PLEASE DISREGARD THIS MESSAGE IF YOU HAVE READ THE HIGH CHAOS VERSION OF THIS STORY FIRST!

Hello fans and newcomers alike! It's been a while since I've written anything on this site, but Dishonored 2 sparked a flame in my imagination and gave me a killer idea for this story, writing about one character but from two perspectives (Low Chaos and High Chaos). You do not HAVE to read both versions if you want, but there may be some narrative holes later on as the story expands and the two paths diverge (at least as far as I have planned). But you do you, I can't tell you how to read my story. If you like it, please drop a review to tell me what you liked. If you didn't like it, again please drop a review to tell me what I can fix, I'm more than happy to take criticism.

Anyway, let's get going.

Nikon Luka stretched his white gloves down his right hand, snapping it into place and strapping it around his forearm. He adjusted the mask over his mouth and nose, smacking his lips together at the smell of antiseptic on his gloves.

"Goddamn it Doc, hurry up!" roared one of the guardsmen, holding down the injured man on the medical cot. The man, a victim of a local's gang attack, was screaming in pain and holding his bloody right hand with bits of grenade shrapnel embedded in the skin.

"This is going to hurt," snapped Nikon calmly. "You may want to watch out for his punches and kicks."

"Hold him down!" ordered the first guardsman, a captain, the other two grabbing their injured companion and keeping his limbs restrained.

The doctor grabbed a pair of tweezers from its jar of alcohol, shaking off the liquid.

He began to remove the shrapnel from the guard's hand, the man shouting in agony as each piece was removed. Then he stopped, one large chunk in the man's palm giving him trouble.

"Shit, it's stuck in the bone," murmured the doctor. "Reaffirm your grip."

He yanked out the chunk of metal, the man screaming for a solid five seconds as the guards stared in horror at the size of the piece he had pulled out.

"Damn, that's the size of a coin," grunted the guard captain.

"This was a handmade grenade," noted Nikon. "Let's just be lucky that it really wasn't a coin."

He grabbed the man's hand, grasping the jar of antiseptic. "Okay, this is actually going to hurt. But I have to make sure there's no tetanus."

"Wait, wait!" roared the man on the cot, rapidly fiddling with his hip belt. He grabbed his flask, holding it up to one of the men holding him. "Open this. I need a drink."

"Sure."

The man opened up the flask, the injured man gulping down several mouthfuls of cheap liquor. "Okay, do it."

Nikon poured the alcohol over the wounded hand, the man letting out a cry far removed from that of a human, that of a wounded animal. He thrashed and struggled against his cohorts, eyes rolling in his head and limbs convulsing.

The doctor slammed his hand down onto a metal tray, turning to the guard captain. "Hold his arm."

The captain nodded, Nikon beginning to sew the puncture wounds shut as carefully as he could. The man's fingers kept moving as the pain from the antiseptic wormed through his wounds, and made it incredibly difficult to sew them shut.

"Will this affect his hand?" asked the captain.

"Most likely, unfortunately," admitted Nikon. "I just yanked out eleven bits of metal, most of which are as large as fingernails. He will have decreased motility in his hand no matter what, though his reaction to the antiseptic means he still has feeling in it."

He finished the job, leaning back and wiping his sweaty brow. "Okay, I'm going to wrap it so he doesn't pull the stitches out. That'll only be for a few days. Assuming it heals alright, he should be able to have the stitches removed in about a week."

The captain grunted. "Lucky bastard. You're still going on patrol duty after the bandages are removed."

"I would advise against such a thing," spoke Nikon. "However, if you still want him to work, perhaps some secretarial tasks or even low-danger patrols. I don't want him back in my medical bay because his stitches busted open. I see it as a waste of both your time and mine."

"Fair enough," murmured the captain. He pointed to his injured underling. "Get better, and if you bust open those stitches I'm going to come here and break your jaw."

The man nodded, paling slightly in fear. "Yes, captain."

One of the guardsmen glanced at the doctor, smiling softly. "Hey Doc, want to get a drink with us?"

"Sorry, but I must decline," stated the doctor winding bandages around the man's stitched hand. "It makes it harder for me to work."

"Good man," spoke the captain approvingly. "Too many of my men seem fond of poisoning their minds and dulling their senses."

"Well sir, you usually join us," argued one of the two guardsmen.

The captain waved the comment away. "I never drink to excess. Now why are we standing around here? We have work to get back to, to find those damned ingrates who hurt our comrade."

"Yes sir!"

