A/N: SteinMon here again.

I just started replaying Bioshock for reference, and it was fun to imagine role-playing Jack with his first encounters.

Review Responses:

- Childatheart28: Thank you for being the first Reviewer! While Code Blue won't be directly explored for a while, I guarantee there will be hints towards its effects throughout. Ah! The Luteces. They're easily my favorite encountered NPC in the whole Bioshock series. :)

*End of Responses

Disclaimer: I forgot this during the Prologue, but I don't own the Bioshock series. That privilege belongs to the developers: 2K Boston, 2K Australia, and Irrational Games; as well as the publisher: 2K Games. Take a good, long look, because I won't be re-posting this.

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

Chapter 1: Another Long Dive (Complete with Orientation!)

The first thing he noticed was that he felt weightless as began to wake up. The second was that he had just inhaled a lung-full of water. He half-choked a gargle, the muffled sound giving rise to panic as he floundered, even as he realized that he didn't know which way was up or down. He felt as though he were fading in and out of consciousness, though in reality, he was only blinking. The water stung his eyes as he tried to find his way, bubbles and displaced water floating around him.

Until he noticed the shoe rising. No, not rising… sinking.

Now knowing which way was up, he twisted over, met by the floral design of purse sinking, along with whatever valuables its owner had held dear. He turned upward, met by more luggage as he began to swim up toward some strange orange light on the surface. He flinched as he heard the slicing Whizzzz! of one of the planes engine blades shoot by. Ten feet over, and he might have been sliced in half.

Trying to push further he was greeted by the cockpit of the plane. He followed it's decent. How did it sink so fast? In matter of seconds it had already sank into the abyssal dark below.

His lungs screamed for air, his chest heavy with nothing but water. Every time his hands grasped for the surface, a close-mouthed gag of panic screamed in his throat. His vision was beginning to get blurry as he continued to claw against the water. He wanted to breathe! He didn't want to die suffocating! He couldn't imagine a worse death than the lull of drowsiness that was beginning to darken everything.

He shook his head quickly, trying to stave off falling asleep in the dark, tranquil arms of the bottomless ocean.

One might expect that the first sound that came from Jack when he broke the waters surface would have been gasps of relief as he sucked in the cool night air. Instead, the sounds of choking and coughing proceeded undeterred as he first expelled the water from his lungs, before attempting to fill his lungs with air. But the liquid mass exiting his chest initiated his gag-reflex, causing him to heave violently before he could inhale.

Finally! One half-breath before he began coughing and sputtering again. He barely managed to keep treading water, even as he greedily began drinking in the air. It was warmer than he anticipated, but that was only because the orange lights he had seen below were flames dancing along the water. He turned around in the water, eyeing a portion of the wreckage.

'Oh my God!' he thought weakly, unable to speak as he continued panting. 'What happened?!' The last thing he remembered was looking at his wallet and the gift his parents had given him.

As he pondered his predicament among the slowly rising heat of the plane's burning fuel, still facing the plane's crumpled body, he swore he heard voices. Shouts, shrieks, panic, pain in the plane's sinking frame of a pyre. His breath quickened as he began swimming toward it, only to immediately pull back as the scalding temperatures burned him.

"Agh!" he cried, backpedaling as he watched helplessly. "Hello, is anyone there?" he rasped weakly, his throat still raw from exhaling the salt water. No one heard him.

Maybe there were others who had made it into the water! If so, it wouldn't do any good to stay where he was. He turned back around, carefully and slowly swimming as close as he dare along the fire-line. With his luck, he just had to surface right in the middle of all the burning debris. No sooner had he spotted the tail of the plane, a line of fire shot across the waters surface, following an invisible trail of fuel until it all ignited, creating a wall between him and the open ocean.

He shivered as he saw the bubbling from around the tail, it's dorsal still blinking a red light, cringing as he heard the groan of the siding met his ears. He couldn't help but imagine the morbid image that the bubbles were some of the passengers last breaths.

But what caught his attention, just to the right of the plane's tail and past the wall of flames, was the last thing he expected in the middle of the ocean. A lighthouse. A bloody, friggin' lighthouse. But Jack didn't complain, especially when he saw a lit path of stairs at the base of the water. That meant he could get out of the water. He redoubled his efforts as he made straight for it, grateful for the small surge of strength the hope of solid ground gave him.

