Disclaimer: I (obviously) don't own the rights to the BioShock games. I am merely borrowing the BioShock world for this story. Also, it has been brought to my attention I made a slight mistake last chapter; Dr. Lamb was a psychiatrist, not a psychologist. We shall pick up where chapter 1 left off, with Delta falling out of a Vita-Chamber in the crumbling Fontaine Futuristics building, and Eleanor and the sisters heading on towards the shore, unaware of his survival.
Tears continued to stream down her face as Eleanor manipulated the various dials and switches controlling the submersible, setting on a course for the shore, all the sphere's navigational equipment telling her that the closest was to the west. With a final sniffle, she punched in the coordinates and pulled the lever, the bathysphere beginning to lurch forward in motion.
"Goodbye Father," she whispered, "and thank you."
* * *
Slowly, the darkness began to fade from his vision, and the mighty metal man began to see once more. Sounds returned to clarity and definition, the splashing of water and dripping of pipes, the electrical crackle of broken machinery. With a metallic groan, the Big Daddy rose to his feet, only to find himself, not aboard Sinclair's bathysphere, but instead once more in the halls of the hated Fontaine compound. With that realization came another; Eleanor was not here.
Quaking with fury, a sound so animal, so primal, so unnaturally loud blasted forth from him, a roar of rage that echoed through the ruins, reverberating off metal walls and tiled floor before reaching the ears of the remaining Splicers in the building. Terror accompanied the bellow as it struck them, but the hunger for ADAM and the twisted sadistic urges of their madness overcame it as the mutants rushed towards the source.
Delta struck the wall with his fist, a shallow dent appearing in the steel surface where he struck. The hall he was in led into a large chamber filled with rusted hospital beds and ruined mattresses, the remains of a medical ward no doubt. The behemoth in the diving suit heard the Splicers before he saw them. The distinctive click clack of a Spider Splicer climbing across wall and ceiling met his ears, and the Big Daddy calmly raised up his Rivet Gun in one hand before letting loose a swarm of hornets from his other, the insects spawned from his own flesh. There was a scream, and turning towards its source, Delta saw as the twisted, grotesque creature fell from the ceiling it had been crawling across, crashing into one of the bed frames while hopelessly swatting at his miniscule assailants. With a pull of the trigger, Delta let loose a volley of white hot rivets towards the man, each landing with a hiss accompanied by the sizzle of burning flesh. The Splicer screamed once more, and then was no more. The hornets landed on him, idly biting and burrowing into scorched flesh. The metal man casually reloaded and waited for the next foe, opting this time for the spear gun.
"Hey," came the cry from the far side of the room, the corner blanketed by shadow, "he got Bert! Let's cut him open!"
There was a chorus of agreement and feral growls, and Delta stepped further into the room. More space gave greater maneuverability in a fight. The little medical bay held nearly two dozen of the gurneys he had left the first Spider Splicer rotting on, with a few support pillars in the central space. The wall opposite his entryway was entirely glass; a window to the kelp and coral forest outside. Feet pitter pattered across the tile floor, splashing in the occasional puddle and Delta quickly scanned the area for his foes. The first that came into view was a Leadhead; a woman in your typical housewife dress, now dirtied and stained with blood and grease, but with a face so twisted and mutilated it was a terror to behold. She toted a large pistol in one hand, but Delta beat her to the draw, sending a spinning spear straight to her gut. It impacted with a wet crunch, sending the screaming monster back towards the glass wall, where she was pinned. Even from a distance away, Delta could see the small spider web crack spread out form the impact space and a few streams of water begin to shoot in. Dismissing it for now, he returned his attention to the fight.
A small group of Thuggish Splicers, armed with wrenches, golf clubs, and anything else they could find, were rushing him from the side. Turning to face them, Delta gave slight flick of his wrist, and the honeycombs of the hornets melted off, giving way to a glowering fireball. He raised a hand to the mutants, and a cone of hellfire erupted from his outstretched palm. Their screams fell upon deaf ears, for Delta had already moved onto his next victim. The buzz of angry insects attracted his attention to the bed he'd left the first Spider on. A Leadhead had evidently tried to sneak up on him, but had stumbled upon the body of his comrade, rousing the bugs that now nested within him.
"No, not bees! Anything but bees!"
His cries were silenced by a spear to the throat, shooting him back to the tiled wall and nailing him to it. The Big Daddy moved on. He noted with pleasure that a significant puddle had spread across much of the floors, spawned by the leaking glass wall. A quick scan of the room found a side door through which the Splicers were arriving en masse, and the man beneath the helmet gave a smile as he saw that the whole floor around it was now soaked. The flames in his left hand died away, and sparks began to crackle between his fingertips. With a flick of the wrist, an arc of blue tinged volts shot from his hand, striking the water. Instantly, they shot through the wide puddle, crackling and hissing, and the dozen or so poor souls that had been standing in the water fell screaming as the electricity coursed through them.
