A/N: Hey guys! Hope you're all doing good, especially after this last year.

Believe me, I know it took way too long to get this out. Almost... what? Well over a year? I've said my share for those who read the Author's Note from back in October. I suddenly hit a writing spree, so I've been getting done as much as possible before it dies out. That being said, it's nice to be back. This one is going to mostly improv compared to the previous chapters, so I hope you guys like it!

Review Responses:

- BenRG: Per usual, the Twins will be namely observers. They might offer a unique line of choices, but ultimately, the end result is always up to the individual they are observing.

- razmire: Yup, but his options are also going to be limited by real-world things, like carry weight. And while he's learning, the Splicers going forward aren't going to be there normal "fodder" selves. Each Splicer has a number of strengths that will ultimately be capitalized on. And Jack is going to do the same. If they ever do a true reboot of Bioshock, I can see an almost DOOM-like (not Eternal... God, Bioshock would never be the same again) combat system, with a mix of upgradable weapons, Plasmid's, and Gene Tonics to make the combat fluid, powerful, but also unique between players (I'd love a plausible Stealth playthrough of Bioshock). I want to approach this fic the same way.

- Batfreek2008: Always great to hear! :)

- MartyrFan: From a gameplay perspective, I understand. From a real-world perspective... not so much.

I don't know if continuing to splice would be important to Jack. I think it would depend on what path players chose. If Jack was to Rescue the Little Sisters, probably not. But if he Harvested them, then I could see that being a thing.

Hope you enjoy this one too!

- Kaiser-Powers: Well hey! I'll take what I can get!

- Da-Awesome-One: I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it's getting better. You take care now!

*End of Responses

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

Chapter 7: Blood in the Water (The New Enemy is Me...Eventually)

Jack woke from dreamless bliss the moment the cold and wet jolted through his legs. He tried to struggle, but it was futile once he was bashed rather unkindly in the head yet again. No external force expelled from him. He was sputtering as it poured over his head, leaving his muck-ridden messy hair now drooped on all sides. His hands were hoisted above his head, leaving him half-suspended. By what? He wasn't sure. Once it began pouring over him, over his shoulders and down his back, his body ached from how quickly his body heat retreated inward, but even that was doing very little. He was cold, sore, and he felt drained in just about every sense of the word.

"Now," he heard, just over the water pouring around him. "Where do you send the little girls?"

Jack was shivering something fierce, so he instinctively let Incinerate move through his blood, only to feel something CRACK! painfully against his thigh. He wanted to cry out, but a dirty hand squashed against his mouth, lifting his head up so salt water poured over his eyes. It burned and stung, not even allowing him to yell or breathe.

"Now, now. None uh tha'." It roughly threw his chin down, and Jack had to bite back the desire and need to sob. Never mind the disgusting taste in his mouth.

"Now, where do those morsels go when you put 'em in the vent?"

Jack barely managed an, "I don'' know," under his breath before another CRACK! smashed against one suspended arm. His hands didn't know whether to tense open or clench as pain racketed through him. He couldn't even tell if he was crying or not with all the water pouring over him; but the salt burned his eyes, leaving him blind to when and where the pain came from.

"I don't know!" he cried louder, only to feel a fist crack against his half-open jaw. The metallic taste of blood was a boon to the taste of whatever hand had held him aloft.

He wasn't sure how long he was left there. But just as suddenly as it had appeared, the water falling on him was cut short, though the sound of it still persisted even as his body shivered anew from cold wrought through the deep waters meeting air across his skin, just short of forming ice. He did his best to blink the salt away, true tears now clearing his vision for him. His hands trembled.

He looked up to see a handful of Splicers through his vision, each one of their ugly mugs antsy and fidgety, but one stood out clearly. He was calm, composed. He had a clear goal in mind, and it showed in his much steadier posture.

He turned hastily about, trying to gain a sense of his surroundings that he was lacking. It was dark for the most part, but he could see a built-in industrial light somewhere past the prison-like bars in front of him. A couple of fuel barrels were on his right, long empty if the barnacles growing over them was anything to go by. Too his left was a crate with a black handprint on it, stacked with an old, large battery and a small stack of collected items… including his shoulder bag!

Speaking of which, his hands were latched, hanging from a pipe by some old handcuffs. Behind him, he could hear water pouring down, but he didn't have the neck range to turn around to get a good look. And below him…

He jolted at the corpse at his feet that lay sprawled out, the body soaked and blue from cold, but also looking like it had been burned. It was looking up at him, its mouth opened in a ghost-like, but silent, wail.

