Chapter XIV: Boiling Point
"So, I get an office?" Booker DeWitt asked. He looked around carefully, not wanting to settle in or appear appreciative. He couldn't help but compare it to his old Pinkerton office. It was larger and well adorned. The blinds were open to the large set of windows behind the wooden desk. Several glass bottles of what appeared to be whiskey sat in a shelf on the wall.
"That is correct, sir. There is also a uniform in the wardrobe in the corner if you choose to wear it. You're technically not required to." One of the soldiers informed him. "I'll leave you to it." The man walked outside to regroup with his posse and shut the door.
DeWitt stood in the center of the office, alone with his thoughts. He looked over to the whiskey bottles and strolled in their direction. He unplugged the bottle and swirled contents around before putting it under his nose. The crisp scent filled his nostrils; his throat burned just thinking of it. He put the bottle down and covered his eyes with a hand. "You know you shouldn't do that. You know you can't do that. Not anymore." He thought to himself.
DeWitt backed away from the shelf and paced his office. "You know how you got in this situation in the first place. Don't even think about the stuff." Buy the smell of the whiskey still lingered in his nose. His mind was filled with old thoughts. Booker acted quickly to flush away the haunting memories and bring back new ones. "You have a mission. 'Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt'. Supposed to be done by now. I've managed to hit every single bump in the road."
Booker sat down at the chair behind the large desk. He tried to clear his head. He tried to do nothing. He tried to just sit. An object on the desk caught his attention. He reached across and picked it up. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to hold one of these again." DeWitt examined the collapsible baton. With a strong flick of the wrist the baton shot out to full extension. He held it loosely and swung it around lightly. He shuttered as he remembered what he had done with his as a Pinkerton, the bones he had broken with it.
DeWitt closed it and fitted it to his belt. He leaned back in the chair and looked to the ceiling. He covered his face with his hands and groaned aloud at his situation. "I can't believe I'm playing along with this. These bastards have Elizabeth somewhere, and God only knows where Crenshaw is, the lying bastard. I knew he was a liar. To think it's only been a couple of hours and everything has gone straight to shit." Booker thought to himself.
"There has to be something I'm not thinking of, something I missed. I'm sure I can get more information from the men working under me. But I have no idea where I'm supposed to be going or the layout of this facility." Booker began rummaging through the contents on the desk. He opened the drawers, hoping to find something useful.
Most of the papers meant nothing to him and seemed irrelevant to his situation. "There we go." Booker pulled out a large pile of folded up maps. DeWitt laid them out across the desk and examined it carefully. The map contained blue prints for almost every building in the factory grounds. "Good time club...there," he placed the sheet on top. "There has to be more to the place. Somewhere I haven't seen." He scanned the paper, seeing a lower level he hadn't been to.
"Holding Cells, eh? They probably took Elizabeth there." He folded up the sheet and placed it inside his vest. He made his way to the door and opened it.
"Ah, sir, I was just about to get you. Are you ready? There appears to be an issue that you need to tend to." A soldier was standing in front of him.
Booker brushed past him and continued to walk. "It can wait, I'm busy."
"Actually it can't wait. This is your job. If you want Mr. Fink to continue to be a gratuitous host then you have to hold up your end." The man replied. Booker cursed under his breath.
DeWitt turned around and threw his hands up. "Fine. What do I need to do?"
"If you'll follow me, sir. I'll explain on the walk over." The soldier waited for DeWitt's response. The Pinkerton waved his hand and the two began to walk. "My name is Grant. I'll be your right hand. We are going to be going to the docks and taking a ship to one of the work sites. It looks like some of the workers are trying to protest by burning work material. That's Fink property, and destroying it is a crime punishable by death."
"Great." Booker responded sarcastically. "And why do you need me?"
"We usually have someone calling out orders from the front. Mr. Fink wants to see what you do in this kind of situation. Your first test with the job I guess."
Grant and DeWitt jogged down a staircase and exited out the front doors. "If you don't mind me saying, I find it strange that you're willing to talk to me, with all the chaos I've caused and all." Booker said.
