63° 2' N, 32° 55' W
Between Iceland and Greenland, was the home of the North Atlantic Project, according to official documents of course.
The most anyone knew, was that we were building something below the water.
The port to it would be connected to a Lighthouse that Andrew insisted on, and that was all of the details that we provided to the Government.
Our 'project' was finished, we've issued the call signs, and finalized the transitioning program.
Within the coming month, all of our facility and initial civilians would be selected based on merits, and be invited.
The process was underway, and all we had to do was sit back.
If need be, we would send out documents to private groups advertising.
Now, Rapture would need to do it's job, as would we all.
Ah, look at me, almost sounding like a commie.
I honestly doubt Andrew would care even if I went full Marx, but better keep my sympathies to myself.
Can't look too red, now can I?
(November 5th, 1946)
There we were, in the Atlantic, standing on the steps of a bleak lighthouse.
Rapture waited for us below, but we could not descend to it's depths yet.
The water was filled with ships of all different sorts, carrying the people we'd hand chosen.
The cream of the crop, and some… that were not.
I questioned my brother on the inclusion of those people he used to sneer at, but he logically stated, that one can not fill a city with only twenty-four people.
So, we chose the bright, beautiful, and the brave.
Today, on the open waters, the sun shining down on us, there was a sense of visible excitement in the air.
Most of it from the two of us.
It was opening day.
"Hello there, my name, is Andrew Ryan. This, is my brother Henry. We, are two men that have been used and abused by this world, by it's people, by its governments…
All that we have, and have had, has been taken or threatened by those that decree the laws of the land and others.
My brother and I have endured that our entire lives, in one form or another, lost so very much, and I KNOW you have all felt the same.
I share your… anger. I share your rage, and I share your indignation, so… we've created the solution.
One impossible, yet absolutely vital.
A city, a… world, where you do not have to abide by their binding morals, their lies, and their conniving laws.
You are not defined by their petty sensibilities, nor by their flawed restrictions.
You do not have to fear the products of your mind, nor the fruits of your labor.
You do not have to hide your gifts, nor squalor them.
They are yours, do with them what you will.
Just respect that which unites you all, the Great Chain that holds us all together, that holds… Rapture together.
Only we matter in this regard, for we all are Rapture.
Not I, nor my brother, nor any one of you.
All of us, or none of us.
There are no gods, or kings in Rapture.
Only man."
The Bathysphere was one of my favorite parts of Rapture.
The fact that I could get in one, and explore the depths of the ocean in peace was amazing.
I had once had a fetish for flying, for being above the clouds and soaring, but never had I ever experienced the beauty of the ocean, and all that swam gracefully below.
The first time I saw a whale, I was breathless, without words entirely.
Any doubts I had about settling below the waves, was gone from my mind.
Rapture offered a view like no other, and I could hardly wait to step foot within the city.
I had never traveled to it during construction, only watched it from afar.
Andrew said he wanted me to be surprised the first time we went down.
I was.
"Welcome to Mercury Suites brother." Andrew said in a grand manner as he led me through what appeared to be the most splendid apartment to ever exist, wide and expansive, glimmering and noble.
The place looked like a palace.
If a palace was decorated like a high class Olive Garden.
It was nice, despite that.
"Is this a hotel?" I asked him, because I honestly couldn't tell. I did notice there didn't seem to be many rooms, and they did seem spaced out from each other. Secluded, almost.
There were atriums and public places as well, by the seems, and they almost enforced a feeling of community. With it's many staircases and hallways, it almost resembled Hogwarts in the faintest of ways, but of course, the parts of Hogwarts I hated the most.
How wonderful.
Unaware to my mental anguish, Andrew just laughed.
"Do you think I would go to such effort on a hotel? No, brother, this is the home of Rapture's best. You and I have our spaces here, as does Cohen and the good doctor. Mister Suchong… decided on alternate residing, but this is ours. The best and brightest reside elsewhere in Olympus Heights, but the better and brighter, are here. Welcome home brother."
Home, that was an interesting idea.
I hadn't really had a home since Hogwarts…
But Rapture, it almost feels like I belong here.
You know, when my brother and I talked over making a city of our own, I loved it. However, I never really thought about the fact, that by making a city, we were technically in charge.
Thankfully my brother wasn't a tyrant and also knew that I couldn't really talk to people. In all my lives, I've never been a politician, and there's a damn good reason.
So, in came the Rapture Central Council.
A group of us 'Founders' who would stand together and govern Rapture, despite the fact that we weren't really the government.
Seems a somewhat sound, if odd, idea, but I've seen groups like this before fail miserably.
The Wizengamot was one such group, and they folded under Voldemort like a pack of purple, smug cards.
