Abigail swaddled herself in her bed. She'd twisted and turned all night and now at five in the morning she wasn't going to get any more sleep out of it. She thought back to what Booker had said to her in Arcadia a week ago.

It wasn't bad. While they talked she felt warm, it was like before when he'd first take her out to diners and restaurants. They'd even seen a movie once. He'd said such nice things about her, things she could almost believe about herself. She was better then she thought, better than what people said. Now, in the loneliness of an empty bed they seemed so hollow, rehearsed. She seemed to realize his tone was sad, far away, elsewhere.

She rolled over and the sheets came with her, cocooning her even more in the depths of her mind.

They weren't broken up, or separated, or whatever they called it. She'd never had much time to learn what people called relationships. She never thought she'd be in one.

But she didn't see him as much as she thought she would. Once in the past week was all. It wasn't that out of the ordinary, but she just thought it would be… more.

Abigail pulled herself together, tighter. Booker was right, wasn't he? She was better than before. Before she would have probably gotten together with some other man, and Booker would find out, and that would be the end of it. But she didn't. She didn't want to. Booker made her not want to. But now he felt so so far away.

It was her, she knew it. It had to be. Elizabeth. What did she have that Abigail didn't? My hair is black now, I've got a bigger bust. We even have the same color eyes. I bet she sleeps with lots of men. I don't.

I'm better than her.

Some of Abigail's friends had heard from their men that Elizabeth sang. She was a right out bombshell at Kashmir, they said. She could sing like an angel and make you wish for the devil all in one breath.

Abigail wondered if there was a singing tonic she could get.

She'd go to Kashmir, they said she always performed on a Friday night. Never late, always on time. Never missed a show. She'd be there, and Abigail could prove that she was better than her.

It was a cold night in Rapture, but wrapped in her sheets Abigail's arm burned. She scratched at her wrist, at an itch that wasn't really there. A large callous had formed where she took her EVE injections.

It was a cold night in Rapture, and not far away from Abigail's home in the further blocks of Apollo's Square, in Hestia, a man wandered the streets. The walk ways in Hestia were in more disrepair than anywhere else, even Pauper's Drop. The Drop was built for workmen, and workmen lived there, if there was a leak they could fix it. Hestia was full of those poor that had too much pride to admit they were poor. They didn't know any trades, just down on their luck middle class people.

But the middle class didn't exist in Ryan's Rapture.

The man was cold, so cold. Freezing. Even under his two coats and three shirts. The people he'd taken the clothes from didn't need them anymore. Now they were as cold as he was.

He was young, if you could believe it. Were anyone to dare to get close enough to him, you'd see under his dark, heavy and bushy brows eyes of a dead man's blue. A scraggly unkempt beard hid most of his face. The thick coats about him hung like thick loose skin over brittle bones. He hobbled more then walked; a slow and staggered fall from place to place.

He needed someone, he needed something. He was so cold.

I'd been up for more than an hour when I finally heard the paper flop through the slot.

It was late again; they'd probably laid off some delivery men. Times were getting tougher in Rapture, and I'm sure for a lot of people the headline wouldn't help much at all.

'Frank Fontaine Killed in Shootout!'

Well good riddance to him. I unfolded the Rapture Tribune and returned to my desk.

The Tribune was a smaller paper in the news atmosphere in Rapture. Just large enough to warrant a staff, but not big enough to put the larger papers in mind to muscle them out. They mostly services Apollo Square, Hestia and maybe a few places of a mind in Olympus heights.

I'd started getting it a few weeks after meeting Abigail.

I looked up from the paper at her photo. Since Arcadia I'd thought about putting it away, or taking it out of the frame, but when I tried I simply couldn't do it. I shook my head and buried myself in the paper.

Seems with Fontaine out of the way Ryan was taking over Fontaine Futuristics, and all new Plasmids made by them would be by Ryan Industries. There was also a Letter to the Editor from Ryan, probably one sent to all the news outlets, urging people to not hinder the girls and their protectors that were about.

They didn't sit right with me. The girls were… wrong, strange, otherworldly. I could never abide harming children and girls least of all, though I could never place why. So whatever they had done to those girls to make them into… whatever they were, I knew I wouldn't like it.

I skimmed over the letter, the girls helped to supply Rapture with ADAM so the math was simple, hurt the girls meant less ADAM, and less ADAM meant less EVE. In my experience only the incredibly desperate or incredibly deranged would attack a little girl. So a Splicer had to be real down on his luck to try it.

I caught myself scratching at my wrist.

Dammit. I never should have gotten into the whole gene fad. It always get's scotched in the end.

A few more people were found dead again. Paper said they froze to death. The heating must be on the fritz in Paupers Drop. No wait. It was in Hestia this time. Sure some had it bad off there, but the Square was practically right around the corner. Steam was running through the pipes all around my block, it wouldn't take more than a few minutes to find a warm place to sleep. The Police were calling it an 'accidental death due to environmental conditions.' More like they didn't know what happened to those poor devils.

