The time passed in trickles, much like the drips and drabs of leaking pipes. Elizabeth hugged her knees, trying not to look at the bloodstains matting her skirt. She couldn't tell how long she had been here, in this sunken hell. The doctors regarded her as a specimen, something to poke and prod and watch.
Even worlds away, from the top of the world to the bottom of the ocean, the nature of the tower did not change.
The thinnest edges of a tear flickered in front of her. True, there were others about her, larger and easier way to try and escape, but they were ill suited for an underwater cell. Elizabeth knew enough about physics that if she attempted to breach the hull with these, the pressure would crush the entire structure, and her with it.
No, what was special about this tear is that it led to a different path to freedom. Before her, on a distorted isle of tile surrounded by cold concrete, lay a pistol. It was a revolver, much like one she had seen Booker use many times before. Stray rounds lay scattered around it, as if had been dropped carelessly, where ever it truly was. It was so unassuming, so simple, but it was still a tool to kill.
Her pale fingers reached for the smooth, wooden handle, her hand shaking. The shocked face of Fitzroy sprang to mind unbidden, gasping for breath. The blood barely showed on the woman's dark face. She pointed an accusing finger at her murderer, eyes filled with confusion.
Elizabeth's hand froze, briefly hanging in midair before darting back within the folds of her clothing.
That face was there every time she had closed her eyes since... she had... done it. It haunted her dreams, following her, accusing her. And when she woke, the blood was still there, soaked into her clothing.
Voices echoed weakly from outside her cell, their footsteps punctuated by the drizzle of water.
"-...know the one, he came with the girl. They scrubbed him up and down, and he wouldn't say anything. Kept blabbing on about some city in the sky,"
"A city in the sky? Ridiculous,"
Were they talking about Booker?
Elizabeth shifted from her position, crawling towards the door, ear strained for listening.
"I know, right? Anyway, they gave him the work over, the whole nine yards, everything, and he STILL wouldn't spill the beans on who sent him or the girl,
"Yeesh,"
"So, the big bugs figure they gotta get something outta him, so they had us drag his ass up to the chink for that "Protector" program thing,"
"To Suchong? Christ... poor bastard,"
The girl bit her lip as she hunkered closer to the door, tears starting to brim in the corner of her eyes. Turning back to where the revolver lay through the tear, Elizabeth made up her mind.
Two short raps thudded off of the cell's metal door as the attendant stepped inside.
"Up and at 'em little lady, time for tes-"
A pair of shots ripped through the first lab attendants torso, another three through the second. The third shot hit the man square in the face, the bullet's heavy bore bursting his head like an overripe fruit.
For a moment, Elizabeth's breath hitched, and she gagged. She doubled over, breathing heavily, her vision swimming before she swallowed down the bile. Despite trembling, she managed to straightened her posture without retching, but the churning tightness in her belly wouldn't stop. Both hands still clenched the smoking gun, and her breath came in quick, short gulps.
The first man had slid down the side of the door, his path leaving a red smear, his hand still clamped on the handle. He breathlessly tried to speak, staring at Elizabeth with those eyes. The same eyes that Fitzroy had looked at her with. Slowly, they flickered, the life draining out of them, and the man went still.
You did what you needed to do to survive.
–
Optimized Eugenics. This was where they were holding Booker. Elizabeth's heart was racing, pounding incessantly. It was a constant sound, rumbling in her ears so loudly she was afraid that it would get her caught.
She took a deep breath, trying to still her jittery nerves, holding the pistol close. She hated the thing. She hated how it looked, hated how it felt, hated how it worked so well. But most of all, she hated how it made her hate herself.
But as much as she hated it, it was the only friend she had at the moment, and the only thing that could help her rescue Booker. She didn't know what they were going to do to him.
Elizabeth took another sharp breath, this one almost a sob, and closed her eyes tightly.
You can do this. You can do this for Booker.
Quietly, her breathing stilled, and she turned to the wall she had been pressed against. Reaching her hands into the tear, she pushed aside the veil of reality, and passed quickly into the laboratory.
The silence was stifling.
As quietly as she could manage, Elizabeth crept through the facility, looking through doors and windows where she could. The evidence she saw of things past unnerved her. Strange experiments, medical in nature, performed on all manner of subjects, ranging from grown men to even children.
What had Booker been sentenced to? What are they even doing here?
A hard sickness formed in the pit of her stomach, gnawing at her in anticipation of what she might find. The girl couldn't help but shiver.
Many rooms were empty save for large simmering vats of strange, glimmering liquid, or filled with things that bore no goodness thinking about, until at last, she found the hints of a trail.
