A Mann Chooses

by Libbleslie

It was an unusual job, to say the least. The information Pauling had given them raised more questions than it answered. But all of them knew better than to question a job that had come straight for the administrator herself. And even with all of its questions, it should have been easy enough. But the life of a mercenary is never so simple, and the sea is full of secrets.

1. A Lighthouse?

The moon was playing a game of hide and seek tonight. Peeking in and out from behind the thin coat of clouds that drifted across the sky. Teasing them with lighting up the otherwise dark waters around them. The headlights of the little boat they were on- an old, repurposed fishing vessel just big enough house them all and their supplies- cutting through the inky blackness that came with the territory of being in the middle of the sea. At some point a plane had joined them overhead, keeping them company on their lonely vessels journey. Though it was of little note. It had nothing to do with what they were going to do here, and would pass them by soon enough.
No, their focus was was on the job they'd been given.
It was an unusual job, to say the least. The information Pauling had given them raised more questions than it answered. But all of them knew better than to question a job that had come straight for the administrator herself.

They could see the strange lighthouse in the distance. The strange beacon at the top and the handful of lights dotting the circumference of it lit it up like a flame, drawing them to it like moths.

Most of the men were in the control cabin, going over plans as The Demoman and Engineer steered them towards the mysterious lighthouse. But a few of them lingered about the deck.
Scout had been perched on the very front of it, legs dangling over the edge has his chin rested on the top of the rail.

It was him who let out the cry of alarm.

"Whoa, whoa, Guys- look!" Scouts hand flung out over the rail as he scrambled to his feet, hurriedly pointing at the plane. There was a new light to brighten the night now, in the form of sparks of fire licking at the sides of the plane as it began to dive. It was enough to draw most of the others to their feet and onto the deck.

"Brace ye'selves, lads!" The Demoman called out, the alarm in his voice as loud as the creaking and explosions that pulled the plane apart before their eyes. The ship lurched as the first pieces of the aircraft crashed into the water, nearly knocking the Sniper off of his feet. Veering further as the Demoman fought to turn the boat far enough away from the path of the oncoming wreckage and keep them on course towards the lonely lighthouse.
Muffled laughter came from the Pyro as another explosion rang out over the waves and the surface of the sea itself was set ablaze.

"We're coming in hot, grab onto somethin'!" Demoman cried, giving their motley crew only a few moments to steady themselves before the side of their boat made harsh contact with the stones that made up the base of the lighthouse. The sound of metal scraping and scrunching against stone and brick assaulting the air.

"Everybody alright?" The Engineer called out when the worst of it seemed to be over and the boat uneasily stopped. A chorus of curses and affirmations ringing out in reply.
Nobody waited for the anchor to fully drop as they scrambled to grab their gear and climb off the wrecked vessel, dropping onto the water logged stairs outside of the lighthouse. A silent agreement that nobody wanted to stay on the boat while fire and twisted metal floated on the water. The rest of their supplies could be retrieved later, when the shock had worn off.

"The hell happened, y'think?" Scout questioned, looking out at the water.
"Without taking a look, who knows, all sorts of things can go wrong on a machine like that." The Engineer replied, turning his own gaze away as they landed on the floating figure of what had once been a woman caught his eyes. "….Don't look like theres much odd of survivors from a wreck this bad." None of them were strangers to death, others or their own, but there was something different seeing it borne from a tragedy like this.

"Think you might wanna take another look, Truckie." The Sniper piped, his gloved hand pointing out towards the side of the lighthouse and a set of stairs that lead down into the water opposite the one that they had crashed into. It was faint movement, over the smoke and darkness of the water, but if less sharp eyes than the snipers focused, they could see something moving among the wreckage, distinctly human in its shape. Whoever it was clearly swimming in a panic towards the only source of land for miles. An understandable panic, given the circumstances. "Looks like there's at least one who made it out.

The group shared a glance as the person, close enough to make out it was a man now, dragged himself at a crawl up the first few water logged stairs. This job was supposed to be top secret. It must be, if even Ms Pauling didn't have all the details. And now there was a civilian to deal with.
They'd have to deal with him, one way or another. After all, the island the lighthouse was on was tiny, only big enough to hold the lighthouse and the steps to it. There was no where to go, aside from inside the lighthouse or for a swim.

"Well, I reckon we oughta at least see how the poor sonovagun is faring." The Engineer said, motioning towards the Medic, Scout, and Demoman. "Why don't you fellas see how he's doing while the others unload. I better check out the damage. See what I can do to get it going again."
"Yeah, alright." Scout shrugged, fiddling with the chain of the dog tags hanging from his neck as he turned away from the group.

