To Belong Chapter 16, a bioshock fanfic

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Standing in the operating theater was resurrecting hideous memories for Elizabeth. Her eyes fell upon the operating table in the center of the room. She distinctly remembered the way she squirmed and screamed as Dr. Powell attached the spinal puncture device to her upper back while his cosurgeon, Dr. Pettifog, held her down.

She couldn't help but think decent men would have attempted to put her under sedation prior to initiating the procedure, but not these doctors. Was it because they wanted her to experience the fear, the trauma of their procedure? Perhaps they wanted to introduce her to the concept of powerlessness prior to applying the shock collar … let her know she no longer had autonomy over her own body now that she had disappointed Comstock. Maybe they just wanted her to feel the pain of the needle piercing her back.

Or maybe … they truly were planning on partially or fully paralyzing her. And it would have been quite clear their efforts were successful if she was suddenly unable to physically struggle against them.

The thoughts were making her sick. The thoughts made her want to scream.

For the moment … she was unable to place proper attention on the interactions between Noah and Powell. Staring at the operating table, she did not observe Powell fleeing into the depths of the operating theater, and was barely cognizant of Reed – who had been standing beside her – charging forward to give chase to the doctor…

Elizabeth's attentions returned to Noah and Powell when her violent underling, in a voice that was bemused and unbelieving, called out: "Birds?! Why are there birds?"

In a better mood, the sorceress might have smirked at the sight of a flabbergasted Reed swatting away the birds summoned from Powell's Murder of Crows vigor. Noah so rarely lost his composure. The colossal man managed to smack one diving at his eyes before Elizabeth swallowed up each bird with her divine light.

The brunette walked toward the operating table and stood directly beside it before summoning both Reed and Powell to the vicinity – Powell on the table, Noah standing next to it.

Perhaps her muscular servant was used to getting displaced on a whim, as he reacted to the change of position before the frightened doctor could; Reed's gloved hand snapped downward to pin the surgeon to his own operating table with a single palm on the man's upper chest.

"Remain there, and make no further efforts to summon homicidal pigeons," the blonde brute insisted.

"Those were ... clearly crows," the doctor corrected – too much of a proud, self-loving perfectionist to let the comment slide, even though he was reasonably certain he'd die within the hour.

"Nonsense," Noah reacted, "I'd wager a week's salary on them being a collection of black-feathered pigeons – "

" – Focus, gentlemen," Elizabeth commented as she stared at the trapped surgeon, "this table is where Dr. Powell and his associate held me down and forced a needle-tipped device into my back as I screamed and begged."

Though the words were for Noah, she and the doctor locked gazes: icy blue and terrified hazel.

"Oh, a fitting place for our interrogation, then," Reed commented prior to smacking the butt of his knife into the unprepared physician's cheek, stunning the man. Before the man could reclaim his bearings, the criminal repositioned Powell's right hand flat onto the operating table and stabbed straight through its center with his seven-inch hunting knife. The act pinned the extremity to the cushion of the operating table.

The situation's first scream filled the theater. Not too loud, but with agony. That's when the doctor's instincts betrayed him; he made a misguided effort to pull his hand away from the source of pain, but that only resulted in more of his hand getting sliced by the blade running through his hand.

A combination of disbelief and despair ran through Powell's mind. This alternate Reed had stabbed through his right hand. His dominant hand. The hand he performed procedures with. And the pain was excruciating. Christ, he could feel the side of the blade pressing into his bone.

Powell's trembling left hand reached for the knife implanted in his opposite hand, desperate to remove it, but the reaching hand was smacked away by Reed.

"No, no, leave it be. I put that there for a reason," Noah scolded, "now, Elizabeth has questions for you. Your answers are to be clear, concise. No dawdling. I will graciously provide you a single warning that I know the physical signs of a man telling a tale … so best speak honestly. And, a final recommendation: do not attempt to palliate your actions. My Elizabeth is already offended by you," Reed took a second to flick the surgeon directly in his right eye, "painting yourself as noble or faultless will only offend her further."

