Aftermaths

The witch of bottle street

Vera Moray emerged from the sewers. Tears stained her face. Good arm cradling her stump, she stumbled out into some alleyway in downtown Dunwall. Showing a strange break in tradition, the perpetual clouds and smog had parted for once, allowing the sun to reach the streets below. She looked up, feeling the rays warm her face, and smiled. "Do you know." She mused, to nobody in particular. "I haven't seen the sun in…well."

A rat scurried over, and started sniffing at her left leg. She lifted her foot and stomped on it, irritably, before walking off down the street.

The traitors

"Whisky, anyone?" Havelock offered. The trio sat in the opulent top room of the lighthouse, with a view that showed them the entire island below and even across to Dunwall's coastline. None of them were too interested in looking out of the window, however.

"No thank you." Treavor waved off, rubbing his forehead in pain. "I think I'm quite done with alcohol for the near future."

"We'll need our wits about us." Martin pointed out. "Reps from the city council plan to come over soon and confirm Emily's presence. We still don't have a plan to properly refuse them."

"Hn." Havelock mumbled. Thinking about it, he pushed the bottle away from himself as well, sighing and leaning back in his chair. There was an awkward silence. Gone was the easy banter that had pervaded the Hound Pits Pub; the trio all refused to meet each other's' eyes. The silence was interrupted by a call.

All three jumped, then Havelock walked over to pick up one of Sokolov's newer prototypes, a two way variant of the speaker system used across the city. "Yes?"

"News from the Hound Pits, sir." Replied one of his captains, from the other end.

"Then what's the news?" He snapped, angrily. "Have Sokolov and Pierro finally come to their senses?"

"No sir." There was a pause on the other side. "They're…gone, sir. The entire place is deserted."

The other two loyalists looked up, wincing to themselves at the news, but not looking surprised.

"All the men stationed there are unconscious, sir. All the tallboys are destroyed. The people we were able to wake up…they say it was the Void Singer, sir."

"I see." Havelock was stonefaced. "Thank you, captain. Return to your duties."

He put the audiophone down with a click.

"She's coming."

"Thanks. I think we got that." Martin replied.

"Well then, nothing to do now, I suppose." Treavor kicked his feet up onto the table.

"You're relaxing?" Havelock twitched.

"What else do we have to do?" Laughed the politician. "We all know that there is nothing we can do to stop her."

"I'll double the-"

"Increasing the defences didn't save Burrows." Martin pointed out, sitting down alongside Treavor. "That girl is beyond us. Unless you feel like making a pact with a dark god sometime in the next hour or so, she's going to find her way in here."

"And then what?" Havelock was shaking.

Treavor shrugged. "Well, she might just kill us all."

There was silence after that.

The kicked hounds

"This is killing me!"

"Enough, Pietro."

"No, let him speak, he has a point."

"Enough, Sokolov."

Callista sent both men a glare and kept walking. The streets of downtown Dunwall were mostly deserted at this hour; the government was in far too much chaos for patrols, and those who weren't infected were locked up in their homes. All save the strange posse slowly walking towards the more prosperous areas of the city.

"Maybe if you weren't so insistent on sciencing while you walked, you wouldn't be so exhausted." She snapped, turning away with a smile.

"Well that would be impossible!" Sokolov responded, before continuing to tinker with the apparatus he and Pierro were holding. All the other members of the group were being used as pack horses for as much scientific equipment as they could carry. "This work is of paramount importance! We are on the verge of a-"

"Ssh!" Callista held a hand up. "Do you hear that?"

The whole party stopped in place. With everyone silent, they could hear…something…a sort of thudding or rumbling beneath their feet. As one, their eyes were all drawn towards an innocuous looking manhole cover in the centre of the road in front of them. It twisted in place.

At once, Wallace pulled his gun and trained it on the metal plate, as the rest of the group shimmied back from it. It continued to move, twisting and jumping about like something beneath it was trying to get free. Then there was a clang, and it was sent flying up into the air. Eyes tracked the (heavy) now dented metal cylinder as it flew up to land on a nearby roof. Then moved back down to the hole.

A hand reached up, and grabbed the edge. It was rank, wrinkled and green.

Everyone took a collective step back as something heaved itself out from the sewers up onto the street. It was humanoid, but hairless, misshapen, dripping water and pus onto the cobblestone floor. There was a gaping maw in its stomach. It looked up, and misted eyes tracked wildly across the group.

"Emily." It croaked. "Where…where is-"

"Thomas?" Callista whispered.

There was a cracking noise from the arm it was using to hold itself up, and it collapsed onto the floor.

Callista whirled on the scientists. "Cure."

"What?"

"Cure. You said you had one, right?"

Pierro looked at Sokolov. Sokolov looked at Pierro. "We…it's not finished!"

"It's a prototype at best! We'd need to test it-"

Callista pointed at the form on the floor, fire in her eyes. "There's your test subject. Drop your rules and codes and standard procedures, and save that boy."