A/N: This particular chapter is about Will and what he was up to while everyone else was moving through Soldier's Field. It's rather lengthy, the longest one I've written yet, and I hope you enjoy it! Lots of action in this one.

Chapter Seven: The Handy-Man

Will's Perspective.

Lead a group of policemen and their giant tin death machine on a wild goose and quite possibly get myself killed in the process? Well, I can't say it was on my to-do list, but it's a little too late to question that.I made up, on the spot, the whole lie about the anarchist holding a woman and child in a dark corner, but I was having difficulty finding a dark corner to trick the policemen into. And there was the fact that they might not believe me when I come up with my convincing lie as to why no one's there.

"I know he was around here somewhere. . ." I made an effort to look as frustrated as possible, glancing throughout the streets. Go left. "I think it was this way!" I pointed into the alleyways and led them forward with a wave of my hand. Goose chases are fun.

I spontaneously whisked throughout the streets near the bay, praying that no one would start to question my lack of direction. This was for Booker. He'd owe me more favors than I could count to after I was done, assuming I got out of this alive.

Eventually, I reached the "corner" that I needed. Conveniently enough, there was trash and whatnot strewn about and made it look like there might have been a real struggle. "H-He was right here. . . Dammit!" I violently threw my fist down, trying to look disappointed. "I'm sorry, officers," I said as I began to turn to face them. "Look s like he got awa-"

Just as I turned around, I came face to face with the barrel of the policeman's gun. "We just got a radio broadcast about the Anarchist Sympathizers, and their location. Battleship Bay. That you, kid?"

I took a step back. This wasn't going to end well for me. "Why, of course it's not me!"

The man grinned a cruel grin. "You think we believe that for a second?" He quickly pulled his gun aside and shot me in the left shoulder. I groaned in pain and grasped the wound violently. "I'm gonna' let the Handy-Man handle you."

I tried my best to smile at him. "Mind if I handle you, then?" I grabbed Sally from my jacket pocket and placed it to the man's forehead, before pulling the trigger. A violent boom shot out from the gun's barrel before he crumpled to the ground. I turned to shoot his companions, and managed to hit one of them without another wound, but the third put another round in my shoulder. I tried to shoot Sally once again, but the pain from the recoil was so terribly immense that I couldn't hold her still enough to get a good shot in. Sky-hook it was.

I pulled it over my wrist and revved it up, before running towards the policeman. The nagging feeling in the back of my head that there was something more important to worry about wouldn't disappear, but I simply grabbed the head of the policeman and drove the hook through his ribs. As one could expect, he was dead pretty quickly.

I sighed, before stuffing Sally back into my jacket pocket. She wouldn't do me any good here. What was that other thing I had to deal with?

As if on cue, a big heap of brown metal leaped at me, grabbed me in its monstrous hands, and hurled me at the wall behind me.

Oh, right. Handy-Man. I stared at it, unable to stand. The bald, lifeless head looked incredibly out of place on top of that giant tank with the heart in it. What kind of stuff is in that tank, anyways? Melted down flesh? As one could expect, its hands were incredibly disfigured; they looked almost like tin cans welded together. Its arms were large wire structures framed in metal bars. Compared to the rest of it, its legs were ridiculously minuscule, and I probably would've laughed at it if I was in any mood to laugh. But I wasn't.

I didn't even want to imagine how much damage that had been to my shoulder, but I saw quite a bit of my own blood staining the ground beneath me. I subconsciously reached into my jacket to grab Sally, but then I realized my good shoulder was destroyed and I probably couldn't get a good shot in with the other one. It wasn't exactly a small target, but I didn't want to take any chances. So running it was.

I dove into a roll past the Handy-Man, whose handy-hands grabbed the spot where my head had been just a minute ago. With nothing better to do, I started running randomly. I got in a few shots with my undamaged hand, but I would've been surprised if any of them found their target. Not only was I running and seriously hurt, but I was a left-dominate fighter. I needed to find something to kill this thing with. . . As we weaved through the streets randomly, it picked up various objects and hurled them towards me. Hot dog carts, crates, street signs, - Wait, what the hell!? Is that a carriage!? And the horse? This thing was a lot more determined to kill me than I'd initially thought. I really need a detour. . .

I hit the jackpot, metaphorically speaking. There was an alleyway that was just small enough for me to weave into at the end of this road, which otherwise resulted in a dead end, but wasn't quite big enough for the Handy-Man. I turned around to get a look at how close the beast was. . .

and saw a fistful of metal fly towards me.

