Partners?

Booker came to consciousness just as he was about to be tossed out of the airship. It was a good 40 feet drop or more, he couldn't discern, his head was still spinning, but he got tossed out all the same. The shock of being in the air brought him back to full awareness before he hit the planks of the pier.

He could hear his bones rattle as he fell flat on his back. His shoulder only added to the pain, making his vision go darker for a second. Stomper Nostrum or Shield were of no use to him here – they made him stronger, but he did not land on his feet, neither was he jumping off the skyline. But they helped in keeping his body together.

He got up slowly, grunting as he tried to shake off the pain. He was still in Finkton, and not far from the dock where they took the First Lady. He heard music being played through the loudspeakers. The slow beat of a waltz, or was it something else? Booker wasn't sure, but it gave steady pace to all workers, as they scrubbed, polished and hammered in step to the music.

This dock was an interesting place, if only because Fink's face and words were everywhere - on billboards, on projector screens and in the air. Sermons about capitalism and endless labor mixed with the music and drone of the machines.

"Now, when someone comes along and tells you, that, you're getting the short end of the stick, do you know what they are really saying? Ha ha, why, they are saying: 'friend, what you do doesn't matter, friend you are being taken for a fool, friend, you're no better than a slave'. Here's what you tell those stuffed shirts, you say: I ain't no slave, I ain't no fool, I am a Fink Man, and proud of it!"

Booker shook his head. This place was really going to drive him crazy if he stayed her any longer than he would need to. The same could be said of Columbia. He was back to square one again.

"Better find Elizabeth before she lights out of here," he said to himself. He rubbed his left temple; hit twice in the same spot wasn't a pleasant experience. Fitzroy he understood, she was determined and had her way of doing things. To her, all those who are not with Vox, must be against it. He did not expect such a reaction from Elizabeth though, thinking her naïve. But as it turned out, the girl was no fool either. He'd rather not fall on the foul side of her temper again.

Booker started slowly walking down the pier, avoiding the gaze of policemen and workers, who seemed to ignore the battered agent. He kept thinking about what happened at the airship. In a way, he felt that he deserved it. Now that the truth was out, he did not have to hide anything from her anymore and despite the nasty bump on his skull he did not feel guilty or deceitful anymore. But he still had a job to do, as the nagging thought of the debt reminded him of it.

Somehow, his pockets were still full of money he collected all over Columbia and he stopped at one of the "Dollar Bill" vending machines. He saw couple of them back in New York. Fancy new things dispensing stamps or cigarettes, but here in Columbia, they dispensed nearly everything. He wondered where they kept all their merchandise. He slotted some coins into the machine and pressed a button for some painkillers. Now he wished he had Elizabeth around, she would find something for him. He doubted he would get back in her good graces again but he had to find her regardless. He took the pills out of the box and swallowed them.

He continued his walk along the Beggars Wharf, as the big sign just below the projector at the top of the warehouse roof made it known. He saw couple of workers in a corridor leading up to another dock, one of them looking at a leaking pipe that ran along the floor and another up on a ladder, cleaning another giant Fink poster, 'Eyes Forward'.

He approached them, but before he could open his mouth, the plumber already replied.

"Looking for someone? I saw that pretty little thing, prowlin' around here, looking for a passage out."

Even though Booker and Elizabeth were seemingly ignored by everyone around them, they must have stood out a lot, since the man gave up the information so easily and made the connection between Booker and her.

Booker merely nodded in reply and moved along. Elizabeth must have been around here not long ago, so that gave him some advantage. He turned around the corner to follow the platform to another warehouse. However, most of the way was barred by a broken cargo containers. Apparently two have crashed while being moved around by a crane and both fell onto the platform, one of them still attached to a crane nearby. One of them broke and spilled its contents – crates of some vigor, in milky-white bottles, with a golden screw-top. Most of it was spilled all over the walkway and the ever-present smell of ether that accompanied all Vigors was very strong. Strangely enough, he could also smell bitter almonds.

