A/N: SteinMon1920518 here again.
Sorry it took so long! I was going through a major writer's block on what to do next. Add in that I didn't know if I wanted to make the Medical Pavilion a two-chapter or three-chapter endeavor. But alas, I have returned. Altered the chapter title to fit the occurrences that ensued as well.
Review Responses:
- MartyrFan: Ooooo! O.O Top Ten. I think that's my first top ten anything... it feels nice. I like this feeling.
I think that's one of my favorite parts about writing my own take on the story: the monologue of the radio being converted into a dialogue. I think that's where Jack's personality kind of shines, rather than in those little moments where he talks to himself. It's him interacting with the other speaking characters.
- Childatheart28: Haha! That kind of bugged me too, but that was the Cold War for ya. He made the Red Scare look friendly (in a video-game, non-reality kind of way)
- razmire: Ha! I already took my double-dosage of Lot-128, so your mental trigger phrase has no affect on me! That being said, I'm always a sucker for a happy ending, but that can depend on your definition of "happy". I don't do "perfect" endings. Those are kinda deus ex machina. But "happy"? We'll see.
- "OBSERVER01 nli": Will do my best.
- Falvern: Thank you for the encouragement. You got me excited to keep on writing this thing. I do plan to see it through, albeit really slowly. Walking through Rapture and pausing every two steps to jot down some little note or other is a very time consuming process, with me having to reload a save frequently in order to catch some details again. But hey, its kind of fun that way, I'm noticing things I didn't pay attention to before, I'm seeing things from multiple angles. It's like seeing Rapture anew at times.
- "Guest #1": Awww! Thanks there.
- BenRG: "Meat Puppet"? That phrase has a lot of meanings, I dare not delve into them for multiple reasons. Be as it may Elizabeth's questionable ethics, it went to prove just how far good people could sink in Rapture (pun intended), especially from someone we got to see in her purest and most innocent form in Bioshock: Infinite. She let her anger and desire for revenge blind her, and in the end, it cost her in order for her to find even a glimpse of redemption.
As for Mr. Ryan, let us not forget that he became exactly what he set out to eradicate in his "utopia". The "Big Man". The controlling and nosy governmental powers. Enough so, that he lost the love and respect of even his closest friends. I wouldn't call his actions "insanity". As you mentioned, it was all about "control". Rapture was his muse and creation, and if Ryan couldn't control what happened to it, he didn't want anyone "corrupting" it. "Childish" might be a term for it. His way or the high-way.
- "Guest #2 (possibly still #1): That's one of things that makes Bioshock an interesting series for me. The first-person, silent view allows the player to interject his own thoughts and feelings into the matter, with even Bioshock: Infinite making our own actions our personal reward (rather than the karma system that the first two implemented).
*End of Responses
Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*
Chapter 3: The Learning Curve (Lessons in Power and Survival)
"Now that you've met Andrew Ryan, the bloody King of Rapture; find your way to Emergency Access," Atlas directed, opening the hatch to Medical without another word.
As Jack edged his way out of the pressure hatched room, he took a moment to prepare himself. To the right, there appeared to be a foyer of some sort. And to the left….
"Goddamn," he growled. "Just how many are there of those Vita-Chambers?" That was what? The fifth one he had encountered? Give or take. Bad memories made for bitter remembrances.
Up ahead, in the foyer, there appeared to be a front desk, with two sets of stairs leading around to the next floor up. But what caught his attention was the jingle of what sounded like another vending machine, and the Kur-chunk! of metal smacking on metal.
"Know your craving at the Circus of Value!"
When Jack entered, to his immediate left was indeed, another vending machine, this time adorned with varies purchase buttons, and the pasty face of a red-painted clown adorning the top as it's spokesperson. Though the laugh the vending machine gave off made Jack shiver. Somehow, it complimented this disturbing world. Just to the right of the machine was a door, trying desperately to close on one of those rotor boxes, like the one that Atlas had used to save him after he left the Bathysphere. It was here that metal Clunk!ed against metal.
Gingerly, he took a look at the Circus of Value machine, keeping a wary ear perked for the footsteps, because he was hearing Splicer voices everywhere, even if he couldn't see them.
"First Aid Kit's. EVE Hypo? That must what the blue syringe is called," he spoke aloud, looking gingerly in his satchel, comparing the blue syringe in his bag and the one displayed on the machine. "Chechnya Vodka. Who vends alcohol outside a bar? Pistol Rounds, and Electric Buck. What the hell? Well good to know that I can buy ammunition, but how does one electrify buckshot?" Evidently the people of Rapture had figured that out. But that also boded another issue; some Splicer's probably had shotguns, and they probably visited the Circus of Value too.
He groaned pathetically at his realization, and a second time when he peeled open his wallet. All-in-all, he was a little low on funds, given the light weight of his wallet; and now he possibly had enemies with electrified buckshot for their shotguns. No pressure.
He snorted slightly at his own joke as glanced out the cold ocean window, taking one more look at his virtually empty wallet before he put it away in his back pocket. Another thing he would have to stock up on, given how comparably pricey the Circus of Value was.
Turning his attention to the mis-closed door and box once more, he looked it over, especially since this door gave direct access to the Emergency Access Atlas had told him to go to, according to the label just above the door-jam.
'This is one of those times you're gonna have to wing it,' he thought to himself. He knelt down, looking at the disabled device carefully as he considered his options. The device in question was just lying there, and Jack couldn't exactly tear apart something when he didn't know how it was built. Plus the door might lock shut if he did manage to remove it; and that was a huge "Hell No". As it was now, he had a better chance of getting through.
"Looks like I'm forcing it open," he stated, disliking the direct approach, though he had to admit that it was the most plausible option at that point. Nestling his hands carefully between the door jams in the center, he heaved as he forced them apart, listening to the grinding of gears as he went against the tread. All in all, it wasn't much effort, but it still made his arms sore as he beheld his work. The door wouldn't be closing on him, but he left the disabled device in the middle… just in case. However, on closer inspection….
"Can't be that different from a tractor," he commented as he viewed it's near destroyed paneling, along with a few exposed wires. Of course, he had to remind himself that the door might close and lock shut, and that would be bad. So the box bot in question was better off where it was, cause he would be damned if another door closed and locked on him. It looked like it had been broken out of the display case right in front of him anyway, so what was the chance it would actually function.