I was fast - and smart - enough to jump out of the way, but not fast - and smart - enough to avoid getting struck in the shoulder. And, what do you know, same shoulder as last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. Am I on a lucky streak or what?

As soon as I regained what little balance I had, I started frantically sprinting for the alleyway. Occasionally, I'd glance over my shoulder to get a peek at what it was doing, and each time I grew more and more frightened. It was either immediately behind me or grabbing something monstrous to send my way. This street can't be that long, can it? I turned around one last time to see the Handy-Man holding a segment of a pipe it had ripped out of a wall, causing water to spurt out. When the water landed on it, it started to . . . fizzle. Like electronics do when you splash water on them. That might come in handy at some point. . .

Lady Luck and were never exceptional friends, though, so it popped back into action a few seconds later, and I had been too busy thinking to stop myself. It threw the pipe at me as I sprinted, and conveniently enough, it slammed right into the ground beneath my feet, causing me to trip on it. I felt pain across the front of my chest as I skidded forwards and into the alleyway, scraping the flesh on my hands and drawing more blood. I'd attend to that later, though. I spun around on the ground and stared at the Handy-Man as it thrashed violently, trying to get into the alley. I pulled out Sally and shot at it as accurately as I could, and what do you know; even with my bad hand I'm a crack shot. I put a round where its heart was, causing the glass to crack, but not quite break. This turned into a bad thing almost immediately, and it started to peel away the walls. But even after the bricks had cracked and the insides of some of the buildings were showing, it couldn't fit. Sooner or later it wised up and decided to find some other way to terrorize me, but I didn't plan on being around when he did. I stood up and dusted myself off, smearing blood all over my jacket from my hands. "I really need a bandage," I said aloud, entering that period of combat when your common sense decides not to work.

On the other side of the alley was an equally run-down street, but it had everything I needed. Cloth, water, plenty to clean the bullet wound with. I attended to my injuries briefly, creating a makeshift bandage and wrapping my hands in some gauze from a looted medical kit nearby. I better start heading towards the First Lady, else I'll get left behind here. . .

The streets were practically empty as I made my way back to Battleship Bay. Apart from the occasional looter you saw making his money off the anarchist attacks, no one was around. Not even patrols. Which was . . . odd, to say the least. You'd think they'd at least be looking for Booker around here, considering Anarchist Sympathizers were spotted nearby. The air was vacant, as well. No gondolas, no airships, no zeppelins; absolutely nothing. I was starting to get a bad feeling about this. The walls were coated in paint, secret messages about the Prophet and whatnot hidden in code. I was no Columbian-code-breaker, though, so most of it was just bland to me.

I used the back roads to make my way into Battleship Bay, avoiding any officials; all this blood wouldn't blow over well. I really needed a change of clothes.

The beach was just as peaceful as it was before, the only difference being the sun, which rested on the water's horizon. Couples gathered in front of the shore, resting their heads on each other's shoulders and staring into the gorgeous display in front of them. It was a little moving, even to me, and most of the time I was ice-cold and sarcastic when it came to feeling.

I stood on the pavilion where the group had been dancing earlier, staring out into the sunset. I deserved a break. The rest wasn't worth much, but it'd get me through another hour or two of this stuff until I absolutely collapsed. Sleep is what I needed right now, but I didn't have time to sleep. That'd have to wait for later.

The water slapping against the shore and the sounds of the waves were rather soothing, now that the beach was silent. But something was off. . . Something was sounded from above, like lots of air moving around. That might be understandable since we're in the clouds, but this was abnormally close. . . It sounded almost like a warship.

"Freeze!" A blinding light flashed against my face and I rose my hand to block it, gritting my teeth. "You're under arrest for associating with the False Shepard, destruction of property, obstruction of justice, the deaths of multiple city officials, assault, illegal alcohol possession, and any other crimes committed!"

"Illegal alcohol possession? What the hell, I don't even drink!" Sure, everything else on the list was somewhat true, but one wrong part is as good as the whole thing being wrong. Use that in every argument that ever comes up. Soon enough my eyes adjusted and I could see the airship. Many Columbian officials stood at the railings, some armed with rockets, others with machine guns, but there was something far more concerning that I noticed.

