Small, pale hands slapped against the brass doorknob.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The footsteps grew faster. There were nearly caught up to him!
He twisted the knob, throwing the door open. The door slammed against the opposite wall and slammed shut again just as rapidly.
Rough wood and glossy paint ground into his back, the sturdy door strangely comforting and familiar just as the room before him. A rather large bed, freshly made with barely stained sheets, stood before him. Plates and cups cluttered the sink. A towel was folded on the counter.
His shaking hands struggled to heft the slick weight that filled his fingers.
Screeches and yelps rang out from beyond the door and thunderous footsteps grew nearer.
He spun about, hand flying to the latch and then then dead bolt, flipping the chilled metal closed.
The footsteps slowed, and then went silent. Close. They were so close.
He stepped back from the door, its massive height towering over him, its stunning green paint peeling in a few places and cracking in others.
Wham!
His shoelace snagged his foot and he collapsed onto his rear, scuttling away from the massive door as fast as he could.
Wham!
A yelp tore its way from his mouth as he kicked himself across the room as far from the door as he could.
Wham!
A wordless scream came from the unseen creature beyond the door. Each impact shook rattled the impressive door, the doorframe swelling ever so slightly.
Another scream echoed through the door.
"Let!"
Wham!
"Me"
Wham!
"In!"
"Let me in you little shit!" Each shrieking, rapid word was punctuated with yet another incredibly powerful blow.
His hands flew to his ears, cold steel pressed against one side of his face.
The banging went on for what seemed like an eternity. His eyes were screwed shut but his face still grew more damp by the second.
Wham!
He drew his knees up to his chest and tucked his head down, pressing his hands to his ears.
Wham!
The wood groaned. The door stood strong.
"Dad! Dad!" He screamed, rocking back and forth.
Another deafening impact.
He sobbed.
"Mom! Help!" He wailed.
Silence.
Another sob worked its way out, his snorting and sniffling cries unanswered.
Another moment past, and then another.
Perhaps a minute.
He peeked from between his knees at the door, its seemingly massive height suddenly terrifying.
The paint around the frame was cracked in a dozen new places. Flakes hung from the wall and the splintering wall shown through.
The quiet drew on. Not even the floor creaked.
He sniffed and wiped his nose again, the pale tip shining pink from the rough sleeve of his coat.
He shuffled forward, dragging the glinting steel along the floor for a moment as he stood from the surprisingly clean floor.
Bright blue eyes darted about the room, suddenly scared of the shadows that hung in the corners.
He placed one unsteady, unsure foot in front of the other as he padded toward the glinting green door.
He hunched down, cowering before it, waiting for the moment that the unseen monster would strike yet again.
The doorknob shone for a moment in the pale blue light that bathed part of the room.
He had to see if it was over. He had to see if the monster was gone.
He reached out, his chest burning as he held his breath. His fingers tingled. His hand clutched tighter around the steel dangling dumbly at his hip.
Frigid brass tickled his fingertips.
Bang!
The door leapt, the frame groaning as if barely holding together. He screamed running across the room.
Another impact. Wood splinters popped from the doorframe.
He raised his hands, struggling with the weight of the steel and cold wood.
Another impact. More splinters.
He screamed again.
"Stop it!"
Tears streamed down his face.
His slight thumb crushed into the sharp metal tab on the back of the glinting object.
Click…
He raised his arms, just like he had seen in the comic books his mother had brought him once.
Shining blue light reflected off the dark finish.
He was suddenly blind. The flash had been so bright. He hadn't expected it.
His ears felt fluffy, like they were stuffed full of cotton. He couldn't hear the monster at the door anymore. His head hurt too.
His hands dropped to his lap, still clutching the heavy weight. He suddenly realized he was sitting, having fallen when the flash blinded him and the steel leapt in his hand like crazy. He felt a trickle of something warm running down his forehead.
He dragged the back of his hand across his face and glanced at it. Blood.
Thump!
The distant sound of pounding caught his attention.