It was with this distracted thought in mind that he turned the corner, immediately spotting a Splicer bent over a corpse. Acting quickly, because going back was no longer an option, he closed the distance, practically tackling the Splicer as she began to look up. She thrashed, trying to beat him with a wrench, but was immediately stunned convulsing when he tried to pin her armed hand with his Electro Bolt active hand. Just as surprised, he finished her quickly with a quick smack to the temple, rolling to his feet when he heard a gun shot Whiz! past his head.
There was another Splicer standing on some metal steps, ready to fire off again as Jack threw his wrench at it, watching as his uncoordinated and disastrous aim smacked the Splicer in the eye. He immediately dropped his gun, his hand holding over his face as Jack charged up the stairs striking up with a closed fist into the Splicers chest. He felt a spark of lightning connect between the aberrant flesh and his knuckles, and the Splicer collapsed like a sack of rocks, his eyes wide and shallow gasps escaping him as he clawed at his chest. But Jack didn't wait, grabbing his wrench from the staircase, he swung it at the former man's head, watching as it bounced off and the Splicer continued to jitter.
"What the Hell?" Jack complained in shock, noting that this was the second Splicer to take a whack to the head, only for it to bounce off, "Is you're skull made of lead or something?!" He prepared to make another strike, grasping the Splicer with his Plasmid hand to steady his next strike, only to watch as sparks danced along his skull on full-contact, the Splicer's whole body alive as the smell of something burning assaulted Jack's nose.
He removed his hand, and all movement stopped, the Splicer clearly dead as it sizzled. He put a hand back on, and it started jittering again. Off; it stopped. Putting his wrench down, Jack tried his right hand with equal results, the active Plasmid not isolated between either of his hands, but summoned to either when and where he wished it all the same. He picked up his wrench, his face contorted in thought as he felt the energy storm through his grip as he touched both open jaws to the Splicer. It began shuddering again.
"Well shit," Jack commented as he stood up, looking at his weapon from his morbid experiment. Evidently, the active Plasmid had an effect even when he wasn't using it for ranged attack. And, do to the metal in his tool, it was a decent conductor. "That would have been nice to know." Somehow, he got the feeling he should be extra careful with his firearm. He didn't need the bullets misfiring from his hand's electric shock. He was lucky that hadn't happened before. At least it was nice to know that he had a modicum of control over his Plasmid.
Moving on, he looted the bodies and lower room for ammo, money, and a bandage, along with a recording labeled "Adam's Changes" property of Dr. Steinman. He hesitantly pressed play, almost afraid of what he'd hear.
"Ryan and ADAM, ADAM and Ryan… All those years of study, and was I ever truly a surgeon before I met them. How we- plinked away with our scalpels and our toy morality. Yes, we could lop a boil here, and shave down a beak there, but… but could we really change anything? No. But ADAM gives us the means to do it. And Ryan frees us from the phony ethics that held us back. Change your look, change your sex, change your race. It's yours to change, nobody else's."
Jack looked at the recording device in horror as he looked down at his own hands. Ryan freed them from phony ethics? Was that all there was to the world? People just waiting to be given permission to shoulder off morality and act as they pleased? But Jack looked down at his own hands. He understood a little. He may not agree with the concept of altering who he was based on a visual representation such as his appearance, sex, or even race. If one could so easily shrug off their morals, did they even have any to begin with, or was it as removable as the Splicer's masquerade masks? And if that was the case, did physical appearance even matter at that point for people so repugnant?
He pushed those thoughts away as stood once more to his feet.
There was a door at the top, along with the Emergency Access Controls as well. Down below, where he had just been, he could see the Emergency Access to Neptune's Bounty was gated off… and looked half-submerged. Once again, Jack was faced with whether or not to pull the lever. On one hand, nothing would make itself happen; on the other, what if he got locked in again.
"Well," he said, taking a deep breath, "here goes nothing." Hesitantly, and with his eyes half-closed in dread, he pulled the Emergency Access Control lever.
A screen right above the controls flashed "Access Denied" at him, even as the lights turned red and he spun around, having heard the doors behind him opening for once. A Splicer ran by, scraping a pipe along the halls wall, and in his shock, Jack had let loose a Bolt in reaction. He missed.
"If you want to use the Emergency Access, you'll be needin' Doctor Steinman's key. He's the one what runs this place. But I don't expect him to hand it to you out of the milk of human kindness. Steinman ain't that kind, and frankly, I'm not even sure he's still human," Atlas told him.
"This would have been nice to know sooner," Jack muttered. "I could have at least prepared for that first before being told I was denied access." He actively created sparks between his wrench's jaws as a sign of frustration before going after the Splicer that had run by. The fewer that got the jump on him later down the road, the better. It was a short hall of pipes that extended out toward a balcony. And he could see a Tommy Gun leaning against the console, and yet, there wasn't a Splicer pointing it at him.
'Trap?' he asked himself. "Trap," he answered back. Listening carefully, he could just make out the low, raspy breaths of the Splicer in question. It was a simple matter to parry the pipe she tried braining him with, then prod her in the chest with the electrified wrench, effectively stopping her heart. Simple, and he didn't feel a bit drained by it. Just using the residual electricity the crackled gently off his hands seemed to do wonders. 'One more strategy for killing them,' he thought grimly.
He quickly picked up the Tommy Gun, and looted a nearby container for some ammo and a Med-kit, strapping the weapon over his shoulder before glaring down at another switch, a small plaque right above the switch reading "Electrical Override Switch".
"Well, at least it's labeled," he muttered, pulling it. Immediately, the foyer was bathed in light, and he could see the path ahead opened up as the slide gate retracted… and let in a handful of Splicers
"Now you've rattled the monkey cage," Atlas warned. "Here they come."
And a couple of those Splicers had guns! Jack dropped to the ground with a grunt, wrapping his arms around his head protectively as he heard bullets shatter the glass of the window, smacking into the wall and door he had just come from. He quickly crawled back through the door, remaining on the ground until he exited the proximity of its automatic function, putting up a barrier between him and the bullets. He could already hear the Splicer's running up the stairs in preparation to beat him down.
