Augustus Sinclair,

Private Interests:

I hear often, "Mr. Sinclair, you just gotta heart o' stone… don't you wanna share with your fellow man?" An' I tell 'em, listen… I hail from sunny Panama… and my grand-daddy got himself drowned buildin' the Big Ditch. Went on an' on about doin' it for the "People." For the world entire! Well, not for me, thank you. I came to Georgia to strike it rich, and Rapture all the moreso. You won't catch me blowin' my last bubble for any other personage… plural or singular.

"You said you had something good for me Poole?" Sinclair raised an eyebrow. "I don't very much appreciate you showing your face here, mind. People start asking question…"

Stanley Poole shifted uneasily in his seat. He was making Sinclair nervous with his jittery nature. He seemed incapable of sitting still for any long periods of time, especially when he felt under pressure.

"Ah, well, you see, Mister Sinclair… they've gone and taken Dionysus Park."

"Who? Lamb?" He frowned. "I know Ava's been letting her run some little therapy sessions down there…"

"Not just that," Poole shook his head. "It's filled with artists and.. other folks who ain't happy with how things are going. It's all free too. People can go and show their art off for everyone. Even that loon Cohen has put some work up," he shifted again and Sinclair felt his eye twitch in irritation, but the man went on. "I don't think Cohen will be staying long, though. He's a… bit of a wild one."

"Yes, Sander Cohen is little larger than life," Sinclair nodded, recalling the few times he'd actually spoken to Cohen. "So Lamb now own's Dionysus Park."

"She's opening it up for everyone to come and see. A lot of 'em poor folk are going. It's… gonna be a retreat for them, they can stay there however long they'd like and it's completely for free. Charity work, that's what she's doing, sounds kind crazy in Rapture, right?"

It sounded like the best idea she'd had. Lamb had done the poor houses and bread lines for a while, but a whole resort? A place where the poor could experience the luxuries of the rich? Well, there were a lot of folk who'd run for the chance. It sounded like high grade bunko and Andrew Ryan wasn't going to like it.

Still, Sinclair had to tip his hat when it was earned, even Frank had been mildly impressed by her. Considering that Fontaine seemed to view the world through a harsher lens than even Sinclair did, well getting him to be impressed was not an easy task. He didn't like people, he held nothing but contempt for them. Sinclair had found himself in this weird place of being tolerable so maybe they were friends? Or Frank's very warped version of what friendship was, that didn't mean that stabbing each other in the back was off the table.

Bottom line, Fontaine didn't like people so for Lamb to impress him was in of itself, a miracle. Then of course there was this new line of investigation that Sinclair had been entertaining himself with. Clayton Lokken. The boy had somehow managed to find a chink in Fontaine's well crafted armour and found what little remained of a person inside him. Sinclair would even wager that deep down Fontaine actually liked the kid and was reluctantly letting him closer. He probably wasn't even aware that he was doing it or maybe he was and that's why he kept complaining to Sinclair about the kid.

It had presented itself as another headache for Sinclair, but now it was just intriguing and a useful piece of information. Not many people could say they had dirt on the infamous Frank Fontaine. Of course, Sinclair himself wasn't going to take any action against the child. He was better than that, but he wasn't so good that he wouldn't sell the information to the highest bidder. For Fontaine to care about someone, it just didn't happen. He didn't batter an eye with the test subjects and because of this business was going well. Then this kid came along and completely turned his whole world on its axis. Suddenly, Fontaine actually gave a damn about someone other than himself. Frank was a complicated bastard when he wanted to be.

All this was speculation for the moment, he had Lamb to deal with for now, for Andrew Ryan. Old Andy was getting desperate now. This little news about a free resort for Lamb's group of followers was not going to improve his mood, but it might improve the cash flow to Sinclair's wallet.

"You know somethin'," Sinclair offered him friendly smile. "I think you should go and talk to Mister Ryan about this," he grinned at him. "Think of it this way, Poole. How impressed will Mister Ryan be with ya, if you deliver this information to him yourself?" And stop coming here, he added in the privacy of his own mind.