"You shot me! I'm going to rip your fucking head off!"
The words were distant and little more than a whisper.
The door rattled again. It was more rapid but far weaker than before.
He shook his head, glancing down at the smoking, glinting steel in his hand. He stretched his thumb out again, hooking the sweaty digit on the back again.
He struggled for a moment again, the slick tool slipping in his sweaty, little hands.
Click.
"Go away!"
Even his screaming voice sounded different with all the puffiness in his ears.
Another flash and ringing silence. The steel leaps in his hands, and he barely hangs on, nearly slamming the unyielding metal into his head yet again.
Acrid smoke burns his nose. The door no longer rattles, but he does.
The steel slips from his fingers onto the floor next to him, the loud clatter unheard.
He pulls his knees to his chest once more and lays down, crying for his mother yet again.
Blue orbs shot open, darting about the room. Each mold stain cast a terrifying shadow in his drowsy mind.
In a world built under the sea, no place was safe from mold and mildew. The smell permeated the place like a cancer.
He breathed out hard through his nose, blowing the itchiness and spores out in a mist before breathing deeply.
A cloud hung over him with the harsh exhale, the chill of the room just barely frigid enough to cause the fog.
He usually tried to fight off the horrible stains and stench that accompanied the constant dampness, but every so often he fell behind in the battle. It was one of many.
Feet slapped down against a damp wooden floor. They were pale, but worn gray by the constant oily filth they dwelled in.
His back cracked along its length as he straightened up, twisting and turning to get the stiffness out inch by inch. The cold had barely worked its way into his bones.
His neck cracked in a similar way, the grinding of bone deafening in the small room. He worked the stiffness out of his body a little bit at a time. His clothes lay hung on a rail across the room from him in a vain attempt to keep them dry. His steel toed boots were slung on the end of the bed in an effort to keep spiders and other various pests from making a home in his footwear.
He glanced around the room to check that everything was the way he left it before. Of course, nothing had changed, but it was routine. He always checked the room every morning. It was what he did.
He carried on, his daily routine of getting dressed and scrubbing his mouth out with his hands, filling the room with sound that drowned out the peaceful creak of the comatose city.
It would be only a few days now until he was free. Just a few days.
Water splashed back onto his chest as he spit into the sink. The faucet spat for a moment, the water running black for a flash. The pipes rattled loudly in the walls. Air running its way out.
His fingers prodded his gums, running about and checking each tooth for looseness. He used what he could on them. Polish, blasting sand, and even real toothpaste if he was lucky. Often the toothpaste was hardened with age and wasn't much more pleasant than polish or sand.
The first thing to go when a person starts to come apart at the seams is their teeth. His father had told him that once.
He looked up from the filthy sink into the cracked mirror that hung from the wall. What he saw in it had long since stopped to surprise him.
A weathered young man stares back at him. Scars littered his face and a few came dangerously close to his eyes, their pale knotty tendrils curling in towards glinting cold blue. All were badges earned from an existence of mere survival.
Dirty brown hair hung down past his ears and a thick stubble adorned his chin and neck, hiding a long scar from a Houdini's hook.
Light blue eyes of a person tired to the soul looked back at him. A glint shone through the haziness, stubbornly sticking out despite such time without rest. His eyes quivered slightly. He couldn't focus on the mirror for more than a few moments before his gaze was draw to the shadows in the corner of the room, a tickle running along his neck. He had to force himself to focus again, steadying his gaze.
He ran his fingers underneath his chin, tracing the mottled, twisted scar along his neck. The almost imperceptible sense of contact the shredded nerves carried unleased the ghost of a hook and the memory of tearing skin. He shivered.
He straightened out the mirror and walked to his clothes.
Pulling his pants on, he sat back down on the bed and retrieved the large revolver from under his pillow. A remnant of the early 50s, the large hunk of steel was well worn. The grip was mottled and worn pale. A few deep gouges ran across the receiver.