To say the fight was easy would be a lie. There were eight of them; six trying to bash his brains in and two shooting. They came one or two at a time. Such a strategy wouldn't normally work, if they allowed him time to catch his breath between sets. Even with his newly realized skills with his Plasmid, Jack had barely been able to inject another two Med-kits and an EVE Hypo before the fight was won, reveling in the sensation of a cut across the back of his head healing, and a bullet dislodging itself from his side. 'Yeah, that's gonna leave a mark,' he whimpered in thought as he heard it ping to the grated ground, the flesh around the former wound forming a clear scar, but it still didn't stop the groan he let out when he took a look at his sweater. A new set of holes, and more gore had stained it. 'I'm gonna need a lot more than a drycleaner.'
He gingerly pulled the wool sweater off, sickened by how it peeled away from his skin, being slightly sticky from drying blood and sweat. All that dressed his torso now was an undershirt, which also bore a couple bullet holes. The haunting, underwater Rapture lighting timidly exposed his toned frame and windswept skin from work on the farm. He half-wondered if Rapture had something else for him to wear while he was roaming its halls, but he wasn't about ready to retrieve something from one of the Splicers. Just the thought of wearing anything second-hand from one of them made his skin crawl in disgust.
After folding up his ruined sweater in his satchel, it didn't take him long to loot the foyer and the bodies, which yielded him some First Aid, a Hypo, ammo, and plenty of money, especially when he sorted through an abandoned handbag at the front desk. Along with that was another diary, labeled "Released Today" from Diane McClintock. Being in a time crunch to help Atlas, Jack made an exception and listened, especially after her last diary he'd found. It made Jack smile a little, even if it was a sad one.
"Doctor Steinman said he'd release me today. Ryan didn't come to see me since the New Year's attack. Not once. But Doctor Steinman was very attentive. He told me that once the scar tissue was gone, he was going to fix me right up. Make me prettier than any girl I've ever seen. He's sweet alright… and so interested in my case!"
Almost sadly, Jack wondered how many of the people he was listening too were still alive; and of those that were, which ones would still be considered human. There were so many Splicers, Jack felt a sense of hopelessness. Besides him and Atlas, he didn't hold his breath at the hope that there were others.
He climbed the stairs of the foyer, passing an overturned wheelchair whose occupant lay dead under it, and he pressed on into the Medical Pavilion. He was greeted by yet another corpse as he passed the signage decorated with a waterfall, carefully listening as he bent down to riffle. A decent fold of bills, and a cylinder of pistol rounds rewarded his search. To his left there was a dead Splicer and a broken station; to his right, a single vent. He pulled a single 00-Buck Round from the Splicer.
He would have pressed onward, but he stopped for a moment as he looked back at the aesthetic waterfall. 'I should wash my hands,' he thought, looking down at the grime that had been caught under his fingernails and in his cuticles. "Sounds like a plan," he muttered, the sparks in his hand retreating, but his veins still aglow, as if waiting for the instant he would need it again. It wouldn't do to fry himself with his own Plasmid.
The water was cold, but not entirely freezing as he scrubbed, watching as the blood stubbornly washed away. It wasn't a perfect rinse, his hands were still tinted with red, dyed from the fresh corpses of his multiple foes, but the familiar action calmed his mind. While also allowing him to, unfortunately, think.
He'd grown up on a farm, gone to church on Sundays, loved his family. Now he was broken, a shadow. A figment of the man he had been. The red on his hands was the proof that no matter how much he scrubbed, he wouldn't be able to wash his hands of his actions. An alliteration to how far he had sunk, both figuratively and literally.
Steinman's recording was right: ADAM did change things. But Jack didn't blame the ADAM for swinging the wrench or letting loose the lightning. He blamed himself. He killed. Perhaps not in cold-blood, perhaps only in self-defense, but how much red would stain his hands before all was said and done? Was there any forgiveness for the things he had done? What about the things he might have to do?
He quietly re-searched the purse of the corpse at his feet, finding a relatively clean handkerchief to dry his hands on. It may have been a pointless action, given they would just get dirty again, but it was a luxury he wanted to feel once again, if only to remind himself that there had been a time when he felt normal. He looked back at that silly lad who had walked onto a plane, only to feel tears sting his eyes.
"Duck, duck. Goose!" Jack's head pounded as something struck him from behind, causing his vision to swirl painfully as his face smacked into the waterfall face. He slid to the ground, opening and closing his eyes to try and clear the blur and water away. "Hey buddy, whatcha ya got there? Ya got supplies?" He felt the Splicer grabbing at his satchel, trying to pull tactlessly at it only for the strap to jerk against Jack's body. "Hand. It. Over!" It was suspended across his shoulder. But the Splicer was too tunnel-minded to attempt anything else as he continued to jostle Jack, giving him time to recompose himself.
He kicked out, smashing his heel into the Splicer's knee cap with a grunt. He scrambled as the Splicer cursed in pain, dropping his lead pipe. Jack dashed around him, wrapping one of his arms around the Splicer's neck, grabbing the crook of his own arm while the other hand wrapped over the Splicer's head in a hold. The degenerating human flailed, trying to break out of Jack's grip with all power afforded him, only to be silenced as Jack closed his eyes.
With tremble to his lip, his hands reactivated, a volatile electric current flowing freely into the Splicer's brain. The flailing increased, only for Jack to squeeze tighter until he heard a faint gargle in his hands. He still didn't open his eyes, even after the electricity stopped and the struggling ceased. He dropped the body, sniffling slightly as he bent down, pulling away a couple more bills from the pockets of the formerly living.
He had let his guard down. Only for a moment, but in that time, he could have lost everything he had. He could have "died" again. He couldn't afford to reflect on his sins. He brushed away his tears with the crook of his arm, forcing himself to smother whatever feelings he had. He couldn't afford to let himself get caught again, and if this moment had proven anything, the Splicers could be crafty when need be. He had to always be on alert, lest he find himself bashed upside the head again. That was the lesson he took to heart as he retrieved his wrench. He couldn't afford to reflect.
It was as he gazed down the hall he heard another Splicer, rambling on as most of them did, followed by a boisterous round of manic laughter that sent chills up his spine. Up ahead was another door. As he stepped toward it, his vision blurred, becoming writhed in static as another white specter fizzled into existence.
"You promised me pretty, Steinman, you promised me pretty! Now look at me…LOOK AT ME!" the figure cried, crumpling in heap in front of the door before she faded, the lights clicking and flickering before returning to normal.
