Booker awoke abruptly, the sounds of the morning New York society roaring through the walls. He got up slowly, having fallen asleep on his desk. He grumbled, fumbling around for a cigarette. His entire body ached, and he felt whiskey still in the back of his throat. The smoke filled his lungs, and as he exhaled he felt the familiar taste lingering. The silence in the office was erie, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. The memory of the night the before as a blur to him, but the alcohol wasn't so friendly. Business was slow this morning, so Booker had a lot of time to think. He remembered a beautiful woman he used to be so close to. She was the only one who understood her. She's been gone for a whole now, and her memory was a blur to him. Everything was a blur. A goddamn blur.
At thirty-eight, Booker had no good sense of memory at all. He cleared his throat, sucking more smoke, this time letting it linger a bit longer. There was a loud knock at the door once again, and Booker groaned. He didn't feel like entertaining any guests or clients today. "Come in!" He called. A young man entered the room, but his face was hidden by a hood. "Hello, Mr. DeWitt." His voice was soft but menacing. Booker stared at the man, trying to see his face. He did very well to hide himself, and tried hard to keep his identity hidden. "What?" Booker asked, irritatedly. The man stepped forward, and Booker could see the thin smirk on his lips. "You have a massive amount of money you owe, am I correct?" The man asked.
Bookers eyes stared at the hooded man with intensity. How did he know? How did he know whom I was? Booker's mind rambled about who this man was, and how he knew him. "So what if I do?" Bookers chest rose, asserting any dominance he had over the small, thin figure before him. The mans smirk turned into a calm expression that even Booker couldn't describe. It was almost unemotional and unreadable. "I have a way that I can help you," He said. Booker relaxed his shoulders, rolling up his sleeves. "Go on," He spoke, gruffly. The man nodded, his feet planted on the floor. "I want to make a deal with you, Mr. DeWitt. A deal that I know you'll be most pleased with." The large man watched the hooded figure with curious eyes. He folded his arms across his chest, raised an eyebrow.
The man never took off his hood, but Booker caught a small glimpse of some of his features. He was a small, petite young male. His hair was either blonde or red, and his eyes were light. He had an unemotional smile, that even Bookers could be considered sweet. The man was an intelligent sort, but he had a air about him as a manipulator. Booker wasn't one to be manipulated easily, but he was a good manipulator himself. The man opened his thin lips, speaking words that would forever haunt Booker for the rest of his life.
"Bring us the girl, and you're debt will be forgotten. Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt." Bookers shoulders almost trembled at the words. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Those words sounded so familiar to him. They rang out in his ears like a memory or an evil flashback. Foreshadowing that of which would come to pass in a few short hours. The man walked forward, striding to Booker. He lifted his hand, and Booker felt immediate pain. His eyes fluttered, and with a thud, his massive body clambered to the floor.
He didn't remember waking up. Nor did he remember being instructed to do anything. Booker sat in a boat, looking down at his feet. His mind knew where he was going, but it wasn't as much as he would've wanted. The idea was implanted into his very brain. "Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt." His lips mumbled those words over and over again, silently. Those were the only words he could muster for half the ride. Two people sat on the boat with him, but they didn't speak to him that often. They spoke to themselves, ranting about things Booker didn't know. When they got closer to the destination, one of them handed him a box. On it was engraved with his name, and 'leader of the seventh cavalry'. His eyes wandered the letters.
He remembered the war only vaguely. Why now did he forget such a critical part of his life? He blinked at the box, but soon slowly started to open it. Inside was a pistol, some sort of password, and a picture of a girl. On it read instructions for him to bring her back to New York unharmed. Simple enough, he thought to himself. Stuff those things into his pockets, he sat back for the ride. The two people chatted on front of him, but he ignored it. "Almost there?" He asked, gruffly. "I suppose so," The male said. The female bantered back something that seemed playful, but Booker could really care less. The male sounded familiar, but not familiar enough. The boat docked at a large lighthouse that loomed over the sea like a beacon in the night. Booker took a deep breath, climbing the stairs to the right of him.
The two started to row away, and Booker turned to them. "Is someone meeting me here?" He called out to them. "I sure hope so. Sure seems like the worst place to be stranded," The female said. Booker rolled his eyes, walking towards the light house. The door had a note for him. "Bring us the girl..." DeWitt read, his lips murmuring those fatal words again. He opened the door, and walking inside the lighthouse. There was nothing special about it, only the two lagers before walking into the platform of the lighthouse itself. But walking onto te second platform, Bookers nerves were on its end. A body of a man sat, slumped in a chair. There was blood dripping down the chair, and stains on his chest. A bag was shoved over his head, with the words "don't disappoint us" written on it.
"Shit," Booker mumbled under his breath. He walked into the last platform, going to the door of the lighthouse. There were three bells in a specific order like it was on the paper he found in the box. He rang the bells in the order it was read, and the cloud became blood red. He stared, confused until the door opened, and a fancy, barber shop chair appeared. "Am I going to get a haircut?" He mumbled, smirking a bit. He slowly say down, looking around solemnly. "What now-" His voice as cut short as shackles locked around his wrists and ankles, and walls lifts up around him. He was now in a rocket ship.
A metallic voice counted down, and the rocket fired up. The chair was lowered, making Booker lose his gun. "Well, shit." Everything was happening so fast and it was making his head pound. When the rocket took off, it was the first time in a whole he had been genuinely frightened. Until he saw the beautiful city. It was a city unlike anything he's ever seen before. A city in the sky, he though. "Huh," he mumbled. The rocket ascended down into some kind of sewer. He stepped out from the rocket, his heart slowing down. He swallowed, dusting off his vest. Clearing his throat, he recomposes himself, and walks through the watery pathway. A plaque above him looked over as he stepped through. "The seed of the prophet..." He read, clicking his tongue. Whatever the hell that means, He thought. He met a strange man in a long robe standing by an open pathway leading to stairs. "Mind telling me where I am?"
"Heaven. Or as close as well see 'till judgment day."
Booker nodded, walking away from the man. "Best not ask so many questions 'less I wanna get made," He mumbled to himself. The staircase led to a large area with water gushing past him. A crowd of people stood together at the end, surrounding a priest who stood in the middle of a pool of water. Booker approached the crowd, gentle pushing through. "Is it someone new?" The priest called. "I just need passage into the city." Booker's voice was convincing, but the priest just chuckled. "Passage? Son, the only way into Columbia is rebirth in the sweet waters of baptism." Booker sighed, looking up at the blind priest. He nodded, stepping towards the man. He grabbed him roughly, which caused Booker to tense up. The priest shoved him under the water, and when he was pulled back up, he stared at him with his lifeless eyes. "I don't know about you, brothers, but this one doesn't look clean to me," He said. Before Booker could resist, he as being shoved back under the water and everything went black again.