Sorry this chapter is late; I've been busy. Please read and review; I'd like to hear what you think so far.
Disclaimer: The BioShock franchise belongs to 2K Games. I obviously don't own it. I do, however, own the fanfiction idea and OC's that appear within. Sticky fingers will be eaten with Nutella.
Chapter III: Mister Nemo
Music… singing… where was it coming from…?
Your eyes began to slowly crank open, but slammed shut again. Bright, white light of the cruelest kind had just stung you. That really smarted… and your whole body ached… it hurt. It was like… a dull, continuous pang… like someone took a sledgehammer and bashed you over the head… it wasn't the normal kind of hurt you would get from slamming your hand in a car door… and you hated it.
What the hell happened? Did you drink too much last night? No… you didn't taste alcohol in your mouth, and a hangover would be welcome compared to this. Did you piss off the wrong guy and get beaten up? Fall down the stairs? Get into a car crash? You probably could have remembered if the banshee in your skull would stop rattling the bars of her cage and screaming her head off.
…Water and waves. You definitely remembered that. Cold… and snow and ice. You were out at sea… and your captain… "Good luck, boys. You'll need it down there." Why? Was it dangerous down there? You could remember sinking down… deeper than you were supposed to have gone, further from your team, and far enough that you knew that your oxygen supply probably wouldn't last through the trip back to the surface. You don't know why you did that… wait… you had seen something. There was something further in the depths.
…Lights. Thousands of glimmering little lights – it was like looking down at Brooklyn. Deep at the very bottom.
Atlantis! You had found the lost city!
God, your head felt like it was going to split in two, but you propped yourself up on your elbow. You were on a bed, like the kind you'd see in a ritzy hotel, stripped clean to your underwear and covered with a blanket. You were supposed to be miles from the nearest point of human civilization… Iceland.
What were you doing here?
What's more… Why did Atlantis have beds that looked like they came from a royal suite? You would at least expect that they'd look like the lounge chairs the ancient Romans used. Something not so modern.
You looked around, feeling the beginnings of a migraine. Peachy. Maybe this was all some crazy dream. You dreamed that you had found a mythical lost empire, and that you had nearly killed yourself doing it. Perhaps the crew, your companions, all of those missing people and ships… had they all been part of the same long, weird dream? You wondered if they send people to the nut house if they go around saying stuff like that…
You tried your hand at getting up. You nearly toppled over from the head rush, but out of stubborn willpower, you managed to stand up, examining the room while leaning against the footboard. It was a pretty big room. Bed, chair, writing desk, nightstand, wardrobe… kind of feminine if you tilted your head and squinted. You stumbled over to the door, fumbling at the knob, and entered what looked like a living room. The music was much louder out here…
"Pavlova, it's already been a week," you stiffened at the sound of a voice, muffled by a door across the way that was slightly cracked open. The voice belonged to a man… and stressed would be an understatement to how he sounded. "Ya have to do somethin' about him. What, ya think ya can just let this slide by, no strings attached?"
"I know, but I cannot turn him in. I would be like his executioner." Another voice – a woman – spoke up.
"How do ya know if it's like murder or not?" You noticed that his voice had a metallic edge to it, and broke off from time to time. They must have been speaking over a transmitter of some kind. Atlantians had modern technology. Who knew? You began creeping closer to listen in better.
"…Matthews," she began. You noticed that she had a light Eastern European accent laced in her syllables. "Have you been reading the papers – looking with your own eyes at what has been, no, what is going on? Death sentences, for smuggling. Ryan had those people killed for being involved with the black market down here. He will now resort to murder to keep this city hidden from the surface. Ой, what punishment do you think this poor man will get for accidentally finding this place? He certainly is not going to get a medal."
"It couldn't have been an accident, Pavlova."
"Why could it not have been? I am sending you a reality check, Matthews. We are not exactly cloaked in an invisibility shield here at the bottom of the ocean. It never occurred to you that someone might chance upon the city? That is awfully presumptuous, even for you."
