Chapter Four: Prisoners

It had taken close to an hour for Florian to stop blubbering over his dead lover. When at last his tears dried, Niko felt it was the opportune moment to ask, "Do you know what happened?"

Wiping his face with the monogramed, lilac-colored handkerchief he retrieved from a pocket, Florian shook his head. "I was hoping you would know."

Niko frowned. "You've been here for four days. Surely you must know something. From the news, from other people..."

"The news is always so vague. They said it was terrorists that started all this, but not which ones," the slight man said as he pulled himself up to sit on the front desk, crossing his legs. "Supposedly, they released some kind of nasty virus on the city, but no one knows what it is. I don't think anyone knows for sure about anything, other than the fact that so many people got sick, started going nuts and ripping people apart." He flailed a hand around as he spoke. "I stopped watching the news because it was making me sick. Then the hotel manager told us to stay in our rooms, so we did. But then Bryce got called away. I imagine it was about what was happening. He hadn't even called me to let me know he was okay and I was so worried. So I turned on the TV again, hoping to see him make a speech or something, but the news said he was dead, torn apart by a mob of those...those...freaks! Then the power went out, so I never heard anything else. I didn't care, I was devastated. I cried myself to sleep and woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of gunfire and explosions. I thought my whole life in Liberty City had just been a dream and now I was back home, in the middle of that ugly war. I almost wish that was true; at least Bryce would still be alive. I looked outside to see those crazies attacking police officers and soldiers alike. So many. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands! So much madness. I...I was scared. I hid." He looked away, ashamed.

Niko shook his head in slight disgust. "I remember a time when you used to be a good soldier, not a wimp."

Florian drew himself up, planting his hands on his hips. "Not everyone enjoys fighting wars as much as you do, Niko."

The man made a face. "I never enjoyed it."

"Perhaps not that war, but you do enjoy fighting. I think it is the only thing you enjoy." Florian realized something then. "Why don't you know what's happened? Where have you been?"

"In the hospital. No one told you?"

Florian shook his head. "Are you sick or something?" A worried and dismayed expression came upon his face. "Oh, no," he whined. "It's cancer, isn't it?"

Niko rolled his eyes. "No, Florian, it's not cancer. I got in a car wreck; I was in a coma for a week," he replied, then changed the subject. "Where is everyone else, the other hotel guests?"

Florian shrugged. "Gone. I guess they all got scared and left, or went nuts."

"And the police? The army?"

"I guess they decided it was too much work. Or they realized it was hopeless; they were losing, after all."

Niko was not surprised, and yet it still pissed him off. "So, they just left us here to fend for ourselves?"

"It would seem so, Niko." Florian's face was pale and frightened. In that moment, seeing that fear on his face, the man had taken Niko back in time some twenty years, to when they were just boys; he looked so much like that frightened child the other village kids used to pick on. Niko had defended him once or twice, but Florian had always been more Roman's friend than his own. When most of them had gotten into the army together, Florian had impressed many with his use of a sniper rifle; a surprisingly damn good shot, as Niko remembered, and he had his bouts of courage. But, for whatever reason, that courage had vanished a long time ago.

"The fighting stopped a few days ago," Florian said. "How bad is it out there?"

"Very. Most of Algonquin destroyed and lunatics still loose on the streets. A lot of them, as I'm sure you know. I barely made it here alive."

"You have always been good at staying alive, sweetie," the man observed. "What is your plan?"

"To get to Broker."

Florian understood. "To find Roman."

Niko nodded. "But I'm stopping by my apartment first, for weapons."

"You have to take me with you!" Florian pleaded.

"I will...once you change those ridiculous clothes."

Florian looked appalled at the very idea. "But this is my best outfit! It makes my ass look good, don't you think?"

Niko breathed a deep sigh and dipped his head back as if to silently ask God why he insisted on putting him through this shit. Then he set Florian with a hard look. "I really don't think those lunatics out there care what your ass looks like. And I sure as hell don't, either. We don't want to attract any more attention than we already do. So, you have two choices. You can choose to be an unattractive, living man or a corpse in a tracksuit."

Florian blanched. "Okay, I get it. Yeesh. I sometimes forget how blunt you can be." He slipped off the desk. "Let's go up to my room, hon. I think I have something to wear that's not too eye-catching."

