"Booker... are you afraid of God?"
"No, But i'm afraid of you."
The voices echoed, deep in the void of his mind, his eyes fluttered open, his deep green iris' diliating after a rough night of gambling and drinking. 'I really need to stop drinking… Damn my head hurts' he thought to himself, miserable, just as usual. His mind was in a haze but he could remember bits and pieces of his lost night, he had been betting at the horse track, winning. But he made the stupid decision bet it all on the last race of the day, his horse was right there, right on the damn white line. The horse in second place, in some amazing feet of adrenaline, put its hoof right before his, winning, while he lost everything. All of it, he had pushed his way out of the gathered crowd and as his horse brooker demanded he pay all his borrowed money back, he couldn't help but feel a little pissed off, the grisled ex-pinkerton agent wasn't gonna get the shit kicked out of him by some low-life gangster.
He didn't mean to nearly kill the son of a bitch, but that bastard got what he deserved, after that event he left the horse track, searching for any bar that wouldn't ask questions about how he got blood on his clothes. After how many rounds of whiskey, cheap vodka, and beer he knew he had enough (Maybe it was because he couldnt see straight anymore but...) after which the bartender wanted him to pay upfront, he told him he'd have to wait for him to get another job. After that bit his memory hazed, but if the bruising on his knuckles and the feeling of pain he had were anything to go by then he knew exactly just what had happened.
Just then, as he made his conclusion, there was a knock then another, then a voice "Uh Mr. DeWitt, are you in there? im here to discuss our arrangement." he squinted his eyes "What arrangement?" he said, not recalling any arrangement from the events of last night. "I'd rather not talk about this in the hall DeWitt, can i come in?" The investigator grumbled "Fine" then a hand twisted the door handle open then pushed it with a low creak, stepping through was a man in a cream colored suit. "Our arrangement DeWitt, do you remember?" The man said nervously, Booker shook his head no, "If you met me last night, i think you'd realized i was intoxicated, so amuse me and restate our arrangement." He tapped his forefinger on his semi-automatic pistol sitting on his desk. A bead of sweat traveled on the man's face and he gulped nervously "Of course Mr. DeWitt." he murmured then turned around, he was about to ask a question but the man swiftly turned back around with a wooden box, with a gold embroiderment. "You'll find all the documents relevant to the job here Mr. DeWitt." the man walked forward and placed it on his desk, Booker nodded and took a look at the box, to see that his name and rank from the military to be carved into the top. "Confident that I would accept the job?" Booker said sarcastically, knowing he would accept this job, even if it had been a strange, rather coincidental occurrence. "It seems you could use some good honest work DeWitt." the man said as-a-matter-of-factly, " 'Honest' work is a word for it." he flipped the box open, revealing pictures, pamphlets, and various other things, not to mention a large metal key on top of the mess. "You've heard of Columbia, am i correct DeWitt?" Booker nodded as he sifted through the papers, "The flying fair gone rogue, right?" The man chuckled and continued "Yes DeWitt that fair, that demonstrated american values all over the world, then went on a rampage in the Boxer Rebellion." Booker looked up at the man with an eyebrow raised "Yeah, THAT fair" he said sarcastically, "So whats the job?" Booker said bluntly "It isn't a what, but a whom, you'll be going to Columbia to rescue a girl named Elizabeth, her picture is in the box Mr. DeWitt." Booker grabbed a grainy black and white photo of a young girl, raven black hair, a white blouse, a skirt, and a little bow that tied her hair into a tail. "She is the job? This pretty little thing, how could she be worth anything?" Booker said, slightly confused, "Im sure you'll find out when you meet her." Booker blinked a few times, at the rather cryptic answer, "Ok?" the investigator said, then the man began speaking again "We will wait for you in the port of Maine in the next few days, Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt." 'What?' suddenly Booker's nose expunged blood, his mind started throbbing hard, static started to cloud his eyes as he gripped his nose, stopping the flow of blood. "What… did you-" The man cut him off "A few days Mr. DeWitt." the man turned around and left his office, leaving the confused private investigator in his dingy office with nothing but questions.
