Dishonored and all its known characters belong to Bethesda.

"When I say the name Bertha," said the Outsider, "what's the first thing that comes to your mind?"

"Er…" said Corvo, thinking about it. The only image he could see was a strapping woman with blonde pigtails who can carry two squealing pigs just as easily as two kegs of beer. A Bertha would be wearing lederhosen and yodel from mountaintops, and then stalk battlefields for fallen warriors and bring their souls up to the heavens. No, wait…Corvo frowned. It can't be lederhosens. Knitted kilts and legwarmers, then. Those mountains can be rather chilly.

The Outsider had been watching his expression all the while, and fought the urge to laugh. It's always funny to see Corvo's imaginations get the best of him.

"Nothing like you'd expect a magical item to be, right?" he asked, wiping a traitorous smile with one hand.

Corvo instantly took a step back, raising a finger warningly. "Oh, no no no. You already gave me an eldritch tattoo without my permission – without my permission, I tell you! – and now you want to hand me another one of your infernal crackpot contraptions? No, thank you. I'll stick to my blade if it's all the same to you."

"Why so defensive, Corvo?" the Outsider said mildly. "Don't you know that tattoos enhance a man's appeal?"

"Yes, but…" trailed off Corvo, doubt creeping into his voice as he regarded the strange marking on his left hand. He looked back up at the Outsider. "I wish you'd make it more interesting, like a wolf…or a snake. Not some wonky squiggles which look like an exploding compass."

The Outsider's usual benign expression hardened. "No. Not snakes. I hate snakes. And you'd best be grateful that I put it on your hand."

"Rather than put it elsewhere? Please. I've seen Tyvian women with far stranger markings than this."

The Outsider pursed his lips, as if contemplating a thought. "I think I am going to enjoy you, Corvo. Oh, yes. You amuse me greatly. The others have taken upon my gifts with greed, and revenge…but not you. Surely you wish to avenge the death of your precious Empress?"

"She's dead. It's done. I still won't get my old job back. What's important now is Emily."

The Outsider examined his fingernails as if the subject matter bored him. "Installing her as the next Empress. Yes, how quaint," he drawled. "Tell me: how does it feel having your own flesh and blood ruling over you?"

For once, Corvo was glad he was wearing the mask. "My former role as bodyguard do not extend beyond-"

The Outsider smiled sardonically. "Ooh, playing that game, are we? I do love games. Still, do remember who you're dealing with. When it comes to lying, nobody could best me. You don't need the Heart to tell you that."

"The…Heart?"

"I've left something which I think will be very useful to you. Be forewarned, though…she can be a bit temperamental."

Corvo began patting his pockets with increasing consternation. The Outsider was - once he'd overlooked the powerful magic aspect - nothing more than a cheeky brat who relished on leaving unpleasant gifts for other people to discover…such as crushed frogs or live centipedes crawling beneath the blanket.

He finally found it, and as he held up its pulsating and glowing mass in one hand, the Outsider's voice cut through his horrified subconscious: "Corvo, meet Bertha the Barmaid. Or rather: her heart. Ahaha…how I laugh at your expression. Even your mask looks surprised."

Sarah retched dryly. There was nothing left to throw up.

The fever had raged through her body like a stampeding army. Against her family's wishes, she'd left home, deciding to bunk within the Flooded District and wait for the inevitable to happen. She could've picked a better location, though. The apartment she was in overlooked the corpse pit, and every now and then the walls shook from the whirrs and clatters of the train as it brought in more festering cargo.

She'd gotten used to the smell by now.

Whatever meager provision she'd brought along with her was now molding quietly in the corner. She no longer had the appetite…and even if she did force herself to eat something, it'd just come back up again.

She gazed through the window, seeing with her mind's eye the rolling acres of her familial plains. She saw the twisty maze, the one with the nifty nooks and crannies where she spent many rigorous hours with Andre the gardener's boy…

Her head jerked up at the thumping footsteps overhead. Someone was running across the shingles. Possibly some damnfool who thinks he could jump onto the train and get out of this blasted area. Well, best of luck to whoever he is. He'd need plenty of it.

She almost fainted when a flapping apparition suddenly streaked past her window. She would've passed it off as a ghost if it weren't screaming 'Ohshiiiiiiiit!' all the way down. She leaned over the sill, expecting a splat and a blooming flower of entrails over the cobblestones. At the very least it'd be her entertainment for the day.

