1958

Camille Adler was now an official business partner of Sinclair Solutions - Sinclair was almost giddy. I didn't approve of his choice to bring her straight to Persephone after getting her office set up nice and pretty, but it was his choice. The reason was because of Andrew Ryan's commission of the new Protector Program to guard the Little Sisters who were being picked off one by one by the splicers that were rearing their ugly faces. Sinclair was providing the subjects for the program with his prisoners in Persephone.

It came as no surprise to me when she came back furious at him. As I reclined in my spot in the air ducts, I could hear her storm out of his office and slam the door behind her. Sinclair let out a loud groan and leaned back in his comfortable black leather chair at the whole thing. I dropped out of the vent and leaned against Sinclair's desk. "You okay?" I asked seeing the frustration wrapping around his very person. Sinclair gave me a slight pleading look. "Find out why she's upset. Got it."

"And remember to keep out of sight. If she couldn't handle Persephone, it'll be worse if she finds out 'bout you."

I rolled my eyes. "You make me out to be some kind of dirty secret. Besides, you took her to Persephone, not me. Makes me wonder what you'd be without me."

Sinclair stood up from his chair and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, making me blush. "I'd be belly up somewhere, darlin'," He answered jokingly.

It took a few days, but Camille finally went someplace else other than her apartment. She had spent the past few days actively avoiding and ignoring Sinclair to the best of her ability not taking into account of their offices being side by side and that she had to report to him every day. But other than that, she was doing a decent job of it.

Camille had retreated back to Olympus Heights after work to a little bistro filled with other residents of the apartment complexes, but Camille seemed to be alone with a dry martini and a copy of the Tribune. That couldn't be good since most people in Olympus Heights didn't read it since it was mostly crap stories about crap people and sold for a quick buck.

I nearly flipped when Stanley Poole walked into the little bistro, looking around for someone. There was no way he was here to meet Camille. No one in their right mind would meet with Poole. She beckoned Poole over to her table and he nervously sat down, claiming that he was here to meet Sinclair. Camille threw him a curve ball and said she had called him there.

She asked him about Johnny Topside, which shocked me. Johnny Topside was someone that she shouldn't be concerned with since he was now locked up in Persephone; mentioning him would result in the hangman's noose. If anything, Topside was surviving the best way he knew how: Don't trust anybody. He was also giving them the silent treatment which drove Sinclair nuts, but made me smile.

Harmless enough, though, but it didn't explain why she was upset with Sinclair. If she remained upset with Sinclair, he would give me grief that I did not appreciate in the least. It was like dealing with a child who didn't get his way with a successful BAR Exam behind it. "Is Sinclair having me watched?" Hello, what have we here? Camille seemed to not only have caught on to Sinclair's little game, but mine as well. Stanley was one of the few people who I had interacted with making him perfect for this line of questioning and with the addition of a few crisp hundred dollar bills, she had Stanley in the palm of her hand. Well played.

"What?" The rat man asked.

"Is. Augustus. Sinclair. Having. Me. Watched." I applauded the bite in her tone. She seemed to have picked a few tricks up from Fontaine over the years of working with him.

"Why don't you go ask 'im yourself?" Poole questioned, leaning back and crossing his arms nonchalantly. Camille's eye narrowed at the notion. "Ah, so things aren't so cozy between you two, huh?" I smirked at the statement. Stanley couldn't have been more right.

"I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to ask him, I'm asking you," She hissed at him.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Stanley said shaking his head. She drew her fingers back slowly with the money stuck under them. That made Stanley squirm. "Wait! I mean, I don't know what you're talkin' about because I'm not the one watchin' you, OK?"

"You're not?"

"Nope." Stanley had laid eyes on me now and started to sweat. He knew if he said the wrong thing, I'd have a few choice words and actions I'd say and do to him.

"So there is someone watching me. How do I know you're telling the truth, Stanley? Honesty isn't exactly what I'd call your most prominent trait."

Stanley threw up his hands in his own defense. "It's not me! I promise. I got better things to do than tail someone like you. You know, I got my trashy newspaper to write, remember?" That comment earned him a punch later.

"Do you know who is watching me?"

His eyes switched a few times from Camille, to the money before glancing over in my direction, not enough to give away that I was there but enough so Stanley could see me. "I-I dunno what makes you think Sinclair's got eyes on you, Adler?"

Please," she replied, "I'm not an idiot. I know Sinclair's keeping an eye on me – maybe not his own eyes, but definitely someone else's. A man like him just doesn't do business with someone he doesn't know everything about. He's got his finger on my pulse, so to speak. My suspicions were recently confirmed that I shouldn't be so trusting of Sinclair. I guess… I guess I didn't really want to believe it." She tapped her finger on one of the hundred-dollar bills. "All I want to know is who Sinclair has watching me."