It was with trembling legs, shivering arms, and chattering teeth that he met the imposing tower, taking his first steps up. The cool night sub-arctic air didn't help. As soon as he had completely exited the water, he sat down, wrapping his arms around his chest, stuffing his hands under his armpits as he looked out toward the wreckage.

Finding his voice after a moment of repose, he called out. "Hello?! Can anyone hear me?! Is anyone out there?!" Still panting, he waited, cocking his head slightly to distinguish between the sounds. All he could catch was the sound of his heavy breaths and the lapping on waves on the stone structure.

He waited. And waited. And called out. And waited some more. The only significant passage of time was when the plane's tail finally sank. Nothing. No one. He didn't know how long he had sat there, shivering, hoping beyond all hope now, that someone, anyone else had survived.

'Wait, this is a lighthouse. There might be someone inside who can help!' he thought, cursing himself that it hadn't occurred to him sooner.

As fast as he dared, he moved to his feet, climbing the last few steps. Already, he could see that his idea was less than plausible. The imposing stronghold of stone, with its gentle glowing orb atop its sky-held peak; and one of its bronze-colored doors was standing wide open. If he weren't so dejected that his moment of illumination was now rather dim, he might have noticed that the lights that walked the path weren't lit by flame; or perhaps the sigil above the door. But no, he just hobbled inside, glad that at least the seemingly abandoned structure acted as a windbreak against the sea air. If anyone survived, hopefully they were smart enough to swim toward the lighthouse, but as it stood, there was nothing more he could do but wait.

No sooner had he stepped inside the darkened abode, he heard the creak of rusted metal as the doors shut behind him of their own volition, casting him in complete darkness. He rushed back, pounding on the door to open.

Light suddenly ignited behind him, causing him to freeze, as though he were caught red-handed in the beam of a policeman's club-like torch. He swallowed, half-expecting someone to call out. Nothing. Breathing deeply, he turned around.

An enormous bronze bust of a man gazed down at him, as if it were an Olympian, measuring his worth and meddle. Underneath it, a gold-lettered red banner read "No gods or kings. Only Man."

'A bit presumptuous,' Jack chuckled to himself, a shivered smile of relief gracing his features. But that relief was short lived. There were no stairs leading up to the lighthouse nest, only a plaque, and what he presumed were stairs leading down, if the large railed off round in the center was anything to judge by.

He approached the plaque, curious about it. Who would build a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean? 'Someone rich? Someone crazy?' Jack wondered before reading aloud, "In what country is there a place for people like me? -Andrew Ryan." For some reason that name rang a bell. Maybe he was someone important stateside.

He was half-tempted to wait, to see if anyone would show up. But his curiosity was like an itch; damned near impossible not to scratch. He walked around the center round, toward the stairs in the back, greeted by the ignition of more lights and the soft sounds of "Somewhere Beyond the Sea", playing by recorded violin. He followed their path down, until he came to a roughly circular room with the round above at its center, with three plaques: "Art", "Science", and "Industry". They all centered around a bronze sphere sitting atop the water.

There was a lever in the center of the sphere. "I sure as Hell hope you open that door back up," he muttered. Without out much more initiative than that, he wrapped his hand around the lever, and pulled.

Something creaked and closed behind him, causing him to bolt around. A porthole greeted him. "Fuck! Next time Jack, check to make sure you're not walking into something that's just going to close and lock on ya," he criticized out of panic. Fooled him once, shame on… the lighthouse? Or it's owner. Fooled him twice, shame on him. A third time was not going to happen again. Even as he contemplated this, the sphere began to lower into the water.

"No! Nonono!" But down he went, staring out the porthole as he sank. A sign passed, reading "10 Fathoms" followed by some strange statue of a man. How deep was that? "18 Fathoms". Deeper and deeper still.

Something slid in front of his view, a projector light shining on it, with the image of what he assumed was a lighthouse… or maybe thee lighthouse from above? Following quickly was a chime with what appeared to be an advertisement.

"Fire at your Fingertips!" he read aloud, his eyebrow cocking. "Incinerate. Plasmids by Ryan Industries." He snorted. "Yeah, that'll be the day."