Powell winced from the unexpected strike to his eye, then sucked in a heavy breath of air as he struggled to calm his rapid heart beat. He was keenly aware that he experienced a few seconds of palpitations – an awkward and dramatic shudder of that life-pumping organ within his chest. But … perhaps it'd be a mercy if his heart exploded right now. Powell's eyes focused on the room's ceiling, not wanting to look at Elizabeth, Reed or his bleeding hand, but then he heard the female's voice coldly insist: "Look at me."

There was a half-second of hesitation – but he spied a small movement in the corner of his eye from the towering sadist – and that was enough to compel him to look at the former lamb that was currently reminiscent of a lioness.

"Surely this is familiar to you," Elizabeth commented as she extended out a hand, and manifested the small, thin medication device that she found within her wound.

"Y-yes," Powell responded, "a device for dispensing medication at a programmed rate – small enough to be safely implanted within the human body. We developed it ourselves … inspired by technologies of other places. We … call it the Lifeline Implant. Our version can … can provide up to six months of high-concentration liquid medications, prior to needing to be refilled."

" … and you placed the device in a little lamb," the brunette accused, purposely vague as she referenced the deceased Elizabeth of this particular realm. She wasn't keen on the thought of Noah being aware of multiple realities … and did not want him to realize there were more Elizabeths out there capable of twisting space and venturing through time.

"Yes – can you … can you please tell him to remove the – the knife?"

"No," the sorceress answered. She lifted a hand in a 'stop' gesture when she saw movement from Reed's direction – the criminal was likely planning on inflicting some sort of physical punishment to Powell for daring to ask that question … but Elizabeth felt a physical reprimand right now would be an unnecessary distraction for her efforts.

"What medications did you place into Lifeline?"

" … various medications. An anesthetic to keep the immediate area numb, an antibiotic to keep the wound clean, and a … medication of our own design."

"What was the medication you designed?" the brunette asked. Her voice was calmer than the conflict in her soul, and an anger continued to flare within.

The doctor tried not to hesitate, tried not to panic.

"It was … designed to encourage, your cooperation …. in –"

" – Mm, Noah?" Elizabeth called out, tilting her head, "does he seem to be palliating, to you … ?"

"It certainly sounds like it, doesn't it?" the criminal agreed.

"Ask him to rephrase it for me."

Powell managed to gasp out two words before the behemoth's hand thrust toward his face while a gloved thumb suddenly pressed into his right eye: "to control – "

"What was that?" the sorceress asked, secretly pleased Reed was showing some restraint by simply pressing a finger against the man's eye rather than actively trying to crush it. It was properly motivating without actually disrupting the interrogation.

"We did it to control you," the doctor admitted. The usage of the word 'you' was an accident. This was not his Elizabeth, and the medication was created to control an Elizabeth that was now dead. But, in a bizarre way, it felt as though he were explaining his deeds to their own timeline's unfortunate lamb – the one who killed herself over the experiment they were speaking of.

And this Elizabeth seemed content to continue speaking on the subject as though it was indeed herself that had been the subject of the procedures he designed to control her alternate sister … so he chose to handle the conversation as though he were, indeed, speaking with his own Elizabeth.

"And how would this drug help you control me … ?"

"It has … multiple effects. It weakens the body, which in turn would make repetitive uses of the shock collar we had planned to affix to you more painful … It dramatically slows the healing process, which we had … hoped, would help subue you. Surely … a physically impaired version of you, one prone to illness and injury, would hesitate to defy us. Surely it would be easier to control you, to break you, when needed. And, imagine … that even at low-settings, the shock collar could produce burn marks on you. Anyone would be terrified to see such marks at their necks. It would be … even more encouragement for you to simply … obey us."

