1.2



Corvo collapses to the ground, slumping back against the wall, frustrated to the point of tears.



- No! No! No! -



They’d driven him back, so far back, almost back to his cell.



- Worthless! Failure! -



He’d been doing so well. He’d almost made it out. He’d even laid eyes on a window that opened out of this awful place. So close! He’d just need to get out the window, down to river, and swim over to the mainland. So damn close! Then the alarm had gone off and guards had flooded the building. They’d blocked every escape route and systematically worked their way in. They’d been too alert to sneak past and too numerous to fight through.



The guard’s ever-tightening net had forced Corvo back deeper and deeper into the prison, until he was nearly back at his old cell. But he couldn’t go back there, not again. Instead, he’d ducked into that room, the room; the one where they hurt him. Oh, Outsider’s eyes, there are places where his blood is still wet from the last time they’d dragged him here.



Maybe they’ll get careless? Maybe they won’t think to check here?



Corvo sank back against the door, listening for any sound.



Footsteps. Many footsteps. Coming closer.



Corvo barely stops himself from his slamming his head back into the door in frustrated rage. Instead, he shoves himself up off the ground. He staggers deeper into the room past the chair where he’d spent so many agonizing hours, past the racks of tools they’d used on him. He reaches the desk at the rear of the room and crawls under it. He curls up in the footwell where only a thin sheet of wood blocks him from view. Corvo knows that, against any real search, the desk would only buy him a few seconds. But by the Outsider and every forgotten god, he wants those seconds.



His heart is racing, and he’s breathing too fast and too loud. He forces himself to take slow and nearly silent breaths of stale air that reeks of hot coals and old blood.



The door slams open. Boots sound on the hard floor. Several big men clomp inside, dragging someone behind them.



A furious voice snarls, “Get answers, and get them fast.”



That’s Campbell. That’s blasted High Overseer Campbell.



Corvo’s body goes rigid. Every memory of every moment of torture floods into him. His hands clench on his sword and gun, and he thinks about killing that damned traitor. He’s halfway out of hiding before he realizes he’d never make it. Even if he kills Campbell, the guards would cut him down, and then there’d be no one left to save Emily.



An unfamiliar and slightly muffled voice replies, “And if he knows nothing?”



“Then question the other guards,” Campbell snaps. “Question every blasted guard on the block.” His voice turns cold. “One of them slipped Corvo the blade. The rest failed to stop him. All must be punished.”



“By your command,” Muffled Voice replies, all matter-of-fact.



Feet shuffle out of the room, and the door slams shut.



A pause.



Muffled Voice asks, “Well? What are you waiting for? Strap the bastard in.”



There’s a short struggle and then the too-familiar sound of leather straps drawn tight and buckled down. Someone lets out a strangled cry of pain.



“Idiot!” Muffled Voice snaps. “There’s no point questioning him if he can’t talk. Take the damned gag off.” Pause. “Now, reprobate. Where is Corvo?”



“I don’t know!” A new voice blurts in panic. “I swear by the Abbey and the Empress. I didn’t help him escape, and I don’t know where he went.” Corvo realizes it’s Sad Eyes.



Of course. Corvo thinks with wary resignation, Of course they start with Sad Eyes. They just have to start with the only one to show me any kindness, besides the rats.



Muffled Voice says, “I don’t believe you.”



Sad Eyes screams.



Corvo’s heart lurches, and he nearly screams himself. He knows that sound. He’s made that sound. Corvo clamps his hands over his years and clenches his eyes shut. It’s not enough. He can’t keep out the sounds or the memories.



“Well,” A nearby voice murmurs. “Aren’t you interesting?”



Corvo’s eyes snap open. Just a foot in front of the deck, a man crouches in mid-air; his feet float a few inches off the ground, as if resting on an invisible ledge. The man’s eyes are solid black, like bottomless pits. No, not pits, not empty cavities. It looks more like blackness were somehow welling up from deep within his skull.



“You know,” The black-eyed man continues. “For a moment there, I thought you’d make it out of this place all on your own. But I’m afraid that chance has passed you by. Now, you have no chance of escape. Every path ends in your death or imprisonment and subsequent death. All in all, it seems a rather boring fate for such as you, Corvo.”



