Baptism By Fire
'I am Andrew Ryan, and I'm here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?
'NO!' says the man in Washington, 'It belongs to the poor,'
'NO!' says the man in the Vatican, 'It belongs to God.'
'NO!" says the man in Moscow, 'It belongs to everyone'
"I rejected those answers; instead, I chose something difference. I chose the impossible. I chose… Rapture, a city where the artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality, where the great would not be constrained by the small! And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city, as well."
The words still rang wistfully in his head. These were the welcoming testaments every citizen of Rapture had heard before their arrival.
They were all lies.
The lights flicker and then, dim. Across the stage lie the piecemeal remnants of the room's previous owners, a smearing of red, varnish slick against the dark oak of the theater floor. Dregs of moss and rust inhabit the far corners of the ceilings; thin droplets of water trickle down almost forlornly below. The derelict titan stands guard over the room, the back crushing weight of the world contorts his handsome face, the piercing gaze of bronze glassed eyes, never seeing; the only witness to the last breaths of the people below, the lasts breaths of the Ryan dream. The window presents a view, looking out distant across the city. Neon light illuminates the seabed, its art-deco skyscrapers and metropolitan sit, devoid of life, barely standing under the crushing weight of the dark waters of the ocean. The isolation is almost cloying. The silence, deafening.
Rapture, in all its glory was an impossibility, the dream of a madman, Andrew Ryan. The exquisite architecture was built at the bottom of the South Atlantic, secluded from the parasites of the above. The promise of absolute freedom and endless possibilities, a utopia, captivated the appeal of wealth socialites, brilliant minds, aristocrats and the like from above, but of course, it would not last.
The figure stood poised in the shadows, tattered rags barely concealing the spatters of blood that painted his haggard carcass, cruor and ossein protruding through gaps in the loincloth. Where five fingers had once ornamented pink vibrant flesh loosely hung five ugly metal, meat hooks, carelessly welded into the gaping cavities of his waterlogged stumps, their metallic grin tarnished by grey rust and blood clots, each more hostile and threatening than the last. A mirror of light in the lucid glass walls caught his eyes. A grotesque thing stared back, barren and wasted as the desert of sand and water beyond, its silent motion obediently mimicking his own. Its face resembled the artwork of a butcher, chopped into pieces and then hastily sewn together; a terrible hollow obscured where a mouth should have been and the eyes, two shriveled chasms, stale with darkness squinting into his own. At its feet lay a blackened charred corpse, both hands grasping an elegant rose, blood red, silently kneeling in final prayer. What had he become? He could not remember who, blood red, silently kneeling in final prayer. What had he become? He could not remember who- or what he was in fact- anymore his name, casualty to the horrors of this underwater world. This was a world that would someday be his tomb, or was it already? The city was decaying, her soul in hiatus, and what blood was left, congealed.
ADAM.
ADAM was all he yearned for
ADAM was all he needed
ADAM, the blood that once flowed through Rapture, drained dry by civil war and abominations of science. ADAM had given the people power, but at a price. The substance would alter an individual's genetic structure and change it into something extraordinary. The great minds of Rapture played with the substance creating Gene Tonics, substances promising physical exuberance and vitality. Civilians would glide through Rapture's streets, lighting fires with their fingertips as if it was an everyday occurrence. Work was mundane and the people relished their new capabilities. ADAM was the canvas, and Gene tonics were the paint.
Toying with one's genetic makeup however, came at a high price. In time, the people of Rapture became increasingly addicted to ADAM and the Gene Tonics it produced. Unable to satisfy their insatiable cravings for the drug, their bodies began to blight and wither away, and more so, did their minds. ADAM had given Rapture life and it was ADAM that had destroyed her.
In due time, civil war broke out, in his hubris, Ryan remained dominant, high above the social chain bribing his followers with ADAM and crushing whatever opposition gave rise. A lone worker, calling himself 'Atlas', rose up to advocate for the people of the lower class. Chaos spread like an epidemic to every corner, developing the city from an industrialized utopia into a factionalized war ground, its structures losing their own battle against decay. Morals and ethics were cast aside as more and more civilians became 'spliced up', beyond repair; Best friends butchering each other, babies strangled in cribs. That night, the whole city went to hell. Abhorrent creatures were created to control, collect, and protect the ADAM. Little girls were denatured into abominations, twisted into something so sick it couldn't die, protected by even more atrocious anathema. The 'Gatherers' they were called, were the closet thing to children now, little ones could not survive in this hell. The creatures gathered up ADAM and… God knows what they did with it, he did not care. The only thought in his mind was that they had it, and he needed it! One had to be quick too, for its 'Protector' was never far behind
He stood from a distance, observing the little creature sing song, its voice, coarse rasping whispers, feminine, a sickening sweet, in ghostly overture to Frère Jacque;
"…Mr Bubbles, Mr. Bubbles, are you there? Are you there?
Come and give me lollies, come and bring me toffees.
Teddy bears… teddy bears…"
Whilst she harvest, routinely plunged a large hypodermic needle shaped like a petrol pump, soaked in blood and scalpel rust, puncturing the shriveled neck of a mutilated corpse, its face torn apart splattered unholy shades of red, decorating the central stage as if in divine splendor. Blood red fluid had begun to froth and bubble into the collecting tubule of the needle, and only when it was full did she open the small glass container, quaffing down the vile red liquid in small gulps; A sickening sight which once turned his blood cold, what fragment of humanity remained scourged by ADAM. She spun around, realizing his presence, and he saw it, the ADAM, oozing from the corners of the mouth, thick and green. Her filthy hair hanging in her bile green tainted face, musty blue dress soaked sanguine and that dead glow in her eyes. He would bash its head in and slit open the bowels, taking it all for himself! He advanced upon the frail thing, his eyes glazed cold, a lead pipe clumsily brandished, intent to beat a child to death for his ADAM…. but then she screamed.
Her high pitched wail echoed throughout the auditorium as the pipe was brought down up her should, a solid 'Thud", the hollow metal softly resonating as it made contact with brittle bone where its head should have been. Almost in immediate response, an inhumane roar sundered the air, violent tremors shook the very ground on which he stood, enraged stomping turbulent from behind.
In apprehension, he was vaguely human for a moment as he felt the taint leave him, realizing what he had become; his soul was flying, the euphoria, the agony, the freedom
Utopia.