The Phantom Butcher

Part 1- Chapter 1- An Introduction

A cold dead hand. A stain of blood on the ground. The muffled scream of a famililar voice.

Samual woke up in a cold sweat. Night terrors again. They were getting worse and it was a sign that he was getting closer to his goal. He knew he was. He had to be. Otherwise all this death, this destruction he had caused, it would all be in vain. He needed to avenge his sister. Or find her alive. He hoped for the latter of the two. Yet he had a sad and uneasy feeling that he would never see her alive again. Years had passed since the incident. The smuggling of alcohol was no longer big business. No, the focus had shifted to a new illegal commodity. A drug known simply as "soot" it was a powdery black substance, no one quite knew the effect this drug truly had on the body, but it makes whoever uses it extremely violent. Samual had been following a lead from some low-level thugs from the east side of the city, he remembered the information he had been given the night prior

"They say you can get the brown sugar from a man known as C.C. in Philips tavern if you say the right thing," The man had told him, his pipe hanging from his lip, his pinstripe trousers barely staying up despite his suspenders working overtime to keep them on his skeletal legs. "But, eh, my memory. It's no good. The pass code somehow has slipped my mind..." The man had told him, no doubt hungry for some spare change to keep his habits fed.

"Allow me to jog your memory," Samual had told him, forcing the small, lanky man against the brick alley-way wall.

"Ah, that's right, that's right, I do remember!" The man said hurriedly, he wanted his drugs but he didn't want to have to die for them. "It was 'I need a chimney sweep, do you have any for hire?' that's what it was so if you would be so kind to-"

Samual interjected "Why of course good sir, I sure do hope your information is of use, I wouldn't want any harm to come of you, especially after you've been so helpful to me." And with that Samual let go of the little man, and with a gasp of air and a small yelp he ran off, no doubt to the soup kitchen on the corner to catch his daily bowl of gruel.

Samual remembered the name of the tavern he needed to go to. He had a gut feeling he would get some new information. Good information. Something that could help him find his sister. And with that, the Phantom Butcher laced up his boots, sheathed his daggers on either hip,holstered his gun, and slipped on his long black overcoat. He didn't need a mask. No one would know it was him. At least that was how it was until now.