Chapter XI: Searching
"Finkton... This is the place. The gunsmith is in here." Booker and Elizabeth had been wandering through the skylines attempting to find the Fink headquarters. Booker had filled in Elizabeth on their way. They were looking for an Asian man named Chen Lin. He apparently had a shop on the Fink grounds, he specialized in making guns.
The Vox took over the First Lady after Crenshaw and Elizabeth escaped. Booker met Daisy Fitzroy, the head of the Vox. She had struck a deal with DeWitt, if he wanted his ship back he would have to help them. That's when he was informed of Chen Lin, now he just had to find him.
"This place is... Wow." The factory appeared humongous judging by just the front entrance. Booker pushed open the doors. This had been the only place in the city that Booker had not seen Columbian propaganda. The only posters were ones promoting Fink Industries, telling people how to be good workers and such. The walls and floors were paneled with fine wood.
Crenshaw's absence was strange for the two. It was still unknown where he was, and there were no leads. Alistair was the bridge between the two. Booker was not exactly interested in forging some kind of friendship. Friendship had gotten him into this situation, the drinking, the gambling. As far as he was concerned, they never helped in the long run.
The two went down the hall of the welcoming center only to find a crowd of people around a set of elevators. Police officers were attempting to gain some sort of command on the group. A Fink spokesman was at a podium, waving his hands to the people. "People, people calm yourselves! Jobs may not be available today, but that does not mean they will not be around in the future! Mr. Fink is a man of his word, he will provide the less fortunate with a honest, hardworking job!"
"I'm sure the people believe that." Booker dryly stated.
"If the gunsmith is supposed to be past there, how are we going to get through the crowd?" Elizabeth asked, arms crossed.
"We'll go around. That has to be another way." Booker looked around the room, using the crowd as concealment. He saw a door a little ways away with a lock on it. He motioned to Elizabeth and the two made their way over. He gave a hand movement towards the door, to which Elizabeth rolled her eyes. The girl bent down and fiddled around with a lock pick, eventually watching the door open. Booker pushed the door open and let Elizabeth through first before walking in and closing the door behind him.
It was strange for the two to be traveling in silence. Crenshaw usually did his best to reduce awkwardness, but he obviously wasn't there. Booker knew the two of them were thinking the same. Where the hell was Alistair? There was no real clue as to his whereabouts. He could have been taken anyone. He could have been killed and they never would have known.
They continued down a flight of stairs. "You said something about sneaking around?" Elizabeth asked. DeWitt peered over the handrail. On the lower lever was a grouping of Columbian soldiers with a Patriot. There was no way to sneak past to get to the elevators, impossible.
Booker sighed, this would be a little tougher without Crenshaw around. "There goes that plan. Shit, get ready for a fight." DeWitt readied a shock jockey in one hand, bucking bronco in the other. He had found a shipping crate opened before coming upon Alistair and Elizabeth, it was filled with Shock jockey, so he helped himself.
DeWitt stood up and unleashed the bronco, watching as several of the soldiers flew into the air, while others dove for cover. Before giving them a chance to react, he used shock jockey. The lighting bolt struck the patriot, and bounced around between the floating soldiers. Booker felt himself get weaker; he didn't have many salts left. He had a machine gun and carbine with him, and quickly opened up with the carbine. He concentrated on the weakened enemies in the air first because they were easy targets.
One by one, the soldiers went down in a burst of blood. DeWitt hit the ground as the patriot began opening fire. "Booker catch!" Elizabeth called out. DeWitt rolled over to see a bottle of salts flying at him. He caught it and quickly drank the bottle. Two men with batons charged up the stairs and made their way to DeWitt. Rolling over to his back, Booker unleashed his machine gun. He didn't release the trigger as the machine gun tore through the soldiers, they had no chance. Dark red patches oozed through their blue uniform as they both dropped to the ground.
The patriot had not moved, but it was continually laying down fire. "Mr. DeWitt!" Booker watched as Elizabeth waved her hand, seemingly opening up a tear. He didn't immediately realize the effects until he saw a chandelier hanging right above the patriot. "Shoot it!" Elizabeth called out.
