A.N. DISCLAMER: I DON'T OWN BIOSHOCK INFINITE. Ken Levine does. However, I do own a Booker figurine and the game. I wrote this because there was nothing about the version of Booker in the alternate universe where he helped Fitzroy. You know, the one with the martyr posters? Yeah. That one. That's right. Booker's dead. Let's go!

"I'd gladly help you, Miss Fitzroy, anything to get rid of Comstock." Booker said to me. He's handsome, brave and a damn good fighter. He also happens to be the false Sheppard. He'll make a fine addition to the Vox. "Thank you, your first job, get me some guns. There's a gunsmith named Chen Lin. He'll supply us."

I watched him stride away, massaging his branded hand. "Oh, and Booker!" "Yeah?" his said, his voice gruff as he turned around. "Don't get yourself killed." "Are you kidding? They're only throwing everything at me," he said and strode away. I didn't say it out of love, but for my own gain.

Man, I'm thinking like a robot.

BANG!

"BOOKER!"

"We have to go save them! Comstock'll torture 'em!" "BOOKER! I AM YOUR SUPERIOR AND YOU WILL OBEY ME!" I screamed at him. "FINE! I SEE HOW IT IS! YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYONE OTHER THAN YOURSELF!" he stormed out of the room.

"BOOKER! COME BACK HERE!DON'T YOU DARE!BOOKER! Booker. Please."

That was just me trying to make sure he didn't quit, wasn't it? I didn't have feelings for Booker DeWitt did I?

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"We'll have him pinned!" he said, excited we could win. "Booker… Come here," "Huh?" whirled around and I grabbed his face pulling him close, close enough for a kiss. We kissed. It was the most beautiful thing in the city. The ONLY beautiful thing in the city. "I love you," I said. "You know what? I love you too Fitzroy. But, we can't love each other until Comstock lies dead," he stated, grabbing our weapons and walking out to rally the troops. "Don't die on me, DeWitt," this time saying it out of love.

"FITZROY! DUCK!" I did so, seeing a fireball whizz over my head. We were losing. WE WERE LOSING! Booker shot another Fireman and another cop. And then, all of a sudden, he yelled at me, "DAISY! LOOK OUT!" I turned, seeing Booker jump in front of me. "AAAAAAAGH!" he screamed in agony, a gaping burn mark on his chest. He crashed to the ground, blood dripping out of his chest. "BOOKER!" I cried, catching him as he fell, grasping his hand. His chest was still incredibly hot from the Fireman's shot. "Don't do this to me, Booker!" I managed to say through sobs. "Daisy, don't cry," he said moving his hand to caress my face, his strength gone. "Do me a favour," "Don't you dare say goodbye…" "…make sure that bastard Comstock dies. Oh yeah, I love you Daisy," he spoke for the last time, his voice raspy. Blood was pooling around him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he breathed his last. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed. "He can't die. He can't be dead."

But he was.

Booker DeWitt was dead.

And so he became my martyr, the martyr of the revolution.