Now hello there, this is my fist attempt at a Bioshock fanfiction, and before you ask, YES I have played the game, and beaten it, although I am currently re-doing it so that I can experiment and explore a little more, mainly for the purposes of writing this fanfic. However, there may be a few slight differences, however I would liek to inform you before hand that this is delibarate and not because I have no idea about the background to what I must admit is a generally awesome game. This fanfic. is rated T becuase of strong language and a variety of other *ahem* themes, however it may be moved up to M if I decide to be sick-minded enough, so add it to your alerts so that you know when I have updated and don;t have to change the setting to find it, see I can be helpful as well as mean.

General Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock, period. this is the only time I will make this disclaimer, and it applies for the WHOLE of the story.

HOWEVER, any custom characters produced are of my own design, anyone caught COPYING them in any way, shape or form will be fed to Chico, as for WHO Chico is ... check my Profile and find out, now that the pleasantries, and unpleasantries, are dealt with, let us descend unto the watery depths of the mighty underwater city known as ... RAPTURE, now would you please (lol) read on.

"It was not impossible to build Rapture at the bottom of the sea. It was impossible to build it anywhere else" - Andrew Ryan

Where … where was he? … he didn't know, no wait! … he couldn't remember … what … what had happened to him, he could feel such a pain in his side and his leg … had … had he been in a fight … no, no, no, no he had been shot … by? … he didn't know, but … he felt that he knew them … they had been close hadn't they … then … then?

He looked down to try and find the source of the pain in his leg and, saw, to his utmost horror, his left leg, his perfect left leg, from the knee down, resembled nothing more then a bloody stump of flesh and bone, and he bit off a scream of pain and fury as a tiny voice cut the air like a knife

"Mister B, Mister B, look!"

In the water, outside of the glass, something floated by, and the expression of the girl was sad, as another angel floated past in the water, her orange eyes watched it as it floated past.

"Another Angel gone Mister B" she said sadly, touching the cold glass and shivering a little. There was a large, loud CLUNK! from behind her, as a massive metallic shoe hit the floor. She turned, unafraid of the massive figure, instead she touched its rusted, metallic leg with a strange sort of affection, her expression immediately changed to excitement as she looked around as if sensing something, scampering away from her guardian, she hurried across the rubbled floor of Rapture, hindered only by the syringe which seemed weightless in her hands.

"Don't be a Slowpoke, Mister B, Angels don't wait for Slowpokes"

He could see a series of lights, yellow ones in some sort of strange moving pattern, or they seemed to move, at least to his eyes it did, the faded blue light which shone through the water revealed something more like a demon then a guardian. One arm, specifically the right, seemed to have been twisted into some sort of drill, the rest of its body had been engulfed in … was that a diving suit? … if it was it was like no suit he had ever seen before, and the face … there was no face, and that was what struck a cord of fear with him, instead of a face, the area where it should be was encased in a massive sort of domed helmet, that was where the lights were, there was something … malicious, about the way the lights were just … there, there was no pulsations, no dilating, they just … glowed ominously, aware of everything around its small ward.

The tiny girl paused, atop a collapsed vending machine, the machine sparking a little as the floor shook and her guardian rumbled along to catch up with her. The little girl raised one hand, pretending to shield her eyes as she appeared to scan the darkness, searching for more 'angels'

"Please!" he begged in the back of his mind, " fuck! don't see me!"

Voicing it allowed would give him away, although the madness the pain and fear gave him sanity, it gave him to much, enough sanity enough to realise just how fucked he was, he couldn't move through the pain and the stump of his leg, but he tried, he clawed with his fingers, running his perfect nails and dragging his perfect chest along the ground.

"There he is Mister B!"

For a moment he froze, then he began scrabbling, now it was desperation and fear which fired him on instead of his drive for ADAM, as fast as he could, ignoring the pain as best as he could, it didn't matter now, pain was nothing, survival was more important.

"Awwww Mister B, this one's still moving"

An explicative tore from his throat as he felt his hands touch something wooden, as he hauled himself up he could see those orange eyes drawing nearer through the dark, he stood, wobbled for a moment and as he attempted to hop forward, he slipped on something, something wet and dark on the floor. He hit the floor with a screech of agony and a curse, his face landed straight in the middle of whatever he had tripped on, it was water, and he gave a splutter and an retch as the tang of salt water flooded his mouth.

Then he felt a sudden sharp pain in his back, shooting right through his chest, he suddenly felt a whole lot better, his leg wasn't hurting anymore, and his head felt a whole lot clearer … then it hit him, the ADAM, the Little Sister had the ADAM, if he could get to her, he could heal his leg, then … then he could get his next tonic, and the relief would be so much better, and he could get back at Dave for humiliating him last week in that fight, but all that could wait.