Jack swallowed as he glanced at the door. His throat felt heavy. 'Another ghost of Rapture,' he thought in whispers, as if afraid of disturbing the less-than-peaceful dead.
He stepped toward the door carefully, reading the plaque on the floor that said "Surgery". The doors automatic function Kuh-chunk!ed as something held it shut. The only thing that stood out was small button to the side, and Jack knew the only way forward was to press it.
As it opened, his radio blared to life again, giving sound to the pitch black ahead. "You keep an eye peeled for Steinman. The daft bastard's set up shop in the Surgery Wing. You wanna find him, just follow the blood."
The lights flickered on, revealing three pictures of women, the name "J. Steinman" lathered on each of them in blood, large surgical clampers hanging on the wall. In front of that, a hospital bed sat covered in blood, a vase of floors standing on top of it, along with a jar of knives right next to that. The whole thing was like some sick eulogy.
On the floor in front of that, the words "ABOVE ALL, DO NO HARM – J. Steinman" was likewise written in blood. How… ironic.
"Fine. Sure. What's one more crazy?" Jack said sarcastically, realizing half-consciously that he could end up as one of those crazies if he wasn't careful. There was another recorder, hanging up next to the sickening display as though it were meant to be found, so he played the "Higher Standards" recording before he could think anymore on his potentially eminent future.
"ADAM presents new problems for the professional. As your tools improve, so do your standards. There was a time, I was happy enough to take off a wart or two, or turn a real circus freak into something you could show in the daylight. But that was then, when we took what we got, but with ADAM… the flesh becomes clay. What excuse do we have not to sculpt, and sculpt, and sculpt, until the job is done?"
Steinman. The not so gradual slip into madness.
Jack shook his head in disgust as he looked to his left and to his right. Both sides looked like buckshot had peppered the walls, but to the right, something was actually hit, blood smeared with the holes and a body laying limply. He walked over to the body out of reflex, much to his own reemerging self-disgust, to begin looting. No sooner had he began riffling, he heard shots rapidly open fire.
Reeling backwards, he slammed into the wall, coughing in pain at the bullet that had lodged itself behind his left shoulder blade. "God!" he groaned, his eyes clenching as he tried and failed to stifle a sob. It must have hit bone. How else could it possibly hurt so bad? He didn't even feel his pistol digging into his hip, or the tommy gun over his shoulder that now acted as a perch against the wall, the weapon's chamber bolt poking into his back.
He took several shallow breaths as he tried suck-up the pain rather unsuccessfully, peering around the corner to catch sight of a dead Splicer on a surgery bed before gaining a glimpse of his impending enemy. A small automated turret, with a perfect view no matter which side he would have come out of. The fucking Splicer laying near the wall had been bait… or a victim.
The anger helped dull the pain a little bit. That was good. "Fucking machine," he growled, digging in his satchel with one hand as the other held his wrench in a death grip.
"Remember, all them machines will short out right and proper if you hit them with Electro Bolt," Atlas advised, far too late for Jack's patience.
"Right. Good to know," he winced, biting his tongue lightly to divert his attention somewhere else as he fumbled to pull out a Med-Kit, before noticing that it was his last one. His head beat back against the wall in frustration. Lesson learned: be frugal with supplies. Not every wound needed treated immediately. Taking yet another new lesson to heart too late, he pulled out the red-tinted syringe before plunging it tactlessly into his arm, an itch settling into his shoulder as he felt the bullet slowly worm its way out of his flesh. Yet another scar. He was going to need both arms if he wanted to live any other extended amount of time.
He moved to the other side, another Splicer laying on the ground with an EVE Hypo next to her. Perhaps both dead Splicers had been killed by the turret. A garbage can was the only barrier between him and the machination. Now that his head wasn't clouded with bitter thoughts about his previously wounded shoulder, he wondered how the turret targeted him in the first place, never mind that it was probably a Splicer that set it up. From his small vantage point, he could just make out some of the exposed wires. Maybe if he fiddled with them, he could shut it down.
One deep breath. Two- Jack lunged and rolled, surprising himself with his own dexterity as he went shoulder first into the ground, half-expecting pain, only to land on his feet next to the turret. He was stunned for a second before he heard the turret beep at the sudden movement, beginning to turn toward him.
Shaking his head, he let loose a Bolt, watching at it sparked and the barrel of the automatic weapon lower. Crisis averted, he went to yank the wiring, only to find his hands moving on their own, pulling out some of the paneling to do… something? 'Wha-?' The reset mechanism was purposefully shot to prevent tampering, but, if he reconnected a wire here, adjusted that fluid tube here, and pushed that button there-
"Ow," he hissed, snatching his hand back out of the machine in confusion, not quite aware of what he was doing in his autonomous state. The tip of his finger had a blot of red on the end of it. He quickly began sucking on it, realizing that whatever had got him was most definitely not sanitary.
"What're ya doin' messin' with my turret ya fuck?!" a Splicer dressed in dirty surgeon scrubs called, pulling out a pistol.
Jack swung around, preparing to jump behind the wall only to hear the turret begin beeping angrily as the barrel perked back up. 'So this is how I go,' he thought with some humiliation, now that he actually had time to think about how he would die. The whir of the turret turning was enunciated to his ears. Painstakingly. Slow. He was going to die after trying to disable a turret. He was going to die because he had been stupid and exposed himself out in the open. And he didn't even know what the Hell he had been doing!
He flinched as he heard the rapid fire of guns go off, only not to feel anything. Sucking in his lips, he gingerly peered out of one eye, noting that the turret was firing on the armed Splicer, who was firing inaccurately back in surprise. He waited for a moment in his half-tensed half-shocked state, watching as the Splicer fell rapidly to bullet hails.
"Um… how?" he asked no-one, looking at his hands with intrigue. What had he done to turn the turret to his side? He carefully squatted down, keeping a keen sense to his surroundings as he took a peek back inside the turret, looking for what he had been tinkering with. He found the pin-prick he had poked his finger on, a short hypodermic needle just within reach amidst the machinery parts, his blood still fresh on its tip.
