Frank Fontaine,

How the story ends,

Kids gotta go. That damn kid has to go.

It's like lookin in a mirror, cept I'm lookin in the past and havin it reflected right back at me.

His… relationship with Em is off puttin too. Reminds me so much of…

Brat looks too much like me too. Damn it all, even Reggie and Limey are gettin sentimental. Have to keep reminding them it ain't me. Gotta keep reminding myself that too.

The whole… twisted scenario feels like some sort of cruel joke. Like the universe is laughin at me.

I've seen this story play out before… I already know how it ends.

Clayton sniffed and rubbed at his black eye.

The kids around Pauper's Drop weren't very nice. They teased him constantly about being an orphan, that his Mama wasn't really his Mama and then they picked on the fact that he was small. Clayton was little for other kids his age, he knew that, but it didn't mean the words didn't hurt.

Still, he'd gotten into a fight because he couldn't ignore it anymore. He pushed the bigger kid and the bigger kid pushed back, just a lot harder than Clayton could and he'd tumbled to the floor. Then the boy was on top of him and punching, until some adults came and broke them up. Clayton had ran off, quickly finding his way back home.

He'd sat and waited for his Mama to come home, she'd been so shocked when she saw him. Horrified even, running over and trying desperately to fix his injuries. He had a band aid over his nose from a cut, scraped up elbows and a black eye, with a cut lip.

She'd asked what had happened. Clayton shrugged and said he'd tripped and fell. It wasn't even believable, but she seemed like she didn't want to push him until he was ready. So instead it was back to Fontaine Futuristics.

Clayton wasn't even supposed to be with her, she'd taken to leaving him at home because he'd gotten more confident and didn't feel like she was going to abandon him and not come back. Like his first parents had, he couldn't remember them very well, but he remembered them leaving.

Now though, she wanted him with her, probably to keep an eye on him and make sure everything was okay. She'd ask every so often if his eye still hurt and he'd lie. His Mama was worried about him, he didn't want to make her even more worried. If she got too worried she might think she couldn't look after him and then abandon him.

He was being silly, deep down he knew that, but it was still an idea that scared him.

Clayton watched while his mother worked, but when it came to the labs, he knew he wouldn't be able to go with her. His Mama didn't like the labs and wouldn't talk to him about them. She just said they were dark and cold, not really places he'd want to go.

She was right, Clayton didn't like the dark, it reminded him of the air vents he'd lived in.

"C'mon," his Mama said softly, reaching and taking his hand. "Lets go and find Reggie, he'll keep an eye on you while I'm gone."

She helped him up the stairs, Mister Reggie was usually on the second floor because that was were Mister Fontaine was. His office was up here and the words 'the office of Frank Fontaine' were resting above the door. Clayton had never been in Mister Fontaine's office, but he was curious. He'd always wanted to see inside, especially after seeing the super powers Mister Fontaine was selling. Maybe there'd be secret plans for the next set of super powers?

Mister Reggie wasn't there, but Aunt Kelly was. Clayton didn't know she worked here, neither did his Mama if her reaction was anything to go by.

Clayton didn't really listen as his Mama and Aunt Kelly talked, he was staring at the Mister Fontaine's office doors. They were shut, just like they always were, he'd never even gotten a peak inside.

Suddenly, Aunt Kelly grabbed his face, turning him to look at her and he smiled but she looked worried. Just like how Mama had been worried when she first saw his face.

"Oh, Clayton, honey what happened?"

"I tripped and fell."

Kelly rose and eyebrow, glancing up at Emilie who shrugged. They did this weird silent communication that adults did, it was something Clayton was excited to learn. To be able to share whole conversations just be looks and glances. He wondered how adults did it.

"Where's Reggie?"

"Oh, down at the Fisheries with Fontaine. They'll be back in about half an hour or so, they might even be heading back now," Aunt Kelly shrugged. "Why?"

"I need someone to watch Clayton while I work in the labs," Em said, biting her lip and looking around the corridor. "I usually ask Reggie. He's good with kids."

"I'll look after him."

Em rose an eyebrow. "You?"