Corvo can only stare back at the man, too shocked to react, because he knows what this man must be. Corvo’s heard of him from a thousand childhood stories and morality plays that all call this being the personification of all evil.



“I am the Outsider.” The black-eyed man smiles faintly. “And I’ve come to give you a gift: the chance to matter. The chance to escape this prison and avoid dying for other men’s crimes. The chance to make a difference.” His smiles grows a fraction larger. “And such a difference you can make. The very course of history may change all because of one broken man… with a little help.”



Corvo’s mind spins faster than a railcar about to jump the tracks. Over and over, he’s heard the same message: Shun the Outsider. The Abbey’s Overseers have preached that for decades, and they have countless stories of the Outsider ruining countless lives. But those same Overseers killed Jessamine, took Emily, caused him such suffering. If the Outsider can get him out of here, get him to his Emily, then maybe Corvo shoud-



The Outsider doesn’t wait for Corvo to make up his mind. “I grant you my mark and, with it, the power to command forces within and beyond this world, forces that men call magic.”



The back of Corvo’s hand burns. Beneath the filth on his skin, the spike and semicircles of a sigil glow bright yellow and then turn black.



The Outsider continues, “Leave this place. Go to the sewers. There, you will perhaps find some allies.” Again, without waiting for a response, the Outsider melts away, like mist before the sun.



Corvo stares into the now empty space and wonders if he’s lost his mind. He’s heard tales of people’s minds breaking in ways like this, getting lost in fantasies. Corvo checks his hand. It still bears the Outsider’s mark. He spits on it and rubs away the filth, but the mark remains.



But can I trust my eyes? Is this even real? Or am I still in my cell, dreaming?



Sad Eyes screams.



The sound cuts straight through Corvo, leaving him gasping in remembered pain. Dream or not, I’m not going to stay here listening to that. If this is real, I’ll escape. If I’m dreaming, I’ll make it a good dream.



Silently, Corvo creeps out from under the desk and peers over its top at the rest of the room.



Sad Eyes lies stripped to the waist and strapped to the chair. For all the screams, his wounds are minor. - He’s too soft, too weak. He’ll break. Soon. - The two other men in the room have their backs to Corvo. One’s a stranger who wears the uniform and mask of an Overser; he must be Muffled Voice. The other man has the familiar hulking form of the Royal Interrogator, the very man who’d given Corvo so many scars.



Corvo’s left hand, his marked hand, clenches, and he prays. If there’s any power at all in this thing, then may it help me see that bastard dead. He steps toward the interrogator – the world blinks – and Corvo’s moved a dozen paces, right behind the brute and in clear view of the Overseer.

Driven by instinct faster than thought, Corvo slits the Interrogator’s throat from behind. The big man goes down with a spray of arterial blood. The Overseer tilts back his head, and Corvo knows he’s about to yell. Corvo needs to get to him before he can call down every guard in the prison. – The world blinks again – and Corvo stands right before the Overseer.



Shock delays the Overseer’s yell just long enough for Corvo to clamp a hand around his throat and drive his sword into the man’s kidney. Hot blood slicks Corvo’s hand and he loses his grip. The Overseer’s shout turns into a grunt, but he stays standing.



Desperate, Corvo rushes the Overseer, slams him back hard against the wall. His hand finds his bloody sword handle, grips it tight, and yanks the weapon free of the other man’s guts with a wet ‘slurp.’ The Overseer slips from Corvo’s grip, staggers, and falls to the ground.



Panting, Corvo steps over the fallen man, raises his sword, and stabs it down through the back of the man’s neck.



With the fight over, Corvo’s strength flows out of him, and he falls to his knees. All his muscles burning, Corvo gasps for breath. There’s nothing more tiring than combat, and prison has left Corvo so very weak. But that’s fine. He thinks. I can take a little break. Set Sad Eyes free. Figure out my next move.



The Interrogator picks himself off the ground.



How?



It’s not possible. Corvo slit an artery; he’s sure of it. The Interrogator should be bleeding out on the floor, but, somehow, he staggers to his feet, one hand clamped to his neck, blood oozing between his fingers. His crude features curl into an expression of pure fury, his free hand clenches into a fist, and he charges Corvo.



Using his sword like a cane, Corvo shoves himself upright. He stumbles out of the way of the bigger man’s first wild swing. And the second. But the third connects, driving the air from Corvo’s lungs and setting of explosions of pain in his ribs.



