"Will the circle be unbroken, by and by, by and by..." Elizabeth hummed as she skipped towards the Hall of Heroes. She was a bit disappointed that Booker did not want to come with her, but she wasn't going to let him ruin her fun. She looked up at the moonlit sky and closed her eyes. "I wonder if this is what the sky looks like in Paris?" she wondered.
Suddenly she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She yelped and her eyes shot open as she whipped around to see who had grabbed her.
She sighed in relief when she saw it was Booker, who was bending over panting.
"You-" he started to say but stopped to catch his breath. "You are a hard girl to catch!" he finally said. Together they walked over to the entrance to the Hall of Heroes, Elizabeth still humming as they went. Booker thought it was annoying, but he decided it wasn't worth arguing about it. She would probably win anyway. They arrived at the door to find it locked with a heavy metal lock chaining the doors together.
Sorry, we're closed! the sign read.
Booker sighed with relief. "Well, I guess we can't go. Sorry Elizabeth."
Before he could turn around, Elizabeth pulled something of her hair and inserted into the lock.
"What are you doing?" Booker whispered.
Elizabeth whispered back "You're a roguish type, what does it look like I'm doing?"
She sharply turned the pin and the lock fell hard on the floor. Booker stared at the lock in amazement. "Where did you learn to do that?" he said.
"Locked away in a tower with nothing but books and spare time; you'd be surprised what I know how to do!" said playfully as she motioned for Booker to open the door. He pushed opened the heavy door and they slipped inside.
"It's dark in here," Elizabeth said, grabbing a hold of Booker's hand.
"Well, you want to break into buildings at night you're going to have to get used to it." Booker said snarkily. Elizabeth wandered over to a switch and pulled on it. "Maybe this turns on the lights," she whispered.
A robotic statue of George Washington came to life and began to spout propaganda about Columbia's great glorious battles. Elizabeth jumped back in fright, bumping into Booker who gave her a puzzled look. "I don't like robots" she said sheepishly as they continued on.
Suddenly, light poured in through the windows and a loud voice boomed over a loudspeaker. "Cornelius Slate, traitor to Columbia and her people, come out with your hands up! "
"Shit, cops!" Booker whispered. He lead Elizabeth through a doorway into a large high ceiling room. Statues flanked both sides of the room, and in the center stood a massive statue of Comstock. Elizabeth walked over to read the plaque on the statue.
Out Prophet, Father Comstock, Commander of the 7th Cavalry it read.
Booker laughed. "That man did not command the 7th, I don't even think he was there." he stopped laughing when he realized what he just said. He looked to Elizabeth who was now staring at him.
"How do you know that?" she asked him with a puzzled look. Then her eyes grew wide and she exclaimed "You were there weren't you!"
Booker couldn't get out of this conversation with a lie, so he reluctantly answered "Yes..."
He expected Elizabeth to be horrified to find out he was a soldier, but instead she just smiled at him. "Maybe we'll see you in one of the exhibits!" she said excitedly.
"God, I hope not," Booker said under his breath.
Suddenly, the doors slammed shut behind them and a bright spotlight shone down on them. "Shh," Booker whispered to Elizabeth. "Theres going to be trouble".
A voice came booming down from above. "Followers of the false Prophet, Comstock will-" the voice stopped abruptly, as if confused.
"Is that..? Corporal DeWitt is that you down there? It is you isn't it!" the voice echoed throughout the room.
"Slate, is that you?" Booker shouted up towards the light. He held his hand up to block the light, but he couldn't see who was holding the spotlight.
Slate laughed heartily. "Captain Cornelius Slate, at your service!"
Booker laughed uneasily "Look, I see you're in a bit of jam here, so if you could see fit to let us out of here we'll just be on our way."
"You've always been different haven't you, Booker. You crave no glory." Slate continued.
"There's no glory in killing!" Booker yelled up to Slate. "Just let us go, Slate."
Booker was getting nervous. Slate had always been half a hero and half a fool, and Booker wasn't sure which side was more dangerous.
"The tin-soldier, Comstock wants my boys and I dead! But we won't die at his hands!" Slate began to yell. "All my men have two choices: die at the hands of a tin-soldier, or a real one!"
Soldier's dress in red white and blue burst into the room, guns blazing. Booker pushed Elizabeth behind some cover and started to shoot at the attackers. He threw a fireball into a group of soldiers with Devil's Kiss. The soldiers started to scream and the fire burned them alive. Booker hopped Elizabeth wasn't watching; this would only traumatize her even more. After Booker finished off the rest of the soldiers, Slate came back over the loudspeaker.
"You see! You're a killer Booker, like it or not!"
"Just let us go Slate, I have no quarrel with these men!" Booker shouted.
Slate's voice got quieter. "If you want out of here alive, you will give my men a soldier's death. They wait for you at Wounded Knee and Peking."
Booker fell on his knees. Wounded Knee. Images and sounds started to flood Booker's mind. He had tried so hard to forget them, but he knew he couldn't ever forget what he did. Elizabeth ran over to him. "Are you hurt?" she asked with a worried voice. She was still shaken up by the violence. "No, i'm fine Elizabeth." he stood up.
"Who was that man?" Elizabeth asked Booker.
"Who, Slate? He was my old commanding officer when I was in the army. A good man, but a little overzealous as you can see," he said, motioning to the dead soldiers covering the floor.
They walked through the now open door into a round room. Archways with signs above them lead to the three main exhibits.