Niko would be honestly shocked if he did. "I don't think you need me to help you get changed."

"Of course not, silly. But who knows what's lurking in the hotel. I need you to be my big, strong protector," Florian said with a buffoonish grin.

Niko shook his head in exasperation. "Fine, but I'd advise you to try to remember your army experience. There may come a time when I won't be able to protect you."

Unfortunately, Florian's room was a penthouse suite way at the top of the hotel, some thirty or so floors. They had climbed up to the twenty-third floor when Niko began lagging behind, nearing exhaustion. He could remember a time when he was capable of running long distances riddled with gunshot wounds, but that seemed like a thousand years ago now. God help him, he was getting old.

"Hurry up, slow poke!" Florian called from the floor above him, a playful lilt in his voice.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," Niko complained through pants for air. Never mind the fact that not only was he older, but he'd just awoken from a coma just a few days ago, had been drugged out of his mind for three days by a crazy woman, spent half of today running from killer lunatics, and hadn't restored any of that spent energy yet.

"That's no excuse," Florian replied. "We're the same age!"

Niko didn't waste breath on a retort. He needed to conserve his oxygen for more important endeavors, like this seemingly endless climb up the stairs.

On the twenty-fifth floor, Florian let out a dismayed cry that sent Niko's already pounding pulse into dread-filled overdrive. He forced himself to rush up the rest of the stairs to meet his friend where he was standing on the landing, staring down at his feet with despair. The sole of one of his shoes had come loose.

"I just bought these shoes!" Florian cried. "They are ruined!"

Niko scowled at him and resisted an urge to cave the man's skull in. He'd scared him half to death, and over his goddamned shoes! He grabbed Florian's arm in a painful grip and wheeled him around.

"Your fucking shoes are the least of your worries!" he shouted in his face. "The next time you scream like that, there better be a mob of lunatics coming for you!" Florian gaped and blinked at him, and before he could reply, Niko wheeled him back toward the stairs and gave him a shove. "Climb!"

Florian climbed, knowing better than to test his friend when he was angry, yet he still felt the need to say, "You need to control your temper, hon. At your age, all that stress can't be good for your heart."

"Scaring the shit out of me for no reason ain't good for it, either," Niko groused.

Florian stopped and turned to him, clasping his hands at his chest. "You were scared for little old me? I didn't know you cared so much, Niko."

Niko glared. "Climb the damn stairs before I throw you down them."

Florian smiled and it bordered on being smug. "You wouldn't. You may act the cold, ruthless brute on the outside, but I know you're just a big softy on the inside."

Niko leaned toward him, an imposing tower. "Do you really want to find out how wrong you are?" He thrust a finger at the stairs. "Shut up and get moving, or so help me God, Florian..."

Florian released a dramatic sigh and started climbing the stairs once again. "If you didn't have a soft side, why did you used to defend me from those mean boys back home?"

"That was different. We were children then," he replied. "Children are soft, but we aren't boys anymore, Florian. We are men, so start acting like it."

Florian looked over a shoulder at Niko. His face was grim. "Do you know who you sounded like just then?"

Niko knew damn well who he sounded like, and didn't need to be reminded. The words he had spoken were more or less the same words he had heard the day an assault rifle had been thrust into his inexperienced hands by a large, scarred brute of a man. Niko and the others had been no more than sixteen at the time. A gun is a man's weapon, the soldier had said. Only men kill with them. From this day forth, you are boys no more. You are men, so start acting like it. But Niko had not become a man that day. It was the day he had taken a life for the first time that the boy died and the man was born, and nothing was ever the same again. Niko had never mourned the death of his innocence, nor the death of his childhood dreams. Even now he couldn't shed a single tear for what might have been. There was no point lamenting over a choice he willingly made; some small part of him had always known its price.

"It doesn't matter who I sound like," he said. "If you don't start acting like a man, you aren't going to survive what's out there, whether I'm there to look out for you or not."

Much to Niko's utter relief, Florian didn't speak another word until they had reached the top floor. There were only three suites in the hall they came upon, and Florian's was at the end on the left. The door had been left open and Florian went inside without checking to make sure if it was safe first. It didn't matter this time; the room was empty.