"Sure," Kelly bent down and picked Clayton up, sitting back down on her chair and resting him on her knees. "I have some paper, he could draw for a bit."

"You've never looked after a kid before have you?" Em crossed her arms. "That won't keep him occupied for long."

"I'll figure something out, go," Kelly waved her hand. "I can handle a man in the bedroom, I'm sure I can handle a kid."

"Why do you have to handle men in the bedroom, Aunty Kelly?"

Kelly blushed and laughed a little nervously. She ruffled his hair and set on a spare chair, pushing some paper and a pencil over to him. Aunt Kelly didn't answer him, instead insisting that Em leave because she would be fine and that Clayton wouldn't be a problem.

His Mama gave in, quickly gave him a hug and a kiss, promising that she wouldn't be long. Then she turned and marched off to deal with the labs.

Clayton missed her already. He liked helping his Mama with her job, he'd sit holding the torch or sometimes he'd hand her the tools she needed. He'd learnt all of the tools names after all and he loved being able to help. He found what his Mama did interesting.

Fifteen minutes passed and then twenty, Mama had been right, Clayton was bored. He glanced at his aunt who was busy tapping away at her typewriter, before looking back at Mister Fontaine's office.

There was no one here and Aunt Kelly was very focussed on her typewriter, still Clayton knew he'd have to be quick and not get caught.

Carefully and quietly, he hoped off his chair and crouched down on the floor. He was quiet when he wanted to be, all those months of living on the streets and having to sneak around had taught him how to be quiet and unseen. He had already crawled past Kelly's desk and was silently making it up the steps to Mister Fontaine's office. She didn't spot him at all, probably still thought he was drawing or maybe even forgot that he was there.

Carefully, Clayton got to his feet and gently opened the door to Fontaine's office, slipping inside and letting the door shut.

Clayton wasn't sure what he was expecting but the huge statue of a… bear was it? Yeah, a bear, that wasn't what he'd been expecting, nor were the paintings along the long walk up to Mister Fontaine's desk.

The room felt cold and powerful, a bit like the ocean outside or Mister Fontaine himself.

Slowly, the little boy walked along the the carpet looking around. He stared at the paintings of Mister Fontaine for a moment, because they made the man look like he was in charge. There was also a smugness to the smile on his face, like he was confident, but the eyes… there was something different in the eyes. Clayton didn't know what it was, he'd never seen it before in anyone else's eyes.

Still, he walked on, stopping at the desk. The desk itself was on a platform that you had to walk up to. It made Mister Fontaine taller than everyone else, he'd be looking down on anyone who entered to talk to him. Behind the chair at Mister Fontaine's desk was the bear statue that had first caught Clayton's eye when he entered the office.

He looked back at the door cautiously. No one came through, so he calmed down, but then a painting caught his eye. It was a painting of a family, that man looked like Mister Fontaine, but it couldn't be because Mister Fontaine didn't have a family. Not unless you counted Miss Limey and Mister Reggie, but Clayton had a feeling they were more friends than family.

The boy in the painting stared back at him, no smile on his face, it reminded Clayton of himself when he lived on the streets. The coldness and the distance, you couldn't afford to feel emotions, but now he could. He didn't have to protect himself anymore and it felt so good to smile. Speaking of smiling, the only person in the whole painting that was, was the Mister Fontaine lookalike.

Clayton didn't like the painting, it felt so fake and cold. Almost like a joke directed at the idea of 'family', mocking the sentiment of it. He also didn't like the man's look, it was the same as the other paintings. The smile seemed friendly enough, but the eyes… there was something off about them. They weren't cold and dead like the boy and the woman's eyes in the painting, they.. just had something to them. Maybe a coldness, but a different type of coldness. Coldness directed at everyone else, not directed inwards like the woman and boy's were.

He turned away from the painting, walking up the steps and reaching the desk and chair.

The desk was mostly empty, save for a few pens and a lamp. It felt just as empty as the office did really.

He grimaced, glancing at the chair and a smile grew on his face. It would be a bit naughty, but he couldn't help himself. Besides, no one else here would know, it would just be Clayton.

