Chapter 4: Fight or Flight

25th of Month of High Cold, 1837

9:23 AM

I toss the chalk into the air, watching it twirl before it falls back toward me. Four inches from the bridge of my nose, I catch it again. Then I toss it to my left hand and repeat the cycle. A dozen iterations later, and I still have no idea what I want to leave on the wall. Poetry says a dying man knows exactly what his last words should be. The reality is substantially less glamorous. By this time tomorrow, my head will be rolling on the gallows. But no special limerick comes to mind, no clever quotes or deep thoughts. Just anger and resignation toward my fate. Maybe a simple, 'I'm innocent, fuck you,' would suffice.

My guard comes to my cell, the one who gave me the chalk. Officer Thorpe decided roughly three months ago I am not the worst creature to breathe air and took pity. Not enough to let me out, but enough to toss a few extra cans of fish or his wife's books into my cell when he could. "You should eat, Corvo," he says. The metal tray clanks on the concrete ground. There is no second ring, so bread instead of canned hagfish today.

I sigh and try to be witty. "Is it free of mold this time?"

"Is it ever?"

I climb out of my cot. "Not even a dying man can get fresh bread here, hmm? Maybe that should be the final thought on my wall."

The officer chuckles. "If I thought I could get some, I would. It's hard enough pretending the books are mine."

The bread is better than usual: only a third has turned green. I tear off the corrupted portion and toss it into my pot. Hopefully that does not clog the pipes again. I would prefer to not be executed while covered in my own shit. "Do not worry about it. Just tell your supervisor my last words were he was an ass."

"Will do." He takes the tray back, the rest of the bread still in my hand. The first bite is as stale as expected, but without the mold, my stomach will not revolt. I sit back down on the edge of my cot and continue to eat. Maybe the food will provide inspiration.

The man in the cell next to me starts complaining. "Hey, I ain't got mine yet!" His shouts are nothing new. It is his 'subtle' signal to Thorpe that he has something to say privately. The former member of the Bottle Street Gang was quick to turn coats when he arrived in my block, in exchange for food and protection. A smart move, but he needs to be better at hiding it.

"Yeah, yeah, Brent: keep your shirt on. I've got yours right here." Thorpe puts his meal on the tray and brings it to my neighbor. "Happy?"

Usually, the officer slowly lowers the meal to the floor while Brent whispers whatever rumor he heard in his ear. Then Brent takes the food, Thorpe returns the tray, writes down the information, and continues with his duties like nothing happened. But there is no whispering this time. Instead, it is a thud, then a gasping grunt.

I hit the gate of my cell in a second. Brent managed to get Thorpe in a choke hold, and a tight one. The guard's hip is pinned against the door as well, so he can't draw his blade. The gatekeeper struggles for a few seconds, then finally loses consciousness. Brent lets him fall to the ground, grabs the keys, and unlocks his cell.

"A'right," the convict pants, out of breath. Then he walks over to me with a letter in hand. "This comes from a friend."

The paper is far from official stationary, likely older scrap that was convenient. But the penmanship is remarkably crisp. I wager someone from nobility wrote this, whoever it is.

Corvo,

Who we are is irrelevant right now. Just know that we have faith in you.

Brent is a hired associate, and he should release you when he delivers this. Once you're out, head for the prison's Interrogation Room. Take the explosive there and plant it on the outer door. When the bomb goes off, run. Make for the river and lose yourself in the sewers. You'll find some useful gear stashed there.

And good luck. We need you alive and well for what's to come.

―A friend.

True to the letter, my fellow prisoner unlocks my cell. This is… unexpected. But I won't argue if it gets me away from the executioner. "Thanks," I say, still surprised.

"Thank who paid for this. Now, I'ma have some fun before they catch up," he smiles darkly.

He turns toward Thorpe, cracking knuckles in anticipation. My right arm is around his neck before he has a chance to react, my left cinching the lock so he cannot escape. Unconsciousness takes him in three heartbeats, and he falls to the floor like a sack. He may have helped, but he killed at least a dozen people to get in here. If he escapes, there is no scenario that does not end without bloodshed. And worse, he will attract the guards to my cell. I drag him back to his cot, pose him like he is sleeping, and lock the door behind me.