Grant turned to his boss briefly before continuing on the path. "Sir, I frankly don't care what you did before this. You're my superior now, and I just want to do my job. It does no one any good if we hold grudges from preconceived notions."
DeWitt was actually impressed by he man's manner. Grant was younger then him and clean cut. His uniform was pressed and he obviously wore it with pride. "Believe it or not DeWitt, these men will listen to you easily. Most have seen you fight, and most are unwavering in their commitment to superiors. But that's common around here I suppose."
There were men bustling about outside, some with tools and others with weapons. "Mind if I ask you a question, Grant?"
"I'll try and answer it."
"What do you know about Crow?" Booker asked. He needed to know more about the man, he was obviously his biggest threat.
Grant stopped and raised and eyebrow. "The Mask? The hell you wanna know about him?"
"Anything, he... He's not your average soldier." Booker didn't want to be too specific, not wanting to give away his intentions.
"Well frankly, I don't really know anything about him that I haven't heard from just gossip. Well, besides the fact that he's Fink's personal bodyguard. He's got more balls and possibly more brains then his boss too. Other then that it's all kind through the grapevine stuff."
"Well I'd be interested in hearing it regardless." Booker responded. Grant shrugged and began walking again.
"No-one really knows why he wears the mask. Some people say he's disfigured, or just really ugly. He just showed up one day. He apparently killed all of Fink's personal security then insisted he hire him. He also can use a bunch of Vigors. Why you would do that is beyond me. I know a handful of guys who can use one, but he knows at least five and acts like it's nothing. My advice, if you don't have to deal with him, the better your life will be."
DeWitt let the information sink in. "Noted."
They approached a dock with an airship. Several soldiers on it. When the two men got on, the men snapped to attention. DeWitt looked around questioningly before telling the men to settle down. He sat on a crate and looked up to Grant. "Well let's get going I guess."
The men began working quickly to get the ship moving. It soared into the air and sped off to the work cite. DeWitt kept to himself the entire flight. He checked his weapons, reloading as necessary to ensure everything was in order. He was surprised by the men working under him, Grant was right in his assessment. But as far as Booker was concerned they were all responsible for his situation, and he couldn't trust a single one.
DeWitt looked up from his handcannon when he heard shouting in the distance. He holstered his weapon and stood up. He walked to Grant, who was standing near the ledge looking down. "You might want to keep your weapon out, sir."
A sea of rebellious workers adorned the working grounds. They had overturned crates and were burning everything they could pile up. "This isn't going to be easy." Booker muttered.
"You should probably give the men a talk, what you want them to do." Grant said. Booker looked at him, then then to the men around him. He sighed and stepped forward.
"Alright, um.. " he raised his voice so the men could hear them. They circled around DeWitt, ready for their orders. "I want minimum deaths. These men are still workers, that would lower productivity."
"We could just kill them, it's not like we have a shortage of willing workers." One of the men spoke up.
"No, we aren't going to open fire and kill them." Booker sternly replied. "You all have batons, use them. Put them in submission. They have to know who's in charge." He couldn't believe what he was saying, he sounded like a Pinkerton.
"Lower the ship, I'll do the talking." Booker shouted as the noise grew louder. The ship began to hover over the ground. Booker jumped down and his men followed. The workers began to surround them, they were heavily outnumbered.
"Those are Fink's guys! They ain't gonna stop us! He owes us!" The workers yelled. a man charged Booker, bad move on his part.
"Shouldn't have done that." DeWitt said. He struck out with the baton across the man's face. The worker dropped to the ground quickly, blood oozed from his mouth.
"You gonna pay for that!" Booker extended his hand and shot out a wave of Bucking Bronco. Some of the workers backed off in fear as they saw their comrades flying in the air.
"You've brought this upon yourself. Let this be an example!" Booker shouted to the crowd. He felt a surge of energy. He remembered this life. Maybe too well. It kind of scared him.