Niko stood in the threshold, looking around as his friend went through his wardrobe, tossing things left and right as he searched for something inconspicuous to wear. "I guess it would be pointless to ask if you have any weapons," he said.

Draping a black shirt over his arm, Florian looked over his shoulder at him with a grin. "Look under the bed, hon."

Curious, Niko crossed the room to the king-size bed, bent down, and looked under it. There was a silver, metal briefcase there which he pulled out and sat on the bed. Straightening up, he flipped the latches, lifted the lid and stared at the twin Glock 17s, nestled in their bed of black foam. He looked over at Florian, not knowing what to say. He was shocked as much as he was relieved. They weren't the most impressive guns in the world, but at least they now had a chance to defend themselves until they got to his apartment, where more powerful firearms awaited them.

Florian seemed to sense his stare as he continued looking through his clothes. "Oh, don't act so surprised, Niko. After being victim to so much brutal homophobia, I thought it was time I took defensive measures. Bryce got them for us. A fourth anniversary gift. He had our names engraved on them and everything. You can have mine and I will have his since he..." He didn't finish, but Niko could hear him starting to sniffle.

He realized he had never offered his condolences, for whatever good it would do. "I'm sorry, Florian...about your, uh...about Bryce. I know you cared for him."

Florian looked at him, smiling through his grief. "See, you are soft."

Niko smiled a bit and shook his head. "Maybe a little. Don't tell anyone; it will ruin my sterling reputation."

"Ooh, your secret is safe with me, hon."

With that, Florian began to undress right there and without shame. Niko rolled his eyes and turned his back on him, having no desire to see his friend in his skivvies, or in the raw if that was the way the man went. From the briefcase, he took up the Glock with the name 'Bernie' engraved on the barrel. It was unloaded. He checked under the black foam and found two full magazines. He took one, loaded it into the Glock's mag well, pulled back the barrel slide to chamber the first round, then flicked the safety on, all with a deft and practiced hand. As he holstered the gun in the waist of his pants, he asked, "You have extra ammo, I hope?"

"Of course. In the nightstand there."

Niko pulled open the drawer and found a small box of bullets. He was hoping for more, but they would have to make do for the time being. He took the box out of the drawer and layed it on the bed next to the briefcase.

"Okay," Florian said. "How do I look?"

Niko turned to him. The man was now fully dressed in a black shirt, black jacket, blue jeans, and a new pair of sneakers. For the first time since Niko had found him in Liberty City, he looked normal. "Unassuming; not like yourself," he teased. "Which I believe was the goal."

"Oh, you are so droll, Niko."

Niko loaded the other Glock, then held it out to Florian. "Here. You point the end with the hole at your enemies, in case you've forgotten."

Florian scowled at him as he tucked the gun in his waistband. "Stop razzing me!"

Stuffing the box of bullets in his tote, Niko smirked at his friend. "Sorry, sometimes I can't help myself. If you are ready, let's go."

"Lead the way, handsome."

'Handsome' led the way, but not for as long as he might have liked. Niko had lost track of time in the hotel. When they stepped out a back exit, the sun was setting, casting gold and orange and violet hues in the sky and a few stars were already winking to life. Night was coming. They would need to find shelter before it did; the streets were dangerous enough in the daytime.

Using the back streets, they were only capable of traveling a quarter of the way to their destination, and Florian made it more of a chore than it already was, constantly jumping sky-high at every little sound and clinging to Niko like a leech. For the life of him, Niko couldn't understand why he acted this way. Where was that soldier he had fought along side? Why did Florian insist on keeping him buried? Sooner or later, he was going to realize he needed that part of him to survive now. Hopefully, it would be sooner than later.

As night descended upon the devastated island, the two men ducked into a still standing apparel shop to spend the night. They hunkered down in a back room, out of sight of any windows, and made a sparse meal out of some of the junk food Niko had liberated from the hotel vending machine on their way out.

"This is going straight to my thighs," Florian complained, frowning at the half-eaten candy bar in his hand.

Niko made a face at him and decided now was as good a time as any to voice his concerns about him. "Does being gay mean you have to always act like a fucking girl?" He tried to be gentle on his approach to the topic, but even he often forgot how blunt he could be.

Florian frowned at him. "This is who I am, Niko. I thought it wasn't a problem for you?"