Clayton climbed into the seat, sitting down and wiggling to get comfy. He stared over the desk and at the rest of the office. From this vantage point everything else looked quite small. If anyone came in, Clayton would feel like he was in charge, he was above them. He had more money than they did, look at this big office, this was all his.

He giggled and span around in the chair, pushing off the desk with his feet. He kicked his legs out as he span, pulling them back when he came close to the desk so he didn't hit them.

He wanted an office like this, maybe with a few more toys in it, but he wanted an office just like this. He wanted to be a successful businessman like Mister Fontaine so he could buy his Mama a better home. One where the heating worked and the elevator didn't break.

They'd have a big house and their own bathysphere and Mama would be in charge of her own business and everyone would be nice to her. He'd have all the toys he'd ever want and he wouldn't have to worry about the bigger boys picking on him. He'd be able to look after his Mama and keep her safe, just like she was doing with him.

"I want those documents now, Miss," he said to no one, sitting back in the chair and spinning it around again. "Yes, Mister Clayton!" He giggled, pushing off the desk again until he was facing the windows, staring out at the city of Rapture.

The view was amazing, he could see the entire city from here, he could see all the fish and sharks. He liked looking out the widows, there was always something new to see and when he saw a new creature he didn't know, he'd ask his Mama. When she told him, Clayton would look through his animal book to try and find the creature and learn more. He was curious, he wanted to know more about the world around him.

He was mostly curious about the surface, but he didn't say anything. Sometimes he'd ask his Mama about the surface and she'd tell him about grass and the sky. He wanted to see it.

"What's so bad about the surface anyway?" He mused, staring up at the ceiling. "It can't be that bad? Just a peak won't hurt… right?"

Clayton yelped as the chair was suddenly span around and he was suddenly face to face with Fontaine. Well, it was more face to hips, he looked up at Fontaine who was smirking at him with a raised eyebrow. He looked amused that Clayton was even here in the first place. Better question, how long had Mister Fontaine been here?

"Mister Fontaine!" He spluttered, blinking at him and a blush spread up Clayton's face at being caught.

"Nice shiner, kid," he gestured to Clayton's black eye and the little boy reached up to touch it, but Fontaine battered his hand away. "Don't touch it, you'll make it worse."

"Oh…. Sorry…" he looked down at his lap, biting his lip and not daring to look at Fontaine.

"No skin off my back. Knock ya'self out with makin' it worse all ya' want kid. Now," he stood at the aside and gestured with his hand. "Scoot. Ain't your office is it?"

Clayton went red. "Did I say that out loud?"

Fontaine smirked. "Ya' might of done. Now shift."

Clayton quickly scrambled out of the seat and stood at the side, while Fontaine sat down. The man ignored him as he pulled out a key and began to unlock draws in the desk. He'd probably expected Clayton to leave.

The man casted a glance at his watch for a moment and grimaced. His eyes flickered to Clayton for a second, looking him over with his scruffy shirt and bruised face. That was a look he was all too familiar with.

Frank looked at his watch again, mulling it over in his mind. Well, he had some time to kill, he supposed he could humour Clayton just a little. Be a bit of entertainment to mess with the kid just a bit.

"Just how did that happen anyway."

Clayton froze, looking up at Fontaine with wide eyes.

"Are… are you talking to me, Mister Fontaine?"

"No I'm talking to the bear behind me," Fontaine rolled his eyes.

"But bears can't ta-," he stopped at the look Fontaine was giving him and finally it clicked. "Oh. Um, I fell."

"In to what?"

"A… door handle.."

Fontaine stared at him for a good few seconds. He didn't look impressed, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Did this door handle happen' to be fist shaped? Gotta say I ain't seen any of those before."

Clayton looked down biting his lip.

He heard Fontaine sigh. Clayton didn't look up, even as Mister Fontaine did and seemed to be messing with his drinks table underneath the painting of the family.

Clayton nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Fontaine holding a cloth that he'd bunched up, but there was a wet stain on it, seeping through the material.