In front of the spilled product stood a single clerk, noting down the losses and damage on a clipboard. Booker was cuious about this vigor, he hasn't seen it before. Here was a chance to to get a sample.

Bottles on the ground shimmered and turned into Shock Jockey bottles, before flashing again and turning back into the golden ones. Booker still couldn't get used to this but the clerk apparently noticed nothing.

The clerk was clearly absorbed by his work and the bottles were strewn everywhere. One of them was untouched, still intact and laying just to the side, out of the man's vision. Booker walked over to it slowly and picked it up. He looked at the name of the vigor. The bottle was fairly decorative, just as others were with a screw top in a shape of an open hand that projected beams of energy out of the palm. But that was no clue to him.

"Telekine… now what does it do?"

There was only one way to find out, and Booker uncorked the bottle and gave it an experiemtnal sniff. Ether and bitter almonds, just like the spilled bottles.

He took a deep breath and drained the bottle in one go. He started coughing almost instantly, the liquid was bitter and made him nauseous for a brief moment, messing with his head and sense of balance. He looked at his hands – even though his muscles went limp, they floated in the air in front of him.

Booker felt something rise in his stomach, he felt he would vomit the vigor up, but the nausea and disorientation stopped. Booker started wondering which one of the Vigors he sampled so far was the worst. He knew that this might have not been the last of them.

The clerk reacted to Booker though, upon hearing the bottle dropping and the coughing.

"Hey, what are you doing with the bottles? Who are you?"

Booker couldn't help but groan.

"It's alright pal, I'll be going now."

Booker turned around to leave, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see the face of the clerk, now twisted in the ugly grimace and with golden glow in his eyes and the strange shimmering around him. He gave the man a strong shove but the clerk got up quickly with an animal growl.

Booker felt an itch in his hand stretched it forward. The vigor kicked in almost immediately and Booker lifted one of the crates into the air with telekinesis. The afflicted man only turned briefly to the side to see what was happening before Booker threw the crate at him, knocking him out.

The detective only smiled to himself. Maybe it tasted foul, but it sure was handy.

Now came the cargo crates themselves. Booker found another bottle and drained it, just to make sure he had enough energy to move the container aside. Despite having tried it once, he still felt nauseous with the other bottle. Maybe drinking one after another wasn't such a good idea.

He fought off the queasiness and tested the vigor out once again. The container itself was too heavy, and it would not budge, but the crane it was still attached to gave way and after a moment of pushing with telekinesis Booker managed to make enough space to wedge himself in and slip between the containers. He wasn't sure that the exercise was of any use, but if the dock worker was right, she took this route in her flight from him.

The warehouse just ahead of him was shut, but there was no lock on the gate, so Booker grabbed the handles and gave them a push to slide the doors apart. Through a slit he heard someone speak.

"Get out of here you little snipe!"

Booker moved the door apart more, and saw Elizabeth. She was thrown off an airship by a man, stumbling to the ground as the man pushed her hard.

"You wanna know what we do with pretty little stowaways? Or maybe you don't."

She fell on the platform as the airship moved away. She stood up, but she noticed Booker as he slid the doors open. She didn't even wait for him to come through, but instead ran off down the warehouse.

"Hey!" he yelled after her. "Hey j- ergh, just stop for a minute!"

"Get away from me! Stay away!"

He ran after her, turning left and right on the walkway. Despite her quick feet, Booker was taller and stronger, pulling off bigger steps. He would have caught her if not for a line of crates that jumped in front of him, moving along rails attached to the ceiling of the warehouse.

There is always something in the way, he thought bitterly as he crawled beneath the crates. Why wouldn't she listen to him and stop? Because he lied to her and kidnapped her, for all intents and purposes. Of course. But he had to catch her anyway.

He broke into a run again as he was out from beneath the containers and saw her around the corner, still going hard.

"I just want to talk to you!

"I said stay away!"

