Disclaimer: Blah, blah, don't own anything but my own characters and storyline, blah, blah, blah. Well, hope everyone had a nice holiday, but without further ado, lets resume the story.
Delta trudged through the winding underwater alleys that snaked through Rapture's corpse, moving at a laboriously slow pace as he struggled under his burden. Big Daddy's were heavy creatures, even the relatively slim Alpha series. The Alpha he held slung over his back, Subject Sigma, Tenebaum had called him, was unconscious, slow rattling breaths or pained groans coming echoing out from his helmet, muffled and distorted by the waters around them. The original Big Daddy carefully picked his way over the bits of crumbled masonry, twisted metal, and shattered glass that had fallen from once shining towers, the sea now intent on reclaiming what had been taken from it. Bones and rusted bathyspheres lay dashed against the rocks, coral, kelp, and all manner of oceanic life clambering to cover it up, to bury the works of man in this graveyard for a city of the damned, new life burying up the dead. Tiny fish fled from larger ones as the darted amongst the debris, taking refuge in bits and pieces of Ryan's dream turned nightmare. Delta walked onwards, straying from his path only to casually pluck off a glowing ADAM slug from a rock or rusting metal bulwark. He would harvest the genetic slurry that it had unknowingly doomed the city with before discarding the hateful little creature. They had done enough damage, he reasoned. The world would be better off with a few less of them.
The narrow pass between the two rusting buildings finally gave way into a wide sandy space of sea floor, and another maze made of stones, life, and death. The Big Daddy sighed and trudged onwards, eyes peeled for another airlock back into Midtown.
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Alice sat upon the ruined couch in Carnegie's apartment safe house and peered out the cold glass window into the sea, helmet discarded on a nearby table. Tears dribbled down the side of her face, lingering for but a moment one the long pale scar of her cheek. She sat and cried in silence and solitude, save for the sleeping Little Sister next to her; Carnegie and Billy had told the others what had transpired, and no one wanted to approach a grief stricken Big Sister.
He can't be dead, she thought to herself, over and over again, as if in hope that repetition would make it true. Why did he make me leave, she demanded in silence, the last image of Delta that she had burned into her memory. There he stood, the one who had rescued her from the madness and blood-lust of Lamb's slavery, her mentor, hero, and father, locked in mortal combat, and she had abandoned him. After over a decade of the delusions and insanity of a Sister, guilt was an entirely new sensation, and it was crushing. Fury gave way to sorrow, with self-loathing always bubbling up in between. The creak of a door opening shook her from her misery, if only for a moment.
Craning her neck, the once Big Sister saw as the young woman who had greeted her and Delta at the door with a shotgun, Becky, Carnegie had called her. She was dressed as she had been, though sans shotgun or armored vest. Her chestnut colored hair hung in loose curls, tumbling down past her shoulders. Noting the sleeping Little Sister, she artfully dodged creaking floorboards as she walked over to the couch, before delicately taking a seat on the arm of the sofa, so as not to disturb the ghostly child.
"What do you want," Alice spat, stifling a sob.
Becky was silent for a moment, her eyes pensive. "Too talk," she answered, softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
Alice's eyes were reddened from tears, and they peered out harshly at her companion. "I thought we were just another bunch of monsters," she sneered, "what makes you want to talk now?"
"Monsters don't cry over losing the ones they love, they don't grieve. Mike and Billy told us what happened. It's not your fault."
"I left him to die!" the former Sister hissed, tears resuming their course down her porcelain white skin. "He needed me, and I wasn't there for him, I, I should have done something, should have-"
"No," Becky interjected, keeping her tone calm, "you did exactly what you should have. You saved everyone you could . He chose to stay there, and but time while you three escaped."
The former Big Sister's glare hardened, tears coming hot and fast, and she fought to keep her voice down, lest she wake her charge.
"You didn't know him," she sputtered, "you don't know what it feels like to-"
"To what?" Becky demanded, emotion creeping into her voice. "To lose someone you care for? To feel guilty over it?" She shook her head and gave a little half laugh. "Look around you, at this, this place. It throws people together and tears them apart every day. Everyone here knows that kind of pain, that survivor's guilt. Only most people left are too spliced up to notice."
Alice stemmed the flow of her tears and faced her new companion, absently stroking the sleeping Little Sister's hair. "Is that supposed to make me feel better," she whispered, traces of venom seeping into her tone. "Is that supposed to help?"
Becky merely sighed. "No, no its not. I can't give you anything to comfort you, any kind of true solace. But he can."
The Big Sister perked up slightly at this, snapping to attention.
"Draw strength from memories of loved one, but don't dwell on them. If he's really gone, if it was his time," Becky shook her head ever so slightly before continuing, "then what do you think he would have wanted you to do, sit there crying about it, or finish what he started. There'll be a time to grieve, but it's not now."
