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Published:
2022-07-01
Updated:
2022-07-25
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3/27
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Mercy

Summary:

Follows each target within the Dishonored series after their various downfalls.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: Thaddeus Campbell

Summary:

Thaddeus Campbell, branded a heretic and cast out of the Abbey, ponders the events that led to his downfall.

Chapter Text

It was on the third day he’d worked out it was Corvo.

The skin had started to peel away from the raw burn pressed into his face; layers upon layers of sweltered, reddened strips that stung like fire as they came away. Crying out through clenched teeth, Campbell felt a memory surface.

Half-conscious. Wrists bound in iron. Scorching heat plastering his vision. Through the heat and the haze, a mask. A visage of death, forcing the brand into his flesh.

And the worst part, Campbell reasoned to himself as he nursed his swollen face, was that Corvo thought he was being clever. And perhaps, in a twisted way, he was. He seemed to instinctively know that Campbell would’ve much preferred to die.

But now here he was, huddling himself beside an open fire in the dark and winding sewers. The flame cast a pitifully dim light a few feet in each direction, but still utter blackness enveloped him every which way he looked. His food stores; a mangled, half-eaten blood sausage and a gritty cutting of stale bread, would last him a day at most.

Strangely enough, his oncoming death or the loss of his luxuries didn’t press on his mind as much as they had at first. When the shock of waking up to being thrown onto the grimy pavement had worn off, what weighed on him most was that he didn’t see this coming. And if Campbell hadn’t foreseen this, he was damned sure no one else would.

At times, he ranted to himself aloud, knowing it was of no consequence should anyone hear. He cursed the cruel irony of having Corvo exactly where they needed him for six months, only for him to escape mere hours before the axe was to fall. And now the man stalked the city as a vengeful shadow, wearing that mask as if no one would be able to figure out that he was the one man with both the ability and the motive to tear everything down. Campbell, however, took some bitter comfort from his deductions. A small victory to be found within his downfall.

Equally, he knew Hiram had absolutely no chance of coming to the same conclusions. That ranting, decrepit old fool whose reach would long have exceeded his grasp were it not for Campbell’s counsel. Without him, everything was only weeks away from falling to pieces. This was not vanity on Campbell’s part, just a simple fact. But how superior to him could he claim to be, festering in a sewer and at last claiming knowledge that would only have been of any help before the weight of Corvo’s retribution had fallen upon him? There were so many questions Campbell asked himself over the gloomy days. Questions he at last had time to answer.

Some days after the food ran out, nostalgia overtook him. He desperately tried to trace his mistakes back further, to well before the usurpers’ conspiracy was something any of them would even be capable of.

Born into a wealthy family whose foundations crumbled under the weight of ancient secrets, his mother had taught him the subtle art of social espionage. Of existing between circles, within and without. Gathering information, whispering insipid untruths and watching the world around him burn and bend to his will. He had been fascinated by how adept she had been at weaving endless webs of secrets, ensnaring all those she knew in her machinations. But when her actions finally caught up to her, he swore to himself and to the ghost of her that he would not commit the same errors. And to his credit, his mistakes were entirely his own.

His years under his mother’s wing and the contacts he had accrued led him to finding a weak spot within the Abbey of the Everyman, which he exploited to the hilt. And once his position became untouchable, hubris began to overtake him. He pushed the boundaries of his role, everyday bathing himself in filth and debauchery of all kinds. Heresy, drugs, blasphemy, pleasures of the flesh. In truth, barely any of it appealed to him all that much beyond the thrill of knowing that none could break him no matter how many of his strictures he violated.

While Campbell was High Overseer, he devoutly worshipped himself. His black book was his talisman that he wielded against all who would blaspheme his doctrines. Even as the extent of his heresy became a badly kept secret among many of Dunwall’s high ranking Overseers, he knew that not one of them could oust him without bringing everything down with him. And in that regard, he was right. Because none of them did.

Over the weeks, as the damp and cold settled into his bones, Campbell’s hunger ensured that most of his upper class pride decayed. Though even as he took to begging in the streets, he refused to forgo his High Overseer rags. A man must maintain some dignity, he told himself. That absent thought became his mantra.

The plague took him gratifyingly quickly. The symptoms set in within days, and his mind was gone a week later. For a short time, he pondered on who or what he had come into contact with that could’ve led him to contracting the plague. He never would’ve guessed that it had been dormant since his last liaison in his hidden chamber.

Chapter 2: Custis Pendleton

Summary:

Lord Custis Pendleton begins his new life, slaving away in the mines he once owned.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Swing. Crack.

Custis ignored the dull aching building slowly into his muscles. He had learned the consequences of falling behind.

