Fog hung heavily over the streets, a thick blanket of mist seeming to roll through the streets at night within the city limits of London. Sirens cut through the fog, compact law enforcement vehicles halting in what was becoming a routine gathering place for the constables. A few residents dared step outside their homes to see what had happened, but were quickly barked at to return to the safety of their homes.

"Damnit," Alex cursed, stamping out her cigarette. Red and blue lights flashed, sirens still piercing the air. "How in the hell did your men let this happen? This is your patrol area!" Her mouth was twisted into a scowl of frustration. Her boots made soft, splashing noises as she moved up and down the line created by a piece of yellow tape.

Just outside the crime scene, a line of guardsmen stood at attention, keeping all spectators away from the scene. Assault rifles in hand, they were indeed an intimidating bunch - with stern faces and weapons that could blow someone's face off.

Just inside the crime scene lay a body. Number twelve.

Number twelve was laying on the ground, her arms splayed to the sides. Characteristic wounds marked her as another victim of the Ripper. Her throat had been slashed open, and a surgical incision beginning from her collarbone ran the length of her torso and ended at her naval. The organs lay in rows beside the body, arranged alphabetically in each row.

Alex did not cringe, despite the gruesome nature of the sight before her. She knelt down by the woman, a gloved hand carefully picking up each palm and examining each respectively. Just as she thought. A mockingly rough 'R' was carved into the right palm.

Number twelve had no identification, no indication of who she was. That would all have to be figured out later when the body was taken to the labs and the DNA analyzed. Of course, an autopsy would be performed but as with number one, two, three, four, all the way up to number eleven - nothing would incriminate the murderer.

Her eyes traced over every inch of the scene, frustrated with the lack of evidence presented before her. The Ripper was a skillful serial killer only for the fact that whoever it was, they continued to slip through the fingers of the Grenadier Guards despite patrols working every inch within the city of London. And whoever the Ripper was, they were mocking Alex each time they succeeded.

As expected, Alex found graffiti on the wall opposite the body. Though it was somewhat blurry because of the recent rain, she could read it well enough. She read the message. Once, twice. Like a child, Ripper was mocking her by leaving what would normally be clues - but were all dead ends. Red herrings. This time it wasn't really a clue. It was just pure mockery. Ripper was enjoying this. Ripper was seeing this all, somehow.

Meticulously, she investigated every inch of the murder scene, even reaching a gloved hand within the incision down the center of the body, fingers attempting to see if there was anything stashed inside the body that would be of help. Alex found nothing, and pulled her bloodied glove from her hands as she stood, tossing it into the haz-mat bag just on the brim of the crime scene.

Directly after the murder, the criminal had forced the London news to broadcast a reading of Ripper's most recent letter. It had been exactly two weeks since the last murder, the longest interval between murders that had yet occurred. If the trend was correct, it would be perhaps longer before the warning in the most recent letter came to fruition.

My dearest London citizens and the like,
I'm sure you have noticed within the past two weeks there has been no sign of my delicious violence. Yet, your streets are not peaceful. They are tense and afraid. I take great pleasure in this, I assure you, but I grow bored of waiting for my next victim to come along.

This is my warning to you: there will be one final murder. The beloved Queen will lay in the streets among the peasants, where she belongs. I will not inform you when this is to happen, I only tell you this in order to give greater challenge to myself. I happily await the challenge of slipping past your best guardsmen.

Have no doubt, she will die just as the others did. And you will all see her blood is the same color of red as your own.
Once she has died, I plan to move on to Italy, France, and Greece. City by city, I will engulf the world's citizens in terror.

Have a marvelous day,
Ripper

Alex had been assigned this case as soon as Ripper had begun to throw in hints of a "grand" murder to trump them all. Her criminal past was supposed to help her more easily trail the killer, but so far it was as hard for her to find anything out about the murderer as it was for the previous investigators (who had spotless criminal records).

Alex loved her job, most of the time. Right now she hated her job. She ate, slept, breathed the Ripper case. And she hated it.

As she knelt down once again beside the body, looking for common characteristics which linked number twelve with all the previous, Ripper's written words rang through her head the moment she glanced up at the graffiti left behind as a mockery to Alex personally. Her last name was the characteristic that made it a mockery to Alex. Ripper wanted to prove to Alex that they knew everything about Alex, and Alex knew nothing about Ripper.

"See you soon, Cuthbert."

There was a sharp rap as stiletto heals met concrete, heads turned. The bustling crowd filling the corridor leading to Path-Lab 1 split like the Red Sea before Moses as the stilettos made there swaggering, clicking progress through the stunned ranks.

“Now now, gentlemen, no need to stare, your mothers have them too, you know.” The mocking voice was accompanied by a wink and a wicked grin, the tock-tock of footsteps never faltering.

Needless to say, jaws: already hanging low, dropped further as the (almost completely male) crowd stood in shock as PVC, buckles and stilettos, all in gleaming crimson, swept past.

“Oh please, I can feel that raging hard-ons from here and I have to say,” Glittering eyes, complete with silver, UV-reactive contact lenses, swept down the ranks at crotch-level. “Not impressed, boys. I like to NOT have to use a magnifying glass to have a good time, if you get what I mean.”

Short, spiked and blue-highlighted hair was casually mussed and slim hips rolled, the movements followed by the group of men far too far gone to realise that they had just been insulted in the worst possible way.

There was a laugh, and teeth filed to points toyed with a spiked barbell as an extraordinarily long tongue slipped between painted lips. “Aww, poor things, not enough blood left up top to take in a word I’m saying. It’s a shame really,”

The door at the end of the corridor was reached and an ID card extracted from where it sat, trapped in all to visible cleavage. “You’re all going to be fidgeting around all day now, and I won’t be there to watch you suffer. Really: such a shame.”

The ID tag was scanned, ‘Khali Peprir, visiting specialist’ flashed on the display and the door slid open. A hand with sharp, manicured nails waved.

“Buh-bye, boys. Have a lovely day.” The door snapped shut, shutting out the multitude of gaping faces, and laughter rang through the pathology lab. Eyes surveyed the bowed heads and anxious, frenetic activity. Lungs inflated (breasts swelled) and a cruel, feline grin accompanied a bright, but very, very loud, voice.

“Listen up minions! The cavalry has arrived!”

