And I'm back with Chapter 4! I should be able to update regular as I'm gonna be doing a lot of travelling and stuffs over Thanksgiving break. What better way to spend the travel time? :)
Enjoy!
"Alright kiddos, we've got to move it to higher ground. I don't know what kind of attention Jack's grand entrance may have caused, but even so it ain't wise to be in one place for too long." Atlas directs us over each of our radios. With a device in each hand, it's like the guy's right here with us. I can't deny I wish that was the case. From what I've seen, I'm not sure how much of Ginny I'll be able to tolerate unfiltered. She has a completely insufferable chip on her shoulder, like she thinks I'm an idiot or something. Yeah, I did just fall out of the sky, but I can learn.
"Atlas, where will we find 'im a gun?" Ginny asks flatly, pausing a moment in her haughty stride. She brushes her hair behind her ear, looking me up and down curiously. "And maybe a plasmid as well."
Plasmids. Like . . .those things that scarred Ginny's hand (I'm guessing).
"Is that really nec-"
"There's a Gatherer's Garden up ahead in the room in front of the Atrium. Keep your wits about you, lass, I can't promise there's nothing in there."
"Yes sir." Ginny snips dutifully, pocketing her radio. She jogs ahead, jerking her chin for me to follow.
"What are we doing?" I ask quietly, constantly glancing over my shoulder and all the cracks and crevices of the vicinity in paranoia. Ginny sighs, looking at me lazily as if she can't be bothered, and I feel ready to just about wipe the look clean off her face.
"We 'ave to get you tonic before anysing else, and after zat maybe we can find you a weapon. Now 'ush, boy, no more questions for now." I open my mouth indignantly, but at a loud, angry screech, it slams shut again. Don't get me wrong, I don't normally allow anyone to push me around, but this is definitely an exception, seeing as my "partner" is the only one with a weapon.
"Gin, are you alright? I heard-"
"It's a . . .a l-led'ead, Atlas . . .she makes sound but I cannot see 'er."
"Ahh, come on, lass. You can do this. You and I against the world, remember?" Atlas says quietly. I look at Ginny closely, and it doesn't take too long of a gaze to realize that though her pistol is aimed, the girl's trembling. The fiery conceit has left her eyes, replaced with hollow fear. While she's stuttering, her accent makes it hard to determine words, but it sounded like she said "leadhead", or something of the sort.
"I can see you, pretty girrrrllll." A raspy voice comes from the rafters of the hall, causing both of us to jump and look up in the air. Ginny is still trembling, finger still clutching the trigger of her pistol.
"You and I against ze world." Ginny whispers, taking a deep breath. I can't help but admire her courage, because she steels herself over and the trembling stops long enough to hold the gun steady.
Suddenly, the Splicer screeches noisily, showing itself as it falls from the roof beams, landing in front of us with not even one bit of damage to the legs on the landing. For the first time, I get a good look at what my new friends have labeled a "splicer".
The origin of the name is unknown to me, but if anything I would guess it was gene splicing. It's an older woman, possibly in her early thirties, late forties. It looks like the poor thing has been floating in the sea for going on at least a year now. Her body, thin skin and bones, is a sickly graying green, the flesh sagging as though it's melting off of her. The remnants of a face are still recognizable: two dark, sunken sockets with glittering black orbs that watch us both hungrily. Her mouth is oddly lopsided, teeth crooked, nose clearly broken, hair matted underneath a ripped and moldy sunhat, and her dress . . .it isn't a dress. She's wearing practically nothing, the cloth nearly shredded to non-existence. Worst of all, her scabby legs wobble in a pair of slimy stilettos that seem to have bondedwith her skin, the skin slithering in tendrils around the material. I can smell the creature from here, and it's like fish guts with blood and marsh water. It's not even as bad as garbage; she smells quite literally like the dirty ocean floor.
"Okay, lass, shoot." Atlas's command comes from over the radio, but Ginny hasn't moved. She's still locked in eye contact with the rotting corpse of a woman.
"Ginny, what are you doing? Shoot the wretch!" Atlas says a little more frantically. I nudge her shoulder, feeling the horrible sense of urgency that Atlas is conveying, but all of her bravado has quickly disappeared, and she is at essence exactly as she appears: A young woman with a gun and a conscience. I have a conscience too, mind you, but it's currently being overruled by primal fear, which is screaming at me to yank the weapon from the girl's hands and finish the job myself.