"Here kid, put some ice on it," he just about shoved the cloth and ice into his hands, before he Fontaine took his wrist and directed him to rest it over his eye. "It'll help with the swellin'. Don't take it off either, or do, I really don't care," he sat back down, facing Clayton now. "What I do care about is ya Ma doin' good work and she ain't gonna do that when she's frettin' about you. So you're gonna tell her the truth, ya hear me?"

That sentence alone left a bad taste in Fontaine's mouth. Tell the truth? When in the hell did he ever tell the truth? Still he was right, Em would be concerned about the kid. Mothers were always worrying about the little snot and spit machines they'd made or in this case, found.

Frank didn't get it. What was there to like? Kids were noisy and loud. They through tantrums if they didn't get what they wanted and they were just plain irritating, Clayton would be no different.

"I.. I don't want her to worry."

"Kid she's already worryin'," he rubbed his eyes looking irritated. "Why in the hell do ya not want to tell her?"

"Because she'll worry more and… I wasn't supposed to go out the house but I heard some other kids and-," he snapped his mouth shut looking away.

"Jesus Christ.. so ya' got beaten up?" Fontaine snorted. "Big deal. Grow a back bone kid, hit 'em back."

"I tried!" He snapped at Fontaine looking angry. "But they were mean."

"Oh, they were, were they?" He laughed shaking his head. "Kids are mean. Get used to it, because they ain't gonna get any nicer, only thing you can do is get a little tougher."

Like Clayton didn't know that already. Kids were always mean, always name calling and pushing him around. He'd tried to push back and look what happened. His face hurt a lot, his eye especially. He should've just stayed in the house like his Mama had asked him, but he was curious. He wanted to make friends and his Mama hadn't found a school she liked and could afford yet. She was looking.

Clayton would sometimes find her still sitting on the sofa going over her notes and prices.

Mister Fontaine didn't seem to understand that or he didn't care.

Clayton thought that Mister Fontaine was the most amazing person he'd ever met. He'd built his company from nothing and now he was selling super powers, he had to admire him. He wanted to be just like him in the end. He wanted his own business so he and his Mama would be safe.

He kicked at the ground and mumbled under his breath.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Fontaine said, dramatically putting a hand to his ear. "Ya' wanna repeat that again, bucko?"

He glared at Fontaine. He was making fun on him, Clayton realised and he felt that anger from before rise up again.

"I said they were making fun of me because I'm an orphan!" Clayton's lip trembled a little. "Sayin' that my real Mama didn't want me and.. and making fun of me because I'm little… I'm not that little! Just didn't eat much…"

Fontaine was quiet. When Clayton looked up at him, it seemed like the man was having a battle with himself. He was staring at Clayton like he'd seen a ghost or was reminded of something he didn't want to think about. He'd seen a similar look on his Mama's face when she had a bad dream.

"Well," Fontaine started after being silent for longer than what Clayton thought was a good thing. "I'd say…that line 'bout ya real Ma not wantin' ya is utter bullshit," he pointed towards the office door. "'Cause ya real Ma is out there and she's not thinkin' of letting ya gone any time soon. Hell, this might come as a shock to ya, but I think she's on about keepin' ya."

Clayton screwed his face up. "No, not Mama Em, my… other-."

"Kid, that is ya Ma out there. Em is ya Ma," Fontaine narrowed his eyes. "The bitch who left ya'? Don't give her a second thought, she sure as hell gave you none. So long as those brats have got ya' on the run, they'll keep doin' it. Ya gonna turn round and lamp 'em."

Clayton was a little startled at the language. Adults didn't usually say those words when he was around, they didn't want him copying them and it just wasn't the done thing. He'd heard his Mama say those words in both English and Norwegian, but she'd always whispered them when he was around. Or not say those words at all.

Mister Fontaine didn't seem to care. It even felt a bit like Mister Fontaine had been making fun of him earlier, but now he felt sincere.

"I tried," he pointed at his face. "But he was bigger than me."

"That's why…" Fontaine reached into his pocket and pulled out a watch. "Ya' cheat."

