And here we have it, a Bioshock story. Another one, by me. Hopefully, I will be able to construct a successful storyline this time, as the last one had too many holes, and I felt that it was empty, as if you could care less for the characters. As stated in the summary, this one will be about Infinite. Just like the other stories out there, it will be based off the main plot, but because I do not like the ending to the game (and some other aspects), I will change the plot to the way I see fit. My other story (if you are interested) is official shut down. There were numerous problems in that other story, and even though it was my first, I did not see any way of fixing it, so it has been discontinued. Let's not even mention the numerous grammatical errors and random garbage that I put in there for the heck of it. Honestly, I do feel as though I'm creating too many stories at once, but once I get inspiration (which changes drastically I know), I cannot hold it down. I have been playing Bioshock Infinite recently and to be quite frank, I am enthralled at its plot. Even though it took away my favorite city in the video game universe, it replaced it with a quite decent one, which was quite different in comparison. And I think we can all safely say that we all grew a bond with Elizabeth between her and yourself (Booker). In this story, I hope to create a characters that you feel deeply for, or even somewhat relatable. That aside, you're probably getting bored of me talking on and on about this, so let's just cut to the chase. I hope you find my introduction to this story captivating, as the introduction is the hardest part of the story in my opinion. Enjoy.
"One man goes into the waters of baptism; a different man comes out, born again. But who is that man who lies submerged? Perhaps that swimmer is both sinner and saint, until he is revealed unto the eyes of man." Zachary Hale. Comstock
~1~
Every Story has a Beginning
The light shown over the table as a man with thick brown hair wearing a vest, and striped pants held his cards. The room was filled with dust, and if one concentrated hard enough, one could see the small dust particles floating around through the shadow of the light. All around the man sat other men who were watching intently as his opponent picked up a card. Said man took a deep breath, inhaling deeply. The two men were gambling of course. Gambling on a rather large portion of money. One man, the one with the vest and brown hair, seemed to look nervous and quite agitated. If one had to guess, they would say that he was losing, close to losing, or had already lost. Sweat poured down from the temple of his forehead as the light beat down upon him. Tension was rising as the game continued. The game was taking place in a small room that was down an alley way of the streets of New York City. Here, they would be able to play their games in peace, without the disruption of the police. All was quiet and it seemed as though the rest of the room was inexistent as the two held their cards, glaring at one another.
The man wearing the vest with brown hair was DeWitt. Booker DeWitt to be exact. He was a well-known man in this section of the city for his brutal and violent detective work when he was employed with Pinkerton's National Detective Agency. Here he built up his reputation until he decided to branch off from the company and found his own company as a private investigator. However, as the current situation would explain, he had become sucked into a world of gambling and alcohol after the love of his life passed on from the world of the living. Leaving him nothing, Booker had gone into a state of depression, attempting to drown his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey, beer, or any other alcoholic beverage he could get his hands on. And here he was, gambling what little he had left to try and gain some money to pay off the enormous debt that was building up as he gambled.
Booker looked at the cards in his hands. The cards he held were a 5,6,7,8 and 9 all of spades. It was a straight flush. Surely, for once out of the many games in which he had gambled, this had to be the best hand he had ever gotten. Also, there was no possible way that his opponent could beat him. He had this in the bag. Still, he was nervous. For some odd reason, from somewhere in the back of his head he felt as though he still had the chance of losing. But he couldn't lose! The chances of him losing were slim to none. He had to get a Royal Flush, and that was practically impossible.
"All right then Booker. Let's see it then." The man snarled from across the table as he took the large cigar from his mouth. Once he finished, he put it back to its original place and grinned. Booker could barely keep himself from grinning himself as he held the cards in his hand. He was so positive that he had him beat, wasn't he? Well, he was going to get a surprise now, wasn't he?
"You asked for it pal. Straight Flush." Booker said as he placed his cards down on the table. All around him, the men gasped as they saw Booker's triumphant smile plastered across his rough face. "I'll be taking this money now…" He said as he began to gather the money in the middle. He couldn't help himself. It felt too good to be true. He had finally one, and maybe he would be able to pay off the massive debts that he owed. Or…he could just gamble a little more and, who knows? He might just get lucky again. However, his train of thought was interrupted as a massive hand slammed down upon his, forcing him away from the giant money pile in the center. Booker looked up at the large man with the cigar, angry and confused.