They kept running, from one warehouse to another with Booker closing in again. Elizabeth pulled another trick from her sleeve, summoning a tear right in front of Booker's nose. It was balloons and confetti, falling in slow motion through the air. Booker waded straight into them, pushing them aside in slow motion too, as if stuck in a jar of honey.

"Ughhh, ELIZABETH!"

The tear disappeared just as the girl moved away and Booker picked up his pace.

"Get away from me!"

The girl kept running and shouting. There was little he could do.

"Just hold up for a minute!" he cried after her. "I'm not angry with you!"

He could see her again, but that's when she tossed some crates behind her with her powers, obstructing the way. Little did she know, Booker had a solution to that, shoving the boxes away from his path as he ran with telekinesis.

She kept conjuring up tear after tear, this time a marching band that stepped in front of Booker.

"Hey watch out!" he shouted at them to no effect as they stepped forward, playing their instruments. "Move it! Move!" The tear disappeared quickly and Booker continued his pursuit.

"Stay back!" The girl did not relent as she got to a locked gate of an ominous-looking complex, with Columbia Authority written just above the doors. But neither of them paid attention. She started picking at the lock, while Booker was stopped by another tear, this time of a freight train running just past his face.

"Whoah! God damn it!

Just as the tear faded again, Elizabeth had already opened the gate.

"I am not going with you!"

She ran ahead, mindless of her surroundings, looking only for an exit. However, Booker followed her and noticed that they were far from a safe place as they inadvertently entered a security outpost. As she got to a wall with no exit in sight, she opened up a tear to the other side, stepping through.

"Wait! Don't go in there!"

"I have no need of one such as you!"

That's when two grunts grabbed her as she appeared next to them and the tear closed. Booker could hear them struggle with her.

"We have the girl! Call it in, call it in!"

"No, let me go!"

The voices were muffled as they came from behind the wall, but Booker lost her to the police. He had to act, and fast.

"There's gotta be another way in," he said to himself.

He looked around the room, desks and filing cabinets all around, but in the corner behind a wall he spotted a weapon rack with rifles on it. He picked up one, checked it and made sure it was loaded. He didn't get much chance to use rifles or other army weapons when he was with in Pinks, but it would be a lie if one said that DeWitt could not shoot well. He rummaged through the desks and filing cabinets for a brief moment, picking up ammunition and the odd coin. He followed the door to a pier and outer ring of the fort, hearing the struggle and the desperation of the young woman against the soldiers.

"Requested troops are on their way. Keep a close watch… A handyman should arrive soon to collect her." The PA system announcer made it clear that Booker had little time left.

He got up the stairs to a storage area above the courtyard of the fort. There he found a bottle of Devil's Kiss, which he drained quickly. The soldiers were yet to notice him, and he readied a fireball to toss at tow troopers standing below.

"WON'T YOU BE QUIET! My patience is done run out!"

Just across the courtyard, he could see her. Behind the glass, being held by two men and struggling against them. He could hear their talk, their shouts. Then one of them slapped her and they shoved her to the ground hard.

This made his blood boil. That moment alone reminded him why, despite all the misgivings about the job and the life-threatening situations he stuck with it. He was doing it to sort his own debt out, true, but there was more to it. It was the image of a girl, just as he saw it back in the tower. Being held captive, abused, made less than a person.

He dashed a fireball at a pair of soldiers below, setting them both on fire instantly, before jumping on skyline that ran above the yard of the fort. Soldiers started spilling from the inside of the fort, but Booker already zipped ahead to the other side and begun laying fire on them from above. One man was zapped and his head exploded like a watermelon when shot with the rifle. Another died a charred corpse as fire from Devils' kiss engulfed him.

