Warning: This chapter contains animal abuse.
Chapter 1: On a Dark Night in London...
Arthur Kirkland walked down the streets of London with a confident swagger coming off of him. He swung his baton almost playfully with a bit of a hop in his step. He had always loved working a night shift. As he walked, he chuckled a bit when he had recalled an earlier conversation with his older brother, Allistair:
Why do you always walk around at night instead of drive a car like the rest of them? Allistair had asked as he had patted Arthur on the shoulder. Arthur looked at his brother, sighing inaudibly. "Why do you need to know? I can do as I please." he paused a bit before continuing. "Although, if you really must know, I walk around because I simply enjoy the action of walking. Now begone; my shift starts soon."
The officer wasn't lying though. Arthur did enjoy a good walk, and he never minded running after a culprit, for that matter. He looked around from the lights and how they flickered ever so slightly from age to the cloudy sky with the moonlight shimmering through the gaps. He continued to walk, skipping puddles, and avoiding rain dripping from the shingles of the roofs of houses and flats, until he had turned the corner and headed into a dark alleyway. The alleyway was like any other; it was quite narrow and had rubbish bins strewn about. Arthur was about to turn around and walk a different route when he heard a cat. He went deeper into the alley, avoiding puddles once again so that he wouldn't get his new shoes dirty, and soon found where the noises were coming from.
It wasn't something you saw everyday, but indeed a terrible sight if you ever did encounter it. It was cat, about 10 years old, Arthur reckoned, and it was dead, by the looks of it. What made it even worse was that the cat had kittens surrounding it, mewling desperately for their deceased guardian.
Arthur almost broke down then and there, taking in the heartbreaking sight. His mind went to his own cat, which made him die a bit on the inside. He walked closer to the cat and crouched down, the kittens still trying to "wake" him/her up. Arthur noticed multiple stab wounds on the cat, and they were deep. It was a first time he had ever seen an animal killed by a human. Of course there were the pictures on-line, but he had never seen it in front of him. Arthur did what he thought would be best for the kittens and the mother. He reported back to the police station with what he had just seen, and the security guard there sent a canine with him to sniff for fingerprints. When they returned, however, the kittens were now dead as well.
The stab wounds were the same size as those on the elder feline, but they appeared bigger since the kittens were so small. "Bloody hell," he cursed softly, letting the dog sniff the scene. The sharply trained German Shepherd caught a scent near the stab wounds and attempted to run in a certain direction, only to be stopped by his restraints. Arthur loosened his grip on the leash ever so slightly and let the dog run, him running right behind it.
"Come on..." Arthur said under his breath as he continued to follow the dog through what seemed like a maze, considering the fact that there were many turns to be made. It was oddly quiet, and the only way he could see where he was going was by the light of the street lamps. Arthur's canine companion stopped abruptly, making Arthur stumble slightly and almost fall, at that. Once he regained his balance, he looked to see what the dog had stopped for. The dog was sniffing a card of some sort. From where Arthur stood, the card had bits of blood and dirt on it, along with writing, but he couldn't quite make out the writing. He crouched and picked up the card, the dog now sniffing the card that was now in Arthur's hand. It had nothing but an address on it.
49 Featherstone Street
LONDON
ECIY 8SY
UNITED KINGDOM
Arthur knew where that was; in fact, it was close. He turned the card over. Always check both sides of everything, his brother once told him. Arthur was glad he remembered that, especially now. The back had only a few words typed with a dark red, cursive font that he had to squint to read. It was so messy. He made it out, though. The name read:
Alfred F. Jones.
Occupation: Hitman.