It's time.

There's no doubt in her mind about this fact; they cannot stay here anymore. Once the issue with Fontaine had been resolved, she had quietly slipped back into the routine that had become her life over the past year, becoming, yet again, just another shadow flitting through Rapture's bloodstained hallways. But in the dark recesses of her mind, she had known that it was inevitable. At first, they'd been left alone. There had been plenty of ADAM around once the stockpile at Prometheus had been raided to sate even the worst addicts. But as time had worn on and it had become scarce, the attacks had begun. At first, they had only been against the active Little Ones, the children still under the effects of their conditioning. She'd been able to save very few; one angry woman with a pistol or two wasn't going to do much good against a small army of starving Splicers, and even if they managed to get themselves all killed, there was still the Big Daddy to reckon with. After awhile, they'd simply vanished altogether, and after a few of the girls had failed to return from their outings through the vent system, she'd confined the remaining ones to the sanctuary. She hadn't seen an active Gatherer in weeks, and many of the vents around Rapture were beginning to cave in with the repeated pounding of Big Daddy fists as the creatures sought out their absent partners. She had swallowed the lump in her throat and continued her work; if there were no more children left to rescue, then the ones who did remain would have to be evacuated, as soon as possible. The submersible was well hidden, and she'd worked steadily to make ready to leave; provisioning, repairing, rigging the controls, figuring out a vent route for the girls. For the most fleeting of instants, it had looked as though they were going to get away with minimal fuss.

And then, the unthinkable had happened. Whether the need for ADAM had become that compulsive, or whether they had simply succumbed to the violent rage of the Splicer toward the unspliced, the result was the same. She could still remember standing just inside the door frame on the top level, heart pounding, pistols loaded, as the door shuddered on its hinges and the ranting of the Splicers outside rose to a frantic crescendo, the hinges finally bursting, a blur of color, sound... waking, half-buried by the wreckage, to the terrified sobbing of her Little Ones, trying to calm them while her own heart still knocked against her ribs like a frightened bird and her stomach churned coldly. She still wasn't sure why she'd survived; the best answer that she could come up with was that they hoped that she'd know, somehow, where the rest of the Gatherers were, and in her attempts to rescue them, would lead them right to the source. Most of the girls had gotten into the vents and managed to hide before she'd been overwhelmed, but she had still lost a few, and the notion haunted her. More blood on her hands. Regardless, the event had been the tipping point for her; their sanctuary was no longer safe. She had spent the days following the attacks working around the clock to prepare for departure. Now, at last, everything was in place. All that was left was the trip to the bay, and the launch, and then... well, anything that followed would certainly be better than their current situation.

She checks her weapons with shaking hands for what must be the twentieth time. Stalling, she supposes. The remaining children huddle together, wide-eyed, in the room beyond, darting glances at the heavily barricaded door upstairs every now and then. So few left... She swallows hard, shaking her head as she tucks the pistols through her belt, slinging the scarred leather satchel over her shoulder. No time to think about them now; she must do what she can for the living. She glances briefly at the radio, lying alone on the desk, before picking it up and stashing it in the bag. No sense in wasting a good piece of machinery, even if the sight of it does make her skin crawl, now. She takes one last look around the office before stepping out and easing the door closed. She calls out to the children, and they gather around, some clinging to her legs, some whimpering softly. "Now girls," she says, gently but firmly, "You remember which way it is that you are to go, yes?" They chorus in the affirmative, and she smiles a little sadly. There is a good chance that this is the last time that she'll see all of them alive. "Sehr gut. Now, do not stop until you reach the bay." She helps them up into the vent, wincing when one of them accidentally plants her foot on a half-healed injury from the gunplay days prior. Once the last child has vanished into the dark hole, she crosses to a second, smaller door, slipping through and closing it silently behind her. She doesn't bother to lock it, as she usually does. There's nothing important behind it anymore. Drawing the pistols, she takes a deep breath before starting forward, picking her way carefully through the rubble that partially blocks the passageway. With any luck, she will be able to cover some decent ground before they realize that she's moving. The passageway opens abruptly into the broad expanse of the Medical Pavilion, and, crouching warily in the mouth of the tunnel, she takes a quick look around before starting off around the perimeter of the atrium, crawling toward the bulkhead to Port Neptune.

She is creeping along the docks near the Fisheries when the first of them comes; a Spider, eerily silent. It screams halfway through the pounce, and she whirls, too late, as they collide, tumbling off the dock and into the muddy slog below. For a moment, they struggle before she jams her pistol against its abdomen and fires three times in quick succession. The Splicer lets out a high, thin moan as it goes limp, and she staggers to her feet, covered in slime, panting and bleeding from a gash torn into her cheek by the creature's hook-like weapons. She hastily reloads the pistol as she moves, keeping to the shadows. Not much further now... but not much time, either. The others will come, drawn by the gunshots and the sounds of the struggle. And come they do in droves, ranting and raving, drawn by the prospect, however small, of fresh ADAM, and failing that, at least something to take their rage out on. She breaks from her primary route and runs as the first few shots pierce the ground at her feet, scrambling hurriedly over the wreckage in front of the freezer door and dropping to the other side. Another Spider follows, flinging its hooks after her, but she's ready this time, and all it takes is a single shot to fell it. The first bullet finds its mark as she wriggles between two of the giant, floor-to-ceiling pipes and into the narrow maintenance passageway; a glancing hit in the shoulder, but enough to make her stumble. She grits her teeth and pushes on. It won't be long before the horde finds its way into the maintenance shaft, and she wants to get as far ahead as she can. Eventually, the path forks, opening a bit wider, and she comes to a halt, flattening her back against the wall, hissing in pain as her injured shoulder catches on the rough metal. Scheisse! Which way!? This is not at all a familiar intersection, and she doesn't have much time to decide. The sounds of the pursuit are getting louder. She takes a chance, and goes left.