"I have no problem with you being gay. I do have a problem with you acting like a girl. I don't fucking get it. Did you somehow get amnesia and forgot about all the shit they drilled into you in the army? The Florian I knew back then didn't startle at every little sound; he wasn't afraid of everything."

"Well, for your information, smarty pants, I didn't like who I was back then. I like who I am now. And screw you, Niko, if you don't. I'm not going to change who I am for your benefit."

"See, that is the Florian I know. He's the only thing that's going to keep you alive. That's all I'm saying."

"Your concern is noted," Florian replied with a tone of anger. "And my name is Bernie. You would think after four years that you would know it by now; it's not that hard to remember."

Niko sighed. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just think you can be gay and not act like every stereotype out there. There's nothing wrong with hanging on to some parts of the old you, the good parts. Like that courage I just saw a moment ago."

Florian scoffed. "Don't speak to me of courage, Niko. As I recall, we saw a lot of good, brave men die horrible, ugly deaths in that war. What good did courage do them?...What good does it do you?"

"I'm still alive."

The slight man gave him a disdainful look. "Some life you've led, being a Mafia tool. Killing people left and right. Being so obsessed with revenge you wasted a decade of your life on it. If that is the life courage leads to, then I would rather be a coward; a frightened girl, as you would so eloquently put it."

His words stung Niko. Some part of him thought he'd asked for it, but he was too angry now to entertain that notion for long. "Yes," he snapped. "And as I recall, the murdering, revenge-obsessed piece of shit sitting before you now has saved your ass more times than you can count. Never mind the fact that you're capable of defending yourself. But no! You would rather fit to these stereotypes. You would rather be just another recycled gay guy right off the fucking assembly line. And for what, Florian? To fit in, to be accepted? You're fucking pathetic."

Florian stared at him, his expression fierce. In that instant, Niko was almost certain Florian would sock him in the nose for his big mouth, and he would have been glad for it, but then the small man's lip quivered and he started crying.

"You can go straight to hell, Niko, you...you big...jerk!"

Niko sighed. Why couldn't I have just kept my damn mouth shut?

The sobbing child clung to her neck as Gen summoned all of her strength to push the manhole cover aside. It was near impossible to do one-handed, but she didn't have a choice; her other hand was the only thing keeping them steady on the ladder.

She pushed and pushed and pushed until the muscles in her arm burned like fire, and at last, the warm glow of sunset spilled in from above them. Gen climbed up a few more rungs to better position herself, then pushed the manhole cover some more until there was enough space for them to get through. She popped her head up through the hole as far as she could without bumping the girl's head and looked around to make sure it was safe. Seeing nothing but an empty street laden with debris, she stepped down the ladder a bit, then said to the girl, "Grab the ledge and pull yourself up."

Sniffling, the girl let go of her neck, Gen supporting her with a hand as much as she could in her awkward position. The child reached for the rim of the manhole and pulled herself up through it. Gen came after her. Finally upon the surface, she moved the manhole cover back in place. That was when the girl started to protest.

"Daddy's still down there!" she said. "We can't leave him!"

"We have to, sweetie. This is what he wanted, to keep you safe." She reached for the girl. "Come on, we need to get off the street. It's getting dark."

The girl backed away from her, defiant. "No! I won't leave him!"

Gen knew some part of the girl understood her father was gone; she'd seen it for herself when the man had said goodbye to the child, but the girl's grief was in control now. Gen knew what she had to do, but she didn't relish having to do it.

She knelt on a knee before the girl and took her by the shoulders. "He's dead, baby. He died so that we would live. If we go back down there for him, we'll die, too and his death will mean nothing. Do you understand?"

The girl's face was torn up, a mask of emotional agony. It was heart-rending beyond words. "But...I want my Daddy! I want my Daddy!"

Gen gathered her into a hug. "I know you do. I'm so sorry."

The girl hugged her neck, sobbing again, and Gen took the chance to lift her up. Holding her against her hip, the woman looked around to figure out exactly where they were and was surprised to find that they were just a few blocks away from the police station she had been trying to make her way to. She could see it down the street, and as one of the men had told her, it was in utter ruins. There went her chance at getting her hands on some proper weaponry and finding out what the hell was really going on. The girl's father had claimed the police and military were gone, but she'd been hoping that wasn't true. Then again, maybe it wouldn't have mattered. By the way his story had sounded, it seemed no one knew what was going on.

