Chapter 9: Hello, Subject Delta

They came and took him just two days later. The men, large and curt, appeared at the cell's entrance. They asked for "Johnny Topside." The warden gave him to them. Harold Parson saw the look of terror in Johnny's eyes as he stood. The two men made it clear they were in no mood for a fight.

Harold had tried to comfort Johnny. "It'll be okay, Johnny. See what I told you? You're gonna be home free now. You're out of here..."

It had been such a stupid, pathetic lie. Both cell mates knew it. Yet Johnny looked at Harold and nodded. Even smiled. "Yea. I'm outta here."

One of the men grabbed Johnny's arm and began to lead him away. Johnny did not try to break from him. Johnny looked behind to Harold and called softly, "I won't forget about you. Your family won't forget about you either. Remember what you said? You've just got to endure."

Harold nodded solemnly, and Johnny disappeared down the halls with the two men. Harold was left alone in his cell. Alone from everything.

The hours of that day turned to a never ending loneliness creeping in his heart, poisoning his mind. He was alone. No one would come for him, he knew. He tried to sleep the day away, but the blue glow of the ocean continued to keep him awake. The ocean. Why had he ever thought he could find paradise so far down from the sun? From the stars. Oh, how he longed to see the stars and the moon again! It was all becoming clear to him now. He understood why he could no longer feel any pleasure down here. He longed for the surface. Craved it. He knew now. For the first time in months, he just knew.

The doctor came to see him that evening. All the prisoners knew the doctor. He would probe you, question you, sometimes torture you. He was the psychiatrist of Persephone. He said he would make you feel better if you only listened to him. He said he would make all the pain go away. Just answer his questions and comply with his studies, and he would make everything all right.

He never did.

But the doctor did not try to take Harold today to one of the little rooms. He just stopped at his cell and met Harold's eyes. There was a long moment of this stare. Finally, the doctor dropped something into Harold's cell. Harold looked to the floor. An Acu-Vox... and rope.

"Time to choose. Make it quick, Harold," was all the doctor said before leaving, along with all the guard's in view of Harold's cell.

Slowly, Harold clicked on the audio diary. "It's time to leave this place," he said slowly to it as his fingers encircled the rope. He was so very tired. "I held out hope for months that I'd see my family again, but it seems like this rope is my only ticket to freedom. I'm sure Ryan has seized the bookstore, no telling where Gloria and Billy will have to... live... Can't seem to form a complete thought anymore. Can't sleep with that glow coming in the windows. Things out there. Watching us. Maybe I'll get to sleep now..."

He formed a perfect noose in his hands. He could endure no longer. His only chance for freedom was this crude object in his hands.

He just wanted to sleep again...

Stan Poole knew this was beginning to look embarrassing. This was the fourth time he had approached the metal door to the sanctuary. It was just that every time he got close to the sanctuary, his stomach would scramble and his heart would race. There would be no going back as soon as he dared to enter that steeple. He would be all in. Poole stopped himself. Again. He wasn't cut out for this. Johnny Topside... he was a one time thing. Poole had needed the story, that was all. How could he be expected to be some kind of—of super mole for Ryan?

Then Poole remembered all of the money handed to him after aiding in the capture of Topside. A smile stretched across the reporter's face. He could have more. So much more. All that he could ever want stretched out for him like a buffet cooked exclusively for him. He just had to do this one thing for Ryan. This single, dark deed.

Poole entered the cathedral.

"Brothers and sisters, the temptation to languish in self-pity is great. Who can deny it, beleaguered as we are by the sins of our past? But self-pity is no more than a tricky shade of pride, freezing us up when we should act. The Lamb's Path leads up beyond the reach of the self, obliterating the ego. But we must work for it, we must not lie caged in our bones, groveling at the ego's alter."

Poole was relieved. The sermon was almost over. Poole would just have to endure a little bit of squirming in his seat. He tried to be as reverent as possible as he sat down in a pew.