Elizabeth's voice stayed eerily tranquil when she asked: "anything else, Dr. Powell? "

The doctor silently prayed for Comstock to show up early for Daisy Fitzroy's lobotomy … perhaps, perhaps if Columbia's founder became aware of this alternate Elizabeth's invasion … there was a chance Powell could be saved. There was so much more to do, to discover, to create … There was an ideal future somewhere in the folds of time … If he died, could Comstock seize this future without him? Would Comstock make sure future doctors and politicians of Colombia remembered his contributions … ?

A sudden increased pressure of Reed's thumb against his closed right eye brought Powell away from his moment of self-pity – a subtle reminder they were waiting for an answer.

"The medication ... the medication leads to behavioral changes with long-term application. An increase in aggression, hostility."

Powell had expected to see an anger, or a sadness in Elizabeth. Instead she appeared calm … and her persistent muted responses almost felt more terrifying than anger or sadness would have been. Hell, the doctor even felt Reed's thumb shift sightly following his words … a subtle movement without a clear purpose. Perhaps out of irritation? Surprise? In any case, it was more of a physical reaction then his one open eye could detect from Elizabeth.

Powell's thoughts swirled: Keep talking, keep them listening, keep buying time and maybe Comstock will come …

"At first we felt this … unanticipated side effect of the medication … conflicted with our goals. We were obviously making efforts to control you – causing aggression would make the endeavor more challenging … but Comstock ... decided it was a boon. Use the medication to establish control of you, but aim your increased hostility at our enemies."

"Was the drug trialed on humans?" Elizabeth asked – the volume of her voice rising now, "what degree of hostility did your drug cause in test subjects?"

"Only rodents … "

"Only rodents?!" the female snapped, "you went directly from rodent experimentation to the Lamb of the Prophet? I have been on this new drug only given to rats for nearly three months now. How could Comstock agree to this?!"

" … Though the ... false prophet appeared and failed at his mission, Comstock found himself … disturbed and impatient. He wanted the medication administered immediately … he felt a new lamb could be fetched, if we failed."

"So … I myself was the human trial?!" she asked, a fierce scowl spreading on her face.

" … Yes."

Elizabeth felt an urge to scream rise within her. Did her own Comstock have this very philosophy? Did he see his own purchased-daughter as perfectly replaceable – the one he raised since a baby? How could Comstock possibly be an alternate version of her lover? Did a mere baptism truly erode any amount of humanity within the man?

"Please – the kn-knife truly hurts. Please have him remove it," the doctor stammered, trembling, as his breaths started coming quicker. The scent of his own spilling blood was making him nauseous.

"You should be grateful I have not yet instructed him to do worse," Elizabeth muttered harshly, "what happened with the rodents?"

"Most of the … most of the rats were separated from each other for the experiment – those ones attacked their handlers during feedings, destroyed fixtures within their cages, tossed their bedding constantly. Two were … housed together. They fought – one killed the other, clawed open its cagemate's belly … and even … attacked the corpse intermittently for a few days after."

A sense of nausea gripped Elizabeth. She had been continuously exposed to this insane drug for nearly three months … was the hostility that occurred with long term application already starting to effect her? She found her eyes drifting toward Noah, who was staring directly at her with a trace of a smile. Were her urges to slap down Reed a result of Lifeline … or because she genuinely wanted to do it … ? She distinctly remembered blaming the man for summoning a darkness from her when she decided New York City could use a purging … Was it truly his fault? Was it the drugs forcing her down this path …? Did New York City truly need to be purged?

A part of her wanted to scream. If she looked into a mirror right now, who would be looking back at her? A monster designed by Comstock and his doctors, a girl that dreamt of falling in love in Paris … or something else?

Though struggling with her thoughts, Elizabeth noticed Reed's eyes shift toward the pinned surgeon. Ever the opportunist, he asked his own question during her sudden fall into self-reflection.