The last thing he needed was Poole digging just a little too deep and finding out about Persephone. That was out of the question. Not only would it put a bad spotlight on Sinclair himself, but it would also put a spotlight on Fontaine and an angry Frank Fontaine was not something he wanted to deal with. It was also not something he wanted directed at him.

It was a balancing act, keeping everything steady and balancing it between these mad men. Some days Sinclair even felt like he was walking on a tight rope, balancing precariously over an edge like Persephone itself. One false move, one single slip up and everything would come crashing down around him. He wouldn't say he was starting to feel the heat now, but it was getting awful close.

Both men jumped at the sound of a loud explosion outside, but soon relaxed. They were getting used to such things by now, especially around the Drop. Plasmid attacks where getting worse round the poorer areas of Rapture. It seemed all it took was somebody to give the nobodies a little power and they suddenly all thought they were gods.

Sinclair had found himself spending more and more time in Persephone recently. It was safer there at least than down here in the Drop. At least in Persephone he had men to guard him, people who dealt with this sort of thing on the regular. They treated the prisoners with little remorse. They'd had to build an extra wing on the medical side of the building, simply to accommodate the over abundance in injuries as of late. Sinclair didn't want to think of the reasons why. Out of sight, out of mind. That was the best method for dealing with situations like this. He'd turned many a blind eye before in his career, both topside and down here. He'd continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

Having a heart was a liability in Sinclair's book. You wouldn't catch him wiping away a tear for any poor soul who'd had it rough. Even if they didn't deserve it. By the looks of how Rapture was going, it was only going to get worse. He'd have to get tougher just to survive. Survival, that's what it'd come to now, not that Andrew Ryan would see it. He didn't see Rapture for what it was and he certainly didn't see what it was becoming. Sinclair believed that Ryan would be the last to see it, if he ever did.

One thing at a time though. It was no good rushing into things without a plan. He had to deal with Lamb and her ilk first, then work out what to do about this recent development with Fontaine and finally figure out how to keep Andrew Ryan happy, all while keeping afloat himself. After all, under the Atlantic Ocean, it was a lot easier to drown under the pressure. Especially when you had no where to go except down.

Rise Rapture Rise. That might be the nice little tag line that Ryan had employed Cohen to make, but the artist didn't get it right. You didn't rise in Rapture, down here the only thing you did was sink.

"Come on, Kjære, keep up," Em held her hand out to Clayton. "I don't want to loose you. Minerva's Den is a big place."

"I know, Mama, I've been here before."

"The ventilation doesn't count."

Minerva's Den wasn't the biggest place in Rapture, but it still held elements that were impressive. Em herself had done some work on the inner workings of Minerva's Den, connecting the wiring to the rest of the city. She'd even met the two men in charge of the main facility and they were pleasant enough. Porter was certainly the friendlier of the two, but Wahl had his moments, but he also had his quirks.

Still the Den was impressive. For one thing, the very heart of the facility held the infamous 'Thinker', a computer so far advanced it could almost think for itself. The Thinker kept Rapture moving, it dealt with train and metro time tables, the geothermal controls and any other form of operational support. The Thinker was also responsible for the times when the lights would dim and brighten to give the people of Rapture a more normal routine of night and day.

Whilst the Thinker was the main attraction, there were many more sights to see. For instance McClendon Robotics and the Air-Tite Archives.

The Robotics did what it said on the tin, while the Archives were filled with people's private information, audio diaries and private details. If you wanted a secret to be kept, it was usually filed away here in specialised containers that were never to be opened.

Em wasn't interested in those today, she was interested in Rapture Central Computing. It was the main section of Minerva's Den and the Thinker was the heart of it.

Rapture Central Computing was run by Charles Milton Porter and Reed Wahl, the two brilliant minds behind the Thinker.

Entering through the doors to Minerva's Den, holding Clayton's hand, they were instantly greeted by one of the robots. It was a robotic woman situated on a desk, the paint was bright and held a permeant gleaming white smile. In the light the bright glossy paint shined and reflected the light around the room with the robots movements. If the light didn't shine like it did, you'd almost believe the robot was an actual woman standing behind a desk. It was only once you got closer did you see how fake and plastic she looked.

