Billie

These days, you don’t go out much without a mask between you and the world. When you take off your mask, take off the red coat and black gloves that every district in Dunwall knows to fear, you become just another face in a faceless crowd of powerless mice. Better to be a shadow, to eat bread stolen from rich men’s plates and drink the wine from their cups after you slit their throats. You know you aren’t not alone in feeling that way; know most of the [[Whalers]] sleep in their damn masks. You have them for companionship, their [jokes]<c2|(click:?c2)[(display:"jokes")], their [dice games]<c3|(click:?c3)[(display:"dice games")], their [songs]<c4|(click:?c4)[(display:"songs")]. And you have [[Daud]].

You don't have what you want from him, but he talks to you [[sometimes]].

false face of rough leather and staring glass eyes

(crude and cruel and blood-spattered, and you never laugh but they don't expect you to)

(every player is expected to cheat)

(echoing off the filthy water of the Flooded District)

About the Void, about death and life. More than he talks to [[anyone else.]]

[[It's something.]]

It's not a pretty [[life,]] but it's far preferable to the life you threw away [[five years ago.]]

No. You don't think about that any more. You're a Whaler now. You're Daud's [[second in command.]]

Yesterday, when you reported to Daud on the Whalers’ activities, he got up from his pensive crouch and put his hand on your arm. You were in one of the ruined houses of the Flooded District, but not the one the Whalers are currently using as headquarters. Daud put his hand on your arm and looked at you. He wasn’t [[wearing a mask.]] “You need to get out more,” he said. “Without that mask, I mean.” Your senses were overwhelmed by smell, the sewer stench of the water below and the acrid tang of Daud’s power. You quivered with anger. But all you said was, [[“Sir.”]]

You know everything about each of them because that's your job as [[Daud’s second.]]

Whether [[he->Start]] cares about it or not.

Daud's [[second in command.]] You worked hard for this position. You earned it. You'll do a good job at it, whether he appreciates it or not.

He never does. Everyone in the Isles knows and fears that scarred face. The masks are just you and the others trying to ride on that fear, like ticks on a dog. You know that every time you [[look at him.->second in command.]]

Now it's afternoon, [[gray and foggy.]] Morning, for you and your murderer's schedule. You sleep in your own room, in this abandoned town house- a privilege of your rank. Alone but for the [[rats.]] You have a crick in your neck. And you have a choice. You could put on [[the mask, and the coat, and the sword.->tools]] Or you could put on [[something else.]]

Afternoons usually are gray and foggy, in Dunwall. There are places in the world, you know, where the sun shines almost every day. Sometimes you wonder what it would be like to live in one of them. But not often. There's too much to be concerned with in the [[here and now.->“Sir.”]]

The tools of your trade. You'd think bloodstains wouldn't show up on a coat this shade of red, but they do. The mask is the last item you put on. As always, the moment it covers your face you feel transformed. The softer parts of you, the Billie that Dierdre loved, are contained in the darkness behind the mask. Protected by the killer you've become. What now? You could check on Daud. [[See if he's stopped brooding over the last job.]] You could check in with the others. [[See if anything new's turned up.]]

There's a trunk of clothes in the corner, all things you grabbed in fits of fancy when robbing the houses of the wealthy. Here's a dark vest and dark trousers that aren’t too attention-grabbing. [[You put them on.]]

Out the window, then, too fast for any eye to follow. Across the roofs of what once was Rudshore Financial District, until you reach the Wrenhaven. Now drop down and [[go forth]] as one of the masses.

You're never quite anonymous. Not with your dark face, though you'd like to think it's more the edge in your movements that make people give you a wide berth. But down by the river no one pays much attention. You buy a Morley apple, red and sweet, and eat it while you [[listen.->the crowd]]

Ugh. [[No. ->tools]] You're not his minder.

One of the Whalers- Cleo- has a message for you. "Someone wants to hire," she says, voice muffled by the mask. "She wouldn't say what for. Just a time and location." The girl tilts her head. "Would have laughed in her face, but the request came with this." The bag in her hand clinks loudly when she places it on the rotting table. [[A job's a job.]] Even if, at this point, the money's just a way to keep score.

A squeeze of the charm[, and you can listen.]<c5|(click-replace:?c5)[(display:"listen")] [[Thanks, Dierdre.->“Sir.”]]

. Water rushed in. We heard it, knew to run, to scurry, while bigger creatures drowned. Their corpses floated and we feasted, but the nests! The little ones! Lost.

The address is in the Rust District. Half the city away from Rudshore, but you like the travel. Transversing from roof to roof makes you feel like a spider, wrapping the whole wretched city in your net. The people down on the streets, dirty and coughing and angry with each other, they're just ants. You leap, reach for the fabric of the world, twist- and for a gut-lurching fraction of a second you pass through the world, through the Void, just long enough for a shudder of cold and a flash of darkness- and your boots slam into the roof tiles on the other side of the street, and there's weak smog-choked sunlight around you again, and the cries of pigeons in your ears. Dunwall smells of garbage and dead fish, but sometimes you breathe in deeply, just to clear the scent of that other place, the odor of ancient rotting things fathoms beneath a black sea. The sun goes down early in winter, and it's already getting dark. When you reach the Rust District and its fields of warehouses, you scuttle down a wall like a lizard. A collection of flyers and pamphlets paper the wall. One of them [[catches your eye->the flyer]], a white flag fluttering in the shadows of the alley.

The words wrap around you. There's the usual complaints, prices too high, children sick, does the Empress care?, shall we gather for cigars tonight? But there's a new thread. Fear, mixed up in excitement. A shadow stalking the streets. A masked murderer. Alright, you're interested. You listen closer. [[Ask a question or two.]]

WANTED FOR THE MURDER OF ROYAL SPYMASTER HIRAM BURROWS THIS MASKED FELON Enemy of the City of Dunwall The offenses of this man are high crimes under the Strictures of the High Overseer, the municipal laws of the City Watch of Dunwall, and the edicts of our glorious Empress Jessamine Kaldwin in these difficult times. BE ADVISED: The felon is suspected to make use of black magics and may possess unnatural abilities. REWARD OF 10,000 COINS For Capture or Death Reward will be paid in coin by the City Watch in addition to rewards offered by Private Citizens or outstanding organizations. There's a drawing, too; not a good one, but good enough that you feel a little unnerved, looking at a bizarre cobbled-together mask. Huh. Maybe Daud was telling the truth, when he told you he wasn't the one who bumped off Burrows. You can't imagine him wearing that. But why is this image only appearing now, two weeks after the announcement of the Spymaster's death? Well, that's not your mystery to solve right now. [[You're here on a job.]]

"They think he's what did for the Royal Spymaster," a fishmonger tells you. Burrows? You'd thought that was Daud, that he was keeping secrets from you. But he wouldn't mask his face. "He's been seen," a factory worker on break says, blowing smoke out of her pipe. She's got a tattoo that looks like a gang sign, but not one you recognize: a thorned rose curling over her collarbone. "Running 'cross the rooftops at night faster than the Outsider. My mate Del saw 'im. Mask like a metal skull, she said. Nearly scared her to death, and she don't scare easy." She lowers her pipe, and leans in a little. "Said he turned into black smoke. And I believe her, cause other people say it too. He's got dark powers." Someone new to the city? Could be an old regular in a new mask, but if this choffer really does have powers he's got to be new in town. Otherwise you would know about him. [[Wouldn't you?]]