Clayton stared at the watch. It wasn't as fancy as what he'd been expecting a man like Mister Fontaine to own. It was scraped and scratches littered it, the glass was slightly cracked and broken, but still sitting in the watch face by some miracle. The watch itself looked old too and not just because it was battered and broken.

Still, he was confused. What was a watch going to do? How was that going to help him?

Sensing his confusion, Fontaine slipped the watch over his hand so it rested over his knuckles and then he made a fist.

Clayton blinked, before looking up at Fontaine still very confused.

Frank sighed and pointed at the watch. "Look, the next time ya' get in a fight, ya put this on how I have," he pointed at it. "And you slug the little bastard with it. Can ya even throw a punch?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, yous can, can you?" He held the flat of his hand up. "Go on then kid. Hit it."

Clayton stared at him, trying to gauge if he was messing with him or not. Fontaine nodded at his hand and Clayton scrunched up a fist hitting the palm of his hand.

"Did ya' throw a punch?"

"Yeah, you saw!"

"Saw it, but didn't feel it," he reached forward and untucked Clayton's thumb from inside his fist, "Don't do that either. Sure fire way to gettin' ya thumb broke. Now, try again, but act like ya trying to punch the thing behind me, ya hear me?"

Clayton huffed, but he tried it and the hit was a lot harder than his previous one.

"Better," Fontaine nodded, taking his hand and slipping the watch over Clayton's so it rested over the boy's knuckles. "Now make a fist."

He did. Clayton wondered why Mister Fontaine was teaching him to fight or maybe it was more teaching him how to deal with a bully.

"That's it. Now the next time that brat bothers ya' you slug 'em with this hand, ya hearin' me? Cause I ain't gonna tell ya again. This is a one time opportunity kid," he grabbed his shoulder and pointed at him. "And if ya' tell anyone about this," he gestured between the two of them. "There's gonna be trouble, ya hear me?"

"So it's a secret?"

He could keep a secret. He liked secrets, like his and his Mama's secret language that only they could understand. It was special to him and her, maybe this would be special to him and Fontaine? Whatever this was.

"Sure kid. It's a secret. The biggest one ya' gonna keep," he took his wrist and slipped the watch over Clayton's quite frankly tiny wrists, tightening the watch as best he could to fit. "There. Now ya got ya'self a secret weapon too. So the next time that kid starts talking trash you slip that over ya knuckles and you hit him. Hit him as hard as ya' can and you don't let up until ya get your point across and I guarantee he won't come botherin' you again."

"What about my size?"

"Now there ya got an advantage," Frank grinned at him. "Learn to use it. Ya' got a little cherub face kid, melts a mother's heart those do. You use that. If ya' get in trouble and someone's yellin', stick ya lip out and act like ya gonna cry. Make ya eyes big and hell add some tears in if ya' can."

Clayton blinked at him. "But isn't that lying? Mama said you're not supposed to lie."

"She said ya' not supposed to… didn't say anythin' about you not being allowed to."

He seemed to think this over in his head. An impish smile formed across his face as he came to the conclusion that Fontaine was right and he could lie.

Clayton decided right then and there, that Mister Fontaine was one of his favourite people. He was helping him deal with the problem, the other adults like Uncle Kyburz or Uncle Daniel would tell him to leave it alone. To avoid the other kid, but he didn't want to do that. It wasn't fair. Why should he have to leave just because some other kid was meaner?

Clayton ran his fingers over the watch staring at it. He liked it, even if it was a little damaged. Mister Fontaine must of used it a lot, there were a few stains on it, but he could clean those off. He liked the watch though, it felt precious and filled with history.

This had stories behind it, Clayton was sure curious about those stories, but he doubted that Mister Fontaine would tell him any.

"And look at that," Fontaine gestured to the watch. "Ya' own something that's from topside."

"Really?" Clayton's eyes were wide and staring at the watch in awe. He'd always wanted to see something from topside, but never had. There wasn't anything left in Rapture, but this was a watch…from topside! It was amazing!