I scanned the few remaining stories of interest; none of them were by Abby. She hadn't written anything in the past few days. It was probably nothing.

I dropped the paper and stared again into the sad eyes of Mavis Orden.

She was still missing. I really had no hope in me of finding her alive, but like I had told Elizabeth, it was something I had to do. I had to know, because if I was her father I'd want to know. Next to her were the pictures of Angela Hayes and James Meyer. I'd found the little stink hole in Arcadia, but there was still nothing new to go on. Security was ready to roll it all up and call it done.

Well nuts to that. I'd find something. Some clue, some errant gossip. Something to find out what had happened.

I can't help but sigh, the little feeling of righteous indignation passing. I look down at the paper again. I can't help it. I grabbed my coat and hat.

I know some people in Hestia. I should make sure they're okay.

Hestia did it's best to keep up the same veneer as the rest of Rapture, but it was always slipping just a little. Wall paper peeling there, a cracked tile here, it all ran together to make a picture that said the people needed help. Everyone just did their best to ignore it, even the people that lived in Hestia.

Eddie was one of the lucky ones. He didn't live in Hestia because he had to. He liked it here. Whenever I asked him about it he always said it reminded him of home.

Near as I could tell he was born in D.C. but who knows if that was where he had called home, I could only place a handful of accents, and most of them were just directions. After I got through the big four I tended to get lost. Eddie himself was a bit of a fruit really. Slumming it up and acting like he did.

But Eddie was a good guy. He still owed me for that trouble in Cameron Suites a few years back. He ran a small restaurant in the far end of Apollo, 'Eddie's' he'd called it. He was never good with names. I didn't drink there much. Maybe I wanted Ed to think well of me - no one can think well of a drunk - or maybe it's because I'd run up enough of a tab that he'd forget about the little to do in Suite 512.

I grinned at the memory of the night.

Eddie's little apartment in Hestia was just as drab and deplorable as the rest of the place, but you could get an idea on what was inside with a few hints. Ed always kept his doorknob and room numbers shiny. I could never tell why. When I asked he just said it was a matter of pride.

I rapped on the door and waited. He wouldn't be out to the bar yet, not this early.

The door opened slightly, and peering through the half light of a shaded lamp Ed's buttery face made a shadow into the street, "What do yo- Wait a bit. Booker?"

"Hey Ed"

He shut the door and I counted off as locks and chains rattled inside.

He'd gotten two more since last I was here. Must have gone to another gallery. The door opened again.

"Booker! You old dog, what are you doing here?"

"Just checking up, Ed. I saw a bit of a to-do in the paper, wanted to see if you were okay," I walked inside.

"You know I don't go wandering about at night, Booker," Eddie said as he closed the door behind me.

Eddie had been busy since I last called on him - must be near on a year ago – He'd gotten another bust, and a painting. The inside of the apartment had more in common with an art gallery then a living space. Paintings and drawings crowded the walls, with more sitting against each other on the floor. Books in shelves separated the rooms from each other, and statues and busts filled in everything else.

If I hadn't seen Martin and his gaudy nude's I'd say Eddie's collection was a bit grotesque.

"I see you've been keeping busy"

"One does what one can, Booker"

As I looked around I had a brief idea of showing this place to Elizabeth, or Abigail. Either of them might like it. I tore my eyes away from a painting of a woman laying nude amongst some sheets and pillows.

"So about those people that died…"

"Sorry state of affairs really, the heat going down in places like it is," Ed said, standing by my side admiring his own collection, "No one I knew, I can tell you that much."

"I didn't really notice anything broken down on my way here, Eddie. Everything was humming right along."

"I couldn't really say, Book," Ed smiled, "Say, I've just got a new batch of Whiskey down at the joint, why don't you stop in tonight?"

I took another look around the place. Have you ever gotten the feeling that you've been some place before? Not here. I've been in Ed's place plenty of times. No, just in a spot, in a time, a space where you were sure you've done it all exactly the same way. I shook the feeling off and gave Eddie a grin, "I don't think so, Ed. You know your place is too classy for me."

I said my good-byes and stepped out, stifling a laugh as the symphony of locks echoed out behind me.

It was good that Ed was alright, I hadn't seen him in months. Amy would be next. She was a more typical case in Hestia. She wouldn't be too far.

There were more and more leaks here, and the electricity was going out. The district was in a bad way for sure, but the pipes still hummed with steam, everything was still warm.

It was a block away from Amy's when he happened upon me.

"Puh… pleassse," he said. He looked like a raggedy dog. The kind of person you'd walk past on the street and not give a second thought to, except maybe to his smell. He smelled like death, the rotting corpses bloated in the sun kind of death, "huh…huh…"

"Jesus… buddy you-" I reached out to his shoulder. He kept on swaying, I nearly thought he'd fall over. Even with my recent issues with feeling temperature he was cold. Freezing. So very very cold. He took a step forward, another step closer to the exit of the shabby alley I'd walked into. I took a step back.