"Are there any other long-term effects of the drug we should know about, Dr. Powell?"

" … We, could not be certain, due to our sample size … but the medication seemed to have an effect on … some of their lifespans."

Elizabeth barked out "what?!" at the same time Noah demanded the man to "elaborate."

"It … varied wildly between each specimen. On some, the medication did not appear to effect the lifrespan at all … others' lifespans were … dramatically reduced."

"By how much?" Elizabeth questioned.

Powell swallowed. He was sweating, his impaled hand was trembling – the pain was horrible.

" … Tuh … twenty to forty percent … in one case, the medication reduced the lifespan by ... fifty percent. I must say though, we did not anticipate the medication to-"

As Powell quoted the percentages, Elizabeth experienced a bizarre stillness within her mind. The information was just sitting in her brain, not fully being processed. But then the surgeon continued to speak … and Elizabeth closed her eyes, tilted her head – as if she was dealing with a terrible headache. She interrupted him: " - the medication, the medication, the medication. Again and again you say that word. Is that not also palliating?"

The sorceress then opened her eyes, a haunting expression on her face as she stared down the quivering doctor. She elaborated: "calling it a medication implies I had a sickness you needed to cure. As I speak to you it seems clear you wanted to force a sickness upon me. Stop using the word. What is the name of the drug you created for me, doctor?"

Powell hesitated. He froze long enough that he felt an increase of pressure from the thumb being held against his eye. He desperately attempted to swivel his head from Reed's grasp as he stammered out: "Mea … Mea Culpa. We call it … Mea Culpa."

The answer caused something inside the space-twisting female to snap. And she must have been done a terrible job of hiding it, because Powell started spouting the word please like the pathetic, desperate man he is.

"Know any Latin, Noah?" Elizabeth asked, cerulean gaze shifting toward the tall man. Despite her best efforts, tears were leaking down her cheek …

Reed's head shifted, stare moving from the begging, panicking Powell to Elizabeth's tormented expression. And perhaps there was the smallest tinge of amusement - or maybe excitement - on his face, but it was rather muted compared to his standard smile … because even Noah could respect that it was not the time to provoke Elizabeth any further.

"I do not," he responded. He kept his eyes on Elizabeth, but his large hand was now wrapped around the squirming physician's neck, putting a limit onto how much movement the smaller man could perform.

"You're likely aware of at least a few Latin words or phrases, even if unwittingly. Et cetera? Vini vidi vici? Aqua? Ergo?"

" … post mortem," Noah replied, "I am aware of the term post mortem. I ask you not to judge me too harshly for that."

And the broken beauty laughed at his words. A bell-like laugh, a bizarrely light and lovely laugh that completely juxtaposed the pain on her face, the tears in her eyes …

As Elizabeth laughed, Reed felt the body within his grasp start to tremble terribly.

"No no no no no!" Powell cried out hysterically.

Reed knew something was happening to the man - he had spied the flash of divine light in his peripheral vision. Unfortunately his peripheral vision, beyond the lenses of his glasses, was nothing more than a blurry mix of light and shadow. Of course he could look at the surgeon – and he truly, truly wanted to know what exactly Elizabeth was doing to Powell - but the compulsion to hold his goddess' blue gaze triumphed over his curiosity. She was speaking to him while staring him directly in the eyes, after all … it'd be rude to look away.

"The phrase 'mea culpa' happens to be Latin," Elizabeth explained after her laughter died, "and it means my fault."

Reed couldn't stop his light smile when Powell's hysterical pleas transformed into an agonized scream.

"It's … obviously my fault they had to make this drug for me," Elizabeth explained … the occasional tear still traveling down her face.

Reed heard a schhlip sound amidst all the screaming, followed by a clang from the floor. If the criminal had to guess … Powell's pain-filled thrashing led to him accidentally ripping his impaled hand free of the criminal's blade that had once pinned him to the operating table. Which begs the question – how much of Powell's own hand did he tear through to inadvertently free himself of Reed's blade?

