All right, sorry for the delay. Things were getting hectic around here, and I had to push this chapter back. Thankfully those typewriter chimps I got a while back decided to lend a hand. Updates should resume their former schedule from here on in.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock or any of the characters
The dazzlingly bright light mixed with the sudden appearance of so many splicers sent Epsilon's senses reeling. The sheer number of threats caused her head to spin as she frantically tried to figure out which had to be dealt with first. Tomas made the choice for her.
"Everyone back into the hallway! Now!"
Her body was in motion before her mind had a chance to even process the words. The cramped space they'd just exited would confine them, but it would also ensure that their attackers could only come at them a couple at a time. The splicers weren't about to just let them walk away however. As they all dashed towards the partially hidden doorway, a twisted thing with spindly, too long, limbs dropped down from the ceiling to bar their path. It's hideously twisted face was sporting a smile that tore it almost from ear to ear.
"Going somewhere?" It goaded, raising two curved hooks in a menacing gesture. The demented monster's appearance didn't give Epsilon even a moment's pause. Using her momentum to its fullest she delivered a flying kick directly into the splicer's miniscule chest, sending it hurtling backwards into the door. The wooden blockade was smashed inwards, its ancient hinges finally giving way under the impact.
Much to her surprise, the splicer didn't crash to the ground and die like she'd expected. It twisted its body in midair, using the hooks to claw at the walls and change the path of its descent. Landing perfectly on its feet, it directed another sick grin their way.
"Aww, that hurt my feelings." It cackled. "It almost makes me think you don't want to be friends."
Several thuds echoed throughout the room as more of the mutated splicers dropped from the roof. In the span of a few moments, they were surrounded. Behind the rows of Spiders, the Houdini splicers stood watching, hands ignited like torches in the mostly darkened theater.
Epsilon found herself standing shoulder to shoulder with Davian, her harvester raised in preparation. This was going to be a slaughter, and not the kind she enjoyed.
"Now that will be enough of that I think." Came the voice over the loudspeaker. "If you have any desire to survive this you'll lower your weapons at once. Be quick now, I'm not a patient man."
Stealing a glimpse at her companions, Epsilon noted that everybody else seemed just as confused and unsettled by the man's words as she was. Tomas's mouth was set in a grim line, but after a brief pause he lowered his shotgun. Not enough to keep it from being used, but enough to show that he was cooperation for the moment.
The others slowly followed suit, Archer and Emma dropping their aim while Davian extinguished the flames flickering in his palms. With no small amount of hesitation, Epsilon allowed her harvester to point at the floor rather than the assorted creatures that surrounded them.
"That's better. I do hope you'll forgive the arrangements. The last time I entertained visitors, things got rather… unpleasant. Alice, please escort our guests to the waiting room. There is much I need to discuss with them."
One of the Houdini splicers broke away from the rest, choosing to stroll down towards the group rather than teleport. She was a rather unremarkable specimen, with gangly limbs that spoke of malnutrition and hair that might once have been blonde but now merely resembled dead hay. The one thing about her that set Epsilon on edge was the cruel smirk she wore and the bird mask that covered half her face.
The woman stopped at the edge of the stage, ushering them forwards with a dramatic flourish.
"I'll have to ask you to come with me." She said, her voice not quite as damaged as Epsilon had expected. "Keep your weapons low if you know what's good for you. Only one man has ever drawn a gun on Master Cohen and lived."
It was a tense procession that followed her lead. The big sister found herself unconsciously drawing closer to Davian as they moved through the crowd. His hand brushed against hers lightly, not enough to give anything away to the watching masses but enough to be of some small comfort.
She was struck by how similar this whole thing felt to their first arrival at the colony. The tension was the same as was sense of standing on a ticking time bomb. The main difference being that instead of scared colonists, they were surrounded by homicidal lunatics. Epsilon could feel their hungry expressions being directed her way. She knew full well that they could practically smell the Adam in her blood.
The group ascended the stairs without incident, the splicers parting like water to allow them passage as Alice took the lead. Behind them, the ones they had already walked by swiftly closed ranks and cut off any avenue of escape.
The progress was slower than Epsilon would have liked. The torment of being surrounded by enemies was compounded by her lack of a helmet. Her armor didn't offer the same level of protection anymore. While her Adam slug could heal most injuries, a solid shot to the head was more than it could hope to handle.
After a painfully long parade through the ranks of leering figures, they entered the room at the top of the staircase.
"Wait here." Alice said, gesturing for them to go inside. "Master Cohen will be down shortly. You may consider yourselves blessed that he's chosen to meet with you personally."
There were a lot of things Epsilon considered herself right now. Blessed wasn't one of them.
The room was a fairly modest affair compared to the lavish area they'd just left. It was fairly small, likely never intended to be used by more than a few people at a time. A couple of chairs had been set up though nobody chose to sit.
