For a filled request on the bio-kink meme on LJ…
'Before Atlas'
'Fontaine and thugs killed in fiery shootout.' All the headlines screamed about I, some in celebration and some in disappointment. Traitors who turned to Ryan were whipping their brows in relief, while others vanished like their former organizer, fearful of Ryan's merciless and regular purges.
Apollo Square was in chaos as people struggled to find a new leader. Fights were as common and plentiful as the streaming piles of trash that littered the broken streets. Around the burning barrels, men stood with their faces grim and cast in half shadow; doing nothing except mumble to each other, dull, fearful gazes never parting with the flames. It was one such group of men that found their daily ritual interrupted one grey afternoon.
"My wife's gone." One of them said, shattering the eerie silence. "Ryan's men… I told her not to go to see her friend at Siren Alley but she didn't listen to me…." The dismal man wiped his eyes to the scattered mumbles of sympathy.
"Damnit!" Another growled, "If Fontaine were still around, he'd take care of us! He wouldn't let that bastard walk all over us!"
"There's no sense in talking about him, the dead don't rise from the grave." A newcomer interrupted the conversation. All eyes turned to meet a woman, whose gaze was as sharp as she dressed. Her bronze hair was short and to the point just like her tone. The scarlet petals of her lips and lime overcoat with its emerald swing skirt created a stark contrast to the gloomy surroundings. If anything her flashy appearance captivated her audience.
The second whistled, his own orbs inspecting her like a mother would a child before letting them leave the house. "What's a dolly like you doin' out here in povertyville?"
"Oh you know, just trying to figure out what's been happening." Her tone was curt and even a touch mocking, but the gathered hung on her every word. She pretended not to notice, providing a tiny tease of her legs as she fixed her skirt.
Laughing, the guy, surveyed her slight hips and bosom, "Geez baby, you don't read the rag? Well I suppose they wouldn't be given you the truth since Ryan's got all them journalists in his pocket."
"Of course. So what's your take boy?" Her lush lips curled in a smile, almost.
The man frowned slightly and glanced at his buddies, who wore similar confused expressions. "What, you writin' a book or something? I can see you aint no fool, but I'd hate to see that pretty little body of yours be hangin' on Ryan's trophy wall."
This time she did smile, "I have no fear of Andrew Ryan."
Taken aback the men exchanged anxious glances with each other. Who was this broad? She sure asked a lot of questions. After a hasty mental deliberation, the talker spoke again.
"Alright, listen and listen up good cuz I aint gonna say this any more than once." She smiled slightly, the signal to continue. "Ryan took hold of Fontaine Futuristic's, and instead of givin' it to the people of Rapture, he kept it all for himself. And now…." He glanced back and forth, wary of anyone who might be watching. "Now he's goin' and roundin' up all of Fontaine's followers, and we never see them again. We know its all Ryan, only he could do this. We're thinkin' of rebellin' and fightin' Ryan and his men, we just need a leader to set things straight…"
She said nothing, but her eyes shone with an ardent satisfaction. "Thanks a bunch…" Turning, the brunette paused, "Have faith, Ryan will be stopped." Not even caring to hear any further thoughts, she left with the click-clacking of her heals behind her.
The woman exited Apollo Square and, careful that no one was following her, slid into Mercury Suits. Not a soul roamed the courtyard, and she didn't fear any of the homeowners coming. "5-7-4-4…" The elevator doors opened with an electric hiss, sealing the capsule for its trip up the tube.
Walking straight past the security, the woman closed the door to Fontaine's apartment with a pleased sigh. Kicking off the heels at the top of the stairs, Frank Fontaine cursed the damn things and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar. "There has got to be a better fuckin' way to do this." The con man grimaced with annoyance, staining his hand with the red lipstick as he wiped the make-up from his thin face.
Glancing down, the record entitled 'Danny Boy' gave him the needed answer. Fontaine couldn't help but smirk.