"Of course it was my fault," the brunette sorceress continued – speaking loudly so she could be heard over the surgeon's screams, "it was my fault that I was a somewhat normal girl."

Reed felt the surgeon's weight shift. He could tell the man's arms were flailing wildly, occasionally felt the surgeon's hands desperately slapping at his extended arm. Despite the erratic motions, Noah's steel grip on the man's neck remained secure.

Elizabeth's explanation continued: "My fault that I wanted freedom and happiness. My fault that I preferred traveling and dancing to war and genocide."

When Dr. Powell suddenly started making repetitive, gargling noises in his throat, Reed was able to accurately guess the cause. The sound was reminiscent of a man struggling with a freshly amputated tongue.

"It was my fault, wasn't it? Of course I needed such a drug forced inside me – I should thank them, really."

Noah could feel Dr. Powell's body abruptly stop moving as a thud sound struck the floor.

"Yet it appears it's too late to thank Mr. Powell," Elizabeth pointed out.

"What a terrible loss for the medical community," Reed replied, holding back a laugh.

"Mea culpa, I suppose."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"You seem to be smiling, Noah. Does my situation amuse you?"

" … Mr. Powell's situation amuses me; your situation does not. In fact I … owe you an apology. I failed my goddess during the interrogation."

"How so?"

"I had an opportunity to ask Mr. Powell a question, and I asked him of the long-term side effects of Mea Culpa. If you were only administered Mea Culpa for three months … then perhaps the long-term side effects are of no importance. An individual that only smokes for three months of their lifespan likely won't develop the gruff voice, the cough that a lifelong smoker will. Of greater and more immediate concern is the withdrawal process. Unfortunately, Dr. Powell is no longer available to answer any questions on it … "

"Dr. Powell has a colleague he works with – Dr. Pettifog. I will send you to him. You have five minutes to secure the answers I need – do not disappoint me."

"I will not."

"And … curb your curiosity, Noah. You are not to ask any questions on me, or ask about any of the terms you've just heard … the false prophet, the lamb, the name Comstock … the secrets of this place are not for your ears. These secrets are mine, this story is mine – and you are not privy to it. Your focus with interrogating Dr. Pettifog is Mea Culpa. Understand?"

" … I understand."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

After sending Reed to handle Dr. Pettifog's interrogation, Elizabeth leaned against one of the machines in the operating theater. She found herself despondently staring at the floor. In the corner of her tear-filled eyes, she could see Dr. Powell's body … but it was just a blur, given it was outside of her focus.

The man had wanted to help Comstock create a monster … so surely a monster is what the man deserved. A monster that displaced his eyes then crushed them, displaced his tongue then had it torn from his mouth and then finally displaced his head before ensuring it was chopped off.

Yet … Elizabeth found herself unable to look at the man's corpse.

Surely he deserved a monster …

There was no reason for her heart to freeze at the thought of looking at his body.

As despair chewed on her sanity, a deep longing to see Booker filled her. But her original Booker no longer existed, and the Booker she had been staying with for three months remained in Buffalo … visiting him was not an option, not without exposing herself as a goddess.

But she really … really wanted to see Booker right now.

Elizabeth used her preternatural sight to peek at other realms … seeking alternate versions of Booker throughout space and time.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In a study within Comstock manor – a study with a large mahogany desk and walls lined with various medical literature – Noah stood in the center of the room and took a bite from an apple he had stolen from Dr. Pettifog.

Dr. Pettifog wouldn't be needing it, anyway. He was lying on the ground – face slashed five times and possessing a deep stab wound in his lower abdomen. The face and the stomach were areas of the human body with a lot of nerves, which made the locations ideal targets for anyone interested in inflicting painful injuries.

The doctor was technically still alive … but he'd be dead by the time Noah started talking about birds.