"Thank you!" Clayton beamed at him. "Thank you so much, Mister Fontaine!" He reached forward to give him a hug to say thanks, but Fontaine flinched away from him, holding his hands out to keep the kid at a distance.

"Yeah, yeah, ya' welcome," he mumbled, standing up and leading the kid to the door. Before opening it, he turned to look at Clayton one last time and offer some last bit of advice.

"Think of it like this kid," he offered a smile. "Your Ma chose you, that brat's parents are stuck with him," he grinned and offered a wink. Clayton was grinning back at him and Fontaine opened the door, spotting Kelly talking to Reggie. "Miss Christie? I believe this is somethin' ya supposed to be looking after?"

Kelly went wide eyed at the sight of Clayton, eyes darting to the chair where he had been before looking back at Clayton. She was trying to form words but nothing was coming to mind, not even as Clayton came trotting down with the biggest grin and sat back in his seat again, kicking at the air.

"I-," Kelly blinked before turning to Fontaine. "I'm so sorry Mister Fontaine, I thought he was-."

"Don't worry about it," Fontaine said easily, flashing his charming smile. "Kid's are sneaky little buggers," he laughed before fixing her with a pointed look. "Just don't let it happen again."

Kelly gulped and nodded her head. "I won't!"

"Good," Fontaine disappeared back into his office and closed the door.

He rubbed at his eyes furiously, going back over what just happened and how he'd let his own personal feelings get in the way. He'd opened up to the kid a little, in his own way. He hadn't meant to do that, but the boy was so much like him and he was right, kid's were little bastards when they wanted to be. He'd been picked on as a boy by the other orphans in the orphanage.

Ironically they'd usually pick on him for being an orphan, forgetting themselves for a brief moment that they were in exactly the same boat.

Frank recalled they didn't like that fact being pointed out to them. He rubbed at his jaw almost feeling the phantom pain of a punch from a much smaller fist.

He shook his head. Now was not the time to start bringing up bad memories. So he was nice to the kid for a few minutes? Just a few minutes of his life he wasn't getting back and besides, it wasn't going to happen again.

It was late in Sinclair's office, the shades were drawn and the only light source was the one on his desk. Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air and Augustus was half tempted to light another one, but looking at the small and timid figure of Stanley Poole he decided against it.

Poole was a timid man, rat like if Sinclair was to describe him personally. He didn't trust Poole all too much, but he'd trust a paid man and if this deal went right? Well, Poole would just be another individual cultivated into Sinclair's web.

Augustus had been growing his web of informants around Rapture, ever since he learnt that Fontaine was ahead of him in that department. Then this Lamb woman showed up and Frank had been furious. He'd stormed into Sinclair's office to complain about her, asking if he was going to do anything about the head doctor.

Naturally for Frank to be in a rage quite like that there had to be a reason. Sinclair wasn't too keen on the idea of talking to Frank though, not after he chewed him out at the Rapture anniversary ball, but then Frank had given away some quite frankly startling and worrying information.

Lamb had known about some secret projects Fontaine was working on, he'd only briefly mentioned them to Sinclair since he needed workers to help out with the project and Sinclair had a supply in the apartment complex. Sure they weren't really his workers, but he would advertise job offerings there. He was surprised Em hadn't noticed them, but maybe that was because she never took any notice of anything Augustus was selling.

Still, the idea of Lamb knowing about such projects before the public or hell even Ryan? That was a worrying prospect, because it did bring forward the question of just how much did that shrink know?

Sinclair wouldn't say he was getting nervous or jumpy, but things in the drop were not rosy and Lamb was making that her main recruiting centre. Every time Sinclair went down to that place, he'd see more and more folks walking around wearing those butterfly pins Lamb was so fond of.

Don't even get him started on the debates she was having with Ryan. Those sure were a show to watch. Frank and Sinclair had sat at the back, both sharing a laugh at the old man's expense. Sure, Sinclair liked Andrew Ryan, but he liked his money more and Ryan did have a high and mighty air about himself. So it was nice to see him brought down a peg or two.

But when Fontaine had stormed into his office only a few months after, going on about Lamb knowing things she had no business knowing, it brought up problems. Frank had demanded to know just what Sinclair would be doing about her.