The address you were given leads to a warehouse. You know it, it's owned by Rothwild Potted Meat, but they've been shutting down factories and closing up warehouses for months now. The place is silent. No one to drive away the [[rats]] swarming in the gutters. You take a look at the building, and reach for that dark cold place again. Reach lightly, letting it sink into the veins in your eyes. Close your eyelids. Open them. There's one human inside. Sitting on a crate of old tins, looks like. A woman. No money in her pockets. There's something... you try to concentrate, but it slips away. The padlock on the door hasn't been touched, so she must have gotten in another way. [[There. An open window.]]

Listen[, if you like.]<c5|(click-replace:?c5)[(display:"Listen, if you like.")] But not for too long. [[The customer's waiting.->You're here on a job.]]

Up and over, out of the gray morning into a sudden darkness- Something grabs your ankle. Faster than thought, you're flat on your back on hard packed dirt, a warm weight on top of you, a sharp elbow digging into your throat. "Hello, Billie Lurk," a woman's voice whispers into your ear, [[wet and velvety.]]

. We chewed the rope to make our nests. It frays, it stretches. It wasn't meant to last. They meant to come back.

So this is both embarrassing and enraging, and also, you know, dangerous, but you're also suddenly very uncomfortably aware that you haven't been laid since the Month of Songs. The woman's knee is just as bony, and it's pressing somewhere further down. Still, she's not actually that heavy, now that you're over the shock, and you could deal with this easily if it wasn't for whatever the fuck is wrapping around your ankles and wrists. "Oh, do stop struggling," the stranger says. "I'm not going to hurt you. This is just a little demonstration." "Of what?" you manage to gasp. She sits back, her center of weight no longer on top of you. She holds up a hand, and snaps her fingers. Light blooms in the warehouse, green and sickly. [[You can see what's holding you down now.]]

Roots. Thick, dark roots, shifting like living, growing things, flowing over your boots, over your coat. You can see your captor now, too. A sallow, angular woman with a smile like a razorblade. No bonecharms whispering to you from under her dark coat, but long-thorned roses twine around her shoulders. Witch. Fuck. "What do you want with me?" you ask. The roots aren't restricting your breathing just yet; one snakes around the collar of your coat but softly, almost tenderly. You have to fight back the urge to transverse, which would definitely break your bones at this point. Still, you're not out of options yet. She laughs. It's a rich, beautiful laugh. "I want to help you, Billie Lurk." Okay. She wants something from you. Something more than your immediate death or mugging. There's a knife up your sleeve, and you've managed to slide it down enough that you could start [[stabbing the roots that bind you.]] Alternatively you could [[keep listening.]]

There are others, of course. Witches, heretics, cultists. People with access to the Void. Some just collect bonecharms, or carve them themselves out of scrimshaw. Some are [[like Daud.]] But not really like him. No one has his kind of power, and they're usually pathetic mad creatures anyway. The Outsider isn't very strategic, you've sometimes thought, when picking his tools against the order of the Abbey. If someone's really using occult powers to pick off high level government figures, that's almost certainly going to interfere with the Whalers' operations. [[You're going to have to do something about this.]]

He took off his glove once. Showed you the Mark. Told you about a young man with black eyes who smells of rotting whale meat. You have a well-trained memory. That night you took a grease pencil and drew the strange lines on your own skin, and then you dreamed of- nothing. [[Well. Maybe not nothing. But not him.->Wouldn't you?]]

You could gather information. Hit up the usual sources of underworld information. Shake the black market dealers for client lists. Track down the scrimshaw traders. But there are quicker means. There's a cache hidden among the underbelly girders of Kaldwin's Bridge, and it takes you only a moment to put on the extra Whaler uniform, to pull the elastic of the mask around your skull. You can't help a small sigh of relief when the darkness settles around the eges of your vision again. Now it's time to search. If you reach out to the Void in just the right way, you can see other void-touched objects and people, even through walls. And you can cover ground fast. You stop by the black market in the Draper's Ward. Thomas is there, chatting with the proprietor. Tersely, you tell him to mobilize the Whalers. The gang's done this kind of operation before. It'll speed things up. [[But you hope you'll be the one to find this Masked Felon first.]]

The figure cuts a striking silhouette against the night. Slender, in a dark coat. Gloved hands. A skull-like mask, metallic and glinting. You close your eyes, reach into the Void, open your eyes again. The figure blazes. A silhouette wrought of gold fire, so bright it's blinding. You gasp, and your hands slip on the drainpipe, and your mind slips away from that other way of seeing, and now you're nearly blind, colored spots bursting on the surface of your eyeballs. "It's you," you whisper. It has to be. You've been waiting so long for this moment, and now it's here. Will you [[beg for his favor?]] Or [[ask him the questions that burn in your heart?]] Or perhaps [[scream at him for his cruelty?]] [[Or you could just crouch here on the wall, frozen and stupid.]]

Your throat is dry as paper, but you swallow, and whisper, [["Please."]]

[[Why does the Abbey hate him so?->Before]] [[What does he want with this world, really?->Before]] [[What happens to people when they die?->Before]] [[ With all his power, why doesn't he ever change things himself?->Before]] [[Why not me?->Before]]

Deirdre prayed to him, and he left her to die slowly, alone, in a gutter. He's not worthy of prayer. He's not worth anything. [[Now you have the chance to tell him that.]]

Open your mouth. Say something. Do something! You're not under some spell, you're just a stupid useless idiot. You're a killer. You're a Whaler. You're Billie Lurk. You're not afraid of anyone. Not even a god. [[Yeah right.]]

Before you get a chance to open your mouth, the figure puts a long thin finger to its own lips, or where the lips would be, on that metal skull. "Just listen," it says, and you're surprised; the voice is muffled by the mask, but still sounds human, doesn't reverbate with eldritch energies. There's a burst of black, and then the mass of shadow is crouched on the roof above you- and oh. This close, from this angle, even with the light of the polluted sky at its back, you can see this figure has the shape of a woman, not a man. Daud would have mentioned it if the bastard looked like a woman. Wouldn't he? Whoever this is, they're tilting their head, and you can feel the weight of an intense regard. "Which one are you, under there?" the voice rasps. "What's your name?" The Outsider wouldn't have to ask. This isn't him. This is just another desperate human, scrabbling for power. But she blazed so bright. "It doesn't matter," you hear yourself say. "I'm a Whaler. That's all you need to know." She extends a black-gloved hand. You glare at it, and [[transpose yourself onto the roof.]]

The figure puts a long thin finger to its own lips, or where the lips would be, on that metal skull. "Just listen," it says, and you're surprised; the voice is muffled by the mask, but still sounds human, doesn't reverbate with eldritch energies. There's a burst of black, and then the mass of shadow is crouched on the roof above you- and oh. This close, from this angle, even with the light of the polluted sky at its back, you can see this figure has the shape of a woman, not a man. Daud would have mentioned it if the bastard looked like a woman. Wouldn't he? Whoever this is, they're tilting their head, and you can feel the weight of an intense regard. "Which one are you, under there?" the voice rasps. "What's your name?" The Outsider wouldn't have to ask. This isn't him. This is just another desperate human, scrabbling for power. But she blazed so bright. "It doesn't matter," you hear yourself say. "I'm a Whaler. That's all you need to know." She extends a black-gloved hand. You glare at it, and [[transpose yourself onto the roof.]]