A brave couple of troopers joined Booker on the upper level, but he only gave them a brief glance before lifting them both with Bronco and throwing them off the platform with a crate he lifted with telekinesis, plunging them to their deaths. That's when the requested support arrived in a form of an airboat, its sentry gun laying fire to Booker's position, accompanied by grenades that flew with a high-pitched whistle. Booker jumped on the skyline again and circled around, avoiding the mortar and the sentry. He then jumped off to a far end of the courtyard and begun returning fire. Rifle's range made sure that he would not get hit, and even though the grenadier was armored in massive plates, it didn't take long to take him out.

The sentry proved to be the worst pain of all, spitting accurate fire as Booker approached it, ducking behind crates and trying to shoot back. There was too much time wasted on wearing it down, so he decided to do the quickest thing. He jumped back onto the skyline and started firing with one hand, while the speed of the ride covered him from fire. Normally, he would not do such a thing, shooting one-handed while riding like that was an idiocy. He knew that as a shooter, but sure enough, the nostrum he found not too long ago improved his reflexes and aim while riding on a skyline. Booker didn't think much of it, but enjoyed the effectiveness of the tonics as he took the turret out and zipped along back to upper level where Elizabeth was held captive.

He reloaded his weapon and slung it on his shoulder. It was time to rescue the girl again. As he approached the holding cell and slid the doors open, she opened up a new tear, bringing in a skyline, which she used to slip away from Booker. Apparently the girl did not want to be rescued.

"Elizabeth, Wait!" he cried after her, running towards the skyline that shimmered black and white.

"I am not going with you!"

He latched onto it and followed her, the black-and white skyline leading them down to an airboat platform. It seemed that there was nothing that would stop her, not even the fact that DeWitt just saved her skin. His luck, he figured, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry with her. He was annoyed and exasperated, but he had to get her back.

He jumped off the skyline at the platform and rushed to her, as she stood at the edge of the platform at the departure point.

That's when he felt a massive hand swoop down from above, pushing him back. It sent him back reeling, as his vision went blurry from the blow. He fell and the mechanical construct – a man entombed in a suit of metal, similar to the one he saw displayed at the carnival - jumped off the wall and stood in front of him. It happened too fast for the agent to react; he couldn't reach for a gun or engage any of his Vigors as the Handyman reached out with its enormous hands and grabbed Booker by his coattails. He was still in shock when the monstrosity swung its arm around and flung him far over the edge.

He hit a cargo crate suspended in the air, hanging on the ropes from a crane, as it moved slowly through the air. Elizabeth stood on a boat and moved away from the platform, but Booker could not see it, as he took in the pain of the meeting with the crate, knocking the wind out of him. He hit the side with his hand splayed over the top and he clawed desperately at it to hold on. He managed to grasp the groove at the edge and pull himself up onto the top, but the Handyman was not yet done with him. The crate moved slowly upward, following the boat when the golem tossed a metal disc, cutting the ropes of the crane.

The ropes snapped and sent Booker falling yet again as the container now hung from two ropes. It still moved up, but there was nothing for him to latch onto. The crate spilled its contents and Booker fell alongside them, seeing nothing but jagged points of smokestacks and a sea of dark haze below him.

It was then when felt a cushion. Or at least he imagined he felt a cushion as he had "fallen" onto it. His momentum suddenly slowed down as if he hit a deep, soft mattress and was suspended in the air. He then started floating upwards, towards the platform where a woman in a blue dress and a jacket stood. She glared at him with detestation writ large on her face, her large eyes narrowed into two slits.

"I saved you, but that does not mean anything. Do not attempt to follow me, Mr DeWitt."

She must have been quite angry, as she had him in the air with her mind alone, no gesture or hand brought forward, no blood from her nose or sweat on her brow. As far as he knew, Booker hung above an abyss on a whim of an infuriated woman. If there ever was a time to be gentle and careful, it was now. She turned on her heel and had her back turned to him. He wondered how long would she keep him in the air before her temper cooled down or before she got annoyed with him enough to drop him.

"Elizabeth, w-wait, I made an arrangement to get our airship back!" Booker begun meekly, trying to sound enthusiastic about what he was about to say.

