I have re-uploded my story thusfar. It is all pretty much the same, except I have made two chapters into 6, and I have actually added new details to a few parts. More chapters are coming soon I promise to those few of you who actually enjoy reading this. I just am sort of a perfectionist so that, mixed with the fact that I just havent found time latley, is why it takes me a while, I really want to convey this marvelous story as best as I can.

Bioshock

Chapter One: The Crash

Andrew Ryan sat at his desk pondering what was to come. His eyes were closed and he was listening to the sounds of his beloved Rapture. The tinking and clonking and dripping, had long since stopped being annoying. It had evolved into a sort of language. The city itself was speaking to him, soothing him, protecting him. He laughed quietly to himself. Thinking how Rapture was his own personal Big Daddy. His laugh ended quickly, like all Big Daddys, Rapture could be brought down. Was brought down already. Betrayed by the weak.

He opened his eyes slowly. With all of the horrible decay that overwhelmed his city, his office had managed to remain as extravagant as the day he first entered it.

"Exquisite, Bill." He had smiled, as he strolled around his office on that first day.

"Thank you kindly Mr. Ryan, I tell you what them old chaps up top don't have it as good as I made it for you down ere."

So long ago, he stood up from his reminiscing and walked over to the large window behind his desk. His city looked so beautiful from here, so peaceful you could hardly tell that there was bloodshed and chaos behind those walls. He sighed; it was all god dammed Fontaine's fault; good now that he was dead.

Ryan felt the rumble even before the surface monitors started blaring. "What the hell!?" he rushed to the bank of monitors and flicked a switch next to the largest screen. All of his surface sensors were fried. A camera that he had posted showed a most disturbing image. A plane appeared to have crashed, right next to the lighthouse. How convenient, had the government finally found him, the KGB, CIA, or was it someone else. The fuzzy picture showed a single man swimming out of the wreckage toward the lighthouse. He climbed the steps and rested a moment on a broken lamp post, surveying the wreckage.

"How odd."

"Maybe you should let him in Andy dear." Startled by the woman's voice, he turned to see Diane standing there.

"What if he is a spy darling; sent by those pigs?" He knew deep down that Diane was not really there, but after so long down here without a friendly person who was not completely insane or so spliced up he could not even recognize them. He began to go a little crazy himself.

"Then teach him a lesson, show him why no one can mess with Andrew Ryan." She was right after all, and he turned to agree with her but she was already gone. Shaking his head, he flicked another switch that would open the door to the lighthouse, just as the man was ascending the steps.

When he entered the door Ryan quickly shut it and locked it. Ryan could hear the man struggling in the darkness for a few moments trying to open the door. He flicked the lights on for him, and the man began to walk forward lights turning on as he walked. Another switch and Ryan unlocked the bathysphere that he would come to. As the man entered it and pulled the lever it began its journey.

Through the shortwave radio that was inside the sphere Ryan heard his own voice giving the welcoming speech. How foolish this man was if he thought that he could just sneak into his city. Oh this was going to be a fun night.


Atlantic flight 512 cruised gently above the middle of the Atlantic on April the 8th 1960. Inside the plane, in seat 11c sat Jack. Jack was enjoying a cigarette. He looked lovingly at the photograph of his parents that he kept in his wallet. They always told him that he was meant to do great things. And you know what, they were right.

"Sir? Would you care for a drink?" the young and attractive stewardess smiled down at him, as he shook his head. As she walked off he could not help himself from looking at her legs. Which seemed to stretch on forever from underneath her short blue skirt. Smiling to himself he turned his attention to the gift that he parents had given him. He looked up and made eye contact with a little blond girl leaning over the seat in front of him. He smiled, but it was hollow. He had never really liked children for some reason. Especially little girls.

His attention turned back to the gift from his parents. And that was the last thing he remembered before passing out.

Jack could hear people screaming through the darkness that surrounded him. Cries of women and children. What a horrible nightmare

The darkness slowly faded and Jack became aware that it was not a nightmare. But the darkness was replaced by a crushing icy feeling, and he knew that he was underwater. Instinctively he began to push his arms and legs, frantically trying to get to the air above. Pushing past purses and suitcases and a teddy bear. Just as his lungs were about to burst, he broke the surface. Sweet air filled his lungs. At least it would have been sweet had it not been tainted by the rancid smell of burning fuel. As soon as he had his bearings he began to swim forward towards the tail end of the plane that was sticking out of the water a few yards away. He did not know what good it would do him, as he was in the middle of the ocean. As he drew nearer an oil slick erupted trailing to another portion of the plane that exploded on contact. Jack had to dive underwater to avoid the flying shrapnel.