"Good idea!" DeWitt got out of cover, carbine in hand. He fired two rounds into the chain holding up the chandelier. It quickly tumbled to the ground, knocking down the patriot in the process. Booker threw a Devil's Kiss at the downed patriot and watched as the chandelier exploded onto of the machine. The balls of magma soared in to all areas. The few remaining soldiers attempted to dive out of the path of fire.
DeWitt concentrated fire on the patriot first. He shot its back repeatedly, making sure to put it down. Still on the ground, it's head exploded as the bullets tore its inner workings apart. Booker ejected the magazine and quickly slammed in a new one. He equipped his machine gun and ran down the stairs, wanting to finish off the soldiers in closer combat.
There were only three left, the odds were in DeWitt's favor. One soldier attempted to flank him from a side room, but Booker immediately saw what he was doing. He ran towards the exit and readied himself. As the soldier proceeded to jump out, DeWitt struck out with his machine gun, catching the man along the face. With the soldier now on the ground, Booker opened fire, riddling the man's body with bullets. A pool of blood gradually spread all over the wooden floor.
The two others began to jump out of cover, but Booker was ready. He slowly advanced towards them, letting loose on the machine gun. Several bullets clipped his shield, but it held up. He got in close and grabbed his skyhook tightly with his left hand. He lurched out to the first man, slicing him across the throat. The blood shot out and he grabbed his throat before crumbling in a pile on the floor. The second man froze momentarily, seeing his friend die, Booker took the opportunity. He stuck the man's neck between the blades and cranked the skyhook. The soldier's neck snapped immediately and he fell lifeless to the floor.
All was silent except the Fink propaganda blaring over a loudspeaker. Booker sighed and looked around, the silence after battle… Crenshaw would say something obnoxious right now. Booker couldn't believe he was thinking what Alistair would be doing, it appears that annoying bounty hunter made this just a little bit easier for everyone.
Elizabeth walked down stairs and stood next to Booker. She didn't say anything, just waited for DeWitt's next move. Booker actually liked it better when she was chatty, now she… she was becoming more human. He led her to an adjoining room with several desks and an elevator. There were lockers that belonged to workers along a wall. Booker assumed the elevator would take them on the next part of their journey.
Booker hit the elevator button and backed up to wait. Elizabeth passed by and went to a wall of lockers. One was currently ajar, so she peered in. "Booker... It's Slate's locker. He must have worked here." She opened the door all the way and rummaged through the belongings. She picked up a book, appearing surprised by it. "What... This is my mother's diary. Why would Slate have it?"
Booker crossed his arms and leaned up against a wall. "A good question."
Elizabeth began to read the diary. "'My husband claims the child was created from cloth by divine will. I am a believer but not a fool. His... Bastard... Shall not be raised under this roof'. My mother... She's the one who had me locked in that tower!" She closed the book and looked at DeWitt.
"Elizabeth..."
"I just want to find Alistair and get out of this city. Please."
The elevator arrived and the doors opened. Booker looked between the girl and the elevator. "I'll try my best." He didn't want to make promises he wouldn't be able to keep for certain.
The two walked in and DeWitt hit the button once more. The elevator lurched up before slowly descending.
A speaker slowly cracked to life. "Greetings, this is Jeremiah Fink, and I want to share with you my personal creed. What is the most admirable creature on God's green earth? Why, it's the bee! Have you ever seen a bee on vacation? Have you ever seen a bee take a sick day? Well my friends, the answer is no! So I say be… the bee! Be the bee!"
As soon as the message ended, the elevator came to an abrupt stop. A phone on the wall of the elevator began to ring. Elizabeth and Booker exchanged confused looks. "Well… I guess I'll answer it." DeWitt thought to himself. He placed his thumb on the button and answered. "Uh… hello?" Elizabeth leaned toward the phone and placed her hair behind her ear.
"Mr. DeWitt?" A female voice asked.
