"Marcus, stop quaking in your loafers and cover me from behind! That big Brute is as ill tempered and dangerous as a bull. The only chance of us getting away with all our limbs attached and bones unbroken is if we're quieter than Death," hissed one of the female raiders. Everyone was focused on the living mass of muscle occupying the middle of the room. Including Alice.
The little girl crushed her savior's hand in both of her own. It was calloused and wrinkly in contrast to hers, which was velvety-soft and plush. She grasped desperately at little details, knowing if she looked at the picture as a whole… All would be lost. Already, Alice was no better off than Marcus, trembling and observing her surroundings like a lamb taking in wolves' territory.
The Brute Splicer hobbled over to the edge of the room, grumbling to no one in particular except the security camera. As luck would have it, none of the raiders were crouching near that spot. An opening presented itself and the party was just about to jump into action. Until they spotted what had the Brute so interested in the porthole…
"Big Sister! Big Sister! Fall back, fall back, fall back!" One of the men muttered. Those who had taken a few cautious steps away from cover at the first sign of the Brute's distraction scrambled backwards. However, that scuttling in the inky blackness was exactly what drew the Big Sister's attention.
She paused in her patrols and approached the window again. Like a mermaid or one of the noble ladies back in England, there was no unnecessary twitch in any of her graceful movements. Alice quickly shook away that thought. It was counterproductive. Wading -even fathoms underwater- upright, she pressed her palms against the glass and gazed in.
The symbol on the menace's glove didn't present itself, but the youngster was almost completely sure this Big Sis was not Theta. She did not seem very motivated: more as though this were a chore or a reluctant favor rather than a quest. Or maybe, Alice pondered hopefully, no one in the Little Sister program truly cared if I'm recaptured. I don't fit into the category of Ms. Lamb's ideal Gatherer. It's possible. Even if it was only a lie, it was a pretty lie to cling to.
Mister Brute, in all his scariness, jumped a foot when the Hand of Rapture stopped directly before him. "Not my bloody type, luv," he chuckled gruffly. There was always something bigger and badder in Rapture. Although this mutant was the Splicer equivalent of a Big Daddy, he appeared extremely nervous in front of -more or less- an armored, genetically enhanced teenage girl. "I ain't done nothin' wrong!" His declaration of innocence was punctuated by strong punches at her slender silhouette.
The Big Sister did not seem very amused. She emitted a sharp screech and jerked back her needle-equipped arm. The threat was crystal clear. If the parasite didn't show her due respect, she would blow through the incredibly thick glass and drain him of every precious drop of the ADAM that allowed him to keep his position near the top of the food chain. Every member shrunk back, trying to become one with the wall. A Big Sister versus Brute Splicer showdown would be disastrous for everyone in proximity.
Surprisingly, the aggressive Splicer submitted. And, before retreating, he bowed to her. It was an astounding sight for all of the raiders. Even Alice knew Brutes had no fear of defeat due to their inconceivable size. The Big Sister lowered her weapon and scanned the room once more. Eventually, she released a sound, which slightly resembled a sigh, and continued on her way.
"All right, walk softly and keep your guns loaded. Sinclair Deluxe is straight ahead!"
"Are you hungry, darling? Thirsty? The trek back to base camp is difficult for the most strapping of our young men: let alone a little girl such as yourself," the female rescuer inquired with maternal concern. Her kindness almost made up from the rudeness of the rest of her group. Apart from the old woman, there were twelve other who had participated in the Orphanage Raid. Every single one of them leered at Alice with distain. Not one of them dared give her hero the same look.
Alice shook her head vaguely before plopping down on the hardwood floor. Her lace-filled skirt broke her fall but couldn't savage her dignity. After all, she was a young lady! All her movements ought to be graceful. However, at the moment she was too shaken to calculate every twitch.
A tan, wrinkly hand pushed a jar of fresh water towards her. The cloudy-minded child emptied it in a matter of seconds. In truth, the getaway from the Orphanage in Siren Alley to the Sinclair Deluxe in Pauper's Drop had left her famished and dehydrated. At one point, she wondered if she would have been better off staying with Theta and Cindy in her gilded cage than scurrying around Rapture, jumping at shadows. Alice nearly slapped herself for such a thought.
Her stockings were lined with runs and fraying cuts. The scandalous patches of visible skin were badly abused. While her legs had taken the most damage, not a square inch of Alice's being felt all right. Every bruise was simultaneously throbbing. A few of her deeper gashes stung mercilessly, and portions of skin where her blood had dried were itchy. The same hand reached over to delicately tilt her chin upwards in order to assess the damages.
"Duchess," Alice murmured in bewilderment before immediately clutching the hem of her filthy skirt to perform a seated curtsy. There was no doubt in her that this woman was the Duchess. She was short and stout with skin the same shade of pink as her squalling piglet son. Her …presentable… face was rectangular-shaped and fitting with a distinctive nose and eyes as small and dark as black pearls. However, her choice of clothing was more subdued. She wore a modest, emerald green dress dappled by grey polka dots beneath a bright blue-green coat lined with rather ratty-looking white fur.
Still, when the youngster acknowledged the Duchess by her title and weakly curtsied, the lady only frowned. "Duchess? I believe you have me confused with someone else, dear. My name is Linda, and my crew and I are not part of the Rapture Family. Neither are we heavy Splicers," she replied.
Alice's shoulders drooped in disappoint as she peered upwards, appearing forlorn. She had been so looking forward to a familiar face in this strange, dangerous world. "You attacked us," the young girl muttered beneath her breath. "You attacked us because you thought we were Little Sisters. You were going to murder us to get a tiny taste of ADAM. Sounds like Splicers to me." From the corner of her eyes, she saw the woman's other hand, which was safely tucked away behind her hip was crackling with Electro Bolt.
"Linda" hung her head in shame. "We need just enough ADAM to give us an edge on Lamb's followers. One plasmid and one tonic for each member of the Resistance. Not to mention that ADAM is also the most valuable source down in this hellhole. We were –and still are– running low of crucial supplies. And word was that the Orphanage in Siren Alley reopened," she offered with a slight shrug. "We wouldn't have laid a finger on you babes. You aren't Little Sisters, and Little Sisters aren't you."
The explanation was reasonable. Alice could accept it without thinking twice. However, a nagging sensation of total dread settled in her belly. Some miniscule voice in the back of her mind whispered that danger had yet to pass and, if she didn't get out of Rapture soon, she would become a Little Sister. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. "I've got to get out of here. Those trains… Can they bring me to the Surface?"
"I'm sorry, love. They only connect to Rapture. What you need to go Topside is a Bathysphere. Leaving isn't really an option right now, though, because even if you could locate one that Ryan didn't put on lockdown right before he croaked, Lamb will have a torpedo on your tail before you ever got a glimpse of the sun." Although her tone was soothing and sympathetic, the words wounded like a gunshot to the chest.
It wasn't long before Alice's pretty features crumpled with sorrow and her stomach twisted from sickness. Right away, "Linda" tried to rectify the situation. However, her attempts to comfort were more useless than trying to stop the seasons. All the elder woman could do was cocoon the wailing child in a blanket and place her on one of the cots in another room.
After her wild hysterics past, the lost Princess of Wonderland quietly cried herself to sleep… But it seemed that no matter how deeply she slept, there were always voices in the darkness.