"You can get us out of here?" She turned around to face him.

"Yes, I just need to supply enough weapons to arm an entire uprising." He trailed off, quite conscious of the ludicrousness of the idea.

Elizabeth took a step back, waving her finger. "And where will we get those weapons? From one of our many friends and allies?" She threw her arms up, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"A gunsmith in Finkton. Should be walk in the park. What do you say? Partners?" He was desperate to get his feet on a solid footing.

"You are a liar, Mr DeWitt, and a thug. But you are also my only means of reaching Paris."

She considered her options in front of him, and gave him another upset look before grabbing hold of Booker's hand that he brought forward both in gesture of shaking hands as "partners" but also to get on to the solid footing of the platform. She pulled him in, still in the air and then unceremoniously dropped him on the floor of the platform.

Booker got up and exhaled. Despite the sprains and aches he continued accumulating, he felt relieved.

"Don't get too comfortable with my company, Mr DeWitt. You are means to an end, no more."

The young woman did not hide her continued displeasure. She probably wanted to make sure that he would not get any wrong ideas, most likely because she was so forward with him before. And despite the tone, he could hear a hint of disappointment, that flash of disillusionment in her eyes when she looked at him. He was no longer a knight in shining armor that rescued her, not that he aspired to be one. He told her it was just a thing he did because he had to. But it stung him nevertheless in its own small, frustrating way. He repeatedly told himself he does not care that much, yet here he was mulling over it.

He shook his head to get the restless thoughts out and looked around the platform. It was still Finkton, but not a part that looked as open as the station they came to from the side of Columbia. This place seemed to take people from the surface too, if a gondola leading to a big floating pavilion on the left was any indication.

Despite the apparent removal of Columbia from the surface, the place was crowded with workers and immigrants, all waiting their turn to get inside the "Worker Induction Center", saying goodbyes to their families and friends.

At the first glance the place looked inviting, with its gleaming white-gold façade, happy faces on the posters and the periodic announcements and encouragement from the tycoon himself though the crackling loudspeakers. But Booker saw enough strikes on the ground and what Finkton looks like from the inside to know that this was just that, a façade.

Booker could see more of the green-clad security guards standing around the edges of the platform and the doors, looking out carefully, but they apparently ignored them.

The pair quietly pushed though the people standing in front and entered the hall of the induction Center. They descended a small set of stairs and entered a large hall, with a statue of a happy family in bronze, looking forward to a "Future in Finkton!" Booker was not interested in that, but instead turned to his head to look at an advertisement that Elizabeth pointed at, just on the right of the entrance.

"That would be your gunsmith?" The ad announced that Chen-Lin offered a variety of weapons and maintenance services for guns. The prices looked reasonable too.

"Who sent you to find this person?"

"Daisy Fitzroy" Booker replied without batting an eyelid.

"She's either a great hero or the worst of scoundrels, depending on who's doing the telling." Elizabeth commented in her usual bookish fashion.

"If she's good for an airship, I don't care if she's the Queen of Holland."

Fitzroy wasn't his fight. He didn't care whether she was right or wrong. She was just one more obstacle to be scaled.

They passed into another hall, full of desks, guards, clerks and unemployed alike. There seemed to be some problems as the people seemed disgruntled and the clerks annoyed.

"Sorry sir, but I was led to understand that there was work here. All my forms are in order"

"Be it as it may, we are at a quota."

"B-But I spent all I had left on a jitney form Baxton-town, sir!"

"Well, were taking on…"

They could see a gate to Finkton at the end of the hall, but the gate was shut tight and police kept out anyone trying to approach it. An automaton behind the glass at the gate repeated the clerks' announcements about lack of jobs and lack of access to Finkton.

They slowly stopped short of entering the crowd at the gate.

"How are we going to get into Finkton?"

"Illegally. Let's look for another way in," he stated. "I am the roguhish type after all, aren't am I?" He added jokingly, but Elizabeth only yawned. Booker sighed.