Poole stared at the money but said nothing. It would take a little more grease to get this pig to squeal.

She began drumming her fingers on the table, drawing his attention to the money. She counted out a few more hundred-dollar bills and placed them on the small stack starting to form beneath her manicured fingers. Definitely Fontaine's influence. I almost applauded her her well played game.

He twitched.

"Stanley?" she questioned. "Not going to say anything? All right, then, I guess we're done here…" She pulled the money away.

"I don't know who Sinclair has watching you!" he cried.

"You know the ins and outs of the city," she said sarcastically. "I refuse to believe you don't have an answer for me." She was clearly unamused by Stanley's blatant avoidance to give away anything about me since he knew he'd be in a world of hurt if he gave away too much.

Poole shook his head. "No, what I mean is I don't know her name. She's, ah, I dunno, some rough duct-rat from the Drop. An orphan, I think. Sinclair and she have been doin' business for a few years now. Hell, she was tailing me for a little bit. That's all I know, I swear!" He was close. I wasn't an orphan: my mother was still alive, just spreading her legs for some guy named Rupert.

"That's all?"

"Look, I don't know her name. She goes by some weird little moniker. Eagle or Falcon or something. Hawk-something. Hawkeye!" he concluded with a triumphant grin.

"Where does she live?"

He shrugged. "Used to live in the Drop but I think Sinclair put her up somewhere nice."

Somewhere nice? Right and the Artemis Suites was nice. Polish a turd, it's still a turd, but at least it was home. A home that I could feel somewhat safe inside just like Sinclair and I had agreed upon all those years ago. She nodded and finished off her martini. "How long has she been watching me?"

Poole shrugged again. "I dunno, Adler."

"Why has she been watching me?"

"I dunno!" he screeched. I knew she realized by now that what she was told was all she was getting out of him because that was all he knew about me.

Camille sighed. She shoved the money towards him and muttered, "Get out of here."

Stanley took off like his ass was on fire.

I almost chuckled at this development. Camille was now on to me; regardless if she knew my name or not. All she knew was my little nickname Sinclair had picked out for me, but with a little whispering she could probably dig it out of Sinclair if she asked politely. She had successfully scared the piss out of Stanley Poole which earned her a few more points in my book, even going as far as bribery which Fontaine was especially good at. She had grown from the goody-two-shoes I had originally made her out to be to a woman of many faces, used to survive the ever changing world of Rapture.

I let a smirk grace my features as she paid the bistro and left with her handbag tucked under her arm. "Well played, Miss Adler, well played," I said to myself as she exited through the doors. "Gonna have to watch my step from now on."

I stood up and left having not ordered anything from the menu. Camille was one interesting woman: One second she's all hot and bothered over Fontaine, the next she's glaring down Stanley Poole wanting information like a true conman.

I caught up to Stanley easily at the bathysphere station and pulled him into a maintenance room, locking the door behind me. I crossed my arms and stared down the skittish man. "H-Hawkeye! Whatta... Whatta surprise!" He stammered scratching his elbow as a nervous tick.

I smirked and leaned against the nearby wall. "So, a few hundred dollar bills makes your tongue slip, does it?"

"I-I don't know-"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. And I thought Sinclair paid you for silence?"

Stanley shifted nervously in place, glancing at the door for a possible escape, but with my position by the door handle escape was impossible. "Y-Yeah, about that..."

"Stanley, because I find this amusing, I will allow this to slide just once. But listen closely: nothing stays hidden from me. Nothing." I thought it over for a moment. "Actually, I think I can make this work for the both of us."

"What?"

"I want you to make her think that you're trying to figure out who I am. Start with small things: physical descriptions. Interactions I have with Sinclair. For example, the night of Cohen's big art reveal, I was there. If Camille asks Sinclair directly and he tells her everything, I will send you a message through the pneumo. Sound simple enough?"

"Yeah! Yeah! No problem, Hawkeye... Do I uh... get an incentive?"

"You're incentive is I don't gut you alive to keep my existence a secret. I've made quite the career out of it and I would prefer it to stay that way." I opened the door and he was gone before I could say goodbye.

The trip to Sinclair's office was shorter than usual. Probably because I was rushing in my joy of a challenge. "Figured out what's goin' on with Camille?" He asked the moment I dropped in through the vent.

"Even better." His hand froze mid-sentence on his memo. He raised an eyebrow, then set down the ball-point pen. "She knows she's being followed."