You're both crouched a few feet from each other now, on slippery cold roof tiles. Dawn is approaching, its pink fingers snaking up into the sky; behind her you can see the faint sparkle on the Wrenhaven. It's beautiful, in a way. There's a breeze, too, though it smells awful. She's still looking at you with that masked intensity. "Billie," she says. She sounds... tired? "I know it's you. Who else could it be?" [[She seems to have you at a disadvantage.]]

"It seems you've got me at a disadvantage." She laughs. It's not a real laugh, more of a snort, a brief moment of dark humor, but it's still shockingly incongruous with that metal face. "Yes," she says. "I do. Sorry about that." She sounds... posh. Really posh. And not that old. You'd guess she isn't much older than you, though it's hard to tell just from voice. You stare at her. "Well?" you demand, after a moment. "Well what?" "Are you going to tell me who you are and how you know me?" "No." Who the fuck does she think she is? [[This has gone far enough.]]

You lunge at her, knife drawn. She's gone quicker than you've ever seen anyone go, reflexes faster than blinking, leaving nothing but a black cloud that you fall through and your knee bangs against the cobbles and your body tumbles, momentum carrying you straight off the roof. Idiot. The night has been a strange one and you're more disoriented and panicked than you should be, and all you can see is the dawn sky above, and you try desperately to transpose but there's nothing solid to grab onto. You're going to hit the cobbles face first. [[If you're lucky.]] [[Any last thoughts, Billie Lurk?]]

[[If you're unlucky, you'll hit a spiked fence.->This has gone far enough.]]

You were put in this world to kill one man, and you did it. You have no regrets. [[But this isn't the way you wanted to die.]]

Something catches you and yanks. You're tossed unceremoniously up onto the rooftop again, slammed into the tiles hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs and, it feels like, bruise your ribs. "Careful," the Masked Felon says. You're slow, scrambling to your feet. You're breathing hard. It's just tethering. You've done it yourself a million times with bottles, weapons, coins. And you've seen Daud do it to people. You shouldn't be this shaken. She has power, all right. This time you don't lunge. You move forward slowly. You touch the mask with your gloved hand, and reach for the edge, to pull it off. Her fingers wrap around your wrist. "Don't get involved with Delilah," she says. "Never trust a witch." "Show me your face," you demand. But she steps back, and is gone in a drift of chilly black. [[You're left alone, and completely at a loss.]]

It takes several long, cold hours, but you [[find your quarry.->a dark figure]]

It only takes a few cuts for the root around your wrist to shrink back, writhing like something that can feel pain. You twist yourself around, stab at the other roots, and in a minute you're free. Your captor doesn't stop you, just laughs. As you transpose towards the square of light that must be the broken window, she says, "When you're ready to be done with him, you can find me in Brigmore." Whatever the fuck that means. You're not sticking around to learn more. You don't head back the way you came, but west towards the Legal District. Dawn is approaching, and the dock workers will be up soon, so you're a little more careful to stick to the shadows. [[Take a moment to catch your breath.]]

"Fine. How do you think you're going to help me?" She leans down again. Her breath is hot against your face. "I can help you rule the Whalers," she says, "without that old man." How does she know- A spy in the Whalers, probably. It's not like it'd be hard to guess, that you're getting impatient with Daud. The old man probably guesses it himself, and just doesn't care enough to do anything about it. But are you really desperate enough to [[ally with a witch?]] It's not too late to [[get the fuck out of here.->stabbing the roots that bind you.]]

For a while all you're aware of is the harshness of your breaths, the pounding of your heart. You don't hear any running footsteps, or the whoosh of displaced air. You don't think she's followed you. But after a while, you start to feel that someone's watching. [[Look up.->a dark figure]]

Caught between a witch and a masked magician. This is just going to be one of those months. It's a long run back to the Flooded District. You only go a few blocks in that direction before stowing your mask and coat in a cache and becoming part of the mass of early rising citizens passing through the streets. You buy a hot breakfast and eat it by the river, ignoring the stink with practice. [[You have some things to think about.]]

[[PART TWO]]

The Month of Darkness casts long shadows over Dunwall. You wake up cold every morning. The Whalers have covered the holes in the townhouse walls with expensive fur rugs and luxurious mohair blankets taken from the houses of the wealthy, but the chill still creeps in through the rotting boards. The streets below, turned to filthy canals by the flooding, are lined with sparkling spears of ice. The Empress continues to attempt to drain the district, but another dam burst after freezing temperatures cracked it. There's plague in the city now too, which isn't unusual at this time of year. A waterborne disease, the posters and announcements claim. The Whalers laugh it off, even after Thomas finds one of them dead in a safehouse. They seem to revel in the increased chaos, and amuse themselves smashing up the houses of those wealthy enough and anxious enough to leave the city. You watch them, and not for the first time you feel coldly separated from them. Something's bothering Daud, but he won't talk to you about it. The two of you took down a target together last month, and it was a good, hard job, and you were paid richly by a brothel madam who'd wanted the merchant who cheated her taken out. But after the man was dead you'd turned to Daud with words of joyful success on your lips and he'd looked right through you, like you were a ghost. It hurts, but there's [[other people]] in your life now, people who don't ignore you.

You spend a lot of time [[prowling the rooftops, now, no destination in mind but the heights and the wind.]]

The Brigmore Manor is the height of rotting decadence. There's a beauty to its dilapidated aesthetic. In the sight of polished Serkonan wood chewed by worms, gold paint scraped by riotous black thorns, colored glass windows smashed by flowers big as a man's head with a scent of dead flesh there is a pleasure that you're not immune to. The parlor always stinks of roses. Delilah sprawls on a disintegrating couch, new stalks growing out of it as she speaks. "How good to see you again, my Billie." Her apprentices, her courtiers, titter. Breanna Ashworth, in the corner, smokes a glowing red cigar, and her eyes burn with smoky jealousy. You almost want to smile at her, just to throw her off, but you don't. "Come upstairs," Delilah says, moving liquidly to her feet. "We have much to discuss." A command she expects you to [[follow.]] Like you're her dog. Like you'll never say [[no.]]

She only appears at evening, in twilight or the dark past nightfall. She seems to find you when she wants, and so far has defied all your attempts to predict her arrival or track her to her lair. One evening she finds you eating sweets on the top of one of the tallest buildings in the Tower district. "Really?" she says, voice dripping with disapproval. "Stealing from children?" "Brats won't miss it," you say, unashamed. She snorts in disgust, but folds her long legs to sit down next to you, swinging her feet out over the emptiness. Mere inches of air [[separate you from her.]] Across the river Dunwall Tower rises, [[white and serene.]]

Close enough that you could reach out and touch her, [[if you wanted.]] Maybe that would get you the answers that [[talking]] has failed to procure. Or a reaction, at least.

