We Are The Dead An Introduction of Sorts

3:36 am on 11th November 1888 – Whitechapel, London

I love the chase. The frightened scurrying. The panicky looks over the shoulder. Especially I like the sounds of the hunt. The panting, gasping, ragged breath. The rasping choking cough. The delicious sounds of fear. Its like an aperitif, before the first course of pleading, the main dish of screaming agony, and the final coffee gurgling of death.

Right now I'm pursuing a very young tom, I like them young. They run faster. It makes the whole experience more interesting, though the outcome is never in doubt. I know every road, every alleyway, every hiding place, every rat run of this part of London. There's nowhere she can go to escape now. Aha! Now that is a dead end. How very appropriate.

“I fear you have made a mistake little whore. There is no escape from this alley”

I listen to her frantic breathing as I approach slowly. There is no hurry, taking my time prolongs the pleasure. Unfolding a razor, I'm anticipating the look in her eyes when she sees it. Oh yes. This was going to be so go...”

“It is you who have made a mistake.” Said a deep and heavily accented voice.

The Ripper spun round, his blade arching before him. It slashed through empty air. The man who addressed him was standing a little way back, dressed in a heavy overcoat.

There was a loud crack. The Ripper felt as though he had been struck in the chest with a sledgehammer. He looked down, and died in confusion, unable to comprehend what had happened.

Colonel Oleg Penkovsky stepped forwards and checked the man's neck. There was no pulse. From the shadows of the alley the 'whore' came forwards. She looked at least ten years older than the frightened girl of about 14 or 15 the Ripper had chased. Yet she had the same fine blond hair, and the same eyes of robin's egg blue. Lesley Palmira described herself as being 'temporally elastic.' This meant she could be any age that she chose. She put this down to having unusual parents. One of her mothers was a time traveller and retired assassin. The other said she was an angel, which Lesley believed implicitly.

“A clean kill,” she said, “well done Oleg.”

She spoke into a small microphone attached unobtrusively to her blouse.

“Lesley here. The mission has been successful. Colonel Penkovsky has killed the Ripper. Can we sort the clean up now please.”

A tall, handsome man appeared next to Lesley, his name was Nikola Tesla and he addressed Penkovsky cordially,

“Congratulations Colonel, an excellent job.”

Tesla was carrying a body bag. Together he and the Colonel manhandled the corpse of Jack the Ripper into the bag. When it was done Tesla clipped a small cylinder to the bag and pressed a button. The bag vanished. The three people in the alley looked at one another and then they too disappeared.

"We Are The Dead - Death of A Colonel"