Thorpe is roughly my size, and his uniform fits comfortably. Most of the guards know my face, but the outfit should buy me a moment of confusion before they can identify me. Or at least, it gives me a better chance than I had in my ragged shirt and pants. I dress Thorpe in my clothes and lay him in my bed with his feet to the door. Hopefully, no one will look too closely until I am free of this place.

I tighten the belt and bandoleer around my body. The standard Watch sword pulls at my left hip with a familiar weight. There is a barren pouch for ammunition and elixir on the other side, as well as an empty pistol holster on my chest. But that does not bother me. I know the building, the weak points I can use to escape before they realize I fled. If all goes well, I won't even have to draw my sword.

I creep toward the exit of the cell block in a squat, just beneath the window. Two guards talking halfway down the hallway, and another just in front of me with his back turned. The one closest is too fixated on his cigarette to notice me, but the pair talking might if I move.

"How come so many people are coming to the execution tomorrow?" the heavier one asks.

"It's on account of Corvo, the one who killed the Empress, and abducted her daughter," answers his friend.

"So it's an occasion."

He laughs. "Right, a social gathering for the high and mighty. Come see the noble Lord Protector get his head chopped off."

"They're as bad as us, betting on the dog fights." He is not wrong.

Eventually, the thinner one gives up on chatting and walks down the hallway. The other turns over his shoulder to watch the yard, leaving the smoker free for the taking. He falls to the hold faster than Brent did. I hide him under the window, then borrow the hat from in his coat pocket. It takes effort to cram my hair into the cap, but when it is done, I am almost unrecognizable.

I stick to the left of the hallway, making sure the support pillars remain between myself and the guards. It is easy to slip past to the maintenance room and ensure none get a good look at me. They left a few weapons on rack by the door, including a pistol and elixir. "No one will miss these," I mutter, slipping the firearm into the holster and stashing the liquid in my pouch.

The prison architect decided to combine the maintenance room on this floor with the break room on the one above, making it easy to scale the generator and reach the higher level. More pistols and ammo, as well as some coin from a game of Nancy. I take all but the guns, opting to unload and leave them on the rack. Less conspicuous, and anyone who tries to shoot me will fail.

Just outside the break room is a walkway above the previous corridor, leading to the other cell blocks, and more importantly, the interrogation room. The path is locked, but a guard with the key is leaned over the handrail to talk to his companions. I palm a spare bullet in my left while scanning for other patrols. None, thankfully. I whisper, mostly for my own amusement, "Hope you don't mind," as I take the poorly secured key off his belt.

Once I am a few steps past the guard, I throw the bullet at the door to the break room. The round bounces loudly off the metal and draws the attention of the keyless sentry. He is too busy investigating to notice the newest Watch member unlock the entrance to the next cell block, slip through, and lock it behind me.

I lower into a stoop once I am out of sight and continue down the walkway. It turns twice before I run into another guard, this one on his own and heading toward the interrogation room. The catwalk has a waist high wooden wall, so it is easy to choke him and cram his body into a corner. I take up his old route and follow the path until it comes out one story above the entrance to the yard, and a few meters from the interrogation room. With no one posted at the door to block D, I walk calmly to the torture chamber.

No sentries in here either, thankfully. I close the door behind me to afford some privacy and search for the explosives. Nothing among the Torturer's tools, other than blood and burnt flesh. I wonder how much of it is mine. There is little but stationary in the main desk beneath the paining of the Regent. A battered audiograph is on top, and curiosity demands I play it. Burrows' notes on his latest attempt at getting a confession, recorded after I passed out. Nothing of interest, other than mentioning a confession might be useful to him in the future. "Sorry to disappoint you, Spymaster."

The storage room in the back is promising. A few empty bottles of whiskey, along with full ones of elixir I stick in my pouch. The safe on the back wall is closed, but unlocked. An explosive is in there as promised. Naval scuttle charges were created to be easy to carry by sailors as they board a ship or swim under it and blow a hole in the hull large enough to sink it. This one is also shaped, so the explosion will be directed at the target instead of me. It should make short work of the door blocking my escape. But a few merchants in Tyvia will hear the blast. I will not have long after it goes off.