As if sensing their presence, the robotic woman moved, her limbs jointedly tilting and her head turned to address them.

"Hello there, welcome to Minerva's Den, the home of Rapture's high technology." It spoke.

Emilie grimaced slightly. She found these things damn creepy, with their permanent plastic and fake smiles. She once saw a failed robot with it's shiny human looking skin melting and pealing off after catching fire. Em had taken one look at that and decided she didn't like robots. No matter how good they were.

It seemed that Clayton didn't like them either as he flinched and gripped her hand tighter. He glared at the robot angrily, his gaze so fierce that Em was certain he was imagining it melting.

"It's just a robot," she assured, running her fingers through his soft curls and waves.

Clayton nodded, still watching it cautiously. "I hate those things. They scared me," he pouted and looked up at her. "When I used to sneak around I'd see them and I wouldn't be able to tell if they were people or not."

"Well you don't need to worry about that now, Kjære," she smiled softly at him. "You'll never have to worry about anyone else ever again."

"That's not what Mister Fontaine says."

"Oh?" She rose an eyebrow. "What does Mister Fontaine say and when have you been speaking to him?"

Clayton gave a shrug. "He says that everyone is out for themselves and you shouldn't trust anyone."

Emilie considered this a moment. In theory he wasn't wrong, but there were people you could rely on. It didn't stay true that everyone was going to stab you in the back just to get ahead. Basically the whole world was not made up of people like Frank Fontaine, even down here in Rapture there were a few good and honest people. The trick was spotting them and knowing who you could trust.

"I suppose he's right about that with some people," she bent down and booped Clayton's nose, causing him to giggle. "But not with everyone. The trick, kjære, is knowing who to trust and who not to. I trust your Uncle Kyburz and your Aunt Kelly," she gave him a stern look. "But I do not trust Fontaine. He's only in this for himself, you best remember that."

"You don't trust Mister Fontaine?" He blinked as Em stood up.

"No I don't."

"But you work for him?"

She laughed and nodded her head in agreement. "Yes I do and if anything, that's all the more reason why I don't trust him. Same with Ryan. You never trust the people in charge of you, you're just a number to them."

"It can't always be like that, right?"

"No, not always, but they have a business to run," she lead him towards the main hall of Minerva's Den. "So if someone isn't performing to their standards they have to let them go. It's sad, but it's the only way to keep your business alive."

Clayton frowned slightly, he looked ahead of him a moment, before looking back at his mother. They often had conversations like this. It surprised her how switched on he actually was. He was a bright little boy, seemed to see more than what you thought he did. Understood more about people and their nature than a child his age should. Clayton also seemed to be showing an interest in inventing himself. He was often sitting in the kitchen when she got home making things. Building little toys with the gears he found or that she brought back for him to play with. Currently his little project was building replicas of some of the more noticeable and famous buildings of Rapture. His first had been the Futuristics building and this didn't surprise Em, he did see it an awful lot.

"Mama?"

"Yes kjære?"

"I don't wanna be a businessman. I don't want to be mean."

She secretly hoped he wouldn't. Emilie could see Clayton maybe working here in the robotics section since he liked inventing so much. He was a natural and he enjoyed the science behind it.

"Emilie."

Em turned to see Charles walking towards them, a smile on his face that didn't appear often. He was tall, broad dark skinned man, with warm dark eyes. A wedding ring was always present on his left hand, though he'd come down to Rapture alone. He was a pleasant man, if a little distant at times, but he always greeted you with warmth. He'd worked with Turning in the war, even helped develop the famous 'Enigma Machine' to decipher the Nazi's code. Porter was a no nonsense kind of person, if you had a job to do, you were there to do the job not dilly dally and Em could respect that. She felt very much the same about work, though she was partial to a bit of fun now and then.

"Milton," she smiled at him and they shook hands. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too," he smiled at her. "I did miss your unique way in handling some of these idiots," his eyes flickered down to Clayton and the smile softened some. "And who is this?"

"This is Clayton," she gestured to him and Clayton waved at Porter. "He's my son."