You didn't always hate it, you think, but you can't really remember what it used to be like to look up at it and not taste blood in the back of your mouth. The Kaldwins didn't kill Dierdre, but the world would be a better place with no palaces in it. You feel empty inside, looking at that tower. [[Cold.->talking]]

When your gloved hand touches hers she jerks back, shuddering violently. You're surprised she doesn't transpose away. You withdraw your hand. "Look," you say, feeling strangely helpless, "I'm just trying to figure out what you want from me." [[She doesn't say anything.->Wouldn't you]]

"Are you here to stop me?" you ask, harsh and abrupt. "Stop you from doing what?" she asks. Playing ignorant doesn't suit her. "From killing that man." You nod at the Tower. At the ant-sized speck that is a guard captain who unwisely betrayed a lover. "If you want to be stopped," she says, "then I'll stop you." The gall of that! You're not someone who wants to be stopped. If you wanted to stop you'd just do it. [[Wouldn't you?->Wouldn't you]]

Her tread is light even on the creaking grand staircase. Your boots hit the steps heavily, sometimes splintering the softened wood. Her bed is a bower, encircled by vicious thorns. The stench of roses is heady. It makes your thoughts slow and thick. You let her pull you down onto the silken sheets. She waits, smiling, until you growl and flip your positions, pushing her wrists into the mattress. "Wonderful," Delilah breathes, and her eyes shine with something it took you a long time to admit is a kind of [[love.]]

Delilah’s love is not gentle or kind, and maybe that's what fascinates you. Delilah surrenders nothing with her love. It confers no advantage. You meet her gaze- those beautiful thorn-green eyes- and think that if Delilah can love without giving out weakness maybe you can love without giving respect. You can love an evil bitch, or at least that bitch’s sharp fingernails, the curve of her lips. Because you need love. You know that about yourself now. Where else are you going to get it? From [[a weak and paranoid old man?]] From [[a nameless woman in a metal mask?]]

Daud's been disappearing more and more lately, and talking less and less. The others have noticed too. You know Thomas is plotting something. He's an idiot. Overthrowing Daud will cut off Thomas's power. That's how Daud's kept control of them all this time. None of the Whalers dares kill the man who's the source of everything that makes them special. None of them have a second patron lined up. [[Someone else->frustrating.]] with the Outsider's mark on her hand.

Three months since your first encounter, and this is what you know about the Masked Felon: No one in the city will admit to hiring her for murder. She kills for her own hidden reasons. She's killed at least five that you know of. She hasn't killed you. Despite many opportunities. She seems to be letting you get close. Each time you hear about a new kill, you chase her down across the rooftops and alleys and she lets you catch up to her. She lets you. Because she's stronger than you, you know that much. You can't kill her and she won't kill you and that's... [[frustrating.]]

You come to Delilah now to express your frustrations, but even when she leaves you aching and wrung out on the smooth, smooth sheets your frustration only builds, a snarl of thorns in your heart. "It's time," she says, from the head of the large bed. You twist to look at her. Divested of her spiky, sharply tailored garments she ought to look tiny, this narrow, small-boned woman. She doesn't. Her skin glistens with sweat, like dew drops on rose petals. So does yours; it's salty on your lips. The room feels muggy. A hothouse, in the middle of winter. Instead of asking, time for what? you raise an eyebrow. "You need to choose, my dearest," she says, leaning forward, and oh, how Lady Breanna downstairs would flinch to hear that word bestowed on Billie the gutter thug. "The knife, or the shadow? I need them both gone on the same day." Well. It's not as though this request comes as a surprise. You always knew this would be the bargain. [[The knife,]] or the [[shadow.]]

"You can tell me right here," you say. "Or don't you trust your faithful followers?" One of the witches hisses at you. Breanna just blows a cloud of stinging smoke in your direction. Delilah's face doesn't change, but her sigh has an edge to it. "Very well," she says, shifting out of her sprawl into a more businesslike pose. "The time is almost here, my dear. No more waiting." She puts two pieces of paper down on the low table between you. Wanted posters. [[THE KNIFE OF DUNWALL.]] [[THE MASKED FELON.]] "You'll take one of them," she says. "I'll take the other."

It's an old drawing, but the artist had some skill. The Daud staring up at you from the stained and torn page has less wrinkles on his face and more fire in his eyes than the man who's been disappearing more and more lately, and talking to you less and less. The drawing captures something of the way he looked when you saw him for the very first time, a bloodsoaked, fearless god dripping with the death of three powerful men. [[Did you know, even then, that this day would come?->decision]]

It's the same poster you saw three months ago, with a few small changes. WANTED FOR THE MURDER OF ROYAL SPYMASTER HIRAM BURROWS, HIGH OVERSEER THADDEUS CAMPBELL, AND LORD TREAVOR PENDLETON THIS MASKED FELON Enemy of the City of Dunwall The offenses of this man are high crimes under the Strictures of the High Overseer, the municipal laws of the City Watch of Dunwall, and the edicts of our glorious Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. BE ADVISED: The felon is known to make use of black magics and should be considered extremely dangerous. REWARD OF 50,000 COINS For Capture or Death Reward will be paid in coin by the City Watch in addition to rewards offered by Private Citizens or outstanding organizations. The mask seems to stare at you [[acccusingly.]]

Two targets. One decision. Too late to back out now, not now you've gotten in this deep. The facts are brutally simple. You don't want to be the one to kill [[Daud.]] But you don't have the power to take down [[the masked stranger.]] You can feel the heat of Delilah's gaze, as she waits for your decision.

What right does she have to be disappointed in you? You've only seen her a handful of times. You congratulated her on ridding the city of a few more parasites, and she had the fucking gall to say, "I didn't do it for your approval," in that harsh, cold, upper-class voice. She doesn't know you and you owe her [[nothing.->decision]]

He's like a father to you. More than a father. But he's a shadow of his former self, these days. It'd be a mercy kill, really. And you don't want to love him anymore. Haven't wanted to for a while. What better way to cut him out of your already reduced heart? Maybe you even owe it to him, to be the one holding the knife, instead of letting Delilah and her twisted mind do it.. You can take him down. You know you can. And you'll stand over his body renewed and remade, his cold black magic replaced with Delilah's hot and sickly-sweet power. Is that [[what you want,]] in this moment? Or are you still [[undecided?->decision]]

Far less painful to sink the knife into her back than into Daud's. She's just a stranger, after all. But far harder to get behind her in the first place. You've literally seen her power. She's closer to the Void than you, than even Daud. Maybe not as close as Delilah, you don't know. That'd be an interesting fight to watch. Considering the power differential, there's only one way you'd get close enough to take her down. You know without looking that Delilah is smiling, that she's figured it out too. Can you do it? Can you [[tempt your target close enough for a quick and fatal strike?]] Or would you rather [[consider this more carefully?->decision]]

You crumple the flyer into a ball. "All right," you say. You look up. Delilah's smiling. "Are you sure you can handle her?" you ask, with a nod at the other flyer. "I've seen her power. She might be too much for you." "It's sweet of you to worry about me," Delilah purrs. "Just hold up your end, and I'll give you all the power you could want. The Whalers will be yours." "And what do you get?" you ask, but she only leans back and waves you away. "Tonight," she says. "It has to happen [[tonight.]]"

"I did what you asked," you whisper. "When Delilah came to me I turned her down." She clears her throat. "Good," she says. "That's- that's good. She's trouble. And she's going down." You're startled at the sudden vitriol on her voice. The dread certainty. You know, suddenly, that Delilah is going to die. That shouldn't bother you in the slightest. You don't know Delilah well, but you know she's a toxic bitch. But when she made her offer, you were strongly tempted to take it. "Are you going to kill Daud, too?" you ask. [[She hesitates for just long enough before answering.]]