I have it stashed in the small of my back, tucked into my belt, by the time I leave the interrogation room. Another guard is leaving, heading out into the yard. And he was kind enough to leave the door unlocked. I give him some distance as I stalk in a crouch. Thankfully, the yard contains several support beams for the entire building, as well as some construction materials to hide behind. They found rats in here a week ago and have closed it off to the prisoners while they hunt and repair.

"About time the Plague did something useful," I chuckle. I do not blame them, but it makes things easier for me. I duck behind the first pillar and eavesdrop while avoiding their sight.

The key-bearing new arrival asks, "Hackworth, you lazy slug. Did you patrol the Yard?"

His partner is obviously green and does not notice me slip behind the cable spool. "Sorry, not yet. I was going to report that boiler leak from yesterday."

"Forget it. Just do your rounds. A report's trouble for both of us."

The empty hound cage hide me well enough. "I'm moving."

Before I can creep to the staircase toward the exit of the yard, the commander wanders toward me and leans on my kennel. With the junior guard not watching either, it is easy to grab the key and sneak up the stairs to the entrance hallway.

Several secure rooms line the left side of the hallways, taking up half of the room's space. In there are the controls to the final gate blocking my way out, as well as the more valuable items confiscated from prisoners, and at least a few guards. I am only concerned with two of those items.

One of the pickets in the security rooms is chatting with the lone sentry in the main hallway, neither noticing me as I scan for a way in. The room closest to me has a broken window, which is both new and convenient. I slip under it and wait for the pair to get done with their conversation.

"Corvo's execution is tomorrow, right?" asks the one in the control room.

"Yeah, but everything has to be set up today."

"I can't wait to see his head roll. Not everybody did, but I really liked the Empress." The irony is not lost on me.

When the roving guard breaks off and the interior one decides to check paperwork, I climb in. He is taking a nap under a desk soon after, giving me a few seconds to dig through the contraband cabinet. It is not organized by name or date of admission, but type of goods. It would have to be under… jewelry.

I open the small box at the bottom, and find the tarnished ring quickly. Even with the age and scratches, the guards could tell it is real gold and diamonds. My heart slows when it sees the old Kaldwin seal, the swans with heads bowed to the crown above them. Jessamine preferred owls to swans, but respected her father's decision in making the family seal. They had to appear elegant and regal, after all. I borrow a silver chain from the box, and use it to form a necklace with the ring as a pendant as the other guard returns.

I stay low until the sentry cycles back toward the other end of the hallway. As soon as I hear his feet moving that way, I slip out the window and make a break for the opposite wall. Pipes run along the concrete, providing the rest of the building with water and myself with a way over the gate. The steel takes me well above the guards, who never bother to look up. And why would they: even the spiders scurrying across the tubes are louder than I am. I move along them in a hunch until I am right on top of the gate. Guards stationed over here as well, one at the controls for the gate, and the other directly below me. "Not the five I was expecting, at least."

The sentry at the panels does not have a line of sight on his brother, giving me an opportunity. I lower myself to the ground behind him as quietly as I can. A tackle from above would be easier, but too loud. Choking him and stashing him in an open hound cage is silent by comparison. Now, how to get the other from his post…

"Mind if I borrow this?" I mutter and grab the sleepy one's sword. A toss into the metal stairs gives a distinct ring not loud enough to scare him or alert the guards on the other side of the gate, but enough to make him curious. As he starts to leave the control panel and calls to his companion, I climb into the booth. And soon enough, I have him stashed in the same cage as the other.

I inspect the gate controls to try and find a way to jam it shut. It will still take a few seconds for them to get it open, but it would be nice to know I will not have someone chasing me after the explosion. The only obvious option is to break the handle off entirely, and I see no way to do that quietly. Guess I will just have to run quickly. There is a large metal garbage bin next to the door, which looks sturdy enough to take the blast. I prop open the lid and see it is mostly empty, thankfully. With my cover picked, I stick the charge to the center of the main door and set the timer for ten seconds. I dive back into the bin as the clock ticks away, close the lid, and cover my ears.

