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You've all waited for a week now, so here's a little preview of the action of the sequel ^^

Just enough to make you anxious *evil laugh*

Chapter 1: Ripper

A cold breeze blew through the evening air. The moonless sky was ink black, sending a shiver down his back. He pressed his hat down lower on his head, almost as though in hope it would take him somewhere else. He hated doing night shift, and especially when a new prisoner was being transferred in.

"What'd this guy do again?" he asked his companion through chattering teeth.

The other prison guard (Joe, if he remembered correctly) rubbed his arms and shivered in the cold air. A veteran at this prison yard for almost 35 years now, he was self-proclaimed to have seen it all. From murderers to bombers, he helped accomplish many successful transfers in the past. However, this time, he snorted and snapped, "You're that newbie, right? How long you been here now?"

"10 months," he muttered, wishing desperately for a blanket and some hot chocolate.

"Well, rook," Joe grunted, "I've been here for almost 35 years now-"

"I know…" the younger guard mumbled angrily under his breath.

"And I've put away hundreds of scumbags in my time here," the old-timer continued, either not hearing his companion's dark muttering or choosing to ignore it. "And in all my time, I have never met a bastard as dark as this one."

"What's he do?" the rookie asked again, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold going down his spine.

"The son of a bitch is a kid killer," the old man growled through his scraggly mustache. "Bastard chopped up and ripped apart 25 kids before the cops finally caught him. And that's only the remains they could actually find! Rumor has it that there's more, but the cops haven't found the bones yet… Also heard that he expanded his interests into older people too. No one knows his death counts, but they're pretty sure it's over a hundred."

The younger man shuddered. "Why would he kill children?"

"Don't know," the other guard shrugged. "When they were interrogating him, the sick S.O.B. only laughed and whistled some creepy nursery rhyme."

"I hope this man rots in prison for what he did," he hissed. Even the murderers and psychopaths locked up in the prison agreed on one thing: children related crimes cannot be forgiven.

"Guy got what he deserved. Life sentence, no chance of parole." The older man grunted, looking up when he saw a pair of bright headlights approaching. "That's them."

Three giant cars rolled up to the guards. As soon as the vehicles stopped moving, the car in front and the car behind immediately opened up, releasing a flood of armed officers. They all positioned themselves around the middle car, aiming their weapons at the back. The captain signaled to the driver to let whatever monster was in the back out.

"Is all this necessary?" he asked his senior.

"Kinda an overkill," the older guard agreed, "but when they finally cornered him, he took down a whole squad of officers with just a trashcan lid. Can't be too careful, I suppose."

"Do you have the papers?" the driver asked, stepping out of the vehicle.

"Right here, sir," he answered, pulling out all the necessary documents for the transfer.

The man grunted, signed the papers, and pulled out a bunch of keys. Walking around to the back, he shot a warning glance behind his shoulder and said, "Gotta be careful with this one… he could kill you before you know what happened."

"Noted," he replied tersely. He slowly reached for his hidden sidearm, ready to use it if necessary.

All the officers cocked their guns as the driver carefully unlocked the doors. The two guards, rookie and senior, both tensed, unsure of what to expect.

The trunk was pitch black. At first, there was silence. Then, out of the gloom, came an eerie whistling. The song was all too familiar, a beloved children's favorite. However, whatever was inside the trunk drew the notes out, making them longer, and a million times creepier.

"Ahh, officer," a sleazy voice hissed after the melody ended. "I was beginning to wonder why we weren't moving… Is something wrong?"

"Shows over, scumbag," the driver snorted. "Say hello to your new home, cuz you're not moving out for a long time."

"Hmm, pity," the voice tsked. "I was beginning to like that last one."

A sudden beam of light from a flashlight lit up the darkness. He heard a small gasp from behind him as all laid eyes on the carnage in the back of the truck. The three guards assigned to watch the man all had their necks snapped. Their heads hanged limply off their shoulders. One poor guy had his head stuck at a permanent 180˚.