The preacher, Father Wales, continued with a voice raised loud, "Andrew Ryan is leaving us wandering confused and alone. We fight our own brothers in an effort to reach the top of the Great Chain first. Brothers and sisters, the Great Chain is nothing but a trap, binding us from our true potential together! But Sofia Lamb shows us that we are not alone, we are together, as a family. So when you see a man brought to his knees, recognize that he is your brother, and pull him up. Sofia Lamb teaches us: What is in common is good. What is irreducible is right. We are a family!"

Cheers erupted. Many stood. Poole felt like a deer in the headlights; he remained steadfast in his seat.

Soon, the sermon was over. Most had left. A few lingered, praying in their seats. Father Wales stood at the front, beaming at them all with a proud look in his eyes. Poole seized this opportunity with near ecstasy. He wanted to be over and done with this as quickly as possible.

"Hey, uh, Father Wales, right?" Poole shook himself. He sounded like an idiot. Of course this was Father Wales, who else could it be? "Eh, I'm Stan Poole. I work at Rapture Tribune."

The father clasped Poole's hand warmly, startling the reporter. "Hello, child! I am glad you came. The Family is open to anyone. Tell me, did you enjoy the sermon?"

"Yea... yea, I did." Get it together, Poole, he tried to coach himself. You get one shot at this. He cleared his throat. "I, heh... You got me really thinking about, about pulling together and all. It's like everyone's out for number one around here. Even my editor. I mean, I try to write the truth in my stories, but if it messes with the cash in his pocket, I get censored and cut off. Take this Topside story, for one. My editor wanted me to brand the guy a traitor. It'll make for better sales, he said," the words were becoming easier for Poole by the second, the lie weaving a tapestry of genius, forming a net, ready to trap Wales and all he held dear. "But, you know, I had to write it. In Rapture, you either make it, or you don't. What am I supposed to do, you know? But this... you're all promising something different. Something better."

The words almost felt sincere. Almost.

Father Wales's face had changed from beaming to solemness through Poole's speech. Stan felt his heart take a dive as he waited for a response from the pseudo-preacher. Finally, Wales, his face expressionless and without a word, slipped a slim pamphlet into Poole's fingers. Wales gave him a nod, then turned away abruptly.

Poole was dazed. He looked down at the paper. "Artist's Retreat," it announced in clear, nice lettering, "Dionysus Park." Poole smiled a smile that would chill the bone. Sofia Lamb and her precious Family were going to be closed in with the same fingers that held the invitation now. Stanley Poole was well on his way to the super mole Sinclair and Ryan wanted so badly.

Poole slipped the pamphlet quietly into his back pocket and strode out of Siren Alley whistling happily.

I was led from Persephone to a bathysphere. From a bathysphere to a new building to me entirely.

It was one of the tallest buildings in Rapture I had seen. The sign glistened "Fontaine Futuristics." I shivered as I surveyed it from the window. After all the rumors of Fontaine, his business was the last place I wanted to be. I looked back to the two men "escorting" me. They had said almost nothing about where I was going or why. I thought to remain silent, also, but that died quickly. I was not a dog to be led anywhere they so pleased.

"Am I going there?" I pointed to the building.

No answer.

"Why?"

They refused to even acknowledge me.

"Am I free? Has Ryan dropped the charges? Does he want to talk to me? Does Fontaine? What is Fontaine Futuristics, anyway?"

One of the grunt's eyes flickered at me for a moment, then continued to stare ahead.

I was growing impatient. "Listen, I'm a human being like you. I have a right to—"

One of them men put a hand up. He clicked the short wave radio hanging on the bathysphere wall. "We're here, sir."

"Good," the voice coming from the radio was emotionless. "Go ahead with routine. You're clear."

The other man finally spoke to me, "See here: we don't want to have to make this harder on you than this has to be. So please, just stand still for a moment?"

"What are you talking about? I don't—wait!" The needle plunged into my neck and it's contents emptied through my veins. I stared at the other man with the assaulting needle. I staggered, hand on neck, but the damage was done. "Why would you..." but my words slurred into mesh. The man caught me as my legs gave way. One, singular thought crossed my mind.

Not again.

No, wait. This drug wasn't the same as before. I was sedated, yes. Useless, yes. My body felt more like a hollow vessel now than my own. But my mind was still aware. Barely, but there, nevertheless.

I tried to tell myself this was a good thing.

