chapter word count: 464

noir heart: one hundred and eight

Jack's chest fills with anger, and he can't help the scowl from crossing his face at the mere mention of the name. What could he possibly have in common with a serial killer from nineteenth century England? Jack the Ripper was a terrifying individual, not least to the poor women he preyed upon.

Hans watches him closely, scrutinising him for every single tic. "And how did you get that name?"

"I got that stupid name 'cause some idiot started it, okay?" he snaps.

"There's a reason for every nickname, Detective. Even one so...apt...as yours. How did you get it?"

Jack says nothing for a time, unless breathing loudly counts as speaking. It's a ridiculous nickname and he knows it, and it doesn't help that the White Fairy used it as a taunt. "The unit…" he pauses, curling his lips between his teeth and allowing his eyes to dance up to the ceiling, "...the unit call me Jack the Ripper, because every single time I went to arrest one of those fucked-up psychopaths, I had to put a bullet in them. Every single one."

There was a running joke in the unit that there was a black T-shirt with a white skull under his suit. Want your perp alive? Don't give the case to Jack.

"Interesting." Hans makes a note of that too, much to Jack's chagrin. I.A. has a way of twisting evidence and statements to suit their narrative, and they'll have a field day with that. "Is that because you were carrying out some form of vigilante justice, ignoring due process, as your faith in our system of law is so degraded?"

Jack rolls his eyes. "No."

Hans chuckles. It's a knowing, yet calculated sound - as though Jack just walked into a trap. "And yet you have more complaints of excessive force, evidence tampering, misconduct and a higher body count than the entire unit combined. Maybe it was better you killed criminals like the Skinner and the Son of Mengele, as your maverick tendencies and arrogance would have gotten the cases thrown out of court."

Leaning forward, Jack half-smirks. "Can you prove any of that?"

The smile that curls Hans' lips, the one Jack would dearly love to smack off his face, falls like a stone.

"Thought not," he says as he leans back.

Hans scowls, and his once smooth-as-butter voice takes on a menacing edge. "Make no mistake, Detective Frost, your admittedly spectacular case closure rate can only shield you for so long."

"So I've heard," Jack deadpans, unmoved.

"Indeed." Hans turns over a leaf, and the pen is poised ready to strike down upon the paper. "Now, tell me about the White Fairy."

loving this narrative style. really fun. stefalove: it's more to do with poor impulse control, and possibly a little arrogance. Sociopathy has those in spades - if that is what Elsa truly is. eirene! hai! so stoked to see you're still reading this. I honestly didn't know it had that effect, just felt right to put it in. last future: it's fine. I noticed you had a story on the go, don't stress about not reviewing. I'm just happy you're reading.

whimsical acumen: cheers for the heads up. have changed it.

special thanks to: doomstone, jpbake, oninoko, sociallyawkwardoutcast (hai!), last future of embryo, hugs and puppies all around, waguneru, eireneharmonia, stefalove, hornedgoddess, trapid and heartonfire for the reviews!