Thomas turned and shot at the figure (where the fuck had he even come from?!) before the voice had even finished speaking while the others instinctively Transversed away to surround their unexpected eavesdropper. When the new arrival failed to so much as flinch at the hostile response, Thomas warily signed for his subordinates to standby, taking the time to analyze the newcomer.

His mask, Thomas was uneasy to note, looked much more intimidating in person. Especially when the wearer in question was casually holding and examining the bolt Thomas had instinctively shot at him. Had he...caught it?

"Good aim," the man praised flatly, unnerving mask giving nothing away as he mockingly pocketed the bolt. "Not good enough, but that's not your fault. Now, if you're done shooting at me, I'll ask again. What business do the Whalers have with me?"

"Not quite sure yet," Thomas answered lightly, hoping his tone hid the still frantic tempo of his heart. He hadn't let an enemy sneak up on him like that in years, Daud was going to have them practicing stealth drills for weeks.

"Boss hasn't made up his mind," he continued with a careless shrug.

The Felon stared him down in incredulous silence while his subordinates watched on warily, masks inscrutable. "The Knife doesn't particularly strike me as an indecisive man." The gruff voice was unamused and sardonic.

"He's not," Thomas drawled carefully, "but he doesn't act on incomplete information either. The boss wants a word with you about a situation that's come up. It's in your best interest if you come with us quietly."

"Daud wants a word with me?" The mask did little to muffle the ensuing sigh of irritated incredulity. Thomas didn't think he'd ever heard Daud's name spoken outside of the Whalers with so little fear or reverence. "Of fucking course he does. I knew things were going too well."

Thomas slowly flexed his hands, ready to call on his abilities at a moment's notice. Based on the Masked Felon's attitude, he did not see this encounter ending smoothly.

"Fuck it, why not? I'll see what the Knife has to say." The Felon agreed with bad grace.

Thomas faltered a moment at the easy acquiescence before scrambling to recover his wits. "Oh – uh, yes. Right. Glad you could see sense." He knew Rulfio would be laughing at how Thomas was fumbling right now if the man wasn't so bewildered himself. Quinn has no such issue judging by how her shoulders were shaking imperceptibly beneath her coat. Forcibly disregarding the absurdity of the situation at hand – he couldn't think of a single target that had ever agreed to cooperate just because he'd asked - Thomas wrenched his focus back on task. He could afford to recount the strangeness of the situation later, when he wasn't confronting a clearly dangerous and possibly unhinged man with nothing but a couple of novices.

"Quinn, get his weapons and search him thorough. You can have your things back when we let you leave." He told the ghoulish specter, tone uncompromising.

"If Daud lets me leave, you mean. I'm well aware of your group's bloody reputation." The Felon corrected with dry humor as Quinn methodically patted him down.

Thomas could only shrug in sheepish agreement.

They all looked up at Quinn's gasp. She was peering into the satchel she'd confiscated from the Felon, and Thomas could practically see her gaping like an idiot even with the mask.

"What is it, Quinn?" Thomas moved closer for a look.

"Uh, um – well," she stuttered. Then Thomas got an eyeful and it was his turn to gape, Rulfio not far behind him.

"I'll know if any of that goes missing," the Felon warned, amused. Like he wasn't a man carrying a fucking fortune in coins surrounded by a posse of assassins who killed people for money.

"Can I ask…how?" Rulfio asked weakly. Thomas woodenly took the satchel from Quinn, closed it, and shouldered it over his coat to free her hands.

"Yeah," the Felon responded.

"…How?" Rulfio demanded incredulously.

"None of your damn business," the Felon answered with almost sadistic satisfaction.

Rulfio looked to Thomas and he could just tell that his pitiful subordinate was only barely resisting the urge to strangle someone. Thomas could not wait to see what Daud made of their Felon. He gave it half odds that one of them would set the other off.

Thomas knew that if Daud deemed the Masked Felon to be too much of a threat he'd have no compunctions about killing the man, though personally the Whaler rather doubted it would come to that. So far, the Felon had given no signs of harboring hostile or malicious intent towards any of them – honestly, he was acting more like a longsuffering but indulgent relative than anything else to the bemusement and dismay of Thomas' already wounded ego.

And on top of being relatively friendly – whatever that even meant in Dunwall anymore – the Felon was an oddity, an unknown in every sense of the word. He was a skilled man of unknown origins and motivations and apparently one of the Marked, among other things. Thomas was more than familiar enough with Daud's fascination for all things strange and complex to know that the Felon would catch his interest.

He was sure Daud would also be eager to learn where the fuck the Felon found that much coin. It can't have all been from the Abbey – it just couldn't.

Thomas snapped back to attention as the man jerked away from Quinn's outstretched hands. "The mask stays," he rumbled warningly.