I was right the box would withstand the hit, but it rattles me more than expected. Whoever made the bomb put more power in it than needed, so even though it is shaped, the explosion is enough to knock me off my feet. My ears ring from both the report and hitting my head against the bin, making me very slow to climb out.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter, I think. Not sure if I shouted it, or if those are even the words that came out. The alarm's already going off, and the gate behind me is opening. Two Watch members get a good look at me as they try to force their way through. So much for the disguise. I finally get my head clear enough to run out the hole in the door.

They're pulling the bridge up, cutting off access to the road. Good thing that's not my destination. The heavy rain of the last week has made the water level of the ravine below rise at least ten feet higher than usual, the perfect cushion for my leap off the bridge. I land feet first in the water, the cool liquid rushing up my nose. The quick descent does little to help my ears, but none of the Watch have the courage to pursue me. Not that it stops them from shooting at me.

The maintenance entrance to the sewer is nearby, so I swim out of the water and scramble through the old door. I can barely hear them shouting to each other, trying to get reinforcements ahead of me. A few will make it, but it will take time to organize a search of the sewers, and I intend to be long gone by then.

After I get a few turns into the sewer and well out of their range, I stop to catch my breath. I haven't sprinted that far in some time, and my head is still aching from the explosion. There's no point in moving like this: I wouldn't notice a guard until I ran into him. Better to get my bearings, come up with a plan, then try to escape.

After working my jaw, the ringing finally subsides. At least I can hear them coming now. The sewer turns left up ahead, with no alternate paths. Metal door and gate to keep riffraff out, but there is enough room above it and between the pipes to squeeze through. Stuck to the boxes near it is another note. The paper is much larger and neater than last time, but with similar penmanship. I regain a normal breathing pattern while looking over it.

Corvo, if you're reading this it means our plan worked and you've broken free from Coldridge. One of our contacts has hidden weapons for you somewhere deeper in the sewers. Grab the gear and find Ishmael where these tunnels dump into the river. He will bring you to us.

A Friend Who Will Meet You Soon

The back shows blueprints of the sewers ahead, drawn over crudely with arrows and circles. The equipment stash is marked, as well as my final destination. This is smelling more and more like an organized escape, with powerful and clever people behind it. A gang would be able to get their hands on the charges for the door, possibly a smuggler, but this blueprint is too specific and rare to get for a common criminal. A nobleman with connections, maybe, possibly even using the gangs for labor…

"Why not," I mutter, stashing the note in my pouch of ammo and elixir. Not much to lose by following their directions.

When I climb atop the small cell, I am instantly grateful for it. I will take the tight squeeze in the pipes over the swarm of rats on the ground. There must be thirty of them, at least, all the size of small dogs. One or two of them look to carry plague, not the whole horde. Even with the distance between us, I sip at an elixir while pushing forward.

Someone's talking ahead. Two guards, it sounds like. They were faster than I expected. It is impossible the bulk of the force is down here this soon, but if two are this close to the entrance, there is going to be quite a few behind them.

"He used some kind of explosive to blast his way out. That doesn't happen by accident." Damn it. Looks like they've already reached the same conclusion I did.

"You think he had help? Who'd know how to do that?"

"Bottle Street Gang, maybe. Watch for booby traps. Could be some down here by the looks of it." I slowly draw my pistol while quietly hoping they go another way.

"Good. If we're lucky, one of them will get Corvo."

"You're afraid of him? He's Serkonan. It's all merchants and whores down there." Racist bastard.

"Kids like you, you never saw what he was like. I saw him fight three to one in the practice yard. He's a whirlwind."

"I hope it's me that finds him." They are getting closer. I keep creeping forward with the firearm ready.

"I hope it is too."

The other side of the cell must be unlocked, because they walk through it. Before any of us can do react, the rats are on them. They shout, slash, and fire at the rodents, but nothing short of a grenade would stop that many. It only takes a few seconds for them to fall to the swarm, throats ripped open and eyes burrowed into. I can only hope they die quickly, before they start to eat them.

I sigh, wishing I could have done something. The pistol slides back into the holster, and I press on. At least the bodies will keep the vermin busy.

I climb off the cell far away from the rats, following the directions and stairs toward the main drain. A plaque on the wall says I am under Barrowe Street... If I could get topside, it would only be a few blocks to where the sewer meets the river. Assuming it's not crawling with guards and I could even find a way up there, of course. The blueprints are still my best choice. Even if it means contending with another small swarm of rats on the other side of the drain. Thankfully they are distracted by a corpse, so they do not mind me jumping into the drain water to swim further up the pipe system.