"Ya like 'im?" the lead Splicer asked manically, kicking the corpse. It made both a squishing and thud sound that made Jack's neck prickle. "This is lit'le Timmy. You see, lit'le Timmy took a few wattages too much, and now 'e's dead. So if yas don'' wanna be as dead as lit'le Timmy, we'd much appreciate knowin' where ya been sendin' them lit'le girls."

"I–" The Splicer immediately wrapped his hand around Jack's face, forcing his head back underneath the water. He barely managed to close his eyes before the freeze drenched over his face, not only blocking off any attempts to breathe, but water running into his nose as well. He struggled, vaguely aware that this was the sensation of struggling not to drown, nevermind the saltwater trickling over and into his wounds. His body jolted violently as he tried to throw off the Splicer's hand, tried to come up for air, but his hands were bound and he wasn't going anywhere.

He gasped as his head was pulled out of the waterfall, sucking down air like it was his last tie to life. His entire nostril concave burned from the water that had trickled in as he coughed.

"Now!" the Splicer hissed, "Where does Tenenbaum stash those lit'le ADAM factories?!"

Jack just sobbed, shaking his head, chin hanging low. "I do– I do– I don't know."

The Splicer roughly pushed his head away with a nasty hiss of frustration, pacing narrowly in the small space.

"We should just kill 'im," one of the other Splicer's stated, and Jack was prone to agree if he wasn't so pain-ridden right now.

"It's no' like he's gonna just take us to the lit'le girls anyway," another agreed, those with their melee'd weapons smacking them into their hands, hungry to at least have something to hit.

The smart Splicer – because Jack didn't have another way to describe him – stopped his pacing, a dangerous, maddening gleam hitting his eyes. "Or will 'e?"

The Splicer cackled to himself while the others just looked on with misshapen faces, growling their displeasure at the lack of understanding. The Splicer ignored them, digging through Jack's shit until he pulled up the bottle Jack had been storing his ADAM in. With so little light, the bottle's normally red sheen was almost swirling a dark green. Must've been a trick of the light.

The smart Splicer took out Jack's needle as well, sticking it in the bottle and drawing up a small amount before dramatically checking it for air bubbles. Once that was clear, he turned looked at Jack with a sickening, split-grin smile that had Jack the strength, he would have been struggling.

"What're ya doin'?!" one of the other Splicer's demanded.

The smart Splicer's grin just widened, if that was even possible, the eerie lighting making it seem creepier and creepier the longer it remained plastered on his face. "Makin' it so 'e 'as no choice but to go to the lit'le girls," it stated, grabbing Jack's chin. "And wha' bett'r way ta do tha', then to make him just as hungry as us?"

Jack tried to struggle against the hand as it roughly pulled his chin to the side, exposing his neck. His breathing increased frantically as the needle inched closer, but no matter how much he tried, the Splicer held him in a vice. "Don'' worry. You'll be tellin' us soon. Once yur hungry enough tha' is." Without further prompt, the needle was plunged into his neck.

It felt different then the Plasmids or Gene Tonics he'd injected before. For one, there was no rush of exercised power as a Plasmid manifested, nor was there the subtle itch as a Gene Tonic wrote itself into him.

This felt as though as though worms were rapidly crawling their way through his neck, spreading outward in tangible fashion that he felt with distinct clarity. It left a strangely vile feeling rushing through him, and yet, it buzzed with a powerful high as it took effect.

He felt… invincible.

The needle was pulled out, and the Splicer overlooked his work with sickening pleasure. "Feels good, doesn'' it? You won'' have a choice now. Once thuh itch starts, them lit'le girls 'll start to look good. As long as ya don'' mind takin' down them Daddies, we'll share… at least until the large drop Tenenbaum has sounds tasty enough." He cackled at his own cleverness, and his mates were beginning to join in. They'd lost a little ADAM now, but the reward would pay off. All they had to do was wait….

…If waiting was what Jack afforded them. The buzz of raw ADAM in his veins hit like rush of white water on a river. Whatever had made his Plasmids timid and recessive backfired like a truck. He was vaguely aware of every nerve in his face prickling and itching like unshaven stubble, but it was a passive feeling in the wake of whatever was crawling through him.

His head jerked around as his body spasmed, and he let out a guttural cry of agony as Telekinesis throbbed to life in his head.