Quinn glanced back to Thomas inquiringly. He gave a slight nod in answer. "For now," the Whaler allowed cautiously. "Gonna make breathing a little difficult for this next part though," he warned, pulling out a dark hood and holding it out for inspection. "Can't have you knowing where we're headed."

Once again, all the action garnered was a mild huff of irritation. "Paranoid bastards," the Felon muttered resentfully as the covering was pulled over his head, effectively cutting off his sight.

"You've kind of cooperated, so we'll let you keep your hands free for now. Try not to do anything stupid," Thomas advised drolly. He was almost positive he heard a muffled, 'too late,' in response. Firmly grasping the Felon by the shoulder, Thomas took off in a series of Transversals that would bring them back to the Flooded District.

Corvo couldn't say what exactly it was that had him agreeing to go along with the Whalers. Curiosity was definitely a factor, he'd always had a bad habit of sticking his nose where it didn't belong: a trait that had benefitted him greatly during his time as Emily's spymaster. Another part was petty spite and satisfaction from knowing he'd completely blindsided the unreadable assassins with both his unexpected appearance and compliance – Corvo had never quite forgotten (or forgiven) how easily the Whalers had first caught him unaware all those years ago. It was incredibly cathartic having the situation reversed – now Corvo held all the cards while the Whalers floundered around him in uncertainty and wariness.

In the end, the deciding factor had been Daud. Corvo knew that the leader of the Whalers was not someone whose attention he could safely afford. If there was one thing Corvo had ever admired about the Whalers, it was their aptitude for fulfilling whatever task was given to them. And if Daud had given the order to bring him in, well – Corvo imagined he would've been brought up before the man sooner or later. Better sooner while it was still mostly on his own terms (though he deeply resented the hood considering he was already well aware of where the Whalers made their home – not that his captors needed to know that).

Besides, if things started to go south he could always escape easily enough. The Whalers were assassins, not jailers – he still remembered the flimsy, vermin-ridden pit they'd thrown him into when they'd captured him the first go-round. They'd been woefully unprepared to keep any prisoners, let alone one bearing the Outsider's Mark. He sincerely doubted that had changed.

And if they attacked him first, well…Corvo didn't need his weapons to be dangerous.

When the Whaler holding him finally stopped Blinking, there was a moment of silence before they were assaulted by a cacophony of intrusive questions and badgering. Ignoring the crowd with the ease of long practice, the Whaler at his shoulder shifted slightly, tugging Corvo some distance away from the people and the noise until he was made to sit in a chair and told to stay. Dark Vision activated, the Serkonan did as he was told and waited for company. By the time someone finally came around to remove the hood from his head, he'd determined himself to be in the line of sight of at least four different Whalers spread out around the room.

Then he blinked the Vision away to find himself mask-to-face with a man he hadn't seen outside of wanted posters for over a decade. Daud, the infamous Knife of Dunwall.

His was not a face Corvo had ever forgotten.

Feeling excessively grateful for the mask hiding whatever expression was twisting his face, Corvo watched as the assassin tucked away the hood while considering him shrewdly. Seeing the red-cloaked Whaler, young, familiar blade tucked at his side (left in regret but the blood already spilled and too late, too late, you cannot save her)… Jarring was not a strong enough word for how Corvo felt.

"Not many people have the nerve to challenge the Overseers in their own home," the Knife rasped bluntly, gloved hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. "Even less of those have the skill to get away with it. You're a dangerous man, Felon." Daud declared, a mocking lilt to his tone.

Corvo almost laughed aloud at the hypocrisy of that statement. As if Daud himself wasn't one of the most dangerous individuals Corvo had ever met. He awkwardly covered up the response with a cough, though judging by the man's slightly raised brow he'd only been partially successful. Corvo's black humor drained away at the sight of that scarred face.

Staring balefully from behind dull lenses, Corvo finally addressed Jessamine's once and potentially future killer. "Call me Crow. I can't take you people seriously when you use the Abbey's ridiculous title. 'The Masked Felon' – honestly." Corvo huffed in exasperation, just barely maintaining enough self-control to keep from rolling his eyes. Out of everything, he still couldn't believe that name was the one that followed him to the past.

Daud's other brow had risen to join its twin before his expression reverted back to neutral. "I notice you didn't deny anything," he observed with bland patience.

Corvo shrugged noncommittally. "Don't see the point. It's mostly true," he responded unhelpfully.

Daud nodded, eyeing Corvo flatly. "But that's not all there is either. I know a great deal, Crow. I know about the one who talks to you in the dark – the one who appears when you visit the shrines. He gave me a gift some time ago. I suspect he did the same for you." Daud deliberately allowed his gaze to drop to Corvo's gloved hands before flicking them back to his mask.

