Hello, dear readers. This would be the first chapter of my first story on this website. I wrote a different story before on a different site run by friends, but it didn't work out too well.
I've always wanted to write a story on Bioshock. There never was and never will be a game as well written as this one.
I'll edit If I come back and find mistakes. Sorry if it's short. Tell me if is, I'll make a longer chapter next time.
It would be a good idea to take your mouse and click the back button if you don't want to read a grim or graphic story. This chapter may be light, but I promise it will get darker and grittier later. Though, you probably expected a story like this if you clicked on Bioshock.
Constructive criticism and reviews are always welcome. And, if you find spelling or grammar mistakes, tell me. I like writing stories, and anything is more fun when you're better at it.
And for the people that are obviously trying to catch people stealing their characters, I don't own any characters, or the setting or anything that I shouldn't own.
So. Read and enjoy... Or don't.
Chapter 1: The Descent into Hell
Rapture. The word has a unique sound to it, as if random, jumbled letters turned out not to be gibberish. In its defenition, it means wrapped in ecstasy or delight.
In my opinion, and most that have been to the city of the Rapture, the meaning of the word is irrelevant now. How a whole city full the world's best and brightest became either dead, insane, or becoming one of the two is no short story.
Ryan's slideshow was straight propoganda. It wasn't anything the small crowd on the bathysphere didn't know about the man's mindset already. You don't get what you don't work for. All other existing governments are bad.
Many immigrants may have been attracted to Rapture for these reasons, but something told me that many others were here for jobs being just out of college, or left peniless for a reason or another from wars and the like.
I enlisted into the American military at twenty, after the fighting pretty much ceased in Korea. Having never been in combat, I earned myself financial help through a belated college educadtion in finance. It seemed the only experience I have had jobwise would be in school and various temporary jobs. The reason I had been picked by whomever to go to Rapture must have been my grades. I was always interested in my major, and being the first in my family to go to college, I was determined to make a good impression. And now... I'm in a bathysphere, descending on an underwater city. Just for being a good student.
The only problem was, I doubted I would have any money here, either. The city no doubt had another currency than the American dollar.
The small submarine broke out of the water and the glass door opened grandly. A handful of people were holding signs: Ryan doesn't own us. Great, I thought to myself. The last thing I wanted to see here was a demonstration.
The place seemed high class. Big red banners reached up the windows. The windows themselves were three to four stories tall.
Some official-looking men ushered the us newcomers through a couple of hallways until we reached the Kashmir restaurant. Bobby Darin's "Beyond the sea" was playing in the background. Gentlemen were talking to one another with classy clothes. Ladies were laughing with one another politely at their tables. Everone was drinking wine or liquor. Everything here looked expensive. In short, I was probably not coming back here anytime soon.
I exited the restaurant into the next hallway with my fellow travelers. I overheard the people in front of me talking in a worried tone.
"How are we supposed to live here if we have no money?". Ryan Industries' Cash Exchange was written in big gold letters to the left, over a booth. I directed him and his friend to it. A line was starting to form, so I entered the back of it with my newfound allies to exchange the little I had.
"Do you guys know anyone here?" I asked.
"No, other than each other," said the one who sounded worried earlier. "Are you Dutch?"
"Yeah," I said. "But I moved to America soon after I was born." I always had a bit of a Dutch accent, but I never learned the language well. I moved because of my dad's call back to the U.S..
"I'm Irish Myself," the man said back. He looked and sounded Irish. Red hair, somewhat jutted chin, bulky. "But where's my manners, I'm Aidan." he firmly took my hand and shook it. "This here is Johnny."
"Alright," I said. "Aidan and Johnny. Isn't too hard to remember. My name is Adam."