Me and Juubi-k do not own BioShock. 2k and Irrational Games do.
'Well that was a waste of time', Booker mentally commented as he walked through the city. Those two people, the man and woman with that Heads-and-Tails tally blackboard were odd. Then those children singing that song?
Then again, Ring-around-the-Rosie was based on the Black Plague. A song about some bird dropping a misbehaving child from the sky shouldn't be odd, considering this sky city.
He walked down the stairs, seeing more of the city in the clouds, and saw a statue of a man in a suit holding something, and beyond that he saw it.
The angel. 'Bingo.' He turned back and his eyes went up.
The statue was…a woman now? 'What the…' He shook his head. Maybe the near death-by-drowning or drinking that green Vigor that let him get past that gate is making his eyes see things. As he walked forward, he saw an archway with the Columbia Raffle and Fair banners draped over it, but a sign at the center got his attention and made him raise his eyes. It had a black demonic hand with the initials AD on it.
YOU SHALL KNOW
THE FALSE SHEPARD
BY HIS MARK!
"What the…?" Booker said to himself. This was getting a bit too creepy as he looked at his right hand, the scarred mark of AD on it. He walked past the sign, putting his hands in his pockets as he saw a garden up ahead and began to climb up the steps, seeing other people socialize and having a good time. He got to a fountain and began looking around, seeing an open gate. He walked through it, and saw a mass gathering of people before a theater, a man in a top hat and suite conducting them.
"And now, the 1912 Raffle has officially begun!" Called out the man in a jubilant tone. Booker stood at the center of the raffle, then heard a female voice waving her hand at his direction.
"Hey mister! Mister!" He turned, seeing a young woman holding a basket of baseballs gesturing him to come over. "Mister, wouldn't you like a ball?"
"Sorry, no sale." Booker replied. The girl giggled.
"Silly. There's never a charge for the raffle. You've been sleeping under a rock?" Booker shrugged. Hey, can't turn down free stuff. He reached in and grabbed a ball and looked at it.
"Seventy-seven…" That number that the Lutece warned him about.
"Seventy-seven?" The girl asked. "That's a lucky number. I'll be rooting for you." She threw him a wink and walked off.
"Bring me the bowl!" The man with the top hat called out, and he possessed a big moustache to boot, gesturing towards a woman carrying a bowl. He grinned. "Is that not the prettiest young white girl in all of Columbia? Ha ha!"
"All right then…" He reached into the bowl, scurffling around to find a random number. He pulled out a red card. "The winner is…" He looked at it. "Number seventy-seven!"
"Well what do you know?"
He heard a woman shouting out towards him, saying that he's the winner, and Booker felt his eyes meet with Mr. Top Hat. "Number seventy-seven, come and claim your prize!" A piano playing 'Here comes the Bride' began to play as the red curtain began to lift up.
"First throw!"
Booker's mouth dropped as he felt his heart pause. As the crowd began to cheer for him to make the First Throw. The arrangement of fake plants and trees moved, revealing cartoonish monkeys, one as a groom, the other as a bride. And at the center were two people, one black and one white and dressed in rags and bound by a pole.
"No…please don't do this…" Said the black woman.
"It was me. It was all me!" Yelled out the man, his accent being Irish. "Please, please! No…" And a dark monkey, with hideous teeth and red eyes rose up, looking stupid and carrying a book as if it were the priest presiding over this twisted marriage. "Please, what are you doing?!"
Booker will admit, he was never fond of racism and hated those men down in the south below Virginia who would never let go of the past, never move ahead with the times that despite the color of skin, blacks were people too. He never drank next to them, but if a seat was open he wouldn't mind at all. And the fear that they had in their eyes…
And the people all around him…cheering him on to throw a ball at them. Are they so depraved? So resentful and hateful? They even wanted the Irishman to get pelted at too. So it wasn't a matter of skin color or ancestry. It was both. These people of Columbia…
They are twisted. They are racist. They are evil.
"Come on," Mr. Top Hat said, hands on his hips as he looked down at Booker. "Are you gonna throw it, or are you taking your coffee black these days?" Booker looked at his ball as the man laughed heartily at his joke.
"Let her go please! I'm the one you want!" Booker snarled as he prepared to aim at the couple. But he knew where his true aim was. He would direct it at the last moment, and pelt the announcer right in the eye. Or nose. Or knock several teeth out. He was a good pitcher back when he was younger, and his arm was still as strong as ever.
"I got something for you, you son of a bitch!" He seethed as he prepared to throw-
But his arm got caught, held by someone else. He turned, seeing a policemen holding his right hand, and AD was exposed.
"It's him!" He felt himself be held by another constable as the announcer approached. He heard gasps behind him as the crowd dispersed away from him.
