Prologue
"Booker DeWitt is an asshole, and probably a child molester like the rest of the Vox Populi!"
Adam Smith's bellow he kept for preaching against the Vox Populi could carry across half of Columbia on a good day. This wasn't one of them.
The only problem with his speech was that it wasn't very good.He had already used most of his one-liners and rasict jokes by the time the False Shepard actually turned up, so now he was left standing in the pouring rain, hoping that Comstock was right after all. If this was glory, he thought to himself miserably, it sure as hell didn't feel like it.
His blonde hair was soaked through his battered fedora by this point,his shabby suit clinging limply to his body, 27-years-old,going on 12.Admitting defeat reluctantly, he slunk off towards the nearest bar.
Just as Booker DeWitt strolled nonchalantly right past the spot he had been standing in a few moments ago, a top hat shadowing his face.
Typical, Adam would later sigh, much later, after the False Shepard was dead by his very own hand-well,his shotgun. Adam would also go on to describe just how he did it- with only some vigors, an insane bird, an aspiring city builder named Andrew Ryan and a whole lot of luck.
Spoiler alert-people die horribly in this one