But that was when things got very strange. Probably it was the illness talking, but she could've sworn the figure burst into smoke just before it hit the ground, and reappeared ten feet away over the river. It hovered uncertainly in the air like a cartoon character, before finally succumbing to gravity and landed over the corpses with a distinct squelch.

Sarah made a face. Anywhere had to be better than there.

She waited to see what it did next, and wasn't disappointed as it clawed its way back up. It bent over, huffing and puffing as it placed both hands over its knees. For a moment she thought it was going to vomit.

Instead, it straightened up and began fumbling for something about its person. It produced a glowing object from within the shadowy recesses of its clothes and began talking to it, gesticulating wildly over various points of the street. It seemed to be very angry. It paused, as if listening to something, before going off into another tirade. It suddenly stopped, and looked up. Looked directly as Sarah.

With a gasp, she withdrew her head, but it was too late. The stranger appeared inside her room with a swirl of acrid smoke, and this time Sarah was sure it wasn't delirium clouding her mind.

From the look of things, it was a man. It lowered its half-raised left arm, the glowing mark on its hand fading as she watched. Oddly enough, she imagined herself to be frightened under such circumstances, but instead she found herself glaring defiantly at the person and grinding out: "Whoever – whatever – you are, leave me be. There's nothing of value here."

The stranger seemed to be pondering this. It then turned away wordlessly, and began stalking about the room, opening drawers and riffling through them.

"I told you to leave!" Sarah said indignantly. There was a poker standing by the fireplace. If she could just get to it…

The stranger faced her again, regarding her with that eerie skull mask. It produced the glowing object again, and starting waving it around. Sarah uttered a small scream when she saw that it was actually a human heart, still pulsating like a live thing.

"Stay away from me!" she commanded, feet skittering backwards until she felt the corner of her desk bumping her posterior.

The stranger raised its other hand, making a silencing gesture. "Shush," it said. "I need to hear her talk." Now Sarah could really confirm that it was a man.

The man cocked his head sideways, and went on: "Turn left in 5 kilometres after the burning rubbish bin, you said? Well, how was I supposed to know? There were two bins!"

Eyes still fixed on the man, Sarah pawed behind her for a weapon. She may be dead anytime soon, but that doesn't mean she'd simply give it up for a looter. Her questing fingers brushed against a cold metal surface. Ah, the paperweight.

"I've already checked this room. Nothing but a handful of coins," said the man. A pause. "Family heirloom? What family heirloom?"

He turned, and a five-pound silver Dalmatian statue hit him squarely in the face with a resounding boing.

When it came to expounding the helpfulness of the Heart, Corvo was left begging to differ. It was, in actuality, a highly moot subject. The thing's fondness for whispering useless trivia had made the assassin wish the Outsider never gave it to him. It had a bloodhound instinct when sniffing out runes, but its methods of leading him to the items left a lot to be desired. Already it had dropped him into the river (thrice), a gaggle of Weepers (twice), banged him into walls, and on one occasion: almost drove him right off the cliffs of Dunwall.

He wouldn't say it aloud, but he was beginning to suspect that the Outsider was discreetly trying to get rid of him. Or simply enjoyed watching him suffer.

He picked himself up, and winced as he heard the heartbreaking tinkle of shattered glass. Ah, there goes his optical zoom. Pietro will be steamed once he sees the state of his baby.

The young woman was still going after him, fingers curled into claws as she attempted to attack his face. He knocked her out, and laid her out on the bed as gentlemanly as possible.

You should grant her a quick death, the Heart's disembodied voice echoed inside his mind. Summon your rats to do it.

"No," said Corvo.

Suit yourself. Either she dies now, or turn into a Weeper. It's all the same. At the very least, I'm sure she wants to die with her wits still about her.

"Well, that's not up to me to decide, is it?" he retorted, taking off his mask to survey the damage. With the lens broken, he could barely see. It's high time he brought this back to the workshop as soon as possible.

"Okay, Heart," he said, fixing the mask back on. "Let's try for that rune again, shall we? And give proper instructions this time. None of that 'In ten kilometres, turn left at the heathen statue, spin around five times and sprinkle salt over the shoulder' nonsense. Are we clear?"

Tch, you're no fun, Corvo.

"Fun? I don't know what's that. Is it some sort of imaginary cake? I'm working, now."

He felt, rather than heard the sulky silence emanating from the Heart.

Very well. Exit via the northern window. There's a corpse pit at your twelve o'clock. Please take mind to fall into it again. To your right is a row of shoplots, where a fabulous hat store used to operate a lucrative business with Dunwall's top nobs right before the economic downfall. Such a shame, but really you don't have to listen to that last part.

