Okay. So I've wanted to start writing for a long while now, and never seemed to have the inspiration. BUT! I replayed Bioshock recently, and my imagination burst into action. I also read a few Bioshock fanfics on the site which are pretty amazing. There's one you should definately check out called Downward Spiral.
This story is based during the first game, and will be riddled with spoilers, so there's your warning. I'll be changing a few things to fit the story line, and a few character descriptions will be a little different to the game as the developers gave nearly every character brown hair and brown eyes, and a few pretty important characters just used re-skinned splicer textures *cough* Atlas *cough*.
It's M rated because the game is rated so. I mean, bashing in the skulls of splicers with a wrench is pretty graphic.. and I just love descriptive writing..
This could very well turn into a Jack/OC or Atlas/OC kind of thing, so there's another warning for you. I'll try my hardest not to make the OC a complete Mary Sue, so pleeeease warn me if she starts showing the tell tale signs.
Thanks so much to EagleWatch for reviewing, and ZomRomCom for adding the story to your story alerts. You guys are rad.
I've added a little extra section on the advice of EagleWatch. Thanks again :]
There's lots of "he", "she", "him" and "her" in this chapter, as I didn't want to start using names until they had introduced themselves.
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Disclaimer : I don't own anything in this story, except Jack's personality, his dialogues, Lacey, and the story line.
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Chapter One.
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Mid-Atlantic, 1960.
Apollo Air, flight DF-0301.
89 passengers & 6 crew.
San Fransisco to London.
There was very little happening in the cabin of flight DF-0301. The time was nearing midnight and many of the passengers were already sleeping. Most of the movement was coming from a young woman in seat 2C. With a discarded magazine on her lap, she was very carefully peering at her neighbours watch, her head tilted painfully to the left and her brow furrowed. She sighed heavily and sat back in her seat, her blue eyes roving over the backs of seats before they finally fell on a man to the left of her.
He's probably the only other person awake on this plane..well.. except the pilot.. heh.. His brown hair was slicked back, leaving his face open for scrutiny. His face was that of a young man, with a square-set jaw, and dark eyes. He was staring at a gift-wrapped package in his hand, his eyes glazed, only looking away to take a drag on his cigarette. That sweater is horrific..
Her trail of thought was interupted by a flight attendant handing her a pillow.
"Thanks," she offered, but the flight attendant ignored her and continued on down the isle. Stupid, ignorant, skirt-to-short bimbo.. She snuggled down into her seat, avoiding the encroaching elbow of her inflight neighbour, and drifted into a somewhat peaceful sleep.
It's cold, really freakin' cold.. I can't breathe, why can't I breathe? Oh shit..
Water was crushing down on her, completely surrounding her, and was slowly leeching life from her. Her arms and legs felt like blocks of stone. I'm going to die.. A propeller from the plane whirred past her, almost cleaving her head off. Adrenaline burst into her bloodstream helping her to move her heavy limbs and duck around the incoming danger. No, No, No.. I refuse to die here! Water is NOT going to get the best of me, I still have way too much to do with my life! With a burst of energy she broke the surface of the water and grabbed hold of the nearest piece of debris she could find. Her breathing came out ragged, and she coughed up a phlegmy-sea-water mixture. Are you serious? How the hell did that fit anywhere in my body, never mind my lungs!
The sea was aflame all around her, large parts of the plane she had been on not minutes ago were slowly sinking into the abyss, and all she could hear was the roaring of the fire and the wind.
"..Help.." she managed to choke out, her voice sounding hoarse and weak. I really don't want to die here.. The next thing she knew was that there was a stong hand gripping her arm and she was being dragged backwards towards an opening in the flames. She didn't struggle, ..heck, this could even be a rescue attempt.. and the adrenaline that helped her to fight her way to the surface was now slowly ebbing away. Seriously though, where is there to go in the middle of the Atlantic? Probably safer to stay by the crash and await a rescue team right?
The stranger that rescued her dragged her onto the solid structure, and stood back to catch his breath. Her face was pressed against a smooth, hard surface, and she noticed that something was digging into her ribs.
"Ow.."
"Hey.. hey are you ok?" It was a male voice, definitely American, deep and gravelly, struggling for breath. The girl nodded and pushed herself onto her hands and knees while wiping her hair out of her eyes. What are these? Stairs? There are stairs out in the middle of the Atlantic ocean? Maybe I did die.. "The plane went down.. I don't know what happened, one minute I'm sleeping and the next I'm completely under water. I heard you call out and swam to you.. are you sure your ok?"
How can he ask me that? The aeroplane just crashed into the ocean, and for all I know, the two of us could be the only survivors! How the hell is he ok with all of this? Despite her inner ranting, she calmly nodded again and moved to look at him. God, that sweater is hideous.. wait! There was some blood on his chin, and a nasty looking gash to go with it. His previously slicked back hair was plastered to his forehead, and his brown eyes were bloodshot from the salt water. The hideous sweater looked heavy, it had absorbed a lot of sea water and was hanging off him. He ran his hands through his hair to move it off his forehead, and revealed tattoo's on his wrists. Chains? That's pretty cool.. This guy is pretty cute.. no,no! This isn't the time.. my brain must be water logged or something..
"Where.. where are we? What are we sat on?" The girl managed to struggle out. Her rescuer's face softened and his expression turned to one of relief, probably at the prospect of the only other survivor being atleast partially aware of what was going on.
"Looks like a lighthouse.." he replied .
A lighthouse? In the middle of the Atlantic? Her eyes ran over his face to check for any hint of a joke, then travelled up the stairs that they were perched on.
"It is a fucking lighthouse.. no way.." She tried to struggle to her feet, but her legs gave way and she once again found her face against the smooth concrete stairs.
"Here.." The man stretched his hand towards her, as he got to his feet. The girl grabbed his hand and was slowly pulled to her feet. "My name's Jack Wynand.." he told her, offering his hand again. She hesitantly took it. It's soft, totally not what I was expecting.. They began to shake hands but her face scrunched up and she pulled her hand away, grabbing her shoulder in the process.
"Goddamn my shoulder hurts.." she winced. Her rescuer smiled, kind of, his face looking expectant. "Oh! I'm Lacey.. Lacey Summers."
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It was much easier writing it this way, definitely easier slipping descriptions in. I left Lacey's inner monologues in, because I liked giving an insight to her thoughts, so it's 3rd person, but still mostly Lacey's perspective.
I'd really appreciate any constructive criticism anyone can offer :]
Much love.
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