Corvo hits the ground choking on nothing. The Interrogator grins in triumph, his own blood soaking his shirt. He steps towards Corvo, draws back a heavy boot for the kick that will end him, and collapses. The Interrogator’s hand slips from his throat and blood runs freely from the wound, but still he moves. He crawls toward Corvo, struggling forward, reaching out with his huge hateful hands.



Corvo forces air into his lungs, forces exhausted limbs to moves, forces himself to crawl away from that monster until the Interrogator goes still, and the light goes out from his eyes.



Then Corvo lies back on the ground, eyes closed in both relief and pain. He takes deep breaths until he can swallow the agony in his ribs and get to his feet.



Sad Eyes stares at him, wide eyed and open mouthed.



What is that? Corvo wonders. Shock? Horror?



Corvo shakes his head. It doesn’t matter, and he shouldn’t waste time with pointless questions. Corvo undoes the straps that bind Sad Eyes’ right arm. Corvo clears his throat and speaks his first words since his imprisonment. He can only rasp out the words. “Get. A coat. Hide your wounds. Maybe you. C’n walk out.” He searches his mind for some other way to help, but he finds nothing. Corvo grunts, “That’s all.”



Clutching his side, Corvo shambles over to the door and peers through the keyhole on an empty hallway. He opens the door, staggers out, and shuts it behind him. Some tiny piece of Corvo wishes Sad Eyes good luck, but all the rest of him is focused on his own escape.



* * * *



Corvo crawls out of the river and onto shore. He’s soaking wet, aching all over, and exhausted, but he’s victorious.



I made it. I actually made it.



The guards had still been out in force, but he’d been careful and quiet, and he’d had that power where the world blinked around him. Sneaking gets a lot easier when you don’t have to cross the space between hiding places. Still, even blinking had limits. He could only go so far with each blink, and doing it too often in too small a time made him feel like someone had stuffed his head with wool.



Still, he’d managed to get outside the prison and get across the river to mainland. He’d even managed to find the time and fabric to bind up his aching ribs.



Now, Corvo lies on the shore, wanting nothing more than to rest. but if he rests too long, he will sleep, be captured and dragged right back into Coleridge Prison. He allows himself only just enough time to catch his breath, and then he forces himself upright once more. With slow shuffling steps, he moves into the sewer.



He only makes it a few steps inside before someone says, “Outsider’s eyes! You actually did it.”



Corvo turns towards the noise, dimly aware that he should be panicking, but he’s too damn tired.



Out of the shadows steps a boy who couldn’t be older than fourteen. He holds a white rat in his arms as carefully as most people hold their children.



That’s nice. He likes rats too. They’re real good friends.



The boy looks at Corvo without a hint fear or surprise. Instead, his eyes and voice are filled with awe. “You made it out of Coleridge. The whole damn Empire tried to keep you in, and you made it out.”



Corvo struggles to find words. All he manages is, “Who?”



“Oh, right,” The boy blushes. “The Outsider sent me. Said you’d be here. Said you’d need me to take you somewhere safe. C’mon. I got just the place. Can take you there right quick. I know these sewers like the back of my hand.”



Corvo thinks the boy sounds inordinately proud of that claim.



The boy turns to go, gesturing for Corvo to follow.



Corvo hesitates to follow a stranger into the depths of the sewers. Then he realizes that, even if the boy leads him into danger, he would hardly be worse off than if he wandered alone in unfamiliar sewers in his present state. Besides, he vaguely recalls the Outsider saying something about him finding allies in the sewer.



For lack of a better option, Corvo follows the boy. They take turns seemingly at random, but the boy never hesitates. Corvo soon loses all sense of direction, but he doesn’t have the energy left to worry. He just keeps trudging along. His world narrows down to his shuffling gait and the boy in front of him. Then even that fades away until he feels like he’s floating.



The boy says, “We’re here,” startling Corvo to wakefulness



He dumbly gazes around. They stood in… a room? Yes, a room. And there’s a bed!



Corvo slumps down on the bed, suddenly noticing the bone-deep weariness in his legs. Some kind soul presses a steaming bowl of soup into his hands. Corvo drains it in one go, hands back the bowl, collapses down on the bed, and falls asleep.