"Um, yes?"
"Hold for Mr. Fink please." The response surprised DeWitt. Fink knew he was he here? How did he? Could he be responsible for the soldiers that took Alistair?
"What's going on?" Elizabeth asked, obviously confused by the situation.
A male voice came on the phone, it was Fink, no mistake in that. Booker had gotten tired of hearing his voice in all the propaganda. "DeWitt? Fink here. Listen my boy… we've had our eye on you and I can tell you right now, you're our top candidate!" Booker and Elizabeth both raised eyebrows, lifting a hand in a 'What?' motion. "Top indeed! Now my associate, Mr. Flambeau will help you with anything you need." Fink began to chuckle. The phone call ended and the two looked to each other.
"What the hell was that?" Elizabeth asked.
"I have no idea."
"He seemed oddly pleased to make your acquaintance." Elizabeth's response had a hint of sarcasm as she made an exaggerated arm motion.
The elevator started up once again and proceeded downwards. The glass wall of the elevator revealed the bright July sky. Booker couldn't help but whistle as they saw a large gold statue of Fink. Elizabeth spoke up, "Well, the man's got an ego."
Booker scoffed, "You could say that again." As the elevator descending they saw the lifestyle of Fink employees. A large clock was centered in a room they could view. The clock was divided up into portions with words. A majority of the clock said 'work', taking up well more then half of it. The rest of the clock was divided into much smaller portions that said: sleep, hygiene, and food. Booker thought of what kind of lifestyle these people must lead. The two witnessed as men rushed down halls and were given in orders on the day.
The elevator slowly came to a stop, the doors opened. The two exited the elevator. A man was standing in front if two large wooden double doors. His arms were behind his back and he had a suit on. DeWitt and Elizabeth cautiously walked towards him. To the man's left was a table with various resources. Two large magnum revolvers with ammo, salts, heath kits, and plenty of money. "Like a kid in a candy store." Booker said.
The man, probably Mr. Flambeau spoke up. "Mr. DeWitt, Mr. Fink has left these items for your benefit, I hope you'll utilize them."
Booker didn't exactly trust the situation, he kept his eye on the man as he approached the table. He put the pistol from his shoulder holster and placed the revolver in it's place. He began to pocket the money when Elizabeth spoke up.
"What does Mr. Fink want with us?"
"With all due respect, Mr. Fink wants nothing with you, only Mr. DeWitt." Upon hearing this, the two swapped confused looks. "I'm sure Mr. Fink would like to explain himself."
DeWitt drank down the salts and placed the bottle back down. "There sure is a lot here." Booker said, talking about the large amount of items still on the table.
"That would be because you no longer have..." The man stopped himself abruptly. Booker stopped what he was doing and faced the man.
"We no longer what?" DeWitt slowly walked towards Flambeau. The man was sweating, his forehead glistening. Booker took out his revolver with his right hand. "Finish the sentence. No longer have what? Or who? A third person?" Flambeau swallowed loudly. DeWitt charged the man and pinned him to the wall with his left forearm.
"Tell me where he is Dammit or I'll blow your head clean off your shoulders." He pressed the barrel of the hand cannon to the man's head. Elizabeth was surprised by Booker's reaction, and rushed to his side.
"Booker what are you doing?!"
"This guy knows where Crenshaw is!" He pressed down harder onto the man's throat.
In between gasps of air, Flambeau attempted to respond. "I assure you, Mr. DeWitt, I have no idea who you are speaking of."
Elizabeth got closer to the pinned down Flambeau. "Please, sir, if you know where Mr. Crenshaw is, please tell us."
The man looked at Elizabeth from the corner of his eye. He spoke, gritting through his teeth. "There is nothing I will tell you."
"Then you're useless." DeWitt pulled back his revolver and smashed along Flambeau's head. The man crashed to the floor and didn't move, but DeWitt didn't care for his condition. He turned to Elizabeth. "He has to be here. We are going to find Chen Lin; maybe he'll know something. And from there we'll hope for the best."
