A Collection Of Short Writing. @Acidjib on twitter

Dunwall’s Finest Hour

Dunwall’s finest hour.

I… The Outsider, have done something… delightful. As the patrons of Dunwall celebrate a fool and a genius, a young boy slinks his way across the rooftops, bearing my mark and wielding my gifts, he is a shade. Betrayed by the fury of his parents, and thrown by his father and his drunken companions into Wrenhaven River. They thought him dead. They didn’t anticipate… divine intervention.

Daud crawled across the slippery slates used to roof the upper-class building where the Sokolov family resides. He lay flat on the shingles and pulled himself, aided by the sleek of the rain, to the edge of the building. Below him was a lower rooftop, with access to a large circular window. Daud paused and prepared himself for what was about to happen. But a small pain disintegrated his concentration. The dark mark branded into his left hand still stung and he rotated his palm in front of him, still unsure if he was awake. Daud squeezed the emblem hard sending sharp pains through his body. He wasn’t dreaming. This was happening; The Outsider had truly gifted him.

Daud gripped his knife tightly in his hand, attempting to find a position that was least likely to slip due to the rain. The malicious weapon had belonged to a whaler, given to Daud as he and his family left Serkonos and travelled to Gristol. A last resort for his father, and as the situation failed to get better, he failed to stay sober.

‘Breathe, prepare and execute.’ He whispered the motto of the whalers to himself as he pushed the rain saturated hair from his face.

A quick mental countdown from three and he dropped to the lower roof. A small skid, slip, grab and fall and he learnt to never underestimate the rains ability to remove all grip from his soft homemade shoes. He was left clinging to the edge of the roof with his left hand, and couldn’t risk losing the knife in his right. ‘Smooth Daud, Smooth.’ he muttered to himself and pulled himself up enough to see in through the circular window. His small fall had remained unnoticed by the three occupants: a happy mother, father and son. An angry jealousy surged through Daud, and The Overseers mark on his hand glowed ever so slightly. He tensed up his legs into a horizontal crouch and pushed up and back, leaping from the wall like an uncoiling spring. For a moment he hung in the air above the iron spears that made up the front wall to the Sokolov household, and in that moment he vanished. The gift of The Overseer: Traversal of short distances in a flicker of a second.

Daud smashed through the glass of the window and ignored the slices being made into his clothing, skin and muscles and powered towards the family who were turning too late to see their doom raining down upon them. Moving like smoke through a cloud he severed all four of the mother’s jugular veins and grabbed the father by the throat pushing him up against the wall, the bloodied whaler knife held aloft above his head.

‘I… I…’ The fear in the Tyvian man’s eyes was almost erotic to Daud, wishing to see the same pain in his father soon. The blade dropped and punctured the father’s skull with a definitive crunch.

The mother had fallen to her knees with her hands desperately trying to contain the vital fluid pouring between her fingers. Daud snatched the crying ten year old child and dragged him across the floor to the other side of the room, slamming him hard into the woodwork and holding him there, the knife pointed at his eye.

‘I know who you are, Anton.’ The young boy’s tearful eyes filled with a mix of anger and fear hearing his name. ‘I need your creation, now! I want my father to feel the pain only you have been able to deliver.’ Anton’s body was frozen with fear, but his eyes moved enough to give away his projects hiding place. A small antique clock that blended into the wall so well Daud hadn’t seen it yet. ‘Thanks.’ Daud threw the boy to one side where he landed in a crumpled heap on the ground. Inside the clock Daud found Sokolov’s box, he opened it carefully; knowing what he was looking for could become fatal in a second. Once the small wooden box was all the way open, Daud finally felt safe retrieving the small coil of razor sharp wires held in place by a proximity trigger. Once tripped the device would let the blade like metal fly wild in a two foot radius.

‘Thanks for testing this on rats Anton. If I hadn’t seen you none of this would be possible.’ He had watched the young Sokolov from above and once he saw the capabilities of the item Daud instantly knew what he wanted to do with it.


‘Son? Thank The Outsider! I thought you were dead!’

‘You wanted me dead father! You brought me to this, you…’ Daud was lost for words; all he could accomplish was staring angrily through the rain. Daud was fifty feet from his father, who was stood under a streetlamp that highlighted every drop of rain that fell between them. Daud was no longer covered in the Sokolov’s blood, the rain had seen to that, but he still didn’t want to be seen by any onlookers, not that it mattered now that he had been identified as ‘son’.

‘I… I didn’t Daud! I promise!’ Daud recognised the insincere sincerity in his father’s voice, as it had been used on his mother countless times.

‘I know you didn’t Dad.’ I’m just so happy I lived to see you again!’

‘Oh son!’ Daud’s father began a sloshy jog through the rain filled street adjacent to the Whale Oil factory and embraced his son. ‘I am so sorry!’

‘I’m sorry too dad.’ Daud tried to resist tears as he hugged his father back.

‘Son, I…’

‘No more dad. I’m tired of your crap.’ Daud slotted the Spring Razor down the back of his father’s work trousers and pulled out of his embrace. He got one look at his fathers’ confused and upset face before delivering a kick to the man’s stomach that pushed him back, stumbling five feet before falling to the rain soaked cobbles.

‘Son I will fu-’ The Spring Razors tripped. The sound of metal scraping on metal filled the air as sharp whips sliced through Daud’s father. One long shard broke free of the device and sliced Daud’s face, narrowly missing his right eye, but leaving a long gash that began bleed heavily.

‘Damn! I knew I should have killed Sokolov once I got his stupid prototype.’ Once Daud recovered from his wound he turned to see his father. The man was on his back staring up into the street lamp. He was missing both his legs and an arm, the cleanest stumps of flesh remained. A deep crimson stream flowed with the rain, draining towards the river nearby.

‘Son…’ Daud’s father gasped.

‘Shh… Be quiet now father.’ Daud closed his eyes, and readied his blade.

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