Just as the schematics promised, there is a flow control gate roughly a block forward. I climb out of the water on the left, avoiding the mounted light out of habit. A smell even worse than the rest of the sewer assaults my nose, and I see the corpses creating it. A couple who actually died in each other's arms, thin trails of blood from their eyes. They left a journal, and the man, Damien, confirms my theory. Neither could afford elixir to keep the plague at bay. So rather than letting the Watch take their homes and throw them in the Flooded District, they came down here to die in peace. The fire kept the rats at bay long enough for them to fall asleep… It made a good poem.

"At least you left together," I murmur, closing the journal and putting it next to them again. I take another precautionary swig of elixir, then push on to the gate control. There is another body up here, slouched into the wheel to open the next door. I take my wet coat and use it to push him off the control without touching him. Nothing in those pockets, so he can keep it. The crank spins easily enough, opening the gate in front to a dry section of the sewer. Trash has accumulated in the flow areas, blocking the water. At least I do not have to swim again. I will smell like shit for a week as it is.

This section is not as dry as I thought. No standing water, but there is a thick layer of mud across the floor. Good thing Thorpe's boots are waterproof. I march through the sludge to the next portion, a large open area with grates for a ceiling. One of the main drains for storms, though odd that it is so dry. A corpse falls from above, landing on a small maintenance platform in the center. The sound draws another rat swarm as they search for their next meal, settling for a different body on the floor. Some members of the Watch are arguing above.

"Aren't we supposed to load the bodies into carts headed to the Flooded District?" one asks.

"Yeah, but screw that," his friend counters. "That's too far. And I don't want to catch plague, do you?"

The first is taken aback. "No. But doesn't the elixir prevent it?"

"Maybe. Either way, let's just dump 'em down there, let the rats eat 'em." The heavy footsteps signal their departure.

"I hope when I die, whoever finds me is a friend. I would at least like a burial," I think aloud. The directions said I need to go out the exit to the left of the chamber. Two problems: the swarm of rats munching on a corpse next to it, and to open the gate, I will have to crank it open. So I need a sizeable distraction for the horde.

My eyes settle on the corpse the Watch dropped. I sigh to myself, getting ready to sprint over. "Sorry about this." I cover the distance quick enough that the rats do not have time to notice me, too preoccupied with their meal. The one they started with will not last much longer, and it is still too close to the wheel. So I drop the other man down to the floor, close to them and my platform.

They finish their first meal and come to my corpse for seconds. I hop off on the other side, giving them a wide berth while making my way to the crank. They ignore me as I twist the wheel and open the gate. I take off for the next section of the sewer before they decide they would prefer something still alive.

The small tunnel leading to the next drain is being taken over by plants. Mostly moss, so there is little structural damage. The path opens up ahead, to one of the water overflow areas. It is not as big as the one I swam in earlier, but the walkways along the side are free of rats. No more swimming, thankfully. I can hear one of the public announcement loudspeakers on the street above, thanks to another sewer grate.

"Attention, Dunwall citizens," the recorded voice says. "The assassin, Corvo, responsible for the murder of our fair Empress and the disappearance of Lady Emily, heir to the throne, has temporarily escaped state custody. Any evidence about his whereabouts must be reported to the City Watch at once."

"My fans miss me," I muse over the repeating message. No reason to be surprised, though their efficiency is admirable. I have been free for what, twenty minutes? And it takes some time to get from Coldridge to the Tower, even by carriage. Regardless, the message will have people hiding in their homes, rather than staring out windows in search of me. The fewer eyes I have to avoid, the better.

I follow the walkway upstream, trying my best to stay dry and chugging elixir. Someone was living here recently, judging by the small fire next to the overflow gate. They left breakfast, a rat cooked extra crispy with potato slices on a kebab. It takes most of my will to not eat it on the spot. Sewer rat or not, it is the first piece of cooked meat I have seen in six months. But whoever is waiting for me at the end should have food, something that hopefully carries less disease. Sighing, I grab the chain to the upper levels of the sewer and start the three story climb.