"Well… not exactly like you're sayin'," the man admitted. "I knew it was a possibility. Just never thought a guy would on pure dumb luck alone. And take a gander at yourself, Pavlova, you don't even know who the guy is in your room lying on your bed, and you're defendin' him like he's your brother! He could be a CIA jackal… or one of them wolves."
"…Wait, wait… you think he is KGB?" The woman laughed, albeit sardonically. "Call America! Special Forces! We have got a Communist bastard trying to ruin our precious democracy with Red ideals! Hide your wives and daughters; he is a real Russian wolfhound!"
"Pavlova, I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but it's not funny," he warned, though he sounded a little embarrassed. "If ya get caught hidin' him, ya get in big trouble with Ryan. Ya have to turn him in now! Fuck, even the medics were scared to patch up this guy because they didn't want to get the grill! Charlie's scared! What makes ya think you're any different?"
You were at the door now, and could peer inside. From what you could see through the crack, the door led to a private library study. Lamplight cast flickers of the woman's shadow across the wall as she paced. The smell of clove cigarettes hung in the air. The music was coming from within as well; you could see the record player on a table stacked with a few documents. She paused; her previously gentle tone deepened, becoming firm and authoritative.
"Matthews… There is no way in hell I can just hand a person over to Ryan to be slaughtered like… like an animal... I have seen enough of that to last a lifetime. If I had any intent of the sort, I would have left him out there to smother to death."
Smother... … you weren't going bonkers! You really had ended up finding Atlantis… And that man was right. You had found it on pure, dumb luck. But what rotten dumb luck; they were going to kill you because of it.
Finally, after a long stretch of silence, the man spoke again. "If ya won't hand him over, I will… I'm not too keen on doin' it, but I'm not lettin' you get on Ryan's bad side on account of him. I'm comin' over right now."
Alarms set off warning signals in your brain. You were in deep. You were going to become a nameless corpse or worse if you didn't think fast. You backed away; frantically looking around the room you were in. Naturally, no windows; since Atlantis was technically a sunken city, there wasn't much of a need for windows. Anyway, you doubted you would get far in just your underwear, as you hadn't seen your diving suit or clothing in the room. The only exits were the door leading to the woman and a door to your right that was padlocked. You had nothing around to use as a weapon, and you knew you were too weak right now to even try to defend yourself hand-to-hand.
So be it. You would die in your underwear at the hands of the stranger, but you wouldn't go down without a fight; Bushido code-style, death before dishonour.
You swallowed hard, staring at the door. Your heart pounded in your ears.
"Matthews, wait," the woman's voice sighed. "Do not come over. I will deal with it and call you later."
There was a pause, but finally the man responded. "Pavlova… I really don't get ya sometimes… ya know that? Alright. Ya break it to him. Good luck." They sounded like they were sending a prisoner to death row… which you were… if you looked at it that way.
Then there was silence. The music stopped. The door creaked open, and a woman strode out. She was average height, with curly hair of the reddest colour you'd ever seen pinned in a loose bun. She also looked a little unsure of how to approach you.
"…Good afternoon," the woman greeted simply. "…I suppose we should get formalities out of the way. My name is Doctor Elena Nikolaevna Pavlova."
You nodded, about to speak – introduce yourself – but she raised a hand, effectively silencing you. She pointed to a couch, and you took it as a command of "sit."
"…I cannot exactly lie to you; put on a smile and tell you that everything will be all right when you have obviously heard us arguing only moments ago." She spoke calmly… but her eyes seemed troubled, and conflict was etched in her brow. "How did you find this place?"
You just… stared at her for a moment, quickly piecing together your words as carefully as possible.
"I'm an archeologist; it's my job to find and explore undersea wreckage and ancient ruins. My team and I have been exploring the areas around Greenland and Iceland lately because of the Viking past both countries share, and we were hoping to excavate rare artifacts for the Museum of Natural History. We went down to assess a few of the ruins our scanners picked up, and to graph out the sea floor so we could find them again in case we had to make multiple trips. I came around to the side of one of the boats and saw lights in a trench… and I wandered off without telling my comrades or asking for extra air or help so I could go look. I know it's stupid, but I had to find out what was making those lights."