He shook his head. It didn't matter how, the simple matter was that it worked. If that was all it took, then maybe, it wouldn't be so hard after all. It definitely seemed like a piece of cake compared to fixing the tractor. If there was one turret, then there was more; and if there was more, then he could use them. That simple thought was overcast by another thought. 'It's never that easy.' What was to say that it would be so simple all the time? He couldn't let his guard down, even with his new automated protector around. He just needed to survive as long as he could; and leave Rapture behind as soon as he could.
He eyed the turret once more before handling his wrench, and readjusting the tommy gun on his back, which had been digging into his side since he slammed into the wall. Survival in mind, he couldn't rely solely on his wrench and Plasmids, wondrous advantages though they were. He had enough pistol ammo for a few reloads, and his tommy had a few bullets. To keep the Splicers at bay and prevent from taking hits, he was going to have to learn to judge when and where to apply his melee.
Jack decided to press forward when his head began to ache from all the new things he was learning; absorbing in the continuously evolving stream of information. He had already died once, discovered efficient ways to take out Splicers, that his Plasmids were ambidextrous, that he could channel his Electro Bolt through metal and Splicers alike; he couldn't let his guard down Ever, he needed to conserve his resources for more pressing matters, turrets could be turned to his side, and he now had to be the judge of when he changed weapons. Never mind that he was still in shock, having just been in a plane crash, diving into an underwater city with genetically altered humans, and altered his DNA all in one night… just to name a few.
It was stressful, and Jack rubbed his temple with his extinguished Plasmid hand before taking a deep breath. The sooner he got to Neptune's Bounty, the better. But first, he needed Steinman's key.
He quickly made a short search around the immediate room, gathering what supplies he could salvage, including two registers behind the Enwell Life and Health Group counter, along with another recording reading "Parasite Expectations", across from his new turret. Besides a few dollars (totaling at about $93 in his wallet) and the EVE Hypo that he had seen earlier (having four now in his satchel), and a couple more cigarettes next to the corpse on the left from where he entered; along with some bullets that had been looted from the dead Splicers and their strewn pistols. He also noted to the right of the entrance, there was another turret peeking out from behind a tattered wall and a sign that lead to Surgery, and to the left a sign that led to Funeral Services and likewise, Surgery.
Before he pressed onward, he took a moment behind the counter, pressing play for the recording, immediately recognizing Andrew Ryan's voice. "On the surface, the Parasite expects the doctor to heal them for free, the farmer to feed them out of charity. How little they differ from the pervert who prowls the streets, looking for a victim he can ravish for his grotesque amusement."
Jack scrunched his nose at that slightly, despising the imagery and association. Although, having lived on a farm, he wasn't sure if he agreed with Mister Ryan's statement or not. Pap had always been a man of fair trade; a charity in and of itself. If you worked, and worked well, you ate a home-cooked meal made by Mama Wynand and had a bed in the guestroom. But Jack frowned when he couldn't remember what she had made the night before he'd left for supper. Hmmm. Suppressing his confusion, Jack walked to the right.
Prepping his Electro Bolt, he snuck around to the door that lead to the next turret, quickly rinsing and repeating the method that had worked previously: shorting it out with a Zap!, and pulling of the panel, letting his hands do whatever it was they were doing, until he found the needle prick that had swayed it to his side. The room the turret occupied netted him some supplies, including a Med-Kit (supply at one), some tommy bullets, and a new set of pistol rounds that Jack couldn't identify. He sat back when he heard a Splicer, letting his newest turret finish her off, collecting the bullets from her pistol and a few dollars. It really did pay to let the turret do the work.
Further ahead was another Medical Pavilion sign, with another room branching from it. In here, Jack heard a new jingle. "Muchos gracias señor!" Down in the room, which was flooded, Jack noted another Circus of Value machine, along with another recording. He took a moment, hovering his foot over the water warily, as if thinking about what to do, before he outright stepped in, seizing at the cold water. He trudged over, snatching up the recording as he clenched his teeth to keep from shivering.
"Vandalism" from Andrew Ryan. "It has been brought to my attention that some citizens have discovered ways to… hack the vending machines. I should not need to remind each and every citizen of Rapture that free enterprise is the foundation upon which our society has been established. Parasites will be punished."
"I can hack the vending machines?" Jack questioned to no-one aloud, looking this way and that like a criminal about to be caught. Shrugging his shoulders, he knelt down, looking for this "way" that allowed him to do so. He remembered the exposed wires on the first one in the foyer, and immediately went to work.
The system was different than a turret, instead of requiring a prick on his finger, it was about reaching in and adjusting the dispensary-to-price tubing in order to bypass- Jack shook his head as his thoughts caught up with him… but his hands continued to work on their own. What was he doing? Where did those thoughts come from? And why was he doing it like a professi-
A small zap caught his nimble fingers, his hand snatching away instantly at the sharp pain that jolted up his arm. He winced, intaking a sharp breath as he sucked on his sore finger. Evidently it was booby-trapped. He should have figured after listening to Ryan's recording.
He debated a return attempt, before sticking his hand back in, trying to be extra careful. It was two tries later, and a lot of sore fingers, that he heard a small Beep, and took a look at his handiwork. His feet were cold, his fingers hurt, and he didn't even know what it did.
He looked at the machines vended items. Kit's, Hypos, Pistol rounds, an Armor-piercing round?, tommy rounds, vodka ("Seriously?") and some Buck. Not a bad haul, and it looked like the prices had gone down too. Interesting. However, Jack still held fast to his cash, as he turned around to view the newest jingle: another vending machine called an El Ammo Bandito.
Luckily for him, the circuitry panels were much the same between the two vending machines. He was more fortunate this time when he tried to hack it, he only got his fingers zapped once. Merchandise included pistol rounds (armor-piercing and regular), tommy rounds (antipersonnel and regular) and more buck at a discount price. And boy! Ammo was expensive.
Having had his fill of harmful games, he went back out to the main rooms, back tracking as he returned to the counter, and proceeded onward with caution as he explored. Behind the wall the first turret was nestled up against was a small waiting room, along with a functioning station, like the destroyed ones he had noticed on his way from the Foyer.
A First-Aid station, complete with red cross, a cash insert, and a needle (of course!). He checked the money insert. Sixteen dollars. Bu-ut… there was a panel along the side.
Grinning slyly with his newly acquired knowledge, Jack pried off the panel, and once more was greeted by wiring and fluid tubes. Unlike the vending machines, it was much easier to navigate and alter. He didn't even shock himself this time! As he finished up, he was half tempted to sample the machine before he stopped himself. He wasn't really injured except for his pride and a few shock burns on his fingers, so he should save his money. He didn't need the station.