"Now, where'd you get that brand, boy?" Asked Mr. Top Hat, his affable tone gone, now condescending and harsh. "Don't you know that makes you the back-stabbin', snake-in-the-grass False Shepard?"
"The False Shepard!" Yelled out another as Booker growled under his bindings as eyes of hate were directed onto him.
"And we ain't lettin' no False Shepard into our flock!" Laughed the announcer, his arms spread wide. Cries of women could be heard. "Show him what we got planned boys!" He pointed to the policemen as the man to Booker's left held up a wooden gauntlet with a spinning metal windmill. And it revved up, spinning fast and sharp and the ex-Pinkerton knew what was coming.
The spinning blade neared his fast, and he could feel the gusts of winds, and he felt the ball in his hands. He threw up into the air, the right policemen distracted by the airborne object.
It proved fatal. Booker grabbed the man by the back of the neck, and shoved him right into the blade, yelling and blood everywhere as Booker saw the policeman dropped dead, the gauntlet wedged into his skull. The ex-Pinkerton reached down and grabbed the gauntlet with his left hand, blood spraying as he took it out of the corpse.
"Stop him! Stop him!" Yelled the announcer, as he ran away. "The False Shepard's come to lead our lamb astray!" Booker immediately turned and swung his gauntlet, bashing the other policemen's head in and he fell dead. He turned, seeing other constables charge up, clubs raised.
One of them did a flying jump, but Booker struck, stunning the policemen and jammed the spinning blade to his throat. Booker pressed down on something hard, the blade tearing through flesh and muscle as he threw him towards the theater. He heard the announcer run off screaming like a little girl as Booker pivoted and swung at a yelling policemen. The blow stunned him, and Booker put in his strength and revved up the blades and swung.
He saw his head fly, blood splurting out of his neck as the corpse crumpled to the ground. Booker panted, feeling the adrenaline still pumping as he turned and ran up the stairs.
And more men with clubs came charging as Booker growled.
This wasn't going to be easy, but damn anything and everything that comes his way. He will survive and wipe away the debt.
He swung once, killing the first with a slice to the throat and dodged the second's club. He did a spinning backhand blow, striking the policemen and sending him flying down towards the theater. He never rose again. He turned and saw the giant Angel, the words MONUMENT ISLAND under it and ran towards it…but the bridge was drawn and he was cut off!
'Damn it!' He turned heard more shouting. More policemen were coming.
(X)
Lieutenant Barbara Young forced herself to appear calm.
This was it. For so many years they had watched and waited, prayed and prepared. But the time had finally come. The False Shepherd had arrived in Columbia, as was prophesied.
She gripped the handrail tight, narrowing her eyes against the wind as the hovercraft raced between the buildings. She glanced back and forth along the open deck, taking in her squad for the day.
Not much to look at. Eight men, all of them older than her, and all of them as nervous as she was. All wore the blue-grey, gold-edged uniform of the Columbian army; four in the short helmets with Royston Repeaters, four in the wide helmets with truncheons. Of them, only Sergeant Norton was a professional like herself. The rest were ordinary men with ordinary jobs, called up twice a year to do their duty as men and citizens. They were aggressive, foul-mouthed, and occasionally needed a well-aimed toecap to keep them in line, but they could fight, and that was what mattered.
That said, they could not have made for a greater contrast with the pair behind her. Barbara glanced back at them, and felt a shiver of mingled awe and disquiet. The nearer of the two
wore the same uniform as the others, but most of it was concealed behind thick pads of brown leather armour, his face hidden behind a mask. The patches on his arms were also different. Like all soldiers they bore a sword ringed with stars, the symbol of Father Washington, of military power, and of all the soldierly virtues. But unlike the patches on her arms, and those of her squad, the swords were crossed with keys; the symbol of Father Franklin, of science and learning.
He was a shocktrooper, one of Columbia's warrior elite. Barracked below-stairs in Comstock House, they stood ready to guard Columbia and the Prophet at a moment's notice. Some said they lived like monks in a monastery; their lives devoted to training and prayer. Others shared tales of riotous iniquity, of fallen women brought in by the hundreds, of liquor pouring from fountains, of pleasures the likes of which god-fearing men saw only in their most shameful dreams. One or two whispered of strange medical procedures, of bizarre and mysterious sciences known only to the Prophet and his closest scientists, enhancing and changing them into something more than men, and far less. Why else would they wear the key, the symbol of science?
If all that wasn't enough to make Barbara nervous, the one next to him was enough for anyone. A female officer like herself, though her uniform was purest white, her head concealed by a hood, her face hidden behind a silver mask in the image of Lady Liberty. Women like her were to the shocktroopers as Barbara was to the ordinary soldiers; officer, leader, inspiration, and threat.