She also noticed something else she had been told about. The wall. It loomed in the distance, tall, dark, and imposing. From her position, she could only guess at its height; it had to be around ten feet high and solid concrete. The walls had likely been shipped or helicoptered in.

Prison walls, Gen thought, grimly. That's exactly what they are; no way out. They've turned us all into prisoners."

In the other direction, near the Topaz-Frankfort intersection, the mobs of lunatics roamed aimlessly about the street. They were too far away to notice them, and even if they did, Gen would have a good chance of eluding them, as long as her part of the street remained deserted.

God, if you're up there, she prayed, give us a chance to get off the street.

Gen had never been religious, but she swore to herself then that if her prayer was answered, she would convert. She might even become a nun if she and the girl lived through this.

Hoping there was a God on her side, Gen set forth into the street, heading for the Albany-Topaz intersection. The girl's sobbing had finally turned to quiet crying, though she still blubbered for her father every once in a while. Gen tried to soothe her as best she could while she traversed the maze of abandoned vehicles and destruction in the street and kept her eye out for roaming maniacs. When she reached the corner where a Terroroil gas station had once stood but was now nothing more than ruins blackened with carbon dust, Gen froze in her step, noticing several things that left her shocked.

The first thing to catch her eye was the wall she had noticed earlier from down the street. Her guess at its height wasn't accurate. The wall had to be at least seventeen foot and the army had gone the extra mile and added barbed wire along the top of the wall.

The next thing she saw was the East Borough bridge. There was nothing left on the Algonquin side but part of the street where it had risen up to make the bridge. The rest of the bridge's remains had found a watery grave. She could see slabs of broken concrete and parts of the metal structure poking out of the river. Further off, she could see that the bridge had been severed from Bohan and Broker as well. The only true evidence that a bridge had ever existed here was the lonely toll station, hovering over Charge Island, and the broken, jagged on-ramps that had once fed the tiny island's streets to the bridge.

For the life of her, Gen could not accept why they had done this, why they had cut them off, left them all here without any way to defend themselves, why they had just given up.

We really are on our own.

Disgusted, Gen made her way onto Albany Avenue to find some place to stay for the night. Half way up the street, she saw a burnt-out hulk in a crater in the middle of the road. A burnt-out hulk that had once been a tank. It had likely been bombed by aircraft; the girl's father had mentioned fighter jets, and that was the only logical thing that could've destroyed it. Why it had been destroyed in the first place, she could only guess. Perhaps it had been an accident, friendly fire.

There were mangled and burnt corpses strewn around it and trailing down the street, military and civilian alike. Walking around the disaster, Gen noticed a severed arm on the ground, the blood at the ruined stump having long ago dried up. She could just make out a tattoo on the forearm, the Marine seal.

Where the police and military had failed, what chance did the rest of them have at succeeding, surviving? She tried not to think about that.

Gen kept her eye out for a useable weapon, but, as she expected, she found none. After passing a strip of destroyed shops, she came upon what looked like an apartment complex still standing. She decided this was probably as good as it was going to get for a place to spend the night; they would at least find beds to sleep in and perhaps even non-perishable food items. If she was lucky, maybe she would find some better supplies and weapons. Hell, at this point, she'd be grateful for a butter knife.

Gen tried the door first, finding it unlocked. Pushing it open, she stepped into a small lobby and made straight for the emergency stairwell. It was quiet in there as she climbed the stairs, so quiet she realized the girl had stopped crying and wondered if she had gone to sleep; she was limp in Gen's arms. Better to remain ignorant about it than to wake the girl up and have her sobbing all over again. Sleep would do her some good, a lot of sleep.

When Gen reached the third floor, she pushed through the door there, deciding that floor was good enough as any to search for an apartment to make use of.

She tried the first door she came to and found it locked. They were all likely to be locked, so instead of wasting time looking for what she wouldn't find, she sat the girl on the ground so she could get through the door. The child was awake, her eyes puffy and bloodshot from crying. She stared at Gen with inquiry.

"We're going to stay at this apartment for the night," the woman said to that look. "Stand back."