Our old friend, the Handy-Man, was back. It was the same one as before; it still had the crack on the glass covering its heart, bless Sally, and it sure as hell wanted me dead. Normally I'd have made some kind of sarcastic remark and taunted them.

But I ran instead.

The metal mass leaped down from the ship, causing it to descend and lose balance, and landed where I had been standing not even a moment ago, with its fist in the ground. All the legs cracked and the wooden structure tumbled to the ground, now no longer useful for anything. I stared at Frank - I'll name it Frank for now - before sprinting furiously towards the gate to another part of the beach. I needed a miracle right about now, and I still had to handle the gun ship.

Hey, what's that? I turned to my right to, rather conveniently, see one of those Vigor vending machines- Vend-O-Vigor or something. Vigors? Aren't those the thingies that let you shoot fire and electricity and whatnot out of your hands? I could use one of those. . . I approached the vending machine and started to wheel through its inventory, praying that the Handy-Man was as stupid as it looked and couldn't catch up to me.

Devil's Kiss. . . No, fire won't hurt that thing. . .

Bucking Bronco. . . I seriously doubt getting that thing into the air will help me much, if it's even lift-able. . .

Charge. . . If I thought hitting the thing would work, I'd have used the Sky-Hook. . .

. . . Undertow? I had a brief flashback, remembering the way the water effected Frank. If this informational image was correct, this thing let me shoot water out of my hands, and I could really use some water right now. It'll have to do.

I punched in my selection and watched as the bottle cascaded down the chute. I grabbed it and almost immediately downed the contents, before feeling what I think might be the most intense pain I've ever felt. Ever. And I'd been through a lot of pain that day.

I looked down at my hands, shocked by what they were. Every few inches or so, suction cups were growing out, and my flesh felt like it was being torn off, put back on, and torn off again. After a few seconds, that felt more like hours, the pain was over and my hands looked normal again, but now I was back to business with Frank. And it looked like he'd finally caught up to me.

"Might as well give this thing a try,"I said aloud, before doing what felt natural with the vigor. I sent a tendril of water towards the monster and watched as he was electrocuted. Technology and water; it's not safe, kids.

I laughed as Frank twitched, until it wiped some of the water off of its face and came charging at me again. I did the same thing once more, grinning at the fool, before I realized that the water wasn't doing anything more than paralyzing him. I'd need to damage him somehow. . .

As if on cue, I thought of something. What if I used one of the water tendrils to wrap the poor sod up and drop it into the bay?. . . That'll have to work.

I started taunting him and running towards the part of the beach that was closest to the water and inhaled deeply. "It's now or never. . ."

The creature jumped at me with its fist raised, so I did what anyone would do: I shot the giant tendril of water around the thing. I tried to tighten the grip around it, but felt my power slip away slowly. Dammit, I was new to this thing. He fell to the ground, once again writhing from the electricity coursing through it. Only got one more shot, Will, make this count. . . I ignored the incredible pain in my shoulder and sent the tendril towards him one more time. This time, I lifted it off the ground with ease and felt the tendril tighten like steel bindings around the damned Handy-Man. Without a second of hesitation, I hurled the beast down into the bay, groaning with effort.

"See ya' later, Frank, you damn tin can!" I raised my hand to do a two-finger salute, but then I realized that my shoulder was desperately begging to be put out of its misery. Right. . . And I still have an airship to take care of. I can borrow some new clothes from them, though. The ship had been watching our fight closely and didn't seem very happy with the fact that I'd just murdered their greatest military creation with water. The PA crackled to life again, revealing the voice of a war-hardened veteran.

"Kill that bastard!"

Way ahead of you. I ran towards the gunship with as much of a lead as I could possibly get, using the Sky-Hook to pull myself towards the hooks on the side of the ship. Being a magnet was kind of odd; the force was so obnoxiously great that it almost felt like my arm was getting pulled off. The good one, at least. The other one couldn't feel anything.

I latched onto one of the hooks and prepared another tendril of water. To make a point, I picked up one of the men with a rocket launcher and hurled him over the side of the ship, sending him flying down into whatever was below Columbia. I hope nobody finds that, either. At least now the gondola has a friend. But back to the matter at hand; the police's forces, now counting in seven, were significantly less confident in their power now. None of them raised their gun to take a shot, as if not shooting me would make me any less likely to kill them. That's a funny thought.

I swept another one overboard with each tendril, now planted on the deck and shooting men off of it with ease. This vigor made me feel obnoxiously powerful. Now there was just one man left. . . Time to end this. I pulled the water out of my hand and collected it around my fingertips, indicating his demise. His legs were shaking furiously.

