SPOILER WARNING: As Bioshock 2 is still new, readers intending to play Bioshock 2 and don't want to get spoilers should avoid this fic (until you finished it, then yes, please read! ^_^).

Anyway, hey guys, first Bioshock fic. I loved the Big Daddies in Shock 1, and obviously getting to play one in Shock 2 was a blast. So, here's my attempt to craft a story of our drill-monsters (inspired largely in part by RatherHomely's Inside). Timeline? Shortly after Bioshock 2. And as with all fic writers, I'll be sticking as close to the lore as possible, while still having certain liberties to accommodate my ideas and writing style. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: As if I could own Bioshock, or anything else in this atmospheric world. I suppose the only thing I could possibly 'own' are the characters I cook up. Which, let's be honest, who'd want them :P

And thus, I begin my story with...

******

Utopia cannot precede the Utopian.

-Sofia Lamb

The Awakening

The light was extremely unwelcoming, unwanted. But it continued to assail his eyes even as they are closed. He could feel the thumps in his chest accelerating, as the palpitations began to send tremours to his head. His vision pulsated as he opened his eyes – a rather unpleasant way to wake up, and found that he was wearing a helmet with eight portholes. He let out a low, resonating groan; his voice rumbled deep, and... distorted?

His limbs refused to respond, and as he struggled, he realised that he was strapped to a table. Horrendously bright lights in front of him continue to assault his eyes, and his rage swelled. Releasing a hauntingly reverberating howl, he summoned the strength in all of his limbs, and pulled. Something cracked, and he found his footing.

He took a moment to survey his surroundings; he felt a need to do so. But there was something... else. Something was missing, but he did not know what. A glass vat sat in the corner, containing a kind of sickly red liquid. Directly above him, he read the words 'Protector Candidate', and to the side, 'Gatherer Candidate', though the table was empty. His own table seemed to be missing; only a metallic stump was left there, and his limbs still felt oddly restricted...

He could not lift the constant haze that permeated his mind; thinking was... difficult. It was as if there was something actively blocking his higher thought processes. His mind remained receptive however; he understood his surroundings, what the words meant, but somehow had the reduced the ability to act on it. There was no reaction to the information that fed his mind, no initiative, no drive. And there was no need to. All he needed was... was... something.

He must move. He needed to find it. He had no idea what it is, but he felt that once he saw it, he would know. Looking around, he saw an audio diary recorder; he knew what it was, but he didn't know how he knew. Reaching out with his left hand (and for reasons he cannot fathom, his entire body moved along – but that's not important now), he grabbed the little audio diary with his gloved meaty sausage fingers (where did the glove come from? Not important now...) and accidentally clicked a button. The disc whirred, ending with a click:

...[indistinct gravel groan] (male voice) Ah! Lee! So glad you could join us! [another indistinct groan] Fresh from your LOVELY bath? I must say, old boy, I'd wouldn't try bathing in a vat full of ADAM (softly) sweet, sweet ADAM (normal volume), cause y'know, it might... DO things to you!

But hey ho! A good kid follows what his Mother tells him to, yea? Unlike you. You're what we –[indistinct groan] OH SHUT UP, LEE!! Now, where was-- ah! Righto! You're the black sheep of the Family. Thing is... we ain't GOT sheep! Ah HAHAH!

Instead, we got Big Daddies! Right here in your VERY own workspace! Nice, aren't we?! We've used your own vat --(a sickening sound of metal piercing flesh is heard, followed by an indistinct groan) and now, we're gonna (another piercing sound) use (another) your (another) own (another) plasmids! AIN'T WE GRAND?!

Oh, you also gotta know we're cutting costs. Sorry bud, you ain't getting those new fancy models. You're going Bouncer. A really old one. Serves you fucking right!

[pause]

Oh, by the way? This is supposed to hurt!

[the sound of a lever being lowered]

[the sound of liquids flowing, followed by a horrible, distorted howl]

[static]

:: click ::

There was a tingling sensation at the back of his head. He felt it was important to commit this to memory. Yes, it had to be important. And so he set off, each crashing footstep sending small tremours through the halls of Rapture...

******

And that's my first shot at a Bioshock fanfic! Please review! ALL constructive comments are welcomed; I'd like to know where I went right, and more importantly, where I went wrong. Obviously, if the fic is not worth reading, then I'll stop; no point wasting my time and yours with written drivel.