"I … was a victim of my own temper at the end there, I admit," Reed explained, "that's twice in the past twelve hours I've now lost my temper. Experiencing anger is … peculiar for me, I'll have you know. It's … Elizabeth – her existence … does this to me."

A pause as Reed found himself staring at the wall … imaging the beautiful female. The mental picture of her was without the signs of all the tears she had shed this day – he preferred her as a fiery goddess, not a broken girl.

"She … effects me in a way, that nothing else does," the criminal admitted, "and you … pathetic malfeasants, dared to force your experimental drug on her. A drug only given to rats before her. A drug with a withdrawal process that will not rend her from me. – I ... must shift my thoughts, lest I lose my temper again. "

After several seconds of silence, Reed took another bite of that apple.

"Overall, Dr. Pettifog, our exchange was an excellent performance, by me. Elizabeth instructed me to focus on Mea Culpa. Mea Culpa was the target, my arrow struck true. I did not waver. I did not ask any of the questions that have been rampaging about my mind."

Noah's eyes shifted toward the physician, who was experiencing a few final physical spasms as he bled out.

"Questions such as … 'why do the doctors of this place keep summoning birds?' Your comrade, Dr. Powell, also summoned homicidal birds when I first approached him. Why birds, sir? Is it not obvious when a man of my size approaches you with violent intent that birds are not going to save you? Why not summon a bear? A bear might have given you a chance against me, instead you bring out your birds."

Reed took a quick second to glance at his left forearm. One of the birds had managed to get a claw into his flesh … a superficial wound about five inches wide. The blonde brute shrugged, waved a hand dismissively before adding: "perhaps I am simply in a land occupied by bird-wizards, and bears were not an option. Unfortunate for you. Your birds were just a nuisance, nothing more. Triple the flock would not have saved you."

A pause.

"And are they crows or are they pigeons? It is important that this is clarified … I may owe Dr. Powell a significant sum of money."

No answers from the now-dead doctor, of course. Reed took one final bite of the apple before casually tossing the remaining core at the man's lifeless face.

"I had other questions, of course, outside of the subject of birds. Where are we? At what elevation are we, that the air here is so different? What technologies did I spy within your operating room? A land of advanced medical technologies … technologies that can see inside the human body. How have you created such technology and hidden it from the rest of the world? And Elizabeth's tale, the one I am not privy to, I would have had you explain the shepherd and the lamb and the Comstock to me, and her. I would have had you explain her to me … What are her secrets, Dr. Pettifog? Who is this woman that perplexes me and uses me and hurts me and thrills me … "

Reed cocked his head, examining the dead physician.

"Did you know her secrets, Dr. Pettifog? … Shame on you for not sharing. – And another question … why do I have this headache? I've had it since the moment we arrived – bizarre coincidence, if that's what it is," Noah actually took a second to loosen his tie, "could it be the air?"

Reed peeled his eyes from the doctor and took several aimless steps around the room, attempting to shed some of his excess energy.

"The final question I'd have for you, if I had been free to ask whatever I pleased, would have been: how did you know my name, sir?" Reed asked, suddenly tossing a glare at the doctor, but an accusatory tone with a sharp stare meant little to Dr. Pettifog's corpse.

"My memory is impeccable, yet I have no recollection of you. How could you identify me by sight alone, as though you have great familiarity with me?"

The corpse did not answer Reed.

"Did Elizabeth speak to you, of me … ? "

Again, no answer. A minute went by before Noah accepted he may never have the answers for his questions. He surrendered his opportunity to learn of this strange place, of Elizabeth's story, simply because she instructed him not to.

… At what point does a man become a slave?

The criminal glance at his watch – at least eight minutes had passed since Elizabeth sent him here. She was late for retrieving him.