For the longest time, the large revolver had been his only weapon to protect himself from the horrors outside of his door. Long weeks were spent clutching it, quivering and afraid. When the warm arms the weapons previous owner were long gone, the cold steel of the barrel was the only thing he could cling to in the shadowy corners of his room. Those weeks after that day had been his very darkest.
The revolver was dropped with a thud on the table next to the slowly collapsing bed.
He pulled his boots on, his feet squelching into the cold, slightly damp leather. It seemed like no matter how long he left the out, they never dried.
A stained and tattered undershirt slipped over his sickly pale, slightly gaunt frame. The stockpile had not been meant to last for much longer than a year or two, despite having enough for three people. It lasted far longer for only one, but rationing was still needed.
He slipped a heavy jacket over his frame. The shoulders of the coat sagged over him, running like a river down his arms. He barely filled its cavernous expanse.
He remembered the early days, the days when he would hide under the coats long tails and cling to strong, long legs. It had been a safe fortress, shielding his eyes from the vast cold world around him.
The coat tails were cut away, the hazard of filthy, twisted hands too great to ignore.
The coat was plenty warm for the frigid, wet place that was Rapture. Without functional heating the city had plummeted to a mere degree or two above freezing, the frigid ocean beyond the glass sucking the heat from within.
The sea would continue to suck on the growth upon its floor like a leech, draining what little heat remained until every glowing trace of wretched human life was extinguished. Then, finally, with the grand abnormality that was Rapture dead, would the ocean rest.
This, of course, hardly bothered the inhabitants of the city. Except for one.
His knees seemed to grind as he stood, footsteps thundering in the quiet room.
Hands drifted down, tracing over a different piece of chilled, rough finished steel. Rounded and stamped, this was his second weapon. It bore similarity to the grease guns he had seen in the dry docks and service halls of Rapture. It was, however, far deadlier.
Light caught it at some angle, bare steel glinting. Its unremarkable black finished was worn almost entirely off. This one was quite useful for when the twisted inhabitants of Rapture decided to approach in groups.
One couldn't waste time dealing with each monster individually. Isaac had learned that the hard way, his neck attested to that.
He slipped the frayed sling of the gun over his shoulder and tucked it beneath his coat, the chilled metal sucking the heat from him.
Worn, soft leather caught between his fingers as he picked up another remnant of the past. The holster had been with him for a long time.
Dark splotches adorned the material, a haunting reminder of how much worse everything could be. He slipped it over his other shoulder and grabbed the gun, strapping it into the supple material.
After the holster was snugged down, he ran his fingertips over yet another piece of chilled steel. A few pockmarks, reminders of his mistakes, adorned its face. Fashioned from steel and iron, this plate had saved his life many a time. The chest plate was one of the many items that were a vital part of his every day. Without it he would have never made it this far.
He slipped it on, taking comfort in the uncomfortable angles digging into his ribs.
The tingle along the back of his neck died down a bit. This was safe.
He wandered away from the table and cradled the gun beneath his coat.
The room grew silent as he stood aimlessly for a moment. He hovered in the center of the room, staring out at the single porthole that adorned the rusting wall of the room.
He preferred to be active when the porthole was brightest, its blueish glow mirrored by many of the windows of Rapture. It was a bit of light to supplement the ever fading and flickering glow of the electric lamps in the halls.
A simple chair ground along the hard floor, rattling as it slid along. He sat silently.
He fumbled with a can of beans for a few moments, struggling to open its tough lid with a knife. It was one of the dozens of cans that remained, piled in the corner of the table and in the closet beyond.
A dull brown bottle accompanied the meal, its label long worn off.
His hands quivered slightly as he ate. Excitement was not an emotion he felt often, but today was a day to feel it.
Even with how excited he was at his proximity to freedom, he would not show it. In fact, he could not show it. His body would not let him take the risk of showing excitement. Being this close to his goal, he could not afford a mistake. The list was finally ending. All this time was finally coming to an end. The machine would be complete.