"DAMN IT GENEVIEVE SHOOT!" Atlas's yell startles all three of the room's occupants as the Splicer reaches for her own weapon. I now see why they called her a "Leadhead". Ginny seems to snap back to reality and pulls the trigger, sending the woman screaming. She, I kid you not, starts climbingthe wall like a spider in fear. It's horrific, the slimy human form scuttling across the surfaces. Regaining her senses, Ginny repeatedly fires until, to her credit, she lodges a bullet in the head of the Splicer, causing her to fall with a thickening thumpon the floor a little ways away from us. We three humans exhale shakily, and Atlas is the first to speak.
"Now then. Would one of you do the honors and loot the bird so we can get a move on?"
The conscienceless sentence seems so wickedly out of place in Atlas's once again bubbly Irish lilt. Loot? As in . . .we just shot her, and we're going to take her things? Granted she's dead, but it seems to cross so many lines of humanity to not let her lie in peace.
"You're going to stealfrom her? After you killed her?" I ask incredulously. Ginny turns to look at him, her forehead crinkled in thought. It's not a hateful look as much as it is one of consideration, like she never thought about it before. Atlas sighs over the speaker.
"It's not a pretty sight to behold, boyo, but in times like these there's little room for humanity . . .what's left of it. It was us or her, and believe me you're gonna need what she's carryin'. We'll get back in heaven's good graces once we reach the surface, believe me. Now, would one of you kindlygo and finish the job?" He has a point. I don't know how many of these things are around, and from what I've seen, they're down right murderous, let alone unable to reason. So I move first, suddenly feeling as though I want Ginny to be able to take a breather after her moment of hesitance.
I hold my breath as I kneel down to the mangled body, trying to avoid touching the blood and other fluids leaking from her. The knees of my pants are already dampened by the water dripping from her, turning my stomach.
"We don't have time for nitpickin', lad. Get your hands in there so we can get out."
Closing my eyes, I reach for the body and try not to lose the contents of my stomach to the spongy texture of the flesh. As gross and inhuman as I feel, I can't deny Atlas's logic: A quick once over has revealed a small package of bullets, a loaded pistol, and five bucks from her purse. I'm now decently armed, and I even have a small bit of money. Even as I pocket the bills though, I can't shake the image of the woman from my mind. I don't know if I ever will. That is . . .had been . . .a human being at one point, just like Ginny, Atlas, and I. It all comes down to one question.
Is getting a little leg up worth a human life?
"Good on ya, boyo. It ain't easy the first time-"
"Or ever." Ginny says quietly, low enough to avoid Atlas's hearing.
"You're doin' the right thing. For that, you've earned yourself a spot on the team." Atlas chuckles jokingly. The humor is lost in the dark, damp air. I can't even bring myself to smile. "Whadya say, laddy? You, me, and Ginny; you help me with a job I need to finish and I'll get the three of us to the surface for good."
Clearly things here in Rapture are not as they seem: so far, there wasn't a sign of any type of civility or law. Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures. For all I know, though, I could be signing over my life.
I haven't got anywhere to go but up.
"Okay. I'll do it. Just tell me where I need to go."
"Atta boy! That's what I wanna hear!" I can't help but smile. The feeling of having someone behind me is uplifting, to say the least. At least I've found some relatively sane people to buddy up with. They prove to be handy with strategy, weapons, and they seem to know their way around this nuthouse much more than I do. When I smile at the girl next to me though, she merely bites her lip, staring accusingly at me. Her eyes shine in the dim light with a strange catlike quality, and I can't tell if she's threatening to cry or if it's just the moonlight on the water outside. Either way, she restocks her pistol and marches onwards, whistling for me to follow like a dog.
Admittedly pissed at the behavior, I wait until she's a decent ways ahead to keep moving; still in sight, but not within complete earshot. "Atlas, did I do something wrong?"
Atlas audibly sighs, and I can almost see the man rubbing the back of his neck.
"To tell you the truth, lad, I don't know. The lassies are funny creatures to begin with. I ain't been a dad to one meself, so I couldn't rightly tell ya; good news is she can't stay frosty forever though . . .this city's got a way of bringing the likeminded together. Now go on, catch up, make friends; I gave her the directions." The radio hisses into silence, and I silently palm myself in frustration. I genuinely considered ignoring Atlas's suggestion for my own mental health, but the creaking of something on the stairs sends me sprinting forwards to catch up with Ginny's shadow.
Still unused to the tense atmosphere, I reach out for Ginny's shoulder. She turns around with a shout, hand flying out to sock me in the chest. Another jolt of electricity runs through me, sending me to the ground in blinding pain.
"A-a-a . . .d-dammit! W-would you stop d-d-doing th-that?!" I howl in agony, finally lying still on the ground, catching my breath.