Corvo's eyes narrowed as he huffed, unimpressed. He stripped the glove from his left hand, holding it up so that the back faced Daud. "It's not exactly something I was hiding. Your men deduced as much before bringing me here."

The assassin tilted his head, eyes glittering dangerously. "So they did. But the Mark isn't what concerns me – it's you." Daud began pacing, steps slow and methodical, shark-like gaze never leaving Corvo. "He doesn't pick us at random, Crow. He Marks us as vessels of chaos, of change." The assassin walked around until he was looming at Corvo's vulnerable back. "And after the mess you made of the Abbey, I can't help but wonder what more you plan to do here in Dunwall before you're finished," Daud rumbled menacingly.

A beat passed in silence as Corvo deliberated over the Knife's concerns and accusations. His eventual response was soft, but unshakeable. "I'm going to fix it."

Daud scoffed dismissively at his back, "Bold statement from a simple thief."

"Yes, and I'm sure the former High Overseer would've agreed with you." Corvo shot back smugly. Daud stilled behind him.

"So that was you," the assassin murmured thoughtfully.

Corvo shrugged indifferently. "The people are dying," he continued quietly, "and no one is doing anything about it."

A hint of anger entered his tone. "The Empress tries, but her court is corrupt and blocking her at every turn. The Abbey only cares about hunting down heretics whether they're guilty or not. Dunwall's people aren't strong enough to stand up for themselves and demand better – the increased class gap has seen to that. And while everyone is sitting around twiddling their thumbs, the rats breed and the plague spreads. Dunwall is rotting from the inside." His hands sluggishly curled into fists as his frustration grew.

"Surely you've noticed?" He hissed.

Daud ambled his way back into Corvo's line of sight, expression tight and pensive. "We've noticed," the assassin cautiously acknowledged.

"Are you going stop me?" Corvo asked lowly.

Daud stared back levelly. "That depends. Is your little crusade going to interfere with my people?"

"So long as you leave the Kaldwins and their Protector alone, no. I've no interest in your group." Corvo ground out reluctantly.

After a long moment, Daud dipped his head in reluctant agreement. "Very well. So long as you leave me and mine alone, we won't interfere."

Corvo abruptly stood up and strode forward before sticking his hand out to the recalcitrant assassin. He stoically ignored the skyrocketing tension from the other Whalers in the room at his sudden movement. "Agreed."

Daud hesitated only a moment before briskly clasping his offered hand. "Agreed," he echoed darkly.

Later that night, long after Crow had gone and Daud had finally stolen a moment of rest for himself, the assassin jerked awake to a sight he hadn't seen for years.

The Void.

Mesmerizing swirls of blue and violet bled across what should've been Dunwall's dreary, smog-covered skyline while the melodies of leviathans reverberated in his bones, calling to something inside of him Daud had thought long buried. The Outsider was near.

With trepidation shivering up his spine, Daud heaved himself up from the bed and ventured further into the abyss, past the familiar wooden planks of the old Chamber of Commerce until he was surrounded by nothing but the jagged and uneven islets of the Void. Shadows writhed across the ground as he reached the last isle in sight, coalescing into a well-known figure. The black-eyed bastard hadn't changed a bit since Daud had last seen him over a decade ago.

As for why he'd deigned to show up now, Daud could take a wild guess.

"Daud, my old friend, it's been a long while."

The assassin bared his teeth distastefully. "Not nearly long enough."

The deity showed no outward reaction, but Daud could sense his cruel amusement regardless. "You're right about why I'm here, of course. Our elusive Crow is quite the fascinating character."

Thinking back to the restrained fervor hidden behind gruffly spoken words, a skull-faced specter with empty eyes, Daud couldn't bring himself to muffle a scornful snort. "I suppose that's one word for it," Daud muttered sardonically.

Here the Outsider's voice took on an almost chiding tone in response to Daud's caustic dismissal. "You treated him with a surprisingly soft touch considering the blood on your hands. Why is that, I wonder?"

"What are you trying to insinuate?" Daud growled in irritation.

As usual, his question was ignored. Thoughtfully, the Outsider continued to speak. "When I gave you my Mark, you were desperate, destitute. All you had to your name was your hard-won freedom and the knife you'd used to earn it. You created the Whalers for profit, but that wasn't your only motivation. Once, you too desired to cleanse this city: just like our obstinate Crow. You wanted to be more than the weapon they made you. When did you lose that passion, old friend?"

The assassin snarled, but held his tongue.

"Did you know that there are only eight like you in the world, bearing my Mark? I don't choose you lightly – and your story is yet unfinished. You've got my interest again, Daud. I will be watching…with unusual attention."

Once again, Daud snapped awake, the ever-present stench of the sewer in his nose. He cursed creatively and pinched the bridge of his nose in despair. Change was on the horizon, and the Knife was not looking forward to it.