This place, the Heart whispers, it's so dark and cold.

At first, Corvo thinks maybe something is trying to claw its way through the walls—it sounds like scratching on wood, and then he thinks maybe he can feel the vibrations of it, so maybe it's something trying to claw its way through him, through his stomach and chest. Rats, he thinks. He's sick and rats are about to burst out of his body and eat him alive, and he isn't sure whether to be terrified or relieved.

A whale's spirit screams after its stolen bones are carved for the Outsider, the Heart whispers.

The hissing growl of a whale bone rune sends restless energy through Corvo's body, and he knows now it's not rats invading his soul but the token of a strange entity. Yet its pleasing thrum slowly begins to die away, and its call is muffled suddenly by what seems like water. It is water, he realizes, a sea, swallowing him up from behind, letting him sink steadily toward the black depths until all around him is a murkier Void. He wonders when he'll reach the bottom. He wonders if there's even a bottom at all.

The Outsider, the Heart whispers, came from a place as black as men's souls.

In the distance, Corvo can hear the low reverberations of whales, or what he believes to be whales, singing and pushing their voices through the thick, shadowy water. At first, the whales' music sounds sad, but Corvo thinks the low bellow and high whines are rather comforting considering the desolation and darkness and silence of this place.

The aquatic mammals move closer, and Corvo's initial sense of sinking becomes a sense of floating in one spot, and, doing so, he can see the massive forms split the void of the ocean with no resistance. They are like any other whales; however, the one in front, the leader, is a behemoth: three of the other whales can easily fit inside of it, and perhaps even a fourth can fit as well, yet its movement is graceful and undisturbed by gravity or force. The Outsider's mark burns brightly on one flank, white, piercing the darkness, illuminating Corvo's eyes as the lot of them pass slowly closer and closer.

Corvo, a familiar voice coos, breaking the white noise of Corvo's mind. You dream of my darkness, but what of your own? The whales loom large and quiet, and then they surround Corvo on all sides, peering at him with black and soulless eyes the size of his own body. Even here, there is no solace from the revenge that I know plagues your mind. Even here, the cruel hands of men reach, destroying, taking, selfish and desiring. The whales pass right on by him, easy-going, thrumming, disappearing back where he can't see and becoming one with the darkness of the ocean.

Which is worse, Corvo: the murdering puppet, or the hands that pull the strings?