"Wait, so that wasn't part of the directions?" asked Corvo, who'd already turned right.

Obviously not. Unless if you want a hat. Incidentally, I've thought of a rather fetching-

"Oi, stick to getting me out of here, dammit!"

I do runes, not exits. That's your problem.

For the umpteenth time, Corvo added an item into his ever growing list of ways to be rid of the Heart: Toss into the sea; toss into a swarm of rats; dice up, cook into a pie and serve it to Havelock; practice clay pigeon shooting, with the Heart as target; give to tallboys as a present…

I know what you're planning to do to me, Corvo…and I can assure you that none of them work.

"Tch, stop reading my thoughts. They're highly classified."

Please, there's nothing classified about you. Being inside your head's like living in a house full of puppies. Or brothers. I used to have plenty of them, you know.

"What, puppies?"

Brothers. Rambunctious lots, all seven of them. Each one smellier and messier than the next. Had to clean after them every morning before I got to work. Tell me something: why are men such disgusting creatures?

"Er," said Corvo, contemplating his personal hygiene habits. Considering his sparse room, he'd say he was a Zen man when it came to interior decorating. He even made his own bed every morning. Lydia only had to come up once a week to sweep and dust the corners.

"Maybe because you've made yourself dispensable to them?" he finally said.

Hmm, perhaps. Well, I'm gone now. Let's see them pick things up after that. Hah!

Corvo hugged a wall, and cautiously peered around it. The train rattling overhead made it difficult for him to hear anything else, but as far as he could see, the streets were clear.

I didn't just work at the bar. I was also a dressmaker's assistant. Had to keep two jobs since my brothers were too lazy to work. There was even one time where I did a short stint at the Golden Cat. Not as a courtesan, mind you. As a serving girl. But I left after a month. Customers there were grabbier than the ones at the bar. At least you can slap them around a bit. But at the Golden Cat, they'd blame you for roughing up patrons.

Corvo couldn't help himself. "I thought they liked it rough."

Oh, harhar…you're such a master of double entrendes. Just because you got to fry a doddering old man you think it's all fun and games?

He began sprinting across the street, making for the conveniently shadowed walls of a crumbling apartment. He'd spotted a patrolling tallboy at the last minute, and quickly performed a rolling dive, his buttocks sliding over the cobblestones before his back slammed against the brittle brickwork.

"Right," he whispered, "where to next?"

There's actually a hidden room, where they keep the expensive stuff: rare wines, jewellery, bags and bags of money. You need to find the secret catch, which isn't around the fireplace like everybody thought. Oh, no. They're too clever for that. What you need to do, is look at the shelf in the opposite wall, and-

"What hidden room?" Corvo hissed desperately. The tallboy was coming closer, and he had to keep moving or risk exposure. "Northeast? Northwest? There's nothing but hotels and apartments here! Hurry up!"

Sorry, I was talking about the Golden Cat. You've actually missed that room. I only remembered it once we've left the place. I wanted to tell you to turn around, but by then you're already in Samuel's boat.

Corvo resisted the urge to wring the Heart with his hands. He compensated instead by flinging a live grenade towards the tallboy. His dying screams echoed around them as Corvo darted out and started running again.

"When this is over," he snarled, "I'm going to have a long talk with the Outsider about replacing you!"

Ooh, rune alert! Rune alert! the Heart sang, beating fast and glowing brightly.

"Where?!"

Straight ahead, three metres…there's an alleyway to your right. Cut through there, and take the first left. Hurry! Ooh, this is very exciting!

"Hmph, you could actually be useful if you wanted to," Corvo grunted, taking alleyway route. He skidded, almost missing the turning, and barreled forth-

Stop, stop! You're already there!

- right into a party of guards, sharing a discreet rollup and a flask of brandy between them. One of them had the rune in his hands, while another still had smoke wafting out from his mouth as they all gawked at him, too stunned to do anything. Nobody imagined the elusive Corvo Attano to actually fall onto their laps like that. And here they were, making bets on who'd be the first to catch that bloody assassin…

Corvo decided to make the best out of the situation. He politely cleared his throat, and said: "Excuse me…but you've got my thing right there. If I could just…" he inched forth, grabbed the rune, and darted backwards again, the rune disappearing into one of his many pockets. He then offered them one of his jauntiest two-fingered salutes, his feet already blurring into a run as he shouted: "Cheerioooo!"

It was the absence of one Corvo Attano in the scene that prompted the guards' sudden burst of action. But by then it was already too late.

The blasted man was once more back in the shadows.