A/N: So this profile has been dead for a few years, though I still read fanfiction on a regular basis. When I finished Bioshock Infinite, though, I realized that there was no way I could let the story go with so many possibilities. I make no promises to finish this, nor to update it quickly or regularly, but you, reader, are appreciated all the same.
EDIT: If you click on this, and it isn't your cup of tea, please review and let me know what I could do better!

Warnings: first, please don't read this unless you've completely finished the game, as it will contain massive spoils, even in the first few paragraphs, and you owe it to yourself to finish the masterpiece that is Bioshock Infinite first. Second: though this is essentially an AU, I wanted it to be read like a completely independent novel, so some of it will just seem like a novelization of the game. Feel free to skip those parts, but I'm trying to further flesh out the characters, so I think it's worth I to read the whole thing. And finally, this will contain blood, gore, strong language, racism, religious themes, and everything else the original game contained.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock and this story is completely for my own amusement.

–

Prologue: The World of Sodom

The worst thing about a cheap room is the windows. Well, maybe not the windows themselves, but the cheap curtains over the windows, the ones that don't keep out a single ray of sunlight after 7 AM. And when your window faces east, even with the mattress in the farthest corner of the room, there's no getting away from that rude awakening after a night of drinking. That's why I decided to put Anna in what was supposed to be the bedroom; hell, at least one of us would be getting some sleep this morning, instead of this god-awful hangover.

Anna.

Annabelle.

I sat up too fast, and immediately bent over the side of the mattress and emptied my stomach straight onto the floor. There wasn't much to get out; I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten. Grimacing at the foul taste, I spit into the mess to clean my mouth a little, then wiped at it with the back of my hand, which was a mistake.

The sharp pain in the back of my hand was nowhere near as bad as the queasiness in my stomach or the pounding in my head, but I still winced as I examined the bloody, ragged mess. Who knows what I had done last night after the first few rounds of beer. If I was lucky, it would get infected and I'd die in this reeking hole of a room before I ever had to see another human face.

Who gives up their own damned kid? It wasn't like I'd had a choice – it was hand Anna over and get paid for it, or die first and let them pull her out of the crib with bloody hands. They'd made it pretty clear that I didn't have a chance in hell of getting out alive if I tried to do something crazy – and nowadays, there wasn't a spot in America that was safe, especially since my pistol disappeared into the pocket of some Joe on my last gambling spree. I'd tried, in the end – tried just enough to get the girl's finger lopped off – but just like always, it was too little, too late. I can't kid myself, nobody took that girl away from me, I lost her because I would rather gamble away all my cash and drink myself under the table to forget I had a baby I didn't know what to do with. So maybe it was for the better, wherever she went. There couldn't be a worse place for a little girl than in a stinking hellhole with drunkard father and no mother.

I still couldn't keep myself from stumbling out of bed and shambling over to the cracked doorway, where the cradle still sat, empty and alone. Pathetic. Guess I could sell it, see if I could make a dime. Hell, those two said my debts were all repaid, but that didn't make my pockets any less empty.

Guess that meant finding a job too. My private investigating business was down the drain; there was no way in hell I was going back to Pinkerton, so that left... some sort of manual labor. There was always enough of that around.

I stood for another minute, just looking at the empty crib, then shut the door and turned away. Wherever they'd taken her, she wasn't coming back. Just another mark on my list of failures. The main room was just as shabby as the other; bottles strewn all over the floor, from when I got too drunk to care where they landed, papers across the scarred, broken table, one dresser up against the wall that held my few sets of clothing. I had a mattress on a cheap frame, no sheets. The only glamourous thing I owned was the lettering on the door that pronounced me a private detective, but business was nonexistent these days. I had a better reputation as a drunk than an investigator, so it wasn't any surprise.