Alex had been intently discussing something with one of the blood pathologists, a little angry, a little intense. She'd been hinging on the pathologists to find something, even something as simple as a blood type in common with the majority of the girls but no. Nothing. Her fist rested on the table beside one of the high-powered microscopes (which fed a live few of the specimen onto a small screen), and had it not been a matter of her paying for something she destroyed in the lab, she would've knocked it over, palm outward. Anger management classes were more of a hindrance than a burden, really.

It meant she felt guilty now anytime she wanted to act on her anger. So that inner battle continued as Dr. Weiss spoke.

"She has A negative," he was informing her in that sniveling, nasal voice of his that drove her insane. He flinched a little at Alex being so close; many of the men found her very attractive but too intimidating to hit on. "Only two of the other girls had the same blood-type, so I do not believe it's a matter of even having the same blood-type as the victim before. We could take some tissue samples, look for common genetic or mutated strings of D--"

Dr. Weiss' words cut short as every person in the pathology lab glanced up in the precise direction of one very loud newcomer. He shoved his glasses up on the ridge of his nose a little, sniffled allergically.

Alex had looked up as well, and despite her anxious position beside Dr. Weiss, she was aware enough to raise a quirked eyebrow. Who the hell was this, coming in? Visiting specialist on her ID card. Damnit, Alex had to bite her tongue. The government was sending in more dogs to do her work...since she was so perfectly failing in finding anything which would lead them to Ripper.

Her shoulder-length black hair was brushed over one shoulder, eyes studying this strange new woman. What a bold appearance she had. The short, spiked hair, pointed teeth, and Alex thought she saw a hint of a tongue ring. And with that build, and those very alluring, rolling hips, Alex had to feel a little lightheaded herself.

Most of the men in the room had the same reaction, even the more civil scientist-types. Yet it was Alex's eyes stuck on those rolling hips. Not her chest, like all the men in the room. Not the smile or the unusual teeth and long tongue. Hips were Alex's weakness. And those were swaying so deliciously in her sight.

She had to tear her gaze away and she saw a pair of silver eyes full of laughter and bile. She forced herself to say something.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" Alex heard the words, but it took her a moment to realize that it was herself speaking. "Alex Cuthbert, lead investigator in this case," she stated, moving away from the specimen table, not offering her hand to be shaken. "Is there something I can assist you with?"

Her gaze was suspicious; she didn't like Parliament stepping on her toes and she didn't like people coming in on her investigative territory. Especially not people with rolling hips that made Alex's head swim, it was distracting.

Khali grinned, catching the eyes of Speckky-McSniff and offering him a saucy wink. Really, this was too much fun, she knew London was uptight, but damn… this was more than she had ever dared hope for.

After a second she released her helpless prey, looking elsewhere for a new victim. Ginger-BigRack caught her attention, but was brushed aside a second later: prude. Khali was the first to admit that she enjoyed tormenting people, but down right fridged was not her cup of tea.

PenCollector was next to fall pray to her calculating gaze, seeing as he wasn’t looking at her in gaping astonishment or rabid hunger. Maybe this was what she had been looking for…? No! Clearly a flaming homosexual with eyes for Can’tShaveForShit. Well, damn, all the ones with potential were gay.

By the time she reached ClumsyWhenHorney Khali was close to despair, she had come here to have a good time and so far all she had come up with was a bunch of small fry and two hot gay men…

But oh! Hell-oh, Hips-a-Plenty! Now THAT was the look Khali was hoping for. Brilliant, brilliant… All was not lost after all!

A wicked smirk crawled across her striking face at ‘Plenty’s questions, poor girl. She really was asking for it, and truly, Khali was a generous soul.

“Oh you can most certainly help me, beautiful.” Khali purred, letting her tongue-bar roll between her teeth. “And I’m sure you can assist me with the very same thing.” She leaned in, eyes alight, and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Yah see, there’s this girl, I think you‘ll know the type: about your height, looks pissed off, can’t stop staring at my crotch.” Khali flashed a grin. “Well, this girl, I think she really needs to get laid, and I was wondering if you could help me arrange that for her? I’d be more than willing to oblige, but somehow I think she might need a little convincing.”

Shock settled into Alex's chest before anything else, raising an eyebrow in protest but thusfar unable to speak. The conspiratorial way in which this woman was leaning close and the nature of her very bold speech had Alex's head swimming. She cleared her throat, that pissed-off look returning to her face, and she turned her gaze away for a brief moment, scratching the back of her neck as she tried to deduce how on earth to appropriately respond to the words laid before her.

Gathering her wits, Alex fought off the several urges she had to either hit this woman or take her up on that last offer. Alex didn't need to get laid; she wasn't some animal who had needs beyond anything else. Her hand gripped the edge of the specimen table and she felt Dr. Weiss trembling beside her, "Oh cut it, Weiss, she's just another woman," she snapped sharply at him before looking back at this woman. Her snarling tone returned him to his work.

"Your name wasn't in there anywhere, sweetheart, so," Alex lifted the woman's tag, read the name, and let it slip from her palm. "So, Khali, you're correct in deducing that I look pissed off because you being sent here means Parliament," she snapped lightly, a scowl twisted on her lips, "is stepping on my toes by sending in a visiting specialist."

A flash in her mind. Those hips. The bar that rolled out from between those teeth. And that very seductive grin. No! Alex berated herself as she gathered up her notes and put them in her back pocket.

"So, Miss Peprir," she growled the name a little as she stepped away and continued on her observations with the other scientists, stopping at Dr. Westbrook's table to see his results, "forgive me if I'm not too welcoming. Parliament's dogs don't bring out my generous side."

Alex had obviously completely ignored the statements on her needing to be laid. She kept her eyes down as she noted the results. Damn, still no leads. Not a scrap of common ground with any of the victims. Obviously these were all random killings, despite holding on to that hope for a considerable amount of time.

The investigator kept her emotions in check, her anger under control. She brushed her long back hair out of her face as she leaned over the table. "So what's your specialty, Miss Peprir? Undercover hooker?" She narrowed her gaze, glancing back at Khali with a hard look on her face.

Normally she wasn't so harsh, or biting, but she had to deflect the intense physical presence Khali had. If the swing of her hips could make Alex's head swim, then this woman had a very powerful position over every man and female-persuaded woman. Clearly she did, Alex surmised as she kept her thoughts locked in the back of her mind. The moment Khali walked in the room about 90% of the males in the room were instantly struck with drooling fits. And she, the only female in the room at the time, had nearly reacted the same way.