A man in the crowd pulled out a knife, there was a big height difference the worker wanted to use to his advantage. "You going to die, right here." The man shouted. He launched to the soldiers with a group of workers. An all out brawl started.
DeWitt made his way toward the center of the crowd, striking out at each man who attacked him. The large man with the knife was making short work of the soldiers. DeWitt was going to end it. Booker made contact with the man's knee, which dropped him immediately.
"You're the example, this ends now." Booker raised his baton up, and it came crashing down. Again. And again.
"We are going to open up the doors and pump their bodies full of bullets." One of the soldiers said. "That simple. I don't know what the hell that girl did and I sure don't want to know what else she can do. The Mask wanted the new meat killed anyway, the girl is just going to be going along for the ride." The soldiers were frantic. They had gathered another group of men simply for numbers. Those that had been in the cell were spooked by what happened.
The group marched down the stone hallway and slowed down as they approached Crenshaw's door. "You know the plan, one of us will open the door and the rest will open fire, easy as that."
"They won't know what him 'em." One of the soldiers approached the cell door, key in hand. He put his ear to the door trying to determine the movement in the cell.
"I don't hear any…" The man began to speak.
Then all hell broke loose.
The cell door came flying off its hinges, plowing through all soldiers in its way. At the same time, a loud explosive like sound went off in the tight quarters. Those who weren't affected by the shockwave covered their ears to protect from the sudden noise.
Alistair Crenshaw launched out from the cell in full attack, a chain swinging in hand. "Nice to see you boys again," he whipped the chain out to the nearest man, catching him in the face. The man dropped his weapon and held his slashed head in pain.
"Shoot him! Quick!" Fink's men began to open fire, but their aim was sporadic and sloppy. Some bullets managed to make contact with Alistair, but his shield was still working.
"Bet you didn't know about that one." The yellow shield shimmered around Crenshaw's body as he launched closer to a soldier. He swung the chain around the man's neck and got behind him. The soldiers opened fire once again, shooting their comrade as Alistair used him as a shield.
The man became heavier, dying as the bullet shredded through him. Crenshaw kept him pulled tight and close. He extended a hand past the corpse and threw a Devil's Kiss into the group of soldiers. The men screamed out in anguish as the flames enveloped their bodies. Crenshaw kicked the corpse into the crowd and picked up the carbine he was carrying.
"Yo-you sonova bitch." Muttered one of the soldiers from the ground. His body was dark and charred from the flames.
"Yea that's me." Crenshaw responded. He fired a round into the man's chest and began finishing off each of the downed soldiers. He stopped and began picking up ammunition.
"You made quick work of them." Elizabeth said as she exited the cell.
"You expected less?" He smiled at her. He took off one of the less burnt jackets and put it on, he figured it would be better then running round shirtless.
"What the fuck was all that racket?" Came a voice from down the hall.
"Shit, get back in the cell, Elizabeth!" Alistair shouted as he dove behind a pillar in the hall. He pulled a corpse closer to him and began rummaging through the contents of the pockets. "There you are." Crenshaw found a small health kit and drank its contents immediately.
Alistair began unloading his weapon onto the incoming soldiers. He kept shooting, hitting them as they rounded the corner. He stood up and would dash to cover, getting closer and closer to the groups. "We need to stop him here! Kill him! Kill him now!"
Crenshaw was keeping calm, picking his shots carefully. He fired a round, catching a shoulder in the stomach. He went to pull the trigger to finish the man, but the carbine seized on him. "Shit." He examined the port, it was a jam. "I don't have time for this." He ejected the magazine and attempted to clear the jam. A bullet ricocheted off his cover, causing him to instinctively duck his head.
The rounds were getting closer, one bounced off a wall and smacked into Crenshaw's shoulder. "I need to finish this." He ignored the weapon and fired a Sonic Boom at the soldiers, hoping to take out most of them. He felt weaker, knowing he had enough salts for about one more vigor. He picked up a shotgun from a corpse and proceeded to charge towards the enemy
"I'd stop if I were you." Called out a voice. Crenshaw stopped dead in his tracks and turned around.