"Would you stop sneaking up on me?" Ginny snarls, squeezing her fist and causing the glowing current to disappear. "Idiot."
"I am notan idiot!" I spit at her, getting to my feet in frustration.
"Well you must be, ozerwise you would not 'ave come here to zis place!" Ginny insists without stopping. Her stormed steps lead us down a series of steps that I almost don't see, nearly causing me to stumble down the flight.
"You think I came here on purpose?" I fume at her, running to get in front of my new partner. "Do you reallythink I know what I'm doing here?" I stare at her bitterly, trying to get the message across.
My glare (and my blocking of her original path) causes her to stop, a hand on her hip. She whisks her long hair behind her shoulder and observes me in full; I can see the wheels turning in her head as she thins her pale lips.
"You know . . .here is ze sing. You come here to zis city. Zat light'ouse is in ze middle of fucking nowhere. One does not find it by, how you say, accident?" I realize she has a point, but I'm not about to back down.
"You know that plane crash?"
"Oui. Ze entire city saw it. 'ow could I not?"
"I was on that plane. I was the only goddamn survivor. The plane crashedover the water, and I ended up here. I had nowhere else to go. So yes, for your information, it wasa very, very unlucky, horrible accident! And given everything that is going on as we speak, I propose you get off your highhorse so we can work together like Atlas said!" I'm in full defense mode now, legs spread, nearly anticipating an attack from Ginny, whose face even in the moonlight is bright red in anger.
"You . . .you . . ."she's shaking in fury. "You, boy, sink you can just valtz in here and be a replacement for my friend? Maybe Atlas can shrug zis off, but I am not so easily manipulated, you cur."
Friend . . .friend . . .it suddenly occurs to me that there had been one more short lived introduction during my time here: Johnny. I hadn't formally gotten a meet and greet, of course, but in my panic and wonder I had forgotten about him.
"Jack? Ginny? Am I comin' through alright?"
"Oui,Atlas." Ginny's foul temper shockingly dissipates on the spot, making her seem immediately submissive in the metaphorical presence of our Irish guide. The sudden change surprises me, and makes me furious. What is so special about Atlas? Why am I the bad guy?
"Oh, good then. Now that you two've had time to get acquainted, I'm going to have to ask the two of you to kindly pick up the speed. Not that Rapture's going anywhere, but the same can't be said for its residents."
I raise my eyes to Ginny, smirking in smug victory. She's reached a conflict of command and we both know it: caught between her personal vendetta against the intruder to her partnership and the request of someone who she obviously has close attachment to. She finally rolls her eyes, and holds out her unscarred hand for me to grasp. I make to meet the gesture, but she pulls back, leaning forwards.
"For Atlas; not you." Ginny whispers hollowly, reluctantly shaking my hand.
I roll my eyes. It's not perfect, but it's a start. I put it on a list of personal missions to crack that shell of hers, right under finding out the story of this ghost town.
"My daddy's smarter than Einstein!"The voice of a little girl suddenly rings out from the darkness, and suddenly Ginny's face lights up like Christmas. "Atlas I found it!" She takes off running, leaving me alone in her wake.
"Well get after it, boyo!" Atlas says excitedly, and I, cocking my pistol, follow Ginny's path into the darkness.
"Stronger than Hercules and lights a fire with a snap of his fingers!"The child's voice echoes against the walls, both of us frantically cantering through the darkness towards the source of the noise. "Are you as good as my daddy, Mister? Not if you don't visit the Gatherer's Garden, you aren't! Smart daddies get spliced, at the Gardens!"The voice cuts off with a giggle, and I realized that as a tuneful melody bubbles afterwards, that it's an advertisement rather than an actual person; the fact that I find that a relief shows just how bad of a situation I'm really in.
"Here, Jack!" Ginny calls, her voice actually somewhat brighter. Suddenly forgetting my apprehension, I trot forwards, and spot the neon light of something down the hall, Ginny's silhouette in front of it. "Wait!"
Trusting instinct, I immediately come to a halt, not putting on toe further in the dark.
"Two steps in front of you zere is a gap in ze balcony. Grab my hand, I will lead you around." A balcony? Well, that just goes to show how disoriented I am. I reach a hand blindly out into the air and eventually lock palms with Ginny.
"Step back. Come around . . .zat's it." I skirt around the edge of what feels to my toes like a massive circular hole in the woodwork. Once on flat ground, Ginny's hand disappears and her voice is closer on my right.
"Alright, lass, just one last thing to do: give those lights the ol' fist o' lightnin', would ya?"
