The Jigsaw Man
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and situations are the property of their respective creators and owners. No copyright infringement is intended. All other characters are the product of my own fevered imagination.
For the purposes of establishing a timeline, this story could be said to commence some time after Episode 7.02 but, hopefully, there won't be any spoilers as such as this narrative takes a fanciful turn near the beginning which places our beloved characters' feet firmly on a path to a completely different future.
Prologue
The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall – The Doors
Run, run, run as fast as you can
You can't catch me -
I'm the Jigsaw Man.
It was night time and it was raining in the City of Angels – a most appropriate coincidence he thought. His gramma had always said that rain was the tears of angels weeping for the injustices that occurred in this world but he thought that if that had been true it would never stop raining, especially here in Los Angeles. No, he had always felt that the rain was just the world's way of attempting to wash itself clean, of trying to rid itself of those annoying bits of grit and grime that built up to irritate and eventually corrode all that was right and just.
Not that the rain ever could ever cleanse this city. Wherever one chose to look; wherever one chose to turn over a rock: there slithered something dark and corrupt, exuding the stench of destruction and decay. Nowhere was free from the taint of evil.
But now he had returned to the city of his birth. He was realist enough to know that he alone could never hope to cure his beloved city of all its ills but he also knew that he had the knowledge and wherewithal needed to make a significant difference. Maybe that was why it was raining; maybe gramma's angels were crying tears of joy because Los Angeles' saviour had finally returned.
Allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction, he tugged at his leather gloves one more time and checked that the silencer on his gun was firmly attached. He knew that purists referred to them as suppressors these days but he much preferred to continue to think of them as silencers as he used them to silence the voices of evil.
It was time. The door to the vipers' nest that he had been observing for several days was closed and the rain had driven away any potential bystanders. Pulling his hat further down over his eyes, he left the shadows where he had been lurking and strode unerringly towards the door and his awaiting destiny.