He looked shocked for a moment. "How did she find out? Did she see you?"

"No. She saw Stanley Poole." I grimaced at the man's name. "Met with him at a little bistro outside Olympus Heights. She asked him first about Johnny Topside, then she bribed him enough to get him to spill the beans on me. All she knows though is your little nickname for me and that I used to live in the Drop."

"And Stanley just..."

"I dealt with it."

Sinclair grimaced and rubbed his jaw. "And here I thought we were gettin' along again. She did come to Persephone and apologized for the outburst."

I shrugged. "Perhaps she's trying to catch you with your guard down. Or she figures it'll be easier to ask if she's being watched if you two are one good terms. Whatever you decide, I'll go with it."

Sinclair smiled at the statement. "That's what I like about you. You don't ask questions."

I smiled as well. "All I care is that I don't end up dead."

Sinclair stood and folded his hands behind his back, pacing toward the window that had a magnificent view of the city of Rapture and the surrounding coral reef. "How long have we worked together, Jamie?"

"Four years. Why?"

"Four years an' not once did you complain about my businesses. Everyone else seems keen on tellin' me that I have a heart of stone."

I chuckled under my breath. I joined his side by the window and looped my arm with his. "Augustus, I lived in the Drop for years. If there is one thing I learned, it's don't bite the hand that feeds you. You were the only person who sought after me, even if it was for your own personal goals. You gave me a home, money... friendship." I gave his arm a squeeze. "I don't care for your businesses. You're just living the Rapture Dream and if anyone argues about, well tell them to sod off."

He unhooked our arms and replaced his arm around my shoulders, drawing me in close. "This is why we work so well together."

"How's Camille adjusting to working for you?"

"Still hesitant about it, but she'll come around. She worked with Fontaine after all and he's far from a saint despite the poor houses and orphanages. I know a charity scam anywhere." He blew out a stream of smoke.

"You and me both. Planning on telling Miss Adler about me anytime soon?"

Stanley had been slipping little notes to her pneumo on more than one occasion, but most of it seemed useless to someone like Camille; too smart and observant for her own good. No doubt she was getting a bit paranoid of her surroundings, believing I watched her day and night. If I had the ability to stay up for days on end, I'd be doing more productive things than watching her day in and day out. As long as Stanley kept feeding her like this, the game wouldn't end.

"I might if I can find a way to word it without settin' her off. She's like a firecracker: harmless at first until you cause a spark. I still find it funny how she apologized for spilling her drink all over the rug. It's not like it doesn't have coffee or blood already stained in to it."

I smiled. "Adds character."

"It's not even my blood. How does that happen?" He tapped his chin playfully. "Oh yeah, my crazy asset drops through the air vent covered in blood fightin' off a splicer so he doesn't send her into the great hereafter. I think you need a security system around you or somethin', you're goin' to give me a heart attack one of these days."

"Aw, you do care."

Sinclair reached up and patted my cheek, letting his thumb run over a few of the small scars that littered my face. "I always care." I reached up and patted the hand before standing up. "I'm going to be in Persephone tomorrow if you need anything."

He handed me a small list of names he wanted me to look in to, before sending me on my way; just in time too since Camille had walked in with a stack of papers right as I was completely in the air ducts. "Were you talking to someone?" I heard her ask.

"Yes. Phone call with Weir. Sorry if it disturbed you."

"No... No, it's fine. I have a few papers I need to check over with you."

I crawled silently away from the office so that she wouldn't hear me.

The day went by quickly as I finished up the last name on the list: Gloria Parson. Her husband had recently been locked up in Persephone for speaking out against Ryan and his bookstore completely emptied of it's belongings leaving her and her son alone, trying to make ends meet. I sympathized, I did, but I was not paid to sympathize. I was paid to get what Sinclair wanted with or without my approval of the situation.

I treated myself for a job well done with a burger from the Fighting McDonagh's before dropping off my report and heading home.

Persephone: Secret home to Sinclair Solutions. It was cold, damp and smelled of something like an underground subway tunnel in New York. It was filled with hardened criminals and people that Ryan wanted gone alike, each probably had a run-in with Sullivan. I did not favor coming here for long periods of time, but I had to see Sinclair about his request of coming here more often to listen in on the prisoners for any discussions of escape or if anyone got a hold of the security office door code. It was a last minute decision to bring Patrick since he was getting older, meaning I could send him on a few more dangerous jobs that I would normally do.

The ducts here were a little smaller than the rest of Rapture, but of course this place was built to drop into a miles deep ocean trench in case of emergency like a complete takeover, with minimal to no damage to the city. If that was the case, the air ducts would be closed automatically upon detonation of the supports to prevent flooding which meant I was screwed if I was ever here when the call came through the blast the supports. The security tower we were heading for was a little warmer than the rest of the building thankfully and that was where Sinclair was according to Weir.