"Booker." Elizabeth said. Booker turned to face the girl, she appeared to be tripping over her words. She eventually shook her head, telling him to ignore her. He nodded in response.
'We'll get him." With that, he opened up one of the large doors and walked outside. Music was playing over speakers softly. A man was standing on a stage hosting some sort of bidding war with a group of about fifteen. Soldiers were walking around slowly, not exactly giving one hundred percent with guard duty. They were talking to each other and not really paying attention their surroundings.
"Where do we start?" Elizabeth asked. There appeared to be several warehouses in the area. The walls didn't allow Booker to get an idea of how big this place may truly be.
"I guess we just walk around and go from there." Booker and Elizabeth walked down a set of stairs and began to examine the work area. The workers who were bidding were bidding on work. DeWitt found the scenario interesting. They were placing hours in exchange for work. Whoever could finish the job the quickest got it.
Most of the warehouse doors were locked, which made sense, but DeWitt still wanted to investigate. He felt as if Crenshaw could be in any of these buildings. Or he could have been completely long gone.
"Mr DeWitt?" Elizabeth started. DeWitt paid no attention initially, he was busy scanning the area. "Booker!"
The Pinkerton spun around to look at the girl. "What is it Elizabeth?" His voice was impatient and irritated, as if the conversion itself was wasting too much time.
"Slow down for a second, please."
"Slow down? You're the one who wanted to find Crenshaw quickly. We need to find Chen Lin as well! Im just trying to get us outta here," Elizabeth thought he was getting flustered, but he still showed little emotion.
"I know but rushing around won't help. You told me to calm down, and I think it's my turn to ask you to calm down."
Booker raised an eyebrow. He hadn't thought of how he's been reacting. He needed to realize what was the goal here. "I am calm."
"You could've killed that man, Booker! You smashed his head with your gun! I think losing Alistair has affected you too but you're just afraid to admit it," Elizabeth's words weren't meant to taunt, rather to open his eyes.
DeWitt wasn't sure how to respond at first, he contemplated his words in his head. "He's a good ally."
Elizabeth crossed her arms and sighed. "Did you ever think he could be a good friend also?"
Booker couldn't believe they were having this conversation. Crenshaw hadn't even been gone for more then an hour, and they were talking as if he was gone for good. DeWitt gave a second to let the words sink in. A friend? DeWitt didn't have friends. He was in the long haul by himself, for himself. When he had worked for the Pinkertons he had co-workers, but he friends? He never considered it. Not people who would stick their neck out for him. DeWitt shook his head. "He may have my back in a fire fight, but he's not my friend. I don't need friends. I need people who can handle themselves.
Elizabeth released a let down breath and put her arms back to her side. She was hoping to get somewhere with that conversation, but obviously Booker wasn't willing to budge. She wanted to help Booker out, he was a suffering man similar to Alistair, and she felt she could do something about it. However, she'd never be able to do anything if he didn't open up.
"This must be the place." Booker said, changing the topic. They were standing in front of another building. A sign was hanging across the roof, stating 'Chen Lin Weaponry'. Their was an opening that led to a small room. DeWitt peered around, setting nothing out of the ordinary. There were tools strewn around the shop and on a large work bench. A set of double doors were closed at the other end.
"This must lead to the rest of the shop," DeWitt commented as he pushed one door open. The two walked in and looked around. It was... Eerily quiet. A furnace was burning at the opposite end of the room, with a staircase to their right. The duo made their way up the stairs slowly.
"Isn't this strange?" Elizabeth asked.
"What do you mean?"
"This is a gunsmith's working area, shouldn't it be... I don't know, louder?"
Booker looked back briefly. "I was actually thinking the same thing." They came upon a shrine of some sort. A gold statue was on top of a table, candles were lit around it.
"I've read about this…" Elizabeth started, pointing at the statue. "That's Gautama Buddha."
Booker stopped to stare the statue. "Who?"
"The founder of Buddhism. He spent forty-nine days under a Bodhi tree until he achieved enlightenment." The left the shrine and continued up the stares.