The worse part was, she didn't know why they were there. Did someone upstairs think she needed the backup? Or was there some other reason?
She put the thoughts from her mind as the hovercraft slowed. She could make out the rear of the Blue Ribbon restaurant, just beyond two buildings. They had arrived.
"Listen to me, and listen well!" she barked. The eight turned to face her. Their faces were neutral, but Barbara knew what was going on behind them. Some of them saw her as an officer, to be resented and sneered-at behind her back. But to others, and there were always some, she would only ever be a woman. Nothing, not even the will of the Prophet, could remove that prejudice from their hearts.
"The False Shepherd has invaded our fair city, was was foreseen!" she went on. "There's no way to know if he'll come our way, but if he does it'll be for us to stop him! You will stand! And you will fight! And you will die if need be! But you will not shame yourselves on this day of days! The Prophet entrusts you with the safety of this city! With the safety of the Lamb! You will not fail!"
It had worked, she could tell. She could see the fire in their eyes, lit by the mention of the Prophet, but even more so by the thought of the Lamb. Some of them had been born in Columbia, others had come later, but they all knew the False Shepherd's intent.
"All right!" she barked, as the hovercraft drew level with the building. "Sergeant Norton! Move them out!"
"Yes ma'am! Squ-ad! Move out!"
Barbara watched as the soldiers dropped from the hovercraft's open deck to the roof below. She glanced back at the shocktroopers, wondering what they would do. The white-clad woman nodded at her male companion, who dropped lightly to the rooftop and followed the others. Barbara wondered for a moment what had passed between them, and felt a twinge of envy. Would she ever enjoy a bond like that? With anyone?
The silver mask turned to face her. Barbara wasn't sure, but she could have sworn the eyes were glowing.
(X)
Booker ducked under the fire of the automaton turret back in the plaza where he was on no less than five minutes ago. He got out of cover and fired back, before diving back in to avoid a burst of machine gun fire.
After fighting his way through the raffle, he killed a policemen carrying a Mauser C96 pistol which was called a Broadsider Pistol. Ironic that a flying city so steeped in American nationalism yet discrimative towards other cultures and nations would copy-cat a German handgun.
Suddenly he heard yelling as more enemies came flying down the sky-rails and landed, firing down at his position behind a garden. Booker remembered that power he had gotten at the raffle. A Vigor named 'Possession'. He used it to open that gate where he encountered those twins, could he use it on the turret?
He got out of cover and flung out his left hand, a green spirit flying towards the humanoid turret. Suddenly it turned green and began to fire on the policemen! Smirking, Booker rushed out of cover and with a trained eye began to gun down the now panicking policemen, emptying all twelve of his shots into three policemen. He dashed to a fourth who was behind cover from the machine gun and Booker swung his gauntlet upside the head of the policemen, stunning him. He then aimed the gauntlet at his neck, it clenched it and spun, and with a sickening crack twisted the policemen's neck, killing him instantly.
Booker tossed aside the corpse and reloaded his pistol. He heard a familiar pinging sound and turned, firing at the now De-Possessed turret and making it erupt with a single shot. The Vigor paid off. He sighed and wiped sweat off of his brow. He searched the corpses for any ammo and Silver Dollars, jogged down the street and under an archway. And a policeman came charging in like a fanatic.
One shot to the head and frothing man fell dead. Booker rolled his eyes, but saw flashes of gunfire and retreated to cover. Three policemen down the street. He got out of cover, aimed, and fired.
Back in the 7th Cavalry Regiment of the United States Army, he was a good shot with a rifle. And using a pistol was a cakewalk. He moved up and sprinted behind a column, taking shots at the policemen down at the end of the street. He saw one go down and his eyes spotted another man moving behind a wagon. He turned, fired, and the man died with a bullet to the head, falling face first into a store window. Booker got out of cover and jogged down the street, reloading, then aiming and firing at a policemen behind a produce vendor. Another man down.
Taking a deep breath, Booker searched for more ammo amongst the corpses and moved towards the curve in the road and saw a Salts bottle on a wagon. He took a sip of the elixir and tossed aside the bottle, turning towards a massive iron gate. He saw it cracked and pushed on it, then he felt the gate was rather warm. And so was the air.
"It's getting hot. What's going on?" He pushed past the gate, and saw numerous wagons, and a figure down at the end of the street.
"BY THE NAME OF OUR PROPHET!" The figure yelled, fire erupting from his fingertips as it began to spread amongst the buildings. Booker saw he was in armor of some kind. Well this was going to be fun.
"Oh great."
