"Jim Dandy!"
Sinclair's mellow tones spill out of my speakers, bouncing off the inside of my helmet and making my ears ring. I give a hoarse groan, and fiddle with the volume control, trying to adjust it so that every syllable doesn't thwack into my eardrums with quite as much force. When I was trying out the drill upgrade earlier, my swings must've caused the cloth of my suit to catch on the dial, and my subsequent movements wound it up as far as it would go. Now I'm paying the price for my carelessness with my hearing- not that it was much good to begin with, what with the layer of brass between me and the rest of the world.
"Now, although that ticket'll getcha inside, you'll need ADAM to get that plasmid. It's the red stuff that lets you tailor your genes to fit."
I roll my eyes. How bad does Sinclair think my memory is? I was built for the express purpose of protecting those who gathered the chemical, not to mention the fact I had to use copious amounts of the stuff on a daily basis to heal the wounds I sustained in combat not so long ago. In fact, I've had to use quite a bit just now- I'm not sure I have enough left to produce the stem cells that administering Incinerate! will require. Luckily, Sinclair has come up with a solution: find a Little Sister, he says, as they're the ones who carry the goo. There should be one near the Eldorado Lounge, if I hurry.
I head up the stairs, reflecting that Sinclair's plot may not be as easy as he believes it will be to carry out. There's not many of the Sisters without a Protector, and it'll take a while to find one. I don't fancy tramping around this dump for that length of time, but there's no real alternative, so I continue on my way, slamming a splicer with the Electrobolt as I reach the top of the stairs and finishing him off with my newly-improved drill. I turn away from the body, and almost miss the fact that the man conveniently smashed a window displaying a variety of arms before he kicked the bucket- meaning that I can get my hands on the machine gun I see in the starburst of shattered glass.
I shoulder the gun, testing its weight, and pick up some rounds of ammo I see lying at the bottom of the display case. Almost immediately I'm presented with the opportunity to try it out, as I hear one of the splicers complaining about something or other using some rather coarse language*. I stride through the door of the ticket office, and see a group of the things prowling around the entrance. I take aim and open fire, grunting in pain as some of my victims' companions put their own firearms to work on my person. I take them all down, ignoring their screams and one woman's demand that I read their pamphlet at least**. That taken care of, I jam my ticket into a slot in the machine next to the door, and wait impatiently while it grinds its way through processing the thing. Creakily, the entrance opens up, and I walk on through.
Not too far up ahead of me, I see a gene tonic on a stand, which a mannequin is gesturing at enthusiastically. I pick up the bottle, and read the label: "Sports Boost", it says, in large black letters, describing it as a tonic to increase one's speed and agility. Hmm. I dimly remember something similar, which produced massive amounts of pain and not much of an advantage as far as speed went. Still, this one seems marketed towards domestic use- or as domestic as it gets in Rapture, where people treat a suggestion to sacrifice their neighbours to attacking splicers with as much weight and lengthy consideration as a suggestion to have beef instead of lamb for dinner. If the thing is as bad as the one I sampled, I'm guessing it wasn't that popular.
I decide to take the plunge, and shove the needle into the port on my left wrist. It's not as bad as I blearily recall the other one being, though I still need to grit my teeth against the agony that courses its way through my veins. When it's over, though, I find I hasten through the halls with renewed vigor, and decide that if I encounter any other tonics it couldn't hurt to try them; or at least, won't hurt that much.
I come across a series of illuminated dioramas lining one wall, detailing the conception and construction of Rapture. I don't actually know that much about the city, other than that it was founded to satisfy Moustache Man's longing to be free of the "parasites"- what I do know has been learned by eavesdropping on other people's conversations, and even then I disdained most of what I heard as irrelevant to my purpose in life (that of the protection my ward), banishing it into the murky clouds that surround all my memories. I thump the button on the first of the scenes, and see it light up as that jaunty showman from before talks about how Ryan (so that is the man's name) decided to start building Rapture after waking up in the middle of the night. I don't really sleep like humans do***, but I have heard that it can be difficult to nod off again once you wake up. As I progress to the next scene, however, it becomes clear that a lot of the audio tape has eroded over time and sections of the speeches are now distorted beyond understanding, so I won't be finding out more about the city's history any time soon.
Giving up on the thing, I scoop up an audio diary on the floor. This one's from a woman who was chaperoning a class of children as they celebrated New Year at the park- the same night I lost the kid to that monster, Lamb. Taking a deep breath to try and rid myself of the memory, I finish listening to the recording as the woman- Nina Carnegie, according to the label on the tape- hectors a young man named Donny. I smile, thinking of how I would frantically try and warn Eleanor off running away whenever she smelt ADAM- then shut down that line of thought as I remember where it led in the end.
I stride through another door into Ryan Amusements' gift shop, and am almost immediately attacked by a splicer, shrieking that my "kind" isn't allowed here. I riddle his body with bullets, thinking disdainfully that if we're talking about sub-humans, genetic abominations more or less top the list. His friends are angered by my retaliation though, and attack just as I realise that I've run out of ammunition for the machine gun.
I hastily reach for the rivet gun, sinking enough shots into one of the splicers to send him keeling over, wailing all the way. Another one in a welding mask rises up from behind the counter, and manages to dint my helmet before I take him out with a few well-placed rivets.