They rushed off, leaving Nikon alone with the injured man, who was feeling a bit better with the booze in his system. He glanced at the jars of alcohol, curiously watching the doctor. "Hey Doc."

"Yes?"

"What's with this stuff? Smells terrible."

Nikon smirked, stripping off his gloves and mask. "Agreed, but it's necessary to make sure you don't get an infection. A lot of doctors usually use boiling water to clean their instruments and such, which works well enough, but I prefer the original antiseptic of alcohol."

"Anti-what?"

"Antiseptic. It kills the microorganisms that cause diseases and infections. And to think, barely half a century ago, we used to think such things were nonsense, and that maladies were caused by bad air called miasma!"

The guard looked at him quizzically. "Did you discover this?"

"Oh goodness no! I am no medical Sokolov or Jindosh! Piero Joplin discovered these microorganisms, and this was crucial for ending the rat plaque. Boiling water, alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, iodine…all of them work really, but alcohol was the first."

The man paled, imaging the doctor having to pour boiling water over his wounds instead of simply alcohol.

Nikon made sure the man was comfortable before he left, walking down the halls of the medical clinic with calm deliberate steps. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, blowing out a cloud of smoke in front of him.

"Well, might as well get back to work," grunted the doctor, moving up a nearby set of stairs. He admired the décor of his client, the council member Kuznetsov, and whistled at each impressive work of art.

"Huh, another Anna Moskva…I love the color of this piece."

He reached the research laboratory, opening the door and smiling pleasantly at his assistant. "Hello Diana. How goes the research?"

Diana looked up, glaring at him through her glasses, and brushed a strand of golden hair out of her face. "Doctor! Where have you been?! It's been three hours!"

Nikon blushed, smiling sheepishly. "They needed me down in the medical bay. They're always short-staffed."

She shook her head. "Honestly…you and your bleeding heart are going to work yourself to death. We need you up here."

The doctor sighed, sitting down beside her. "You aren't wrong. Now, how goes it?"

Diana poked one of the glass cases. "Unsuccessful. So far, only Subjects 12b, 27a, and 46b remain alive. Of those three, only Subject 46b shows no symptoms."

She glanced at him skeptically. "Truthfully, transplanting anything besides skin is proving unsuccessful. We simply have no way to determine which subjects can transplant organs into others at the moment. At least with skin, we can make the same subject give and receive the same organ so they don't reject it."

Nikon nodded, stroking his chin. "Hmm…and we still have no way to determine why subjects are rejecting each other's organs. The best batch of subjects we had were from twin rats, and even that one had a failure rate of fifty percent."

He walked over to one of the microscopes, studying the slide of rat blood smeared on the glass. "Hmm…no discernable differences between specimens of even radically different species. It has to be blood that determines how unique a creature is, and yet it looks virtually identical to another…"

He tapped the glass, mulling over his options. "Joplin and Sokolov determined that blood carries certain microorganisms that help fight diseases…"

Suddenly he perked up. "Diana, what are the symptoms of organ rejection?"

Diana flipped through her notes. "Fever, flu-like symptoms, swelling around the site of the transplant, and less urination."

"Hmm…it sounds just like an infection. Maybe the body is seeing these new organs as hostile forces, and it's attacking it like it would an infection."

"That's certainly a valid theory doctor, but that doesn't do us much good."

Nikon nodded. "Fair enough. But maybe…"

He picked up his copy of Joplin's book, Killing the Rat Plague, flipping through to one of the bookmarks he set. "Joplin mentions that each person has a relatively unique combination of these microorganisms, but he never went into classifying them. He tried to use these microorganisms to fight the plaque, but found it inefficient."

He then grabbed Sokolov's book, Enhanced Neutralization and Elimination of the Rat Plague by Organic Vectors, and turned to a similar page. "Sokolov did something similar, and found the reason this was ineffective was that humans and rats have inherently different microorganisms that appeared to be incompatible. But…"

Nikon tapped the page, smiling. "Yes! He doesn't mention a test, but he does state that these microorganisms appear to be genetic!"

Diana grinned, suddenly catching onto his logic. "So, if we use relatives, we will significantly increase the odds of successful implants!"

Nikon let out a victorious shout, grabbing a clipboard and paper. "Okay, we need to request for new rats. Average rat litter is about 5 viable baby rats, so I'd say we need at least ten pairs, male and female, to assume at least fifty rats, disregarding the parents. This is exhilarating! I feel we are making real progress!"

