Splicers are officially the worst.
Elizabeth has been nearly beheaded, blown up, shot to death, and almost killed by those ugly, inhuman bastards.
Now she's trying not to die by the hands of a Thuggish splicer while avoiding the gaze of a nearby security camera in the corner. She's so screwed, it's almost funny.
Almost.
She wonders if she can spare enough ammunition to take out the camera, but she soon realizes that that's out of the question. Although she does have a long range weapon, she knows that the shotgun going off will definitely give away her position, and considering the state she's in, there's no ways he could survive the fight. Besides, there's no way she could take it out in just one shot. The shotgun is way too loud for her to not give away her position, and she knows that one shot won't take it out from this far away.
She's so screwed.
She contemplates her last words, wondering if she should say something eloquent, like the truths of the universe of something.
In hindsight, she probably should have been paying more attention to the splicer.
She feels the blow before she sees it, the hard metal of the pipe smashing into her skull. She barely has time to think, Not again, before she passes out.
When she comes to, she's lying on the dirtiest floor she's ever seen. Really, it's filthy. For a moment, she forgets where she is, and wonders why these people have such a large aquarium. Then she remembers that's not a window.
She sighs heavily, making to get up from the wet floor and smoothing down her ruined outfit. Well, what's left of it, anyways. She might as well be wearing rags. The skirt is torn to hell, and the blouse-oh, don't even go there.
She checks to make sure she still has her shotgun before heading off to find more ammunition for it. She finds an entire box of shotgun shells and is loading them into the gun when she hears the radio crackle to life from its place on her hip.
"Now you've had-Andrew Ryan's company."
She shuddered as she heard "Atlas'" voice.
"Yeah, seems-fantastic guy," the other man said sarcastically.
Elizabeth smiled despite herself. Yeah, Andrew Ryan sure was something. That, at least, they could agree on.
Damn. she hadn't even met the guy, and already she was judging him.
"Who the hell is he, anyways?"
"He's the one-place-into the ground. Nobody knows exactly-happened. Maybe he-mad. Maybe the power-"
Damnit, Elizabeth thought furiously. She scrambled to unhitch the radio from her hip and fumbled with the radio a bit, trying to get a better signal.
"-Whichever way you slice it, a good man died."
Elizabeth snorted. She doubted very highly Andrew Ryan had ever been a good man.
The voice continued, seemingly unaware of her interruption. "Me family's in a submarine hidden in the foundation of Fontaine Fisheries. I'll meet you there."
"Okay. Thanks, Atlas."
"No problem, boyo."
Elizabeth waited for a few more seconds for someone to say something, but it was quiet. Sighing, she replaced the radio on her hip and continued to load the shotgun.
As she holds the gun in her hand, now fully loaded, she thinks.
So.
Atlas is still alive. Fontaine, she corrects herself mentally. Atlas is just a name. An illusion. Another con.
Does he know she's here? Does he know she's alive?
That's another question, she supposes. How is she alive? There's no way she could be-maybe this was all just a dream.
It's one hell of a dream, then, she thinks to herself.
No, it's not a dream-she'd know if it were. Maybe it's a Tear?
No. Her pinky is still intact. And besides, she had been dead. There was no way she could have done that.
Another question: who is the other man?
He's obviously just a pawn on Fontaine's chess board-the poor chump had clearly had no idea who he was really talking to, from what little Elizabeth could hear of their conversations. She silently curses the bad reception again.
She doesn't know.
All she knows is that she's in some deep water, and she can't seem to swim out of it.
"Atlas, I found the research camera. Now what?"
Elizabeth gives a start, before realizing it's just her radio. She lowers her shotgun a little, listening carefully.
It's silent for a few second before the mysterious man speaks again.
"Atlas? Atlas, are you there?"
He's starting to sound distressed, and Elizabeth wishes there was something she could do about it. She doesn't know why, but hearing him distressed is starting to make her distressed.
"Atlas!"
Later, she'd look back and wonder what made her do it. What made her unclip that radio and press the button.
Her finger is on the button, ready for her to speak, to reassure or to further frighten the man on the other side of the device. But she doesn't.
She's silent, unsure of what to say or how to say it.
The man is unaware of her plight, muttering incoherently on the other line, though Elizabeth thinks he's probably just panicking.
She doesn't want him to panic. Don't panic, she tries to say, but nothing comes out. She wonders if that was for her or for him. She's not sure. Maybe both.
"I...uh."
Immediately, the man stops talking.
She's starting to regret saying anything at all.
She swallows. "My-my name is Elizabeth."
More silence. Elizabeth wonders if he even heard her.
"Uh, can-can you hear me?"
She starting to think he didn't when he speaks. "Yeah. I can hear you."
Elizabeth breathes out through her nose in anticipation. When he doesn't say anything else, Elizabeth speaks up again. "Who are you?"
"...I don't think I should answer that."
"No no no, it's okay. I'm not-I'm not one of them, I promise."
"How can I be sure?"
"You can't. You'll have to take my word for it."
That false bravado is back, replacing the anxious fear she had felt not moments before.
"...Alright then."
The awkward conversation between them is gone, replaced with the silence from earlier. Elizabeth doesn't like silence-she never has-and so she says, "What's your name?"
"Jack."
"...Jack."
"Yes?"
"No, I was just-nevermind. It's just it's a common name, is all."
