Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, this week's been a hectic one, and I couldn't quite finish touching up and proofing this chapter by Tuesday night. Anyway, thanks for waiting.

9/6/17: There is now a timeline of sorts for the various chapters and stories of Unbroken on my profile page, just an attempt to make it a little easier to see what happens when in relation to other chapters.

"Hey! Keep 'er level, lass!"

Abigail only grunts in reply, swinging the barge around as collapsing rubble nearly crashes into them. The controls of the cargo barge are poorly designed at best, the robot operators' ability to fly the thing due as much to being a part of the bloody ship as manipulating the dials and steering wheel. Too bad this one's had been shot to hell.

"Alright! We're almost there!" Shouting through the busted window, Abigail turns the barge towards Emporia, the upper-class neighborhood coming into view among the clouds. Not that she'd ever been here before; a daughter of poor factory workers didn't rub elbows with the Founders living here. "And next time, you can fly the damn barge yourself if ya got a problem!" She glares at the gunman who'd complained, muttering under her breath, "Jackass."

Her squad is made up of five aside from herself, three men and two women. The former wear red patched together horned masks made of canvas and looking like some sort of distorted devil, while the latter wears mostly the same uniform as she; red canvas cowl, spiked crown, gold-colored face mask with glowing red eyes, short white cape and stolen Founder military uniforms. Abigail can't help the shudder as one of the woman turns towards her, the baleful light of the mask setting her on edge. They carry Repeaters and Broadsider Pistols, but it's their demeanor that worries her. The other Vox all seem to be in good cheer, despite the massacre at Fink's earlier. "They aren't bothered by what they did at all…" Abigail grimaces in disgust, both at her 'comrades' and the lives she herself had taken.

"Oh my God…" One of the crowned women gasps, pointing ahead of the barge, "It's the airship… the First Lady…"

Abigail snaps back to reality, jerking upright and nearly tipping the barge over, barely registering the curses and grumbles coming from the fore. But all she can see is smoke and fire, and she squints while turning the barge to get a better look. And a better view she gets; the smoke clears to reveal the burned out husk of the First Lady, utterly mangled, though the cabin looks remarkably intact.

"Booker and the Lamb were on that ship…" Abigail turns back to what Downs had said; that the False Shepherd had stolen the airship earlier. If she wasn't with a squad, she'd consider flying down there to help. But this wasn't 'her' Booker, something in her muddled memories whispering this in her ear, and Abigail groans as fragments of memory come to the forefront of her thoughts. Taking one last look at the crashed First Lady, Abigail turns the barge away while muttering to herself, "C'mon lass, don't go actin' like a damned fool…"

Guiding the barge towards Port Prosperity Station and the entrance to Emporia proper, Abigail looks away only for something blue catching her eye; a Founder's police barge flies towards a crowd of panicking Columbian citizens waiting at a dock not far from the crashed airship. Abigail turns her own barge away as she realizes its purpose; to evacuate civilians to safety.

"Hey!" The gunman who'd complained earlier runs to lean over the railing, yanking the hood off his bald head, "Look! Whole mess a' Founders! Swing us around, Abby, let's have us some fun!"

"Dammit all…" A groan escapes her as she slams a fist onto the console. The barge had just about come up beside the street, the station that leads to Grand Central Station looming overhead, but she can see it in her squad mates' eyes; bloodlust and malice alongside the good cheer they were showing earlier, the cruelty disturbing Abigail, "We… we don't have time to waste! Gotta get these munitions-"

"Then just fly over while we start shooting!" The woman who'd first spied the First Lady, the rest of the squad nodding in agreement. Abigail grits her teeth while silently cursing her murderous 'comrades'.

"You want ta' explain to Downs why we were late to our post?" She practically spits the words, the disgust she'd felt before manifesting as a surge of anger, "We follow orders, elsewise we're just a pack of thugs!" Not like we aren't already, Abigail finishes silently with a somber sigh.

