The sun was just rising in a clear blue sky. Two men, both middle aged, traversed a paved road through a quiet, just stirring city. They were in a seedier side of town, a place where civilized beings rarely treaded. Poverty was commonplace and the old, war time factories abandoned post treaty, and underground bunkers made marvelous hiding places for criminals and other worse things.
These two men were certain what they were looking for. They sought a madman.
"The old factory, she said," one whispered reassuringly, "64th cross 1089th street, Armistice District."
"Aye, that's what it was."
"I still think we should get a half dozen officers."
"One old quack's word ain't enough to convince the office, Bill. Ye know that well as I."
"Seems cracked it does," he continued relentlessly, "Going after a serial killer just us two."
"Don't worry Bill," the other reassured, "We're just going to take a peek and see if it looks like he's lived there," he waved off a beggar pleading for money, "If it looks reasonable we'll - ah here we are."
A muggy, black gate, which swung loosely on its hinges opened the way to an equally forbidding square complex that looked more fortress with its smooth grey walls. Bill hesitated before following his partner to the door. It used a large sliding door unlike the computerized ones back in the wealthier districts.
"Ain't no one around," Bill whispered.
"Seems to confirm that old quack. Nobody would be if a killer lived here."
Knives flashed, two heads rolled. A dirty grey man laughed.