"I'm not sure," she says. "If you kill both of them," you say, "you'll be cutting me off entirely. And I can't. I can't go back to being no one. To seeing only the surface of the world. I've never seen him. The Outsider. He won't talk to me. If you're going to kill both of them at least share your power. You have so much of it." You clamp your jaw shut. You didn't mean to say so much so fast. She turns her head to look directly at you. "Oh, Billie," she says. "You don't need it. You can survive without it. Believe me." "Why should I?" you say bitterly. "I don't even know your name." A drawn-out pause, then she says, "My name is [[Emily.]]"

Emily. It's such a soft name. The name of the princess, up there in that tower. A name from a bedtime story, not a horror story of masked murderers with dark powers. "Why don't you know if you're going to kill Daud?" you ask. You sound hoarse in your own ears. Tired. "If you hadn't killed Radanis Abele," she says, "and he'd come to regret his action, and do everything in his power to try and repent for it... and then, fifteen years later... you were given the chance to go back in time and save her... after you'd saved her, would you kill him?" You jump to your feet, and stumble backwards. "How the fuck," you snarl, "do you know me? How do you know me?" Her hand grabs at your sleeve. You let yourself be pulled in, and then reach out with both hands, and snatch at the mask. [[She doesn't resist.]]

Her face almost disappears into the nighttime shadows of her hood, but you see the sharp planes of a face far too young for those burning brown eyes. "I keep trying to fix it," she says. "And I did!" For a moment she's bitterly triumphant, and both frighteningly young and disturbingly ancient. "I stopped the plague, and all it took was one death!" The Spymaster, or someone else? "But m- the Empress kept dying, I had to keep trying different things..." The triumph is gone, leaving only exhaustion. "I saved her," Emily mutters. "But there's still flood, still plague, still death, everywhere, always..." You drop the mask. It hits the ground with a clatter. Two desires war inside you: to [[back away]] or to [[take her hand.]]

They call him the Knife of Dunwall. He told you early on to call him Daud. He's like a father to you. More than a father. But he's a shadow of his former self, these days. It'd be a mercy kill, really. And you don't want to love him anymore. Haven't wanted to for a while. What better way to cut him out of your already reduced heart? Maybe you even owe it to him, to be the one holding the knife, instead of letting Delilah and her twisted mind do it... You can take him down. You know you can. And you'll stand over his body renewed and remade, his cold black magic replaced with Delilah's hot and sickly-sweet power. Is that [[what you want]], in this moment? Or are you still [[undecided?->frustrating.]]

You've only seen her a handful of times. By then she'd murdered at least three more. You congratulated her on ridding the city of a few more parasites, and she had the fucking gall to say, "I didn't do it for your approval," in that harsh, cold, upper-class voice. She doesn't know you and you owe her nothing. Far less painful to sink the knife into her back than into Daud's. She's just a stranger, after all. But far harder to get behind her in the first place. You've literally seen her power. She's closer to the Void than you, than even Daud. Maybe not as close as Delilah, you don't know. That'd be an interesting fight to watch. Considering the power differential, there's only one way you'd get close enough to take her down. You know without looking that Delilah is smiling, that she's figured it out too. Can you do it? Can you [[tempt your target close enough for a quick and fatal strike?]] Or would you rather [[consider this more carefully?->frustrating.]]

She's a mystery, this mad woman who stalks the night. But not one you want to know. Maybe your life is empty and cold. But this isn't the way to fix it. You're starting to think there is no way to fix it. Whatever it is that broke the universe, Radanis Abele's death or Dierdre's or your mother's, it's not something that can be repaired. And you certainly won't find any warmth or meaning in a woman wrapped in void. That's why you need to [[leave,]] before this goes any [[further.]]

Her face is pale, her eyes shadowed. Her fingers wrap around yours. "You sound mad," you say, "but I want to hear this story. Where have you been sleeping?" She shakes her head. "Wherever I can," she murmurs. "Doesn't sound comfortable." "It's not that bad," but she doesn't resist when you pull her closer. [["Come with me," you whisper.]]

The townhouse isn't yours, but the owner's fled town in fear of plague and the housekeeper's gone home hours ago. The bed is wide and soft. She sits on the edge of it. You lean against the wall, and look at her face, now that you have the opportunity to. She's as sharp as Delilah, and in fact there's an almost familial similarity there, but she doesn't look hungry, just tired, and burning with an inner determination. "Take your shoes off," you suggest. "Relax a little." "Do you ever take your own advice?" she asks. "When was the last time you relaxed?" "Oh, I relax all the time," you say. "I'm very good at it." What are you doing? "Is that so," she says, and leans back against the headboard. "Come over here, stop skulking in the shadows." Pot, meet kettle, you think, but you obey. She's got a naturally commanding tone. It makes you want to be contrary. But you actually do want to get closer to her, Void help you. You come over there. "All right," you say. [["Start talking."]]

She doesn't try to stop you, or call you back. Part of you is waiting for- something. But there's nothing. You leave the unfortunate guard to live another night. The city stretches out in front of you, as filthy and cruel as always. Your home. In one direction, [[the Flooded District.]] In another, [[the docks.]]

Before you [[give in->take her hand.]] to your loneliness.

Stinking water and sinking town houses. The Whalers. Daud. You hope you'll find him there, that he hasn't decided to wander this night. You thought you didn't care any more, but you do. You transverse faster, farther, than you think you ever have before. Constantly expecting someone to catch up to you, but no one does. You run into Cleo first, out on patrol. You grab her shoulder. She flinches away from you but your grip is iron and after a panicked violent second she recognizes you. She doesn't relax, but she lowers her knife. "Billie," she says. "Finished that job early then?" "Where's Daud," you growl. There's a pause. You can't see Cleo's face under the mask, but you suddenly realize what she's thinking. They've been waiting for this, the smarter ones. For you to challenge the old man. There's some calculation happening there. Cleo points, silently, to [[a rooftop above.]] You nod to her, and leap upwards.

There's a ship tied up on the docks that currently belongs to no one. The owner died yesterday of the plague, and the city hasn't auctioned it off yet. Stealing it is easy. You wanted to sail ships, once. You spent a year as a cabin boy, when you were eighteen, working the shipping lanes between Gristol and Serkonos. You learned a lot more than anyone suspected, back then, and advances in technology have only made it easier for one woman to pilot a small boat in the relatively calm and shallow waters between the Isles. You might still sink in a storm and drown alone and unmourned. It's not a frightening fate. The hold is home to several [[scuttering rats.]] You let them be. There's food enough for everyone. Dunwall retreats into a glowing dot behind you. The dark waves calm your mind. Whatever fate the Outsider has for that hive of a city, whatever destruction might be wrought by the conflict of a witch and a shade, you won't be there to see it. THE END [[REPLAY->Start]]

Daud is crouched at the edge of the rooftop, under a ledge, out of the worst of the biting wind. He's holding something in his hands. When you get closer, you can see it's a bone charm. He's turning it over and over. "Hello, Billie," he says, without looking up. His tone gives nothing away. You pause, listening to your own ragged breaths. Then you sit down next to him. "You came here in a hurry," he says after a while. "What's happening?" "You first," you say. You have no more stomach for bullshit. He sighs. Looks at the bonecharm. "I haven't seen him in almost a year," he admits. You're glad you're already sitting down. "Not a trace, not a whisper," Daud continues. He puts the bonecharm down on the roof tiles with a clack. "Used to be I coudn't get the bastard to leave me alone." You think again of the pale-faced woman who blazed brighter than the sun. But she isn't the Outsider, you know she isn't. She has a name, and human emotions, and human warmth. And she's coming to kill the one person left who you maybe care about in this world. "He's not dead," Daud mutters, "I think I'd lose the Mark if he was dead. He's just... gone." You take off your mask, and toss it over the edge, watching it disappear into the dark water. "Daud," you say. You take his hand. He looks at you, startled, as though you're a stranger. "Let's get out of here," you say. "There's a ship down at the docks. We can leave. Go to Serkonos, or Tyvia. Do something else besides killing." He blinks, and meets your eyes, and for the first time in eight years you see the man, not the killer. "You think it's that easy?" he asks. [["Why not?"]]