"How?" Was all Alistair could manage. The masked man was standing with a handgun drawn on an unconscious Elizabeth.
"You didn't pay attention did you?" The Mask quipped.
"There's no way you got around me, it's impossible!" Crenshaw retorted. He fixed his shotgun on the enemy, intent on killing him.
"Never say never." The man put the handgun to Elizabeth's head. Crenshaw noticed the man was carrying a customized M1911. Crenshaw felt for his vest holster, and then remembered it was taken away from him earlier.
"Put her down. This doesn't concern her."
"But doesn't it? I'm pretty sure it does. You're well aware of how important she is." The soldiers Alistair was fighting earlier came up behind the bounty hunter, weapons fixed. Crenshaw looked behind his shoulder and pointed an open hand towards them, the shotgun still on the Masked Man.
"Mr. Crow, do we put him down?" Asked one of the soldiers.
"Not quite yet." Responded Crow. Alistair raised an eyebrow.
"Crow?" The name took him aback. He hadn't heard anyone use crow as a name in sometime.
"Yes Alistair, Crow. You're not the only one here. Don't think about it too much because there are other matters to tend to. Mr. Fink has an idea for you." Crenshaw was trying to make the voice out from behind the mask.
"What kind of idea? You gonna offer a job offer like he already did with DeWitt? I'm already happily employed." Alistair tightened his grip on the shotgun.
"You mean bounty hunting? That doesn't sound very steady. Or are you talking about something else?" Crow's voice was indicative of knowing more. "This is an offer you should take, boy-o."
"Oh should I?"
"For your girl's sake here, yea." Crow placed the handgun under Elizabeth's chin, pressing hard. Alistair didn't respond at first, he merely stared. "I know what you're thinking. DeWitt was thinking the same thing. Sure you could probably kill all the weaklings behind you, but what about me. You think you can take me on in your condition? Better yet, think you could take me out before the girl?"
Crenshaw was weighing his options, looking back and forth. "I know you wanna try something Alistair. I know you. This suggestion is one you should take to heart. Think of your little girlfriend."
Crenshaw couldn't have an injured Elizabeth on his conscious. He wouldn't forgive himself. He slowly placed his shotgun on the ground and held his hands up. "Fine, just don't harm the girl."
"Good," Crow motioned for the soldiers to regroup with him. One of the soldiers took hold of Elizabeth as Crow walked up to Crenshaw and picked up his shotgun. "You may actually live now."
The group of soldiers began laughing as a comment was made about the unconscious girl. Crenshaw didn't hear it, but apparently Crow did. The masked man turned around and struck the soldier across his face. The soldier hit the ground hard, his face filled with surprise. Crow kicked the man in the stomach and turned around, the handgun pointed towards Crenshaw.
"Move." Crenshaw was hesitant, but Crow pushed him forward. "They'll no better then to touch the girl, don't worry about that. You have to worry about yourself. I'm sure your decision was based all on Elizabeth. Don't wanna lose another girlfriend do ya?"
Crenshaw stopped in place. "What the hell did you just say?" Crow pushed the bounty hunter again.
"You heard me, keep moving boy-o, we need to get you ready."
"Well, that didn't go nearly as bad as I thought it would." Grant said. He looked to DeWitt, who was staring off at the carnage they had taken part in.
"Yea… something like that." Booker responded, wiping blood off of his face. The workers had dispersed shortly after the fighting erupted. The security force had some injured, but not nearly as many as the injured workers. Men were still on the ground, moaning and holding their broken bodies.
DeWitt looked at the large worker who had picked the fight. He was on the ground, motionless. His chest rose up and down, indicating he was alive, but his body would make a person question that. Booker had beaten the man's face with the baton, most likely breaking open his skull. He had said there would be an example, he was that example.
"We should start heading back, sir," one of the soldiers said to DeWitt. Booker looked at the man and nodded.
"Yea, I've had enough of this place, round everyone up." Booker made his way towards the ship and stood at the edge waiting for everyone. Grant began yelling at the men, trying to get everyone on board. Everyone piled on, the injured were carried on and placed on the floor.