"Run!" one of the Splicer's cried, only to be cut off as it was literally… well, cut off. One of the empty fuel barrels next to Jack had been ripped apart by his Plasmid, the industrial metal creating a razor edge where it was stripped. Now parts of it were buried in a Splicer's neck.

The other Splicer's were already running, the prison bars opening automatically before one of them fiddled with something on the other side before the bars slammed shut, and sparks danced around the gears as they tried to pry closed even further.

Jack body quaked, Incinerate rolling off him like a fever as his veins melted straight through the cuffs binding him. It burned! It burned so much! He was sweating, but he couldn't feel any moisture as it instantly evaporated off of him. He blinked and Electro Bolt sparked through his shoes as the heat faded, lightning jumping from his feet as he sent a surge through the metal grating below. The whole pathway ahead sparked and danced as the conductive metals, piping, and water suddenly became a conduit for all his misery. The Splicers didn't stand a chance as the entire metal structure turned into an arc pylon as blue lightning shot from the ceiling, the walls, the pipes, the floor, the water. The halls themselves became a storm tunnel, frying all living creatures in it.

The rush faded as quickly as it had come, and Jack collapsed, barely able to support himself as he leaned against the piping. The Splicers were gone, but the dull throb persisted. And it hurt. It hurt. Now out of danger, he leaned against the wall, allowing himself a moment to rest as he bit back a sob that ached in his throat, until he couldn't bite it back anymore. It spilled out, softly, but the place he was caught in made it echo.

He wanted to go home. He didn't want to be here anymore. They had tortured him. And now he just wanted to lay down and never get up.

'Why couldn't they have just killed me?' he cried. 'Why? …Why?'

He wasn't keeping track of how long he sat there, but he cried. He cried. He cried until he suspected he would never cry again. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried so hard. Was it from relief? Terror? Fear? Pain? Who knew? It most certainly wasn't from anything resembling happiness. If this kept up at this rate, he'd be laughing, just to keep the tears from welling up any further. Laughing as the madness of this place finally crept its way in.

It eventually ended. His throat felt hoarse, the salt from his tears itching and staining his face. But his expression had dropped. His gaze was blank and his face was slack. He had nothing left to feel, drained of those emotions.

He inhaled sharply, cradling his bruised arm and flinching slightly as he crawled his way to his feet. He took a moment to steady himself before testing his weight on the leg that fucking bastard had struck. It held well enough, even as he limped over to his gear, almost moving him on auto-pilot. He gathered his stuff, taking the time to retrieve a Med-kit before jamming the red liquid into his thigh. He didn't think about how much it looked like the raw ADAM that the Splicer had just shoved into his neck.

Even as his body reformed and healed, it seemed to ease his mind as well. It made him feel secure. In control. Like he was–

His fist hit a pipe on reflex as those thoughts made their way through his head, a small dent forming in the metal as the residual serum repaired his hand as quickly as he had damaged it. "Fuck," he summarized weakly. He shouldered his gear, breathing heavily as the last of whatever had been coursing through his system eased off. He needed to get out. He needed to talk to Tenenbaum. But not before he looted the bastards that he'd fried, plus whatever other gear his own had been added to.

A Med-Kit, a Tommy clip and some change, a couple Pistol rounds, and a clip-and-a-half of Buck shells, an Electric Buck, three Armor-Piercing Pistol, six dollars, and a soggy crème-filled cake that he ignored. There was also four of a new shot shell that he hadn't seen before, but he pocketed it all the same.

Among the gear looted, he found a diary labeled "Timmy H. Interogation".

The familiar voice of Sullivan greeted him. "Mister Ryan asked me personally to make this clear to you. You give us Fontaine, and this whole filthy ring of his, and you'll be knocking back pints up at the Fighting McDonagh's. But if you prefer to play the mule… we'll treat you like a mule. Give him a taste, Patrick…." The horrendous sound of chattered screaming echoed from the tape, causing Jack to wince a little as he looked back at the corpse on the ground. It was a sound he was familiar with at this point: electricity coursing through a live body. "Oh, what's that? Change of heart, Timmy? Timmy? Ready to talk now?"

"Go on, Sullivan…," the voice of Timmy hoarsed out. "Go on and do your dirty! … whatever Ryan thinks he can do to me, FONTAINE CAN DO DOUBLE!" The sheer cry of helpless anguish was enough for Jack before it had even finished. The sound of a man who knew there was nothing he could do but take the way out that would be less painful… which wasn't saying much.