(X)
Jack took cover from behind the doors of the restaurant and fired more from his machine gun, taking down more of those soldiers who were behind cover. There were several men outside as he ducked below a window.
He sighed in frustration. If he had ADAM he would make mincemeat of these guys. An Incinerate there, an Insect Swarm to that guy and-
No. Now isn't the time to be going down memory lane to that nightmare.
"Is he dead!" Yelled the men outside. "The Fireman is keeping the False Shepard busy! Men! Move-" Jack took advantage of the soldier's distraction by gunning him with a short burst, before turning and getting a head shot on his fellow. He ran up, avoiding gunfire from a panicked policemen as the soldiers were dead and swung his gauntlet, sending him crashing into a puddle of gasoline. Jack fired another burst, and the sparks from a bullet hitting the ground made the gasoline erupted into flames, roasting the screaming man alive. Jack looked away from the sudden increase in heat and turned right, seeing a massive explosion towards the burning buildings. Then he heard a pinging sound that sounded a bit familiar to those turrets-
"Shit!" Jack fell forward and took cover as a human looking turret firing on his position. Jack growled as he reloaded, and turned up and gave the turret a nice barrage of bullets before the machine exploded.
'Those things were tougher than the ones in Rapture…and I doubt I can hack them either.' Jack thought to himself as he stood up and brushed himself, feeling sweat dripping down his head. He turned and saw another massive explosion. Reloading his last clip, he slowly approached and took cover by a wall.
He saw a man, older than he was, bend over and pick up something near the corpse of a smoldering suit of armor. He had brown hair, and had a black shirt with rolled up sleeves, a blue vest, a leather pistol holster on his left arm, and black trousers with white vertical stripes. He then tossed something aside and…drank something? Jack raised his machine gun, just to be cautious and-
He was caught off guard by the fact the man was starting to scream, looking down at his arms. Jack lowered his machine gun.
"What the hell…?" He asked aloud as the man gave out a scream of agony, before he stopped, taking deep breaths as he was still looking at his hands. He had his hands on his knees, slowly turning around.
"That was no sample…" He replied…before his eyes met Jack's.
Immediately both men raised their weapons at each other, the man and his pistol, which looked similar to a Luger, and Jack his machine gun.
"What was that? Why were you screaming?" Asked Jack, eyes narrowed as he stared down the man. He got a better look of him, scruffle, a rugged complexion, and a messily done red tie. What kind of dress attire…is that?
"Why should you care? And what's with your get-up? You don't look like no Comstock goon."
"Goon?" Jack growled. "I'm anything but one pal! Now, drop the gun, I want to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them!"
"Says who?" Sneered the man, his finger itching on his trigger.
"Says the man with bigger gun bucko. Drop it. Now." Jack bared his teeth and had his finger idly touching the trigger. Gunning him down would be so easy. He did it hundreds back in Rapture. He did it to monstrosities more frightening than that armored corpse by the man's feet. He did it a ADAM-raging hulk in Frank Fontaine, aka Atlas.
This guy ain't got shit on him.
Yet something in the man's eyes seemed to reflect back at him somewhat. That he went through a similar ordeal Jack went through. But now wasn't the time for sympathy. He needed answers. Why is this city floating in the sky? Why are there people using early 1900s outfits and weapons. And how in the seven fucking hells can he go back home to his daughters.
"And if I don't?" He replied.
"Take a guess Einstein." The man's eyebrow quirked up and his face looked confused.
"Einstein? Who's that?" Jack was almost ready to shout at him.
"Quit fucking around! Answer me, where the hell am I!"
"Oh yeah!" The man regained his composure. "You and what army?"
Suddenly the two of them heard yelling.
"The False Shepard!"
"Look! That's the man who escaped from the island! He's killed over a dozen of our men! Kill him!" The two of them turned, seeing policemen storm out of the restaurant near the gasoline puddles and Fireworks with some soldiers.
"Christ, they're just crawling out of woodwork." Jack growled. He looked back at the man as he dived towards cover behind a wall. Jack did the same, behind a column. He saw the man go out of cover, and his left hand was glowing red…
And the man threw it at the incoming policemen, and Jack could have sworn he saw a fireball escape his hand. "Incinerate?!" Plasmids!
And the fireball exploded, the gasoline and fireworks exploding as the policemen were incinerated to a crisp. Jack's mouth dropped, but a bullet whistling by his head brought him back to fight as he leveled his machine gun and fired a burst, killing the last straggler. Both men got out of cover, panting and turned towards each other.
Sorry for the short chapter, but this is something of a bridger. And hey look, Jack and Booker meet face to face!
I can promise ya, future chapters will be longer in length. And you're in surprise for the next chapter. That's for sure~