Augustus wasn't exactly sure what Frank thought he could do about it. At the time he'd mentioned something about Persephone, but that was off the table. Not until Andrew Ryan gave the green light and he'd only do that if they had proof of a cult or some sort of collective scheme forming in Rapture.

Fontaine had nearly blown a gasket, screamed something along the lines of 'you want proof? Her knowin' in the first place is proof!' And Sinclair was inclined to agree, but Andrew Ryan was not.

Andrew Ryan wanted hard evidence of this collective. Of course, he wanted Lamb gone too, but he wasn't stupid enough to simply make her disappear. Not yet, anyway.

Sinclair had to suppress a grimace. Wouldn't be good to put Poole at unease, he looked about one bad word away from jumping ship.

"It's good to see you Stanley," Sinclair flashed a charming smile. "How've you been keeping?"

"Ah, well enough, Mister Sinclair," Poole shifted uncomfortably in his seat, licking his dry lips. "Just what did you want me down here for?"

"Hm, the million dollar question huh?" Sinclair leaned back in his seat. "What could ol' Augustus Sinclair need from Stanley Poole? Well, other than avoidin' you putting my name in the paper, Mister Ryan's asked me to hire a… well, for lack of a better term, a spy."

"A spy?" Poole blinked at him. "And ya chose me?"

"You're believable, Stanley."

Believable in the fact that Poole was so pathetic, the idea of Lamb's collective farm she was growing would be a place a man like Stanley would eventually go. Sinclair was a little surprised he hadn't gone already, safety in numbers, but then again Poole didn't have a lot of friends.

Scratch that, Poole didn't have any friends.

No one liked Poole. Even Sinclair didn't like him and usually the only feeling Sinclair had for other people was nothing but contempt.

There was just something about Poole that rubbed you up the wrong way. His whiney behaviour or weasel like nature? Heh, he was more like a rat, not smart enough to be a weasel.

"So, ah, Mister Ryan's payin' me for this?"

"Of course. I'll be payin' you for it to," Sinclair leaned over the desk, resting his elbows on top and flashed Poole a grin. "And you'll be keepin' my name out of the Tribune in return, now won't ya' Stanley?"

Poole blinked at him. "I ah, I won't be able to keep it out of everything-."

"You better damn well try."

"Yes, Mister Sinclair," he looked down at the desk a second, his brow furrowed, before looking up at him again. "So, ah what's this job, exactly?"

Augustus leaned away from the desk, flashing a grin and his well paid for Steinman teeth. Nothing drew the suckers in like a nice, clean, smile.

"This job will change history and you'll be there to record it, every step of the way."

"So he just fell in?" Sullivan raised an eyebrow at Peach, thirteen other men stood behind them, the fifteenth man was being brought out on a gurney under a sheet.

Sullivan moved out of the way to let them pass, he noticed that all the workers slowly watched the body be carted off. There was a general sense of unease about all of them. They were rigid and straight backed, Sullivan had seen men get like this while playing poker. The ones who weren't very good at it.

"Sammy G, always drank, Chief," one of the men spoke up from behind them all. "Wouldn't surprise me if he fell in and couldn't get back up."

"That right?" Sullivan didn't sound convinced and truth be told he wasn't.

He'd seen men like this before, men too scared to speak out against their boss because he'd handle them the same way he handled Sammy G. They couldn't even tell him it was Fontaine doing it, simply because they'd probably not been there when the execution happened. It would've just been an accident on the surface, but anyone close enough to Fontaine would know it wasn't.

"Sure," the guy shrugged. "We told Sammy enough times not to drink so much. He didn't listen."

"Yeah? So what do I call you then?"

"Name's O'Riley, Chief."

"Got a first name, O'Riley?" Sullivan asked as he wrote it down.

The man laughed, shaking his head before looking up at Sullivan, allowing his face to finally show in the light.

"You won't need a first name to identify me, Chief," he replied and the man was right.