"You were taking so long I got bored," the voice sighed. With the ray of light, he could finally see the face of said voice. He was expecting some big and old muscle man picking his teeth with a piece of bone, but what he saw was almost the exact opposite.

This man looked calm, even though three freshly dead bodies surrounded him. He looked young, not a day over thirty. The light only lit up his surroundings; his face was still covered in shadows. The guard could see the faint glow of bandages that wrapped around his right eye. A grim smirk was plastered across his face when he heard the gasps of horror at his accomplishment.

"Hurry up and get him inside!" the driver sputtered. "The sooner he's locked up, the better!"

"Oh, I suppose I should get up now," the man in the car sighed. He stood up slowly, shaking his chained arms and legs in disgust. "Do loosen these chains for me please, dear driver, they're beginning to chafe my skin."

"You'll get those removed the day you die, Ripper," the driver spat back, aggressively yanking the man out of the car. The criminal merely chuckled and raised his hands to his chest in mock defeat.

"This is where I cut in," the young "guard" finally sighed, pulling out his gun. To the surprise of all the officers, he pulled out a second weapon and shot all the officers present. The driver and his passenger weren't spared either. Before anyone knew what was happening, and before anyone could call for help, they were lying dead in a pool of their own blood. His "senior" slid down the side of the truck, a look of terror and betrayal in his eyes. Blood was pooling out of a bullet hole in his neck He could feel his life flowing out of his wound, and he knew he only had a few seconds left. His "junior" chuckled darkly and raised his weapon and aimed it at the old man's forehead. One silenced gunshot later and the night was silent again.

"Well," the prisoner sighed as he stared at the new blood stains that decorated his orange jumpsuit, "that was rather grand, wasn't it?"

"Don't mention it," he muttered, throwing his hat off in disgust. He picked up the keys in the dead driver's hands and promptly unlocked the cuffs around the ex-convicts arms and legs.

"Thank you, I supposed," the man muttered ungraciously, rubbing his wrists to get the blood flowing to his hands again. "And who do I owe the favor?"

"A… concerned other party," he offered. He wiped his hands clean of blood on his security jacket, then took it off in disgust. The owner of the jacket would be found in the morning, dead and stuffed in his own locker. Recently transferred and never given the chance to be recognized. An easy lie to an old-timer and no one suspected a thing.

"And why would this 'concerned' party be concerned?"

"Let's just say, you and I have a common enemy, Mr. Ripper."

"Hmm… and that would be…"

"Didn't you ever wonder who was responsible for locking you up in the middle of your glory days," he asked impatiently.

"The cops only said it was some anonymous source," Ripper muttered angrily.

"Well, I know who that source is," he continued.

Ripper squinted at him suspiciously. "Who is it?"

"The Hamada's," he answered. "Tadashi Hamada, to be exact. Him and his little brother."

"Wait till I get my hands on them," Ripper snarled. "I'll rip them apart while their still alive, tear them to pieces, limb by limb! I'll-"

"Yes, yes, that's good and all," he sighed impatiently, "But, please, work with me here. If you help me, I'll help you get revenge on the two. How about it?"

"And what's in it for me?" Ripper hissed.

"You get to kill all the kids you want while I'm preparing… including the little Hamada."

"Hmm…" the felon rubbed his chin in thought. "Very well," he finally said reluctantly. "Contact me when you're done with your 'planning'."

"Keep the cops busy while I'm working," he snapped. "Make sure they don't suspect me for anything." He pulled a phone out of his pocket and tossed it to the killer. "Keep in contact."

"Right," Ripper snorted as he pocketed the phone. "Well," he grabbed the keys and climbed into the farthest truck. "It's been nice meeting you Mr. Concerned Party, but I really must be going. So many children, so little time…"

"Don't forget our agreement," he warned.

"Of course not," Ripper laughed. As he started the car, he snickered and said, "That's a pretty nasty scar you got there, 'friend'."

Koetsu grimaced and lightly brushed his hand across his damaged skin. "This'll be gone soon… 'friend'…"

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