A/N: I'm back now! I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend - I know I did - and now I'm back to keep updating!

Chapter 26: The Kill

Elizabeth's Perspective.

I just did that, didn't I? The scene replayed in my mind repeatedly, and I had several mixed feelings. Enjoyment, confusion, anger, all boiled down into one. But mostly enjoyment. I won't lie, it felt amazing; something I've always wanted to do, and with Will, nonetheless. I don't know where the affection came from, but it was there. . . My heart beat faster when I saw him, I blushed when he spoke. I didn't know why; it was just a natural reaction.

The inside of the factory was rather ornately decorated - and I do mean was. What had used to be decorated by marble columns and unique tile patterns was now completely decimated by the Vox. Scorch marks and corpses were left all about, leaving absolutely none of the ornate aura it once possessed. Fink's reception desk was destroyed and had graffiti all over it, much like everything else. Most of the rooms in the building held the same characteristics as the first one, though some had barricades or sandbags stacked in them.

Even as I heard Will walking up the stairs behind me, my heart jumped into my throat. I tried to stare at the door and imagine that nothing happened, but of course, it'd never be that easy. I felt a hand on my shoulder and felt my heartbeat skyrocket. Is it him? I thought. I slowly turned around, and sure enough, I was face to face with Will. I knew that my face flushed horribly. He smiled lightly and waved one of his hands. "Hey," he said, nonchalantly.

"H-Hey," I replied, trying way too hard to mimic his calm tone. How does he do it?

He cleared his throat. "So," he said, "I guess we're clearing out this factory, and then we're off to Paris," he said, as we walked inside. The first room was silent. Booker and Lucy stood a little ways behind us, talking in hushed tones.

"I guess so. . . I just can't wait to see it all. Won't we have so much fu- oh, right. . ." He wasn't staying in Paris. He was going off to do work somewhere.

"What's so oh-right?" he asked.

"You said you weren't going to stay with us, in Paris," I said, with my face to the ground.

I felt his hand brush past mine and shuddered, and I heard him begin to say something, but he was cut off by gunfire. The Vox had finally encountered the Founders in the room up ahead. He grabbed Sally from out of his pocket and rounded the corner, firing into a crowd that I couldn't see. I stepped towards the other door and took a look in. The Founders really had prepared; they had four or five men in the room, along with a turret that fired rockets, much like the ones from before. The Vox's waves of morale-high murderers were far too strong for them, though, and I suspected they were just there to buy time.

With Booker and Will's help, the first wall of Founders got knocked over soon enough. Lucy was rather disappointed that no one had bothered to save the turret; she had insisted that it was a useful security measure and could stop any reinforcements from coming.

"Something tells me reinforcements aren't going to come through the front door," said Booker. "More like from the ceiling."

"You never know," she said, shrugging. "Either way, it's impressive technology. It almost breaks my heart to see it broken."

Booker laughed. "Don't worry, you'll get over it."

We walked through the double doors into the next room, the one where the elevators led up higher into the factory. I constantly glanced at Will, always to find him staring at me. I smiled sheepishly and he smiled in return, before clearing his throat. "I suppose we've got to take the remaining elevator shaft upwards." The factory was falling into disrepair; the elevator on the right was completely destroyed, and the entire shaft and part of the room was on fire.

I nodded. "G-Guess so. . ." Why am I so nervous? He stepped next to me.

"Something the matter?" he asked.

"N-No! Why would something be the matter? Nothing's the matter! I-I couldn't be happier!"

"Good. Me neither." He smiled again, more frequently than he'd ever smiled before. And this wasn't a sarcastic or humorous smile, it was a genuine smile.

"What do you mean?" I asked, hoping for the right answer.

"Well. . ." He raised his hand and brushed my hair aside. "You know," he said, and I felt my heart soar about fifty feet above the building. "C'mon, we got places to be."

We all stepped inside the elevator, and Booker punched the button, as he usually did. The elevator started to slowly rise, and I couldn't help but think about the man standing next to me. It was a little weird to think about. I was a strange girl with abnormal powers that hadn't even seen the world until a while ago, and he was a regular photographer who lived a regular - as far as I knew - life. And yet, here we were, him standing so close to me. . . He had to feel the same way I felt. I know he did. He just said that, didn't he?