There's a ship tied up on the docks that currently belongs to no one. The owner died yesterday of the plague, and the city hasn't auctioned it off yet. Stealing it is easy. "When did you learn how to sail?" Daud asks, picking through the dead man's maps and charts. "When I was eighteen," you answer. "Spent a year as a cabin boy. Learned a lot more than the captain expected me to." Most of your mind is focused on steering the ship out into the harbor, avoiding the huge whaling ships and the small little rowboats, a glittering sea of lights. There's a breeze off the open ocean and it rattles the glass in the windowframes. There's a rising joy in your soul. "Why'd you ever give it up?" Daud asks. "I fell in love," you say, and he has no answer for that, but he comes to stand next to you, looking out through the glass at the dark ocean. Dunwall retreats into a glowing dot behind you. The dark waves calm your mind. Whatever fate the Outsider has for that hive of a city, whatever destruction might be wrought by the conflict of a witch and a shade, you won't be there to see it. THE END [[REPLAY->Start]]

She takes something out of a pocket. "What the hell is that?" you ask, fascinated. "It's a timepiece," she says. [["Someone]] gave it to me." She hands it to you. "Use it to [[look out the window,"]] she suggests.

"This someone," you ask. "Skinny young guy in a coat? Black eyes?" She nods. Well, there's one piece of the [[puzzle.->"Start talking."]]

It takes you a minute to figure it out. The city through the dirty glass is Dunwall, but some of the buildings are taller, others are missing, and many of them are covered with clambering, twisting vines. You watch, fascinated. There's a witch haunting the balcony of the building opposite you. She blows smoke into the night, and stares right through you, and doesn't see you. You put down the glass. "You said timepiece." You're proud that your voice doesn't shake. "I'm looking at... the future?" "Pleasant, isn't it." The vines... "Delilah..." "Yes," Emily says. "And you..." [["I travelled in time," Emily says.]]

She's very serious. You feel a cold shiver run down your spine. You've seen a lot of strange things in your time, heard of even more, but nothing like this. "You came back in time to save Dunwall?" "No," she says. "I saved Dunwall. I consigned Delilah to the Void, and I took her power. She had part of the Outsider's power, by then. She was half Void herself. I took it all, and I could see how to come back. But not to kill Delilah, although I'll get around to that, too. To fix... everything else." That explains her power, at least. You hear yourself laugh scornfully. "You really think you can fix this world?" "I had to try," she says, simply. You have to turn away from her then, look out the window again at the dark future world. "And what have you changed, then? You killed the Royal Spymaster, did that do any good?" Behind you, she says, [["I killed you."]]

You turn around very, very slowly. "Just once," she says. "Just the first time. I killed you, and Daud, and the other Whalers too. Because you-" She stops, sucks in a breath. "Burrows hired you to kill the Empress. I had to stop you." Your blood runs cold. Regicide. You believe it. Of course you'd kill an Empress, if Daud asked. You've fantasized about it, haven't you? About burning down the Tower, drenching every palace in the Isles in blood? And you believe that Emily could kill you, for all she looks like nothing more than a frightened woman, in this soft, painted room. "In this world you never did it," Emily says. "But you would have, if I hadn't prevented it. So should I still hate you?" There are things you could say. Questions you should ask. But you don't. You just listen to your own breathing. Nothing seems to make sense, any more. She sighs. [["Come here,"]] she says. When did you get so far away from her? There's still time to [[leave,]] even if these revelations will follow at your heels.

She's unbuttoning her coat. [[Well. This might as well happen.]]

[[This won't bring you answers. It won't bring you peace.->continue]] [[But it'll bring the heat, for a brief while at least.->continue]]

She leaves her boots on, but takes the gloves off. You see the Outsider's mark, livid on her pale hand. Despite her fairy-tale name and high class accent, she's no sheltered child. She makes you cry out again and again. But you never lose track of your hidden knives. When it's over your body is tired but your mind is fizzing. You collapse next to her on the big bed. The open window sends a wave of cold air over your bare back. You trace the fall of her straight hair with one finger. "In this future of yours," you ask, "am I still around?" If the answer's no, if she's killed you in the future, well... once warned, you won't just wait around for destiny to get you. "Yes," she says, reluctantly. "But we parted badly." You're not sure you want to know what that means. "How long have you been trying to fix the world?" She closes her eyes. [["Years."]]

It's a noble goal, trying to fix this rotten, filthy world. [[You could help her.]] If any part of you still truly believes that the world can be fixed. You could leave her. Even in this vulnerable moment. You're hard enough to coldly pick another patron, [[Daud->Daud2]] or [[Delilah.]] Or you could give her the advice you'd give yourself. You could [[give her up.]]

"Let me help you," you say. "You can share your power with me, the way Daud and Delilah do. We can take down both of them, we can take down all the killers in this pit of a city, the ones in the alleys and the ones in Parliament." She wants to be convinced, you can tell. You take her hands. Squeeze them. "You don't have to be alone any more. And I'll improve myself. Maybe you hate who I am now but I'll remake myself. I never had a cause before. Never had hope that things could change." "All right," she says, and she smiles, small and tentative and full of relief, like a great weight's been lifted from her. "All right." Maybe you even mean what you're saying. Stranger things have happened. After all, your stupid heart needs someone to love, you know that now, and she's the best of your options. And maybe you're even the best of hers. That's almost romantic. When your mouths meet you close your eyes and think about the fall of empires. THE END [[REPLAY->Start]]

You don't know if Delilah will accept you now. You don't know if Delilah's even still alive. If she is, and if she wants you, then it'll be war. But you're ready for that. You'll do whatever the witch requires of you, if she'll give you the power you crave, and soothe your angry heart with the stench of roses and the sweet pain of thorns and the fog of endless green. THE END [[REPLAY->Start]]

Your coat is on the dresser. The strange timepiece is in one large pocket, next to Dierdre's charm. You take the timepiece out, and hand it back to Emily. "Go back," you say. The words are like ash in your mouth, but you force them out. "Go back to your world. You'll never fix this one. Just by being here you're causing more chaos." She's staring at you like you're a genius. "Chaos," she whispers. "That's it." "Emily-" "If the Outsider is part of me now, then the Void is part of me, too, and it affects this world. When I kill, that ripples outward. But I can go back again- I can get rid of Burrows without killing him, I'll find a way somehow, and then things will finally be balanced." Do you [[believe]] she can do it? Do you trust her to rewrite this past year, reshape this city? Would it be kinder to tell her to [[go home?]]

Emily doesn't say a word as you dress, as you put on your gloves and your mask. You leave in cold, cold silence. Are you returning to Daud simply because he's your safest chance for [[power?]] Or because, despite yourself, you still [[care->the Flooded District.]] about him? Quick, towards the Flooded District.