"No, sir, please, I have a family to get back to! I won't do anything to you again, I promise, I'll even try to throw them off your case! Just don't kill me!" The last man dropped his weapon and begged, down on his knees. "I'll do anything!"

I sighed, taking pity on the man. "Can you swim?"

"Y-Yes sir, I'm excellent! Why?" Relief flushed across his face.

"Because you're about to go for a swim." I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ship.

"S-Sir, no, please! Can't you just put me do- Aaaaahhh!" he screamed, as he flew off the edge of the boat. The water was only a good twenty feet below us, so he should be fine.

I dusted my hands off and shoved them in my pockets, sighing happily. Maybe I could even use this boat to get to the First Lady before Booker and the rest of them do. That'd be nice.

But, as fortune would have it, I wasn't done yet. A giant, practically, busted out from the cockpit of the airship. "You!" he shouted, holding a shotgun in his hands. The soldier was practically a mountain of muscle; short, shorter than me at least, but frighteningly well built. He was wearing a suit similar to mine, which I guess was standard-issue for people who were amazing at everything. Not that I'm boastful or anything.

He aimed his shotgun at me, "You killed all my men! You killed that Handy-Man! Fink's gonna' have my head by the time I get back, but before that, I'm gonna' gut you and feed you to the ravens!"

I smirked at him. "You're gonna' have to kill me, first." I moved to blast him over the railing of the ship, but. . .

Nothing came out. Water refused to move from my hands. It was almost as if I was out of some kind of resource. I flapped my hands about frantically, wondering if the vigor was only a temporary enhancement. If so, I want my money back.

"Don't know how Vigors work, do you, boy?" He grinned maliciously and pulled something out from one of his pockets. "Y'need these to keep them runnin'. What were you, born under a rock?" He waved a bright blue bottle at me, tormenting me. "Come and get it."

He raised his shotgun and prepared to unload it into me, but I dove to the side just in time to avoid it. His reflexes were slower than mine, so as long as I didn't trip over anything, I could wear him out until he needed to reload. That was my ticket. Columbian shotguns had about seven slugs that could fit, and he'd fired one so far. He shot another, in frustration more than anything- I couldn't see him, but I heard the metal clanging against the metal of the ship. "Coward! Ain't you got a gun?" Paul - he looked a little like a Paul - turned the corner I was hiding behind. He fired again, which I barely ducked under, and stormed past him. He fired again - that's four, - and I felt one of the bullets whizzing past my skull, blowing my hat to the side slightly. I just needed to weave about some more.

Five, he blasted at the crate I was hiding behind.

Six, he shot at the bottle I threw out from behind a corner.

Seven, trying to shoot through the wall. Idiot. Here's my chance.

I rushed out from cover and ran towards him, planning to wrestle him off the side of the ship. He laughed and made an effort to shoot his shotgun, but all that sounded was a 'click' that indicated it needed a reload. "Looks like the shoe's on the other foot, Paul!"

"Paul? My name is Roger!" Well, I did say he looked like a Paul, not was a Paul. I collided with him, sending his shotgun skittering across the deck. I started to punch him furiously, ignoring the pain that the action inflicted on my arm. Soon enough, he became aware that he was losing this battle and started to struggle towards his weapon; he clocked me in the face, sending me sprawling off of him. "God dammit!"

He laughed and rushed for his gun, but not before I ran up behind him and put him in a headlock. I tightened my grip around his neck, constricting the air flow to his throat. "Got anything else to say?"

He choked, trying to curse at me, waving his arms around furiously.

"I didn't think so."

On that note, I sent him down into the depths of the sky. Ironic.

Now that Paul was handled, I entered the cockpit of the gunship. It operated on simple geographic coordinates, which I could easily look up in the "Columbia's Placement; Today" section of the book next to the controls. Now I needed to get to Soldier's Field. I punched in the coordinates, and took a seat in the pilot's chair. I wonder if this was how Paul felt.

So, list of today's accomplishments.

1: Lead policemen on a wild goose chase.

2: Get shot in the shoulder.

3: Outwit a Handy-Man.

4: Watch the sunset.

5: Kill Frank.

6: Leaned that Vigors are fun.

7: Wiped the deck of a gunship - literally.

8: Killed a guy named Pau- Roger.

Today was fun.