He paused, noting an odd noise from outside. "Huh? Diana, what is going on out there?"

The assistant moved over to the window, glancing outside. "Hmm, looks like Secretary Kalin's men are visiting today. Weird, why would he be visiting council member Kuznetsov?"

"Secretary Kalin?" repeated Nikon, citing the unofficial lead High Judge of Tyvia. "Is he present as well?"

"No, just his captain of the guard. Weird, there's quite a number of them…and they have weapons…"

A sharp noise snapped through the air, Nikon immediately standing up. He knew that sound anywhere.

"A gunshot!" he shouted. "Get away from the window!"

He grabbed Diana and moved under the table, the assistant beginning to panic.

"What?!" she yelled. "What's going on?! Whose shooting who?"

"No idea, but we have to get out of here!" he replied just as scared.

Suddenly the window in the lab shattered, a metal canister hitting next to them.

"Gas! Take a deep breath, Diana!" ordered Nikon slamming a handkerchief over his nose and mouth.

The canister detonated, releasing jets of white gas that filled the room in seconds. It did not burn the skin like mustard gas, but Nikon knew its true function was to knock them unconscious with a few breaths.

Nikon pointed to the door, pulling/leading his assistant towards it as quickly as he could. He knew he had two minutes at best due to moving at such a pace, and then he would have to breathe or pass out.

Suddenly the door barged open, a solider entering. He was one of Kalin's men, wearing the signature uniform and a gas mask. More importantly, he was carrying a pistol and sword.

"Stay down!" shouted the man, pointing his pistol at the doctor.

Nikon ducked down and nailed the man clean in the crotch, knocking the wind clean out of his body and causing him to let loose a shot from the pistol, shattering one of the glass cases on the table. Diana let out a cry and quickly sealed her mouth once again, though she did inhale a bit of the gas.

The doctor punched the man in the throat next, grabbing his scarf with both hands and yanking him clean to the ground. Reaching onto the table, he grabbed an encyclopedia of medical terminology and slammed it into the man's head repeatedly, until he finally stopped moving and grunting.

Nikon hurriedly ripped the man's gas mask off and pressed it into his face, breathing in a deep gust of air before handing it over to Diana to let her breathe.

After a few cycles of catching their breath, Nikon placed it over his face and spoke. "Diana, we have to get moving. If you begin to lose your breath, tap my shoulder twice."

The assistant nodded, stepping carefully over the unconscious guard. Nikon grabbed the man's pistol and sword, handing the gun to the assistant. "Please aim for the legs. I dislike violence, but especially killing."

"Now is not the time for sentiment, doctor," argued Diana.

"I won't compromise my beliefs for convenience," snapped Nikon, in a voice that granted no argument.

They moved down the hallway, noting that several bodies were already collapsing against the floor from the gas. They were right next to two guards currently shooting downed bodies, going through them execution style.

One of them looked up, eyes widening behind his mask. "Oh shit! Someone's still up!"

Diana fired the pistol, hitting the guard right in the stomach and slamming him into a nearby table. Nikon charged the second, knocking his sword out of his hand and stabbing his right upper arm into the wall behind him.

"Fucking asshole!" shouted the second guard, grasping at the sword and trying to remove it.

Nikon ripped the gas mask off the man, pinching his nose shut and punching him in the stomach to make him reflexively breathe in. He strapped it onto his face, walking over the first guard and glaring at Diana.

"Legs?" he asked simply.

She shrugged apathetically. "I'm a bad shot. He's not dead, is he?"

"You bitch!" shouted the guard, holding his hands over his bloody stomach.

Nikon ripped his gas mask off too, grabbing the table and placing it over the man's stomach. "Well, it's no tourniquet, but it'll do. Hopefully he won't bleed out."

He armed himself, trying to think of a way out of the building. "They got the stairs covered, assuming they really are military…what's the nearest building?"

"The guard barracks for Kuznetsov," stated Diana. "They're probably there too."

"Any other buildings?"

"…there's a recently condemned building to the east. They probably aren't there, or have just enough to cover any potential escapees."

"How far?"

"There's a ten-foot gap."

Nikon sighed. "I knew I should've eaten some bananas today. This is going to hurt."

They stopped, hearing footsteps approaching. They ducked down a hallway, approaching the east side of the building. Out of a nearby window, they could see the condemned building, its windows barricaded shut with loose boards. Anyone could smash through them if determined.

"The roof," stated Nikon. "We can make the jump from there."

"The ladder's that way," spoke Diana pointing to where the footsteps were coming from.

