A/N: Thanks to Phish Tacko for being Editor-in-Chief for this story! Contains mpreg, rape, general torture and mutilation. You've been warned!

Ch. 1

It was a cold, rainy day, the type of day that most people would consider miserable. However, Sweeney Todd was not like most people. He actually preferred cold, rainy days to the rare times that sunlight ever filtered through the London smog.

He'd had a few customers that day. One or two regulars; people that he liked, or tolerated enough not to kill. Mainly, he liked them because they were quiet. All they wanted was a good shave and once they got it, they paid and left without much discussion.

A third customer had gotten on his nerves, though. A younger man who must've come from money, because he put down everything in Sweeney's shop.

"You must not have updated any of this equipment since the American Revolution!" He'd exclaimed as he glanced around. He was right, the chairs and mirrors were there when Sweeney had first moved in and were probably close to a hundred years old, but he didn't care to update them. They worked just fine as far as he could tell. He'd ended up slitting the man's throat before he was even halfway done with the shave.

After depositing the man's body through the trap door, Sweeney decided to close up. He was kind of tired. Becoming middle aged had that effect, he noticed. He was tired more often and his body hurt more, especially on cold, dreary days.

He sighed as he locked the door to his parlor. Maybe a drink would help him relax a bit.

It was dark outside by the time he'd made it to the Red Lion Pub down on Crown Passage. Thankfully, there weren't many customers there. Just a few bar rats and a few men who'd just left work and were having a pint before heading home to their nagging wives. Sweeney took a seat at the bar, and ordered a pint of ale.

For a while, he sat there, zoning out and enjoying his beverage. Eventually, his thoughts drifted to happier times, as they often did when alcohol was involved. He imagined his wife and daughter, what they might look like now. He remembered the day that Lucy had told him she was pregnant, how she'd laid next to him and kissed him before telling him the good news. He was happy then. The future looked bright. Had things stayed on course, he'd have a teenage daughter by now. Maybe he'd have more children. He and Lucy would still be happy, maybe living in a nicer home than the room next to his shop that they had shared.

He was roused from his daydreams by someone's voice. Rolling his eyes, Sweeney glanced over to see a little squirrelly-looking man staring at him.

"I said, what happened to your hair?" The man asked, thinking that Sweeney was ignoring him.

"It's none of your business," Sweeney replied, scowling at the man.

"It's not normal for a man to have such a streak of white in it. What's your name, stranger? I've not seen you here before."

"It's none of your damn business," Sweeney repeated. "Ask another question, and I'll make sure you regret it." He pulled out his blade to prove he was serious. Seeing this, the man immediately backed off.

"Alright, alright, no need to get violent," He said, putting his hands up.

Sweeney contemplated taking the man out back and slitting his throat anyway, but decided that he didn't want to be bothered with it. He was still tired. Still scowling, he paid his tab and began to walk out.

He'd made it a few steps outside when he began to feel dizzy. It was as if the world was spinning. It was hard for Sweeney to keep his balance, and it got harder and harder to do with each step that he took. The parlor was only another few blocks... Sweeney told himself this as he continued to trudge up the street. If he could just keep going, he could make it home and he could lie down and hopefully he'd feel better later.

Another few steps and he had to stop. He grabbed on to a nearby brick wall, trying to keep himself upright. In the distance, he could hear footsteps coming nearer to him. Closer and closer. He tried to push himself up and continue walking, but as soon as he did, he was overcome with another wave of dizziness. This time, he began to see black spots in front of him. He took another two steps before collapsing to his knees. He could still hear the footsteps, coming closer, but his vision had gone black. And, just like that, he was unconscious.