The screen changed just as he finished, displaying a lounging man who had posed with his pipe. "From the desk of Ryan."

"I am Andrew Ryan, and I'm here to ask you a question: Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? No, says the man in Washington. It belongs to the poor. No, says the man in the Vatican, it belongs to God. No, says the man in Moscow. It belongs to everyone.

"I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible…."

"Well bully for you," Jack grumbled, not really caring one way or another. The slideshow images had made the man's point well enough, but he wasn't there for a movie or a lesson. He had just pulled a lever to open a door so he could leave. And… now he was sinking. He'd just escaped that fate, too.

"…I chose… Rapture." The projector screen lowered, revealing something Jack never would have imagined in his wildest rural farm-boy dreams. A city. Not just a city. A city underwater.

"Holy- FUCK!" he said with a start as some creature with multiple legs jetted by, startling him.

"A city where the artist would not fear the censor," the recording went on, undeterred by his outburst. The sphere continued along the city, amazing Jack more and more with every bit of it he saw. Not just the city, but the life underwater as well. "Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small. And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well."

That note finished in the wake another strange statue. As the sphere continued along, Jack saw… yeah, there was someone in one of the glass tunnels. There were people! He could explain what happened above. Get help! It seemed things were looking up… metaphorically speaking.

Even as this thought crossed his mind, he turned slightly, glimpsing the enormity of another underwater creature. A blue whale swimming along. Jack couldn't help but press his nose to the glass, trying to get a better look at it as the beast swam underneath him. His eyes beheld it with the sheer wonder of a child. It was… beautiful.

"-But the lighthouse is lit up like hellfire…. " Jack turned toward a radio to the side as soon as he heard it, forgetting all about the view outside. A voice? People. He was saved! "Looks like some sort of plane crash."

"We're in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean," another voice answered. "How could it?"

'Welcome to my world,' Jack thought sarcastically, though it did strike a pained note inside of him. If someone else did survive, they would be locked out in the cold. And the thought that there were survivors immediately reminded him that some hadn't.

"Dunno. You best get over, and be quick about it. The Splicers are coming."

'Who are The Splicers?' Jack wondered. It was a city, and the The made it sound exclusive. Maybe it was a club, or gang. He heard cities had gangs, and he had heard about book clubs. So… maybe? He wasn't sure where he had heard it though.

Even as he wondered, he turned to see the sphere was coming into dock, but the look of the circular tubes he was going through that were lit up like a slogan. "All Good Things- Of This Earth- Flow- Into the City."

"You've gotta be kidding me! How do you know someone's even coming?"

"Because we've gotta Bathysphere on its way down. That means we've got company."

The radio made small disconnect sound as the sphere settled in the bowels of a building, and began to slowly rise. Jack wasn't sure what to expect of such a beautiful city. He thought he saw some propaganda or advertisements on his way in, but he wasn't paying attention. Something one of the men had said, or maybe it was the way he said it. Jack didn't know why, but it made him nervous, like he shouldn't know what to expect.

The radio crackled back on a minute later. "O-okay just one more minute… The 'Sphere'- the 'Sphere is coming up now."

"Johnny, security's bangin' all over. Get a move on!"

The sphere had risen to it's resting spot, and it wasn't at all what Jack had expected. It was dark. Really dark. In the dim of one of the blinking lights, he could make out a figure, and the sound of a woman humming, as though she were idly working in the kitchen.

"Please lady. I didn't mean no trespass. Just don't hurt me!" The figure had backed up almost completely to the sphere, and Jack only then noticed how shallow his breath had become, how quickly his heart was beating. He was terrified, and he was starting to see why. Another figure was slouched over as it walked toward the terrified voice

"Just let me go!" the figure, which Jack could see was a man, sobbed. "You can keep my gun. You can-"

The slouched figure pounced, slashing something Jack couldn't see in the blinking lights across the man's abdomen, cutting off his voice with weak cry. In the next moment, the man was pressed up against the glass, his scream dying into a sickening gurgle as something finished by slashing across his throat, sending a splash of blood streaking across the porthole.