"Interesting. Something tells me, Comstock doesn't cater to idols being worshipped that ain't him." Booker replied. They got to the top floor, but it was empty as well. Work benches various objects strewn about, but no sign of Lin. "Hello? Chen Lin? Anyone here?"
"What happened here?"
"Someone worked this place over. Local constabulary no doubt." Booker sifted through the items, seeing if there was anything that would help locate Chen Lin. He stopped when he heard a noise coming from a lower level, sounded like someone crying.
"Do you hear that? There's someone downstairs." Elizabeth said. She didn't wait for Booker and headed straight down. Booker dropped what he was doing and chased after her down the stairs.
A woman was praying at the shrine they just passed. She was Asian, dressed in a modest gown. "Uh… excuse me?" Booker lifted a hand, trying to get the woman's attention. "Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but we're looking for Mr. Lin? Mr. Chen Lin?"
The woman responded in broken English, her accent was thick. "Mr. Lin, not here. He… gone." The woman, who Booker assumed to be Mrs. Lin, was speaking between tears. Elizabeth walked closer and put a hand on her back, trying to comfort her. "They take, flying squad. I pray to Buddha. Pray give husband back. Give back to May Lin."
"Where did they take him?" Elizabeth asked, holding Mrs. Lin's hand.
"Club. Everyone take to Good Time Club."
"Ma'am where is this club?" The woman ignored Booker's question and put her face in her hands, beginning to cry more. "Ma'am please, where is…"
"Booker we'll find it. Leave her be." Elizabeth said, cutting him off. Booker shrugged and headed down the stairs, behind them, Booker could hear Mrs. Lin speaking to herself.
"Why no Vox Populi help Chen Lin? Why not Daisy Fitzroy help Chen Lin?" That statement let DeWitt know exactly what kind of person Fitzroy was, she was no better then Comstock as far as he was concerned.
"What did she mean by flying squads?" Elizabeth questioned.
"Cops most likely. The kind that probably have their throat to Chen Lin's throat right now, asking him what he knows about Daisy Fitzroy." Booker knew how that game worked, all too well.
"Isn't she the one we're working for?" Elizabeth's voice held the slightest bit of concern.
"As a matter of fact, yes she is. Small world. Anyway, let's figure out where this Good Time Club is."
"Slate, answer my questions." The interrogator leaned over the table and snapped his fingers in front of Captain Slate. "Why were you snooping around our grounds? Why were you by yourself?" The Captain had been in a daze, the group had worked him over pretty well. Slate's shirt was stained with blood, and a few of his teeth were missing. The interrogator stood up. "I heard great stories of you Slate. I was told you were supposed to be some kind of great warrior! Right now I'm looking at an old man who probably pisses himself!"
The interrogator bent down to be eye level with Slate. He had heard about how the Hall of Heroes had been defaced. "You're no tin man are you?"
Slate's eyes grew wide and he slammed his hands on the table. "Tin man! Tin man!" The interrogator laughed at Slate's reaction, most of the men knew by know how that set him off. He punched Slate across the face and kicked his chair over. He grabbed the Captain by his shirt and tightened his grip.
"Ok tin man! Answer me! How are the Vox getting their hands on Mr. Fink's workers!?"
The Captain gave the interrogator a blank stare. He only whispered now. "Tin man…" The interrogator slammed him back to the ground and stood off. He rolled down his sleeves and buttoned up the cuffs before. "Such an old fool." He scoffed.
He turned his attention to the hallway as he heard the sound of boots. He stood in the doorway and crossed his arms. Two soldiers were dragging a man under his arms, The Mask was trailing behind. "Sir, new blood?" The interrogator asked.
The mask turned to him, "You could say that, yes. Wrap up your session with Slate, this one is our new priority."
"Yes, sir." The interrogator walked back into the room and stood above the Captain. "You hear that Slate? We got new meat, that mean's I can't concentrate on you anymore. I know you're heart broken, but I am very wanted. Don't worry though, I'll be back.