"It's an ill omen, I tell ye." Demo murmured as they stopped a few feet from the top of the stairs, where the man leaned over the concrete barrier, coughing up water, and trying to reign in his ragged breaths. "Oi, lad, you alright?" He called out, causing the man to give a jump of fright. Clearly caught unaware that he wasn't alone. "Well, aside from, ye know."

The man was young, likely not much older than Scout himself. He was a tall fellow, though his sort of everyman face and the woolen knit sweater he wore made him far from imposing. There was surprise, and a hint of distrust in his light eyes. "Who are you?" He questioned, standing a little straighter. No one could really fault him for his weariness. Everything about the situation was troublesome. "Did… did you see what happened? To the plane?"

"I mean, we saw the thing go kablooie, if that's what you mean." Scout replied with a shrug. "But we couldn't exactly see what made it go up, it being in the sky an all when it did."
"Are you alright? If the coat with the wee red crosses don't give it away, our friend here's a medic." Demo said, giving the doctors shoulder a fleeting pat. "A crash like that, I'd be right surprised if ye don't at least have a few scraps and bruises." The man actually looked no worse for wear, all things considered. No obvious bruises or cuts, no spots of red staining his cream sweater, and he seemed plenty steady on his feet. But, it couldn't hurt to have the doc take a look at the man for any hidden injuries. "What happened in the plane? You remember anything?"

"I… No… Its all a blur." The man replied, frowning as he tried and failed to recall the events only minutes earlier. "I was looking at a gift from my family and…. Then there was screaming, and we went down."
"Sounds like a symptom of shock. Come, lets check you over and get you sorted." The Medic said, waving the man to follow as he turned on the heel of his boot, confidently expecting to be followed. With a shrug, the Scout followed after, and the Demoman gave the stranger a small, sympathetic look and a nod. It wasn't exactly like the man had much choice. It was either come with them, or stick around this side by himself.
The man seemed to see this has he gave a small shrug of his own and trailed after the trio.
Curious glances were shot the mans way as they rejoined the group. What gear and supplies they needed had already been unloaded. The rest had been left on the deck of the rather dented, but thankfully still floating boat.

"Ain't seen anybody else movin' in the water. Just bits and bobs of plane an' luggage." The Sniper said from his perch on top of the control cabin. "And the occasional corpse."
The Spy moved about the inside of the cabin, brows pulled together in frustration as he fiddled with the radio controls.
The Heavy reached into a crate, pulling out a large medical kit from within and passed it to the doctor. Who in turn motioned the man aside, pulling a few tools from his pocket. Holding a small penlight in one hand he grabbed the mans chin.

"So, where were ya headed?" Scout asked, picking up the aluminum bat that had been placed among the crates along the wall. Leaning back against the cold stone himself.
"I was going to visit some family over in England." The Man replied, blinking as the Medic turned the light off with a click. "Ah, god, they're gonna be so worried when the flight doesn't come in."
"Well, no sign of concussion. Now, shirt up for a moment, bitte." The Medic asked, adjusting the earpieces of a stethoscope. "Lets make sure there is nothing in the lungs, yes?"
The man complied, rolling up his wet jumper, revealing the surprising musculature hidden beneath the soft wool.

The door to the cabin opened as the Medic put away his tools, declaring that, aside from being a bit soggy, the man was in fine shape. Spy stepped out, a frown tugging at his thin mouth as he made his way to the edge of the deck, standing over the railing. "Gentlemen, it seems we have a problem." He announced. "The radio refuses to work. It appears something is jamming the signal. For the moment, we have no way to contact Ms Pauling, or any one else."
"So what, once Engie gets the boat going again we can just call her when we get done with this place, right?" Scout dismissed, idly tapping the edge of his bat against the crate beside his feet.
"Yes, and I suppose you'll be the one who wants to tell her our mission has been compromised before it has even truly begun?" The Spy retorted, eyes flicking to their unexpected guest, and the younger man went quiet.