Content that his stuff largely hadn't been tampered with (save for the shot of raw ADAM in his veins) and still with his suitcase back where he'd left it before the fight with the Big Daddy, and not wanting to spend more time in the dank hall any longer than necessary, he left to retrieve his gear. He had priorities, and if there had been a mood before, he wasn't in it now. Stepping into the numbing ankle-deep water, he passed empty fish crates marked by a Fontaine Fisheries logo next to a packing conveyer belt. Given the general infamy of the man himself, he assumed Fontaine's business was little more than a front for smuggling.

On his right, he passed a gentle blue glow coming from an aquarium where live fish were kept contained, either for breeding, or for storage until they could be packed. Up ahead, a pipe was splashing its drainage into the water Jack waded through, and to his left were a set of stairs that would lead him out of the area. The barest glints caught his eye, under the stairs and next to the pairs of drain spillage, Telekinesis forefront as he pulled them in.

Two separate sets of Tommy and Buckshot, along with a cylinder of Pistol were beckoned to him, even as he was already climbing the stairs.

Just as his head peeked up level to the wharf like structure, a familiar Pshww! had his hand lifting defensively, lobbing the makeshift rocket back where it came from. Jack growled as he shoved with his mind, the newly loaded payload jamming and exploding in it's magazine, and killing off the turret.

At the top was a Circus of Value, near the neon "Fontaine Fisheries" signage, the machine strangely silent as he pulled a sitting box of Electric Buck. At least, until he made to hack it. Even as his fingers worked autonomously to reduce the prices, that vile clown cackle shocked him, leading to a literal shock to his fingers. Jack had to bite back every curse he knew, as his fingers struggled not to Electro Bolt the machine's insides. After the day he'd had, he wasn't opposed to some wanton destruction of property.

Sucking his teeth as he seethed, he breathed. "Calm down Jackie," he whispered with a headshake. He exhaled his frustrations, letting himself return to the task at hand as he hacked the machine. It was simple after that.

Standing back up, he glanced around at the makeshift barricade of crates and logs the rocket turret had sat on and the rest of the wharf, suddenly realizing that he had no idea where those Splicers had dragged him, but they had dragged him in the direction of where he was supposed to be going. That's where Atlas had said his family was hiding.

He dug through his collective gear, noticing that his radio was not among the items the Splicers had pilfered, and therefore, his chances of calling for directions were thoroughly screwed. What's more, it was only then that he realized he'd dropped his wallet in the gunfight prior, and it wasn't present. "Fuck," he groaned, rubbing his temples in irritation. His head began to ache, and he wanted nothing more than to find a decent, hidden and defensible spot to hit the hay for a solid five minutes of nothing going wrong. Unfortunately, he still had to retrieve his wallet and briefcase, and what's more, see if those spliced up fucks had happened to leave his radio intact.

At least they left him his weapons. And his Genetic Key. They probably only grabbed the stuff they thought they could use.

He glanced around from his position in front of the Fisheries, noting that his best bet was his only bet: to follow the stairs back up and away from his near endgame. So he did.

"Come 'ere!"

Jack wasn't having it as Telekinesis grabbed a charging wadered Splicer by the boot, and wrenched to the side, causing the Splicer to misstep painfully as his leg went one way, and his body the other. Fortunately, Jack was there to end his misery with a pistol shot down his screaming gullet. At least he had some money.

'Great. I have all of… six Rapture bills,' he cheered sarcastically.

However, at the top of the stairs and to his right was a Gatherer's Garden, the neon pink irritating him for some reason, but he ignored the feeling. He walked over, pulling out his Key and slotting it before he pulled out his ADAM bottle, keeping his weapons primed given how loud the stupid machines were, and how open and exposed he felt. He wasn't having it today, and if it called a bunch of Splicer's with its incessant chiming, he'd be more than happy to try breaking the machine.

"Welcome back mister!" the machine chimed, and Jack had to take a deep, stabilizing breath at the noise. "Please insert your ADAM!" He poured in the rest of his red goop in, shivering slightly as he remembered that a small portion of it had been injected into his neck. It popped up a numeric value of two-fourty-five.

Upon receiving his deposit, the slots opened up, revealing his options. A Gene Overhaul, and a set of those Health and EVE Upgrades Atlas had mentioned in Medical. Enrage again, Decoy, Winter Blast, and Sonic Boom for Plasmids. He already had the Armored Shell, Hacker's Delight, and Wrench Jockey Gene Tonics, but there were some new ones: Security Expert, EVE Link (again), Guts of Steel, and Machine Buster respectively.

