Whalers
Gray's blade dug into the neck of their target, quick and seamless. After one last shudder of life the large man dropped to the ground, dead.
"Make it look like an accident. That was the request. But hurry," voiced Erza, her words came out distorted for the industrial gas mask that covered her face and all of the Whalers' faces, "anyone can come in at any time."
Natsu and Lucy hurried to do as she ordered, hauling a large piece of timber up and over the body to make it look as if a beam had dropped onto his head. Easy enough to fake, as the foundation of every building in the city was crumbling. Gray took steps back until the loving tendrils of the shadows had wrapped around him, shadows being a friend to them all. He cleaned his blade off quickly in the rich navy jacket he adorned before the blood had a chance to crust around the hilt, the short sword having no hand guard for the blood to pool on. There he remained, shoulder to shoulder with the group's unofficial leader. The newest recruit, one Wendy, was perched on the roof overlooking the decrepit streets for either pedestrians, soldiers, or weepers; the mad, gone-too-far ill of the city that gathered in the lower streets.
No signal came from her, that was her job, to watch and alert, and Natsu and Lucy were able to finish their job in relative piece. Driving the shattered bit of the plank up through the neck of the body, masking the stab wound from Gray. Lucy brushed her hands together, as if to signal a job well done – rough leather, whale hide, covered her skin, protecting it from the dust and the splinters of the rotting wood.
"Come on," she said, unable to keep a small thrill from her voice. She wanted to leave these streets. They all did.
They were assassins. Plucked from the streets, sewers, prisons, by their leader or other Whalers, or had somehow tripped and stumbled into the district where the base was located. Once a home, they had dropped these streets like it was a great plague rat, and had scrubbed the filth and memories from their skin. Exorcising it from their systems. The city had become a demon, turned fetid and grotesque as it died, nothing more than a place for rats and sick and corrupt. The good had died even before the empress. What was left were men like this one; who was a hungry man feeding on the coin of the poor and the bodies of the young.
He had struck down that man, impassive. Killing was easy, it was what they did. It became easier when he himself erased his personality. Like this, on the job. He was a gear. As they all were. Dressed the same, faces erased, voices distorted. He was not an individual but a tool to do a job.
Together they Blinked to the nearest roof top, then beyond. To home.
At home they were a family. They laughed, joked, insulted, kicked and punched – in the case of him and Natsu – at each other as brothers and sisters under one guiding force. Their home was a home and it was strong. They had built themselves a castle. They were one and they were all. They did not belong to the city. They were better.
A/N: Dishonored AU. As my favourite stealth game I just had to. This is our crew as Daud's Whalers. This isn't a new story and has been completed for a while. I still haven't written fanfiction and still have no plans to despite loving and respecting the medium. However, I'm still writing stories and would always love any feedback given. :)