"Speakin' of our job," Came the Engineers voice as he appeared out of the hatch that led below deck of the boat. "Aside from a few little leaks I patched up, she's sound enough structurally to limp us back to land when we're done here. But our little scrape didn't do her internal workings any favors. Gonna need a couple to get everything back in order. Some of y'all might as well go and poke around inside instead of wastin' time standin' around out here." He pulled the goggles down from his face as he turned his attention to the man.
"How're you farin', son? Can't have been a fun experience."
"In my medical opinion, he's suffering a bit of shock, but nothing more." The Medic interjected.
"Thats understandable." The engineer nodded, "You got a name, son?"
"It's Jack, Jack Wynand." The man replied, while still clearly uneasy, especially as some of the others began picking weapons out from the crates, the Texans friendly concern seemed to help.
"Well Jack, I'm afraid I can't do much more than offer my condolences for what happened. You can call me Dell, or Mister Conagher, if you're the more formal type."
"You're just gonna tell him your name, just like that?" The Sniper questioned, the bullet he'd been toying with paused between two knuckles.
"The boys been through enough to deserve a little kindness. And besides, it's in his best interest to keep quiet about this when we get back to land." The Engineer replied, his tone as casual and friendly as before, even as he left the implications of the fact that man had little choice but to go along with whatever secrecy was asked of him or risk very much being left to the seas mercy hang in the air. "Pyro, would you come on up here and give me a hand."
The pyrotechnician jumped to his feet from where he'd been sitting on the concrete barrier, watching the fires from the plane, and climbed up about the boat, following the Engineer back down through the hatch.

The Spy in turn dropped from the boat, grimacing as the water splashed up around his calves, soaking the pantlegs of his expensive suit. "The toymaker is right. We might as well not stand around waiting. Lets get on with it, shall we?"
With a nod the Soldier and Heavy approached the doors, each wrapping a large hand around a handle as the Scout gripped his bat and the Spy's hand slipped into a pocket hidden in the breast of his suits jacket. Maybe it was overkill to be so cautious, but no one knew what lay behind those ornate doors and the gilded skyscrapers adorned into the metal.
When nothing emerged and they were met with silence from the dark door way. They slowly stepped inside, Jack slipping among them.
The hum of lights greeted them, revealing intricate inlays of fish and waves surrounded different spherical stamps, and the enormous bronze bust of a man looming over them, a bright red banner hung across from it. Below it, a small, circular wall that stood only hip height. A plague set into it in the middle beneath the statue.

"No Gods or Kings. Only man." The Demoman read aloud. "Who the bloody hell is that, do ye suppose?"
The Spy studied the statue for a moment, then stepped forward towards the plaque. "In what country is there a place for a man like me?" He read, looking up to give the statue another glance. "So it's true, then."
"So, who the hell is it?" Scout questioned, pulling lightly at another banner, one that must have once stretched across the space above the door way, but now was torn asunder, hanging limply from the peg it was hung on, the other half nowhere to be seen. "A para… parasite… asks? The hells that mean."
"Andrew Ryan." The Spy answered. "Once one of the wealthiest men in America. He owned a sizable oil business, as well as Americas second largest railway and a large portion of her coal operations, and a number of small business both legitimate and false. He disappeared not long after the end of world war two."
"So… this is just some weird rich guys art project, then?"
"If it were just so, we would not be here, would we."

"There is submarine." The Heavy said, looking down into the hole. "So, Lighthouse is rich mans substation."
"They sent us here for a fancy toy?" Demo said, leaning over the barrier to have a look.
"No, if it were just stealing submarine, she would not have sent all of us. Such thing would not need all of us to take it." The Heavy said as he straightened. His rough features bunched with a thoughtful frown. "I do not like this."
"Me either." The Demoman said, hands slapping at the concrete before he pushed off it and away. "Looks like stairs back there I'm bettin'." He nodded towards the back of the room and the two shadowy doorways. "We oughta round up the others."

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea." Spy nodded, a hand slipping into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette case. Not waiting for any others to follow after him to take his leave.
Jack stepped around the circle, peering up as he hr passed the other side of the banner and saw the words embossed beneath where the bust sprouted from the wall. Nearly jumping as lights set into the bottom of the wall and into the stairs flickered on as he did, illuminating a small stairwell. Scratching at his wrist as the drying wool itched his skin. "The Great Chain? What do you reckon that means?"
"Who the hell knows?" Scout replied with a shrug. "What I wanna know is how'd this guy walk around with an ego that large. Who gets a giant head of themselves made like that?… Actually, never mind, I can think of a backstabber who would."