"I don't like this one," one of my escorts said quietly as they carried my dead body out of the bathysphere.

"You need the scratch, don't ya? That ADAM don't pay for itself."

"I know, I know. But I don't like bringing this one in. I mean, the others...they weren't..."

"They're desperate morons that give up their livelihood for a loaf of bread. This one's an honorable idiot what gave up his life for his country. Rapture's better off without either."

"Yea, but the others are already half gone when we bring them in. This guy? He's smart. He's capable. He ain't the type for this place."

"Wrong, pal. He's just right. The plasmid business was made for him. He'll be the top of the Theater in no time. "

This angered me for some reason, although I wasn't sure why. I didn't like that they were discussing me like I was an object. And I was confused. What were they talking about me being on top of? I inwardly rolled my eyes. Silly Johnny. You'll figure out soon enough, as soon as your head stops spinning so fast. Until then, it was silly to try to understand, or to even question. I was here, I should be content with the fact that I wasn't dead. Never question the good things in life, silly Johnny.

They stopped and set me down in a reclined chair. "He's ready for you eggheads," one of them said, then they exited.

"Thank you, I suppose," a new man, three actually, had appeared. Or was I just seeing triple? Such a silly Johnny. "Can you hear me?"

I tried to speak again, but my mouth felt like rubber. "Don't try to speak. My name is Dr. Suchong. This is Dr. Alexander and Dr. Griffin. You are in Fontaine Futuristics. You have been recruited by Augustus Sinclair to volunteer for testing our line of plasmids before it is released to the public. Do you understand that? If you can, nod."

I nodded, but it came out as more of a shaking. Silly, silly. Dr. Chop Suey continued, "You are no longer Johnny Topside, do you understand that? Johnny Topside never existed. You are not him."

Not Johnny? Of course I was. My name was Johnny Topside. I was a maintenance diver here. Eddie Davis and Randy Nolan and Dennis Clark and Greg Parker and Liz Holm had said so, didn't Suey understand that?

"You are now Subject Delta. You are a test subject for ADAM and plasmids for Fontaine Futuristics. You belong to us now."

Something clicked in my head. Something Suey had said... no. I was coming to now. Suchong, that was his name. What was it he had said?

I belonged to them now.

I tried to sit up now, suddenly panicked. But I was held fast. I looked to see myself bound to the chair. "What is this?" I tried to ask, but my mouth would still refuse to say the words. My mind was sobering too quickly. My head was swimming. "What are you doing to me?"

"Relax, Delta. Everything will be fine now. If you cooperate. You will be fed well. You will have a nice bed to sleep in..."

I belonged to them now. No, no! This was wrong. I was not Subject Delta.

"...You will have power, Delta..."

No. No, I would be a slave. I was not Subject Delta.

"...if you cooperate. For, you see, Delta, fighting will only make things harder. Please, just trust us. Everything will be fine..."

I was not Subject Delta.

"Please don't fight this, Delta," the other scientist, Alexander, came over to me. In his hand was a frightening needle with red liquid glowing menacingly inside it. "Dr. Suchong is correct. It will only cause you more pain than necessary."

My eyes met Alexander's with a fear... a plead. Don't do this, they said. Please. Alexander faltered. Griffon came to complete the deed himself. This one's eyes were cold, calculated, even loathing. "Watch yourself, Delta," he said as the needle plunged into my skin. "This first one's a doozy."

The poison entered my blood, strangling my very being. My very humanity. I felt more pain than I had ever felt in all my life. Fire. I was all fire. My whole world spun, the pain too much to deal with. I would have given anything just to have it end. My bones broke, my skin burned, my brain seized. I screamed, "Get out of me! No! NO! I am not a slave! I am not Subject Delta!" I felt my heart stop beating. Then mercifully, nothing more.

Author's Note: Heavy. Okay, so, I have decided to also write about Stanley's little undercover work to build up a case against Lamb. It should be fun, and it will be a nice sub-plot. Something lighter, I suppose. Anyway, neither the Father Wales speech (mostly) nor the suicide note of this chapter were my imagining, and I think that should be pointed out. Next chapter should definitely have some real action, so stayed tuned and please review!