You managed a half-smile, knowing that she would probably buy the story. It wasn't exaggerated, and it seemed to ring with truth.
Pavlova listened closely, and adjusted her glasses. "Well… you have me at a loss."
"Well, tell me this, doctor: did I or did I not find Atlantis?"
She smiled wryly. "No, not at all. You found Rapture."
Questionability must have been plain on your face, because she answered right away.
"Rapture is a city. It is... freedom. The people here came from the surface to practice free enterprise; to get away from prejudice, big government and crippling societies. It is a sanctuary for artists who fear censorship, and scientists who do not wish to be bogged down by religion or moral ethics."
"You talk about freedom here, ma'am," you spoke up when she was finished, "but the way you and the man you were talking to a while ago were going on, this Ryan person is like a new Hitler or Stalin."
Pavlova's face flushed nearly as red as her hair, and she bit her lower lip. "Things have not been well as of late, unfortunately… But that is not really important right now. The problem is that I cannot put anything at risk while there are tensions boiling both below and above the poverty line. It is selfish, but it would ruin everything I ever worked for since coming here-"
"So… I'm a liability then, am I right? The only solution is to kill me; like you said, this Ryan would more than likely suggest it. Turn me in and Bang-" you made a pistol with your right hand and 'fired,' which made Pavlova flinch. "-No more liability. Secret's safe and the big man is happy."
Pavlova muttered what you assumed to be a curse under her breath, turning without warning and kicking the wall with a great big bang that made you flinch. "I cannot just turn you in, I will not! There has to be another way!" She shook her head, and began pacing up and down the length of the room. "If I turn you in, you will never be heard or seen from again… that is the problem though. You are unknown down here… a real Mister Nemo... wait… wait a minute…" She bit her knuckle, thinking so hard she nearly broke the skin.
"Вот и все! You are Mister Nemo!"
"What are you talking about?" You stood, wobbling a little. She had to be at least a couple heads shorter than you.
"You will be turned into Ryan… eventually," she looked up at you with a triumphant smirk. "After you are publicised."
Wait, hold on a tick… "Publicised?"
"Think back to what I said before, мальчик," she said, matter of fact, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Not one person has ever found Rapture before on their own. The citizens will absolutely love the story. You will become like the next Charles Lindbergh; a hero."
This little woman wanted to… make you a celebrity?
"Everyone in Rapture will know who you are and what you look like. The story will spread like wildfire, and Andrew Ryan certainly cannot make a man who has fame equal to his own growing infamy just disappear by way of a chemical lab. Yes… it could work… it is brilliant!" Then she turned towards you, studying you with a critical eye.
"Anyway, forgive me. How are you doing? The doctors said you would live, but you shouldn't strain yourself for a while. However, do you think you could manage to wash up and get dressed?"
"Wash…?" You must've sounded really dumb to her, but how could you help it? You were in pain and just confused by… by her in general.
"You do not think the Rapture Tribune would want pictures of a dirty, sweaty man, do you?" She raised a brow. "We should also get your diving suit back from Eckhart. She took it for cleaning and maintenance. We need to present you as a human being and not an enemy of the people."
"Okay…" She could have said that Greta Garbo was really a man at the moment, and you would have agreed without a second thought. That's how much of a moron you sounded right now. "Okay… whatever you want to do, do it if it gets the job done…" Pavlova smiled at you, and hurried off. You could hear a phone being picked up somewhere else in the house.
So long as she kept you, "Mister Nemo" alive, you'd have to trust her.
A/N: It looks like the good doctor is set on keeping him alive. Which is good. If he died off too early, BioShock 2 would probably not have been the same game. And I wouldn't be judging Matthews too harshly; he's only trying to keep his friend from getting in big trouble.
Also, Johnny's point of view will be told in first person, like in the game, from here on out. Anyway, constructive criticism is welcomed. I'm cracking down on that argumentative research paper for English, so the next chapter, which features Eleanor, should hopefully be posted soon.
