Chapter 25: Good Times

Booker and Rosalind entered the lobby of the Good Time Club and were greeted by an automaton.

"Welcome, future Fink Industries employees, to the hiring process! As per Fink Industries policy, your eligibility shall be determined via a series of mortal combat scenarios. If you're still alive, you're hired!" the automaton announced.

"At least I don't have to kill the first guy."

"But now it's a gladiatorial fight, DeWitt."

Booker rolled his eyes, readied his shotgun, and entered the gallery above the club proper. Rosalind followed him in. Out of the corner of his eye, Booker noticed tears floating around.

"Miss Lutece, can you open those things?" Booker asked, pointing at one.

Rosalind nodded. Just then, a blast of feedback echoed through the room.

"Mister DeWitt, I presume?" a voice asked after the feedback stopped.

"This is he." Booker answered.

"Glad to see you came to your own interview. Now, let's meet the other contenders for my chief of security. First up: a devotee of the late Lady Comstock (Lord bless her soul) and a veteran of Peking, this man's an old hand with explosives and incendiaries. Ladies and gentleman, I, Jeremiah Fink, give you: the Fireman!"

A spotlight lingered over the first contender: a burly fellow clad in fire-retardant armor. Booker looked at him once and remembered his own fight with an identical fellow. A prerecorded applause sounded, and then a bell rang. Before Booker could react, two men shoved him onto the floor below. A few moments later, Rosalind joined him.

"I'll burn ye!" the Fireman shouted.

Booker fired off Shock Jockey, paralyzed his opponent, and finished him off with a shotgun. Once he was sure that the Fireman was dead, he turned his attention to Fink's goons. Bucking Bronco, Murder of Crows, and Devil's Kiss all went off, while those who survived met their ends via the Triple R. Or most of them would have, had Booker not run out of ammunition.

"Out!"

Rosalind opened up a tear containing several magazines worth of ammunition.

"Catch!" she yelled.

Booker caught an incoming magazine, popped it into his gun, and then resumed shooting. When the shooting stopped, he sat down and took a deep breath. Just then, Fink's voice echoed through the room.

"Impressive, DeWitt, but can you match our next contender? Oh, I picked this guy up a trade show for a song. Ladies and gentleman, from the highest echelons of the Fraternal Order of the Raven, I give you: the Zealot of the Lady!"

The spotlight moved to the next contender, taking Booker's mind back to the lodge that he had precariously navigated. Before he could react, the Zealot turned into a murder of crows and descended upon Booker.

"Witness the fate of sympathizers of the lesser races!" the Zealot cried, swinging his sword at Booker's neck.

Booker ducked just in the nick of time and responded with lethal force. Once again, more of Fink's goons fell dead as Booker used his guns and Vigors to massacre them. When the dust cleared, Booker wiped his brow. Again, Fink's voice echoed out of the loudspeakers.

"Two outta three isn't bad, DeWitt. But just a forewarning, the gloves are off! Our third and final contender is taking all our jobs, has no emotions, needs no food or drink or pay, and he doesn't complain in the least. Give a great big hand for: the Motorized Patriot!"

The spotlight lingered on the clockwork machine, which only started to move after a man kicked it.

"RED IS THE PRICE OF LIBERTY!" it shouted as it opened fire with the Gatling gun.

Rosalind opened a tear, produced a metal breastwork, and then ducked behind it. Meanwhile, Booker broke out the Shock Jockey, zapped the Motorized Patriot, and then finished it off with a few good blasts to the exposed gears on its back. Surprisingly, no goons descended upon him this time. Just then, Fink's voice came back.

"You're hired!"

Shortly thereafter, Booker and Rosalind went backstage.

"Well, I can see why Fitzroy got the traction she did. Gladiatorial hiring processes, deplorable living conditions, jobs openly auctioned off to the highest bidder-"

"And a boss that makes the rogues gallery of robber barons I've worked for look like pretty swell guys."

Rosalind raised an eyebrow.

"I worked with the Pinkertons, remember?" Booker replied.

"I remember about those strikes you 'resolved'. So if that's what you mean, I'm fully aware of your past with the Pinkertons." Rosalind replied.

The two continued onward and found themselves in what appeared to be a jailhouse. In the room they were in, a talking picture was playing of some sort of interrogation. Viewing it, Rosalind deduced that the poor man being interrogated was Chen Lin.

Good God. she thought as she watched Chen Lin suffer.

The two progressed deeper into the jailhouse. A series of empty cells greeted them. After nearly an hour, the two arrived at what appeared to be the interrogation room. A light swung, illuminating a slumped body in the chair. Blood stained the immediate surroundings.

"Chen Lin, I presume?" Booker asked.

Rosalind took Chen's pulse. It was nonexistent.

"Mister DeWitt, this man has moved on."

The radio buzzed.

"You got Chen Lin?"

"There's been another complication, Fitzroy. Chen Lin's dead."

"Well, I guess none of us gets what we want."

Booker heard Elizabeth whimper, only for that whimper to break out into a full-out scream. The cocking of a revolver further unsettled Booker.

"Don't shoot!" Rosalind yelled.

"Why shouldn't I?" Fitzroy asked over the radio.

"I'm going to bring you another Chen Lin." Rosalind answered.

Fitzroy snorted.

"I'll spare your friends for now, DeWitt. But if you don't bring me a live one, they're dead meat."

"Fine."

The radio turned off, and Booker turned to Rosalind.

"So how are we going to bring this guy back?" Booker asked.

Rosalind produced a coin.

"How's that-"

"Heads or tails?"

"Heads."

Rosalind flipped the coin, and it landed heads.

"But what's that-"

"From your vantage point, it's heads. But if you were to get down onto the floor and look up, you would see tails."

"But how does that relate to us bringing a dead guy back to life?" Booker growled.

Rosalind opened a tear.

"This is our new vantage point."

And with that, Rosalind dragged Booker through the tear.