And damn, Alex cursed deep within her mind. Damn it all if that woman hadn't come far too close for Alex to ignore the alluring scent of her perfume and the seductive purr of her voice. With one conversational moment this woman had awoken every hormone in her body, senses screaming with want for the offer she'd been so mockingly given. And damn it all if her heart wasn't pulsating like she'd just laid the woman out on the table a minute ago and taken her up on the offer.

Damn the Parliament for doing this to her.

Struck speechless: 150 points. Khali was doing well today. Poor little ‘Plenty, she really didn’t stand a chance if the light-headed, half-stupid aura she was giving off was anything to go by. Not that Khali didn’t like that; having power over a person’s sexual responses was thrilling, but she was looking for something more… spicy.

Pissed off look reinstalled: maybe this wasn’t a no-hoper after all. 20 points to ‘Plenty, ball in her court, next move decides the game.

Broken eye contact, covering a lack of response: …not fantastic, clearly a stalling tactic. But it wasn’t gaping shock, humiliation or surrender, and that fact alone made Khali smile to herself, there was a chance… slim, but a chance… that she was on to a winner here.

Khali very nearly crowed in success when ‘Plenty scolded McSniff. This was truly priceless entertainment, far better than the crap that they showed on the television. Khali’s inner commentator was having the time of her life.

‘Plenty grapples with the ball, dodges a direct challenge from the starting line… oh! She’s tackled the sideliner, cutting through the field and looking for an opening! There’s hope for this game yet… It’s ’Plenty, ’Plenty preparing for the forward pass…

SHE SHOOTS! SHE SCORES! And the crowd goes wild!

Snide, scathing response! Mocking voice! Direct turnaround of earlier barb! Khali was beside herself with joy, this was EXACTLY what she wanted. ‘Plenty had risen to the challenge beautifully, showing promise that Khali could scarcely have imagined during her most vivid daydreams.

The game was on, the players evenly matched at the starting line. Oh! It had been positively years since Khali had had someone to really play with.

Parliament… parliament… crap… not interested… boring…you’ve got something stuck in your teeth… undercover hooker…

Khali freely admitted that she let her mind wander terribly when people were talking about things she wasn’t… wait… ‘undercover hooker’?

Khali tuned back in, took a moment to check that she had just heard what she thought she had… and burst out laughing.

“Oh my! What a sharp tongue you have! I like it!” Khali took a bold step forward, putting herself very much in ‘Plenty’s face. She leaned in, loving that she was quite a lot taller than this girl, and pressed her lips to an ear.

“Just between me and you, beautiful, I’d watch that aggressive streak of yours. I like a girl who can give as good as she gets and it wouldn’t do to get me all hot and bothered, now would it?”

Alex's head swum but she fought it, feeling the lips brushing against her ear. That intoxicating perfume...Lord, what on earth was she wearing that smelled so damn good? Her body reacted before her mind did, her skin aflame and eyes starting to haze over.

Snap out of it, Alex! She shouted within her own head as she forced herself to break out of this stage of hypnosis this woman had over Alex (and most likely everyone in the room). She stepped back, raised an eyebrow, "Are you going to play around all day or are you going to tell me what it is they've sent you here for, specialist? There's a threat on the Queen's head and I've got work to do." She pushed past Khali, moving on to the next specimen table.

In the back of her head, she could just feel her mind going crazy with visions of what she could do to that woman. Oh, the things she could do. Alex had as much talent in the sack as she had in crime, after all her preferred profession was crime, not solving murders. And apparently this woman had the same or more talent in the sack, from the way she knew exactly how to manipulate someone's hormones with their clothes on much less if they were off. And those hips. She could just imagine them..

Alex kicked herself mentally as a flurry of images passed through her mind that would've made a sailor blush. She busied herself with another set of specimen. Still no commonality. And no trace of DNA from anyone but the victim. She gritted her teeth lightly in frustration.

"I can see you have nothing valuable to add other than you're witty repertoire, so if you don't mind, I'll bid you adieu." Alex gave the woman a scathing look despite her hormonal responses, and left the lab. Her heart was hammering still because of that woman. The snarl on Alex's face was more directed at herself than anyone else. She moved down the hall, her laced up military boots betraying her heavy footfalls.

She had little time to figure out who the murderer was and she didn't have time to mess around with quick-witted, seductive, attractive, alluring...

Alex cut the thought short. She didn't have time. Didn't have time for anything but this case and she couldn't lose focus now. Screw the specialist.

Ohh, bad choice of words.

The steaming investigator disappeared into the break room, pouring herself a hot cup of coffee. She'd barely had any sleep since starting this case. Alex was truly exhausted but she didn't have time to sleep. She sighed heavily and leaned against the counter, closing her eyes briefly as she inhaled the scent of strong, black coffee. She sipped, eyes still closed as she tried to keep herself focused. As for being woken up, the specialist had indeed done the job there. There were parts of Alex's body that had..."woken," despite having been quite asleep for nearly years now.

She ran over all the facts in her mind. Twelve bodies, each killed within extended periods of one another. No common factors, just that they were female and under 30. The same surgical incision, same organization of the organs beside the body, same position of the corpse.

Basically, she knew nothing. She'd recorded the markings and messages in graffiti but didn't have the list. There had to be something else in them. She'd look over them later. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

Grateful she was for the silence, for now, but she expected the specialist wouldn't be far behind.

Such a shame… such a shame. Khali hummed a little to herself, rocking back onto her heals and spinning on the narrow points, loving the way that almost every eye in the room followed her. Poor little ‘Plenty, she didn’t understand…

Nothing valuable to add… what a joke. These scientists were all idiots, looking in the wrong places… stupid, stupid little people. They were all so focused on the threat to their precious queen… the idea that The Ripper was back in London town,… they never thought to look beneath the surface.

Khali always liked to believe that there was more that what met the eye. She had twenty-five piercings on her body and only seventeen of those were visible when she had her clothes on, (and one was hard to find naked).

Maddox Street… murder number one… she had pretty brown hair. It had been raining when they found her, just like number twelve, Little Stanhope Street. Strange that.

Khali really liked her name… Khali… it had a really nice ring to it… she wanted to write it everywhere, so the whole world could read it.

It was only when she turned her mind to ‘Plenty, naked and standing in the rain, that Khali realised that she’d gone. Well… how annoying. She would have to go find her now, not that she was really complaining, hide-and-seek was as good a game as any.

With one last wink at her helpless audience and a cry of “Get back to work, you slackers!” she breezed out of the lab, following the trail of pissed off higher-ups and scared looking interns to the break room.

Ready or not, here I come.

Khali opened the door with an impressive kick, wood shattering with a sharp sound.

