I do not own any part of BioShock. Some characters in this fanfiction are OCs.
This fanfiction is rated M for language, adult content, violence, and mortal peril. ;)
Surely thunder filled that hallway on the eve of 1959. Artemis remembered the sound was deafening, though none of the dozens trudging forward uttered a word. Atlas would have told her it was just their footsteps on the metal reverberating around them; but she never got to ask him about it. He had stopped before the door that led to Kashmir and, tonight, would lead to the first battle in a bloody civil war.
With all these eyes looking to Atlas and to her, she could never let on how nervous she was. Though she had spent many long evenings planning this uprising with the mysterious Atlas she could not shake the feeling that something about this wasn't right. How many times had she asked him why it had to be a restaurant? Surely it would make more sense to attack Ryan, someone with real power, than the wealthy but blissfully oblivious upper class of Rapture? But Atlas had insisted this was the only way, and Artemis trusted him completely.
Seeming to sense her unrest, Atlas turned to Artemis and gently grabbed her chin so that she found she could not evade his gaze. His grey eyes were so pale she could see the green of her own eyes reflected there. She found images flashing through her mind: the previous night when she had asked him what to do if he was killed; how he had chuckled at the frightened look on her face; when he'd said he loved those moments when she let her stoic façade slip away; and then the kiss she had been imagining since the night she met him. He did not kiss her now, but his other hand brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear.
Atlas stood still for a moment, as if bracing himself, then turned to face his army. His thick Irish accent rolled out like a soft fog around those nearest him.
"Months of planning. Years of suffering. All have led up to this moment. When you walk through that door you will be confronted with your fellow citizens; human beings whose blood must be spilt to match the blood and sweat we have lost to our labors. Nothing can prepare a man to kill. You will be tempted to show mercy – don't! What mercy have they shown us? What kindness? And after all that, we are to repay them with true kindness – that they might die in blissful ignorance of the monsters they are! So, my friends, would you kindly put these sods out of their misery?"
Atlas's army roared with approval. Artemis wondered briefly what the patrons in Kashmir must think, but then the door was open and she was being shunted through it towards a revolution.
Try as she might, Artemis could never clearly remember the hours that had followed. Vague images of blood spattered walls, the cries of the wounded, the shouts of Ryan's men as they burst onto the scene, and the arms around her that carried her away, away from death and from Atlas, from glory and salvation. She had fought those arms until she felt a needle in her neck, and then she fell unconscious. A week later she awoke to find that she had been drugged and dragged to Rapture Records by its owner, Silas Cobb.
"What the hell were you thinking?" she yelled.
"What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed!" Silas slammed a tray down next her. It contained a bowl of cereal, a glass of juice and a banana. For some reason, this gesture made Artemis even angrier.
"I damn well know I could have been killed; it was a risk I chose to take. What were you, trying to show off? Save a damsel in distress, like always? Ever a bloody prince, you are. I'm sick of you meddling in my life, Silas!" She picked up the banana, aiming it Silas's head, but then she realized how desperately hungry she was and began peeling it instead.
"Maybe if I thought you could handle your life I wouldn't need to meddle! Off plotting against Ryan with this Atlas character, honestly! What would your poor mother say?"
"My poor mother can't say anything, can she? Worked to death, wouldn't you know! I reckon she'd have been proud, though, proud that I would fight for the freedom Ryan promised us all and then just as quickly robbed us of." Artemis shoved the banana in her mouth angrily, biting off half and resisting the urge to pitch the rest at Silas's face.
"Maybe she would be," said Silas, gazing at the foot of the bed thoughtfully. "Well. Eat up, at least. No doubt you'd like to recuperate enough to yell at me some more."
"Don't worry about that. Soon as I feel okay to walk, that's exactly what I'm doing. Right out that door."
"Be forewarned, there are splicers out there. A lot of them."
Artemis paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth. "Splicers, here in Fort Frolic? It's getting that bad, is it?"
"Well I reckon this civil war Atlas is waging has shaken them up out of the woodwork. That's right, far as I know he's still alive and the fighting is still on." Silas looked thoroughly dejected at the obvious lift in Artemis's mood when she heard this news.
"Hmm. I've dealt with splicers before. I'll get out, no problem." She gulped down her glass of juice and began munching on the banana peel.
"You'll have a tougher time with Cohen. Man's gone mad. He keeps going on about how no one appreciates him anymore. Well, he's got Fort Frolic all shut up, can't get in or out. Looks like you'll be with me for a while." And with a devilish grin, Silas stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked out of the room, whistling happily.
Artemis pitched the empty serial bowl after him, but it missed his head and shattered against the wall. She turned over on her side and pulled the covers closer around her.
"Fuck."