"Hey guys, look at this." Archer said, pulling their attention to the flyers that hung on the walls. They were filled with a bunch of words and pictures that Epsilon didn't understand, but from the looks on everyone else's faces, they must have had some significance.
"Why even ask? My parents used to listen to that record all the time." He remarked, a hint of animation coloring his features after his previous blankness. "And Patrick and Moria, I saw that musical when I was just a kid. You think he'll give me an autographed copy of the script if I ask nicely?"
"This isn't some culture trip." Tomas stated, frowning disapprovingly at the boy. "In case you've forgotten, we're dealing with a splicer who went violently insane a long time ago."
Archer shrugged in response.
"Being crazy doesn't mean he can't make good music."
The man shook his head, grumbling something under his breath that Epsilon couldn't hear. He didn't push the subject though, and a small silence filled the room as they all got ready for their host to make an appearance. They were to wait, and apparently Sander Cohen was very keen on testing their patience.
Epsilon started the trial by leaning against one of the walls and keeping her attention focused on the doorway and a curtain that hung down on the far wall. They were the only two possible entrances that she could see.
This vigil slowly broke down as time ticked by without the slightest hint of possible conflict. Eventually she moved to a chair where she sat intently focusing on her chosen targets. It was a struggle against monotonous boredom, and she could already feel it starting to eat away at her.
She went from sitting, to standing, to pacing, to sitting again, and finally settled on resting against the wall she'd originally been leaning against. She despised this whole situation. Not only were they trapped by a small army, but they had to go through the indignity of being kept waiting in a small confined room. The lack of space was starting to make her stir crazy.
Her companions weren't fairing much better. Tomas had taken up a station similar to hers, but his diligence had started to wane as he started to realize that the man they'd come after was toying with them. The corner of his mouth twitched in irritation, hinting at the frustration that was building.
Emma and Davian sat in the two chairs, idly staring at nothing. Occasionally one of them would adjust their position, but otherwise they didn't appear to be paying much attention to the waiting room.
Archer, after losing interest in the flyers, had slumped down in a corner. His head rested against one arm, and he was either asleep or doing a very good imitation of a corpse.
Epsilon sighed quietly. This was becoming intolerable. She needed to do something. She needed space. In an attempt to distract herself, she closed her eyes and focused on using her other senses to keep alert. Maybe seeing things from a fresh perspective would make this more bearable.
The stress slowly ebbed out of her shoulders as she focused on listening rather than looking. It was surprising how much less restricted she felt when she couldn't see the walls. There was nothing that stood out to her, so she chose to turn her attention towards the sound of her own breathing. The steady rhythm was a small relief. It marked just that tiny bit of normalcy in a place so totally foreign to her-
Epsilon was leaping to her feet before she even had time to process her own actions. The others all started at her sudden movement, but they quickly realized where the burst of energy had come from.
It was subtle. Soft, and wisplike. The sound of a piano. It hung in the background like the beat of a butterfly's wings, barely audible if you weren't look for it.
As the five listeners stood entranced by the unexpected music, it began to pick up in volume. Little by little, the sound grew louder, each step marked by a mixture of notes whose discordant clashes, instead of damaging the work, fit together in a type of melodic chaos.
Very soon it almost sounded like the player was creating their symphony right in the room with them. The walls reverberated as the playing grew more intense with each passing moment. As the volume increased, so too did the pace. The one man orchestra became a flurried hurricane of music that swept them up in its writhing harmony. To Epsilon it seemed all but impossible for a person's fingers to move quickly enough to play such music.
The song took a darker turn. It's dramatic, winding, sounds becoming sinister and almost malignant. Each touch of the key became sharper, each turn in the song cutting like a knife through Epsilon's ears.
The big sister wanted to tear herself away, but couldn't even begin to think of doing so. It was like being enthralled by hypnotic plasmids. She felt powerless under the constant barrage of sound that almost seemed to manifest one's descent into madness.
Her breath was stolen from her as it took on a feral quality. The piano reached a fever pitch, echoing inside her head and blocking out any thought that might have otherwise existed. Just when the notes started becoming too harsh to endure, the song petered off into a rapidly softening descent that left her with a hollow feeling in her gut and a burning desire for more.
As the quiet settled back again, Epsilon was stricken by the sudden desire to stand up and applaud. Never before had she felt so chilled and yet so alive at the same time. The others were all in similar states of disarray, wearing expressions ranging from trepidation to poorly concealed awe.
"I hope you enjoyed that little display. I felt it was only fitting that you get a taste of true art after having no doubt been deprived for so long."
The sound of a voice broke the spell that had fallen over them. The group tensed up, recalling that they were still located in the lion's den as the curtain was pulled back. There was no mistaking the man who strode forward.