'Yet,' he thought glumly to himself. The Med-kits were $15 at a hacked vendor, but the stations were… $10? It didn't display the altered price, the $16 still etched on the plaque, but the math seemed right.
He frowned as he thought that. The math. Seemed. Right. "What is up with you Jacky-boy?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head in bewilderment as he continued about his quest. He could worry about weird coincidences later.
He looted the waiting room for a couple dollars and yet another recording. Property of someone named Tenenbaum, and labeled "Love For Science". "I was at German prison camp only of sixteen years old when I realize I have love for science. German doctor, he make experiment. Sometime, he make scientific error. I tell him of this error, and this make him angry. But then he asks, 'how can a child know such a thing?' I tell him, 'Sometimes, I just know.; He screams at me, 'Then why tell me?' 'Well,' I said, 'If you're going to do such things, at least you should do them properly.'
Jack looked at the recording in his hand with some… haunting feeling in the pit of his stomach. That voice. He… he didn't know why, but for some reason, he felt his chest tighten, his breath grow shallow, and tears sting the corners of his eyes. Why? He blinked a couple times as he regained his composure, quickly making sure that there were no Splicers sneaking up on him, before he added it to his growing collection of questions and unexplainable moments. Maybe Rapture was affecting him more than he thought.
He rounded the corner, moving toward the Funeral Arrangements sign, keeping to an overlap pattern to ensure that he was clearing any Splicers from trying to sneak up on him again. On the wall ahead, written in blood was the phrase "ADAM denies us any excuse for not being beautiful", just under which was hung another obvious recording, along with a dead Splicer at its base.
Jack moved cautiously as he heard a distant Splicer hawking as it coughed, loud footsteps splashing in water as he edged forward. Picking up a box of Bandages, which he nestled away for later use when he would need them for his minor wounds, and looting the corpse for a couple more dollars, he picked up yet another recording of Doctor Steinman's, "Limits of Imagination".
"I am beautiful, yes. Look at me, what could I do to make my features finer? With ADAM and my scalpel, I have been transformed. But is there not something better? What if now it is not my skill that fails me… it's my imagination?"
'Creepy, crazy, and full of himself,' Jack thought dejectedly, knowing how his meeting with Steinman was likely going to go. Looking down the hall to his right, his attention caught on the burning torch of the "Eternal Flame" sign, and just in front of that, a door's base encased in ice leading to Twilight Fields Funeral Home according to the sign. He was about to walk forward when he heard the sound of a Splicers sob.
He felt his Plasmid buzz to life on impulse, sparking at the tip of his wrench menacingly as he inched forward, keeping his eyes peeled. Just across from the iced door was a corner, and he could all but hear the laden breaths that marked his target. He side-stepped quickly around the corner, beholding another surgeon Splicer before his Plasmid hand grabbed his head, bashing him face first into the wall. Just as the stunned Splicer fell, he jabbed his wrench into his chest, watching as he spasmed, dying slowly from cardiac arrest. It yielded two dollars.
He rounded the next corner, landing him just in front of Dr. Steinman's Aesthetic Ideals, two stairs on either side leading downward toward "Dental" if the sign was accurate. He was about to step forward when he stopped himself.
"That's the way I need to go," he argued with himself.
'But Steinman isn't likely to be a normal Splicer,' he reasoned.
"True," he affirmed back, "he does run this part of Rapture, so it's likely he's stronger than the average Splicer in order to keep the normal ones in check. I need a plan."
'I stock up on supplies, weapons, ammunition, and money. Search the whole area. Anything that gives me an advantage. If possible, find some unused clothing.' He looked down at his dirty undershirt bitterly before nodding his agreement with himself.
He turned around to see another Med-Station. Hacking it was a cinch. After that, he walked toward the Eternal Flame, eyeing down the stairs to his right gingerly as he passed by. Up ahead, there was blood on the right wall, and another picture of a woman with surgical clamps stabbed through it, and pictures likewise littered the floor. He could hear banging on the door as he snuck just a little closer. "I'll be better next time. Please! Don't go!"
He decided to trade out for his pistol as he rounded the corner, aiming at the female Splicer banging on the door. Jack steadied his shot, targeting for her head. "Say something God-damnit!" she snapped at whoever was on the other end of the door. He was about to pull the trigger when an explosion went off, knocking him onto his back as he pulled the trigger in surprise as he smacked into the wall roughly.
"Knock knock," a Splicer called out, Jack's eyes fluttering open at the voice, trying to clear his ringing ears. The Splicer in question was dressed like a surgeon (go figure in the Medical Pavilion), but cradled under one arm was a wooden box, and in the other, what looked like a small fuse-lit can. "Room service!"
Jack rolled to the side as the Splicer tossed the "can" his way, the concussion pushing him as it exploded.
'That's a grenade,' he thought in terror, his heart-rate picking up exponentially. 'He has a fucking grenade.' 'Correction,' he thought back to himself in annoyance, 'he has a box! Of fucking grenades!'
Jack pushed himself to his feet as he swung around, fortunately having held fast to his weapon, the bomb Splicer preparing to throw another one at him. Jack let loose the storm as a Bolt let fly, striking the Splicer, who in his jolted state, dropped the lit bomb at his feet. Jack's eyes widened in realization as he rolled back over, wrapping his hands around his head protectively as the bomb when off.
BOOM! He thought it was over when another series of B-B-B-BOOM! went off.
Jack felt something warm and wet splatter disgustingly onto his back and across his bare shoulders. He looked up in bitter annoyance at nothing, sniffing in disgust. He pushed himself to his feet doing his best to ignore the gore on his back as he walked over to the Splicer's in question. The female Splicer yield him a dollar and a Buckshot. The bomb Splicer, now missing his lower half, yielded him a solid fifteen dollars when he searched under his scrub's pocket. 'The higher the risk, the higher the reward,' he reasoned bitterly. If something had a better weapon ('Like goddamned grenades!'), it lasted longer, killed more, and probably looted other Splicers. Luckily, he hadn't run into any with Plasmids.
"And now you jinxed it," he moaned, walking into the Eternal Flame.