"puh-puhleeeze," he pleaded again. His voice was like paper, whisper thin, "suh… so cuh-cold. Hold muh muh me… Don't… du-don't want to hurt the… them…"

As he came closer, I could see his eyes. An unnatural blue, pale and gray and dead. The stinking coats that hung off him covered his arms, but somehow I knew what would be underneath. Marks, holes in his arms, punctures for the ADAM and EVE to get in, anything to take whatever pain he felt away. He wasn't a splicer, not a real one. Some plasmid or tonic didn't sit right with him, and when it's gene rewriting that doesn't sit right, it all goes to hell.

The poor bastard. I didn't know if he was there yet, but he'd need more EVE, more ADAM to keep his body together, and if you couldn't buy it… well… There's always the Sisters and the Daddies.

He was a dead man walking.

"Hold you?" I asked. He made a sort of non-committal groan, "What's your name?"

"Nnnnn Nuh… Neil! Muh… Muh… McKean…"

I always seem to be in the places for these things, that little robbery with Gallins. Maybe whatever puts me in these places also means I have a kind of responsibility about them. I held out my arms, "Hold you, huh… sure. Come here Neil"

"So cuh… cold…" I feel the thick coats wrap around me. He is freezing. The only thing I felt colder was when I spliced up with that winter's blast in Pharaoh's. I wrapped my arms around his back and did my best not to breathe.

He was a dead man walking; he just didn't know it yet.

You don't need to snap your fingers, or do anything to get most plasmids to work. I just hold Neil and think of a warm place, he'd like a warm place, and the flames start.

"Not... nuh… not cold… any… anymore," he whispered as he let go, his coats catching and spreading the fire over his body.

It caught his beard next, and it burnt away in a disgusting smoke. His eyebrows and matted hair too. The rest of him.

I'd never seen someone burned before. I never held the torch in the war, but I smelled the acrid and fatty smoke when they did it. It was disgusting, but not half so much as the rolling your gut did when it smelled cooked meat when it was empty.

Neil just smelled like filth as he burned. He just stood there and smiled and burned and burned and burned away. He never cried out. Never asked for help. He just said he was warm now. He just wanted someone to make the hurting stop.

Maybe we all do.

It was getting on noon by the time I left the alleyway. I had to stay to watch it all, make sure Neil was 'on his way' as people liked to say. He was a sorry man and I guess no one really cared for him in life. Maybe in those last moments as the fire clung to him he saw me as a friend. Friends don't abandon each other.

Christ, my heart felt cold.

I'd just killed a man, for no reason. He may have wanted it, or he may not have, but I did it. I sent him off. I burned him.

Did those cult psycho's feel like this when they did it? Hands and skin burning, but a heart and guts and soul full of ice? I needed something to melt it. I needed…

I saw Elizabeth ahead of me, leaning against a wall a cigarette in her hand. She was looking over at a line for one of those small little cinemas. Maybe she was waiting for someone to come out, or maybe just waiting for the next show to start. As I came closer she turned at the sound of my footsteps on the marble floor, and smiled. I'd wondered what would happen, if we met again. If Arcadia wasn't a dream.

"Hello there stranger"

She could thaw out whatever Neil had put in me.

I didn't even answer her. I just took her hand and pulled her into a nook between the buildings. She tried to protest but her words became a moan in my mouth as my hand slid up her skirt, between her thighs.

Before either of us knew it, I'd turned her around and we were joined. Her hands pushed her up from the wall as I assaulted her. She sucked at my fingers in her mouth as her other hand clutched mine at her waist. I kissed her neck and shoulder, I could taste her sweat. I pushed harder. I wanted the cold to stop; I wanted to hear her moan my name.

"Booker!"

I blinked the vision away. Elizabeth's brows furrowed as she shook my shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah… yeah…" I said back, running my hand through my hair, "I'm… uh… I'm fine…"

She took another pull from the cigarette. I could tell she didn't really believe me. Maybe she did know me as well as she said. Still she shrugged and agreed.

"I've got some place to be, it was nice see-"

"Wait! Wait… Elizabeth…" I had to at least try. I hadn't seen her for two weeks now, "Do you... do you want to go out? Get something to eat, I mean? Tonight?"

She smiled at that and maybe blushed a little, "What, Booker. You want to get to know me better? Why? Isn't it a little late for that?"

What could I say? That I had to? I had to find out why she knew so much? I had to learn why at times I couldn't stop thinking about her, how I'd have dreams, over and over and the only thing piecing them together was her? More importantly, how could I say it without sounding like a Splicer that'd gone in the head?

"It's never too late" I said, I tried to muster a grin. She reached out and touched my arm, she was so warm and I felt so cold. She held it there, and gave me a look that said she knew exactly what I was thinking before.

"Sure… Booker," she said after a moment, "That would be nice. Tonight then."

She kissed my cheek, just like before, but now it was like a sun against my skin.

"Meet me at 'Eddie's' the owner helped a friend of mine out once. He'll give us a good table," and she walked away.

As she turned the corner I couldn't stop grinning.

It's a small world after all.