Ginny actually smiles, the first positive emotion I've seen on her features. It's a nice look for her as opposed to the scowl she constantly wears.
"Wis pleasure." I watch as Ginny kneels next to the gap in the wood and reaches her hand down below the wood. She strains, slipping slightly, and I suddenly find myself at her side, not trying to be "handsy", as Mum would call it, but helpful. Ginny freezes for an instant, but doesn't even look back.
"Voici." Ginny whispers, and I hear a sizzle and a snap of wiring. Suddenly, there's another sound like swarms of angry bees filling the air, and the lights come on with glaring brilliance. The grandiose lobby, in all of its antique beauty, is sprawled before me, hitting me once again with awe. I feel so small minded and closed around here that the large sweeping spaces make me feel like an ant. We are indeed on a balcony, and the gap that Ginny had led me from is at least two times the length I could have jumped. The mahogany balcony sweeps around the room, the bottom of which is like a scarlet and gold adorned ballroom framed with windows to the ocean view.
Behind me, the music starts up again, and I whip around to come face to face with a rusty machine: A cotton-candy pink container adorned with two ceramic statues of smiling little girls read "Gatherer's Garden!" in buttercup yellow letters. It looks a bit like a vending machine, but more complex. For starters, there's no money slot.
"Stock up, kiddos, you'll need it. It's about time you spent that ADAM." Whatever little bit of adventure I've been able to catch up on slips through his fingers. "ADAM?" I ask uncertainly. Maybe that's the Rapture currency. Well no, the Splicer woman had been carrying money . . .
"Oui." Ginny's attitude has improved dramatically within the past thirty seconds. She unclips her belt and takes a medium sized glass vial out of it. Inside the vial is something bright red like fruit punch. She takes the vial, gives it a couple good shakes, and fastens it under the nozzle of the machine. She fists a button on the front of the machine, and with a gentle sucking noise the contraption cleans out the bottle, dispensing it back empty.
"Looks like zere's enough for two." Ginny says giddily. I'm still vastly confused, but I'm suddenly waiting in anticipation of something I might be able to drink; I'm under the ocean and thirsty. What irony.
"Mmmm. Let's do zis. Electrobolt . . .and . . .I'll take part deux, oui?" I shrug passively, going along with Ginny's plan while watching a squid glide along the skylight in the roof about us. After some fiddling, the machine let out a series of sounds and dispenses two syringes, both filled with a royal blue liquid that reminds me achingly of water.
"What is it?" The cap is sealed on tight, the dangerously sharp needle sparkling in the light. An idea crosses my mind, and I become squeamish. Surely I'm not supposed to . . .
Ginny, smile growing, takes her needle and suddenly jams it as if it's nothing into her arm. My mouth drops open with a small sound, but Ginny closes her eyes, goosebumps visibly rising on her skin.
"Take it slow, lass. That stuff can do the number on your system . . ." Atlas warns from her hip, and she opens her eyes again, seemingly coming back to her senses. She opens her eyes to find me staring at her, utterly horrified. She raises her plasmid hand, the veins crackling with electricity and glowing beneath her flesh momentarily. She flexes, enjoying the tingling sensation, and giggles at my expression.
I'm mortified. I don't know what just happened, but I want no part of it. "You there, boyo? Ginny's got ya plasmid, it's your turn."
"N-no." I say defensively, backing away slowly from Ginny who seems to be taking the denial as a challenge.
"I know it doesn't look pretty, but you'll be dead in a day if you don't, lad. It's not that bad-"
"Pretty? What the hell is wrong with you, just j-jamming . . .no! Forget it! I'll get there on my own . . .y-you stay away from me…" I retreat from Ginny as she drives for my exposed forearm.
"Jack, if you do not stay still I cannot 'elp you!" she insists, reaching again. I deflect her again, spinning her around. I don't know what that stuff could do to my body or my mind . . .is it a drug? Ginny's attitude had been cleared up at the mere mention of the "plasmid" or "ADAM" or whatever Ginny and her weirdo master had called it. They aren't friends. In the wake of panic they seem like they only want to use me as an experiment.
"Jesus, boyo, would you-" Atlas sighs in frustration. "Would you kindlystop moving so we can help you?"
Suddenly my calf seems to cramp, causing me to stumble lamely. Ginny frowns, surprised by my sudden cooperation, but takes it none the less. She extends my arm, smiling at me warmly before driving the needle into my arm with the force of a hammer.
The last thing I see before screaming in pain and tumbling over the balcony is Ginny's mortified face sailing away from me in the dark.