Her outburst somehow silences the squad's murmurings, tension thick as Abigail wonders what'll happen next; though she's the pilot, they could make do without her, and she's certain they wouldn't think twice about turning on her if they suspect her as anything other than loyal. The other Vox glance at one another and at her, but none challenges Abigail as she brings the barge level with the station. But the moment the squad jumps off and begins tossing boxes of weapons and ammunition, Abigail damn near collapses, sagging under the weight of her ever-worsening situation and what she'd managed. Between the muddled memories acting up and the tension just now, she can't help but feel a mite worn down. "At least the people down there'll be safe for-"

A bloodcurdling scream from within the station strikes Abigail like nails on a chalkboard, the young redhead bolting out of the barge's cabin only to see a second squad stepping out of the building. Another scream jolts her, and Abigail falls to a knee, clamping her hands over her ears. She can make out begging coming from the door left open by the other squad, begging silenced by the blast of a Heater being fired.

"No…" Hopping off the barge, Abigail sprints past her squad and their complaints that she should be helping, past the second squad and their questioning gazes, only stopping once she steps through the doors of the station. What she sees within fills her with horror, clamping both hands over her mouth and unable to look away; bodies lie before a wooden sign, in front of a fallen statue of Comstock, and two Vox soldiers nail bloody scalps to the board while another scrawls on it with a piece of charcoal.

"Marlowe, Saltonstall, Fink…" Reading the names scrawled above the top three scalps, Abigail shakes her head, and finally covers her eyes as tears begin to trickle down her cheeks; all three had been ardent supporters and members of the Founders, and while she can't and won't grieve for them, especially Fink, she does weep for what this act proves of the Vox Populi.

"Monsters…" She whispers into her hands, slowly drawing them away from her face, "We're becomin' bloodthirsty monster, no better than the Founders…"

"Yo, Abigail? You cryin' for these pigs?"

Turning slowly, Abigail finds both squads staring at her while the Vox inside continue with their gruesome trophy collection. The voice belongs to a large black man with another Heater resting in his arms, and Abigail finds herself the center of unwanted attention for the second time today. It doesn't take a moment for her to realize her situation, that her loyalty has yet again been cast in doubt.

"N-not for." Wiping away the tears, Abigail glances back at the board of scalps, reading the second set of names before forcing a grin, "Fink's dead. Wanted ta' kill him myself, but it don't matter now. My Ma's been avenged."

The words ring hollow to her, and just speaking them leaves a foul taste in her mouth, but Abigail's excuse seems to satisfy the Vox and the big man in particular. He claps her on the back before stepping away, Abigail stumbling under the blow before finding her feet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Abigail turns to leave, keeping her eyes focused firmly on her feet to avoid the death around her and the grisly display.

But as she steps towards the doors, something glints at her from behind stacked crates, catching Abigail's eye. A long, smooth bottle with pale blue liquid swirling inside and a bird's head for a cap lies wedged behind crates from Fink's Manufacturing. Abigail's jaw drops as she yanks the Vigor free, staring at it before glancing around suspiciously. "Nobody's noticed… good. But… is this really just a coincidence? Seems like something those twins are wont to do…" Abigail blinks, wondering at the strangeness of the thought before realizing why; fragments of a Booker memory.

"Here goes nothing…" Unscrewing the crow-head cap, Abigail squeezes her eyes shut once the Vigor touches her lips. She's all too aware of the disturbing hallucinations Vigors can cause, several of the Vox who'd acquired these powers relating the experience to any who'd listen.

Her vision darkens immediately as the Vigor kicks in, Abigail recalling the darkness of her dream with a shudder. She practically yelps as she sees and feels a large black crow land on her left arm, the bird staring back at her with beady eyes over a bloody beak, visible to her and her alone. She can feel it's talons digging into her flesh despite the glove it rests on.

As suddenly as it started, the hallucination of the dark and the crow vanishes, leaving her panting in its wake. Tugging the glove and armguard from her left hand, Abigail can feel the Vigor coursing through her veins, and as she looks on, dark feathers grow from her skin and black claws appear in place of her nails. "Murder of Crows…" Abigail takes a deep breath to steady herself, glancing back at the bloody scalps, the irony of using one of Marlowe's Vigors not lost upon her. "I'm not even one of those crazy Zealots…"

"Hey, 'boss' lady!" Turning to the voice, Abigail groans as the annoyance she'd decided to call 'Baldy' glowering at her, "You gonna help us move these crates, lass? Or should I call you 'little lady'?" A wide smile reveals misshapen teeth, guffaws coming from her squad mates. "Maybe you and me can-gah!"