He rolled over, the pain suddenly gone, he looked around, but suddenly everything had gone dark, the usual glow which Rapture seemed to possess was gone, replaced with infinite darkness which no light seemed to be able to pierce. Then he felt a massive pain in his chest, and his vision exploded, the last thing he saw was a small little girl, dressed in faded clothes, tore in places and wet, her orange eyes seemed almost a combination of happiness and deep sadness, he tried to reach out, all he had to do w as wrap his hands around her filthy little … but his arm's wouldn't respond, he tried to move his good leg to kick her away … but it wouldn't respond either … it was only then that he notice the syringe buried in his chest, right through his heart … and that he felt that pumping sensation as the life was sucked out of him.

The last thing he remembered was her soft, sadistic little voice, and a jerking sensation as the needle was forced deeper into his lifeless chest.

"Look Mister B, I made an Angel, another Angel Mister B, all for us!"

2 Months Later . . .

All little girls need to sleep, even genetically fucked up ones, even the ones that have had their mentality so twisted they can barely distinguish Reality from Illusion. Of course, she had been told that she would not have to rest for long, an hour, or maybe two, then she could go and save more angels, and that thoughts had filled her with delight as she lay down to sleep in the same bed which she always had, and as they had closed the door, she had smiled deliriously.

The doors were thick, made of steel, the sort you would expect to find on a bank rather then a "Educational" facility, not that their occupants would have known what a bank was, unless it was in some tiny part of their previous existence which "Pappa Suchong" had not yet managed to steal from them. Yet even as the little girl dozed on the same filthy sheets which she had done for so much of her short, tenuous life, as had dozens of other Little Ones, the tiny part of the mind that was left, buried in the repressed subconscious, still began ticking over, filling her unconscious mind with dreams of incomprehensible splendour, the sort of dreams which every child deserves.

There was the sound of an explosion, muffled slightly by distance and walls and the back of someone's skull, but it was still an explosion, enough for the Sister too begin to shake off the shackles of sleep for just under a moment, before she gently drifted back off again, until she was roused by another, this one much closer, much louder,

The little girl sat up in her bed, her face confused, her expression suddenly fearful, where was Mister B . . . was he hiding? or had he found another Sister? For some reason that thought filled her with twin feelings of usurped sadness and childish anger, that wasn't fair, Mister B was going to be in big trouble for finding someone else.

Her head spinning a little, she got to her feet, shivering a little at the cold, damp surface beneath her bare feet, wobbling slightly, she took a few steps across the floor and placed her pale cheek against the door, listening, almost awaiting Mister B to tear his way through the door and save her, yet he didn't come, no one came at all. The little girl sighed sadly, hanged her head she returned to the bed and lay down again, singing softly to herself in a sing-song voice as she gently drifted off to sleep again.

"Mister Bubbles, Mister Bubbles, Are you there?, Are you there? Come and bring me lollies, come and bring me toffees, teddy bears, teddy bears, teddy be-"

It happened twice a day now, the thick metal grate at the bottom of the door slid up, and a tray was shoved in, the fact that she was hungry never seemed to register with her little mind, just that there was food their and that if it wasn't eaten it would go bad, so she ate it anyway, whatever it was it was tasteless and mushy and it made her feel a little queasy. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of red high-heeled shoes if she glanced out fast enough, before the grate clanged shut again.

Other times she would hear footsteps, not the heavy clanking ones of Mister B, but soft, pitter-patter-ing ones, or quiet clink!-ing ones, other times she would be disturbed from her dozing by faint, far-off explosions or the sound of gunfire somewhere near-by, all of this was registered and ignored, she needed to find more angels, but … what if Mister B never came back, she wouldn't be able to help Daddy Atlas, or any of the angels, it was these thoughts which saddened her, sometimes enough to cry, but she would stop crying immediately as soon as she heard the footsteps, something told her the footsteps, both the clinking ones and the silent ones, were bad, that they shouldn't hear her crying, so she would take her sadness, like she had been told to, and bottle it for later, when it was safe.

And so the cycle continued, sleep, eat, cry, footsteps, sleep, eat, cry footsteps, sleep, eat, cry, footsteps, she didn't bother to count the days, she never had, they hadn't been told to, just to save the angels, she wasn't sure how any she had made, or saved, just that it was a big number, and that consoled her a little, as well as the fact that Mister B would come and save her, someday.

Curling back up on the sheets, she listened to the drip … drip … drip of water somewhere far, far away, yet amplified enough so that she could somehow hear it, closing her eyes, she went back to her dozing again for what would be, unbeknownst to her, the last time in a long, long time, something was going to break the cycle.

It started when she woke up again, she found herself crying again, big, fat, wet tears of sadness rolling down her cheeks, glittering momentarily in the air before they feel onto the sheets where they became tiny greying stains, but unlike before, now when she heard the footsteps she found that she couldn't stop, and as the pitter-patter-ing and the clink-ing got louder, and louder.