Immediately he was greeted by a welcome sight. Two thermoses. Before he could walk forward, he glanced this way and that carefully, only moving once he had observed the photos on either side, both saying "In Loving Memory of Winston Hoffner", though one was of a handsome man, and the other of some strange attempt of putting photos together. Under the latter was a recording, and under that was signed yet another J. Steinman. But more importantly….
"Please be coffee," Jack muttered pleadingly as he walked toward the thermoses. "Please be fresh, hot, invigorating coffee." He slowly unscrewed the top cap, silently praying if God would listen. The top cap, which acted as a makeshift cup, removed with the diligence of an artist, Jack breathed. It was the moment of truth, the final piece. He slowly began opening the valve at the thermos's top, almost crying when he saw gentle wafts of steam rising out of makeshift spout. Evidently, the Splicers enjoyed a fresh cuppa joe too.
He put the extra thermos in his bag, not caring about the weight as he took the opened one into the corner with a small seating, the recording he had found set next to him. Eyeing both doors warily, one hand held his pistol, and the other held his freshly poured relief as he hit the play button of the recording. "Surgery's Picasso".
"When Picasso became bored of painting people, he started representing them as cubes and other abstract forms. The world called him a genius! I've spent my entire surgical career creating the same tired shapes, over and over again: the upturned nose, the cleft chin, the ample bosom. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could do with a knife what that old Spaniard did with a brush?"
Jack looked at the strange photo amalgamation to his right. "Yea- No," he said with a critical eye, not letting the fantasies of an immoralistic mad-man dirty the taste of his "procured" coffee. Not even Steinman could take this short reprieve away from him. Once he had finished the cup, he considered pouring another, but break-time was over. If he was going to help Atlas, who had been strangely silent, get to his family, he couldn't take too much time to himself.
He sealed and stowed the coffee, noting that his satchel was becoming a tad full at this rate, but he pressed on none-the-less. As he walked through the door to the next room, he was greeted by a strange room, mostly dark further in, and a leak off to the side. "So this is where they keep the bodies, Watson," he mused.
To the right, the stairs were destroyed, but climbable, and to the left and in, he heard the whirring of another machine. He began walking in when his radio began to static.
"Security cameras. I can hear the infernal things all around you. Ryan's eyes and ears," Atlas commented, before cutting out again.
"Wai-" Jack sighed at his missed opportunity, before cursing under his breath. But in the end, he could forgive him. The man was probably dealing with issues on his own end.
So Jack peeked out from behind some of the mortuaries closed racks, trying his best not to think about what lay on the other side of the closed doors as he sought out what Atlas had mentioned. Cameras. He remembered the one back in the Welcome Hall, it had called one of those copter-bots. So if he was caught now… "Expect a copter-bot to shoot atcha," he finished aloud. He spied the spyware in, a red beam glaring from its glowing eye as it passed. Taking a deep breath in preparation, Jack stepped around the corner, finding purchase behind a wall that was a perfect place to hide from the camera.
"If I can hack a turret…," he voiced.
'…I can hack a camera,' he thought.
He listened to the camera's whir as it did a sweep, watched for its red glare of death. 'Red is dead, Jack,' he thought educationally to himself. He waited until it passed again before pressing forward, running past what looked like a displayed body on a retracting slate before stepping underneath the camera. He smiled to himself in the realization that the machine had such an obvious weak spot. Reaching up, he set to work with his newfound skillset. Like the turret, he gingerly moved around some exposed inner wiring as he attempted to reroute it, and some of the strange fluid tubes. Also like the turret, there was a pin he pricked his finger on, the camera's lens beamed green once he had, and he stood back to view his handiwork.
"How does that work anyway? Me pricking my finger?" he wondered, walking back toward the displayed corpse, noting the jet-propelled fire inside. It was an oven, or more accurately, a crematorium. He looked at the old husk of a corpse, which beheld an even greater treasure. A bottle with a bright murky blue liquid shining under the surface.
'Another one,' he thought excitedly to himself as he grabbed it, turning it this way and that. 'And still unlabeled!' He pulled out his syringe, sticking the needle point inside the furnace while being careful not to burn himself before blowing on it gently. Just like that, he inserted it into the bottle, withdrew some of the liquid, tapping out the air bubbles as he held it up, squeezed out the excess air, and stuck the needle into his arm. He bit his tongue slightly at the large needle as he squeezed in the contents, waiting for the effect he was sure was going to happen. Other than his veins turning black and writhing around the needle's entrance, nothing happened.
Two minutes later... and still nothing.
"Maybe it's a dud," he thought, moving some stuff around so he could fit the jar in his satchel. Dud or not, it might be useful.
Slightly frustrated at his potential loss, he hit the button next to the furnace in frustration, unsurprised when the body was pulled into the oven and the door closed. He could hear the sound of the flames Whoosh!ing inside before it died down, the door opening to expel a pile of ash on the display table.
Jack quietly moved past the camera again, and up a flight of stairs, listening to the Splicers that were either very poorly lying in wait, or were unaware of his presence. Holding his pistol to his forehead as he took a breath, he swung around the corner. The Splicer at the far end next to a closed, grinding door didn't stand a chance as the Bolt flew first, followed by a carefully aimed shot to her head. A couple more pistol rounds, a couple more dollars. Jack searched the room quickly, doing his best to avoid the oil smeared all over the floor. He found a magazine of tommy ammo next to a burst pipe. He stopped as he stood up from gathering a Med-Kit from a suitcase with a bonesaw and clamps in it, looking in the sink. Two surgical scalpels, the blades as long as his fingers, stood out.
He'd had left his pocket knife back at home, mainly because of its sentimental value, but he sure wished he had brought it with him. It posed a multi-faceted utility value that would have been appreciated in this underwater city. Carefully, he picked up one of the surgical blades by the finger loop on its butt end, eyeing between the pistol in one hand, and the scalpel in the other. It certainly looked like it would be useful. He then eyed the suitcase on the ground. He couldn't very well carry the luggage everywhere, but-
An idea popped into his head.