-Two days later-
Booker stared at the photo once more, mesmerized by the girl, something about her reminded him of someone, but she didn't look like anyone he knew, shaking his head he slipped the picture into his jacket before it got soaked by the rain. Booker peered at two other people in the boat, both dressed in stark yellow raincoats, chatting about rowing or something that used 'rowing' as a metaphor. trying to ignore their constant chatter he sifted through the box for the hundredth time, tossing out the useless shit, casting them out into the sea. Looking up at the two "Hey how much longer?" The two didn't even miss a step in their conversation and just ignored him, Booker sighed pocketing a card with three symbols on it before placing the box on the floor of the boat. Sitting back up he spotted the lighthouse sighing in relief that he didn't need to suffer these two any longer, in no time flat they arrived at the short dock, stopping next to a soaked wooden ladder, Booker wasted no time to climb up to the platform eager to get inside. Then it hit him as the two rowed away he called out "Hey! Is someone meeting me here!" and one of them called back "I sure hope so!" then another "It does seem like a dreadful place to get stranded!" his shoulders sagging Booker murmured under his breath "Well maybe there's someone inside..." soaked, Booker ascended into the lighthouse, remarking the water basin with a scoff, he was wet enough, climbing the tower ignoring the apperence of the building being lived-in before reaching the final, and most intresting of landings. A corpse, hands bound, sat, the front of his clothes soaked through with blood that left a rather large pool of blood on the wooden floor, alongside of him was a bloody knife and hammer but Booker merely looked upon the scene without much thought not a gasp of surprise or a sad shake of the head, he'd seen too many deaths in his life to care.
After absorbing the scene Booker climbed up the final steps to the top of the lighthouse, where the beacon sat, shining its light across the ocean, he turned to his left where a strange door sat, with three golden bells hanging, lightly swaying in the wind, three symbols etched into their fronts. Which were a Scroll, a Sword, and a Key then Booker felt a wave of realization then murmered "Wait a minute that card..." he pulled it free of his coat pocket and rang the bells in their correct order, then nothing, pure and sudden silence left the Ex-Pinkerton both confused and surprised. The wind that blew not only a second ago stopped, along with the rain, he took a look at the card again making sure that he had rang the bells correctly, confirming he had he flicked his wrist sending the card into the ocean "Should've known this was a-" as if it had been waiting for him to speak the sky lit up red, blaring a foghorn with the lights down towards the lighthouse perhaps? Confirming his suspicions Booker turned to see the lighthouse 'responding' flashing in a similar order, before the door slid open as the beacon rose up disappearing into the building and in its place stood, a red chair, "A chair?" Booker asked no one, letting his utter disbelief hang on the air, "Thats what all those lights were for, a fucking chair?" he shook his head chuckling to himself then saying "I guess they expect me to SIT in their fancy ass chair." Taking his seat, still smiling at the situation, he didn't realize that there were restraints on the chair's arms until they had closed over his wrists, Booker immiedietly started to struggle, but to no avail as a distant automated voice came on "Make yourself ready pilgrum, the bindings act as a safeguard" Booker replied with a angry tone "A safeguard for WHAT!" suddenly the chair began to rotate showing Booker four metal panels that had risen from the floor sealing him in a metal coffin then the chair shifted downwards revealing four large cylindars that suddenly expunged bright fire one by one. Sadly his pistol found a way to slip from its holster and fell into the inferno below him "No- Goddamit!" the chair lifted him back up so he was upright, staring straight into a porthole that showed the outside world, he felt the pod beggining to rise and could swear it was falling apart his breath became hard and uneven, "Stay calm Booker..." Well the automated voice wasn't making this any easier, had he really just got shot up 5,000 feet into the air, check that 10,000! He didnt bother to note any more numbers from the voice as his vision was obscured by thick clouds then...
Sunlight, with a background of blue, this time a gasp of amazement escape his mouth "Wha-" he was was utterly speechless, the words needed to describe this scene before him escaped his mind, Tall buildings floated about lazily, belltowers rang with every rocking motion, bright light reflecting off the buildings, and as if it were some holy alter a massive angel, stood tall watching the city, all accompanied with an automated tune programed into the pod a parachetute must've opened because the pod drifted like the buildings before him, and as if to interupt his moment of bliss the pod landed on, something, then begun to sink into one of the buildings, the scene of the city still burned into his green eyes not knowing where in the hell was he going to find this girl.