They told me: "Son, you're special. You were born to do great things." You know what? They were right.

I was underwater when I regained consciousness. I broke the surface of a water with a desperate gasp for air. The ocean around me was littered with broken plane parts, engulfed by roaring flames. I couldn't quite remember what had happened – I must have been in a plane crash. "Thank god I survived!" I thought to myself, as I swam towards the lighthouse, the beacon of hope. As I walked up the stairs, away from the fire, I started to wonder who else was on the plane. But soon, these dark thoughts left my mind, as I survived, and that's all that matters really.

I walked through the ominous metal doors ahead, and they slammed shut behind me. The room was pitch black, and I started to freak out – but, the lights started to turn on, one by one. Immediately, I was presented with a giant statue, and a banner in front reading 'NO GODS OR KINGS. ONLY MAN.' Beneath that was a plaque reading 'In what country is there a place for people like me? – Andrew Ryan'. Ah, Andrew Ryan. I suppose he must be the statue, as well. After walking down the dingy stairs to my left, lights constantly turning on in front of me, I finally came to a large spherical room, with 3 symbols at equidistant intervals – Industry, Science and Art. However, the most prominent feature of the room was a pod in the middle. The door was open, like it was beckoning me in, and it seemed to be a lot cleaner than the rest of the room. Reluctantly, I opened the door and pulled the lever in front of me.

The lever could have done anything, but I pulled it anyway. What I didn't expect is for the pod to descend into the bowels of the earth. About 20 fathoms down, the pod finally came to a grinding halt, and a voice with a rich British accent started playing from the speakers around me. "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. I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose…Rapture."

With this, the shutter opened and an underwater city, reminiscent of Atlantis, could be seen outside. I could see sea-life, such as jellyfish and squid. The voice carried on: "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".

Two more voices could be heard in the distance. One spoke of a plane crash (presumably the one that I was a victim of) and the other passed this off as impossible, since Rapture is in the middle of Atlantic Ocean. Ah, so that's where it is. I also heard something about the 'splicers' coming. What's a splicer – a genetic scientist? But, as the pod stopped at its final destination, I let the paranoia subside. And that's when I heard the screams. Someone (or something, it looked particularly zombie-like) ripped a seemingly poor, innocent man apart right in front of my eyes. The panic returned. The deformed humanoid spoke in a hoarse voice – "Is it someone new?" With that, she (it sounded female) screamed in rage frustration, running away with haste.