Baldy's face deforms as Abigail's gloved fist crashes into his jaw, cutting off whatever lewd insult he'd been about to make. All the disgust, shame and anger she'd felt after experiencing the Tear rips from her throat as a roar, the rest of her squad taking steps back in surprise. "My name's not 'little lady'!" She calls upon the Vigor, her now-clawed hand catching the stumbling Baldy by the throat, a grim smile touching her lips as the others gasp and shout in surprise. The jet-black claws dig into his flesh as she growls, "Call me that again, and I'll do more than deck ya!"

Baldy nods hastily, and Abigail throws him aside. She barely notices the rivulets of blood trailing down his neck, or his gasps for air as she storms away. Abigail has had quite enough of him, all the death around her, and this madness that's come over the Vox.

The crate Baldy was carrying had broken open when she'd belted him, Abigail spying Vox Repeaters packed in straw. "I'm taking this." Striding out of Port Prosperity Station, Abigail climbs aboard the cargo barge once more, a Repeater slung over her shoulder.

Leaning against the back wall of the cabin, Abigail stares at the wreckage of the First Lady while waiting for the squad to finish. Fortunately, it doesn't take long, Baldy and the others clamoring aboard not ten minutes later. No complaints or protests come from any of them, and Abigail heaves a tired sigh; whatever awaits her in Emporia, she's sure it won't be any better than here. Pushing herself from the cabin wall, she sluggishly turns the barge away from Port Prosperity.

"Don't suppose I have a choice anymore…"

Abigail frowns as Market Street comes into view, another squad of Vox waving the barge towards them. She'd taken her time, flying the barge as slowly as she could manage, and now her 'squad mates' are getting restless. Pulling up level to the street, Abigail glumly wonders if more people are going to die.

A high-pitched shriek cuts through the air, and someone's voice she can barely make out screams, "It's the Songbird!"

Staggering out of the cabin, Abigail gasps as Songbird slams into the side of Grand Central Station, the monstrous bird-creature peering into one of the windows. Pain lances through her skull, Abigail wincing as something stirs in her memory. "He's… he's looking for her… Booker's… the girl?"

"He? How do you know that 'thing' is a he?" One of the Vox who'd been waiting on them pipes up, stepping onto the barge as Songbird flies away. He looks not too different from the man who'd questioned her at Port Prosperity's Station. When she shrugs, he steps past her into the cabin, "We'll be bringin' the barge back 'round in a couple hours, so best be back here before then or get left behind."

Despite the feeling of dread the memory fragments cause her, Abigail follows the squad as they hop off the barge. Trying to take her mind off her problems, Abigail idly notes the name of the shop they stand next to: Wilson Bros. & Company Bottling. As the rest of the squad start down the street, Abigail hesitates as she looks through the windows; something inside catches her eye, something flickering like a Tear.

"That's… an Infusion?" A flask flickers within the locked shop, its contents shifting between red, blue and yellow. Shaking her head, Abigail steps away from the shop, groaning quietly as something else she has no business knowing comes to mind.

Stuck between worries about her memory and fears of what lies ahead, Abigail trudges down the street after her squad. She truly hopes nothing happens before it's time to leave. Approaching the archway reading 'Market District', Abigail groans as she finds yet another body lying in the street, giving it as wide a berth as she can even as she spots a Vigor resting by his hand. A banner declaring 'The Vox Populi Reclaim This Place' hangs among plain red ones from the Bank of the Prophet. "Reclaim my foot… tear down's more like it."

Climbing two flights of steps, Abigail finds herself staring at a tall building, the windows reading 'Lutece Laboratory' causing an image of the twins with Daisy to flash before her eyes. The surrounding buildings look trashed, several fruit and vegetable stalls lying overturned or abandoned with broken glass everywhere. Baldy and another of her 'squad mates' sit on the edge of a dried up fountain before the Lutece Labs, munching on a pair of pilfered apples, and Abigail can't help but wonder what this neighborhood would've been like before all the violence.

"Oi! Been waitin' for ya! What took so long?" Heavy clanking footfalls come from up ahead, Abigail nearly panicking as she lays eyes on a Motorized Patriot coming her way. But then she notices it wearing a horned Lincoln mask and sports crimson Vox banners, while the solider who'd called out to them and one other follow closely behind.

