The Scarred Rat (A Dishonored Fanfiction)

Chapter Seven | The Bittersweet Taste of Revenge

Quick warning for this chapter: Swear words beside "damn" and "hell" end up appearing. (They were so painful to type *criii* ) Also, includes blood and violence ;)

Samuel was right about the guards and Bottle Street.

There were at least four armed men roaming the front area, including one of those whale-oil-powered watchtowers I've heard about scanning the place with its blaring light. Luckily, and with much use of my transversing along with perfect timing, I was able to reach the alleyways uncontested.

And with the next turn of the corner, I found myself standing right in front of the Dunwall Whiskey Distillery, no doubt the home base of the Bottle Street Gang.

After all this time having nightmares of being attacked by those two men and dreaming about getting my revenge, I am finally here. Close enough that I am literally where they reside.

Now I just need to hope that the Outsider wasn't just toying with me with his one-worded hint.

But instead of storming right in the place and searching for my victims, I found an abandoned apartment just next to the distillery that I judged to be good shelter until I actually am ready to strike, fit with several dirty mattresses, discarded paper in the corners, and a metal balcony that, albeit broken to where it precariously is tilted slightly, allows me to look down directly on the foyer of the distillery. And it seems just as I make my way up to the area, the dark sky opens up to let a steady rain come down.

I scout a bit more around the place then and find a shelf containing some equipment in them, such as crossbow bolts, rewire tools, and spring razors, realizing that this must be a hideout for some other people, maybe the gang themselves. Taking an apprehensive glance toward the open balcony, I hope no one ends up coming while I'm still here. But seeing the equipment makes my imagination flare up. The crossbow bolts will be pretty useless to me, as I don't have my own crossbow like I know Daud does. The rewire tools wouldn't have much use either, as I don't really know how to use them to begin with. The spring razors I've heard about and know how easily they can cut off someone's limbs, multiple in one use, and kill them in a bloody mess. To figure out how to use those would mean suicide for me, and either way, when I kill the two men, I'd want to do it with my own dagger.

There is also a generous supply of food stocked up in one of the cubbies. Realizing just how hungry I am at this moment, I grab a chunk of bread, quickly check it over to see if it's still edible, and eat it, tearing off one piece at a time.

While I eat, I think about the two men and how I'm going to find them to begin with. Obviously, I could walk into the distillery, but I have no clue what I would encounter in there, and I feel like it'd be next to impossible to find them among others. My chest tightens at the thought, but what if they're not even here, out somewhere in the streets of Dunwall?

My best option is to just wait and hope the Outsider leads them right into the fate.

Just then, after I tentatively take a sip of my spiritual remedy from the small vial Daud gave me the one night he trained me, I hear some kind of scuttling and a quiet squeaking. I look to my left to see a rat sniffing the floorboards of the old apartment only a little ways away. My brows draw together in confusion, for how did a rat get up here, and when? I hadn't noticed it until now.

And then I realize, in the gloom, it's not gray, but white, and as the creature seemingly turns to look directly at me, I catch a glimpse of something on it that looks like a scar. A scar along its neck.

As I gasp and throw my hand up to touch my own scar, the rat startles and hurries away into a small, worn down room, one that's more like a closet. Subconsciously, I chase after it, and the moment I turn into the room, I freeze. My mind goes black and my vision only shows the mysterious figure of the Outsider, floating in the middle of nowhere, with his hand out for the white rat to sit on.