"...just as sexual reproduction can de-emphasize the traits of each parent, so goes the effect of multiple realities on our own. Your traits dissipate, until they become unrecognizable, or cease to exist."
"Why does this Comstock decay, while a Comstock in another world remains fit? If genetics are destiny, what accounts for the difference?"
"What am I? What AM I?"
Footsteps. She looks up. There he is. "It's done." he says. Is that quiet, savage glee in his voice? "Come on. Gotta take the high road again."
She allows him to help her to her feet. It's easier for her to accept his arm around her this time, the way his had been once, so long ago. This next jump will be more difficult, but she knows he'll make it. He always does. She doesn't stop to think as he latches onto the light. She leaps away from him and grabs hold of the railing. There's a moment of pain as her joints voice their displeasure. Manageable. She pulls herself up and over and onto the landing, then steps away to give him room. There's another battle raging about ten feet away, but the participants are keeping each other busy. She hears a grunt. He made the jump. Almost. "Elizabeth!" He's calling for her help. She could let him drop, but she doesn't. She can't. She offers him a hand. Her right hand. He has to KNOW.
He takes it. She sees the familiar letters 'A.D' on the back of his hand; not scarred but inked. Her sacrifice was only temporary to him. Bile rises inside her throat. She has to fight not to be sick. "Somethin' wrong?" he asks once he's on the other side. She shakes her head. The gunfire dies down. The splicers have killed each other off. "Soon as you're ready." he tells her. She takes one more moment to relax, then nods at him. He nods back, and proceeds into the store. The lower level has been ransacked. No point in looking for supplies in here. He heads up the stairs, but is brought up short by a sudden spray of bullets. He ducks back behind cover. Once the bullets stop, he peers around the corner.
A battered old turret is all that sits between them and the Menswear exit. From its slightly bulkier design as well as the lack of a searchlight, DeWitt supposes it to be one of the motion-sensitive types favored by more unscrupulous businesses. Small wonder Fontaine liked 'em, he thinks grimly. There are bodies all around it.
"All right." he mutters to Elizabeth. "We're gonna need a distraction if we wanna make it by in one piece. Grab one of those dummies and throw it far as you can. That should give me enough time to get a few shots in." She does as he tells her; it's a solid plan and there's no sense making any extra noise someone could overhear. The mannequin isn't heavy as much as it is unwieldy; she shifts its weight in her hands as she figures out the best way to throw it. She throws it overhand past DeWitt and is rewarded with a loud clatter as it lands. The turret opens fire, tearing the plastic doll into chunks. DeWitt takes aim and fires once, twice. The bullets strike the ammo crate along the side. The machine explodes. He sighs and lowers his gun. "Good throw." he says.
"Good shooting." she returns. She's about to say something else when there's a commotion from Haberdashery ahead to the right. A trio of splicers hurry down the steps and take in the scene.
The one in front unholsters a machine gun. "They can't have gone far! Start looking!" he shouts. His associates fan out, holding a flashlight and a length of lead pipe respectively. They beat them menacingly against their palms.
The leader steps forward, leaving the menial task of searching to his underlings. "It's only gonna get worse, pal." he growls. "Just come on out. We'll make it nice an' easy for ya."
Elizabeth quietly moves behind cover, as if sensing the battle to come. DeWitt looks at his hand. The fire at his fingers is dimmer now. He'll need to find some EVE, and soon.
The splicer is almost upon him. Now or never, he thinks and grabs the splicer by the collar. Before the other man has time to let out more than a strangled 'wha?', DeWitt slams him face-first into the concrete pillar he had been hiding behind. The splicer reels for a moment, giving DeWitt a chance to grab the tommy gun from his hands and push him down the small flight of stairs. The other splicers are already closing in as he turns. He opens fire. The one with the lead pipe takes four shots to the chest before he goes down. The other has his flashlight raised high above his head. DeWitt barely dodges and pulls the trigger again.
Click.
Shit.
The splicer swings his weapon around wildly in a horizontal arc, catching DeWitt in the ribs. He grunts, the wind knocked clean out of him. The leader's getting back up. DeWitt doesn't have a choice. As the splicers advance, he snaps his fingers one last time. The splicer in charge howls horribly as his clothes and skin catch fire. His only remaining accomplice looks over in shock, which turns out to be a very big mistake. There's a loud crack or clanging sound as Elizabeth brings the discarded pipe down on his skull, laying him out across the floor.
The silence that follows is perforated by DeWitt gasping for breath, trying to ignore the smell of burning flesh. "Is he dead...?" he wheezes.
"Yes, he is." she says, not looking nearly as sick as she feels.
"You didn't even look."
"I've seen more than enough dead people in my time, Mr DeWitt. And if you plan on thanking me, I should think a fine way to start would be to not let this happen again." She picks the flashlight off the ground and is pleasantly surprised to find it's still in working order.
DeWitt struggles to his feet. "Let me see if they got any ammo. After that we c'n head out."
"Good. While we're at it, we might check Haberdashery to see if they had some sort of base of operations." Elizabeth says.
He grunts as his search turns up a few more clips for his new tommy gun. "Think that's givin' 'em a bit too much credit. But might as well..."
All that Haberdashery yields is another fistful of dollars, and upon examination of his wallet DeWitt discovers this to be more than enough to purchase an EVE Hypo from a Circus of Value, should they still be operational. On general principle he doesn't much care for needles, but there's a time and place for 'druthers'.
They head out the door to her left. Before long, they find themselves on the second level of the Pavilion. Just ahead is a Home Delivery station, with more Pneumo Bots hanging from the line. "Might be enough stuff around to make another of them sky hooks." DeWitt suggests.
"I hope you remember what I'll need to make them." she responds.
"Uhh, refresh my memory?" He takes one of the less damaged Pneumo Bots off of the line and sets it on the counter for Elizabeth to dismantle.
"One vacuum cleaner, one wrench, one leather belt, brackets, bolts, tape and wire." She rattles them off as if by memory. "Let's store the Bot down here, just in case some splicers wander past." She places it down below the counter.
"Vacuum cleaner won't be hard to find." DeWitt says. "Ladies Department's just over there."