I watched the panels in front of the elevator raise and disappear several times, revealing the production lines of Fink industries. The first few floors were what I might've expected; Vigors and vending machines being produced, on large assembly lines and conveyor belts. I noticed that Bucking Bronco was rather popular; out of all the vigors being produced, it was one of the most common. And that's when things started to get strange; on the next floor, all of the production was stopped and Fitzroy had propaganda posted all around the room, with red curtains everywhere.

Lucy scoffed at the scene. "Those two are just a perfect match for each other, aren't they?"

"Who?" I asked.

"Who do you think?" She winked, teasing me, before continuing. "Fitzroy and Comstock. They both survive off each other. Comstock needs someone to direct the hate of his people at, and she needs someone to hate to give the Vox a reason, a purpose. The thrive off one another, even if they are enemies. Our time in Finkton sure has taught us a lot. Fink, Chen Lin, the Vox-"

"That makes sense, I guess," said Booker. "But we've got to get out of here and leave this all behind."

I choked down a sob slightly, thinking about this entire Finkton fiasco. "I can't believe May Lin and Mr. Lin wound up dead. . . all because we were too careless. Am. . . Am I responsible?"

Will wrapped his arm around my shoulder, cradling me into his neck. "There was nothing you could do. You had no way of knowing that he was going to die, no matter what we did."

"Besides, it wasn't our fault," Booker said. "We just need to get our airship and get to Paris."

I reeled on him, breaking away from Will's embrace. "You seriously think we're innocents in this and it doesn't matter? We had a part in their death, Booker. Whether you realize that - or care, for that matter - is up to you, bu-"

I was interrupted by the phone ringing by the elevator's side, and an abrupt jolt stopped the elevator in its tracks. I stumbled to the side slightly, as did Booker, but quickly regained my balance. He answered the phone, tilting his head in confusion.' Uhh. . . Hello?" he said. "Fink?"

"I saw you die, Booker." The voice belonged to a woman; I assumed it was Fitzroy. "With my own two eyes."

"Look, Fitzroy, we got you your guns. You owe us an airship."

"You ain't my Booker DeWitt, though. My Booker DeWitt was a hero to the cause. My Booker DeWitt gave his life for the Vox. He was a story to tell your grand kids. But you. . . You just complicate his narrative."

The elevator kicked into gear again as Fitzroy left us, leaving the phone dangling. "Well," Will said, "that didn't sound nice."

The door clicked open and we stepped outside, looking at a group of Vox soldiers staring at some Founder corpses. We stepped out of the elevator and started to walk through the room. The Vox remained completely silent, staring at us from under their tarps. The premonition I felt refused to go away, indicating that I was probably right.

And what do you know, I was. They pulled their guns off their belts and pointed them at us. Fortunately, our boys were quicker than them, so Will and Booker had shots fired off before they'd all even all aimed at us. Two of them dropped dead in our initial fire, and Lucy and I dived to the ground. I didn't see what else transpired, other than the movement of feet, but as usual, the pair walked away unscathed. Will helped me to my feet, sighing slightly. "So that's an ally down the drain."

I nodded, not letting go of his hand yet. "This is going to be a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. . ."

He nodded, and we rounded the desk in the center of the room. "The docks are right up here," said Booker. "The First Lady's going to be right out there. We need to be ready." He pumped his shotgun and tossed a box to Will, who caught it and started to load Sally. "Everyone good?"

I nodded reluctantly, and Booker took a position near the side of the door. Will kicked it open, and I covered my eyes as the bright light entered the room from the outside. After they adjusted, I noticed it was a large loading dock; there was the upper level, where Fink's office was, and the lower one, where airships docked and left their loads to be moved by loading crews. Everyone that wasn't a member of a militant force had evacuated, though. In front of us there was a large staircase, which we walked up with caution. In front of us was a big, glass window, and behind it, Fink was cowering for his life, begging an unknown assailant to cease their assaults. Suddenly, a bullet flew through his head and into the window, leaving a giant splatter of his blood left behind it. He fell to the ground, dead, and out from the shadows stepped Daisy Fitzroy. She glared at us and wiped some of Fink's blood onto her hand, before smearing it across her face, much like the face paint her companions wore.