Swing. Crack.

Pathetic hunks of silver ore chipped and fell away from the imposing stone before him. He had never seen the metal in its raw form before today.

He allowed himself a cursory glance to his right as the foreman rounded a corner. His twin brother, Morgan, stood hunched over as Custis had never seen him before. Shaking limbs, bloodied rags, a glint of terror in his eye that reminded him of their baby brother from long ago. Custis, by nature, didn’t often feel for the plights of others. But seeing his tall, proud brother reduced to this stirred an impulse he didn’t realise he had. The drive to protect his family, not just what its name represented.

Swing. Crack. Swing. Crack.

Morgan kept perfect time as Custis looked on with a measure of disgust. Part of him wanted to snatch the pickaxe from his hands and cast it into the earth, to scream at him the virtues of maintaining one’s station even when no one was watching.

But there was something else. That impulse again, buried deep but persisting.

And suddenly Custis wanted to grab him by the arm and just run. Get him away from this dreadful pit and back to civilisation, away from the fumes and whips and bodies.

But it was all futile. There was nothing he could do.

Swing. Crack.

He went over it again in his head, just to occupy his mind. The jagged cleavers and rocks that caved in the windows. The mud and brine they tracked onto the faded carpets. Those crooked-toothed men.

She just stood there and watched as the gag was forced between his teeth. What was her name, Bella? Betty? All sweet smiles and awkward curtsies. She stood back and barely reacted as he was beaten to the floor. The last thing he saw as his old life ended was the corner of her mouth, upturned ever so slightly. In that moment, Custis had seen her true smile.

And then, as it had Morgan, the fear overtook him. That singular, indomitable self-preservation instinct that had driven him all his life. His immutable instinct to trample over everyone and anything to survive. No, not just survive, the Pendletons had never just survived. The Pendletons had stood above them all.

That drive was pointless now and fading fast. What Custis felt was far simpler. For the first time in his life, he simply wanted to survive.

Swing. Crack.

For a moment, he took some strange pleasure in knowing that he was the most important in this room. More important than any of these hopeless sheep could ever hope to be, even if it didn't seem that way right now. Custis resolved that good breeding and a title were more than enough to temper his spirit. Yes, he was scared, and he readily admitted it to himself. But he would not allow this to break him as easily as it had these fools with no future beyond begging and starving in the muck.

Custis reasoned with himself that this could not possibly be forever. And when he finally got out, his return would be glorious. His revenge would be swift and merciless. He would need to ensure none would dare to plot against the good name of Pendleton again. And for a moment, he almost believed what he was saying. He very nearly did.

But Custis was smarter than that. And as the erstwhile owner of the mines he was now enslaved within, he knew the hard truth better than most.

They did not want them to escape, so they took their means of doing so. They did not want them to speak, so they took their tongues. They did not want them to have identities, so they took their hair, clothes and belongings. They did not want them to have names, and so they no longer did.

Lord Custis Pendleton raised his axe.

Swing. Crack.

Notes:

Hi again! I wanted to thank everyone who read and commented on my first chapter, was really nice to hear feedback from people! :) this chapter is a little shorter which may happen sometimes depending on the kind of ideas I have for various characters,, anyway, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 3: The Forgotten Conspirator

Summary:

A conniving old woman, her life collapsing around her, flees into the sewers from the ensuing fallout. As a fugitive from the law with very little left to lose, she comes across a fascinating figure who may just restore her fractured faith in the world, or destroy it completely.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As her faded, cheap linens sank into the muck, the old woman felt herself sinking with them. She stared down morosely at the set of dainty footprints that littered the sewers that led to open air and the much larger, deeper ones that came with them. Stupid brat.
And how stupid was she, letting this happen when this was hardly an unforeseen outcome? She cursed her bad luck, seething as the sweat and make-up ran down her cheek.
She had tangled herself into a far reaching conspiracy, consorting with the most powerful men in the empire. Men immeasurably more powerful than her.
Her best hope now was to disappear and hope those men had bigger concerns than her. So far she had been lucky to slip away with only bruises on her neck.

She gasped aloud as the sound of harsh boots interrupted her stream of terror. A watch captain yelled out something incoherent. Her old, crumbling home once again brimming with violent men.
The weepers groaned and cried out mere feet away. They could not see her, but she saw them. Some of them she even recognised.
Nina Hepworth was an old, tired woman. Not quite tired enough to resign herself to the muck just yet, but with the blades to one side and sickness to the other, it looked as if that choice was being made for her.

A flash of sickly green light brought her gaze from the muddied stone. Her tear-stained eyes gazed in bewilderment at the figure that had appeared before her.