Stumbling to the sink, I splashed some water on my face and rubbed at my eyes to try to get some of the grime and weariness out. The water burned against the back of my hand as I cleaned off the dried blood covering the cuts; they were clearly manmade. AD, for Annabelle Dewitt. Looks like I had wanted to make sure I wasn't forgetting her anytime soon; they were deep enough that they were likely going to scar. There was still some dregs of gin left in a bottle sitting on the table; I poured it over the back of my hand, hissing at the sting of the alcohol, then wrapped a strip of fabric around it to keep it from getting dirty.

My razor was going dull, but I'd shaved yesterday, so I still looked pretty respectable. The trousers, shirt and vest I'd worn yesterday were wet and stank like beer; I left them on the floor where they lay and and pulled another set from my drawers, almost falling into the wall as I tried to shove my legs into my pants. A quick comb with my fingers, and the man looking back at me in the mirror looked as deserving of a job as any other joe on the street.

Where should I start looking? There was the docks, where men were always needed to haul in the catches, and bars, they went through bouncers like candy. I could try Leroy for construction, or factory work. If worst came to worse, I'd go hang around by the unemployment office and see if anything came up.

A quick look back reminded me of the mess on the floor; I sighed, then picked up an old rag of an undershirt to mop it up. It stank like cheap beer and stomach fluid; I was lucky I didn't have anything else in my stomach to throw up. Next time, I had to remember to keep a bin over here.

–

Late afternoon found me out in the streets, still jobless and getting more hopeless by the minute. My reputation in these parts was down the drains, I knew, but when even Leroy Wiggins that ran the construction work out Eastside was turning me down, I knew there wasn't much hope. The docks weren't hiring, and not a single Joe at any factory even let me in the door. The unemployment office had been a waste of time; then again, time was something I had in spades, maybe the only thing. The only money I had was a nickel I'd found in my pocket earlier; that was enough to pay for my lunch, but there was nothing left for dinnertime, and if I wasn't careful, I was on the long road to starvation.

With a sigh, I leaned up on the wall and scrubbed my hands through my hair, wishing desperately that I had a smoke. The streets were still damp from the rain last night, and in the back alleyways, trash rotted in giant puddles where people were too busy or too lazy to upright the cans stray animals had knocked over. People hurried by, looking busy and harried, as if every single one was late to wherever they wanted to go. The dames were all pulling their jackets ticket around their bodies against the chill. It was a pretty typical scene in New York; in fact, with it being October, we were lucky it wasn't already snowing, not that that meant I wasn't shivering in my boots, since my only jacket was sitting on the floor in my apartment with the rest of my clothes from last night.

I was starting to think that it was time to leave New York. With the flood of immigrants, it was hard to find a good job in the city, but I'd heard that other places across the country were desperate for the help, places like Colorado and Utah where people were still hesitant to move. Hell, there was some railroad company in town right now, looking for men to work on the tracks out West. The only problem with leaving - and aloud I'd deny it to my dying day – was that I was scared to. New York was home, had always been home, and even if it was full of vagrants and murderers and hopelessness, it was a place I knew. I'd only left it one time, and, well, it hadn't turned out so well. But I was almost out of options. Unless I wanted to end up in the streets (something I'd avoided until now), it looked like I was going to have to.

I was jolted out of my thoughts when a little Negro girl stumbled into me, stuttering an apology and darting down the alleyway to my right. It wasn't hard to see what she was running from; hot on her heels, a pair of white men in faded overcoats, dirty white shirts and ragged, unkept beards chased after her, cursing. When I spun to look down the alley, they had her back against the wall, a woman's wallet clutched against her chest. It was impossible to tell whether she'd stolen it or if the two deadbeats were doing the stealing, but either way, she looked (justifiably) terrified of what was about to happen.

"Hand it over, nigger." one of the men growled, reaching for the wallet; she ducked her head and he howled in pain, snatching his hand back. She must have bitten him.

Pretty gutsy for a Negro.