I cringed at the display of violence as the PA above us crackled to life. "Kill the impostors. I want them dead, all of them." Sirens went off all around us and airships coated in red fabric arrived from all sides, dropping off Vox Populi soldiers. We were completely surrounded, for all intensive purposes, and I didn't see any way we were getting out of this. I turned around to see if the Factory was still open, but a Handy-Man was standing right in front of the door, cracking his giant metal knuckles.

"This isn't going to go well," muttered Will, his hand on Sally and the other holding the knife. Booker held the shotgun with both hands, staring down the sights at anyone close enough for him to shoot. For a moment, it was a stand-still, just us staring them down and them staring us down.

And then, chaos broke loose after Will fired the first shot.

The however-many Vox surrounding us broke into runs towards us, fighting with all their might. The Handy-Man jumped from his position and dived towards us, his fist pointed towards Booker. He dived to the side and Will started to shoot the Handy-Man, obviously deciding to get the biggest problem down first. That didn't seem like it was going to happen, though; the Vox certainly didn't let up. Will grabbed my hand and started pulling me away from the fight, running to a safer position, Lucy and Booker at our heels. I looked around for anything I could to help; tears, weapons, anything. Nothing except a giant metal rod with a sphere on top of it came up. A Tesla coil, if I recalled correctly.

"Elizabeth!" Booker shouted. "Open that tear!"

"What?" I shouted, even as I did what he said. I opened the tear and we crouched behind some brass pipes, waiting for the mass to arrive. I tried to get a count on how many Vox there were; around thirty or so, less than I'd initially expected but more than I think any of us wanted to deal with. As they approached the Tesla coil, bolts started to shoot out of it, electrocuting them and causing them to drop dead. Booker started preparing Vigor traps all around, while Will waited for his opportunity to strike at the most convenience. He still got shots in with Sally, dropping foes left and right.

Just when things were going well, of course, the Handy-Man jumped over our cover and grabbed Will by the waist, picking him up and tightening his grip around him. Will fired at the beast's face, but the shots that did land did nothing, and it was hard to aim when you were being shaken around like that. My heartstrings were plucked as the machine flung him into the far wall on a platform up above us, and jumped after him in pursuit. I couldn't follow them, but there was no where I'd rather be. I just had to sit and hope he could handle himself, all while my subconscious begged me to see if he was alright.

In the mean time, I monitored the area for supplies or tears that I could open to help Booker. For now, he was fighting the waves of the Vox Populi alone, but they were dropping like flies. Because they were in such a large group, they felt confident, so they didn't bother to take cover or anything. Booker had brought the numbers down to eleven in mere minutes, with a shotgun and some Devil's Kiss traps. That was when they started to get more cautious, trying to keep their range from the Tesla coil and stay out of Booker's path of fire. Some were too close to us and got fried by the Tesla coil, and that was when that luck ended.

The rest of them were the smartest and strongest Vox that hadn't gotten killed in the initial rush, and to get to them, Booker'd have to walk twenty feet with no cover and no assistance, unless Will dropped out of the sky right about now. I started to think it might happen, but it didn't. How long is he going to be up there?

"Elizabeth," said Booker, snapping me back into reality.

"Hm?" I asked, surveying the area.

"If you can close the Tesla tear and open that one over there," he said, pointing to a tear that contained one of the flying Mosquito turrets, "I can get towards them and end this and we can get to Will and the Handy-Man. Okay?"

I nodded and did as he asked, removing the Tesla coil from this plane of existence and bringing in the turret. It was behind them, so they all jumped out of cover to try and find some that was favorable to them. Fortunately, when they alternated sides, they came face to face with Booker, who had his shotgun loaded and ready. One fell, then another, and another, until one or two were left. Booker gritted his teeth. "You're the man from the ship the other day," he said, aiming the shotgun to his head. "This is for that punch in the face," said Booker, before he pulled the trigger and out shot the man's blood. I turned my head away from the gruesome scene, never getting used to things like that. I hoped I never would.

Booker finished off the Vox forces and everything grew quiet. Eerily quiet, and I was frightened for a moment that Will had been killed by the Handy-Man and it had retreated. The thought alone gave me misty eyes.

But thankfully, the sound of a sky-hook grinding across a skyline filled the air and Will jumped down into the middle of the corridor, raising his pistol into the air. The Handy-Man jumped down, its head now wrapped in red curtains that obscured its vision. Will fired at its heart, and Booker decided to jump in as well, blasting it with electricity. It flailed around randomly, trying to hit any one of us, but we were out of its range and it was too stupid to try and move to hurt us. With a single remaining shot from the barrel of Will's gun, it dropped dead, electricity spouting from its back.