Then there was a new footstep, these were neither a pitter-patter, nor a clink, but more of a harsh click-clack, click-clack, which was louder then the former, of which the small part of her conscious mind registered as them being closer, and they grew louder, and louder, and louder, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, click-clackclick-clack click-clackclick-clack click-clackclick-clackclinkcla-

They suddenly stopped, right at their moment of crescendo, right out side of her door, and she felt the tears suddenly stop at last, she found herself shivering as she huddled against the wall, her knees draw right u to her chest, her eyes bright and fearful.

The Grate at the bottom of the door was pulled open, this time there were no high-heeled shoes, these were boots, big and black and muddy and red, and there were hints of a long, torn pink skirt near the top of the grate.

"Hello?"

The voice was … well she wasn't sure what to make of it, it was dripping with honey, which was what made her a little wary, and there was still the clink-ing footsteps which seemed to be getting closer and closer now, even more so then they had ever come before.

Making a quick dash across the cold floor, she got down on all fours, lowering her head almost to the ground, and the face which greeted her almost frightened her to death.]

It might have been beautiful, once, but an over usage of plastic surgery and an addiction plasmids had caused parts of it to quite literally melt, the flesh was red a putrid, one eyes was loose from its socket, and the other whirled back and forth wildly. A claw-like hand shot as and grabbed at her leg as she recoiled away from the grating. The nails were long and black and covered with gore and dirt, the hand itself was puckered and a long series of scars seemed to replace what might have once been veins, and the nails gouged into her leg with a vicious pleasure.

"Come here Little Sister, soon I'll be beautiful again, you can make it so"

The voice no longer dripped with honey, more like fury and passion and something which she couldn't identify, but whatever it was it scared her, she tried to pull away, but that only made the pain worse. She felt the fingers tighten to an inexplicable length around her leg as they began to drag her towards the grate with an inexorable fury.

She felt the nails bite into her legs and she prayed for Mister B to save her, but Mister B was gone . . . gone, all gone and left his Sister all alone. It was that thought which filled hr with two notions, One, that no-one was going to save her, unless Two, she saved herself. As she felt herself get dragged a little further towards the grate, she flung up her arms, the idea being that she could at least put up some sort of fight if she was going to … to … she didn't even want to think about it, but it was what happened next that surprised her.

The hold on her leg seemed to weaken a little as the entire door shuddered on its hinges … before the whole thing was suddenly ripped free, and sent ploughing straight into the angel on the other side, smashing it flat against the wall, reducing it to so much red jam, but also making the angel useless, the door wobbled slightly from its position, free from its former position, then it fell backwards, crashing to the floor with a resonating clang! which seemed to shake the whole floor.

The Sister watched with almost childish interest as the torn flesh of her legs calmly knitted itself back together, tiny droplets of red being sucked back into her as the pale white skin sewed itself together and she gave a happy little smile, that was her baby that did that, her special little baby, they all did that, they all had babies in them, and they had to look after them, to feed them, so that they didn't die.

She stood up, still a little wobbly, as she tentatively stepped out into the corridor, she … she had vague memories of this, little fragments of reality which were buried in her mind long forgotten and gathering dust, now recalled in all their glory.

She clambered on top of the door, her expression curious, there was something stamped into the door's surface, but … what was it, she hadn't learned how to read properly, but she could count very well. For what seemed like ages she sat, her legs crossed, and stared at the letters on the door with a thinking expression on her face, puzzling out their meaning, then she tried to form them into sound.

"eee …. eeee … llll … lllll …. eee?"

" … eely? … eeeeeeelllleeee?"

"….. elee? … elleee?"

Pausing for a final try, she composed herself, then tried again.

"E.L.L.E … Elle"

Elle? … Elle? … Elle? Elle? Elle? … was that her name … she couldn't remember her name … she had had a name, they had given it ot her, it had been a nice name she remembered, something easy to remember … would it have been Elle? … well why else would they have put it on her door anyway?

The newly named 'Elle' smiled happily again, now she had a name, and she liked it, she liked it very, very much. She stood up and did a little twirl, her small patched dress swishing a little about her, and a sudden cold breeze made her shiver. She needed to find Mister B, then … then she would be safe, then they could find more angels … she flexed the fingers of her right hand experimentally … she was missing something … something important … her special needle, the one that Mister B gave her … she needed to find it, if she didn't … Mister B would be mad, then they wouldn't be bale to be friends any more, that thought made her more sad.

She looked around, thinking where her needle had gone, she hadn't had it in her room, which must mean that she had dropped it … which meant that she would have to go and find it. She did another twirl, one finger pointed out making her seem like a dial, until she eventually stopped, her pale finger pointing to the corridor to her right. Her expression cheerful, she hopped off the door and skipped down the corridor, her expression happy, she was going to go find her needle, then she could go and find Mister B.