The fog-drenched streets of 1888 London concealed more than just poverty; they birthed the modern serial killer. As Jack the Ripper began his visceral campaign in Whitechapel, the Victorian establishment faced a terrifying question: was this monster a product of their own industrial progress? Behind the grisly headlines lay the tragic lives of women like Polly Nichols, caught between the crushing weight of the workhouse and a predator who moved like a wraith through the reeking alleys of the East End.