I dropped in finally, scaring the piss out of a few of the guards stationed there. "Easy, fellas, she's with me," Sinclair reassured giving me a smile. "Nice of you to drop in, Hawkeye."

"You invited me here," I pointed out, reaching up and helping Patrick down.

"At least you're not getting dragged here," he also pointed out putting his hand on my shoulder. "Why hello there, Mr. McManus," Sinclair greeted with a grin. "Finally going on bigger jobs with Miss Hawkeye?"

Patrick grinned back, "Sure am!" He rushed over to the observation window, gazing down at the populace of the prison. A few of the prisoners milled about below in the rec area, each looking worse than the next with scars from surgery or boils and bulges from ADAM use. They looked pathetic.

"I'm having Patrick shadow me on a few more jobs. Soon he'll be flying solo. So spill, Sinclair. Why am I here?"

"There's been whisperin' of a possible uprisin'," He started, folding his arms across his chest. "I want to get ahead of it."

"Get a head of it?" I questioned. "If you already get to the point of discussion, you're already doomed."

"But I have you to find out who the ring leader is. Cut off the head an' the limbs will fail."

I shook my head and moved toward the circle window over looking the main floor, standing right behind Patrick. "I can already tell you who it is. You made the mistake of letting Lamb continue her practice which makes it easy for her to start planning an uprising one prisoner at a time."

He sighed. "I supposed that makes sense. We just wanted to be sure before we did anythin'."

Patrick tugged on my sleeve. "That man's got on explosive."

"What?!"

We flinched at a small explosion that occurred near a cell and prisoners immediately flooded the area; screaming, hurling fireballs, shooting electricity and killing guards in the process. The screeching siren went off and the lights flashed red. Patrick scrambled away from the observation window and latched on to my waist.

"I think that uprising happened a lot sooner than you thought!" I exclaimed, grabbing on to Patrick's hand to lead him out. If it was the last thing I did, I was not about to let these prisoners, innocent or not, harm Patrick or Sinclair.

A few of the guards with us grabbed rifles and hollered into radios, "THE BUTTERFLY IS TAKING WING! I REPEAT, THE BUTTERFLY IS TAKING WING!" Prisoners came into sight and were quickly put down by bullets. They ran into the hallway and were immediately jumped by several more prisoners. One managed to jump on Sinclair, knocking him straight to the floor.

I saw red. "Oh no you don't!" I growled low. He only got a punch in, busting open Sinclair's lip before I was tackling him off to the side, throwing punches. He kicked me off frantically and tried to crawl away, but I was on his back with my arms secured around his neck. He clawed painfully at my exposed arms leaving deep welts in my skin. With a twist, he neck was snapped and he slumped to the ground dead.

The guards shot a few more before the rest took off. I pulled Sinclair to his feet and shouted, "Move!" I noticed that I could see my breath meaning they were in the environmental controls.

"Where's Miss Adler?" Sinclair questioned a guard.

"Last I heard she was in Central Processing."

"Adler's here?!"

"She wanted to see the processing for some reason. I don't ask very much," Sinclair explained quickly over the blaring sirens.

"God dammit!" I stopped for a moment and grabbed Patrick's shoulder. "I need you to get to Miss Adler. Make sure she's safe. Can you do that for me and Sinclair?" Patrick nodded quickly. I handed him my switchblade and propelled him into an already open vent to make his way to Central Processing and to Miss Adler.

I checked corners as we ran for the processing station; the final checkpoint before we were in the bathysphere station. "You sure the boy will be alright?!" Sinclair shouted over the alarms.

"I didn't train him so well for nothing!"

"This is Dr. Sofia Lamb! We have very nearly taken this facility! You have all prepared for this. You all know what must be done. The conman, Sinclair, and his employees are fleeing at this very moment. We will be silenced no longer!" I was right. Leave it to Sinclair to allow her to hold private therapy sessions: the easiest way for her to plot an uprising one prisoner at a time. It was brilliant really - She made it seem like she was helping the prisoners with their problems and keep them docile and the prison ran mostly smoothly with the occasional fight breaking out. The prisoners, in return, got to vent their problems and put Sofia as their leader. Sinclair owed me for this.

Prisoners again ambushed us, more than the other times leaving the guards to try and fight them off as I got Sinclair to the processing station. One was already killed with a pipe to the head, leaving 2 guards to hold their own against 6 prisoners in an enclosed hallway. I turned away to continue shoving Sinclair to safety when a pipe was thrown into my shoulder, sending me to the floor. "Jamie!" Sinclair exclaimed, just as a Splicer leaped on top of me.