"Our pilot wasn't bein' cooperative." Baldy steps towards the pair, munching on an apple, "We've been told ta' hold this place for now, you-"

"'Ey! Get out here, ya Founder pigs!"

A woman's voice screeches from a nearby produce store, standing alone near the Lutece Labs with roads running past on either side. A vandalized image of the Prophet hanging high overhead, another trio of Vox banners hangs alongside and drapes over the picture. One of the crowned Vox leads three men and a woman out of the store at gunpoint, civilians with their hands held above their heads and fear in their eyes. Abigail feels a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach as the other Vox chuckle maliciously.

"Please… let us go!" One of the men begs as the woman who'd found them begins patting him down, one of the newcomers joining in. Abigail cringes as the newcomers starts with the captured woman, the chuckles coming from him telling her far more than she'd like about his intentions. Coins, wallets, jewelry, even cufflinks are stripped from the captives, being 'redistributed' among the Vox.

"Shut up, you!" The lady Vox pistol whips the back of the begging man's skull, a few of the other soldiers laughing as the abused man falls to a knee. The offender turns to look Abigail's way, the mask triggering a wave of loathing in the young redhead, "Abigail, here! A little somethin' for ya'!" A Silver Eagle flips through the air towards Abigail's face, her eyes widening and she just barely catching the coin, a sense of déjà vu settling in her mind. Something stirs yet again in her memories, but nothing clear comes to mind.

The Vox squad takes their time frisking their captives, and while Abigail can't be certain how long they take, she's certain at least several minutes have passed. Gunshots rang from farther down Market Street a few minutes in, and it's been at least several more since.

"Alright! Looks like that's everything." The newcomer who'd first been 'patting down' the terrified woman shouts as he hesitantly steps away. He brandishes a Burst Gun, looking the captives up and down once more.

"So… can we go?" The man who'd spoken before, still clutching his skull, "We-we've nothing else to give you! Please… just let us-grk!" A hard right silences his pleas.

"Yeah? And why should we do that?" One of her masked 'squad mates' chuckles, pushing the man towards the stairs, "Maybe we'll take your lady friend here with us, but the rest of you… all you pigs are gonna get what's comin'to ya!"

Abigail backs away as the captives are marched down the stairs by three masked Vox, ducking behind a produce stand to get away from what she's sure to come. A shuddering sigh escapes Abigail as she covers her eyes, "This isn't right… none of it. Why…?" Slipping the Repeater from her shoulder, Abigail stares at the weapon, wondering for a moment if she could save them. Sitting between the houses and the wood of the produce stand, Abigail only sees her dying to the Patriot as she plays out in her mind every scenario she can think of.

Thump. Something sounds off to her right. Whirling towards the noise while pushing up only to drop into a crouch, Abigail holds her weapon at the ready as she looks for the source. At first, all she makes out are locked doors and darkened windows, but something akin to a whimper sounds as the begging of the captives' drifts to her ears. A whimper coming from the corner house, Abigail noticing the gate barring the door isn't properly locked.

Slipping inside, Abigail pulls the gate shut properly and eases the door shut before creeping deeper into the home, loosely holding the Repeater at her side. A small end table or nightstand sits near the door, the drawers hanging open and looking as if someone had been tearing through them in a hurry. A search that'd been left unfinished, by the looks of it.

Another whimper draws her down the hallway, Abigail stepping deeper into the darkened house even as she wonders why she's so determined. The whimpering grows louder, Abigail able to discern quiet breathing as she approaches the door at the end of the hallway, hanging slightly ajar. Tightening her grip on the Repeater, Abigail hesitantly touches the wooden door with her left. The slightest shift of the door evokes another bout of whimpers and what she can only guess at as shushing sounds.

Pushing the door open, Abigail steps inside carefully, her breath catching in her throat as she lays eyes on what she seeks; a woman clutches a pair of children to her chest, a boy and a girl. The woman begins to tremble, Abigail seeing fear on her face, "Oh my God! Please… please don't hurt us!"

"This… this is what… who I've hated all these years?" Abigail slumps against the doorframe, grimacing even as revulsion tightens the knot in her stomach, "Who WE'VE hated all this time? They're just… they don't deserve this…" The kids can't be any older than five or six, and their mother looks a young woman not much older than she is.