He breathed deeply, grimacing with pain. He certainly hadn't gone with no injuries, that was for sure, but I was just glad he was okay. I ran towards him and wrapped my arms around him, spinning with delight. He reciprocated the action, though he wasn't as enthusiastic as I was. "What's the occasion?" he asked, setting me down.

I pouted at him. "You could've just gotten yourself killed!" I put a hand on his chest, before continuing. "You're not allowed to get yourself killed anymore. You mean too much to me."

He shrugged. "Nothing new there," he said, before pulling away from me. "Now, we've got to go get Fitzroy."

we ascended the staircase we had been on a few moments before, waiting for Fitzroy to arrive at one of the windows. I slowly saw her figure come into the light, and what I saw horrified me. She was holding a gun to a child's head, her back facing us, threatening to kill it. "No!" I shouted. I grabbed Will's hand and scanned the area. "You need to get me in there," I pleaded, finding a ventilation shaft. "Please, boost me up into it!" I pulled the lid off of it and stepped inside, my hands shaking back and forth. I have to do something. . .

I crawled through the shaft and wound up on the other side of the room. I heard Fitzroy talking to Booker and everyone on the outside. She still had the gun to the child's head. . . "You see, the Founders; They just like weeds, y'know. If you cut 'em down, they just grow back!" I scanned the room for something- anything - that could help. I settled on a large pair of scissors, panicking. "You gotta' pull 'em up from the roo-"

She stopped abruptly as I plunged the scissors into her back and through her spine, splattering her and myself with blood. I felt it on my face, my hands, my clothes. The blood of another person, who I'd just killed. I just killed Daisy Fitzroy.

She collapsed on the ground in front of me as the door slowly opened, the child running out and away. I was bloodstained. I didn't want anyone - not Will - to see me like this. I stared down at my hands, still unable to grasp what I'd just done. Will stared at me and reached forwards to comfort me, but I raised the scissors in fear. "Whoa! Easy there," he said, stepping towards me still. Don't let them see me like this. . .

I started to run. The First Lady was right down that corridor. I ran and ran and ran, until I was inside. I heard the rest of them running after me, but I just ran inside and into the backroom where Lady Comstock would've stayed and slammed the door shut, locking it. I couldn't even grasp what I'd just done. I was a killer. A killer.

I rifled through all the doors and cabinets until I found some kind of dress - a replica of the ones Lady Comstock wore in every picture - and I changed into it, not wanting to ever see those clothes again. I looked at myself in the mirror, not seeing the same woman; someone completely different stood in front of me. I grabbed a knife from the drawer and cut off my hair, staring at the ponytail. I watched as it fell to the ground, all that remained neck-length raven hair. I couldn't see the woman I used to think I was anymore.

I heard a fist slamming against the door. "Elizabeth!" It was Will. He was shouting for me. "Come on, open up! I need to talk to you!"

I slowly approached the door and opened it. He took a minute to observe me, before nodding slowly and stepping inside. "Look. . ." he started, but I didn't bother to let him finish. I ran into him, burying my face in his chest, sobbing wildly. I couldn't control it anymore. I just broke down, sobbing madly into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt comforted by his presence. "Hey. . . You did the right thing. . ."

"No I didn't!" I shouted, still unable to regain my composure. "I killed someone! With my own two hands!"

"You did what you had to do. . . I know it doesn't feel good, and it never will. You'll never forget what just happened. But . . . you have to live with it. It's the only way anything will get better." He rested his hand on the back of my neck and looked into my eyes. "Promise me that you'll let it get better. No one's going to judge you any differently, we've all done worse here. I admire what you just did; you showed remarkable strength. So let us help, okay?"

I nodded slowly to him and lowered my eyes, not wanting to face him. He pulled my head forward and kissed me, and I reciprocated, finding joy in him being there. I still have one thing that I have to look forward to. . . "S-So. . ." I asked him, after pulling away from his embrace, "You're going to stay with me in Paris, right?" I wiped away my tears and started to head towards the door, figuring Booker and Lucy needed to know I was alright.

"Of course," he said. "I'll always be there for you."