The other man backhanded her and she fell to the side, shrieking. He stepped on her wrist and bent to snatch up the wallet, then kicked her in the side, and she curled up into a ball, whimpering. The dress she was wearing tore across the shoulder, and her hair lay dank across her cheeks, but she was smart enough to not try to get up. Her cheeks were already stained with tear tracks.

"Please, sirs, me mum gave me that money to go to market today. I have a little sister to feed." she sobbed, but the man simply tucked the wallet into his overcoat, while the other one lifted his leg to kick her again. He lost the chance when I slammed into him and laid him out across the bricks, spinning to slug the other one with the wallet in the jaw.

"I know times are hard, boys, but this is pretty low. Give me the wallet and scram." I growled, backing the man up into the corner of the alley. He scowled, but didn't reach for the wallet, just threw one arm up to cover his face. I snarled and grabbed him by the shirtfront; his eyes widened, but he didn't resist. I slammed him against the dirty bricks, but even though I could tell from the wheeze he let out that it hurt, he still didn't hand over the girl's wallet.

"I said, give me the goddamned wa-" I cut off when something metallic and hard slammed into the back of my head, and my vision went white as I bounced off the wall and slumped onto the ground, falling right into one of the rain puddles gathering where the stone was worn down in the middle of the alleyway. When my vision cleared, I could see that the man I had slammed into was holding a old pipe, and both were looming over me and leering as I lay in the dank water. A gash on my head from the fall dripped sluggishly.

"Sorry pal, no heroics today." the one with the bar leered, and then the bar came down, and something in my side cracked; as I grunted in pain, the man with the wallet kicked me over with a foot, then suddenly something heavy was on my back and neck and I was drowning in 4 inches of water. Panicking, I inhaled; my ears roared and my vision went white again as I struggled against the weight on top of me.

It was no use; the man on me weighed at least as much as I did. It looked like I wasn't going to have to worry about a job after all. The water filled my mouth and curled down my throat, cold as ice; I splayed one hand against the ground and tried to push myself up, but I was like an ant underneath a shoe. There was no way I was bucking him off, and his grip on my hair kept me from turning to the side to get a breath. I guessed it was a fitting end to my life to die in a dank puddle in a back alleyway.

Unbidden, my mind flashed back to that day in the river, the day I'd refused the baptism. Standing in that circle of men, I'd been more afraid than I'd ever been in life, not just of letting a stranger dunk me underwater, but of the burden I'd receive when I came back up. I'd refused because I knew I didn't deserve a second chance, wouldn't know what to do with one if I even got it. Now, it looked like I was finally getting my baptism, with the end result I'd always imagined; being crushed by the weight that came with it.

I stopped struggling and all was quiet for a moment; then, something reverberated through the water and suddenly my body felt lighter; I was rolled over and the moment air hit my lips I gasped, spitting up what felt like a gallon of liquid. It felt like it took centuries to vomit out all the liquid in my lungs. I rolled to my side and spit up more, feeling as if my insides were bruised and tender.

When I looked up, one man lay on the ground, moaning; the other one was leaning heavily against the wall as the little Negro girl advanced on him, holding the pipe he'd hit me with; he looked like he was thinking about fighting, but the minute I stumbled to my feet, his face went white and he turned tail and ran. When she turned to the second man, I snatched the pole from her hands and pushed her against the wall, out of harm's way. The pipe hit the man's skull with a resounding crack. He slumped to the ground without a word.

Sprawled on the ground and sluggishly bleeding above the ear, it was easy to reach into his coat and pull out the wallet; I threw it at the girl and staggered away towards the entrance to the alleyway thoughtlessly. The open street and bright grey light was a blessed relief; if anyone had noticed the fight, they weren't stopping to look. None of them even glanced at me as I sank down, back against the wall, and cradled my head in my hands; it felt like my head was going to either explode or cave in, I wasn't sure which, and the minute I bent my torso, I hissed in pain. Felt like a cracked rib, or maybe several. I sat there for several moments, trying to filter out the pain, find something else to focus on so that I could move without getting light-headed and nauseated.