The interrogator cracked his knuckles and slammed the door to Slate's cell and walked down the hall. The Mask was standing outside the door, arms crossed. "Keep him restrained, he's much more skilled then our usual guest." The Mask said. The interrogator peered over his superior's shoulder to view the prisoner. It was a white male. His dress shirt and vest were covered in blood. His head was hung low and he was making very little movement. The two soldiers began to undo his handcuffs so they could shackle him to the ceiling.
The interrogator was surprised to see the man move as fast as he did. He lashed out with an elbow to the first guard's face and got behind the second. He snapped the soldier's neck and the body dropped lifelessly. The interrogator had his baton in hand and was prepared to assault the prisoner, but the Mask had reacted first. The Mask extended his hand and shot a bolt of lightning out. The electricity made contact with the man and he immediately dropped to his knees, holding his chest. The interrogator backhanded the man with his baton for good measure.
"Get up you fool and help me restrain him."
"H-he killed Schmitty," the soldier stammered as he rushed to restrain the prisoner.
"If the two of listened to me we wouldn't have that problem." The Mask calmly responded. The soldier and interrogator put the shackles around the prisoner's wrists and pulled the chains, forcing him to stand up. The interrogator backed off as the Mask approached the prisoner.
"The electricity bothers you doesn't it?" The Mask calmly asked. The man was still gasping for air, not able to respond. "No smart ass quip? Expected more from you." The mask removed a glove and held his hand out. His hand grew red with fire, steam emitted from his pores. He ripped open the prisoner's shirt and placed his hand on his chest.
The prisoner began grunting in pain, obviously holding back a scream. A sizzling noise filled the room as the man's skin boiled. The interrogator could smell the burning flesh. The Mask backed away and put his glove back on. The interrogator was always impressed by the amount of Vigors his superior could wield, many people went mad after one or two, or the pain became unbearable.
"We'll leave you alone. You know what Mr Fink wants. Im going to let him know we have the prisoner. Remember, work fast." The Mask motioned to the remaining soldier and the two left.
The interrogator was left alone in the room with the prisoner. He didn't know what made this one important, but Mr Fink wanted very specific information and this man would be the source of it. "So, you're supposedly a feisty one? I don't believe it, you look weak." The interrogator said.
The prisoner was still gasping, he lifted his head. "Please, I can't breath."
The interrogator laughed. "Weakling, that's the point of hanging you up there. Stretches out the diaphragm, can't catch your breath." He got closer, right into the man's face. "I can already tell you won't last. You think you're hot shit, but that little episode you had before was a fluke. They're not trained like I am."
The interrogator reeled back in pain as the prisoner head butted him. Blood ran down his nose, it was broken. The prisoner began to laugh heartily. "Oh yea? Well looks like you weren't trained either! I'll be lasting longer then you tough guy!" The prisoner was filled with a spirit the interrogator didn't previously see. The weakness was an act.
The interrogator felt himself get warm with anger. His grip tightened on his baton as he bludgeoned the prisoner across the ribs. The man coughed and then laughed. "Is that all you got?" How dare this scum criticize him! The interrogator delivered a solid punch to the man's gut, then stomach. The prisoner spit in his face and smiled. "Please, when my father beat me he hit harder."
The interrogator didn't understand, how could this man treat his blows like taps? He would break him within the hour, he swore it. He turned his back to the prisoner and walked out the room, he would get his tools. "Where you going cupcake? Is someone flustered?" The prisoner called out.
The interrogator marched down the hall to the name board. Who was this man? He didn't care, he would have him crying like a child. Mr Fink wanted answers, and he would get them. The interrogator went through the cell numbers, scanning the names. Finally, he came to the correct cell number. Someone had hastily written down a name in the spot. "Alistair Crenshaw,"
Wanted to say I hit 2250 views a couple days ago and I'd like to thank everyone who has read this little story of mine. Comments would be really appreciated as always just so I know what you all are thinking about the direction, thoughts, criticisms, anything.
I also apologize for the gap between chapters, I'll try and get another one out quicker