'Oh! God!' Jack bit his tongue to keep from making any noise, hoping that that… person? … wouldn't notice him. A deep, raspy breathing grew heavy just outside the sphere, a silhouette just barely outlined. A single blink of light gave it form, but that was all Jack needed to see. What he did see was grotesque, malformed, disgusting. And it's weapons, a large hook in each hand. Jack could only imagine what it used those for, and he was regretting even thinking about it.

The… creature… seemed to be looking at the porthole, as if expecting something to happen. "Is it someone new?" it – whether it was a man or woman, Jack didn't care – seemed to inquire, before shrieking almost madly at the only layer separating him and it. It jumped to the side, making small grunts of exertion has it climbed.

All at once, the sphere began to creak and rock violently, Jack's arms shooting out to steady himself against the side. That… thing… out there was screaming and shrieking, clearly frustrated that he was so well protected, and for a moment, Jack was glad for that too.

'Fuckin' Hell,' he thought, not daring to raise his voice with it out there. 'What did I walk in on?! Where the Hell am I?!'

It stopped with the creature jumping off out in front of the porthole, turning to look back at him with what Jack assumed to be an irritated face.

"Would you kindly pick up that shortwave radio?"

With a hiss, Jack turned back in time to see it jump away, like it was fucking frog.

"Wha- wha- what the Hell?" he breathed, fingers trembling as he half-hazily reached up to grab the communications device.

"I don't know how you survived that plane crash, but I've never been one to question Providence. I'm Atlas, and I aim to keep you alive."

Jack swallowed slightly. He didn't like the sounds of that. Not one bit. Just what the Hell did he – quite literally – crash into? He gingerly pressed down the call button on the radio. "I'm- I'm Jack. Wish I could say "nice to meet you"."

"Good. Ya got a sense of humor. You'll need that to keep from goin' mad. We'll exchange pleasantries later, right now ya need to keep on moving. We're gonna have to get you to higher ground."

The porthole opened, instantly alerting Jack that he was now open and vulnerable.

"Take a deep breath and step out of the bathysphere."

Jack did as suggested. "Okay," he breathed, glancing across at the empty hall and the glass windows providing a view of the outside underwater city. His ears were met only with the slush of water, and a raspy voice that immediately sent a chill up his spine. "Um, Atlas, one of those… things. I hear it."

"Don't worry boyo, I won't leave you twisting in the wind. But we're gonna need to draw her out of hiding. Your gonna have to trust me."

The cut-off sound didn't bode well for Jack as he gingerly took steps forward toward the windows. To the right was a pile of luggage, and some weird tube. The only way to go was left and up some stairs by the looks of it.

"I'll wrap you in a sheet," the raspy voice echoed from seemingly everywhere.

'Nope! No! Nonononono!' Jack cringed as he began moving a little faster up the stairs, only to enter a near dark room with only a very weak blinking light. As soon as he began to step out, one of the lights exploded, bathing the room in deeper darkness. 'Shit!'

He immediately crouched behind some of the luggage. Waiting. Listening.

"Just a little bit further," Atlas's voice whispered. When he heard nothing more, he moved on, spying a hall to move down. He wasn't more than a couple feet in when he saw a silhouette drop from the ceiling, the outline of hooks incredibly prominent.

"Atlas!"

A beam of light shined on it, and a strange beeping sound came up from behind Jack. He turned to see a box with rotors flying after the creature, firing a spray of bullets at it until it jumped onto the wall and climbed out of sight. "How do you like that sister?" Atlas taunted from the radio.

Jack was having a heart attack. He wasn't more than a few steps in, and he already felt like death would be kinder. "Thanks for the save," he breathed into the device.

"No problem. Now would you kindly grab a crowbar or something? Bloody Splicer sealed Johnny in before they… goddamned Splicers."

Jack wanted to apologize for his friend, but it would be a vain apology. There was nothing he could have done, so he'd just have to try and do better with the things he could do. First off, not dying. Conveniently, a crowbar or "something" wasn't hard to find with a camera's light shining right down on it. A pipe wrench. Jack weighed it in his hand. It felt kind of light for some reason. He gave it a good swing or two, as if he were a kid playing the knight in shining armor, wielding a stick as though it were a sword. Hmm. He'd keep an eye out for something heavier. Meanwhile the only way out was right past some debris.