"Oh please, like I would ever commission something so tacky." The Spys voice echoed around the chamber as he stepped back inside the lighthouse, Engineer, Pyro, and Sniper behind him. "No, any works paid for by me are tasteful. This," He said, motioning dismissively to the bust with the cigarette in his hand. "Is merely an obscene display of wealth and power by a man who thought himself above everyone else."
"To be fair, they did say the man believed a man only truly had what he earned himself. Speaks to a decent work ethic, at least. If you can start from nothin' and work up to the top of the food chain like that." The Engineer said, shuffling over to take his own look through the hole. His low whistle of appreciation bouncing off the walls. "Now this a ride."

"Aha, Speaking of rides, how is ours?" The Medic questioned.
"She'll work. Little worse for wear than she was before, but long as we treat her gently we oughta get back to dry land alright."

"….Does that mean we're leaving, then?" Jack asked, an odd mixture of reluctance and hope in his voice. It was logical, that he'd be excited about the prospect of not being stranded in the middle of the Atlantic. Yet, there was something in his voice, in his eyes, that said some part of him wasn't keen to leave.
"Well… thing is, we can't leave. Not yet, anyhow. We've all still got a job to do here." The Engineer replied, rubbing at the back of his neck. "This plane mess has put us all in a bit of a pickle."
"We're not going to play babysitter." The Spy said bluntly, though his sharp eyes were on the Engineer, not Jack himself.
"Well you won't have to, will you." Said Jack firmly. "I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself. I ain't stupid enough to think you're some unlucky fishermen who got caught up in a bad coincidence. You made it damn clear already I'm dead if I say a word to anyone, right? So I might as well hang around and wait for you fellas. The only other choice is to take a swim, right? Ain't much of a choice, if you ask me."
"Well, I reckon you've got the gist of it." The Engineer said, pulling a wrench from one of the pockets on his belt. "Now, I don't know about you fellas, but I think we oughta take a look at that sub. Place like this, owned by a man like that, bound to be more to it than just some private boatshed." He brushed past Jack with a small nod, the others falling suit at their own pace down the stairs.
The same metallic clanks of lights switching on to meet them as they descended.
The room below was plainer than the room atop, save for three large, round plaques set onto the walls. Their shiny gold surfaces embossed with the words "SCIENCE", "ART" and "INDUSTRY" with scenes dedicated to their respective themes.
In its center, the strange, spherical submarine waited. The clear glass that made up most of its door showed a decently posh interior. Looking more like a fancy gondola car or private train room than anything resembling a submarine.
Jack lingered by top of the stairs, watching for a moment as the others hurried down, Dell fastest of them all.

There seemed to be a problem, however. In the fact that the machine was locked. The door remaining unbudging no matter who tried to open it. A few ideas were passed around, when the Engineer finally threw up his hands in frustration. Most, however, were dismissed before the thought was finished, because no explosives or bullets or brute force would work.
Not if the vessel was still going to be intact when they got it open.

"Maybe theres a key hidden around here?" Jack suggested as he made his way down the stairs. "If that Ryan fellow was willing to put in a giant bust of himself, maybe he made a little hidey hole for a spare key somewhere."

A key, it turned out, they wouldn't even need to bother looking for.

As Jack reached the last step of the ART stairwell, there was the soft sound of a mechanical click, and as if beckoned by some unseen force, the sub opened without so much as a creak.
"Well that's… weird." Muttered Scout, craning around the shoulder of the Soldier to see.
"Strange indeed." The Spy murmured, casting a weary eye towards the odd man out of the group.

The Engineer stepped inside, and around the singular lever set between to the rows of red cushioned bench seats. "Well, looks like the only way forward, is down."
"Gentlemen, it seems we've reached the next step of our mission. Grab any supplies if you must, but only what you can carry easily. By the looks of it, we'll already be testing the capacity limit." The Spy announced, waving the group off. A handful reluctantly heading back up the stairs, and back to their own boat. The idea of leaving anything behind did not sit well with anyone, but there was logic in not testing the potential weight limit of something that would be going under water any more than they would be with their combined weights.

Jack stepped inside the sphere, giving the interior, which seemed in decent enough condition, aside from a bit of rust here and there. He sat down on one of the benches, leaning back onto the wall. "There's a radio." He pointed out, nodding towards the holder attached to the wall just inside the doorway.
"Service Radio? That won't do us any good. Something like thats made for a certain range. If my radio back on the boat won't get through, the ol' thing ain't gonna have much of a hope." The Engineer replied, leaning against the wall of behind the pedestal.