All along the left side of his face were scars. They littered the left side of his face like an awful mosaic. Criss crossing over the top of each other, some burn marks too had left awful red skin. It snaked up his face and had burnt round the side of his head too. His face was a mess.

Sullivan had seen plenty of guys who came home after the war with similar injuries. Always made him glad that he hadn't gone over sees.

There weren't that many folks with these kinds of injuries now, however. Mostly because they'd all gone to Steinman and got themselves fixed up. This guy hadn't, probably couldn't afford to.

"Yeah…" Sullivan mumbled. "I see what Ya' mean."

He flashed a cold smile back at him, before walking back into the shadows, keeping his head bowed so you couldn't see the injuries anymore. Clearly he had an issue with his face.

"So, does Mister Fontaine know about this?"

"Of course."

"And where is he?"

Peach blinked, he shrugged a little.

"You don't know?" Sullivan slowly lowered his notebook. "Why isn't he here?"

"He's probably at the Futuristics building," O'Riley shrugged. "And he's probably not here because he's got better stuff to do."

"Not hang around to explain why one of his workers is dead?"

O'Riley smirked, looking at his fingernails a moment. "And I'm sure Mister Ryan graces his workers with the same curtesy. Get off ya' high horse, Chief. You know damn well why Fontaine ain't here, you probably know better than anyone."

"Watch yourself, O'Riley," Sullivan warned, folding the note book closed.

He couldn't argue with what O'Riley had said. He was right, Ryan wouldn't give a damn about one of his workers dying, Sullivan knew that. He'd seen it first hand. What was it, Ryan had said? You can't dwell on the dead, they're not here anymore, yeah it was something like that. It explained a lot about Andrew Ryan.

Sullivan had a feeling though, that what O'Riley was saying had a different meaning behind it. That yes, Sullivan did know better than anyone why this guy was dead. He was probably gonna rat Fontaine out to Ryan, so Fontaine got rid of him in a way that wouldn't raise too much suspicion.

"Anything else, Chief?"

"No, that'll do… for now," he narrowed his eyes at them. "Just watch yourselves out there. I'd hate for anymore accidents to happen."

He turned and began walking away from them. The group huddled together, glaring at the back of Sullivan, some had their fists clenched, others had their arms crossed. They all held an air of being disgruntled and annoyed.

"That porkpie's gettin' too close," Peach snarled. "We gotta let the boss know, before it gets worse."

There was a mummer of agreement through the group. What Sullivan didn't realise was if anything went wrong it would be their lives on the line. If something went wrong they'd be dead. Fontaine didn't suffer fools, he got rid of anyone that showed a hint of incompetence.

"How'd you think Fontaine's gonna handle this one?" O'Riley mumbled.

"I don't know and I don't wanna know," he turned to him, narrowing his eyes. "But nice cover there."

"Yeah well," O'Riley shrugged. "Not like you were going to do anything about it."

Peach was red in the face, but O'Riley hardly cared. He didn't care about anything much anymore. His life was ruined thanks to the war and that nice little line of bullshit Ryan had span about a new start. About everything turning out for the better in Rapture, was all lies.

He'd been hopeful when he came down here, now he just accepted the way things were. Didn't stop him from saving up still to try and get his faced fix, but well either the bills went up or something broke and needed fixing. It was just one bad thing after another and really, he was getting tired of it.

Almost pondered giving up, but he supposed he couldn't do that now. Not when he had all these lads to look after. That's what you did in a war, you watched out for each other. Sure, no one was calling the little spat between Ryan and Fontaine a war yet, but there wasn't much else you could call it.

Things were only going to get worse from here and at the end of it all, it'll either be Fontaine in charge or Ryan.

Peach Wilkins,

Putting the screws on:

Fontaine's putting the screws on us, and double. He's squeezing us out of eighty percent of our cut with the threat of turning us in to Ryan if we don't play ball. Son of a bitch.

Sammy G comes and tells me he's thinking of going to the constable, and the next day, Sammy G was found in a sack in the salt pond. We got no choice here. We stay on Fontaine's crew, and we're gonna catch the gallows. We take a powder, and we end up like Sammy G. There's gotta be another way…