She followed him around to the back of the office space, out of sight of the clerks and the policemen and they started rummaging through the desks and filing cabinets.

Neither of them was sure what they were looking for, but picking up money, Vigor bottles, the odd lock pick and other small stuff gave them some time to get used to each other again. Or rather give her the time. Booker found it ironic that ever since the airship, their attitudes swapped – now she was the reluctant one in their duo.

As they were behind the counter space, Booker couldn't help overhearing a conversation. Unlike ordinary office banter, this one seemed important.

"I'm sick of these illiterate peons, coming over here every day."

"Well, you better hope it's just them and not a bunch of crazies like at Induction Center 19. They tore the place apart. People literally turned mad on the spot. And all had that shine in their eyes."

"I hear you. I bought myself a gun recently, and it's not the Vox I'm worried about…"

They got to another office space, this time locked away.

"Elizabeth?"

"On it."

She worked on the lock without hesitation but the enthusiasm was gone from her voice. No doubt she enjoyed the task but she wasn't showing any of it to Booker anymore.

They entered the office on the far end of the hall and begun looking through items stored there. Strangely enough the place held medical supplies and ammunition. But if the clerk's earlier comment was anything to go by, the city as a whole was growing more unstable. Booker found it unsurprising to see a loaded shotgun stowed away under a desk. He picked it up, checked the ammo and took it with him.

On a desk nearby another Nostrum had found its way to him. Booker took it and looked at it carefully. The label didn't say much about what kind of effect it had, apart from "Pot Luck solution" at the bottom and a list of potential effects. Three of them were made most prominent, with a severe warning about lasting consequences. Unlike other tonics that claimed to be adjustable, this bottle seemed to be of an earlier production run and with little indication to its properties.

"Elizabeth, would you happen to know anything about those?" Booker showed her the bottle, but she only glanced at it briefly before giving Booker a short reply.

"No, Mr DeWitt, I do not. Let's just hope it doesn't burn your guts out."

He sighed and drunk it. He shrugged off the nasty taste and the queasiness in his stomach before sneaking out of the office. He would learn of the actual effect later, once he was fighting or on the skyline.

They slipped down a flight of stairs to what seemed to be a service area and Elizabeth quickly unlocked it too.

"Over there… a service elevator. Should take us down to Finkton." She pointed to a sign and down to the large room below, where the elevator was located.

"And get us killed in the bargain" Booker commented as he saw a motorized patriot and a company of guards and policemen looking around carefully. The events of the last few days must have stepped up the security considerably.

Booker took a quick glance around the space yet again and considered sneaking past the policemen and the machine, but it seemed unlikely to be done. There was no space or path for them to hide, but on the other hand, Elizabeth seemed to be willing to fight, be it with her tears or her abilities.

The patriot stood in place in the middle of the room, its gears slowly turning. Luckily, it stood with it back turned to them, as they looked over the open room from the top.

"Booker, do you think you can hit him" Elizabeth whispered as the pointed at the patriot. "I've got an idea. Do you wan me to try?"

"If it makes my job easier, go ahead."

She stood up, made sure that they are not looking at her and put her hands together, aiming at the patriot. A white-gold beam of light shot out of her hands hitting the robot in the back. At first it had no effect, but after a second, the gears got soft as they heated up and the automaton started making unpleasant grinding noise as its inner gears started deforming from heat. That's when Booker leaned out and put a couple of well-placed shots into the weakened gears.

He couldn't get a better result as the patriot exploded in a shower of metal bits and smoke, peppering the guards with shrapnel and sparks. But fireworks had the effect of summoning every living soul into the room. However, Booker was already prepared.

He continued firing on the policemen, who still reeled form the Patriot explosion, and stopped those that assaulted them form the upstairs with a well placed Bronco. He switched to shotgun and brought most of the group down as they floated in the air.

"Booker, on the left!"

