In the heart of London, fog thickened the streets. The rain, a relentless drizzle, soaked the cobblestones. A lone figure, shrouded in a long coat, hurried past gas lamps. The figure's breath was visible in the cold night air. A sudden gust of wind blew open a nearby door. The door revealed a dimly lit room. A man, with a glass of brandy in hand, sat at a desk. His face, illuminated by candlelight, wore a look of worry. A distant clock chimed midnight. The man set down his glass. The door closed, leaving only the faint sound of rain. The man's expression turned to one of fear. A knife blade appeared in the man's hand. He moved swiftly, his footsteps echoing in the room. The man's target was on the other side of the room. He lunged, his eyes filled with determination. The target, however, was ready. The man's blade missed its mark. The target struck the man's wrist, sending the knife clattering to the floor. The man, unable to regain his footing, fell back into a nearby chair. The target, now in control, leaned closer. The man's eyes widened in terror. The target's hand moved to the man's throat. The man gasped for breath. The target leaned in, whispering, "You should have never crossed me." The man's eyes rolled back in his head. The target stood up, a satisfied smile on his face. The man's body slumped in the chair, lifeless. The room was silent, save for the distant sound of rain. The target walked out, leaving behind the lifeless body. The door closed, sealing the room once again. The murder had been committed. The game of cat and mouse was afoot.