“Good morn-ing, Hips-a-Plenty!” She sang, leaping into the room, before cocking her head and asking sweetly. “Not trying to escape little ‘ol me, are ya?”

Alex gritted her teeth at the sound of the specialist's voice, "Specialist," she name came out more like a growl than a word, her lip curling in a bit of a snarl. Damnit, she'd never get any thinking done this way. "I sincerely hope you've come to offer some token of wisdom concerning the case, as there's not much time for anything else right now."

Her words were biting, her tone even more so. She couldn't stand this. Alex needed to get to the bottom of this case and Parliament sending in this damn..."specialist" at the last minute wasn't doing them any good. So far she'd been there for a total of maybe thirty minutes and the specialist had offered nothing but a hormonal reawakening in Alex's body.

Eyes turning upward, coffee mug gripped between both palms, she kept her eyes upon Khali's face, a clear glare on her own. She was too tired to deal with this shit. The muscles in her arms were even tense, tattoos on them stretched the harder she gripped the mug in her hands. Alex's eyes followed a few interns and scientists that decided to clear out of the room, sensing either a standoff, a catfight, or...well, some very interesting positions.

The door closed behind the small group of people. And what was worse than the distraction of this woman following her, now they were alone. "Hips-a-Plenty? Is that the best you could come up with or are you too consumed with your own ego to think of a better one?" Alex turned her back on Khali, pouring herself a bit more coffee and trying to suppress her very confusing mix of annoyance and lust.

Control was a must around this woman, clearly. Whatever gave her that extra bit of presence that made men more "alert" (and women like herself much more susceptible to very fantastical images that normally needed to take place in a bedroom) needed to be guarded against.

The two of us could really tear up a room, Alex heard her mind commenting on the NC-17 images passing through her brain, and it would probably be best if the bed frame was sturdy, lest it be wrecked.

The investigator closed off that part of her mind, again berating her out-of-control thoughts. For God's sake, she was thinking just as badly as the men did! She was better than those pigs. Of course, Khali hadn't basically climbed onto those pigs - she'd climbed onto Alex's attention. And the seductive way in which she spoke. What a damn tease!

That perfume..
Alex didn't realize she was white-knuckling her mug.

She pulled her hair up into a pony-tail before she turned around, again leaning against the counter with the mug gripped tightly in her hand, knuckles white from trying to control the affect this woman intended to have on her. Her eyes narrowed, she guarded herself mentally from Khali's advances.

"I don't like you, and you're probably not going to like me during this investigation. So lay what information or expertise you have on the table, help me solve this goddamn case, or tell the Parliament I said they can shove it and I'll solve the case on my own." Her tone was full of bile, a sharp tongue and a quick-wit her only guard against this woman's feminine wiles.

Bail out! Cowards. Khali sniggered, that was certainly the fastest clear-out yet. And ‘Plenty had given her a nickname! How precious!

“My ego has such lovely long fur, you should stroke it sometimes, you get the most wonderful responses.” Khali said, one pierced eyebrow elevated. Innuendo was, of course, intended, Khali was practically high off of ‘Plenty’s responses by this point, anything to get more…

Obsessive… she was obsessive. Things had to progress in a certain way for her to be content. The discomfort, and especially the agitation, of others was intoxicating for her, and once she found a suitable plaything she was highly unwilling to let it go.

It was clear that ‘Plenty was having trouble keeping her cool, which was amusing, to say the very least. Soon, she would realise that resistance was futile where Khali was concerned.

“I think you like me, really,” Khali mocked, in response to ‘Plenty’s last comment. “I think you like me a lot more than you think you should, and that’s why you’re acting like a half-horny stiff right now.”

She sauntered further into the room. “But such entertainment can wait till later, perhaps? Right now we have the reincarnation of Jack the Ripper himself wandering around, snatching poor, defenceless women off of the streets and doing unspeakable things to them.”

Khali didn’t bother to adjust her voice when speaking of the murders. Amused and entertained: maybe. Mournful and concerned: not a chance in hell.

She leaned forward, hands clasped behind her back. “Sooo… I don’t feel like going first with the show and tell, so how about you be the good little detective and tell me what you know?”

(I'll leave the list of 'messages' in graffiti to you, since Ripper's your girl. Sound good?)

"However you think I'm acting or responding to you, you're wrong," Alex's words bit at Khali as she set her mug down, moving past Khali. She couldn't deal with Khali's allure, therefore she had to utterly ignore it. She brushed past the woman, retrieving a file one of the scientists had left on the table in his retreat.

Her eyes sifted through each paper in the file, nimble fingers moving through the information. "So far all we know is that they're all female, and all murdered in the exact same fashion. And," Alex pulled a written list from the back of the file, "Ripper's been leaving messages for me since I was assigned to the case. Well, even before they assigned me. I wasn't put on the case until the third girl was murdered."

Ignoring the delicious perfume Khali had rolling off her, Alex sat down at the table and hastily moved a few empty cans and discarded plates to the side, in her mind grumbling a little about how no one ever cleaned up after themselves. She laid out first the images of each murder victim, a list of what they knew, and some compiled data. On top of it all she tossed the list of Ripper's messages, stapled to a stack of copies of the Ripper letters sent to the media and copied to the investigators.

She ran a hand through her hair, securing it a bit more tightly in a pony-tail behind her head. Alex felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over her as she looked over the photos. "Right here, this is all we know. And it's nothing to build a case on. Ripper is spotless, almost artful about the way he does this." Alex didn't notice the use of the pronoun 'he,' but inwardly had already figured the murderer was male because most females just didn't commit crimes like this. Statistics showed, at least.

Alex felt a bit more secure right now. Her hormonal response was dying a little the more she focused on work, her expression turned to a very serious one. Her tone was all business as she filled Khali in on the bare facts that they knew.

"As far as we know, they're all random killings. Since they're all taking place within the working-class district of Whitechapel, we assume this person either frequents the district or lives there. They line up the organs in a very precise manner and have sterile equipment. No contamination is ever found in the body tissue around the incision."

Alex glanced up briefly at Khali. "The closest thing we have to connection is the Ripper's handwriting in his letters, and this list," she motioned to the list on top. "All messages of some significance, but the last one just said see you soon, Cuthbert. I assume it means the Queen's murder is going to take place soon, or Ripper's watching me. He just wants to prove he knows more about me, by the use of my last name, than he thinks I can ever know about him."

A heavy sigh passed her lips and she shook her head. "And damn him if I'm not starting to agree with him."