"Hello sir."

Porter knelt down on one knee and offered his hand out, which Clayton hesitantly took, not used to being treated like an adult.

He shook his hand gently and offered Clayton a friendly smile. "It's very good to meet you Clayton, I'm Charles Milton Porter, but you can call me Milton."

"Why not Charles?"

"I was never much of a fan of my first name," he laughed getting back to his feet. "When did this happen?"

"Oh, I found him."

"In an air vent!" Clayton said proudly.

Milton laughed and shook his head in amusement. He didn't laugh often. There always seemed to be a great cloud of sadness hovering over Porter. It followed him wherever he went and when he smiled it didn't always write reach his eyes. Em wasn't sure what it was that had happened, but she recognised grief when she saw it. She didn't ask of course, it wasn't her place.

"I should imagine that was quite the surprise," he smirked at her and she nodded.

"A big one. I fell off my ladder."

"It was funny," Clayton giggled.

Porter smiled, his eyes flickered to Em again and he gestured behind him to the rest of the stairs. "Shall we? I imagine you want to get this done fast. You sounded stressed on the phone."

"Ah, Ryan's asked me to make a locking system for his office," she explained, glancing around the room they entered. "I was thinking magnetic locks, I was wondering if any of your guys had some technology I could use?"

Porter paused, looking thoughtful. "I would say the robotics are the best place to look. I know a few of them have been looking into different locking systems for the Den. Mostly to protect the Archives," he pocketed his hands as he lead them through the main hall towards's McClendon's Robotics. "We're worried that some of the more.. crazy sort might try something."

"You mean the plasmid heads?" She asked. "I live in Pauper's Drop, it's a real mess down there thanks to these things. I didn't think it reached here."

Porter sighed. "I think splicing is everywhere."

"Splicing?"

"It's what some of the folks round here have taken to calling it," they entered through the door of the robotics section. "Because of how the ADAM works. It splices your genetic code. Allows you to rewrite it how you want it, that's why people can change their looks."

The robotics section of Minerva's Den was open to the public and a few tourists were looking around. Standing on podiums were various inventions for house hold use. Robotic vacuums, baby carriages and even the latest security cameras were all on display, lights shining down above them. A few more of the creepy robots were dotted around and a cheerful woman's voice spoke over the intercom system advertising the various inventions.

"I don't know why anyone would like to.. splice like that. I don't see the point."

"Most of the folks down here have been splicing with brain boost," Porter explained, before he sighed and shook his head, leading Em towards the back storage rooms. "I've seen some folks splice to an entirely different race."

"What?" Em looked startled. "Splicing to be…? Why?!"

He sighed. "You hear it sometimes, 'why don't you splice white? Get ahead?'." Porter laughed bitterly. "I tell them firstly, I am ahead and secondly I remind them what Rapture's all about. The colour of your skin means nothing, it's the power of your mind alone that's important," he reached down fiddling with the lock on the storage rooms. "It's a pity for some people you can't splice in some common sense."

Emilie snorted. "I hear you. Plenty of people I know… well, splicing in some common sense wouldn't be a bad thing, let's put it that way."

Porter smiled, before he pulled out a box that contained several long glass tubes filled with metal inside them. Copper wiring Em would guess, probably to allow a current to pass through them.

"These are some spare circuits." he showed them to her. "We send a current through these and it creates a magnetic field that holds the locks in place."

She smiled slightly. "Ryan won't like these," she held one up. "He'll say they'd be too easy to remove or damaged." She thought about it a second. "Unless I use the electricity and power from the core itself…"

Porter raised an eyebrow. "That could work. No one would shut down the core… it'd be suicide."

"Exactly," Em said softly. "People of Rapture are too fond of themselves to try that," she lifted up one of the tubes. "But I could base my circuits off this design. Mind if I borrow one to look at?"

"Knock yourself out," Porter put the rest of the box back. "Just maybe hide it. McClendon get very protective of their designs and products."

Emilie nodded and hid the circuit away in her bag. "Thanks Porter, I owe you one."