"J-just take whatever you want, but please, just don't hurt the children!"

"I'm not gonna hurt ya!" She blurts the word out, clamping a hand over her mouth the second they pass her lips. Once the initial shock wears off, Abigail whispers as reassuringly as she can manage, "I swear I'm not going to hurt you or your babes. But you hafta keep quiet, so shhh…"

The woman stares back at her as disbelief mingles with fear in her eyes, and the children still shake and whimper in their mother's arms, neither taking their eyes from her. A sigh escapes Abigail as the stares of the family begins to unnerve her, and she glances away for just a moment, only then noticing she's still holding her Repeater.

"Ah! S-sorry, just… didn't even notice, lass…" Slinging the weapon over her shoulder, Abigail manages a self-conscious smile, the woman seeming to calm ever so slightly. But the kids still stare at her with fear, and Abigail drops to a knee as an idea comes to mind, "I swear to the Lamb that I won't hurt either of you or your Ma."

"R-really?" The girl manages to stop her trembling long enough to ask, even though her voice still quivers, "You really mean it? But… you're…"

"Vox? I know, love." Still kneeling, Abigail focuses on the memories left by Booker, on the fragments about the Lamb, "I met her, not more than a couple hours ago." A lie, but the memories feel real enough, "She's a kind lass, sweet even."

The children gape at her, and Abigail laughs softly; they'd gone from terrified by her presence to staring at her in astonishment. Silently thanking Booker again, Abigail realizes she needs them to focus, "Where's the key for the front door? It needs ta' be locked; too many dangerous fellas outside."

"I-It's in the end table, by the door… I couldn't find it…" The woman speaks quietly, still watching Abigail suspiciously. The young redhead picks herself up, attempting another warm smile before stepping out.

Hurrying down the hallway, Abigail tears through the end table as quickly and quietly as she can. But gunfire explodes outside just as she pulls at the bottom drawer, Abigail reaching for her Hand Cannon on instinct and scrambles for cover. Her fist clenches in anger as she realizes what she'd just heard, "Those… those bastards!" Abigail growls through grit teeth, "Ya didn't have ta' kill them, you-"

Gunshots sound one, twice, three times, cutting her off. Not the sound of Repeaters or Broadsiders, and Abigail makes out the distinctive report of a Hand Cannon. Screaming follows, and she can plainly make out the voices of her 'squad mates' before the roar of gunfire drowns them out. But when the Patriot speaks, the voice of the mechanized beast chills her to the core, "Remember those that died for our cause. Remember the Martyr Booker DeWitt!"

"It can't be…" Creeping to the door, the sound of crackling electricity greets her as she peeks out the window beside it. "Oh my God…" Booker DeWitt pours round after round into the Patriot's gears, electricity coursing along its mechanical body as it quickly falls apart. A sound like a bell crashing rings throughout the street as the Patriot collapses. But Booker isn't what's caught Abigail's attention; the girl following him, her dark brown hair cut short and wearing a blue dress all of Columbia is familiar with. The Seed of the Prophet, the Lamb of Columbia. Her muddled memory strains to remember something, a name that Booker had shouted amidst a hail of gunfire coming back to her. She presses her gloveless hand against the window, against

"… Elizabeth?"

"Do it. Now!" Booker points at a roof down the street as he shouts to Elizabeth.

"On it!"

"Holy…!" Falling back, and landing on her backside for her troubles, Abigail can barely believe her eyes; a freight hook appeared from nowhere, Booker jumping up to it with his Sky-Hook.

"Surprised? Can't say I blame you."

This time she draws, her Hand Cannon at the ready as she whirls around and scrambles into a crouch. But the speaker just stares back at her from down the hall, hands clasped in front of her. Red hair, blue eyes, tan jacket with brown skirt, unflinchingly disinterested expression. Abigail tightens her grip on the Hand Cannon, "Rosalind Lutece."

"Indeed. We have much to discuss, Miss Abigail."

Closing words: And the pieces start falling into place. Thanks for reading, and we'll see just what happens between Abigail and Rosalind either next week or the week after. As usual, I welcome any comments or questions, so please feel free.