When he surfaced he turned to his right. And to his amazement there, in the middle of the ocean, was a lighthouse. He began to head for it. It was odd he must admit, but he was not about to question it, as long as he could put his feet on something solid he was good. He climbed up onto the steps and rested on a broken lamp post. He could not believe it, how could he have survived. Burning wreckage was all that was left of the plane. There were no other movements, no screaming. From what he could tell there were no other survivors. He figured he had best head inside, to see if someone could call for help.

He climbed, or rather ran, up the steps and found a door at the top, it was open, and within there was darkness. Hesitantly he stepped inside. And the door slammed shut behind him. He banged and struggled for a few moments, trying frantically to open the sealed door. Then the lights came on. Jack was in some kind of reception room. There was a large oval monument and the huge bust of a man looking down on him suspended above it. There was a large red banner that read "No gods or Kings. Only Man."

"HELLO" Jack called "Can someone please help? There's- there's been a crash" but the only reply was his own echo which seemed to call back tauntingly from up above.

"Creepy" Jack thought, as he stepped forward he became aware of music playing softly somewhere. A pleasant tune that seemed odd in this place. There was a plaque below the bust "In what country is there a place for people like me? - Andrew Ryan". He continued around the oval monument. And down some steps lights illuminating along his way. Until he came into an oval room with what appeared to contained a sort of submarine. There were three plaques on the wall that read "Industry" "Science" and "Art". "What is this place?" The door to the sub was open. And, despite the voice in his head screaming at him not to, he stepped inside.

He stretched out his hand and pulled the lever. The door shut and the sub began its descent. Jack watched out of the glass door as a sign passed "10 Fathoms" and then another "18 Fathoms." Before a screen slid up blocking his view. A projector of some sort started. And it showed an advertisement. "Fire at your finger tips" it read. There was a man, whose finger was on fire, lighting a cigarette for a woman, and below that "Plasmids by Ryan industries." Another picture came on, this one of a man sitting in a chair with the headline "From the desk of Ryan"

"I am Andrew Ryan" the voice scarred him at first, before Jack realized that it was just a recording. "And I am here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his own brow?" An image of a man being attacked by an eagle in front of the White House replaced the image. "No, says the man in Washington, it belongs to the poor" The next slid showed a man being attacked by a hand in front of a church."No says the man in the Vatican, it belongs to God" The next was of a man being attacked by a scythe and hammer in front of another building."No says the man in Moscow, it belongs to everyone." That image was replaced by the original of Ryan in a chair. "I rejected those answers, instead I chose something different, I chose the Impossible, I chose..." The screen slid down. "Rapture" Jack was utterly speechless.

An entire city laid before Jacks eyes. Unbelievable, had he died in the crash? Was this heaven, or hell? No he was alive, and he was looking at a city, miles below the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. Squid and whales and all other sorts of sea life swam by the sub, on its journey through the city. The voice of Ryan continued. "A city where the artist would not fear the censor. Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. And where the great would not be constrained by the small. And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well."

There the message ended and Jack was left to stare in utter disbelief at the city that he was floating by. Skyscrapers complete with neon advertisements dominated his view. More voices appeared to be issuing from somewhere else in the sub.

"The lighthouse is all lit up like hellfire, looks like some kind a plane crash."

"We are in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, how could it?"

"I dunno but you better get up there fast, the splicers are comin."

"What how do you know anyone even survived?"

"The bathysphere's comin up boyo that means we got company"

The sub turned and headed for a sort of port. It passed beneath three neon rings that lit up as he drew nearer. "All good things" "Flow into" "The city". The last began to spark and flicker as he went under it. The sub stopped as it entered the round hole at the end of the rings, and began to rise.


On the evening of December the 31st 1958 Diane Mclintock sat alone at a table in the Kashmir restaurant. She stared blankly out of the window. The sea was so peaceful. No matter what happened inside these walls. Outside, would remain as peaceful and tranquil as ever. She felt a pang of sadness as she turned her head and starred at all of the people enjoying their new years together.

She pressed record on the small audio dairy that many, if not all of the citizens of Rapture had become accustomed to caring around.

"Well, its New Years Eve, and you're stuck in Hephaestus working late as usual. I guess I'll just have another drink" Picking up the drink she held it up as if to make a toast. "Here's to Diane Mclintock, the silliest girl in Rapture. Silly enough to fall in love with Andrew Ryan."

There was an explosion then and Diane was flung back knocking her face on an upturned table. The metal legs digging into her face. She could hear screaming everywhere. She struggled to her feet.

"What...What happened. I'm bleeding" she tripped on something and fell into the pool of water that had grown on the finely polished floor. She stood again and tried to peer around. But she could barely see through the blood that overwhelmed her face. She could make out figures running, screaming. A man ran into the water in an attempt to put out the fire that embraced his entire body.

She clambered up the steps and was knocked down by someone else. She wiped the blood away enough to make out several splicers cornering the barman before bashing him in the head with their heavy iron pipes.

Before the darkness completely took her she looked up to see him standing there. Atlas they called him. The leader of the resistance, and he was smiling.