Disclaimer – I own no rights to the Bioshock universe. And I can't wait to own a copy of "Bioshock Infinite."
A/N – Sorry that it's been so long between chapters again. I'd started writing this (admittedly short) chapter late last month, and hadn't found a good opportunity to finish until now. Schedule's been kind of exhausting.
Kratos-god-slayer-101 – Thanks for continuing to read and review, as usual.
RhythmOfLove – Thank you for saying this is the perfect recreation of Rapture. I'm trying hard not to screw it up.
Jack felt nauseous and achy. He was covered in a cold sweat, and his breath was labored and shallow.
A couple naïve days ago he had been foolish enough to believe he could just go straight, giving up the drugs and booze cold turkey. But now that the adrenaline from his recent adventures was wearing off, the withdrawal was hitting him hard.
Evelyn tapped him on the shoulder with a hypo filled with the purplish blue substance.
And Jack pushed the needle away.
"No thanks."
Evelyn began to roll up one of Jack's sleeves for him. Jack wanted to object. But he was enjoying the feel of Evelyn's finger tips, calloused as they were, on his arm.
"If you're goin' t' have a monkey on your back," Evelyn said, "might as well be one that'll actually be useful to us."
"I just don't want to turn into one of those . . . things."
"It'll take a lot more than one tiny dose of EVE to do that." She gently worked Jack's fingers open and placed the hypo in his palm. "Besides, it'll help take the edge off."
Jack looked at the hypo for a moment. Then he jabbed the needle into his vain and pushed the plunger. For a painful instant, he felt the electricity surge through his blood stream, but for no longer than he would if he'd scraped his feet across a thick rug and then touched a door knob. But Evelyn was right about the edge. The shakes were subsiding, and the pain was slowly leaving his muscles.
"How does it work again?" he asked.
"ADAM affects your genetics, allows you to alter your code by injecting plasmids. EVE keeps the plasmids active. It's like exercising. You don't do it, the muscle becomes flabby and inactive."
"It's a strange form of exercise," Jack said, rubbing the sore spot on his arm.
He flexed his fingers, watched the little blue lights dance across his hand.
"So you just have to focus and . . ."
"You're concentratin' too hard," Evelyn said, taking Jack gently by his wrist. "The plasmid's part of your genetic structure now. It's just like wigglin' a toe or shakin' a finger."
She clasped her hand around his, and he felt it grow colder. He looked down and watched the ice crystals forming along her hand. She traced his arm with one finger, the icy sensation causing him to shiver as a soft mist followed her hand. The electricity crackled loudly on the tips of Jack's fingers as an involuntary response.
Evelyn's short hair whipped gently against Jack's face as she turned towards the small puddle formed by the constant dripping of small beads of water rolling down a stalactite above. She held out her palm and one of the beads hit the puddle below it with an icy clink and splash.
Jack raised his hand. There was a quick snap as lighting crackled from his fingertips, and then the puddle turned shiny blue, melting the ice cube that had just dropped into it.
She turned her head again, to where the others were seated.
"Teagan finally got the fire going," she said. "For a pyrokinetic, you wouldn't think it would take her this long."
As if on cue, her sister walked up to them, smiling and batting her eyelashes.
"Join us by the fire, won't you?"
"Be there in a moment, sis," Evelyn replied, even though it was clear Teagan was focused intently on Jack.
As Teagan walked back towards the fire, Evelyn leaned close to Jack.
"Be careful," she whispered into his ear. "I think my li'l sis has taken a bit o' a fancy to ya."
A smile flashed on her lips and a twinkle crossed her pale blue eyes for a second before she turned and marched in her slow, confident style to join the others by the fire.
Jack thought he'd never seen the group look so comfortable before. Twitch was sitting in the dirt, his legs crossed, the flames reflecting off his goggles. Pancho stood in the shadows, and occasionally the light from the fire allowed a glance of him leaning casually against the cave wall, examining his weaponry. The others had pulled crates near to the fire and were using them as seats. Mr. Touch was sitting erect, looking as lankily elegant as ever, and Dr. Langford had padded her crate with several rugs, presumably smuggled goods. Jack hoped the others had taken the time to look through their crates before pulling them near the fire as well, as he imagined some of them must contain something flammable or combustible.