The makeshift ladder holds me until I reach the top. I reach into my pouch to pull out the blueprints to check my path. My fingers feel disintegrated parchment instead. "Shit," I mutter. There's a hole in the bottom of the supposedly waterproof pouch, ruining the ammo and paper inside. The elixir and coin should be fine, but there goes my pistol and map. I think I can remember the directions. It said… upstream from here, at least through the next overflow gate.

I follow the walkway along the left side and easily spot the tripwire at the stairs. Looks like the guards were right about Bottle Street rigging the place. They put it at waist height, probably trying to catch someone as they came down. Not a terrible idea, but the cable is too thick to miss. I duck under it and continue on, watching for more of them. What the trap connects to is on the opposite balcony, propped up in a chair. Crossbow launcher, explosive bolts. Clever, but cost prohibitive. The whale oil in the charges is not cheap, so I doubt there is many more of them.

True to the map's promise, there is a large suitcase before the gate, along with two fresh corpses. It looks like plague took them, but the rats have not found them yet. I breathe through my mouth as I approach the carrier and the note attached to the top.

Greetings, Corvo. Or should I say Lord Protector, as you were known before that title was wrongfully taken from you.

We are servants of the Empire and of the true Empress, a group of loyalists who want very much to meet you. Take these weapons, crafted for you from the finest materials in the Isles, and meet with our man, Ishmael, near where these tunnels spill into Wrenhaven River.

All haste and luck. We share a common purpose.

The suitcase is mostly full of old clothes, but treasure is at the bottom. First is a crossbow, small enough for one handed use and simple in design. I dry fire it to get a feel for the trigger resistance. It requires almost no pressure, and even better, the firing mechanism is silent. The reload process takes some time, but can be done with one hand. I put one of the labeled sleep darts in the string, then attach it to my hip. The other bolts, both normal and explosive, fit into my pouch. Here's hoping those are water proof.

There's also a wonderful sword in here, though it takes a second for me to recognize it as such. It folds into its handle with a flick of the wrist and touch of a small button under the hilt. It's light, strong, beautifully sharp, and easy to stash in my pocket. What I wouldn't have given for one of these when I still had a title…

I dig through the clothes a bit to see if there is anything my size. Only one shirt, but in a yellow that probably glows in the dark. Damn. Sopping wet and without my coat, it will be hard to pass as Watch. I guess I will just have to stay out of sight. I take the key also stashed with the equipment, assuming it is for the gate ahead of me. The door gives in, proving me right. If I remember correctly, I need to head forward, down, forward some more… and then a right, maybe? Regardless, I am better armed to deal with anyone who crosses paths with me.

I press on, dodging another Bottle Street trap. The reason for the snare is ahead, an old safe sealed with a combination lock. It looks like they use it as a dead drop for stolen goods, so the other members can pick up their cut. I have little use for extra coin or stolen goods, so I ignore it and continue following the main drain.

I climb the rising path without stepping into the flowing water. More random debris to the sides, including what looks like parts of a carriage, but nothing of note. The hole in the floor ahead seems to be the drop mentioned on the plans, so I approach it in a crouch. I can hear more Watch chattering below.

"He won't get past me, sir," one says.

"Do you know who we're hunting here?" his comrade asks. "Don't try to take him on alone."

It seems like the Watch is divided into two groups: those who laugh at me, and those who would wet themselves if they saw me. It is a little comical.

"But what if no one from the squad is around?" the first questions. Peering down the hole shows only the pair in sight. Good. Only have to deal with two, not the entire squad.

"Then try to make a lot of noise when you die. Knock something over if you can."

"Bastard," his subordinate answers. I don't blame him.

As the superior officer walks away, I lower myself behind the other and choke him. His friend keeps going, none the wiser. After my prey falls, I draw the crossbow and aim for the center of the other's back. The dart flies true and sticks him without a sound. He grunts, reaching back for the arrow in his flesh, then falls unceremoniously. Effective poison, whatever it is.

The lower guard is about my size, give or take. I am tempted to take his uniform, but stop short. They mentioned a squad ahead. And with the narrow walkways of this place, I would not be able to put enough distance between us for someone to not recognize me. I have only two sleep darts left, and no idea how many sentries are ahead. The drain here is flowing well, with plenty of water… Just when I thought I might be able to dry out. I attach the crossbow to my hip, and examine the runoff. At least the water is somewhat clear here, mostly rain instead of discharge from bathroom plumbing.

