Eyes peel open, staring at a filthy ceiling. You've blacked out.
Curious dreams this time. Head full of others. Voices. Memories, and yet not memories.
As done before, you swing heavy legs off the bed and stumble upwards, searching for an anchor, a reminder.
There, on the table beside the bed. Water, a flask to calm nerves and steady minds.
Underneath, a book and a paper.
The book: Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
Scrawled on the cover, in black ink: the word "Questions."
The paper: a copy of The Times. Dated Sunday, September 9, 1888.
The headline: "Ripper Strikes Again."
Scrawled beneath the headline, in blood: "Answers."
In the mirror are numbers.
Behind the numbers is a face, half-shaven, half bearded.
Behind the eyes, something more, something savage, something powerful and trapped.
And maybe, just maybe, something more.
"Hello, Jack," you say. "Welcome back."