She was beautiful.

It had been quite some time since Nina had seen another human being and been genuinely stunned by their appearance.
The figure wore her hair up in a tight bun, not a strand out of place. She wore no make-up, but her features were sharp and distinctive. Her beady eyes scanned the sewer with a fiery purpose.
Nina was especially astonished at the woman's clothes. Tangling weaves of vast branches covered her flesh, shoulder to wrist and thigh to ankle. Atop the glistening grey of plant matter, she wore a prim black jacket with a simple copper brooch upon it.

Nina could barely think as the woman's eyes reached her.
"Have you come to take me away?" Nina mumbled, her voice weak.
The woman knelt down and examined the footprints, her face wrinkled with concentration. Then, at last, she spoke.
"Where's the girl?"
"I... I-"
She wasn't here for her. Why would she be?
"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself and you know well of whom I speak. Where is she?"
"I don't... I don't know. Please believe me, that's the truth."
She sounded desperate. Nina was disgusted with herself.
The woman nodded curtly and raised her head in alarm when the noise of the guards sounded once again.
"What happened here?"
"Someone... came and took her away. I woke up in my office and she was already gone."
Nina wiped a bead of sweat from her face with a shaking hand. It came away a faint shade of blue.
"One of the girls mentioned... a man in a mask. Something out of a penny novel..."
The woman blanched, clearly perturbed.
"No matter. I shall follow the traces."
"What will you do with her? When you find her?"
Nina had no idea why she was asking.
"For now? Nothing. But it shall be me who finds her, that's for certain."

The woman knelt to her level for a moment, and their eyes met. Nina was entranced.
"And you know nothing more?"
Her question was abrupt and clearly lacked patience.
"No, I swear, I.. I was simply to keep her safe. Away from prying eyes."
The woman stood, paying no attention to Nina's pleading. Her eyes turned a misty white.
"Mistress, it's Breanna. The girl is gone. But I have her trail, she shall be found."
Silence. Nina wished she could hear what was being whispered to her.
"I will return on the morrow. Farewell, mistress."
Her eyes returned, and so too did the colour in her face. She began to walk away.

"Wait!" Nina blurted out.
Breanna stopped, but did not turn.
"Take me with you."
Nina didn't know what she was saying. But what she did know was that her life had just collapsed in around her, and she might never feel this sense of wonder again in whatever was left of her. Perhaps she never had before this.
Breanna said nothing at first. She didn't turn to scoff or grace her with a glare of contempt. She simply stood.
"And what use could we possibly have for you?"

The words stung, but not as much as they should have. Her voice tugged at the tissue over well-healed scars.
Nina Hepworth had spent her life trying her best to be useful, because she had been taught that one day, having friends in the right places would pay off. But after being swindled, used and cast aside more times than she could ever be bothered to count, she began to subscribe to a different truth.
If you're stupid enough to let your guard down, you deserve everything you get. And in Dunwall, the consequences are unrelenting and often permanent.
For decades, she went through it, then watched it happen. Then she made it happen. And it never stopped.
But now it had, and to Nina it felt like a long day was ending. A sense of morbid relief numbed her aching mind, despite her knowing that night would not bring good fortune.

As she watched the woman disappear in a flash of green, the light died down into a dim slumber. And deep down inside the old madame, a sputtering, persistent spark died with it.

Notes:

Throughout this fic, I want to explore a couple of non-targets who piqued my interest too, and Prudence was always an interesting one to me. As a character with a unique model and a voice actor dedicated specifically to her, I always wondered if at one point she was planned for a larger role. And again, I wanted to explore a little of what could've happened to the willing conspirator that the world seemed to forget about.
Thanks again to everyone who read my last chapters! Been really enjoying taking a slightly deeper dive into these minor characters. In the midst of moving / starting new job and things so very chaotic right now, but will try to get chapters out as much as I can : )

Notes:

Thank you for reading! This series of one shots is to celebrate the tenth anniversary of one of my absolute favourite franchises and my decade long attachment to the world it created.

I was kind of inspired to have a go at something like this after realising that once a target gets their non-lethal dunking treatment, we rarely see any kind of outcome for that character in terms of how their fate affects them and what their thought process would be. So here I am, having a go at it! Check back regularly for more chapters following some terrible people having terrible things happen to them :) happy birthday Dishonored!

A note on my Zelda fanfic for anyone who happened to read any of that, I also wanted to thank anyone who has left kudos on that despite its 4 year hiatus! As to whether I will be updating it, that really is up in the air as a lot has changed since I wrote that and I'm not massively happy with it anymore but,,, we'll see. Time is a harsh mistress etc.