"What the hell! I won; keep your grubby paws off!" Booker barked. He knew that a majority of the men in the room were close friends of his opponent, and would gladly beat Booker down if he tried anything violent, but at the moment he felt no reason why he couldn't express his feelings to the greedy bastard. The man with the cigar just smiled and took the cigar out of his mouth so he could speak.
"You haven't won yet my friend. I still haven't shown my hand." Booker narrowed his eyes. Even though he couldn't see what the man's cards were, he could already sense that something wasn't right. When the man finished speaking, he went into a small coughing fit, which sent plumes of smoke coming out form his mouth. When he finished, he placed the cigar back in his mouth and leaned back in his chair. With a final triumphant smile, he placed his cards down, one by one.
Ace
King
Queen
Jack
Ten
Booker nearly fainted upon seeing the cards laid down on the green fabric that was draped over the table on which they were playing on. With weak legs, he took a seat back at the table and stared wide eyed at the cards. He ran his hands through his brown hair as sweat started pouring down his face. The room seemed to get immensely hot, and Booker could feel the color drain from his face. Meanwhile, the man with the cigar just laughed and bellowed, holding his fat stomach as he watched Booker stare at his undeniable defeat. He had lost, again. But unlike last time, he had lost everything he had left. Now he was penniless, and all alone. Upon this realization, anger built up inside Booker and he couldn't restrain himself from what he did next.
Quick as a flash, Booker stood up from his chair, sending the chair flying backwards across the wooden floorboards. The man with the cigar stood still as the events took place, obviously too fast for his unintelligent mind to register. Booker balled his hand up into a fist and plunged it towards the direction of the man with the cigar. His hand met with the fat, round face of the man and sunk into his skin before hitting his jaw. The blow wasn't enough to send him off his feet, but it was enough to send him back a few steps. Disoriented and confused, the man with the cigar held his head and hunched over. Booker closed in on him, ready to knock the man to the floor when a pair of arms grabbed him from the sides.
"All right bud! That's enough of you!"
"Quit strugglin' it'll be easier if you stop!"
Two men held Booker by his arms, restraining him and keeping him from attacking the man further. Said man was now conscious about what had just happened, and approached Booker with a bloody lip. He looked at Booker for a moment before thrusting his fist into Booker's stomach, taking the wind out of him. He repeated this movement around five times before he felt he had gotten enough pleasure from beating up his assailant. After placing the last blow, the man backed away from Booker's beaten body, and straightened the suit he was wearing.
"You know what to do boys. He's had this coming for a while. Take him to the back." The two men that held Booker grinned and did as they were told. Since Booker was now unable to stand on his own, the two men practically dragged his beaten form outside of the shed, into the now raining alleyway. It was the perfect spot for mugging, murder, and any other form of crime, as the police could not hear you. Even if they did, there were thousands of these small passageways in the city, and they would never be able to find you in time to save you (or arrest you). Booker's shins became soaked as the men dragged him through small puddles that were forming on the pavement. The two men snickered and talked to each other, but Booker decided that he didn't want to hear them and closed his eyes. Finally, the two men dropped him next to a wall at the end of the alleyway.
The fat man with the cigar appeared again, wearing a bowler hat and standing between his two goons with a frown upon his face.
"You disappoint me Booker. As much as it is a pleasure to rob you of all your money in a simple poker game, I cannot keep doing business with you. There are many people who want you dead, for not paying off their debts. But see it this way, when I kill you, you're death will be a way of paying off said debts. Everybody wins! See?" Booker remained silent as the man spoke to him. Once he had finished speaking, the man walked in closer and knelt down in front of Booker, sending some of the rainwater that had collected in his hat to spill onto Booker's pants. "This is it DeWitt. The end of the line. I'll tell Allan* you said hi." The man said before standing back up. He turned his back to Booker and began walking away. "We're done here. Clean up this mess." He said before starting to walk off. The two goons looked at each other before the one on the left pulled out a small pistol.