Do you really think he'll give you any more than he already has? Maybe not. Maybe you can learn to be content with the way things are, with the Whalers. You'll steal and break and kill for Daud until one day, either you or he dies, and the magic is over. Until then, you'll hang on to what you've got. A witch and a demigod are both coming for Daud. But you have warning, now, and you'll fight to protect what's yours. THE END [[REPLAY->Start]]

"What happens to me?" you ask. "If you go back?" "You'll forget," she says. "I'm sorry. But I'll make this better." Your coat is still in your hands. You can feel the weight of the charm, in its pocket. "Could you go back further?" you ask, voice thick. "Could you save my Dierdre?" You hear her suck in a breath. "I don't know," she says. "I've never gone that far- but what's another eight years, on top of fifteen? I could try. But.." She gets quieter. You look up, to see that she's drawn her knees up to her chest, her long fingers steepled, her brow creased. "If I went back that far, why not a little further? I could change Delilah's life." Her gaze shifts from her hands to your face. Her eyes are wide. "But if I repair Delilah's life," she says, "I'll destroy my own." You drop the thick fabric of your coat, and grab her bare hand. "Don't do that," you say. Maybe your heart's frozen solid these days, but being around her reminds you that it still exists. You think that even in a world that had Dierdre restored to it, you'd still regret losing the chance to see Emily's face again. She leans forward and kisses you. "I forgive you, Billie Lurk," she whispers, when you break apart. She stands up, finishes buttoning up her black coat, and snaps the "timepiece" open. "I'll see you in another life," she says, and is gone. THE END [[REPLAY->Start]]

"This world is cruel," you say. "But it's the one we have. I don't care how much power you've got, you can't change that. Someone told me once the Outsider laughs at us. Maybe he laughs because he knows even he can't change it." You shift over to her side of the bed, and start to button up her coat with steady hands. "Go back to your future," you tell her, "and live. And... find me." She laughs. "You won't want me," she says. "I'll be just a child to you. A stubborn, spoiled brat." "I... really doubt that," you say, practicing Understatement. You put the timepiece in her hands, and then you put both your hands on her face and kiss her with everything you've got. "Come find me," you repeat. "I won't forget." "All right," she says. "All right. I'll do my best." "How will we meet?" you ask, as she stands and turns away from you. "You'll help me regain my empire," she says. It finally clicks. "Fuck," you say. "Emily Kaldwin?" She turns her head to smile at you over her shoulder, and then she's gone. The room is terribly empty and quiet after she's gone. An Empress with blood on her hands and dirt on her coat. You can understand why you might have helped put someone like that on a throne. Now you know. There's some kind of a future waiting, fifteen years off. You'll have to stop Delilah from burning it all down now. After that... fifteen years might just be long enough to become someone better. THE END [[REPLAY->Start]]

The Masked Felon only appears at evening, in twilight or the dark past nightfall. She seems to find you when she wants, and so far has defied all your attempts to predict her arrival or track her to her lair. So you wait for her. She finds you eating sweets on the top of one of the tallest buildings in the Tower district. "Really?" she says, voice dripping with disapproval. "Stealing from children?" "Brats won't miss it," you say, unashamed. She snorts in disgust, but folds her long legs to sit down next to you, swinging her feet out over the emptiness. Mere inches of air [[separate you from her.->separate2]] Across the river Dunwall Tower rises, [[white and serene.->white2]]

Stinking water and sinking town houses. The Whalers. Daud. You hope you'll find him there, that he hasn't decided to wander this night. You transverse faster, farther, than you think you ever have before. Constantly expecting someone to catch up to you, but no one does. You run into Cleo first, out on patrol. You grab her shoulder. She flinches away from you but your grip is iron and after a panicked violent second she recognizes you. She doesn't relax, but she lowers her knife. "Billie," she says. "Finished that job early then?" "Where's Daud," you growl. There's a pause. You can't see Cleo's face under the mask, but you suddenly realize what she's thinking. They've been waiting for this, the smarter ones. For you to challenge the old man. There's some calculation happening there. Cleo points, silently, to [[a rooftop above.->rooftop2]] You nod to her, and leap upwards.

Daud is crouched at the edge of the rooftop, under a ledge, out of the worst of the biting wind. He's holding something in his hands. When you get closer, you can see it's a bone charm. He's turning it over and over. "Hello, Billie," he says, without looking up. His tone gives nothing away. You pause, listening to your own ragged breaths. Then you sit down next to him. "You came here in a hurry," he says after a while. "What's happening?" "You first," you say. You have no more stomach for bullshit. He sighs. Looks at the bonecharm. "I haven't seen him in almost a year," he admits. You're silent. "Not a trace, not a whisper," Daud continues. He puts the bonecharm down on the roof tiles with a clack. "Used to be I coudn't get the bastard to leave me alone." You ought to care about that, you know. You remember how obsessed you used to be. But it doesn't seem that important anymore. Nothing seems important, except getting what you want and doing what has to be done. "He's not dead," Daud mutters, "I think I'd lose the Mark if he was dead. He's just... gone." You're not angry at Daud, any more. He just seems sad, and pathetic. There's a part of you, still, that [[doesn't want to do this.]] But the rest of you [[needs it.]]

You take off your mask, and toss it over the edge, watching it disappear into the dark water. "Daud," you say. You take his hand. He looks at you, startled, as though you're a stranger. "Let's get out of here," you say. "There's a ship down at the docks. We can leave. Go to Serkonos, or Tyvia. Do something else besides killing." He blinks, and meets your eyes, and for the first time in eight years you see the man, not the killer. "You think it's that easy?" he asks. [["Why not?"]]

It'll be ironic if you mnage to kill Daud only for Delilah to get herself squashed by the Masked Felon. But you can't seem to feel much worry about that either. "Sorry, Daud. But you knew this was coming." THE END [[REPLAY->Start]]

White as [[bone.->touch her.]]

Close enough that you could reach out and [[touch her.]]

When your gloved hand touches hers she jerks back, shuddering violently. You're surprised she doesn't transpose away. You don't move your hand. "Look," you say, "I'm just trying to figure out what you want from me." You've never been the seductive type. Either she's interested in you for who you are, dirt and grit and all, or this is doomed from the start. "You should have listened to me," she says, sadness and anger in her voice. "You should have stayed away from Delilah." "Are you going to kill her?" you ask. "Yes," the Masked Felon says. "Are you going to kill Daud?" [[A pause.]]