It was late. The Medical Pavilion was mostly deserted, only a skeleton crew remained to take care of patients overnight. The cosmetic surgery was closed, but the lights were still on in Steinman's operating theatre.

Doctor J.S. Steinman, the well renowned surgeon, was currently hovering over a corpse of a woman. She'd died on the operating table and her body had been taken to the morgue. Steinman had sneaked in later on in the day, placing the body on a cart, covering it over with a sheet and wheeling it back to his surgery. The body had been carefully hidden away in one of the many mortuary cabinets surrounding his work station, kept cool and fresh.

He'd spent the whole day performing surgery on those that came in, requesting the same tired old looks. The upturned nose, the cleft chin, the ample bosom and it was growing oh so tiresome.

In recent times Steinman had begun to develop an obsession with the work of Picasso. His unique and unusual view of the world, representing people as cubes, triangles and over such shapes, completely disregarded the traditional form of painting a person. The world had called him a visionary, a genius and a talent ahead of his time.

In his study and his home, Steinman had filled the walls with images of Picasso's paintings, next to them he'd placed photographs of women's faces and then he'd began to experiment. Cutting up the images into different shapes and then putting them back together again in a macabre mosaic. Sometimes he'd swap one images nose for another's just to see what it looked like.

Pictures and collages would not entertain Steinman for long, however, he wanted to experiment with a human body. He wanted to push himself to create the unique and sharp edges that Picasso showcased in his art, but on an actual human being.

That was what this body was about. This was his first test, his first draft of recreating his vision.

Steinman had been giddy the entire day in the knowledge of what he'd be doing later on. He'd almost screwed up on of the surgeries in his haste to get it finished. Thankfully, he'd been able to salvage it and restore the look to the boring and monotonous shape that had been requested. Even if he thought what was deemed a mistake had looked far better.

Carefully, Steinman selected a scalpel from the surgical equipment by his side. He peered over the body a moment, before so very carefully and skilfully removing the eye lids. He deposited these in the organic waste, turning back to the corpse on the table and stared.

Already his vision was beginning to take shape. The eyes were no longer hidden away by the eyelids, they were instead in full view. Their round shape fully visible for all to see. It was breathtaking. This corpse was already beginning to look like a work of art and if he could do this with a mere cadaver, what would he be able to do with a living, breathing human? The possibilities were endless and Steinman felt a thrill shoot up his spine.

He returned with his scalpel, slicing away the skin that covered the cheek bones, until he was finally able to reach the bone itself. The face was already quite an angular one, but now that flesh covering the bone had been removed… well it took on the sharpness he was after. Yes, if you simply polished away those visible bones… you'd have your very own ivory jewellery. All it would take was a simple surgery and you'd never had to buy a single piece of expensive hide from an animal ever again.

With two successful procedures done Steinman felt giddy, empowered and began to work again, albeit this time with a lot less care. It didn't take long for the surgeon to fall into a frenzy. He began slicing and cutting away at any part of skin he deemed unimportant, his macabre fascination ventured away from the face and down to the neck. In his frenzied haze he slit the neck into ribbons of human flesh, before neatly turning these ribbons into neat little bows.

The smell of copper filled the air, Steinman was almost intoxicated by the smell alone, but it was the faint traces of ADAM that still remained in the blood that got him excited. He worked tirelessly, making his way down the body, correcting and altering what he didn't like. Perfecting the body to match his own twisted vision and hideous, blood filled fantasy.

Just as he was about to reach beginning of the reproductive organs, determined to bring those to the surface and celebrate the unique ability women possessed to bring new life into the world, a voice cut through his haze.

"Steinman…"

So shocked and stunned, Steinman slipped and made a cut in the wrong area. He wasn't focussed on that just yet, he was gazing around the room looking for the source of the voice, but found he was alone.

Steinman looked down at the body, at his work of art and scowled at the mistake. It had completely ruined the whole piece, it stood out, amongst the horrendous mutilation and eerily precise incisions. To anyone else it would simply look like another cut for the collection, but to Steinman it had completely ruined his art.

