciousness. He was lying on the hard stone floor in complete darkness. As he tried to sit up, his muscles felt as if petrified as a result of the electric shock. Quickly he checked his belongings. His gun was lying somewhere on the ground. His lantern was gone. He must had dropped it.

Strangely enough, he seemed to see a small nest of light, reflecting from a corner near him. He took one step and hit his head on the wall. Now one hand on the wall, the other holding his revolver, he made his way towards the light. His palm was sweaty and

shaking. Wither wasn't even sure if he would be able to pull the trigger in the unlikely case he should notice his enemy before it was to late.

When he reached the corner where the light was clearly visible, he hesitated. Was this another trap? From what he had seen, The Skinner loved playing with his prey. What if he turned around the corner and walked right into his cross sights? But what choice did he have? He was alone and blind. If he had fight for his life, he at least wanted to be able to see.

Wither took a deep breath, then jumped into the next room, his pistol ready. The Skinner wasn't there. Instead his gun pointed directly at Anna Crissly, who stood in the middle of the main room, staring at the big door.

"Crissly?"

She turned to him. Her look was confused and baffled.

"What happened to you?"

"I think Emilia is dead. I'm not sure, I just ran away."

"Damn it! And what about McGill? Did you see him?"

"No. But when I got here, I found this."

She pointed at McGill's Shotgun, which was laying next to the door.

"Also I got lost at first, so I found the other keys."

"By yourself? But how? Did the Skinner not find you?"

"I don't know. I just kept moving and nothing happened."

Puzzled Wither looked around himself. What was going on? Had The Skinner get bored with them?

Wither took his revolver and checked the magazine. He had three bullets left plus two in McGill's gun. He sighed and handed his gun to Crissly and took the shotgun.

"Emilia might be dead, but that doesn't change her plan. Let's see what's behind this door."

A part of him didn't even expect the door to work and when the massive construction began to move, he didn't know what to feel. Relief? Fear? Anger? Anxiety? For now it seemed best to banish all his emotions from his mind and just concentrate on putting one foot before the other. This plan however was quickly nullified when the door finally opened. A wide floor, well lit by lanterns appeared before them. The walls however were decorated with the Skinner's victims. Four skinless bodies stood there in festive poses. Among them a woman seemed to be clapping, another man bowed before them. Finally Wither's gritty resolve shattered.

A long bottled up scream escaped his throat, followed by the contents of his stomach. Looking away didn't help. The image had burned into his mind and he couldn't help but wonder how skilfully and accurately the bodies had been prepared and arranged.

The Skinner had to be a taxidermist or something similar.

At the end of that corridor of horrors was a large, round room, the size of a small market place. Four pillars supported the room and in the middle of them was a collection of tables and a metal stand filled with all kinds of tools. He saw knifes, bloody rags and lot's of other thinks that could have belonged to a butcher or, well, a skinner. Behind The Skinner's workshop he saw a ladder leading up to a hatch in the ceiling. Was that really it? Had they won the game? He doubted it. Nevertheless he took another step forward, directly into the workshop.

When he passed the pillars, another horror jumped him. There on the pillars, hanging from chained hooks, he saw Frye and and McGill. They were dead without any doubt. McGill's throat was wide open and still bleeding. Frye had a big hole in her head. He jumped back and stumbled into Crissly. Then the lights went out.

"Miss Crissly. Mister Wither. Welcome to my playground. We are all so happy to have you here."

The voice was muffled and hard to locate. Immediately the two officers turned on their lanterns. The two rays of light searched through the darkness.

"I'm sure we can talk about this!", Wither yelled. "If you surrender now, the Crown will go easy on you!"

"Oh, please. I know exactly what the Crown's prosecution will do to with me. I would rather have you stay here with us."

The voice seemed to come from behind a shelf, next to him. He took two careful steps towards it, then jumped behind it. Nothing. He cursed and turned around. Before he could see more, something punched him in the face and snatched the shotgun out of his hand.

Then finally he saw The Skinner right in front of him.

Wild, long, dark hair framed a pair of black engineer's goggles. The face was covered by a brown leather mask. The mask and the red leather coat were sprinkled with fresh blood.

Wither didn't want to think abound it, but he knew what those clothes were made from.

Two twin blades sprang out of the Skinner's right sleeve, while the left hand was armed with a brass gauntlet that had lighting jumping between the fingers. Wither had already experienced how painful that gauntlet could be, so he jumped out of it's reach. Unfortunately he couldn't escape the blades and they pierced his stomach. He growled in pain and pressed his hand on the wound. In the next moment, the Skinner was gone.

"Crissly! Watch ou..." Suddenly his body cramped and the pain became excruciating. The blades had been poisoned. Of course!

Wither heard gunshots, followed by Crissly screaming in pain. He lurched around the shelf and saw her sinking to the ground, her left left arm in the gauntlet of the Skinner. Without even thinking, Wither hastened and ran right into his opponent. They landed on the ground and Wither threw punches at the masked face that made his fists hurt. For a moment it looked like the Skinner was surrendering, then another charge of electricity went through his body. Not as strong as before, but nevertheless pain full. Before he could help it, he and the Skinner changed positions. The Skinner, now on top, pinned Wither on the ground and readied his blade.

"Why? At least tell me why!", Wither shouted angrily.

"Alone nevermore, Mister Wither. Alone nevermore."

The blades swooped down and Wither managed to get a hold of the The Skinner's arm. But the pain and the weight of the Skinner's body were to much. Already he felt the blades on his chest.

"Alone?", he asked. "You know what? Take your crazy talk and go fu..."

The echoing blast from the shotgun numbed Wither's entire perception. The Skinner's body fell from him, detached from the arm Wither was still holding. He looked to his right. Crissly stood there, shoutgun in hand. Her face still had the same confused expression and for a moment Wither thought she was going to shoot him as well. But then she lowered the gun and stepped to him.

"Are you alright?", she asked.

"No...no I am not. But thank you. I think I'll make it."

Among The Skinner's supplies, Wither found a bottle of antidote. It took a while, but finally the cramps ceased. Only then they finally turned to the bloody remains of The Skinner. The gun blast had opened the side of his chest, but the head was undamaged. With shivering hands, Wither stripped the goggles and the mask from his face. No...not his face.

"Crissly...who do you see there?"

"Is this...Sergeant Kleril?"