"Shit. There's no way we're getting past."

Diana looked at him, then at the floor, then back at him. "Not both of us."

He paused. "What do you…? No, that's crazy."

"Why? Remember that first soldier? He ordered us to stay down. He didn't shoot us. They want us alive."

"Diana, what possible use would they have for us? They shot everyone else."

Diana rolled her eyes. "Idiot! You're Doctor Nikon Luca, private physician to council member Kuznetsov! Everyone knows about your research! You may not be the next Jindosh or Sokolov, but you are valuable. They won't kill me either."

She held up her lab coat. "I'm your assistant, after all. If they want your notes to be of any use, they'll need at least one of us."

"Yes, but you're…I mean you're a…and I'm a…"

She sighed. "Doctor, get to the roof. I will distract them."

Nikon tightened his fists, but nodded. "Of course. As long as you promise me you'll stay alive."

Diana smiled despite herself. "Yes doctor. Same to you."

She then sprinted down the hall towards the ladder, smashing glass mirrors and cabinets in her way. "Hey! I'm over here! Hey!"

The guards patrolling around the ladder heard the commotion and chased after her, Diana firing back at them with her gun but not hitting them.

As soon as they were out of sight, Nikon ran to the ladder, scampering up it onto the roof. "Damn it Diana…I promise…I'll find you somehow. You're far too precious to me to just forget about…"

He looked out towards the east, noting that there was a blocked window with only a scarce number of boards holding it up. He predicted that if he hit the window at full force, he would likely go straight through it.

"Okay, let's do this," he whispered to himself, collecting his breath. "Gotta save the girl, but first I gotta cross this gap. Okay…let's roll."

He sprinted across the roof, pumping his legs as hard as he could. He mentally foresaw the jump, knowing that his right foot would hit the edge of the roof and need to launch him off with full strength. He saw himself duck in and cover his head and torso as he slammed into the wood, shards flying around him.

Nikon jumped off the roof.

He slammed into the wooden boards, but unbeknownst to him, some of the glass in the window had remained. It was not enough to cause a loud shattering effect, but a few shards were large enough to slash into his clothes, one in particular cutting clean through his right calf and shredding it.

Nikon tumbled inelegantly into what was once a living room, slamming into a dining table and groaning with pain. He grasped at his bleeding leg, determining that it wasn't immediately lethal but could prove so given sufficient time.

"Goddamn it, I'm not a fucking acrobat," he grunted untying the belt from his waist and tying it around above his knee. It ran down the outer side of his right calf from around his kneecap all the way close to the ankle, and he would not be able to seal it up right now.

Suddenly the door of the living room burst open, Nikon leveling his pistol at the door.

The two men standing there did the same, pausing when they saw his attire.

"…who the fuck are you?" asked the first one, a woman with fiery red hair.

"Doctor Nikon Luca…private physician to Kuznetsov…" spoke Nikon through gritted teeth, the pain in his leg only getting worse. He began to realize that it was likely chunks of glass were inside the wound, worming itself deeper as he tried to move.

The two shared looks for a moment.

"You ain't one of those guys attacking, that's for damn sure," noted the male of the two, walking over to him. "Shit, you're bleeding. We need to get you to a doc."

"I am a doctor!" snapped Nikon angrily, screwing his eyes shut from the pain. "Goddamn it, this hurts! We need to get moving! My assistant…she's…!"

He tried to stand, but the woman stopped him and grabbed his arm. "Easy there, tough guy. That's a bad cut. We can take you to our hideout. Won't do your assistant any good if you bleed to death."

They got Nikon to his feet, the doctor shouting out in pain as his leg got worse.

"Keep it down! They don't know we're in here!" snapped the woman.

"I doubt that," grunted the doctor, limping as best he could along with the other two. "They're looking for me…my research is…"

"Later doc," grunted the man, his large knife pointing forward into the darkness of the abandoned building. "We got to get to the tunnels. They can't follow us in there."

"The tunnels?" asked Nikon. "Who are you people?"

"We like to think of ourselves as…revolutionaries," spoke the woman cryptically. "We'll explain later if you want, but right now we can't afford any wasted time. Come on."

Nikon's vision began to darken, the doctor collapsing against a nearby wall.

"Oh fuck, he's really bleeding bad!" spoke the man in a panic.

"Doc, hold on!" ordered the woman, hoisting him by the arm. "You're the only guy to walk out of that building, you ain't dying on me! Doc, do you hear me? Doc!"