But, my brother is the chairman, and I'm the Wiseman, which essentially means I keep things civil within the Council, and am I needed…
To avoid a… monarchy, my brother and I decided to bring in people of different mindsets.
Which, meant we had a… lively group.
I traded in Wonderland for a city council under the sea.
I honestly don't know which is the safer choice.
"I must insist that you let me paint you mister Sullivan, your features are just so… haunted." Sander Cohen, the most… interesting member of our council interjected, yet again, as we were discussing the establishment of the Medical Pavilion.
"Mister Ryan, uh, Mister Andrew Ryan, must we endure this? I'm jus' Head of Security, why do I have to deal with this scuz?" Sullivan Brives, the poor man, asked of us, as Cohen once again targeted him.
We were still getting more people and starlights by the week, and Cohen was getting a bit… antsy being the only artist.
Fort Frolic hadn't been officially opened yet, and the man was insufferable being cooped up in his suite.
"Mister Brives, Mister Cohen represents the Arts of Rapture, his input is… warranted." Andrew stated stiffly, though I knew he was exhausted already.
It wasn't even past morning and he was on his third glass of scotch.
The sooner we could lock Cohen away in his casino, the better…
"Your brother has an… eye, for people." Brigid remarked to me one day, the two of us sharing a drink together one day after a meeting.
This was becoming a trend now that I thought about it.
Cohen had brought along his new lyricist, and apparently my brother knew her, and now she's on the Council…
We didn't like her.
She didn't like me.
She liked Brigid a bit too much.
Brigid wanted to skin the tramp.
"Culpepper? Yeah… she's a real doll isn't she?" I scoffed as I thought about the ditzy woman.
Brigid discussed skinning her, I considered drowning her.
If she was smart, she would run, far, far, far away from Rapture.
"You are flattering her Henry, that… woman, is a menace. Have you heard her siren call? It is atrocious." Brigid retorted, the most worked up I've seen her in, in a long while. The woman could work on the molecular level for hours on end, yet lost her patience just hearing a woman speak.
I laughed, I wasn't much better. I always had a temper.
"Couldn't you just invent a serum to make her mute?" I suggested, as I was sure she could.
"Don't give me ideas Henry." Brigid joked, her eyes lighting up with her smile. She passed it off as a joke, but I knew she meant it.
I always found Brigid funny, but I more found her incredible, and at times terrifying.
But mostly incredible.
The things I had seen her create were astounding.
She cured cancer in a week.
Granted, I could have cured cancer with a potion in my original reality, but this was 1947!
Most realities didn't cure cancer until the late 2000's, and some not at all!
I couldn't wait to see what she made next.
Andrew insisted on being thorough.
The Bathyspheres were not accessible openly from the surface, we had to sent them out, which meant we had to be very selective when dealing with possible citizens.
Thus, Sullivan would send up the admission applicants through the phemo tubes, and we would personally look them over. (Or Ms. McClintock would when my brother was feeling particularly… wrathful.)
Because of this, he and I were sat in his study in Hephaestus, going over the possible submissions to Rapture.
"Moragan, James?" I suggested to him, looking over the man's resume. Well enough sort by the looks of him. "Irish from his mother's side, clean cut. No crime record."
"Hmm… Clean record does not mean he doesn't deserve less than that. Put him under 'Maybe' Brother."
"Drake, Natalie? Daughter of a former sailor. Apparently she fancies herself an explorer. Has a lot of credits to her name." I suggested, looking over a mugshot and profile of the girl. Hmm… Very interesting.
"She's wanted by Interpol, but… she's apparently dead. She's died five times by the seems of it… Either she's immortal, or she's a criminal."
"Criminal doesn't always mean evil brother, but probably not, just to be safe. Who's next on the list?"
"Fontaine, Frank. Sailor, used to be a marine. Known for sailing across the world and establishing many friendships and businesses across the world. He comes recommended…"
"By who?" My brother asked, almost surprised. No one recommended anyone to them, almost no one knew them well enough.
"Mother Susan."
Our former foster mother, the woman that had taken us in from the orphanage. Raised us on American ideals, and treated us as her own. She gave my brother a heart.
We thought she died twenty something years ago.
"Accept him." Andrew commanded me, the only time he had ever truly raised his voice to me. I didn't judge him.
If that saintly woman sent that man our way, he had to be a good man.
We never considered the thought, that Mother Susan actually had died.
Frank Fontaine was much more than we had ever imagined.
We signed the papers to our downfall.
Bit of an author's note.
In one of the first builds of Bioshock, before it even really was Bioshock, the creators showed an objective stating: "Find Tenenbaum's Cure for Cancer."
(You can see this in the Creator's Commentary of Bioshock 1.)
Why we would have needed to find it, I have no idea, but I take it to mean that (In at least one reality,) Brigid Tenenbaum created a cure for Cancer.
That is all.