Delta gave a satisfied grunt, and began to step towards the door, his opponents dispatched. The heavy thump of his booted footfalls was quickly drowned out by the sound of a back wall exploding outwards. The Big Daddy whirled around to see the gorilla like form of a Brute Splicer standing in a new hole in the wall, bits of tile and concrete strewn about. The ape like monster gave a roar as he stared at the suited man with beady eyes, a battered bowler hat, dwarfed in comparison to its wearer, tilted atop its ugly head. The Brute had entered from the same side he had, and with his back to the spreading puddle and weakened glass, the Big Daddy brought out his drill, revving the bloody tool. With defiant roars, the two behemoths of Rapture charged each other, meeting midway. Metal met flesh, and both were knocked back. Delta rose shakily to his feet, only to see the Brute grabbing hold of a gurney and whipping it towards him. Instinctively, the Big Daddy hopped out of its way, only for the spinning metal bed to cartwheel past him and strike the glass. There was a massive crack as it struck, and the combatants realized with mounting horror what this meant.
"Uh oh," was all the Brute had time to say in its deep voice before the window gave way with a great shatter, and the cold waters of the Atlantic rushed in. Delta stood tall, facing the crashing wave as it swept up bodies and beds alike. A moment later it was upon him, the great wave throwing him back and spinning the metal man about like a ragdoll. Finally, the tide relented enough for him to regain his feet. The tank on his back kept him alive, but the Brute had no such luck. The beefy Splicer was twisting and squirming as it struggled for breath, but finding no life giving air. Delta merely watched in contempt as a final stream of bubbles escaped from its mouth, and then, it was no more, just another of the fresh corpses floating up in the water.
Delta looked at them apathetically. They had attacked him, and were therefore obstacles. He felt no remorse, and walked through the flooded medical wing to the broken window. Already, silt and sand had been swept in, a fine layer resting on the floor surrounding the shattered glass. The metal man hefted stepped out of the flooded room, booted feet landing soft sand. Strands of kelp stood up like green streamers floating towards the surface, but Delta did not pause to take in their beauty. Sweeping the strands aside with one arm, he stomped through the kelp forest with single minded intent until he finally cleared the green tangle. He found himself standing upon a small ledge alongside tracks of the Atlantic Express, looking out over the rest of the city.
Rapture's lights glowed not far in the distance, an eerie, spectral glow that was warped and twisted by the sea. It's towers stood high, bits and pieces crumbled away on some, others completely ruined. The docks and fisheries, the slums and whore houses sat in their shadows, areas the aristocrats of Rapture had sought to forget. Delta stared at it with hate. The place had taken so much from him, given so little. He did not know how he had returned here, or why, but he did know one thing; somewhere in this sunken dystopia was away out, an escape that would let him reach his daughter, and he was going to find it. And God help whoever dared to get in his way.
* * *
Eleanor looked out the dome of the bathysphere as is silently cut through Long Island Sound, eyes fixated on the lights of New York City, so similar, yet at the same time so different, from the ones that lit up Rapture. Sinclair's maps and notes had guided her here. He had been just as involved in the smuggling business as Fontaine, and if his notes were to be trusted, which in their flood damaged state was difficult at best, there should be a small dock and warehouse he used in the area. Night and deep water had masked their approach; now all she had to do was find Dock 17. Eleanor found her goal in the form of a dilapidated wooden construct at the end of a line of piers and docks, tarnished brass numeral proclaiming "17" high on one wall. It was clear no one had used it in years, but that served her just fine. The bathysphere slipped into the decaying wooden structure in silence, save for the idle wave that slapped against it on occasion. Destination reached, the young woman shut down the sphere, the rumbling of the engine beneath her feet dying off. She sighed. They'd made it.
Eleanor looked back at her fellow escapees of Rapture. The ten ex-Little Sisters were huddled together, sleeping on a 'bed' made of cushions and blankets she had carefully and diligently dried with Inferno. She sighed. With Father gone, she was all they had now, and she was going to need help. There was only one man in the world who could help them, and she prayed that he was in the city.
* * *
Jack Ryan settled down into an armchair in his spacious townhouse, a glass of bourbon in one hand, cigarette in the other. His life had not always been his own, the dark chains tattooed on his wrist were a bleak reminder of that, but he had escaped, and freed more than just himself. He was 'father' to the five girls, now teenagers, asleep in their rooms above, the lone reminder of the nightmare that was Rapture, and the only good thing that it had given him. He sighed as he sank into the chair, sipping his drink. It had been a long day.
The sudden ring of the telephone returned him to alertness, and the man rose to his feet and walked over before the offending machine could ring again.
"Ryan residence."
"Hello? Is this Jack Ryan?"
Jack frowned; the voice was shaky, young, and carried a distinct British accent. It was wholly unfamiliar.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Eleanor Lamb, and I, I need your help. Please. I know who you are."
The man tightened his grip on the glass, brows furrowing.
"Miss, I think you have me mistaken for someone else. Good-"
"It's about Rapture," the girl blurted, and words died in his throat.
"Rapture," he rasped, before the glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the kitchen floor.
End Chapter. Hope you guys liked it. Please keep up the feedback. Oh, and just for my own reference and future chapters, if anyone knows whether the sisters Jack saves are given names or not in the first game, please let me know. I'd hate to name them when they already have one from the canon of the game. Thanks. Until next time.