Mr. SINISTER

A Bioshock & Star Wars: The Clone Wars crossover

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock nor Star Wars: The Clone Wars

Rated T: Coarse language throughout; brutal violence; breif sexual content

A:N- Although this is a mashup of the two genres, majority of the story will take place within the walls of Rapture. Hope you'll enjoy the read!

CHAPTER I

The Lighthouse: Part I

Booker Dewitt gasps awake with a startling discharge of air from his lungs. His mind in a panic, confusion dominating his senses—eyes darting through the darkens around him. From what he can perceive is that his body is surrounded in a pool of water—bone chilling water eating away at his nerves numb beyond belief.

His heart rate decreasing, Booker struggles to keep his head above the waterline, feeling the sensation that something is progressively yanking him down by the feet. Water continues to spurt relentlessly from holes in the enclosed ceiling and walls around him, spewing onto his face and into his eyes. Kicking his numb legs to generate some tread, Booker manages to keep his nose and mouth out in the only bubble of air that he fears is shrinking in size by the seconds.

Everything around him is casted in a near darkens, only the faintness illumination from a deep, amber glow of a flickering light above his head paints a good enough picture. From what Booker can tell, he's in the cargo hold of a ship—well, was a cargo hold, anyway. Right now his head is bobbing just inches under the ceiling of which he recalls being at least four meters high. That was before all this damn water came into play, which also indicates that the ship had crashed landed.

Obviously… Booker reflects, coughing a dry laugh into his limited air supply. He soon winces, noting a tremendous shot of pain emitting from the lower right side of his abdomen. Unable to feel the wound to his side with his numbed hands, Booker does his best to ignore the pain and figure a way out this doomed cargo hold before it becomes his tomb.

Seeing no clear way out from his current vantage point, Booker knows his only chance out of this is by going underwater. He takes a moment, gauging his breaths as the chilling water lapses over his face. Swallowing one last big gulp of air, Booker forces himself down beneath the waterline. The world erases itself momentarily, until being replaced by the dull sounds of water shifting around him.

Opening his eyes to the murky black wall of water before him, Booker rearranges himself until he is swimming straight down into the submerged cargo hold. He can see maybe a meter ahead of himself, along with a few large size objects suspended in place far beyond what his eye can make out. Few of the darken shapes are humanoid in profile… contorted in a final possess that captured their agonizing deaths of drowning. Booker doesn't plan on joining them. He continues on his stride, propelling himself through the water with each flutter of the arms and strong kick of the legs.

Passing a few more drifting corpses, Booker wrenches himself through a narrow opening emerging through to the other side and into open water. Treading in place, Booker swivels and turns around in the water trying to establish his orientation. As he is doing this, he notes a dark, murky cloud obscuring his vision partially. It comes to his realization that the murky cloud is in fact blood… his blood, spewing out from the wound at his side. It looks bad, but he can't do anything for it now.

Looking up, Booker spots the shimmering horizon of the surface, blazing hot orange due to what he believes are fires. He pushes his body into motion, struggling to hold the trapped air in his lungs which is about to burst at any second.

Kicking as hard and as fast as he can, Booker begins to feel the air slipping through his nostrils, his head fogging with density and his vision blurring. The wound at his side bites and tears at him evermore, making the meters swim to the surface more of a bitch than ever.

Come on—come on—you're almost there you bastard!

The voice in his head screams at his burning and aching insides. The water gap between him and the surface seems never ending, like the surface is retreating higher and higher towards the sky.

COME ON!

Reaching a hand out over his head, Booker breaks the surface followed by his entire body. Instantly, he hurls down a breath of cold, fresh air down into his lungs. Air never tasted so good, even if it's contaminated with the stench of burning fuel around him.

With no time to celebrate his death defying escape, Booker assesses his surroundings, realizing that he's engulfed by the raging valley of fire, dancing across the water. Occasionally He feels the intense of the heat canceling out the chill of the night each time the wind shifts. And when the wind shifts, so does the flames, ever so slightly towards Booker's direction.

"You've gotta… be shitting me," he curses aloud. Not only was he going to drown just a second ago, but now he'll burn to death if he doesn't move his ass.

Making out a clearing in the ring of fire, Booker makes a mad dash towards his only escape route. The raging flames hot on his heels… literally in this case, Booker doesn't stop in stride. Even though he's swimming right into the middle of freakin nowhere, in the dark and freezing his ass off, he has no other option.

Once he feels confident enough that he's put some manageable distance between himself and the chasing fires does he come to a halt. Whipping around in the water, Booker stares back at the orange cloud hovering over an inky black ocean of water. The night, equally dark—infinitely dark as the big-empty, without the stars. Only now can Booker soak in the depth of the darkness that hugs tightly around him.

Silence floods his eardrums, besides the flack of fiery winds blasting over the destroyed cargo ship. There's no doubt everyone that was onboard is dead, Booker believes. And, maybe even her as well… the Jedi who accompanied him.