Reed took in a deep breath of Colombia's unsatisfying air. Desiring something to focus on other than his plethora of questions, he stepped toward the book shelf. The books there appeared to be mostly medical journals. A few of the titles caught his attention … Advanced Medical Technologies Encountered in Other Planes, A list of Newly Discovered Medications, Mea Culpa Test Outcomes, A Compilation of Data on the Human Spinal Cord …

"Well, you and Dr. Powell won't be needing these materials anymore," Reed advised Dr. Pettifog's corpse as he started plucking the books that caught his eye off the shelf. Surely he could convince Elizabeth that it could only be beneficial to allow him to take these journals back to New York city and personally review their contents …

That's when he saw it – a journal with a title that compelled him to instantly snatch for it: The Songbird Experiment.

Unable to control his curiosity, Reed opened the book. Tucked before the very first page was a fascinating schematic of a bizarre machine-creature with tubes and wings and claws … It was somewhat humanoid, though its legs bent backwards the way a bird's were, and the length of its vertebrae appeared too long for a human.

How fascinating …

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A Booker was holding a three day-old Anna.

He had been a single father since Anna's first day on this earth – and the combination of constant anxiety and despair he felt since that day was fucking terrible.

Jesus Christ – of course it was a mistake to get Annabelle pregnant, but in his heart he genuinely believed they could have figured it all out together. That they'd stick by each other and make it work – that they'd find a way to pay off his debts and raise a little girl together.

But the childbirth killed Annabelle.

Not immediately – the mother had a chance to hold her newborn daughter before passing. She also seemed aware that something went wrong inside her body during the birth, and consequently she was aware she did not have much time left in this world.

Booker would never forget the last conversation they shared.

"I know we agreed to the name Elizabeth, but … her name must be Anna. Because you must remember a piece of me will always be with you. And … promise me you'll make sure she learns how to dance. I know she'll love it … just like I do."

"Annabelle, you can … – you're just gonna teach her, yourself," Booker told his lover, holding back tears, "you're just gonna teach her yourself, when she gets to that age."

His wife put on a smile that somehow appeared sad yet hopeful.

"No more drinking … our little lady needs you at your best, all right? And … you're not going to let her down … I know you won't."

Five hours after that, a member of the hospital staff was explaining to him that Annabelle's body would be kept in the basement for a maximum of three days, which should be enough time to get in contact with a funeral parlor and initiate the process of having her properly buried.

So now he was alone – with a beautiful baby girl in his arms and a broken heart in his chest.

And … it was the strangest fucking thing. A man named Zachary called him yesterday. And this Zachary somehow knew all the details of situation. Knew that Booker's wife was gone, knew Booker was in debt and knew Booker had a two day-old daughter whom he had no confidence he could take care of alone.

Then this Zachary had made an offer that at first seemed outrageous… but the more Booker mused over it, the more it seemed to be the best thing for both him and Anna. This Zachary was a man of great wealth, a man of prestige, but regrettably he couldn't conceive, and therefore could not have the family he yearned for … If Booker surrendered custody of Anna to this Zachary and his wife, Anna would have both a mother and a father, she would have nannies, she'd always have food at her table and a roof over her head, she'd receive a great education, she'd want for nothing.

And … less importantly, Booked would be debt-free.

"Could you … could you promise me she'd get dancing lessons?" Booker had asked during the phonecall.

" … Of course, Mr. DeWitt. I'll make sure she learns to dance."

This Zachary fellow told Booker that he'd give him forty-eight hours to think the offer over.

And now … Booker had about eighteen hours left to decide if he wanted to try to raise this baby alone.

"I already love you," Booker promised the infant in his arms, "loved you since the moment I saw you. But ... I'm really damn terrified I'm gonna mess things up for you … I don't know what to do, Anna."

A pause.

"I don't know what to do, Annabelle," spoken in a soft, sad whisper.

A knock at his apartment door pulled him away from these soul-crushing thoughts.

The ex-soldier cautiously set the infant down on a padded chair in the room.

Opening his apartment door revealed a young, blue eyed woman.