While she'd never seen Sander Cohen herself, Epsilon had heard quite a bit about him from eavesdropping on others. None of the rumors had done him justice.
With his painted face and well maintained tuxedo, he cut an impressive figure. Even though he must have been getting on in the years by now, he didn't show it. His features held a kind of smoldering energy that reminded her of mother.
He walked forwards with confidence, as though he were surrounded by friends and not alone in a room with armed colonists. It set Epsilon's nerves on edge to see him so at ease.
Taking the seat that Davian had been using earlier, he regarded them for a moment. Nobody else spoke up. They were still unsure of how to approach the man that had become renowned as one of Rapture's most dangerous individuals.
"I've been waiting a long time to meet with Tenenbaum's disciples." Cohen remarked, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. "I'm glad you accepted my invitation. It would have been such a shame to have been rejected again."
"Invitation?" The harshness of Emma's tone took Epsilon off guard. "You call murdering seven of our people and stealing our only hope of escaping this damn place an invitation? Do you have any idea how much damage you've caused!?"
Tomas placed a heavy hand on the woman's shoulder, partly to calm her down and partly to hold her back.
Rather than be bothered by her outburst, Sander Cohen actually started chuckling. It was a rather unpleasant sound.
"I wouldn't have had to make such a forceful entrance if she hadn't repeatedly ignored me." He said. "It was a great surprise when I heard she'd come back again. I had thought she'd left for good after the incident in Minerva's Den, but I suppose one never truly leaves Rapture behind."
Epsilon didn't understand most of what was being said, but she could tell that this little negotiation was already starting to deteriorate. Archer and Davian shared her view, casting questioning glances at Tomas. He stepped forward in response.
"We're just here for the codes to deactivate the automated defenses outside of the city." He stated. "You give us those, and we can all go home without any trouble. If you don't, then we'll have a problem. You don't want to have a problem with us."
As far as thinly veiled threats went, Epsilon had heard better. Apparently Cohen had also.
"My, my, is that a threat?"
The question was posed innocently enough, but something flickered in the artist's eyes as he asked it. Something that sent a cold shiver up Epsilon's spine. As quickly as it had appeared, the expression was gone with no trace left of it having ever existed at all.
"Everyone wants something." He mused, standing once more and eyeing the flyers that were stuck on the walls. "I have no use for the codes personally, but I don't intend to give them away for free either. I brought you here for a reason. Do not think that you can come into my home and try to bully them from me."
"What do you want then?" Emma demanded when Tomas failed to. "Supplies? Weaponry? Ammunition?"
Cohen waved off her suggestions without so much as a sidelong glance.
"I have no need for any of those things." His eyes had a faraway look as though he were deep in thought. "No… What I desire most is something only Tenenbaum herself can give me. She's put off the inevitable for too long, and it's time to answer for her actions."
"Uh… what does that mean exactly?" Archer ventured hesitantly. He almost jumped out of his skin as the man's gaze fixed suddenly on him. "I mean, do you two have a history or something?"
The distant look returned.
"Not directly, no." He said. "Though we both worked through the same individual. Tell me, how much do you know of Jack Ryan?"
The question came as a surprise to all of them. After a moment's hesitation, Tomas was the one to speak up.
"Jack Ryan was the guy who tore up Rapture after the civil war." He said, speaking as though reciting it from another source. "He killed both Atlas, and Andrew Ryan before escaping to the surface with a good number of little sisters in hand."
"Oh, he was far more than that." Cohen said, his fingers curling inwards as he held his hands behind his back. "He was an exceptionally skilled fighter, a relentless survivor, and most important of all, he was my greatest apprentice to date."
"Wait, he was your apprentice?" Davian's question was thick with disbelief. "I thought he came from the surface. How could he be your apprentice if he was only down here for such a short time?"
Cohen's answer came as though he'd been expecting the question.
"Jack Ryan spent a short time in Fort Frolic during his little bloodbath throughout the city." His face slowly darkened as he spoke. Something about the memory seemed to be rousing his ire. "While he was here, he aided me with completing my masterpiece. A work of art that swept aside all others before it. It was superb! Sublime! A testament to the delicate balance of life and death immortalized in a single perfect image!"
He slowly walked as he spoke, each move seemingly crafted from years of pent up emotions. The air of danger in his eyes returned full force. Epsilon found herself edging away from him, though the room they were in didn't give her much space to do so.
"I put out my heart, my very soul¸ for him! And when it was finished at last, when my life's work was finally complete, how did he repay me?" He'd turned away from them at this point, facing the curtain that had hidden his entrance.
"With a bullet to the back."
His words dragged themselves from his throat and fell heavily as though they were made of stone.
"He gunned me down like some worthless urchin in a back alley." When he turned to face them again, his expression was deadly serious. "As if trying to end my life was not insulting enough, he then did the unforgivable. He set light to my masterpiece. He destroyed that which I'd worked to create for so long."