The girl backed away and Gen kicked the door in, eliciting a startled gasp from the kid.

"You can't do that. Someone might live in there," she said.

Gen hadn't thought about that, too intent on finding shelter. It didn't matter; the door was kicked in and she hadn't been shot or attacked for doing so.

"Stand right here by the door while I look around," Gen told the girl.

The kid obeyed, clutching the frame of the door and watching Gen as she entered the apartment.

The woman called out for any occupants and received no answer, then she did a thorough sweep of the entire apartment, finding no residents, dead or alive.

"It's safe," Gen called to the girl. "Come in and shut the door."

She did so, then stood in the midst of the living room, staring about warily. "Is it really safe? From the bad people outside?

Gen nodded. "As safe as it's going to get; as long as we're quiet, we should be okay. Are you hungry?"

"Um..." The girl looked uncertain. "Maybe a little."

"Well, have a seat on the couch and I'll see if I can find something for you."

"Isn't it wrong to take other people's stuff without asking? Daddy..." Despair came upon her face, tears welling up in her eyes. "He used to say I shouldn't take stuff without asking."

"Things are different now, sweetie. The people who lived here, they may be sick or they're not alive anymore, so they have no need for any of their things. Even if they are okay, I don't think they'd mind us taking what we need to help us survive. Do you?"

The girl considered this, then shrugged. "I guess not."

Instead of sitting on the couch as Gen had told her to do, the child went about exploring the living room as the woman searched through the kitchen cabinets for food. There wasn't much but canned items. Gen took a few of them, all fruit, and found some silverware and a handheld can-opener in a drawer. She brought the stuff into the living room, sitting it all on the coffee table.

"A family," the girl said.

Gen looked at her, confused. "What?"

"A family lived here," she said, pointing at the framed photos on the walls. "See. They even have a little girl, like me."

Gen stared at the photos, her face sad. The framed pictures had been arranged in such a way as to document the wonderful moments for this family in chronological order. It started with a wedding and continued with the birth of the couples daughter, her first birthday, first day of school, all leading up to what Gen assumed was the present day. The last picture was of the small family with a large group of others, the small Middle Park lake in the background. It looked like a family reunion, and the daughter had to be no older than ten.

Yes, they had a little girl, Gen thought. Who's probably dead or insane. The whole family probably is. She shook her head. It did no good to think like that.

"So they did," Gen said. "Come on and sit down. I found some canned fruit." She tried to make it sound like a good thing, but the girl didn't seem too interested.

She came over and plopped down on the couch. "What's going to happen now?"

Gen sat in a recliner across from her and started opening one of the cans. "Right now we're going to eat and get some rest. Tomorrow, we're going to go to the strip..." She trailed off, deciding it was better not to tell the kid they were going to a strip joint. She was afraid the girl would ask what a strip joint was, and she particularly didn't want to have to explain that. "We're going to a safe place."

"There's a safe place?" The kid seemed genuinely surprised by that.

"Your dad seemed to think so. He told me there are people there, survivors like us. Maybe they'll let us stay."

"But what if they don't?"

Gen slid the opened can of mixed fruit and a spoon across the table to the girl. "We can only hope, sweetie."

"Daddy said once that hope is everything," the child said. "So, maybe that's all we need."

Gen forced a smile. In her heart, she knew they would need more than just hope to survive. "What's your name?"

"Eve," she replied. "Like the first woman in the Bible."

"Pretty. I'm Gen."

"That's pretty, too," Eve said as she dug into her can, shoveling fruit into her mouth. So much for the girl only being a little hungry.

Gen opened a can for herself, and the two females ate their sparse dinner in silence. When it was gone, the woman ushered the girl to a bedroom so she could get some rest. There was a protest about her not being tired enough yet, but Gen assured her that would change once she was comfortable in a bed.

The girl was fast asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Gen covered her up with several blankets to ward off the chill in the apartment, then sat down in a chair in the room to try and get some rest herself.

But rest didn't come easily, only the tears did. She cried. She cried for the men she had gotten killed, cried until she was too exhausted to cry anymore.

A/N: One thing I never understood in the game was how Florian had wartime experience and yet he could hardly defend himself. Never made sense to me. Unless I missed something. Any thoughts out there?