I lower myself in slowly, taking a breath before getting under. There is only a foot or so of visibility past my hand, which is a good sign. The guards above will not see me without paying special attention. I push ahead and follow the left turn. Light from the walkway above filters through the water, broken by the grate and the boots of the guard patrolling above. The path twists right as well, never getting more than ten feet deep. There is a brief portion that is uncovered, but turns again towards another walkway. Not sure how much I have left to navigate, I risk a quick breath under the next catwalk. Another sentry is here as well, but he never thinks to look under his feet.

I duck under again and head forward before being forced to take another left. Roughly thirty feet later, the water is blocked by a fallen walkway and inconveniently placed piping. I climb out of the stream, thankful there is a wall between myself and the last guard I saw. With the debris in my way, the only way to go is through the hole in the wall. Here's hoping that is the last time I have to swim today.

The ruined portion takes me under one of the tracks for the cargo carriages. One of them passes by, and judging by the stench, it is tasked with corpse disposal for the Flooded District. I think I can hear the river from here, but it is hard to tell over the announcement of my escape. They are certainly getting their money's worth out of the speakers. Other than trying to scale the sheer rock walls to the streets, my only option is forward. I take the path in a slow stalk with another sleep dart ready.

There is one more turn in the path before it shows me the river. Through the blinding daylight, I can see what I presume to be the boatman. He is docked on the shore, hunched over his small craft's engine. I approach quickly to get the drop on him. If it is not who I am supposed to meet, I cannot let him warn the Watch.

He finishes his check and stands back up. I press the pistol to the small of his back and prime the hammer. It will not fire with the water in it, but he does not know that. His hands immediately come up in a 'don't shoot' position.

"Are you Ishmael?" I ask with authority.

"I am," he answers calmly. "You must be Corvo."

For a younger man, he is calm under pressure. "Good." I put the gun away and back up a step. "My apologies for the theatrics. I could not risk you being an unlucky fisherman."

"I don't blame you," he chuckles, turning to me. He is roughly my age, a decade younger at most. But the rough scars and tanned hide speak to a lifetime of work at sea. He still has both hands, making him a rare whaler. Mind of an experienced man, body of a young one. I can think of quite a few who would kill for that. "I work for some good people who want very much to meet you. They said you'd come out here, but I can still hardly believe it."

I do not let my guard down entirely, still watching for another boat on the river or someone who followed me out of the sewer. "Well, the Watch tried very hard to prove you right. I hope you were not expecting the men who left my equipment to come with me. They were dead."

"No, we knew that. They came here earlier in the week to leave you letters and the suitcase. It didn't take much to guess what happened." He's remorseful, but practical. "I'll take you to meet the others, just down the river from here. I even have some clothes that aren't covered in shit," he jests.

I chuckle and climb in the front of the boat. "There had better be a warm bath and wine waiting for me when I get there."

"You'll have to ask Iseult about the bath, but I'm sure we can find you something to drink." The whaler sits down at the engine and fires the craft up. It does not make much noise, but it gets us off the shore and into the water quickly.

Whoo. I really don't want to talk about the amount of times I played the opening level before I wrote this. I'm pretty sure my PS3 is getting tired of it at this point. Anyway, yes, there are a few big, glaring issues in this chapter that kinda contradict what we know from the game. Let me just say, no, they are not mistakes. They are entirely intentional. I'm all for playing in the gray area of lore, but I will very rarely go directly against it. For this story, about the only real things I'm changing are A) Corvo has a voice, and B) Corvo talks to Curnow about what's going on. Otherwise, I'm sticking as close to the game as I can.

Just remember, for right now, Attano is telling the Captain a story. And story tellers have a tendency to... exaggerate, as Varric would put it. Let's just say all will be explained later. Until then, everyone calm down and just go with it. Believe me, with as many times I've played this game, I'm not going to start forgetting easy lore stuff. And Arkane created as masterpiece, and I'm doing my best to do it justice.

Wish me luck as I continue to mash keys in my keyboard and try to make stories! ~MGA