There was no disguising the hatred in his being now. It practically radiated out from him, subjecting the others in the room to a barely controlled madness.
"He left me to die, but I refused to slip into the darkness. I clung to life so that I might find my traitorous apprentice again and tear his fucking heart out!"
"So revenge is what you want?" Tomas finished for him.
All at once the pain and betrayal melted from Cohen's features, being replaced by the same pleasant smile that he'd worn before. The transition was so sudden that it left Epsilon wondering just how much of Cohen's mind was left intact.
"Revenge?" He repeated. "Oh I longed for revenge at first. The chance to break that ungrateful wretch down and watch him bleed. To leave him dying the way he left me. But that was not to be. He escaped to the surface where I would never follow. That world of parasites and censorship is one that I refuse to return to. Rapture may not appreciate my genius, but it does not restrain it either."
"Then what do you want?" Davian questioned. "This seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through if you don't intend to go after him."
Cohen paused for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a breath. When he opened them again, there was a predatory edge in his smile.
"Jack Ryan robbed me of something irreplaceable." He began. "Not only was he the one that put my masterpiece together, but he was the one that tore it apart. There is only one punishment fitting for him now. He must not be killed, nor tormented. He must be forgotten."
Before anyone could ask what the man was getting at, he continued.
"What I require of Tenenbaum is her cooperation in creating a piece of art so breathtaking that it would eclipse that which Jack destroyed."
"You're not going to ask her to sing are you?" Archer asked, shuddering slightly. "Trust me; you really don't want to hear her singing voice."
Tomas elbowed him hard in the side, directing a glare his way that clearly demanded he be silent. Cohen ignored the exchange.
"Tell me, can any of you think of something that could even hope to rival the brilliance of my lost creation?" The artist questioned, turning to look at each of them in turn. "Of course not. No simple mind could ever hope to dream of such a thing. For the longest time, I too was unable to even conceive of the possibility. But now…"
He made his way back up to the curtain, standing before it like he was a player on a stage. Very softly, the sound of the piano music could be heard playing in the background.
"What is the single most crucial moment in the life of a selfless hero or a sinner in need of redemption?" He demanded, gesturing with an open palm. "What is the one action that has captured the beauty of creation in its purest form? I'll tell you."
"Sacrifice."
Emma gasped sharply, and Tomas's face visibly darkened.
"The offering of one's own life for the greater good. There is nothing else that comes close. My life's work was stolen from me by Jack, so it is only fitting that the woman who guided him through Rapture be the one to set things right. I invited you here so that you may have the chance to convince her to finish this."
Cohen's eyes burned with an almost crazed glow, lighting up his features.
"The price that must be paid for your freedom…" He stated. "Is Brigid Tenenbaum's sacrifice."
"Move it! Get those damn weapons sorted out and find your positions!"
Benjamin Hawthorn could hardly contain himself. It was finally happening. After playing cat and mouse with Tenenbaum for so long, he finally had her. Cain had informed him that she was setting up a meeting with the notorious splicer Sander Cohen. According to him, it was the perfect opportunity to assassinate both the leaders of Fort Frolic as well as the colony.
Hawthorn had been hesitant at first. He'd heard quite a bit about how Lamb's soldiers had failed repeatedly when trying to subdue the madman. But Cain had assured him that the stories were greatly exaggerated. Lamb had been too busy with the construction of her utopian being to throw resources at bringing Cohen down according to him. The man was dangerous, but no more so than the average splicer mob boss. Whereas Tenenbaum's forces had always been thoroughly entrenched in their homes, the inhabitants of Fort Frolic were much more disorganized.
And of course the hoard that followed the mad artist would no doubt bend knee to whoever struck him from his marble pedestal.
The thought of gaining such influence and reputation was too much for Hawthorn. He'd agreed wholeheartedly, drinking in the details of Cain's plan without a second thought. The promise of such rich rewards was just as addicting as the Adam in his veins.
He'd called up every reserve force, brought up every favor that was owed to him, and amassed an army to march on Fort Frolic. Every little gang or pocket of splicers he could find was given one choice; join or die. By the time he was ready to set out, his forces had swelled to a size not seen since the fall of titans such as Andrew Ryan and Lamb.
They stormed forward towards the train station that would take them to Cohen's domain. It would be a slow process since they wouldn't all be able to pile in at the same time. They would send in the most heavily armed members first to secure the landing area. The other side would no doubt see them coming, but against such numbers what hope did they have of winning?
"Come on you bastards! Move it!" Hawthorn shouted, gesturing wildly with his shotgun. "Let's show these fuckers how we go to war!"
A storm was coming. One that would paint the walls crimson. The promise of bloodshed echoed throughout the empty halls, and the whole city seemed to tremble at its approach.