Truth was, there were more men around that Booker could have possibly handled at that moment. Some of them noticed Elizabeth and started approaching her. He ran for the stairs to stop the group of men that wasn't taken out by Patriot shrapnel and pushed one of them down the stairs with a hard shove. He stumbled backwards and fell on top of the others, giving Booker the needed space.

But the guards weren't helpless, as they returned fire at Booker. He dodged as much as he could, but felt a sharp sting in his right leg; no doubt a bullet cut him there. But they were clumped together, so Booker brought his left hand forward and tossed a fireball down to them, setting them ablaze.

They descended the stairs and Booker finished them off with the shotgun, while Elizabeth did her part by lifting one chair with telekinesis and smashing it on one of the remaining guards, whose uniform was still ablaze.

They both eased up and took deep breaths. While still in sour mood, Elizabeth did not look at Booker with hate anymore. She did not smile, but he could see in her eyes that she eased up on him. If there was one thing Booker knew well from his life in New York, it was that people met in tough places make for quick friends. Besides, if she tried to spite him, they both would be dead. For all of her temperament, she still remained level-headed when situation called for it.

Booker reloaded the shotgun and bent down to look at his leg. He felt more sharp pain as he went on his knee – adrenaline made him oblivious to most of the wounds he took.

Elizabeth quickly took note of that, and without a word brought over a doctor's bag that she saw stowed under one of the tables.

Booker sat down at one of the many desks in the room while she quickly went over to dress his wounds. She still didn't say anything, but Booker wasn't going to push for anything either. He did wonder though: she was hell-bent on Paris, he had to get her to New York. Would she wrench him again once they were back on the airship or would they come to some compromise? Could they even compromise about those two locations separated by Atlantic?

"Done." She said flatly and got up. Booker got up too and both of them set about exploring the place. It appeared to be a back room office, with clerk stations as well as a big desk with stacks of papers and a safe behind it by the large window in a separate room. As Booker took to rifling though the desk, taking a Vigor bottle that stood there alongside with money and supplies, Elizabeth's attention was captured by a poster in the corner of the office.

"Gunsmith Chen-Lin… wanted for known connections with the outlaw Daisy Fitzroy."

"Looks like our guy has drawn attention"

"That's not good, is it?"

"No," Booker just about finished pocketing the last of ammunition. He turned around at tapped at the safe behind him.

"Do you think you can do this one?"

"Sure thing."

Booker took part in some fairly shady affairs back in the day and knew about people who cracked safes in banks, but she made it look almost effortless. While not too sure on the details, Booker assumed that safes and locked doors differed somehow. But not to her.

The roguish pair emptied the steel box and stuffed their pockets with silver before they set off for the service elevator. Booker pressed the button and the elevator came to life, slowly but surely coming up.

While they waited, Elizabeth wandered off to a nearby locker, opened up ever so slightly. The inquisitive girl took a peek inside.

"Booker, its Slate's locker. He must have worked here."

And surely enough, the locker had the usual military overalls and some patriotic trinkets. But the most interesting item was a notebook that Elizabeth picked up.

"Slate's diary… it looks like he wrote something about me."

She started reading aloud from the diary.

"The early experiments went awry and Comstock had reservations about locking the girl up, but Fink already saw the profit in it. They both wanted to hide her from Washington's gaze, but after the First Lady died, Comstock lost it and declared total war on Fitzroy. Fink couldn't be happier. The ginger woman told me all about it, no doubt Washington will learn of it soon. But I will be prepared."

She looked distraught as she finished the passage.

"They kept me here, like an exhibit. This whole city, designed to hide me…"

"Elizabeth…" he wanted to say something, but he was lost for words himself.

"I just want to get out of this city, please," her voice was laced with desperation, but she sounded resolute. What the notebook stated explained a lot of what Booker already gleaned from the assaults and the notes. There were too many people interested in her; there was no way they could slip out of this without a bigger scrap. But they had to try.

They heard a short bell and the lift opened up as it arrived. Road to Finkton was open.