"Sorry pal. Your luck seems to have run out. See you on the other side." He aimed the pistol at Booker's head and cocked it back, preparing to send a bullet right through his brain. Booker opened his eyes, suddenly, and rolled out of the way as soon as the man pulled the trigger. As soon as he rolled away, Booker turned around to face his opponents. The second man pulled out a club and charged at Booker, only to find his attack easily parried. After avoiding the first grunt's attack, the second man got back up and aimed back at booker with an angered expression on his face. Booker grabbed the second grunt and turned him around, using him as a human shield. The first grunt fired accidentally, intending to hit Booker, but instead hit the first Grunt in the head, killing him instantly. Booker had to duck behind his body as the bullet shot clean through his skull and hit the brick wall behind him. Splotches of blood were splattered all over Booker's face. Once the grunt had finished shooting, Booker tossed the dead body aside and lunged at his last attacker. He grabbed his head and slammed it against a nearby brick wall, instantly knocking him out, and possibly cracking his skull. Seeing as all of his nearby enemies were extinguished, he took a moment to catch his breath before picking up the pistol and walking down the dark alleyway.
Booker's shoes splashed as they came into contact with the small puddles of rain forming in the ditches in the pavement. Onward he pressed through the alleyway before he caught sight of the man that had beaten him in Poker. With a loud yell, Booker charged him,
"AAAAHHHH!" He shouted. The startled man dropped his cigar and turned around only to get another punch to the face by Booker. The man didn't even get the chance to speak before Booker started ripping into him, partially from anger and partially because of his current drunken state. Even at this lowly state, however, he was still a formidable foe. Finally, the fat man cried out in mercy for him to stop,
"You fat bastard! You cheated!" Booker spat in his face. The fat man turned his head to the side before spitting out some blood. As he turned back to face DeWitt, a small trickle of blood still ran down his chin.
"It doesn't matter anymore DeWitt! They're coming for you! Told me themselves! They've had enough of your bullshit and they want their money back!"
"I could've paid off some of my debt with that money! I earned that!" Booker yelled again. The fat man only smiled,
"Only a small portion! And besides, you think just by paying them with money they would let you go scott-free? No, no, no, my friend. They want blood! You're blood-ouch!" Booker had punched him again. "Goddammit stop! Stop! Listen to me DeWitt, I can help you if you'd just quit it!" Booker stopped for a moment to listen.
"A man came to Allan's office the other day searching for you. Allan wouldn't tell him of course, cause he's pissed at you. But still, it seemed as though he was offering a great reward for something. Possibly a case that you could do that might just pay off your debts!" The fat man stuttered before Booker dropped him into a puddle and stood up looking down upon the man.
"Who is this man? Where can I find him?" Booker asked, intrigued by the tale that the fat man had told him.
"I don't know his name! Damn it Booker it's not like I take down everyone's name in a book or something!"
"Where can I find him?"
"I don't know." Booker angrily kicked the man on the ground and caused him to wince in pain.
"Kind of a tall tale isn't it then? What kind of bullshit are you telling me? Forget it. I'm done here." Booker said before walking through the alleyway towards the gambling room. As he reached the doorway he could hear the fat man behind him yell after him,
"They're coming for you, you know! They WILL find you! And when they do, you'll pay for this!" Booker ignored him and walked in the room. The men who were still inside had seen what had happened and stepped out of the way as Booker walked in, gathered his belongings along with a bottle of alcohol. At one point, he thought of taking the money as well, but he noticed that these men would not allow him to leave the room alive if he had taken it, and unlike last time, there were around 10 of them. He stuffed the pistol which he had grabbed before in his vest pocket. Booker then began to make his way out back towards the office.
*DeWitt Private Investigator (Office Room)*
Pain shot through Booker's forehead as he lifted his head from his desk. The only light in the room; a small lamp on his desk, shown light into his face as he wiped his sore eyes. Red and bloodshot from all of the liquor he had drank; Booker's eyes eyed the empty bottle in his hands. He had recalled last night just barely, only remembering drinking all of the liquor and falling asleep afterwards. It had become a habit of his. Booker groaned and put his hands to his forehead. He was sweating too. Just as Booker was about to stand up from his seat, he heard a knocking at his door.
Booker stared at the door with a stupid look on his face, partially because of the liquor, and partially because he could not believe that someone had the audacity to come to him at this hour of the day. It was 3 o'clock in the morning for god's sake!
The knocking rang once again. Three knocks, accompanied by silence. Booker groaned and stood up from his desk, pushing his wooden chair to the side. He leaned forwards and backwards, stretching out his spine, and quickly stashed the pistol on his desk inside the drawer, just in case the cops had come to arrest him for last night's events. Then again, would he need it? What if it was Allan's men come to collect the debt he owed? Booker shrugged and decided that he didn't have the motivation or will to fight, and walked over to the door, staggering here and there from his hangover.
When Booker reached the door, he asked,
"Who's there?"
"Someone who needs of your services." The voice, obviously male, replied from the other side of the door.