"Go!" I shouted, grasping the psychotic man by the throat to hold him off me. The splicer slugged me across the face, making black spots dance in my vision. My hand padded around furiously for the pipe that knocked me down as the man hit me again, almost successfully knocking me out. Fuck, I can't reach the pipe... This was going to hurt... I jerked my head up and smashed my forehead into the splicers nose, causing a blood-curdling scream and him scrambling off of me. My hand went to my forehead - nobody wins with a headbutt.

A guard grabbed my arm and pulled me carefully to my feet, wrapping his arm around my shoulders to keep me upright. They shot the one I headbutted and dragged me toward the bathysphere station. Sinclair was standing in the doorway waiting for us and he held out his hands to take me off the guard. He sat me down beside him and held me tight against his side. "I should fire you!" He exclaimed laughing slightly, kissing my forehead. It didn't help the pounding in my head, but I didn't voice it. Sinclair was already worried enough as it was.

His knuckle went under my chin and he raised my face up for him to see better. "Your eye..." He muttered his thumb tracing the blue and black bruise forming.

"It's fine, really," I reassured scooting closer into his warm body. "Your lip is..." I trailed off as I bunched my sleeve up in my palm and patted lightly at the blood, trying my best to get it cleaned. It was a failing endeavor, but it made me feel better.

It was a quiet ride back to the Sinclair Tower aside from the hum of the bathysphere's engine.

When we arrived in the bathysphere dock in the basement level, we stepped out and looked around like this was heaven. "I never want to have to do that again," I said walking toward the elevator. Sinclair caught my wrist and pulled me to his chest, burying his nose in my dark brown hair. "Augustus?"

The guards shifted uncomfortably and quickly made their way to the elevator. "I was scared that I lost you. Don't ever do that again," He said quietly.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his collarbone. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my eye sliding shut. It was silent for a while, but not awkwardly silent. It was a comfortable silence as Sinclair held me tightly. After that whole experience, I was thankful for being here with Sinclair safe and sound. "I suppose you should go check on Camille. I'm sure she's shaken up after that whole thing. I have to make sure Patrick's okay."

"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I should. And I need to place a call to Andy Ryan. What are you goin' to do, Jamie?" he questioned spreading me back at arms length.

"I need to get some aspirin for this headache forming."

He nodded, patting my shoulder once more before we headed toward the elevator. I left once the elevator hit the first floor and gave a small wave to Sinclair who waved back with a smile, but winced when it pulled on his busted lip. "Get that lip checked out!" I called to him and he nodded. The elevator doors closed, taking Sinclair up to the top floor.

Patrick was sitting in the lobby, making me sigh in relief. There wasn't any physical damaged from what I could see, only dirt and soot from the fires. "Ma!" He called making me freeze in place. "I-I mean... Miss Donovan," He shuffled his feet in place, embarrassed now.

I scratched the back of my neck and sighed. "Let's go home." He smiled and fell into stride beside me.

September 12, 1958

Not even a week later I nearly dropped the newspaper delivered to my door.

Headline: Ryan takes down smuggling operation. Fontaine and thugs killed in fiery shootout!

Ryan actually did it. He actually took down Fontaine. When Sullivan had told his boys to get ready for it, I thought Fontaine would be ready for them and be elsewhere to avoid getting shot, but I guess he was set to go down guns-a-blazin', sick of Ryan's bullshit.

Or he was doing what I'm thinking he would do. Fontaine was a conman, meaning he's taken bullets before and knew how to make it look like he died. Fall back into the open sub bays, get picked up by a diver and taken elsewhere and he'd be gold. The chances of that happening was slim, but it wasn't out of the list of possibilities. Because that's what I would have done if I was in Fontaine's position.

I dropped the newspaper on the kitchen table and sat down, taking a drink of a glass of water. I thought a little bitterly that Camille would probably blame me for getting the information about it. If only she knew that I tried my hardest to avoid Fontaine like the plague and watching her was the closest I had ever gotten to the now dead conman. There was a reason he was called the Boogeyman and like the legend of the Boogeyman people tended to disappear.

But perhaps it'd be the push she'd need to ask Sinclair about me if she was as attached to Fontaine as I thought she was. Emotional about losing her former boss and heartthrob, it made people do stupid things like scream at the very person trying to be their friend. I'd have to keep more of an eye on Miss Camille Adler.

I glanced out the window, noticing people putting up more of those 'WHO IS ATLAS?' posters. Things were only going to get worse.