No, she wouldn't let him win. Alex turned her eyes to Khali, scrutinizing her. "So, what's your input, specialist?" Her tone, again, addressed Khali in a very biting manner. "And just so you know," she stated in a tone outlined with a slight growl, "My wit, and tongue, are just as talented as yours, so we can spar all you want but in the end the only way this case is gonna end is if we work on the case, not each other."

Alex really needed to be more careful with how she worded things; her hormones got another jump-start, and she quickly changed the imagery in her mind to something more kid-friendly.

Khali chose to ignore almost everything ‘Plenty had said, dismissing it as boring and not worthy of a response, grinning only at the last comment. Quite a slip… and ‘Plenty clearly realised it. She could turn such pretty colours, Khali wondered if she knew...

Khali picked up the folder with the transcripts in them, reciting the contents without opening it.

“‘Catch me if you can, I’m nimble as a Jack. The candle’s burnt at both ends tonight and the Ripper’s on the prowl. England: prepare for war.’
“First message was delivered to Scotland Yard, by hand, by a little girl. She‘d been told where to take the letter, but couldn‘t remember who had given it to her.”

Khali yawned a little, feigning boredom.

“Second message:
“‘Did you like my little gift? I think you did, such wonderful panic. However, you’re not good enough, this is no fun. Send me Cuthbert, I’ve heard wonderful things about her. Send her, and you may just get the Ripper.’”

Boring… boring… Khali had no time for messages… names were fun, messages were dull. But the messages needed to be written… such a dull task, and now they had to be read.

“They go on, more and more of them.
“‘Put her on the case.’
“‘Send me Cuthbert’ yada, yada boring, boring, boring.”

Khali stood, deciding to act serious for once, it was good to keep the audience on their toes, after all. “The messages are crap. They tell us fuck all in themselves but they can help us build up a profile of Mr. Ripper.”

Beginning a steady prowl across the front of the room, Khali gave her information. “The psychological profile of the killer that your division drew up is a pile of shit, and that’s putting it nicely. I intend to fix that. Also, you seem to have missed several vital points on the case. You say that there is not a link between the victims: you’re wrong.”

Khali paused, for drama’s sake.

“Each and every woman that was killed was a confirmed homosexual. This killer is psychopathic and homophobic, and also seems to be trying to say something about the royal family.”

She leaned over the table, giving ‘Plenty a nice view down her front. “So, I think we need to start by looking in some clubs frequented by the gay community, don’t you?” A wicked grin. “Such fun, such fun… but that can wait till after sundown, I think, gives you time to-” Eyes flicked from shoes to hair, ‘Plenty could do better. “Freshen up a bit. I’ll meet you at midnight outside the precinct. Toodles!”

Khali graced ‘Plenty with a mocking wave before skipping out of the room.

A what?! Gay club? Oh lord. What the hell had Parliament sent her?

Yet within the last two minutes of conversation, Khali had provided more information on the case than any of the constables had managed to offer Alex within the length of the investigation. Her face turned to a scowl. She couldn't believe this nutjob was suggesting they go to a nightclub to find Ripper! It was absolutely ridiculous! Alex stormed out after Khali had disappeared all together from the building, slamming the door noisily behind her as she left the precinct and got in her car, fuming as she drove home.



Ridiculous. Alex felt absolutely ridiculous. Thus, she had made no effort to "freshen up a bit," as Khali had so bluntly suggested. Alex wasn't going out to have fun tonight. She was going out to find this damn killer and hopefully survive an entire evening in a nightclub with this insane woman the Parliament actually thought could help the case.

Alex grudgingly got in her car. Dressed in a fitting pair of jeans, resting on her hips, a black beater (as usual) accentuating her femininity, hair brushed straight and bangs in her eyes, she looked only slightly different than she usually did at work. The investigator was not pleased at all with Khali's methods so far. All she'd managed to do was turn a few people on - including Alex - and build a sketchy but accurate profile of what the Ripper was like.

Homosexuals. Just like Alex. Why, though, didn't they think of investigating that possibility before? It just hadn't crossed her mind that orientation would be the common link between all of the girls. That was the furthest thing from her mind. So Ripper was just a regular serial killer, albeit slightly more talented?

Alex was almost disappointed in this. With such an extravagant set of crimes and murders committed by the Ripper, she almost expected a more interesting motive. And then it clicked. Was that why Ripper had insisted on Alex leading the case? Alex wasn't even out! She'd never told a soul about her personal life, especially not within the workplace. The only girlfriend she'd ever had was when she was thirteen. That couldn't be the reason Ripper wanted her on the case. It couldn't be, it just wasn't possible.

Investigator Cuthbert, in all her musings, realized she wasn't really paying attention to the road. She let out a curse as she nearly swerved into oncoming traffic, wheels squealing as she made an effort to straighten her car out. Shit. She really needed sleep.

Alex parked in front of the precinct, letting out a groan and resting her head on the steering wheel. This case would be the death of her, especially if it involved more than one night spent with Khali, and in a nightclub of all places. She let the car run, not sure if Khali was there or not and not really caring. Part of Alex hoped beyond all hope Khali would just disappear from the case and Alex could resign from the case and go into hiding.

“Is this wrong?”

Cocooned in a nest of blankets, two bodies moved as one, meshed so closely that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. The voice, which could have belonged to either of the writhing figures was not asking to stop, or even seeking reassurance, only speaking aloud an idle musing.

“No, it’s not wrong. We started as one so becoming one again is…”

“What’s supposed to happen. We are the same…”

“One mind, one set of desires…”

“One set of dreams…”

“Two bodies to share it between.”

Two mouths spoke, but the voices were the same, pitch, intensity, inflection: there was nothing to tell them apart.

“Did you like my gift?” The first voice asked, nestling closer. “I chose her especially for you.”

“Spicy. Electric. Malleable but steadfast. She’s the brilliant fun.”

“Am I seeing her tonight?”

“Yes, precinct and midnight, keep her waiting a little.”

“Of course. Remember: the organs, it has to be perfect.”

“It’s boring…”

Something shifts and nimble fingers latched onto a barbell, twisting harshly. “Perfect.”

A yelp, strangely satisfied. “Perfect! Perfect!” The voice didn’t sound agonised, or in the least afraid. There was a soft laugh as the piercing was released.

“Good.” A single figure detached itself from the bed, slipping across the room. “Maddox Street, the exact same place as before. The Rohypnol is in the second draw on the left, dosage on the side. Don’t get it wrong.”