For a moment he was stunned – physically she had characteristics similar to his departed wife.

But … obviously it wasn't his wife. And whoever this young female was had tear stains on her face and purple marks on her neck. He had to imagine those two details were a result of the same problem.

"Christ, mam, are you ok?" he asked instantly. He had actually lifted a hand to reach out to her before pausing – he wasn't sure what his plan had even been … to comfortingly touch her shoulder? To gently pull her into the apartment?

"No," she admitted quietly, "it has been a pretty dismal past twenty-four hours for me, to be frank."

"I … I don't have any money, if that's what you're after," Booker admitted – wasn't even sure if he'd be able to get his wife a coffin without borrowing some cash from his coworkers, " ... but if you need me to knock someone's teeth in, I will."

DeWitt regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He was a father – a single father – he can't go around getting involved in physical conflicts. Yet ... the sight of the sad gal with bruises on her neck made him want to do something on her behalf.

"I, uhm … I know this is going to sound like a … an odd request, from a stranger," the female acknowledged, "but … I'd like a reminder … that not everyone in the world is terrible, that not everyone in this world … is only capable of selfish acts, only harboring cruel intentions … "

"Mam, I - "

" – May I just … have a hug?" she asked suddenly, releasing a sob after the desperate question passed from her mouth.

It was strange. Of course it was strange. Booker would remember this strange meeting for the rest of his life.

The man gently took her hand, pulled her into his apartment and closed the door behind her.

Then he wrapped his arms around the petite female, held her close, and listened to the sobs she started pressing into his chest. He pat her shoulder, her back.

During this embrace, odd statements started intermittently escaping the poor girl. Statements he did not know how to respond to. Statements that seemed insane.

"I know Comstock's depraved … but, I thought on some level he must have cared about me … if only a little. He raised me. Yet the … the crimes he committed against me … were … so, so terrible … how could he? "

"Surely Songbird is right … only three months of the drug shouldn't … shouldn't permanently affect me, shouldn't permanently change my body, shouldn't end my life fifty percent sooner and force me to leave my partner and his daughter prematurely by multiple decades. How terrible would it be for him … to lose not one but two partners younger than him? Who could bare to lose half their heart twice … ? Is there anything left of someone, when that happens … ? "

" … "

"… Organized crime is terrible, right? Mafia dogs. A bunch of … unified fiends, manipulating civilians, threatening each other over money, killing each other … isn't it best to scour the city, get rid of such filth … ?"

" … "

"If you think of it … the Founders were the same. Organized fiends -villains. The word politician can be a synonym for criminal … in the world of man."

" … "

"I've had horrible thoughts, I've … enjoyed things I shouldn't. At times I … think I need to stop, yet at other moments … I simply want to march forward."

"Would it be best if it's the drug's fault I am acting in such a way? Yet … if the drug's effects go away, and I… I still have these thoughts … "

"Do I have anyone to blame then … ?"

"What if it's just ... in my blood … ?"

"What if it's just me?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Author's Note: Happy holidays!

A gigantic thank you for my reviewers. It means so much to me when people take the time to comment – lots of time/blood/sweat/tears goes into my writing and the support is so, so motivating to me.

Reviewer Shout-outs.

31days: Thank you friend! Hope you enjoy this one too!

Disciple of Khaine: Dude I got this crazy writing itch. I reread my old fics and here we are, updating this story after several years of silence!

Phantom Dark-Knight: Thank you so damn much for reading and taking the time to comment, man. Im honored you think it's worth a reread and hopefully the new chapters don't let you down!

The Lifelong Editor: You're a huge inspiration man. Thanks for taking the time to read/comment. In hindsight, I may have put too much plot into this two day period where Booker is away from Elizabeth … but there was a lot I wanted to happen before Booker and Liz can be properly reunited. I think Im probably still a couple chapters away from getting them back together. .

Thank you again man! Youre my damn hero.