A red ascot lay among a pile of discarded clothing in a small, clinical room.
Booker!
Scanning about quickly, Elizabeth made sure there was no one about, creeping inside. They smelled faintly of smoke and leather, gunpowder and oil, a strange, dry musk. The ascot, along with the rest of the clothing, were definitely Booker's. She took the clothes, looking to stick them into a nearby bag. Booker would probably want these back, when she rescued him.
As the young lady pulled a bag from the table, a small device was pulled with it, clattering to the floor. She nearly shrieked, her entire body tensing instantly.
And she heard a voice from the object. It seemed to be a miniature voxophone, or something very like it.
"New one come in today. This one... different. Blood screens show he have something strange in him, like plasmid, but not. X-rays show haemorraging in brain. No one know where this man has come from, but Ryan want finished Protector. Suchong not want to give up this man, but Suchong told man had girl with him. Maybe girl will prove just, if not more interesting. But for now, maybe this man will be good candidate for one of final production prototype..."
Elizabeth's blood chilled, and the knot of nauseating dread in her gut felt like a lead weight.
I have to find him! I have to find him soon, before they do...
The girl swallowed heavily, pushing down another wave of nausea as her imagination went wild.
Before they do whatever it is they're planning to do.
She looked down at the clothes, stuffing them frantically into the bag, and slinging it over her shoulder.
If his clothes are here, that must mean he's not very far away.
Hurrying through the remaining rooms, Elizabeth kept an eye out for whatever looked like it might lead further to Booker, until finally she saw it. Live Subject Testing.
That MUST be where they were holding Booker!
Cautiously, finger on the trigger of pistol, she crept into the room, to be met by a series of strange flickering monitors. To the far right was a window, a pair of men in white surgeons smocks clouding the view.
The loud ker-clack of Elizabeth pulling back the trigger got the attention of the scientists. Their composed indifference became stammered shock as they were greeted with the sight before them. A bloodstained and angry girl, the business end of a large revolver the exclamation point of her heavy presence.
"Where is he?" she hissed quietly, extending her arms fully in front of her.
There was little movement in the pregnant silence that followed. One of the men nervously cleared his throat, casting a glance back to the window behind him. The other made a break for it.
Elizabeth wasn't taking any chances. Six shots rang out, two of them missing, the other four ripping through the bodies of their targets.
There was a commotion downstairs now, she could hear it. Two of the shots had passed through the consoles by the window, and apparently it was having an effect on whatever was happening downstairs.
A surge of electrical discharge surrounded a large vat in the center of the room, in which, an indistinct man shape could be seen. Around it were panicking scientists, frantically trying to get a hold of the procedure. Several fled as the discharge grew worse, earthing its lethal energy in the men below.
Oh god no, BOOKER!
Out of sheer desperation and terror, Elizabeth did the only thing that came to mind.
She ripped open a massive tear in the room, to an enraged thunderstorm that tore the room apart, shunting those left inside into a whirlwind of death, and shattering the windows in front of her. Without pause, without hesitation, she leapt through the opening into the room below as the tear winked out of existence.
Grabbing a wrench, she struck the side of the vat, again and again, until the vile broth split the side of the vessel, gushing out, and revealing the man inside.
"...Booker?"
The figure hung weakly from the restraints, a network of tubes and piping jutting from its arms. It was clad in a suit of leather and metal, a diving bell fused to its shoulders, the ports glowing a vibrant yellow.
Elizabeth's heart was beating madly now, and the sickness in her belly writhed uncontrollably.
This... this thing couldn't be Booker. He was a big man, sure, but this thing, it was massive.
There was a crack above her, above the remnants of the vat, and the harness released the beast. It fell with a thud, barely able to push itself to its knees.
She took a few worried steps back, eyes still trained on this massive creature. Songbird's awful trill resounded in her memory, threatening to break the scant shards of bravery she had left.
It reached for her, and she gasped.
"N-no- don't! Stay away!" she stammered uncontrollably, and the hand jerked back, as if hurt, the light flickering.
Elizabeth paused, peering closer.
"Booker?" she repeated quietly, her heart sinking, consumed by the roiling mass of dread within her.
The figure managed a short nod, emitting a low, keening wail.
"Oh... Oh god Booker," sobbed the woman, bursting into tears. She fell into his arms, trying to hug this thing that Booker had become. "...what have they done to you?"
It handled her gently, as if she was made of glass, tenderly stoking her head. She was practically a child in its grasp.
"I'm sorry Booker, I'm so, so sorry,"