And My Heart Leaped To The Rapture Of Living
Summary: Frank Fontaine finds himself growing just a little to attached to the perfect agent he's created, just as Jack finds himself growing ever more fond of his amicable Irish guide. Rated M Jack/Atlas
Disclaimer: I own nothing from the BioShock world.
"Once I knew only darkness and stillness... my life was without past or future... but a little word from the fingers of another fell into my hand that clutched at emptiness, and my heart leaped to the rapture of living. "
-Helen Keller
Chapter One: Descent
They told me, I think to myself, "Son, you're special; you were born to do great things."
We're flying over the Atlantic ocean as these words go drifting through my mind, possessing me temporarily and taking me to the farm and family that lies before me at the end of this plane ride. I have a lit cigarette in my hand, though I don't remember going through the motions to light it. That must be the definition of habit; to be able to do something as complex as lighting a cigarette (remove it from the pack, put it between your lips, fish your lighter out of your pocket, spin the wheel to strike the flint while at the same time pressing down the lever to release the gas that fuels the flame) without even realizing that you've done it. In the back of my mind, I can hear the stewardess talking to another passenger a few seats back, but I pay no attention.
I shift in my seat, reaching into my pocket for my wallet. I can feel my lighter in there too, and I wonder again how I got at it without conscious thought. As I flip open the folded piece of worn, brown leather, I see the familiar photo held within. My parents and I. I think an uncle took it at some useless family gathering. I don't think it was Christmas; we're dressed to plain for that. I wish I could remember when it was taken. There's a coupon in there, too, shoved in one of the credit card pockets. I wonder what it's for, but I can't be bothered to look. The wallet goes back into my pocket without another thought.
I have the table that's attached to the seat ahead of me down (another thing I can't recall doing), and there's a gift wrapped in blue paper sitting there. It's addressed to me, from my parents, and it arrived in the mail just yesterday. I booked an emergency flight to see them as soon as it came in the mail; I haven't even bothered to open it yet. The opening of the thing doesn't seem nearly as important as the message on the front, asking me if I would kindly come for a visit.
And you know what? I ask myself, finishing my earlier thought. They were right.
The plane begins to shake violently, and I can hear the stewardess, as well as several of the other passengers, screaming. Suddenly, everything goes dark. Over the sounds of screams I hear the automated emergency message playing through the speakers.
I must have fainted, or perhaps just had another lapse of memory, for the next thing I know I'm underwater. It's salt water, ocean water. I can't fathom what could have happened to the plane that would land me out here unharmed. I can see again, but there's nothing in sight at the moment except endless blue and the bubbles from my own desperate struggle for the surface.
Then, a lady's purse with a necklace falling out of it floats past my face, heading down. I realize I must be oriented the right way and begin swimming desperately for the surface. Looking up I can see flames through the water, and one of the plane's rotors shoots past me, too close for comfort. Some sort of machine, supposedly from the plane but flashing with a strange neon blue glow, crashes through the water and my eyes follow it down into the blackness, despite my panic and my primal need for the mix of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and nitrogen that lies just out of reach above my head.
My lungs feel as if they're about to burst as my face finally breaks free of the water. I gasp in several deep, restoring breaths, and my panic fades a little. Still, I'm surrounded by flames and the burning wreckage of my plane; lost in the middle of the ocean. As if by some miracle, a small island housing a lighthouse is just within easy swimming distance. Not thirty feet from the edge of this island I can see the tail of my plane sinking down, down, down into the bosom of the Atlantic, facing the fate of the Titanic. I pull my eyes away from the tragic scene and head for the safety of dry land, my mind reeling with the improbability of my surviving that carnage.
There are stone stairs lines with electric lights leading up to the massive lighthouse. I've been to the Atlantic coast before, once on a vacation with my family, but the lighthouses there were nothing compared to the monolith in front of me. The door is open, and it seems fairly dry inside, so I gather my courage and step into the darkness beyond the doorway.
I venture a little further into the room, and I hear the door shut behind me. Before I can turn back to look, lights blink on and illuminate the room with a warm electric glow. Above me stretches a red banner emblazoned in gold with the words "No gods or kings. Only man." The only sounds in the massive room are the distant clangs of machinery coming to life and my own heavy breathing, until faint music begins to play through speakers that I can't see.
As I proceed down the stairs, deeper into whatever labyrinth I've stumbled upon, lights continue to flick on at my approach; it's almost as if they're welcoming me, drawing me in, like the witch lured Hansel and Gretel. Despite this, I continue; before long I come upon a contraption that looks like a very small submarine. Perhaps something like this is what the marine biologists use to go down for their research.
It's warmly lit inside the submersible, and it seems sturdily built, so I enter, pulling the door shut behind me. I really don't seem to have many other choices, so I figure that I may as well make use of my resources. I pull the lever, determined to see where this thing will take me.