“I’m quite capable, you know,” The second voice, muffled by bedcovers, sounded amused. “I am a police officer after all.”



At a quarter past twelve a shadow detached itself from the side of the police building, sauntering towards Alex’ car. A face, identifiable as Khali’s peered into the passenger’s window, false nails tapping on the glass.

“Evening, gorgeous, I see you took my advice and scrubbed up a bit, good call, you were a mess today.”

Eyes, adorned with gold contacts that glowed faintly in the gloom, danced with mirth.

“Although, the eye-bags are far from flattering, and that scowl will give you wrinkles.”

"I'm not doing this for a social outing, specialist," Alex snarled the words and moved her eyes over to the face peering into her passenger's side. "The bags under my eyes don't matter." She reached over and unlocked the car door, shoving it open right onto Khali. "Get in, let's get this over with."

In Alex's head, the sentence finished quite differently, Let's get this over with, you psychotic nutbag. The scowl on her face remained. What had she done to deserve this kind of torture? A woman she was quickly beginning to despise in a very severe fashion, also tended to get her hormones raging. She was the most unprofessional and unorthodox specialist Alex had ever had the displeasure of meeting and the unfortunate task of working with. Frustration was building in her chest every moment she had to spend with her.

The most outrageous part of all of this was that she was being dragged to a gay club of all places. It could soil her working reputation, whatever fragile one she already had, to be seen in such a frivolous place. Usually she could just disappear to the out-of-the-way pub, have a few pints, and nobody knew who she was, nobody knew what she did. And now this insane woman next to her was taking them to the nightclub where they would most likely be seen in a very public manner.

Loud music, writhing bodies, over intoxicated fools. Greeaaat. What a night. Alex started the engine in her car. "You're going to have to tell me how to get there." A brief pause. "I assume you've visited this type of trash establishment before," Alex's tone was as always biting.

Alex secretly had to admit, Khali had hit a definite point when she'd profiled Ripper. How, though, had she known that all those women were homosexuals? Her suspicion twisted in her stomach and her hands were again white-knuckling the steering wheel. Out of sheer annoyance or arousal, she didn't know. She tried to ignore the fact that Khali looked deliciously more appealing than she had in her initial arrival, not to mention she was wearing a different sort of perfume.

Alex could just quit the case. It would be so easy to do so. Khali could solve the murders, Alex could disappear, and all would be well. She imagined her relative seclusion in the back of her mind. Somewhere in the English countryside, among the hills, near Stonehenge even. Somewhere away, away from here and from Khali and from her hormones.

Defeat settled on Alex. Naught could be done but follow the game, follow the story.

She got into the car, grinning a little at the frosty reception.

“My, you are grumpy tonight. Might I suggest a good fuck and the removal of that stick that seems to have become lodged up your arse? I assure you, it will take that unattractive look off your face.”

She smiled. “It’s a good thing we’re going where we’re going tonight, there should be plenty of girls willing to help you. And yes, by the way, I do visit these bars often. It’ll work to our advantage tonight, seeing as we’re working undercover and I know the locals.”

Leaning back in her seat, flicking her tongue against her teeth, she gave the directions casually before peering out of the window.

“It’s foggy tonight… the perfect weather to sneak up on someone unseen.”



On the corner of Maddox Street, the Ripper lounged against a wall, waiting, waiting…

This really was excellent fun, but not the best sort of game. No… defiantly not the best. Killing was the best game, hunting in the dark, seducing, making them willing, so willing that they never saw the knife coming.

Gloved hands trailed over the graffiti on the wall, a large, stylised R, in rusty brown. It had been red once, blood red.

They hadn’t noticed, the idiots, even though it was right there, under their noses. Murder number one, Maddox Street. It was on her ID card, on her drivers licence… it was clear as day but they had never seen it.

Footsteps. The Ripper stilled, falling into a patch of denser shadow, eyes, glowing through the slits of a sterile face mask, narrowing. Female. Young. Pretty.

Perfect.

The rubber mask had no expression, but it hid a cruel smirk as the Ripper moved silently out of the fog, feet making no sound as they moved with practised ease. The girl didn’t stand a chance.

In one swift, well timed motion, strong hands wrapped around the unsuspecting victim, one sealing her mouth, the other pressing into her spine, forcing her into an unnatural shape.

“Not a sound… not a sound…”

The Ripper pulled her back, into the shadows, pinning her against the wall and extracting a syringe. The girl made a terrified sound as the needle pierced her and The Ripper shuddered, intoxicated by the fierce trembling and incoherent terror of the young girl. The Ripper held her, drinking in the fear, long after the girl had slumped into unconsciousness.

“Poor little thing…” The Ripper cooed, stripping the girl of her clothes, folding them neatly beside them. Once this was done The Ripper took out a red permanent marker, eyeing it with a scowl.

It wasn’t a knife… it should have been. But now was not the time to kill… despite how wonderful a kill would be.

Grudgingly, The Ripper uncapped the pen, drawing a precise line across the girl’s neck, mimicking the stroke of a knife. The process was repeated on her abdomen a second later, creating a mocking imitation of the wound the previous victims bore.

Decoration complete, The Ripper checked that all was still quiet before positioning the girl under the graffiti from before and picking up a zip-lock bag.

Alphabetical order. One after another the organs, taken from a pig, were lined up beside the body, the excess blood used to daub a second, larger R beside the first. If they missed it this time, then the police really were hopeless.

Mission accomplished, The Ripper disappeared, back into the depths of London town.

Alex was quite aware of the obvious hints at her mood being related to not getting laid, and she sent a searing glare over in Khali's direction. "The only person I hope to find is Ripper himself, not a good lay," she bit sharply at Khali.

It was true, Alex hadn't been with anyone in...well, a very long time. And even then it hadn't been very good. Alex was not the type of person who needed to get laid in order to remain decent or in a good mood. That was just some societal impulse pushed onto people, and Alex could give a rat's ass if she hooked up with a woman ever.

Her vehement denials passed through her mind as she drove toward the club. She was quite cranky and Khali was not helping her mood. Not to mention, Alex couldn't dance. And if she found herself tangled up with anyone on the floor she hoped it was Khali.

Alex's mind came to a screeching halt and she loudly berated herself within her mind. Knock that off, right now, Cuthbert. You'll get nothing from 'hooking up' with her except a sore body and a sense of guilt in the morning.