In a fit of blind rage, he took his scalpel again and began slicing and stabbing into the corpse. Blood began to trickle over the edge of the operating table and splash across the once clean floors. Steinman's rage induced tantrum was so violent he snapped the blade of his scalpel, sending the surgeon into another blind fury. This time, however, he took up his bone saw.

It didn't take long for Steinman to completely dismember the body, making it unrecognisable, as both a human body and a corpse entire. Blood covered him from head to toe, it was splattered across his face and caked on his gloves.

Finally, as the rage left him, Steinman collapsed to the floor, clutching desperately at his head. It felt like it was throbbing, like his skull was trying to split itself in two.

"Steinman…"

He looked up and shot backwards, startled at the glowing light before him. It shimmered like a scalpel and finally seemed to take the shape of the most beautiful woman Steinman had ever seen. She was wrapped in bloodied bandages, her face seemed to change at all times, bandages were wrapped around her eyes and blood pooled in the places where the eyes would be. Some of the blood even leaked out from under the bandages and escaped out of the corner of her mouth. Her hair flowed down and seemed to defy gravity itself by floating around her like some sort of display.

"Steinman… I have what you're looking for…" she cooed, holding her arms out to him. Arms that had pieces of metal, similar to s scalpel blade, sticking out. "Just open your eyes…"

He reached for her, slowly trying to get to his feet, but due to the mess he caused with the body he slipped in the blood and collided with the cold, tiled floor.

Steinman groaned, but was quick to dismiss his pain, looking up to where the beautiful woman had stood, only to see nothing. The vision was gone. That perfect angel of blood and gore had vanished from his sight, but Steinman knew no angel would visit Rapture… but a goddess might. Yes… that was the only explanation, but which goddess?

"I just want to make them beautiful…" he whispered, looking back at the discarded body parts. "I just want to make them beautiful.. oh goddess… I just want to make them beautiful, but they always turn out wrong!" He reached for his bone saw again, when one of those elegant hands with fingernails like knives gently lay over his hand. He stilled, looking up but finding no one there and when he looked back the hand had gone also. "Who are you goddess? Which one of the great Olympians has graced me with their presence?"

"You want to make them beautiful… do you not? I can help you… only I can help you Steinman… you know who I am.."

"Aphrodite?" He asked hesitantly, receiving a titter of laughter in reply. "Of course…" he breathed. "I understand… only you would show your radiant light to a true advocate of beauty."

No reply came to him and he removed his surgical mask, a bright and manic smile stretched across his face. He finally understood, he had been chosen. Above all the others, Aphrodite trusted him with her vision of beauty… he was honoured, humbled and overwhelmed.

"I shall not fail you, goddess," he got to his feet, placing the bone saw on the table and looking over the mistake that was left on the table. Just a failed piece of artwork, that was all. You had to start somewhere, it was understandable that his first real attempt hadn't worked out how he hoped, but with more practice, he was sure to achieve his vision.

Steinman carefully disposed of the body, stuffing it into the incinerator at the crematorium, brushing what little remained of the body into the garbage. He then returned to his office to wash up and clean up his mess in the surgery. He disposed of the broken scalpel, cleaned the bone saw and stuffed his scrubs into the cleaning pile. If anyone asked he'd just say he'd been working with cadavers, which wasn't wholly untrue.

The next day when the family came to collect their loved one, they were shocked and horrified to find the body missing. The medical pavilion was in a fit of chaos as nurses and doctors alike began searching for the missing body, while the grieving family yelled and screamed at two nurses.

Steinman had leisurely walked past them, whistling to himself, a cheerful smile on his face despite the chaos surrounding him.

He felt like today was going to be a good day and he couldn't wait to tell Cohen what he'd been up to and was planning to continue. The other man might be able to give Steinman some tips, Cohen did sculpt with clay after all, it was very much the same thing.

Besides, he thought to himself as he got ready for the next round of surgery, great minds think alike.

J. S. Steinman,

Picasso of Surgery:

When Picasso became bored of painting people, he started representing them as cubes and other abstract forms. The world called him a genius! I've spent my entire surgical career creating the same tired shapes, over and over again: the upturned nose, the cleft chin, the ample bosom. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could do with a knife she that old Spaniard did with a brush?