For a moment, a glint of guilt invades Booker's gut. Though still, he didn't drag the Jedi into this shit-show—she got herself involved and she went in knowing the consequences of the mission. It's one of the main reasons he hates collaborating with others… he hates having people die on his charge. But what can he do about the Jedi? Now's not the time nor place to be feeling sorry for himself or grieving over the Jedi. He has to get back on mission—that's his main priority…

"Ah!" Booker grunts. The wound at his abdomen is getting worst by the second radiating and stinging with pain. He can't see it now, but he can feel the blood leaving his body like a slow leak in an air-hose. He has to find dry ground, if there is such a thing as solid ground around here.

From above, the dense cloud cover that shrouded the starlit sky from reaching Booker's eyes reveal themselves. A large, silver moon hangs low in the sky, bleaching the jet black surface of the water with an eerie glow.

Yet, another glow overtakes the night. This one brighter… much brighter than the moon and closer too. Slowly treading around in the water, grimacing from the pain at his side… Booker's mouth literally drops open.

There, right before his eyes is a magnificent structure—a towering lighthouse standing menacingly over the calm, dark ocean. The same tower he didn't totally believe existed… until now.

The tower's easily tens of meters high, so high in fact that Booker can't even see its top, due to the low hanging clouds drifting overhead like phantoms in the night. He isn't too far from the base of the structure, which looks to be situated on an outcropping of jagged rocks.

Booker swims the short distances to the rocks, relived to be back on solid ground again. His muscles flaring with fatigue of treading in water, Booker heaves a gasps as he wrenches himself up onto one of the lower rocks just barely sticking out of the water. He gets his entire body on top the bolder, and then painfully rolls over on his side so that he's looking up at the sky.

For a long while, Booker remains motionless, pressing a hand to the bleeding wound at his side. He grits his teeth the moment his palm touches the painful spot. Still, he takes a moment to rebuild his stamina, seeing his own breath fog up the air above his face each time he exhales. The lighthouse inverted in his vision, Booker watches the silver beam swivel through the surrounding night, slicing through the clouds and beyond.

In his silence, Booker hears something tapping against the rocks. Lifting his head up off the rough face of the boulder, Booker leans slightly, making out a small metallic object bobbing against the stone. The object glints in the moonlight, sparkling dull, iridescent beams.

Rearranging himself on the stone, Booker extends an arm for the object, wrapping his fingers around the rough, cylindrical body. Retracting his arm and rolling back on his back with a grunt, Booker examines the tool in his hand. It's a lightsaber… the Jedi's lightsaber.

Just then, a thought jumps into Booker's mind. Removing his blood soaked hand off his wound, Booker knows he'll slowly bleed to death… unless he cauterize the wound shut. It's gonna be painful as hell, and infection might run rapid later, but none of that would matter if he bleeds out on this rock.

Booker shakes his head, gasping a weak laugh, "screw it."

Pulling back the bottom layer of his jacket, Booker exposes the flesh of his lower belly and the wound to the chill of the night. A river of blood oozes up over his skin each time his heart beats. He wages he has less than a few minutes to do this before blacking out and never waking up.

Fighting the voice in the back of his head to stop, Booker's heart begins to race the moment he dials the switch on the lightsaber, springing the gleaming green beam of energy to life with its unmistakable snap-hiss.

He holds the hilt of the saber with both hands, the energy blade hovering lengthways over his body by inches.

"Okay," Booker breaths aloud to calm the tremble of his hands gripping the saber. "You can do this DeWitt… you can do this."

Pulling the collar of his jacket between his teeth, Booker sinks his teeth into the leather before slowly bring the tip of the sun-hot saber near the bleeding gash at his naked skin. The hum of the lightsaber seems amplified in his ears—the heat against his skin instantly eliminates the chill of the night. Breathing rapidly through his nostrils, his grip like iron on the hilt of the saber, Booker dips the very edge of the saber beam to his skin, and instantly grunts in pain.

It's like the fires of Mustafar have touched his bare skin, but still, he fights the urge of lunging the saber back, hearing his own skin cook like dinner in a microwave. Tears seep out the corners out Booker's tightly shielded eyes and his teeth clench into the leather of his collar as he muffles out cries of agony. The several seconds of burning his open wound shut feels like an eternity and he fears that he'll pass out from the intense pain and drop the saber on top himself, instantly killing himself. But no such thing happens, fortunately.

Once the three seconds are up, Booker quickly takes the saber beam off his skin and deactivates it altogether.

"AH…! Son of… bitch!" Booker quells out. He falls into a coughing fit, cringing over on his side starring out at the calm, dark sea. Again, he goes limp, unable to flinch a muscle. He's so tired… all he wants to do is rest. But his mind refuses to rest… not when he's made it this far.

Slowly unzipping the breast pocket in the inside flap of his jacket, Booker withdraws an exotic looking key. He holds it before his face, watching its unusual hues of bronze glint off the moonlight. On its blunt edge harbors a scaled engraving of the lighthouse he lies under now. A rather insignificant, flamboyant object to anyone else. However, Booker knows that this object—this key is just the starting point in patching the void in his heart. And to claim his revenge once and for all.

To be continued…