He dumped out the surgeon's tools from the suitcase onto the ground, pulling off his belt as he strapped the loop through the handle, creating a makeshift shoulder-strap with it. It wouldn't be easy access, but it could hold the items he wouldn't need regularly. Keeping a wary feel for his surroundings so no Splicers would sneak up unawares, he put the Electro Bolt and the unknown Plasmid bottles inside the suitcase (which freed up so much room in his satchel), his folded-up sweater, and one of his thermos's. He also snugged in his potato chip bag, doing his best to keep from crunching up the remainder of the snack inside as he closed the suitcase, and double-clipped it shut. He crossed it over his other shoulder, and just like that, he had two means of storing items.
With his acquired scalpel in his left hand, he gently released a small current through it, touching it to the metal of a nearby container. Nothing. "Looks like you're not conductive," he mused, but looked at the slight glint to the blade. "But sharp as they come I'd wager." He very, very carefully, put it in one of the satchel's side bags, hoping that it wouldn't cut it open as he left the handle exposed for a potentially quick draw.
Looking back to the right of the sink as he finished up, he noticed with grim realization that he was looking at another Gatherer's Garden through a window, in a little side office. The door was jammed shut, making Kuh-chunk! sounds without giving room for him to force it open, bu-ut… the ventilation hatch was missing. He crouched down as he slid under, mumbling about the oil slick that splashed onto his shoes as he entered the room in question.
The over-com screeched as it turned on, the voice of Andrew Ryan drawing all attention.
"A parasite wanders the halls. We rebuild our city, and the doubters send a fly to spoil our ointment. One thousand ADAM to the man or woman who pins its wings."
'Not bad for the first bounty on my head,' he mused, still fuming at the Ryan for his assumptions. However, realization caught up with him pretty quick. "Oh shit!"
He quickly took a look around the room, knowing that at any moment a lucky Splicer would find Jack in the Eternal Flame. He picked up two EVE Hypos, some more cigarettes, and another box of bandages; ignoring the Gin on the desk. On the floor, next to the Gatherers Garden was another Plasmid, giving off a warm red glow.
"I don't have time for this, if you're not gonna work," he growled at the bottle. "Besides, I don't want to turn into a Splicer."
'You need the edge,' he countered mentally. 'The last one didn't work, and as great and diverse as the Electro Bolt is, you need options. Options means diversity. Diversity means preparation. Preparation means survival.' He couldn't very well argue with that logic, now could he?
The injection this time was different. Nevermind that the process leading up to it was as tedious as ever. The moment he pressed down on the syringe, it felt as though his insides were suddenly gone, replaced by a roaring furnace that rivalled the heat of the crematorium down stairs. Sweat poured from every conceivable pore that could be imagined, and his sopping cold and wet socks now felt as warm and dry as if they had come fresh off the clothes line. Every breath felt forced and scratchy, as if inhaling sandpaper. He felt feverish as his vision seemed to steam with visible red veins. He couldn't feel his heartbeat, but he could feel the moment-by-moment agony of cooking alive.
He collapsed to his hands and knees as he swayed, watching as the backs of his hands began to snap and crackle, his veins glowing like magma, grey ash beginning to float off his knuckles as the tips of his fingers began to smolder, glow soft as freshly lit embers consuming his nails and tips, small red flames licking up his fingers hungrily. It wasn't as intense as the Electro Bolt, but then again, it may have been because it had been his first Plasmid.
It was in that moment that he noticed he was still holding onto his pistol, and in a fit of panic, tossed it away before he could accidently ignite the powder. The pistol landed harshly, discharging a round with a BANG!
"Did ya 'ear that?" a Splicer's voice called from below.
'Ooohh… fuck my luck,' Jack thought from his fevered state. 'Don't pass out Jack. Don't pass out.' He willed himself repeatedly to remain conscious this time, aware that enemies were in the immediate vicinity, and potentially closing in.
He pushed up, leaving scorch marks shaped like his hands as he shakily stood. He held his hands out, watching as the flames raged around his digits. Just below the flames, the chains of his tattoos gripped his wrists.
He smiled. Yes. A raging inferno chained within his body. It just needed to be harnessed. Anyone could let the fire loose, let it rampage, but stoking the fire, cultivating it, guiding it.
He breathed slowly, gently relaxing his hands, watching the fire die as the Plasmid ran its course integrating into his genome. Gently he held out his hands, imagining a fire pit, like the ones he'd make for Ma and Pa when they wanted to gaze out at the stars. A ring of stones to contain the blaze. Using that image, he held out his first two fingers, opening his eyes to see a small flame alight on the tip of his fingers. But how to use it? If it was anything like the Electro Bolt, he should have a surprising degree of control over it.
He let the fire expand across his hand, growing larger and hungrier.
"There 'e is! That ADAM is mine!" He turned to see a Splicer banging on the door with his pipe, trying to enter fruitlessly. "Open up! Open up you Parasite bastard!"
Other Splicers followed the shouting of the first, and soon there was a swarm descending on him. They beat at the windows and the walls. It was only a matter of time before one of them broke through the glass, or discovered the blaring hole in the bottom corner of the wall.
That had the floor covered in oil all outside.
'No. That's too convenient,' he thought in disbelief, looking at the small flame in his hand. He fueled it, willing a small sphere of fire to form in his hand before closing his fist around it. He walked over to the oil puddle, picking up his nearby thrown pistol before lowering his finger to the oils edge. There was no need to waste EVE, lighting a fire with a snap of his fingers and all that, when he could just as easily start a fire with a touch.
The oil ignited as he stepped back, watching flames consume and lick around the Splicers like a pyre. The screams bothered Jack as they slipped and fell into the burning oil, trying to escape their untimely fate. He'd have preferred to grant them a quick, near-painless death. But worse than the screams was the smell that arose from them as the scent of burning sewage and filth assaulted him, causing him to hold a forearm over his nose. Soon followed the sound of sizzling flesh, and popping fat as the slowly but surely the flame ate its fill of Splicer.
Author's Notes: Would You Kindly Read & Review! :)
Hey guys! I'll be moving here soon, so there will be another delay in the next chapter. Just heads up. Also, sorry if there are any weird typos, I finished editing on my phone during my breaks.
Some new takes on Jack's abilities, and the Hacking concept in general.
Jack is learning quickly how costly Rapture can be when he lets his guard down. But hey, the doors didn't close on him. *Sigh* But whose idea was it to not label the Plasmid/Gene Tonic bottles.
Take care, and don't forget to Review! Let me know your Questions, Comments, and Concerns (QCC) :)
Until next time. Officially called Chapter 4: The Price of Vanity.