Scout was the next to join them, taking up the space of seat right besides Jack, letting his bat rest between his feet. "So uh, Jack, right? Where ya from?"
"Kansas." Jack replied, "Let me guess, you're from New England."
"Nah man, I'm from Boston."

"I would advise you keep your distance from him, Mr Wynand. Scout suffers from the disease of idiocy, and it's highly contagious." Spy said as he stepped inside the sub as well, opting instead to stand at the back wall by the Engineer.
"Go t'hell, Spy." Scout spat, before he turned to Jack again. "Anyways, I guess if hardhat's willing to tell ya his name it's cool to tell ya mine. I'm Jeremy." He said, offering a tape wrapped hand. Jack mustered a small smile as he shook the others hand.

Soon enough the others filed back down the stairs and into the submarine. Some looking far more uneasy than others as they settled in best they could with ten men in one small space.
"Ready fellas?" Though the Engineers question was less of a question, and more of a statement that he was more than ready to pull the lever and get moving.

The door swung shut as the Texan pulled the lever forward, and for a moment, all went dark, save for the faint, pulsing light of the service radio as the submarine plunged into the icy Atlantic waters.

A faint glow outside the sub flickered to life as they descended, revealing art deco tiles and a marker that announced they were Ten fathoms deep sat just above a statue that resembled the much larger one atop the light house that held its beacon. And below, a marker announcing Eighteen fathoms.

A small murmur of surprise floating about the small cabin of the sub as a curtain went up, blocking out any view of what lay outside the door, and the light of a projector lit up onto it with an unfamiliar emblem. The next slide advertising a picture of a man and woman, with the mans finger alight with fire as he lit the woman's cigarette earned something unintelligible, but excited from the Pyro from where he sat in the middle of the floor.
The next slide was much less exciting.
The image flickered to that of the same man who's face stared down at them in bronze from the wall of the lighthouse. And he announced himself as much.

"I am Andrew Ryan, and I'm here to ask you a question. Is not a man entitled to the sweat of his brow?" The voiceover asked, flickering to a picture of a man before a farm, wiping his brow. Switching again to the image of a terrified man chased by an eagle the size of a plane.
"No! Says the man in Washington, it belongs to the poor."
A hand descending from clouds above
"No! Says the man in the Vatican, it belongs to God."
A man cowering before a towering hammer and sickle set
"No! Says the man in Moscow, It belongs to everyone."
Once again, it showed Andrew Ryan, reclinned in a chair with a pipe.
"I rejected those answers; instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose…" The voice trailed for a moment as the projected went dark, and the screen dropped. Revealing a scene that would have fit in with any science fiction movie. Buildings, towering like skyscrapers, from the ocean floor. Tubes connecting buildings here and there. Lights and Neon signs glimmering and lighting up what would have been nothing but black water as schools of fish, and to the Pyros delight, a squid surely as long as the lighthouse had been tall passed them by. "Rapture."

"A city where the artist would not fear the censor.
Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality.
Where the great would not be constrained by the small!"

Several men pressed close to the door as the sub continued its path, watching the shining buildings and oblivious sea life around them. Until they came upon another similar statue, this one the largest yet. The blue stone shining in the headlights of the sub as they passed it. "And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well."
Ahead, in a glass tunnel, a large figure in what from a distance looked to be diving gear, worked diligently. Sparks flecking off the tool they used.
"Holy shit, guys! Look its a freakin' Whale!" Scout said excitedly, watching the gargantuan mammal weave through the spaces between the buildings.

But the sense of wonderment was quick to fade, as a faint voice crackled from the radio on the wall.
"….But the lighthouse is all lit up like hellfire…. Looks like some kind of plane crash…." The voice was distinct, the accent unmistakably Irish. And another joined it, the pair apparently unaware they could be heard. "….We're in the middle of the Atlantic. How could it-"
"Dunno. You best get over there, and be quick about it…. The Splicers are comin'."

The voices went on as the sub came to a series of rings. Each lit up with its own part of a phrase.

ALL GOOD THINGS FLOW INTO THE CITY.

"You've got to be kidding- How do you know someones even coming?" The second voice questioned.
"Cause we got a Bathysphere on the way down…. That means we've got company."

"So there are people here after all." Spy muttered, flicking open his case of cigarettes. "This is an unfortunate complication."

A door opened in the side of the building the rings guided the sphere towards, opening up to a short tunnel, and a small room framed with Adverts of strange looking bottles, and a poster of a boy bending a spoon with his mind. Boasting the label "Telekinesis"

The lights dimmed again as the Sphere began to go up.