The slightly older buildings passed by, the often antique appearance of the city beginning to fade into the more modern district, where the kids went to party. Alex was 22 years old, she didn't need this kind of lifestyle forced upon her. Then again, she recanted, it was only one night. One night and she could bare it, she would soldier on.

After all, Alex's mood began to lighten as the next thought passed, she could refuse another outing like this again if it was not fruitful tonight. Khali had no power over Alex; she was her own person, her own cognitive being. All these thoughts passing through her brain were all created in effort to ward against Khali's allure. The woman was stunningly beautiful, powerful, and invigoratingly intense, and she obviously knew it.

Those hips...

Alex's mind flashed and she fought it off. Fought off the visions of lust fogging Alex's mind. They weren't even in the club yet, for God's sake! The night passed around them and eventually, Alex parked in front of the previously discussed nightclub. "Here we are, my own personal night of Hell with you," she didn't hide the clear disdain in her voice as she unbuckled her seat-belt. "If this is a fruitless mission tonight, then I'm going to be pissed, as if I'm not already."

Alex got out of the car, tugging her jacket a little tighter around her frame. Something in the air told her tonight was going to be far beyond interesting in ways both pleasant and not. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd. Pathetic. Hounds all waiting to serve their egos and get laid. The music shattered the night around them, a clear thud present even outside the club.

The crowd itself was huge, overwhelmingly so. Maybe if she was lucky she could slip from Khali's sight and just go home; the seductress could find her own way home. Alex didn't like big crowds, didn't like being in a mass of bodies all writhing at once. It was only in the back of her mind that she felt a hint of apprehension. She hoped...hoped quite dearly, quite secretly, that Khali wouldn't let her get lost in the crowd.

Khali's hips, swaying as she had entered the lab. Milky reminders of what Alex hadn't had in so long.

Alex berated herself and readied herself to unwillingly enter this Hell Khali was dragging her into.

“Now, now, no need to get all worked up.” She teased, getting out of the car, and watching from the corner of her eye as Alex unbuckled her seatbelt. The woman was agitated, torn between aroused and furious. It was fascinating, really: only half a day with Khali and already this girl was enthralled. If things were to continue like this then quality entertainment was guaranteed.

Once certain that Alex was out of the car and looking suitably motivated to move, she set off towards the entrance of the club. She made certain to sway her hips, knowing how tight her clothing was and wanting to give Alex a show. The girl needed some life beaten into her, and this way was fun for the both of them.

As she approached the crowd she looked back, her shadow was looking a little overwhelmed. Time for intervention, she didn’t want her to run away, it was vital that they stuck together for the entirety of the evening.

So she made a show of looking over her shoulder, aiming to keep the elaborately tattooed demon wings that adorned her back on show, the row of small rings that flanked either side of her spine (making it look as though her wings were bound flat to her back with the crisscrossed red ribbon) glinting in the neon lights.

“Come on! You’re here to have a good time! Get your ass moving!” She tossed her head and turned slightly to show off her long legs as people swing around to stare at her, drawn by the unnecessarily loud shout. It was always good to gather an audience early on, the more witnesses the better, after all.



Within twenty minutes, The Ripper was half a mile away, dressed in loose fitting grey clothing, head rested on the bar of a quiet pub.

“An’ then, an’ then I sheys that he’s fulla shit… and he… I can’ rememer wha’ he sheys…”

The Ripper grinned blearily at the man behind the bar, now dubbed Barkeep-BO, not really all that drunk yet, but fully intending to remedy that with the help of the house special.

“Wha’ bout you… schweetie…? Yah goh someone a‘ home?”

The Ripper knew the answer, of course, having carefully selected and slaughtered this man’s wife… Number 1: Maddox Street… hence coming to this bar tonight.

The ripple of hurt, despair, in Barkeep’s eyes was delicious. The Ripper was suddenly very glad that there had been time to visit this bar before Alex and “Khali” got back from the club, the chance to survey the fruits of one’s work arose infrequently in these parts.

Barkeep coughed, his voice a little thick. “Not anymore, that bastard Ripper saw to that.”

“Ah… schweetie m’sorry… he’s a fucker… ‘srves at die…” Pity. Perfect, totally false, pity. Two hundred points. The Ripper felt deserving of an Oscar for such a flawless performance.

“He deserves to be strung up, sick fucker, and left on the streets for the mobs to get him.” Barkeep snarled with truly wonderful venom, The Ripper had to award him twenty points for that alone.

“The bastard’ll be lucky if the coppers get ‘im! If I had my way I’d skin the fucker and leave him to bleed out in the gutter, just like he did to my Sara…”

The Ripper nodded in drunken empathy, toasting the idea with a butter smile and yet another pint. “Well shed, well shed…” The Ripper slurred, staggering up. As much as torturing Barkeep further would have been amusing there were other, better establishments to get drunk in.

…ones with women far more attractive and scantily clad than Barkeep, women that didn’t need to shower quite so badly…

…though the idea of an attractive woman in a shower was appealing…

The Ripper had to concede, staggering for real this time and trying to negotiate a swing door, that that last pint was maybe a little much, but it had been worth it to mess with Barkeep in there.

With a rowdy laugh and a rather obvious sway, London’s most wanted hailed a taxi, ordering Dreds-all-Over behind the wheel to head for Explosive Pyromania, Whitechapel’s most frequented gay club. It was time to see how Alex was doing.

The crowd was overwhelming. Alex hadn't been in an area with this many people since...well, never. There was a reason she spent all her time on her work - less people. Alex preferred little or no company at all and now Khali was throwing her into a room full of more people than could fit into the precinct building. And of course the people were all taking Khali's bait, eyes glued on her tattoos, those long legs, those hips and clothing that accentuated the slight curve of Khali's hip.

It took Alex a second to realize she was taking the bait, too, and then the scowl returned. She couldn't let Khali distract her. They were here to look for Ripper, though there couldn't be a man in the place, at least not on this floor of the club. Women were everywhere, writhing together to the same monotonous music that had been pounding into the air outside the building.

Alex took a breath and threw Khali a very unhappy look as she was forced to sift through the crowd and follow that devil-woman through the crowd. How appropriate that she had demon's wings tattooed on her back; Alex had in this short time become very certain that this woman was some kind of devil-incarnate.

"This is unbearable," she murmured to herself, gritted teeth showing her frustration. She tried her best to relax but Khali had her so agitated she could barely think.

It didn't help that Khali was a creature made for appeal, a predator if there ever was one. Her lean form, slight hips which swayed so suggestively every time she took a step forward. Those hips were going to be the death of Alex. Even the way Khali seemed to walk to the rhythm of the music, and the way she stared at Alex with that knowing grin. Damn it if this woman wasn't going to flat out kill Alex in the end.