"Well, no time like the present." He swung with all his might. The rubble must have been really worn down, because it turned to dust in an instant. He gingerly swung underneath it to get a view of something burning at the top of the stairs.

Someone let out a pitiable cry, and said burning "something" was kicked down the stairs at Jack. Before he could comprehend what he was doing, he swung the wrench backhanded at the object, smashing it against the stairwell wall before it could hit him. Evidently it was an old couch, and its frame was little more than splinters now, at best.

He looked down at his newfound weapon, feeling something akin to pride toward the plumbers tool. "I think this is the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship."

"Don't run!" Jack heard at the top of the stairs, seeing one of those… Splicers? Atlas had called them. It began bolting down the stairs toward him with a wrench like his held overhead, prepared to swing down on him. Jack moved again, swinging his new friend at the Splicer's knee cap with a Crack! Jack flinched at the sound, following the return swing to bring against the side of the Splicers head before he could cry out. The skull caved in, causing Jack to recoil in surprise at the explosion of fractured cranial bone, goop, and blood all mixed together.

"Oh God!" His hand was shaking, gaping at the blood and grey matter-slicked wrench in his hands. He turned to the side, heaving violently as the peanuts he'd eaten on the plane suddenly came up, splashing chunkily on the stairs. Shivering in revulsion, he leaned against the wall to steady himself, his stomach still churning.

He'd just killed someone. Granted, it was a life-or-death situation, and given the chance, Jack didn't think he would make a different choice. He knew that logically. But still. His hands were spotted red and trembling, and the hem of his sweater was splattered. He took a deep breath to steady himself, exhaling shakily. He wasn't sure if it was the death itself, or the fact that said death ended in a mess of gore.

"Come on Jack," he gasped, trying to push himself forward with steeling words, and hoping it would be enough. If he made it out of this… well, he'd think of something worthwhile to promise.

A small chime knocked him out of his shell-shock. "My daddy is Smarter than Einstein, Stronger than Hercules, and lights a fire with a Snap of his finger! Are you as good as my daddy, Mister. Not if you don't visit the Gatherer's Garden you aren't! Smart daddies get spliced, at the Gardens!"

'What the fuck?' At the top of the stairs was a windowed view of the city. With door jam ahead. When Jack approached, it grinded, but didn't open. The chime, however, started up again, just up the stairs above where he had entered. As he went along the undamaged stairs, there was a blaringly bright neon sign that blinked.

"That's one way to get someone's attention. Plasmids, huh?" Suddenly, mocking that advertisement in the bathysphere didn't seem relevant. If he could really do what it said….

At the top, he found what was making the chiming. A vending-type looking machine with a pink neon "Gatherer's Garden" – if it wasn't self-explanatory enough – with two big-headed statues of what might have been little girls on each side. What Jack didn't understand was why they had put mushrooms around the statue's feet. Wouldn't a better promotional display be, flowers or something?

'Unless they're trying to send me down the rabbit hole to Wonderland,' he thought. When was the last time he read that book?

The next thing that concerned him was the vial and needle that stood blatantly out in the open. "It's clearly a trap," he reasoned aloud. 'But what if it isn't?' "Well usage is self-explanatory." 'But then again, who would just leave it out here all prepared?' "I really shouldn't." 'But I need the edge. Think about it: Fire at your fingertips.'

Sighing at his own losing battle, he picked up the vial and the needle. The vial was a blood red, and the needle looked surprisingly clean. But still. He walked down the stairs back toward the burning couch. It never hurt to be safe. He carefully sterilized the needle over the open flame, doing his best not to burn himself. Once that was done and he had returned back to the common floor, Step Two was easy enough. Extract vial liquid into syringe? Check. Step Three was another matter. While Jack would never say he was afraid of needles, that was a… really big one. He rolled up his sleeve, not sure exactly how to do the injection.

"Come on Jack. Like a bandage. Besides, I might not need a lighter to light my cigarettes if I do. With just a Snap of my finger," he quoted, suddenly hating how catchy that jingle was. Gritting his teeth in preparation, he grunted as he plunged the needle straight into his upper forearm. Oh God, it hurt! Not as bad as breathing in sea water. This was actually a cake-walk by comparison. Now he just had to push down on the injection. Breathing once again, and not wanting his arm to stay sore, he pressed it down all at once, yanking the syringe away quickly.

