1885 Listless chocolate eyes opened as smoke cascaded from twitching nostrils. A hand set a partially smoked cigarette on a small side table positioned to the left of a porcelain bathtub. Deep brunette curls plunged under the water of the tub and floated over a fairly handsome face. Bubbles dispersed themselves from the mouth and nose from the man as he breathed out from under the surface of the water. His partially coarse hands were held the rims of the tub firmly, holding himself under. 'Just breathe in, it's as simple as that...' he thought to himself numbly. 'Alexander, it won't be painful. Just open your mouth and swallow,' his thoughts instructed him. It sounded like a wonderful idea, not having to take pills that didn't affect him at all, never again waking up with the realization that his wife and child were dead. He could do it with one simple motion. But why was it that this one simple motion seemed impossible? Dammit! Alexander rose his head and torso from the water and drew in a large breath. He looked blankly around his apartment for a moment, picked up his cigarette, took a large puff, pulled the plug on his tub, grabbed his towel and got out of the draining body of water. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Alexander trudged across the creaky wooden floor to the dusty window. He saw what was typical of London at night. Prostitutes, unfortunates as most of England liked to call them, prowling the streets, their filthy hands grabbing at any Tom, Dick, or Harry that they could to try to squeeze a penny out of them. The rats would always come out at night. Thieves, beggars, unfortunates, alcoholics, and drug abusers alike were all trying to score what they could. Being a man of the law, if you could even call him that, Alexander was probably supposed to look down upon all of them as unwanted miscreants of London, an abomination to the great name of the British Empire, but he couldn't because in a way he could be classified as filth as well. He was a substance abuser and an alcoholic. Marijuana, whiskey, gin, and scotch were his poisons, but he would drink anything. He turned away from the window and went to his bed, where his outfit lay limply in wait. Unraveling the towel from his waist, he gave his hair a few decent rubs with it and flung it across the room, letting it fall where it may. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Alexander hastily threw on his clothing. He had to be at the station promptly at ten o'clock. As he put on his overcoat, he grabbed his tin case that was stocked with cigarettes and placed it in the inner pocket of the coat. Alexander blew the candles out in his apartment, locked his door and quickly made his way onto the streets. He slowed his pace to take a gander at his pocket-watch. 9:02. He had plenty of time before having to report in, so he took his time and kept his walk at a casual pace. Women, if you could even call them that, would walk up to him or give a cat-call as he passed them. He rolled his eyes, but didn't acknowledge them in any other way, not showing a shred of interest in their 'services'. Finding himself a whole half of an hour early than he should be, Alexander looked around the station, finding it nearly empty, punched in, grabbed his equipment and headed out again, this time in his official attire.