"I suppose it is. Miss Elizabeth, if you don't mind my asking, were you on a plane just a few hours ago?"
"I-um-what?"
"Were you on a plane? Specifically, Apollo Air Flight DF-0301?"
"I-um-"
Suddenly, she has a vision.
There's an airport. An airplane with the words "APOLLO AIR FLIGHT DF-0301" stamped onto the side is getting ready to depart.
A man. His back is turned, but Elizabeth knows who he is. She's seen him before, in visions. He pulls out a gun, he aims it at the stewardess, and-
The ocean. So calm, and peaceful-and then, the plane crashes. Fire is everywhere, and so is the plane. Among it all, the man surfaces-and even now, Elizabeth cannot see his face. He swims towards something-Elizabeth cannot see what it is, but as she turns to look, she sees another vision.
A lighthouse. It stands, untouched by the destruction around it. The man clambers to the door, and opens it-and Elizabeth's vision ends.
Her nose is bleeding. When did her nose start bleeding?
Remembering where she is and what she's doing, she thinks quickly. She decides to fall back on her old habit of lying to get herself out of a jam.
"Uh-yeah. How'd you know that?"
She hears him exhale on the other side of the radio. "Damn. There were other survivors, after all. I thought for sure that I was the only one left."
"Well, that's not the case."
"What happened? Do you remember?"
"No. I just remember...well, there was a lighthouse. I remember heading inside to one of those bathysphere things, but I guess I must've blacked out. Next thing I know, there's this-thing-trying to kill me."
This. This is what she's used to now, what she knows. The lies, the false air of importance, the indifference for anyone but herself. This is who she is now. She wonders if that's for the better.
"Yeah. A lot of things down here are trying to kill you. Where are you right now?"
"I-why?"
"Don't get all suspicious now, miss. I'm just trying to help here. Where are you?"
She looks around. She's not sure where she is; there are a few peeling posters on the walls, dead bodies are everywhere, and distantly she thinks she can hear the pattering of tiny feet on the moldy carpet.
"I'm not sure."
The man curses. "Okay. Well, um. Then I can't really help you-"
"Wait. Who said anything about helping me?"
"Well...don't you want help?"
"Not necessarily. I'm fine on my own, thanks. I can handle myself."
"I'm sure on the surface, you could. But, miss, you have to understand-these people, they're not like you and me. They're insane. If you want to make it out of here, alive, then you'll have to-"
"Boyo? Who're you talking to?"
Elizabeth stills.
"It's okay, Atlas. She's not a Splicer! She's from the plane crash."
"What?"
Elizabeth hears his accent break ever-so-slightly, and she tenses.
She can't let him know she's alive, if he doesn't already know. She has to-
She lets go of the button. She sighs.
"Atlas, we have to help her. We can find her, we can-"
"Boyo, no. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do but pray that she makes it out."
"Atlas, she won't. She'll die."
Never let it be said that Elizabeth was a heartless woman. Her heart aches for the guy-she wishes she could let him know she was alright, but she can't risk it with Atlas on the channel. She has to ignore him.
She has to, but that doesn't mean she wants to.
"Are you really willing to risk the life of my wife and child for someone you just met?"
"I just met YOU!"
"Listen, boyo-"
She turns the radio off again.
Thirty minutes later, and she's somehow managed to avoid the Big Daddy and his Little Sister, kill a few Splicers in her way (one of them, Elizabeth realizes with glee, was the one who knocked her out earlier), and figure out where she is.
Not that she's going to tell the man-Jack-that.
She knows she can't contact him again, for the sake of safety-but it had been nice to talk to someone who wasn't a drug-addicted psychopath. Plus he had had a nice voice, which, you know, wasn't bad. At all.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Elizabeth looks around, cautiously raising her weapon just in case.
She turns around. Nothing.
All she sees is a sign that reads, "FONTAINE'S DEPARTMENT STORE" looming above her.
She's tempted to shoot it.
She doesn't, though; instead, she turns around and heads to where she thinks her ticket out of here is.
There's a slight problem.
Her ticket out of here is gone.
The bathysphere isn't docked where it should be, and Elizabeth realizes too late that Atlas-Fontaine-and his men must've taken it.
Damnit, she curses mentally. How did she not think of that?
Okay. Okay. Calm down. Just...think of a plan B. You can do that. You can do that.
As she tries to think up a new plan, she feels her heartbeat start to quicken. She can't breathe, oh God, she can't breathe-she's hyperventilating. She squeezes her eyes shut, clenching her fists tightly.
It takes her a moment to realize that she's panicking.
Knock it off, she tells herself. It doesn't work.
What do I do? What do I do?
Is this her fate? Suffering a quick death, only to be brought back to life to suffer a slower one?
If she doesn't get out of here, she's going to die. Either that, or start splicing. Eventually. There's not enough ammunition lying around to last more than a day, and eventually she'll run out of EVE. She supposes if she scrounged hard enough she might be able to find another weapon, but she doubts it would have any ammo in it. The shotgun hadn't. She didn't want to become one of those things that she'd killed not too long ago, but if she was going to be stuck here forever, she might not have a choice.
She wished Booker was here. He would know what to do.
Booker…
Suddenly she had an idea. Booker might not be here, but-he was.
Now, if there was one thing Elizabeth hates, it's admitting she needs help. But it's either asking for help or risk dying in here-again.
She turns on the radio and presses the button.