Inside that pause, you have time to think, Daud might already be dead. You're not sure if the thought makes you feel anything. "I'm not sure," she says. "If you kill both of them," you say, "you'll be cutting me off entirely. And I can't. I can't go back to being no one. To seeing only the surface of the world. I've never seen him. The Outsider. He won't talk to me. If you're going to kill both of them at least share your power. You have so much of it." You clamp your jaw shut. You didn't mean to say so much so fast. She turns her head to look directly at you. "Oh, Billie," she says. "You don't need it. You can survive without it. Believe me." "Why should I?" you say bitterly. "I don't even know your name." A drawn-out pause, then she says, "My name is [[Emily.->Emily2]]"

Emily. It's such a soft name. The name of the princess, up there in that tower. A name from a bedtime story, not a horror story of masked murderers with dark powers. "Why don't you know if you're going to kill Daud?" you ask. You sound hoarse in your own ears. Tired. "If you hadn't killed Radanis Abele," she says, "and he'd come to regret his action, and do everything in his power to try and repent for it... and then, fifteen years later... you were given the chance to go back in time and save her... after you'd saved her, would you kill him?" You forget your plan. You jump to your feet, and stumble backwards. "How the fuck," you snarl, "do you know me? How do you know me?" Her hand grabs at your sleeve. You let yourself be pulled in, and then reach out with both hands, and snatch at the mask. [[She doesn't resist.->resist2]]

Her face almost disappears into the nighttime shadows of her hood, but you see the sharp planes of a face far too young for those burning brown eyes. "I keep trying to fix it," she says. "And I did!" For a moment she's bitterly triumphant, and both frighteningly young and disturbingly ancient. "I stopped the plague, and all it took was one death!" The Spymaster, or someone else? "But m- the Empress kept dying, I had to keep trying different things..." The triumph is gone, leaving only exhaustion. "I saved her," Emily mutters. "But there's still flood, still plague, still death, everywhere, always..." You drop the mask. It hits the ground with a clatter. You want to back away, but you have nowhere to run to, not now. You have to [[take her hand.->hand2]]

The townhouse isn't yours, but the owner's fled town in fear of plague and the housekeeper's gone home hours ago. The bed is wide and soft. She sits on the edge of it. You lean against the wall, and look at her face, now that you have the opportunity to. She's as sharp as Delilah, and in fact there's an almost familial similarity there; they have the same hunger, the same anger, in a pale face like a burning flame. "Take your shoes off," you suggest. "Relax a little." She ignores that, but she leans back against the headboard. "Come over here," she says. "Stop skulking in the shadows. Let me see you." Hypocrite, you think, but you obey. She's got a naturally commanding tone. It makes you want to be contrary. It makes you want to cut her throat. You [[come over there.]]

She's unbuttoning her coat. [[This is what you wanted.]] What other options do you have? And you do want it, yes, not just to further your plans. The motion of her body as she shrugs out of the coat is enough to set your heart pounding.

She leaves her boots on, but takes the gloves off. You see the Outsider's mark, livid on her pale hand. Despite her fairy-tale name and high class accent, she's no sheltered child. She makes you cry out again and again. But you never lose track of your hidden knives. When it's over your body is tired but your mind is fizzing. You collapse next to her on the big bed. The open window sends a wave of cold air over your exposed shoulders. Her eyes are closed. Your knife is in your hand. Moment of truth: do you [[go through]] with this? Strike her down, silencing all those mysteries? Do Delilah's dirty work for her, in hopes that she'll grant you some measure of power? Do you have any choice? Of course you do. There's always choice. You could try and [[ally with her instead.]] Or you could just [[walk away from it all.]]

You make no noise, raising the knife and plunging it down. Into the down-filled mattress. Black smoke clouds your vision for a moment. There's an arm across your neck. "Oh, Billie," Emily whispers, as intimate as a lover. "Surely you didn't think I'd ever lower my guard around you." You say nothing. "I'll give you one chance," she says, "which is more than you ever gave my mother. Leave my city. I never want to see you here again." [[You don't need to be told twice.->the docks.]]

"All right," you say. [["Start talking."->talking2]]

She doesn't try to stop you, or call you back. Part of you is waiting for- something. But there's nothing. You don't know if Daud, or Delilah for that matter, is dead or alive. The city stretches out in front of you, as filthy and cruel as always. Your home. You head towards [[the docks.]]

She takes something out of a pocket. "What the hell is that?" you ask, fascinated. "It's a timepiece," she says. "Someone gave it to me." She hands it to you. "Use it to [[look out the window,"->window2]] she suggests.

"In this future of yours," you ask, "am I still around?" If the answer's no, if she's killed you in the future, well... once warned, you won't just wait around for destiny to get you. "Yes," she says, reluctantly. "But we parted badly." You're not sure you want to know what that means. "How long have you been trying to fix the world?" She closes her eyes. [["Years."]]

"All right," you say. Delilah smiles. "Are you sure you can handle the other one?" you ask. "I've seen her power. She might be too much for you." "It's sweet of you to worry about me," Delilah purrs. "Just hold up your end, and I'll give you all the power you could want. The Whalers will be yours." "And what do you get?" you ask, but she only leans back and waves you away. "Tonight," she says. "It has to happen [[tonight.]]"

"All right," you say, "I'll think about it- if you'll call off your friends." The roots slither away. You pause for a moment, and then reach, transposing right behind her, knife to her throat. "Never try to trap me again," you growl. She laughs, low in her chest, and it's crazy and it turns you on. You shove her away. "I'll contact you, Lurk," she calls, as you transpose back out the window. You don't head back the way you came, but west towards the Legal District. Dawn is approaching, and the dock workers will be up soon, so you're a little more careful to [[stick to the shadows.]]

The figure cuts a striking silhouette against the night. Slender, in a dark coat. Gloved hands. A skull-like mask, metallic and glinting. You close your eyes, reach into the Void, open your eyes again. The figure blazes. A silhouette wrought of gold fire, so bright it's blinding. You gasp, and your hands slip on the drainpipe, and your mind slips away from that other way of seeing, and now you're nearly blind, colored spots bursting on the surface of your eyeballs. "It's you," you whisper. It has to be. You've been waiting so long for this moment, and now it's here. Will you [[beg for his favor?->1]] Or [[ask him the questions that burn in your heart?->2]] Or perhaps [[scream at him for his cruelty?->3]] [[Or you could just crouch here on the wall, frozen and stupid.->4]]

Your throat is dry as paper, but you swallow, and whisper, [["Please."->1a]]

[[Why does the Abbey hate him so?->Before1]] [[What does he want with this world, really?->Before1]] [[What happens to people when they die?->Before1]] [[ With all his power, why doesn't he ever change things himself?->Before1]] [[Why not me?->Before1]]

Deirdre prayed to him, and he left her to die slowly, alone, in a gutter. He's not worthy of prayer. He's not worth anything. [[Now you have the chance to tell him that.->3a]]

[[If you're unlucky, you'll hit a spiked fence.->far1]]

You were put in this world to kill one man, and you did it. You have no regrets. [[But this isn't the way you wanted to die.->way1]]

Something catches you and yanks. You're tossed unceremoniously up onto the rooftop again, slammed into the tiles hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs and, it feels like, bruise your ribs. "Careful," the Masked Felon says. You're slow, scrambling to your feet. You're breathing hard. It's just tethering. You've done it yourself a million times with bottles, weapons, coins. And you've seen Daud do it to people. You shouldn't be this shaken. She has power, all right. This time you don't lunge. You move forward slowly. You touch the mask with your gloved hand, and reach for the edge, to pull it off. Her fingers wrap around your wrist. "Don't get involved with Delilah," she says. "Show me your face," you demand. But she steps back, and is gone in a drift of chilly black. [[You're left alone, and completely at a loss.->loss1]]

[[PART TWO->two]]

You spend a lot of time [[outside the city walls, in the Mutcherhaven District, now.]]

"I can do it," you say, and you're not sure if it's Delilah you're trying to convince, or yourself. "Good," Delilah says, smiling like a cat who's got the cream. "And you'll take care of Daud?" "Oh, yes. Don't you worry about him. Tomorrow, the Whalers will be yours." [[And that's what you wanted, isn't it?]]

[["Water all around, endless cold death, but warm in here, warm and safe."->the docks.]]