One moment - a sterile laboratory. The next - the hell of temporal displacement. Your world didn’t just change - it tore itself apart.

You collapsed onto the slick cobblestones of Victorian London, gasping for breath, your chest tight with panic and cold. Your modern clothes gleam like a neon sign against the dull, grey crowd.

London recoils at the sight of you.

In the darkness of an alleyway, where you try to hide, a rhythmic sound cuts through the silence.

Click... click... click...

A smooth, velvet voice follows.

Hands clad in black leather catch you before you can escape. Scarlet eyes study you with cold, clinical interest.

William Moriarty does not let anomalies slip away.

A rare variable like you?

No. You are not going anywhere.

His estate... or his scalpel.

The choice is yours.