"Why don't you go look somewhere else, I'm closed right now…" Booker said, beginning to return to his desk where he could rest in peace.
"That would be unwise, Mr. DeWitt. I have an interesting deal to propose." The voice countered, picking up Booker's attention. How did this guy know his name? And what was this so called deal? Booker stood silent on his side of the door for a moment before speaking,
"I'm listening."
"I would prefer we spoke face to face instead of at a door. It seems quite anti-social don't you think?" The voice requested.
"How do I know you won't pull out a gun and blow my brains out?" Booker accused quite suddenly and irrationally. The voice seemed quite annoyed at Booker's quick judgment and let out a heavy sigh.
"Honestly Mr. DeWitt, if I were one of Allan Pinkerton's men, I would have already stormed your room and shot you dead. May I come in?" The voice pointed out. Booker thought it over and decided that he was right. Allan was a ruthless man when it came to business, and Booker happened to owe the man a lot of money. Allan barging in with a group of men to shoot him dead was one of the least surprising things that he would've expected. Booker grabbed the brass door handle and unlocked it before opening the door itself.
The man on the other side of the door was a tall, lanky fellow, dressed in a crème colored jacket and pants to match. His hair was a light orange color, and his bored expression held many secrets behind it that made Booker feel as though he was hiding something. Still, he led him in and sat at his desk, waiting to hear the job he was offering.
"As you already know, I am here to offer you a job Mr. DeWitt." Booker nodded, "Very well, the job is fairly quite simple really. All you need to do is go to the following coordinates where one of our accomplices will take you to Colombia, a city high above the clouds." The man handed Booker a small piece of paper, "There, you will find the girl by the name of Elizabeth. She is locked away in Monument Tower. You'll know it when you see it. From there on out, all you need to do is simply bring the girl here to Mr. Allan. We have compromised on a deal to free you of your debts if you perform and execute this task successfully Mr. DeWitt." The man instructed. When he had finished, there was an awkward silence as he noticed that Booker was staring at him wide eyed, obviously shocked at the offer.
"Well Mr. DeWitt? Will you accept?" Booker still did not reply. He had been opening up another bottle of whiskey when the man had spoken about freeing him of his debts by finding one measly girl. This seemed to be the same fairy tale that he was told by the man who he had played poker with the day before. Now, he sat with his feet on his desk, and the bottle in his hand, but his face was completely concentrated on the man with the crème colored jacket. Realizing that he looked completely unprofessional and like an idiot, Booker straightened himself up and put his feet back down on the floor. He put the wine bottle down on his desk and thought what he was going to say through before speaking,
"You're telling me…all I need to do is get this girl from a tower in a floating city…and my debts paid?"
"Yes." The man nodded.
"Kind of hard to believe pal…a floating city? And a girl in a tower?"
"I am not jesting you Mr. DeWitt. This is a serious matter, and a serious case." The man said, keeping his bored expression, except for lifting an eyebrow here and there once in a while. Booker sighed,
"I don't even know you're name! And why do you need the girl, may I ask?"
"All questions will be answered in due time, Mr. DeWitt. Just bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt." He answered. Booker put his head in his hands, thinking over his options. Thinking over all of the possible choices he could make. He then realized that this was his only choice at the moment if he wanted to pay off his debts with Allan.
"I must say that I am intrigued…you said all of my debts? I would be a free man?" Booker asked, half expecting the man to start laughing and tell him this was all a joke. Instead, the man nodded. "Alright. I'll do it." Booker said, nodding his head, while hoping that this man wasn't lying to him. If he was, however, Booker would ensure that he lost a few teeth by the end of the day.
"Splendid. We will wait for any news of your progress. Good day Mr. DeWitt." The man said before leaving. Booker called out after him the second he left the room, out of earshot.
"Wait! How do I contact you? Where do I take her?! Hello?!" No response. DeWitt sighed and sat back down in his chair, bringing his bottle of whiskey to his lips. After taking a decent swig, he coughed violently and stared at his ceiling. 'A floating city? Impossible. What idiot would build a city above the clouds? What was next? A city under the ocean?
And that's the end of Chapter 1. I hope you all enjoyed it, but I would also like to say that I hope that I am developing Booker correctly. Infinite is a lot more confusing than Bioshock 1 and 2, because of all that timey wimey wibbley wobbley stuff. So yeah, if I'm missing any crucial parts of the timeline, please let me know.