That seems to be it for now, and I rummage through their pockets while I hum along to "Paper Moon"****. It was one of my favourite songs, back in the day, and Eleanor would sometimes demand we dance to the tune when she saw me absent-mindedly tapping my fingers to the beat. I didn't really have the flexibility in the suit, of course, but I'd shuffle along in time to show willing, and she'd pipe out the melody in her high voice, skipping by my side. I feel a pang of grief- the kid's still out there, of course, but I've missed out on so much of her life. Does she still listen to "Paper Moon"? Does still she sing along? There's just no way of knowing.
I head behind one of the counters in the corner, brushing the thoughts away. I spend a few seconds hacking a safe in order to harvest its contents, and find a diary from a man called Bantam, talking about how someone by the name of Sinclair provided him with a money-making scheme. The scam involved delegating the manufacture of the goods sold in the gift shop to the citizens of Pauper's Drop, who Bantam could purchase his wares off of for less than half the amount he'd have to pay otherwise. It sounds like Sinclair really isn't the sort to let moral qualms get in the way of obtaining cash. I make a mental note to be careful not to get between him and a pile of money.
I leave the room, only stopping to slot a coin in the Fortune-Telling Machine for curiosity's sake*****. I zap the door control for a gate that leads off from the main hallway, and only realise that I've wasted EVE in the grand and glorious cause of invading a bathroom once I'm inside. Nevertheless, I take a few minutes to gather any supplies I find, and happen upon another tape. I give a sigh of irritation when I realise it's one from Lamb. This one is another message to her daughter, pouring scorn on the surface world and declaring Rapture a chance at deliverance. I shudder at the idea of her poison dripping into the kid's ears for ten long years while I was- dead? Dormant? What was I? I still don't know why I'm here, even, as opposed to rotting away in a pool in the Adonis Baths. Whatever the explanation is, however, I'm grateful to have this second chance to save the kid from an eternity beneath the waves- and possibly worse, if Lamb has her claws in her.
I give the cubicle I'm searching one more cursory glance, and turn away-
- shoot shoot shoot, splicer! Right behind me!
She's not really a threat- a few blows from the drill deals with her- but my blood is still pounding in my veins a few minutes later as I leave through the gate. Gosh darn it, the splicers have talked so much in the time I've been roaming around here that I forgot how stealthily they can move if they want to.
I wander back through to the main hall of the park, and am heading through a corridor to the Eldorado Lounge when my vision mists over with that rosy fog that has heralded the two times my daughter has spoken to me so far.
"Until you come, father, I'm trapped here, I'm afraid- the only way I can help you is with these gifts…"
Her voice trails off, and I'm left gazing at another cart, this one laden with another gene tonic and an audio diary. I examine the tonic, noting with appreciation that by applying it I'll be able to perform more powerful attacks with the drill. Useful as the ranged weapons are, I've had more experience with close-quarters combat, and therefore have a tendency to rely on it quite heavily.
I switch on the diary, and almost switch it off again when I hear Lamb's voice from the speakers. However, it's suddenly cut off, to be replaced with a soprano warble that tugs urgently at my pairbond and causes me to swallow against a sudden lump that's developed in my throat******. It's the kid's voice, chattering happily about an expedition she went on to meet some of the other children that inhabit this graveyard. Apparently, Lamb was against this- but of course she was. For someone so very concerned with altruism, she demonstrates extreme selfishness with surprising frequency. The sour taste that pervades my mouth at the mention of her is sweetened, however, by Eleanor's surprise at finding that the "dog-eaters" her mother had warned her against being not quite as different from herself as she thought. She was always ready to look past other people's appearances and reputations, and accept them for who they were; maybe that's why she bonded so readily to something most people were terrified out of their wits by.
Well, looks like your generosity's paying off, kid. I'm coming to save you, and woe betide anyone who gets in my way.
Footnotes:
* You see, this is why I don't think robbing the Big Daddies of their voice boxes would do anything to prevent the Sisters being exposed to foul language. Most people in the city- certainly the splicers, which are the only people the Sisters are likely to meet apart from their Protectors- cuss themselves blue in the face on a regular basis. Maybe it's supposed to serve as a cautionary tale, though: don't swear, kids, or you might get drilled too!
** Not the sort of thing I'd think of if someone started shooting at me, but ah well. To each his own, I suppose.
*** The construction of the suit means that I find it hard to sit and lie down (I've said it before, and I'll say it again- our designers really had no idea what they were doing). When I do rest, I do it leaning against a wall, bracing my boots against a handily-placed piece of heavy furniture. I wake up usually when my legs give out and I collapse to the floor, which brings on a torrent of agony as the suit cuts into me and shoves its weight onto places where weight really should not go.
**** Well, not so much "hum" as "grumble", but the intent was definitely there.
***** "Maybe in a past life ya did summat awful to someone". Huh.
****** I regret it almost immediately- the conversion process makes anything involving one's throat a painful ordeal.
Author's note:
Well, that was a ton of footnotes. If anyone has any idea if there's an alternative to using asterisks, it would be very helpful if you could let me know, as this is getting kind of ridiculous. Anyway, please don't forget to review- I'm grateful for any suggestions on how to improve.