He drank the mush of beans and sipped from the bottle.
The blue glow of the ocean drew his gaze to the window. Faint outlines of the city lie far below.
A gravely growl split the sound of his eating.
"So, last day, any regrets?"
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The meal suddenly seemed far lest interesting.
"Nothing. Why would I have anything to regret?"
There was no response other than the clack of his fork against the can. Fear drained from him after a few more moments of silence.
"Are you sure about that?"
He dropped his fork, the light metal clattering on the metallic surface of the table.
His knuckles grated and shifted to white as his fist clenched about bottle, its frothy liquid growing agitated.
He shook his head, words working their way out of his mouth.
"None. What about you?"
No response.
The lip of the bottle clacked against his teeth as he sipped, the action of drinking suddenly seemed difficult.
"I do have regrets though."
Isaac glanced down at his hands.
"And what would that be?"
"Leaving."
His stomach twisted, the cramp nearly causing him to flinch as he slumped in his chair.
His eyes slipped shut as he forced his hand to loosen up.
Finally, he answered, his voice shaking.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
His upturned, questioning palms flashed in the mirror across the room.
"Think about it!"
Anger dug its claws into him. His face twisted.
"What?" He spat.
"So much potential…" The voice dripped, like frigid ocean brine.
He lurched.
"What do you mean? We never needed that! We still don't!"
His voice echoed back at him, the walls doing little to dampen his shouts.
"Make them all pay. All of them"
Even with his palms over his ears, he could still hear it.
"All of that power. We would never have to hide again."
He could practically feel the tickle of the cold, crimson container in his hand.
"We could be the masters of…"
The voice cut off suddenly, choking harshly.
"We are not staying down here!"
The room was silent.
"We have worked too damn hard to pull that shit! There is nothing left here! Nothing down here is worth saving!" He screamed into the dim room, his own voice echoing off the bare steel walls. He was standing. He didn't remember getting up. The chair was flipped on its back, far across the room.
"And I am not going to fucking splice! We have made it too far for that! I survived on my own, no drugs!" He slammed his palm into his chest, the steel plate he wore clanging in protest. His throat tickled, the sudden outburst tearing at his rarely used voice.
He spun about, throwing the bottle into the wall. What little liquid that remained foamed merrily, finally free of its glass prison.
The chair crashed into the table, landing upright on the floor.
He had to leave. He had to leave before that itching nag behind his eyes grew any more. It pulled at him constantly, like the claws of sleep but striking even when he had just woke.
He grabbed the can of beans and downed the rest of the disgusting, sweetish mush they had become. Glass crunched underfoot.
"This has to be done"
He walked back over to the table and snatched up his final weapon, an incredible length of black steel and wood. His fingers dug into the solid frame, curling and digging as if he could steal the objects feeling of raw power. Its weight gave him an almost surreal sense of invincibility.
With this weapon, there was nearly nothing he needed to fear. He had claimed it after a long period stuck in little more than a metal safe, hiding from a raging Protector that refused to leave him alone. It could tear through the armored helmets of any Protector. He had tested it on the remains of a Daddy he had found at one point.
Of course, the ammunition was incredibly hard to come by. The rifles automatic nature didn't help conservation of ammunition in the slightest.
The long rifle slipped over his shoulder as well.
He tightened his pack about him, snugging down the straps and tucking it against the barrel of the long rifle.
A shower of glinting brass of various length slipped into his pockets. He counted the rounds out, taking a generous amount for his final foray into the dark. He pleaded to the silence that that was all he needed.
Updated 2/20/19
And that is the edit of Chapter 1 that i will be working off of. I have cleared the chapters that were previously posted as they are under construction. I will be tagging each new chapter with a date to avoid confusion.
One of you guys suggested I repost the previous version of the story as a separate document. That is a good idea! I was originally intending to do so. It will be posted in a week or so.
Leave a review of what you think of the edit! I changed a good bit and added some new material.
~TheDeafListener