Wrong way. The turret situated in the dead end beeps out a warning before spraying out a hail of bullets, and she screeches to a halt, unable to suppress a cry of pain as several of them make their marks, whirling and scrambling away down the opposite fork as quickly as she can given her injuries. This tunnel is clear, though quite a bit narrower, and she forces herself to slow down, picking her way through carefully. With any luck, her adversaries will run into the turret as well, buying her time. The tunnel narrows further, and she begins to doubt the wisdom of coming down the shaft, leaving her shoes behind and climbing up and over steaming pipes, past vents and grills, and weaving her way through a maze of interconnecting cables. Before long, her hair is soaked, plastered to her head, and her feet have been cut to ribbons by the scraps of metal littering the floor of the shaft. Just as she is beginning to despair of ever finding the end, the tunnel splits into three, and a familiar marking springs out at her from the wall. Ah, yes! She runs her hand thankfully over the symbol; a clumsily drawn head with two faces, one looking in each direction. This way to Janus. With renewed vigor, she continues on. It can't be far now.

Janus. A relatively secure, well-hidden dock, and the base of her escape operations. Her greatest secret. And her greatest hope. The Little Ones should already be there by now, and hopefully, aboard the sub and ready for departure. She slips her flashlight from the satchel, switching it on and making her way cautiously into the passage, limping carefully along as she sweeps the floor in front of her with the beam. She knows where she is now. Just through this tunnel, down a flight of stairs, and through the bulkhead, and she'll be in the bay. A scuttling behind her draws her attention, and she whirls, pistol in hand, scanning the tunnel with her flashlight. Nothing. Letting out the breath that she didn't know she'd been holding, she turns back, picking up the pace a bit. The Spider drops directly in front of her, cutting her off, and she snaps the flashlight up just in time to intercept the downward swing of the hooks, firing before the creature has a chance to put its maniacal strength behind the blow. As it falls, she flings it aside, racing to the bottom of the stairs and coming up hard against the bulkhead. Fumbling for the wheel, she cranks frantically, glancing intermittently over her shoulder as the sounds of the approaching Splicers grow louder and louder. Finally, the door slides open with a groan, and she's through. She struggles momentarily with the docking lever, swearing under her breath with the effort before it finally releases. As she scrambles up the side of the sub and reaches for the hatch, she throws one last look over her shoulder. Splicers are pouring down the stairs, aiming pistols, machine guns, readying hooks, lead pipes... And standing at the top of the stairs... a silhouette, overseeing the chaos. She can't make out its face, or even really its form, but she knows that it's looking dead at her, making eye contact. She sets her mouth grimly. They were organized. They have a leader. There is no time to consider this new development. She clambers inside.

The hatch slams shut overhead, and she all but falls into the main compartment. The girls look up, exclaiming in shock at her sudden entrance, but she's already up and at the controls, darting nervous glances out the window at the gathering crowd as the engine warms up. Bullets ping off the hull around them, and a loud thud sounds against the hull to their left as a dent forms in the metal. The girls jump, some of them shrieking in horror. She pays it no mind, pulling levers, cranking wheels, slamming frantically at buttons. Come on, come on... Finally, with a shudder, the submersible begins to descend. The angry howls of the Splicers vanish, and they seem to rise out of sight as the sub slides neatly into the launch chute. Ja! Wir haben es geschafft! Haha! She laughs breathlessly, pounding her fist against the control panel triumphantly. The sub rockets out of the chute, and the Little Ones gape in awe, clustering around the windows as the city spreads out all around them. She pays it no mind, pointing the nose of the vehicle toward the surface. As they rise, the lights of Rapture turn into a bed of diamonds, sparkling on the seafloor, then a distant glow. Then, they vanish altogether. For an instant, just a moment, she allows herself to slump with relief, to feel the full measure of her exhaustion, resting her forehead against the steering mechanism. When she looks up, the surface is visible, a rippling, shimmering layer of water, speckled with tiny lights, not too far above. And then, the sub can rise no further. The lighthouse stands starkly to their left, shining brightly in the darkness of the moonless night. She takes a moment to open the hatch, taking a deep breath of the salty night air, then calls the children over. They cheer, clustering about her, asking a million different questions at once about the glimmering specks high above. "Stars," she laughs, ruffling the hair of the nearest one, "Those are stars." She leaves them to their explorations, climbing back into the cockpit and starting up the engine again. There is still a long way to go before they are truly safe on dry land, and she has a promise to keep.

The lighthouse becomes a lonely star, blinking forlornly in the night, and then, finally, the horizon swallows it up.