Alex swallowed, gathering her wits as that familiar burn of lust began to grow within her. She found her heart was surprisingly racing in her chest again; the thought passed that if Khali could do that much with a look, or a sway of her hips, what on earth was she capable of in bed? Alex took a deep breath as she found herself following closely behind Khali.

As she did so, she wondered how on earth they were going to find Ripper in a crowd this large, especially if they knew nothing about what Ripper even looked like. Moment by moment, Alex was continually telling herself that she was ready to quit the case. It would be so much easier that way.

Yet if she quit the case, a night like this would've been pointless (though in Alex's opinion it already was).

They'd seemingly come to a halt in the thick crowd. Alex wanted a stiff drink at the bar, but the crowd was like a wall. All thought ceased the moment she was shoved in close proximity with Khali as the crowd continued to get thicker and thicker, and all Alex could see was those hips, and all she could breathe in was that delicious perfume.

Damn it all.

She filtered her way through the crowd of twisting, gyrating females, catching as many eyes and groping as many backsides as she could on the way, she wanted to be remembered tonight.

Alex was pissed off again, she could feel the glare on the back of her neck, twanging the barbell there every few seconds with little electric jolts of implied hatred. She smirked, knowing that at least half of the irritation came from badly-repressed lust. Poor Alex, she really didn’t have a hope of escaping the trap that had been woven around her.

Once she was satisfied that she had mingled enough, she headed for the bar, cutting a path for them both, leaving a run of gaping females in her wake. She settled herself on a high stool, having shifted it’s previous owner with little more than a promising look and a whisper about meeting in the bathrooms later.

Neatly folding her legs (and leaving little to the imagination) she caught the eye of the bartender, a young, nervous looking man who’s albino skin was thrown into sharp contrast by Explosive Pyromania’s distinctive red and black uniform.

“Cobie!” She greeted, smiling, seductive charms switched off as her attention focused on the lad, they were on good terms, having spoken every Friday and Saturday night for almost two years. The boy was gay, the flaming kind, and the attentions of women intimidated him. Hence, working in a lesbian bar.

“How’s Jen? I heard he got himself bitten again.” Mentioning Cobie’s long-term boyfriend was the best way to get him to loosen up, and she needed him receptive tonight, Alex had to see some results.

She hummed, nodded and gasped in all the right places as Cobie recounted the run-in that Jen, who ran a dog rescue centre, had had with an irate boxer. She was, in fact, genuinely interested in the story, it featured one of her friends after all, but she had to admit to being a little distracted, trying to put on the best possible show for the doubting detective.

“So are you two alright now?” She asked, having heard the Boxer-story from beginning to end and commented accordingly. “I mean, that business with Sara…” She shook her head.

“It was awful…” Cobie’s voice, marked by a soft, Hispanic accent, was grave. “She hadn’t been working here very long, but she was so nice…” He shook his head. “She should have stayed working at The Ram, I know it’s not pretty, but her husband works there, and it’s only a twenty minute walk from there to Maddox Street.”

“She lived there, didn’t she?” She knew the answer, of course, but she needed Cobie to say it.

“Yes. It’s almost an hour on foot from here to her house… I know she wasn’t coming here when he caught her, but I have to wonder…”

“Whether it wouldn’t have happened otherwise?” She shook her head. “You said it yourself: she wasn’t coming to work at the time. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He didn’t sound particularly convinced.

“I know I am. Don’t beat yourself up over this, Cobie, the police will catch him.” With an understanding smile and a parting wave she turned away again, grabbing Alex in passing and heading back out onto the dance floor.

She pulled her close, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“Victim number one worked here, so the regulars would know her. Your guys have already questioned all the staff and some of the customers as part of the initial investigation, but there’s probably a lot more info out there if you know how to look.”

She licked the shell of Alex’s ear for good measure before pulling away.

“You’re a pretty little thing, the girls here should open up to you.” She smirked at her own, deliberate, choice of words. “How about you go feel around a bit? Try to find some clues. I need to meet up with BarStool-Chick in the bathroom, she looked promising.”

She waved, leaving Alex adrift in a sea of dancing women. “I won’t be long, and for the love of all things holy: enjoy your damned self.”



The Ripper cursed softly, trying for the fourth time to thread a spiked stud through a partially extended tongue, hindered by far too much alcohol.

This was infuriating! The Ripper tried one final time before giving up, slumping down within the small closet, marked “Janitor Only”, in the basement level bathroom of Explosive Pyromania.

Now partially dressed in something more fitting for a night in a gay club, The Ripper waited patiently, knowing that she would want to check in soon. She always was awfully controlling when it came to the kills… tonight's plan would be no different, even though the woman was alive.

The Ripper was not disappointed when, about five minutes later, there was a thump of bodies meeting the door and a distinctive growl. The Ripper smirked through a drunken haze, controlling: yes. Theatrical and a wicked tease: also yes. Practically having sex against the closet where she knew The Ripper was hiding was hardly sporting.

…not that The Ripper was complaining though.

As the activity on the other side of the door became more heated, The Ripper became more and more aroused… this was CRUEL damnit!

Twenty points… sixty points… three hundred fucking points! She was drawing this out on purpose!

Not fair… not fair… so, so, so not fair! The Ripper was practically panting with desire by the time whoever it was that she was with out there was satisfied a shipped off back outside.

Come on! Come one! Lock the damn door…

The click of the lock was the most welcome sound in the world, signifying that they were, finally, alone, and that nobody else would disturb them.

“Nova, you fucking little bitch!” The Ripper growled, the heady rush of alcohol beginning to pass into a tense, itchy desire for action. “I know you’re a fucking sadist but Jesus! Cut me some fucking slack, I’m dieing in here!”

“You’re not dieing,” Nova didn’t bother to hide her amusement as she opened the door to reveal her twin, hanging half-in half-out of the exact double of the outfit she was wearing, looking flustered and incredibly turned-on. “I’m a doctor, I think I would know.”

She crouched down, surveying her counterpart with gleaming eyes. “Here.” She set about pulling her sister into her clothes, buckling straps, inserting studs and lacing up the corset piercing. Once done, she pulled her double up, resting the sweaty head on her shoulder, feeling the fierce, needy trembling as if it were her own.

“Oh Khali,” She cooed, mouth twisting into a wicked smile as she ran one long hand down the other’s back. “Let me help you with that.”