Booker shook his head at the chaos they had created. Broken bodies lined the area. They had left the workers where they were. Nothing had been solved, only more damage had been done. But this wasn't DeWitt's problem, he had other things to deal with.
Grant walked up next to his boss. "Everyone is accounted for."
"You don't need to tell me everything. Lets get moving." DeWitt calmly replied. The sun was lowering itself in the sky, it had been a long day, but it still wasn't over. DeWitt had to find Elizabeth, he wasn't going to play Fink's game forever.
"Should I have the men drop you off at your office, sir?" Grant asked.
DeWitt shook his head, hand on his chin. "No, drop me off at the Good Time Club."
"But, sir, the club isn't open quite yet."
Booker glared at Grant. "I don't remember asking you. Just do as you're told." Grant was surprised by his superior's response, he nodded and backed away.
Booker stood in silence for the rest of the flight, not wanting to interact with the security force. "This going down in history as my shortest held job," he thought to himself. "At least it will be in a blaze of glory."
The wind started to pick up as they approached the club. Booker squinted as the air whipped around his face. The breeze was oddly relaxing, despite the situation he was in. DeWitt took a desk breath as the ship descended.
The ship hovered above the ground. Booked hopped down and walked away from the group without a word. He heard the men speaking amongst themselves, but he didn't care because he wouldn't be their boss much longer.
Booker pushed open the main doors of the club. The lobby was empty, but the corpse had been removed from the wall. He jogged up the stairs, a carbine in hand. DeWitt delivered a swift kick to door and walked in as it swung open. The once corpse crowded club had been emptied. There was not a single noise in the air. Booker walked down the stairs, keeping his head on a swivel to make sure the coast was clear.
He jumped into the catwalk stage and began to head backstage. "I figured you'd be here DeWitt." A voice came from behind him. Booker spun around and carefully aimed his rifle. Crow was sitting at a table, a handgun already aimed. The masked man was relaxed, his feet on the table.
"This doesn't concern you, Crow, go back to Fink."
"Oh, you're mistaken there Booker. If anything happens here it is my concern." Crow slowly stood up.
"You're just Fink's lap dog." DeWitt snapped back. Crow stopped and laughed at Booker's comment.
"That's a good one. I run this place, I got Fink up and running. I gave him the ideas. I just can't stand being behind a desk." DeWitt began backing up from Crow, his rifle still carefully aimed. "Nope, you're not going anywhere. I have a proposition for you. Or a game rather."
"I'm not interested in your games, or anything you have to say for that matter. And I've had enough of you." Booker fired a round into Crow's chest.
The result wasn't the expected one. "Shit."
"Now that wasn't very nice." Crow responded, the shimmer of his yellow shield forming around him. "Now like I was saying, I have a game for you." Crow snapped and Booker heard the cranking of gears.
The masked man extended a hand to the ceiling. "Now, I'm sure you've missed the beautiful Elizabeth." Booker turned around quickly.
"Elizabeth..." His voice only a whisper. The girl was on a descending chain. A metal device was on her neck tightly. "What did you do to her?!"
"Well you see, that pretty little necklace is keeping her unconscious. Fancy part of it is that it's also an explosive. If it gets taken off the wrong way her pretty little head goes pop."
"You sadistic bastard!" Booker began to approach Crow. The man raised a gloved finger.
"Now hold your horses. You haven't even heard the fun part. You want to save her right?"
Booker hesitated, his hand twitching to shoot. "Yes."
"Well unfortunately for you, you're not the only one."
DeWitt raised an eyebrow. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm sorry, DeWitt. I didn't want it to come to this" The voice caused Booker to freeze. He slowly turned to face the voice.
Crenshaw was standing on the stage, wearing a torn and bloodied dress shirt, a metal collar similar to Elizabeth's was on his neck. He was holding his handgun and a carbine. "No, not Crenshaw too" was all Booker could say.
"Yes," Crow responded. "Let the games begin, boys."