Wounded Knee, Lady Comstock, and The Boxer Rebellion the signs read.
"I read about those things," Elizabeth said "Which one should we go to first?"
Booker looked down the hallway leading to the Wounded Knee and shuttered. "Lets go there first," he said, pointing towards the Boxer Rebellion exhibit. As they walked over to the exhibit's entrance, they began to hear oriental music and fake snow began to blow around them. Cutouts of stylized chinese soldiers making scary faces were all around them. As they walked under the archway, a chinese cutout came from above and scare Elizabeth. Booker instinctively pulled out his gun, but put it away after he realized it was just a cutout. "A little jumpy, are we?" he said playfully. Elizabeth gave him a pouty face and crossed her arms in mock anger.
They made their way to a large open room with more chinese cut-outs surrounding the area. A large statue of Comstock sat on the ground holding a Colombian flag in one hand and a raised gun in the other. Behind it was a mural of Columbia, floating in as if to the save the day. "I remember reading about this is one of my books," Elizabeth said "Comstock lead the Columbian forces into-"
"Comstock wasn't there!" Slates voice boomed over the sound system. The Boxers took my good eye and thirty of my best men! Is there even a stone to mark that sacrifice!"
Some of the cutouts moved away and revealed more of Slate's men who immediately began to shoot at Booker. "A soldier's death!" they shouted as they charged into battle. Booker swiftly took them down with a combo of machine gun fire and fireballs.
After the battle, Slate came back onto the intercom. "You did them a favor Booker. You let them die like men."
Booker angrily shouted back "I didn't ask for this, Slate! I didn't want to kill them, or anyone!"
Slate chuckled. "Heroes never ask, Booker."
"I didn't claim to be a hero!"
"Then what are you?" Slate retorted. "If you strip away all the parts of Booker DeWitt to tried to wash away, what's left?"
Booker opened his mouth to retort but Slate had already left. Elizabeth ran over to him from her hide place. "What did he mean by that?" she asked him, starting in his eyes. "What did you try to wash away." Booker looked into her eyes, but quickly turned away. In her eyes he saw a innocent little girl, and he was certain all she could see in his was a killer. "Look, Elizabeth, I don't want to talk about?" he said without looking at her. He felt Elizabeth's eyes watching him.
"Why not?" She said calmly "You've obviously been holding this in for many years and all it's brought you is pain." He felt her soft hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you want to let it all out?"
She was right, he knew it. He had been holding it all in for 20 years and it was eating him alive from the inside out, but now was the not the time. If he told her, she'd hate him and he needed her. "Somethings just need to remain unsaid," Booker responded coldly. Elizabeth looked hurt by his comment. He didn't like to hurt her feelings like this, but she needed to keep her distance or she might really get hurt. They walked out of the exhibit back into the rotunda.
"Next stop is the Battle of Wounded Knee," Elizabeth pointed out, trying to be helpful. Booker shuttered at the name. They walked through the exhibit hallway, which was flanked by native american cutouts and tall grass. They entered another large open room, this time with a large statue of Comstock heroically standing in the middle, surrounded by native americans.
"You-you were there, weren't you?" Elizabeth nervously said "I can see it in your eyes." Booker didn't hear her, he just sat starting as images flooded his mind. He was brought back to his senses by Slate's voice.
"Tell her, Booker!" he yelled "Tell her how we strode that battlefield like the heroes of Sparta!"
Elizabeth turned to look at Booker, but he hung his head in shame. Suddenly, the cutouts moved to reveal more of Slate's men. "Here is the man I told you about! The kind of man Comstock wishes he was!"
The soldier's charged Booker, but he was too fast. He quickly dispatched them; a shotgun blast to the face, a fireball to another, and a skyhook finisher to the last one. After the fight was over, Booker was covered with blood and the floor of the exhibit was littered with bodies.
"You see, young miss? This is the kind of man Comstock wishes he was!" Slates voice rang out.
"I don't want to do this, Slate! Just let us go!" Booker yelled.
"Not yet, Booker. There is still work to be done."
"Damnit, Slate!" Booker fell to his knees. Elizabeth ran over to him. "Booker, what's wrong?" she cried.
Booker couldn't look at her, not like this. "What would you do, if you woke up one day and realized you didn't like the choices you made?" he said, still crying.
"Oh, Booker!" she wrapped her hands around his head and hugged him. "A choice is better than none, no matter what the outcome. Talk to me Booker, what's the matter?"
Booker couldn't hold in the pain any longer, he had to tell someone. He looked up into her innocent blue eyes and said "Elizabeth, what I've done can not be forgiven."
She looked at him confused "What do you mean?"
"I've killed people; innocent people have died by my hands in the name of everything from glory to money." He looked away from her. "How can I live with myself knowing I had a choice and made the wrong decision?"
He waited for her to jump back in horror and call him a monster. He waited for her to scream and run away. He waited for something to happen, but nothing did. Instead, he felt Elizabeth hugging him again. "Booker, you need to let it go." she said "You need to forgive yourself or you'll never be able to move on with your life."
"But-"
"But nothing. You are a good man, Mr. DeWitt. You're just lost, thats all."
Booker had calmed down now. He stood up and looked at Elizabeth who was standing next to him, weakly smiling at him. He smiled back. How could this girl do what 20 years of psychiatrists, rehab, and hard liquor had failed to do? Booker was beginning to regret that he'd have to trade Elizabeth for his debts. "Wherever their taking her going, its probably a hell of alot better than here," he kept telling himself, but his resolve was weakening.