The effects were immediate. His vision swam with red, as he felt whatever he had injected himself snake into his veins like venom. It hurt, like someone had run him over with a tractor. His vision cleared slightly, and he noticed that a blue glow was coursing through the veins of his wrist, spreading.

"Agh!" he gritted to himself, sounds like bones popping crackled through his hand as it seemed to contort of its own volition. It kept spreading and spreading, until even his ribs seemed to creak under the weight of the injection. "Make it stop!" he couldn't help it as he cried out in anguish.

"Steady now boyo! Your genetic code is being rewritten. Just hold on and everything will be fine!" Atlas more-or-less encouraged….

…Right before Jack started shooting arcs of electricity from his hands, his body abuzz with power. He kneeled over onto the ground, the pain eventually causing spots along his vision; right before he felt weightless again, and passed out.

Footsteps.

Jack felt his lids begin to open, noticing that his cheek was floor-bound, and the smell of the salt musty carpet was not something he preferred to drowsily wake up to. There were two people standing over him from what he could tell. Even though he knew that, his cognition wasn't really up for processing the significance of their presence. He felt like his insides had gone through an industrial grinder, an incinerator, and just for good measure, was pissed on by his Pap's ol' mule, Samuel. Then said remains of insides were stuffed back into him.

One of the figures bent down, cocking his head slightly to reveal a white rabbit mask.

'Ugh, down the rabbit hole indeed,' he groaned internally. 'Just need to find a Hatter, a Red Queen, and some Tweedle Twins. Although, maybe the twins are the Garden.'

"This little fish looks like he just got his cherry Popped. Wonder if he's still got some ADAM on him?" Splicers. He could tell by the voice. Somewhat raspy and distant. It didn't help that the Splicer was rummaging through his empty pockets. Well, there was his wallet. His cigarettes had been in his jacket which was now down with the plane. His parent's gift was sunk now too. That sucked. But as for his pockets? Nope, just his wallet. He was so tired, his thoughts were all a-jumble.

He began to close his eyes again. Maybe if he did that, they would go away.

"Mmmmrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaah!"

'Yep, I'm awake!' he thought as his eyes shot back open. Who needed a rooster on the farm when he had whatever had made that noise, to keep him company?

"You hear that?" the Splicer not looting his pockets said, looking around nervously. "Let's bug." And he bolted off.

"Weak! You're a weak chopper!" the first taunted, shooting to his feet angrily.

"This little fish ain't worth toeing it with no Big Daddy!" the other explained, his footsteps receding.

"Yellow!" the first called out. "Always have been!" With a clank of what looked like an old piece of pipe, the rabbit Splicer knelt down next to him. "You'll be better no off with the metal daddy, little fish. See you floating in the briny!"

No. Not yet. He was still so tired. He closed his eyes again, hoping he would wake up better than he had.

"Mmmmrrraaaaaah!"

He was awake again, this time greeted by the sound of massive foot steps and… what the Hell was that! What little of his befuddled brain was working tried to command his body to move just a little bit, to get away, to run. But that only seemed to knock him back out of it.

Another groan woke him from his ill-fated slumber. If it could be called "slumber" at that point. Only this time, he was greeted by what looked like a bare-footed little girl in a dirty dress with skin the color of lead, and glowing yellow eyes.

'I'm never taking another Plasmid again,' he vowed weakly. He was either helpless or hallucinating. If he was this helpless every time he got a Plasmid – seeing as how he assumed there was more than just lighting fires and shooting electricity – then the risk outweighed the cost. If he was hallucinating… then he preferred not to see all of this again. Not to mention he'd have to stick himself with a big needle every time.

Speaking of needles, that little girl was carrying one. A really big one that looked about as long as her forearm, with a small glowing red jar on the end of it. He was too out of it to get much details, but he was really hoping this was a hallucination.

"Look Mister Bubbles, it's an angel," the little girl said in a voice that seemed to resonate and droned slightly, giving it a mild distant hum with every word. "I can see light, coming from his belly." She moved closer to him, the needle she carried inching closer and closer.

