Note: I may be taking liberties with this! I don't know an awful lot about some of the characters, so I may miswrite them or not even include them, but I will do my best! Also, if you end up liking this, I'm sorry to say that I'm not very reliable, so I may not update very often. But with summer coming up, things are a little more hopeful, right? Anyway, have fun!
I'll be watching...
Rushed footsteps pattered across the damp rooftop, quieted slightly by the soft, worn rubber soles of boots that would never slip, no matter how soaked the buildings of Dunwall would get under the dense night rain. The wearer was too cautious, too experienced.
The dark figure slowed his run and stood against the backdrop of twinkling stars, stopping to check his watch. The dim light that illuminated the watch's surface revealed the fast ticking of the second hand, encircling the thicker arms. The positions they happened to rest in gave the man a pang of anxiety. He might be late if he didn't hurry. He only had a certain window of time to do what he needed to do, and if he didn't get to where he needed to be in about three and a half minutes, he may be too late to do anything.
He hated these perfect-timing missions, he really did.
He made a few steps, about to build it into another swift-footed run, when he heard a shout through the moist night air. A woman's voice, announcing a bad man's intentions to hurt her in the most horrible of ways. The dark figure surveyed the area, looking around for someone else, anyone else in the area who could take care of this, and scowled upon seeing just one cowardly passerby who only hurried his steps on hearing the terrified cry of another person in dire need.
The man on the roof sighed and peeked at his watch again before jumping down and sprinting for the source of the cry. Three minutes, fifteen seconds. He could manage.
He rounded a corner and felt his fist on a man's face before he had even assessed his odds. It was sloppy of him, more reckless than usual, but he really didn't have the time to plan anything out. Another punch, right to the temple, and the man was out cold.
Three minutes.
Another two men in his peripheral, awful odds against the petite woman cowering against the wet bricks, barely out of her teens, carrying a small purse with not much in it and wearing makeup which displayed a lack of practice. The man used his disgust of the sort of people who would take advantage of a girl like that, a girl who could very well have been someone a little closer to him, to fuel the rest of his attacks. The other two men got in only one hit between them, and were both on the ground soon enough.
Two and a half minutes left.
The man spared a glance at the girl, making sure she was at least capable of walking, and was long out of ear shot before she could muster the strength to strangle out a "thank you."
A few blocks away from that spot, and two minutes away from his destination, the figure checked his watch again. A minute and forty-five seconds. He'd have to be ridiculously lucky to make it now. Supernaturally lucky. He checked one more time, looking at the dim glow and planning each second, but suddenly, the second hand stopped ticking.
Still running, he tapped the plastic cover, then forcibly hit the side of the watch against his other wrist. He cursed internally, creating hasty mental plans to buy a new watch over the weekend, by which he would be paid for this job.
It was then that he noticed the sound his boots were making on the tiled roof beneath him. They were more hollow, now, more echoed. The sound went further than it was supposed to. He slowed, paying uncertain attention to the phenomenon. He stopped when he saw the bird.
A crow, suspended mid-flight beside him. He tilted his head, felt the hood shift against his neck, felt the soft material on the inside of his grinning, metal mask rub softly against his cheek when he frowned. Everything was quiet and surreal, like he was living in a dream. He reached out, hesitant, his gloved right hand moving slowly to touch what his eyes wouldn't believe, and his brain refused to comprehend.
"My my," a voice behind him, amused. The man was already turned around, his elegant flip knife out of his pocket and ready to neutralize any threat the newcomer posed. Once again, his brain wasn't quite ready to accept what he saw.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten? What this is?" the source of the voice continued, unmoved by the show of startled hostility before him. This man seemed almost normal, but there was something about him, a certain aura of just something different which crackled in his mind as he shifted the knife in his hand slightly, getting a tighter hold on it. The man, thing, before him reacted only with a small, amused smile, almost unnoticeable, but genuine, and one that looked to reach the deep, black voids that took place of his eyes.
The man with the knife turned his head slightly, questioningly, warily, noticing a little late that the other was stuck in the air, two inches from the wet surface of the roof, and almost feeling the urge to laugh at what seemed an attempt to look taller. This want was smothered by the hostility and wariness he still felt about the stranger, who now seemed to sigh, taking his silence and refusal to react as an invitation to continue.
"My dear Corvo," the being said, and the man's fingers tightened around the hilt of his knife at the sound of his name, the name only a few people knew him by, an alias for the darker part of his life. The floating man's face twisted slightly.
"Don't act so surprised, Corvo. It is your name, isn't it? Not like that other one, the one they gave you."
Corvo shifted. He still didn't quite understand the situation, but he knew he didn't like it. His danger signal was going haywire, faced with something it couldn't assess. He didn't know who, or what, this man was, and he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling of familiarity that shouldn't have been inspired by all of this, but was there all the same.
"...Who are you?" he finally spoke, after a moment of hesitation. Corvo didn't like to speak, and he did so rarely, but right then he felt the desperate need to make sense of it all, and asking questions is the usual- the logical- place to start. However, it would do him no good, just yet; his question was ignored by the other, who continued talking as if Corvo had kept to his usual silence. Or, perhaps, he just didn't want to answer.
"I have been waiting for a long time, Corvo. Waiting for you. You certainly took your time. But, already you have become interesting to watch..." The being smiled, a both unsettling and, strangely, comforting show of what seemed like fondness. "I'm sure you will be well worth the wait."
"Who. Are you." Corvo asked again, this time with a threatening tinge to his underused voice.
"Oh, Corvo," the being smiled again, a simple, knowing smile that hid more than it revealed, accompanied by a gentle, slow shake of the head. "But you already know who I am."
Corvo gave a sudden hiss. He felt a sharp pain on the back of his left hand, a burning sensation like calligraphy painted onto his skin with pure acid ink. He didn't move his glove to look, didn't even glance to his free hand; he just kept his eyes locked firmly onto the creature before him, who tilted his head, just a little.
"I'll be watching."
He promptly faded away, breaking up impossibly into bits and pieces which disappeared and floated away into the night air.
Corvo was startled by the loud sqwak and the sound of frantic flapping behind him. He swiveled his head to watch the crow, previously stuck mid-air, fly quickly away. He checked his watch. The second hand was ticking again, as if it had never stopped. A minute and forty seconds left. He would think about what the implications of this were later, but for now he had to really book it.
He was lucky that night. Someone had made a mistake, stalled the operation. The one being moved- a man, in his thirties, with dark, smooth skin, a nice suit, and far too much influence than should be placed onto one person- was not hidden away as well as he should have been by now. His security was filled with flaws. Someone had gotten lazy, overconfident by the amount of guards around this guy.
But, they should have saved that confidence for someone who wasn't wanted dead, by people with even more influence than he. People who hired people like Corvo to clean out annoyances.
Corvo killed them all, and still had twenty seconds to spare.