Alice stared hatefully at this new face next to her, this girl hardly into her twenties who had been aged beyond her years by a nightmarish existence. "How can you say that when-"
"My mother was Doctor Julie Langford," Becky gave in a hushed tone, with irreverent elaboration on the title. "I barely knew her. Her work just, consumed her. Then," the girl's voice faltered, shaking, "then the Kashmir was attacked, and the whole city started going to hell. Suddenly Mom was all over me, wanted to spend every waking minute with me. I think she felt guilty, leaving me on my own so much when I was little, and she just thought that she could make up for lost time." Becky gave a bitter scoff. "We had a fight. Some stupid argument over me not wanting to go with her to Cohen's latest operatic nightmare. Said a lot of stupid things to each other, we both stormed out, me to a friend's apartment, and her to work." The young woman paused, swallowing hard. "I was fourteen, and that was the last I ever saw of her."
Alice was at a loss for words. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't know that, that you had...what happened?"
"Ryan put the city on lockdown. Those extra gene tonic she had taken got to her, made her delusional, obsessive. At least that what the rumors said. Then, Jack came, and everything here changed." Becky gave a tired sigh as she saw Alice's eyes light up with curiosity.
"Jack. I've heard the name everywhere, but, what does it mean? What did he do?" the Sister questioned.
Becky shook her head. "You've only had your mind back for what, two days? Makes sense you haven't heard of him." She paused a minute to glance at the beaten clock mounted at the wall. "Well seems like we have the time. Mike is trying to get a hold of Tenenbaum on Amir's radio. Get comfortable and I'll tell you the whole sad story..."
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It had taken him nearly an hour, but Jack found himself mere yards from his home, and he gave a small sigh of relief. He had dumped the car he's stolen in the Hudson, and walked the last ten blocks. The chills of the nighttime air seeped in through his tattered clothes, but the man paid them no heed. Jack froze in his tracks as he rounded the final corner, and laid eyes on a nondescript black van parked outside his home. The Russians, he concluded, silently cursing.
The man crept up alongside the car, and with a thought, frost formed on his fingers and freezing mist coalesced in his palm. He gripped a tire iron he had liberated from the car in his other hand. It wasn't his wrench, but it would work just fine. In one fluid motion, he pounced, jumping up alongside the driver's window, ready to bash in the glass and freeze its occupants, only to find the driver face down on the wheel, blood in a puddle at his feet. Instinct bred from his journey through Rapture kept the man on edge, and his weapons close at hand. With a grimace, he recalled Eleanor's message over the radio, and a panic over the outcome overtook him.
Taking care to remain out of the sight of windows, the man made his way up to his stoop, and gently tested his door knob. It was unlocked, which only fed the flames of his panic. With trembling hands, Jack opened his door, pushing up ever so slightly to take pressure off of the squeaking top hinge. Knowledge of one's own home had a definite advantage in this situation.
With the tire iron hefted in one hand, and fire softly smoldering in the other, Jack Ryan slinked into his house expecting a fight. What he found shocked him.
The short entry hall led to the kitchen, where light spilled out, and a crimson stain was creeping across the pristine white tile. For the first time in a long while, Jack Ryan felt fear, true, full, unadulterated terror. His own mortality and life was irrelevant, a fact that the man had long ago made peace with, but that of his daughters was another matter. Armed men, enemies, had come into his home, the place where his children lived and slept, and now there was blood pooling in his kitchen. It was the possibility of whose blood it was that utterly terrified him.
With shaking hands and an uncertain step, Jack strode down the entry hall and peered into the kitchen to find, with a mix of relief and horror, the bodies of three black clad men, their weapons idly sitting beside them. In the corner directly opposite them sat Eleanor, knees clutched to her chest, bits of her Big Sister suit strewn around her, and tear stains on her face. Red and puffy eyes met his gaze, a sorrow stricken face overwhelmed with guilt and confusion. Jack heaved a heavy sigh of relief tempered with exhaustion, placed the tire iron on his counter, and let the fires die in his hand before disdainfully stepping over the bodies. They were sitting in the middle of his home, after all. He pulled the girl to her feet, and she promptly buried her face into his shoulder.
"Come on now," Jack whispered, in a fatherly, if tired, tone. "We can talk about this later. Right now we're gonna' need a tarp and a whole lot of cleaner. Probably some ammonia if that crap got on the carpet."
End Chapter. Thanks for bearing with me through the wait. Sorry its hsort, but what can say. Real life must take priority, sadly. Please keep up the reviews, I love hearing back from you guys. Questions, comments, suggestions, or criticisms (constructive, please) I take all feedback. Until next time folks