"Wait a minute!" The little girl stepped back, looking at him again. "He's still breathing. It's alright, I know he'll be an angel soon."

He began to fade again, even as the girl and that… thing that sounded like a whale, began to walk away.

He didn't know how long he'd been out this last time, but thankfully, that's what it was: the last time. He strained as he got to his feet, his body still wracked with a ghost of pain. Absently, he turned to look up at the balcony above. Thankfully he hadn't been up there. That would have been a real shit fall.

"Are you alright boyo?" Jack groaned in response. "Yeah, I know, first time Plasmids is a real kick from a mule." If said mule included multi-eyed giants, ghoulish little girls, and every bone in his body feeling like it was cracking, then yes, it was a mule. "But there's nothing like a fist-full of lightning, now, is there?"

Jack looked down at his hands. They looked normal, minus the blood. So how was he supposed to use it? He didn't know, and he didn't suppose the learning curve was promising if he decided to wing it. He looked down at his bare hands, catching a glimpse of the tattoos on each wrist. He couldn't remember where or when he had gotten them; it had either been so long ago, or it just wasn't that significant a memory. But he knew why. That much was etched into his being. He had chains, but that didn't mean he was shackled. He was bound, but that didn't mean he didn't roam free. A paradox that embodied what he felt like as a human. A cage of flesh where his heart and mind were free as a bird.

Maybe the Plasmid was the same way. It was a storm bound to his body just as he was bound to his body, confined underneath the skin. And just like him, it only needed to be let loose. Whatever this underwater world was, it wouldn't wait for him to understand. It would kill him as soon as look at him. Just like the Splicer whose body was laying on the stairs. If he hesitated, he would die.

So here, in this beautiful, terrible city, Jack Wynand felt the chains of his restraint, and his inhibition release from his shoulders like weight. He wanted to live. And to do that, he might have to stick a needle in his arm a few more times. He might have to bash in a few more skulls. But even Jack knew there was a limit to edging toward a cliff before one went over the edge. The question was, did he know where to draw the line?

It was then he felt it. In both his hands, a small storm buzzed and crackled, blue sparks dancing on his fingertips. "Yeah," he responded belatedly to no one, "nothing like a handful of storms."

He quietly retrieved his pipe wrench, turning off the power long enough to pick up the remnants of the Plasmid vial – considering it was still more than half-full – and the needle – for sanitation purposes should he have need to reuse it. Luckily for him, those Splicers had been in such a hurry to leave, they had left behind an empty leather shoulder bag. Stowing his acquired items away in it and pulling it onto his shoulder, he reignited the arcs of his hand, eyeing the sparking control panel of the door ahead. Unexpectedly, the reactivated arcs reached out like tendrils against his thoughts, making slight hums as they connected with solid surfaces, like buzzing music notes

"Lets see what you can do," he challenged to himself, lifting his hand out.

He was the survivor of a plane crash, and through a series of events that he still didn't understand, he was now in a city at the bottom of the ocean. In the back of his mind, Jack was sure that a normal person wouldn't be taking this all in stride, but what choice did he have if he wanted to see the sun again? If he wanted to return to the surface? All he wanted to do was get home, hug his Ma and Pa, and tell them how much he loved them.

He was going home, and he dared anyone to stop him. With that, intertwining bolts shot from his hand, striking perfectly against the panel. The door grinded open as the circuit was reestablished, revealing a long glass tunnel.

'No time like the present.'

Author's Notes: Would You Kindly Read & Review! :)

Replaying Bioshock was interesting to say the least. I noticed plenty of new things. For one, in the first scene when Jack is swimming around, if you get close to the plane wreckage, you can actually hear people shouting and panicking (definite chill factor for me), and if you wait long enough you can watch the plane's tail sink. Kind of morbid when you think about it.

I will be following Jack's direct progress through the story, but with a new light cast on it. There isn't anything displayed, telling him what something is (unlike the videogame), so this will be from the point-of-view of him navigating Rapture and all it entails as a complete learning process, with (hopefully) realistic reactions to situations that arise.

Take care, and don't forget to Review! Let me know your Questions, Comments, and Concerns (QCC) :)

Until next time. Chapter 2: Welcome to Rapture