A light touch on my shoulder made me look up; the Negro girl stood in front of me, wallet clutched in one hand. She couldn't have been more than ten. Her dress and hair were soaked, now torn in more than one place, and only at this moment did I notice she wasn't even wearing shoes, but she didn't shiver in the cold. In fact, she smiled.

"Thank you, mister. I would've died if'n you wasn't there to help me." she said, clasping her hands behind her back shyly. I snorted.

"You're just lucky I was standing there, kid. Hell, you're lucky I didn't run them off and take the wallet myself." I muttered. I expected her to recoil in fear, but when I glanced up again, she didn't even look nervous. She just shook her head and smiled again.

"Oh, no, sir, it weren't chance. When I saw them was followin' me, I decided to follow you. I knew if you wuz around you'd help me, I could see it in your eyes. And I was right."

My mouth went dry. I didn't recognize the look she was giving me, but it seemed genuine. Was it trust? Faith? I didn't know. I had no idea what this little Negro girl saw when she looked at me that made her think I'd help her. But I knew she was wrong. I'd demonstrated that over and over again in my life. Probably I'd stepped in to take the wallet myself, but when I tried to remember, my head started to pound again.

"You got it all backwards, kid." I sighed. "But look. I'm glad you're alright. Get out of here and go buy some food for your mother and your sister." she smiled again and rocked back and forth on her toes, but didn't leave, just looked at me as if something was on the tip of her tongue.

"It's not just for food. I'm supposed to buy us some tickets on the Taggart Transcontinental for tomorrow morning. Mama's decided we're goin' out West. She said she heard that things wuz better out there for us Negros. That people didn't spit on us or call us worthless. And she said there was food enough to go around, and the ladies are all dressed all fine like peacocks in the streets. I think that sounds mighty fine."

She got more and more excited and she sped through her speech, and by the time she finished she was bouncing from foot to foot as if she couldn't keep still. She gave me one last look, curtsied, and scampered off into the streets. It didn't take her long to disappear in the crowd, but I kept watching for a while anyway.

I sat in that same spot for a long time, looking out at the people who passed by, their heads sunk low and their eyes empty. The other man that I'd hit in the head in the alleyway never came out. Maybe he died back there; maybe he was sitting against the wall, too, thinking about the future he didn't have. As for me; between the hangover, the blow to the head, and almost drowning, I would've been content to sit here until night came, since I didn't have the cash to be sitting on a bar stool.

It was funny that the little negro girl had mentioned Taggart Transcontinental. That was the name of the railroad I'd been thinking about earlier, the one that was looking for workers. I'd never worked on a railroad before, but some of the older men in the Army, and they said it wasn't too bad. Steady job, not bad conditions. I'd heard some of the same stuff she had about Colorado; that it was a wild place, full of adventure and new beginnings. Well, people said the same about New York.

What did I have here anyway? There was nothing keeping me here, nothing but bad memories. My room had a bed, a dresser, and an empty cradle. I could sure as hell find all of those in Colorado, if I wanted to. If I left now, I'd have just enough time to go home, put on my last set of clean clothes, and head to the train station before they closed for the day. I'd heard Taggart Transcontinental would pay your passage if you signed on to work out in Colorado; all I had to do was show up and get the job.

Slowly, I pushed myself off the wall and stood up. I wouldn't say it felt like a new beginning or anything like that, but it felt like a choice, and a man's worth is in his ability to make choices. I guess you could argue that it wasn't much of a choice at all, but I could have chosen to stay in New York City and starve to death, so at least to me, it felt good.

"Well this is unexpected." I overhead a lady comment to the man standing next to her as I walked.

"Indeed. Perhaps it'll make a difference."

"Doubtful."

"You're always doubtful."

The woman said something back, but I was too far away to hear them. Anyway, I had a train station to get to.

A/N: I feel like the prologue is slightly shittier than the real story. So since I'm posting the first chapter at the same time, go read that.