There was an unoccupied crate touching the one Teagan was sitting on. When Jack sat down, Teagan yawned and rested her head on his shoulder.
"I was the servant of a friend of Mr. Ryan's," Mr. Touch was saying. "I would hear Andrew Ryan speaking while I was serving drinks and cleaning up cigar ash. Of course, his vision of a place where no man had more power than any other, where every man could succeed based on his own actions, appealed to me."
Lucky dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, shoved the hankie sloppily back into his coat pocket, and then took the wide-brimmed hat from his lap and pulled it back over his slick black hair. He looked anxiously over his shoulder.
"So, what's the plan? We really just gonna sit around here and wait for another Big Daddy to barge in on us?"
Evelyn took the two-way radio and slammed it down hard enough to make a sharp cracking sound that everyone could hear above the crackling fire.
"Giuseppe is dead," she said. Her blue eyes shifted from face to face as she let her words sink in. "Sacrificed. On a suicide mission for a man whose face we've never even seen. Now, I'm jus' waitin' t' find out what the next step is." She pointed at the radio. "From him."
She pushed the button on the radio.
"Mr. Atlas," she said. "I'm sorry about your family. I really am. But one of my people jus' died because o' listenin' to you."
Short sobs came over the radio.
"All right," Atlas's voice said. "I've made up my mind. I said I was goin' to help ya out o' Rapture, an' I am."
"Keep talkin'."
"We're both after the same thing. Goddamn Andrew Ryan."
Shock and grief were still audible in his voice. His usual sing-song was stuttery and choked.
"Andrew Ryan?"
"That's right. I want my revenge and you want a way back to the surface. Killin' Andrew Ryan's the answer t' both. Ryan keeps a genetic key that controls everythin' down here. The Vita-Chambers, the security bots, and the bathyspheres. Which means only someone with Ryan's genetics can access any of those t'ings. But that can all change if someone switches off the lockdown panel in Ryan's office in Hephaestus."
Evelyn chuckled bitterly.
"So that's all there is to it, then? All we've got t' do is get through Hephaestus, which is crawlin' wit' security and Ryan's personal army of Splicers, I'm sure, and then kill the most powerful man in all o' Rapture."
"I told ya I'd tell ya the one way I knew o' gettin' out o' Rapture, an' I jus' did. It's either that or letting a Daddy escort ya out o' this world an' into the next one. Now, would you kindly head to Ryan's office and kill that son of a bitch?"
Ice clinked into the highball glass, followed by the pale amber liquid from the Lacan bottle. Andrew Ryan could hear footsteps approaching from behind again.
"Yesh?" Completely calmly.
"There was a firefight in the old smuggler's caves," Security Chief Sullivan said. "Splicers only got one of 'em. Blew up a mini-sub. Langford was with there. And I think the intruder was, too."
"In'trrreshting," Ryan said. "Any idea what they were doing therrre?"
"I got a hunch. I think they work for Fontaine. Or used to."
Ryan laughed softly.
"You shpend an awful lot of time, Mishter Sullivan, being haunted by the ghosht of a man you yourrrshelf killed. And now, in the verrry place I was assurred you killed him."
He turned the glass of scotch, catching the reflection of Sullivan fidgeting nervously behind him.
"No," Ryan continued. "I don't think they'rre worrking for a dead man. I think they'rre worrking for Atlas."
He took a large swallow of the Scotch.
"But thish intrruderr. He'sh an unprredictable element. Continue keeping an eye on him, Sullivan."
"Yes, sir."
Ryan watched Sullivan leave, and then turned the glass so he could admire his own satisfied grin.
A/N – Just bought a copy of the novel "Bioshock: Rapture" by John Shirley. After reading the first couple of chapters, I doubt Shirley's vision of Rapture is going to have any influence on mine. Starting with his version of Andrew Ryan being Russian while mine's Scottish.