"What's a Gene Overhaul?" He pressed it for a description. "Have too many Plasmids but not enough options? Not with your friendly Genetic Overhaul. Possess more Plasmids, without having to return to your nearest Gene Bank." Fair enough. If he wanted to have more active Plasmid options, he needed a Gene Overhaul.

With as many hits as he was taking, but as little as he needed to recharge his EVE, he went for the Health Upgrade and the Decoy Plasmid, not sure exactly how it would help. But after that last beating, anything that could take the heat off him would be welcome. He kept in mind the membership one his relatives evidently had as he sorted through his options, but still kept mindful to save some ADAM for later, just in case before confirming his purchase, and subsequently took a needle to the arm.

"All done! Was there anything else you wanted to get?!" the machine asked him in its cheery voice.

Just as he pressed the 'No' option, the Plasmid hit. He heaved as his insides suddenly felt suddenly disjointed and disconnected, bile wanting to spit up, and yet there was none. He turned to his hands in a panic, only to see his fingers oscillating, part of his skin and body trailing behind like a faint mist, or flesh-colored smoke; seeming to render a part of him semi-transparent.

He fell to the ground, watching as a ripple of the mist puffed off of him like dust on impact. And in its wake, the mist consolidated, multiple half-transparent versions of himself pulling themselves into existence, mimicking his position on the ground as they too attempted to rise to their feet, but their arms collapsing into dust as they released silent cries of agony. More ghouls and apparitions akin to the ghosts that haunted Rapture, save that they bore some aberrant similarity to him.

And it began returning to him, piece by piece, atom by atom as his duplicates began reintroducing their foreign bodies into him. Until once more, he was whole.

He let out a gasp of incredulity, feeling out of sorts as he stared at the ground. That feeling was… far different than the elemental expulsion of his other Plasmids: like contained forces of nature. This one felt as though he were barely tethered to begin with, much like when he died and was reviving in the Vita-Chambers, trying to keep from floating away.

"–back to you. Would you like to use our ADAM Bank? Your Key will keep track of all the ADAM you have deposited!"

He glared up at the machine in annoyance as it had continued about as though he hadn't just been hit by the integration of a new Plasmid. He carefully crawled to his knees, making sure he was stable before stepping to his feet. It took every conceivable patient bone in his body (if he even had anymore after that last Plasmid) not to punch the machine. Instead, he roughly 'Yes'.

Last thing he needed was raw ADAM on his person making him a target. He rubbed the spot on his neck where he had been injected with the stuff, shivering slightly. But that might have just been the cold. He pulled out the Genetic Key, pocketing it quickly.

He didn't know exactly where he was, but it couldn't be that far. He nodded absently between the seemingly two other choices he had, and simply picked a random direction he wasn't familiar with, away from the Fishery. Turns out, directions weren't that big of a deal. A short jaunt down a hall and past a bunch of crates, and he was right back in Lower Wharf without any trouble.

Backtracking, he found his wallet exactly where he had dropped it, under the grate next to the First-Aid Station. There was no point trying to squeeze his fingers into the grate, so Telekinesis maneuvered it for him. It felt good to have the craftsmen leather in his hands again. He absently opened it up, making sure that everything was in place. While the Rapture bills were a welcome necessity to his survival down in the depths, he made sure that the photo of Ma, Pa, and him was safe. While it had a little water damage (probably from the crash), it was still intact. He brushed his thumb over the clearcoat that secured it in its place, glancing at it fondly before quelling any desire to reminisce. He could do that when he left.

Right now, he needed to pay attention.

His radio was exactly where he'd been taken, worse for wear considering it looked like one of the Splicers had tried taking a prybar to it, or thrown it against the wall; the edges cuffed, the receiver bent, and the speaker dented. Jack growled at the damage before rehooking the device to his belt. He'd test it in a moment. If it worked: Great! If not: he'd figure something out later.

His suitcase was also easy to find, exactly where he had left it under the dock. It was at this moment he appreciated that despite the… "intelligence" that Splicers could possess, they were rather stupid. Or short-sighted. Either way. It was only as he was crawling back out of the muck – everything back where it rightly should be – that he remembered the Plasmid bottle still half-buried in all the muck, not that far from the body of the last Big Daddy he'd killed.

He might as well grab it. It was only because of the damned thing that he had moved up his plans to cure the Little Sister in the first place. "You better be worth it," he snarled. He reached out Telekinetically, not wanting to wade back into whatever the grime consisted of. To his very much contained glee, he felt the solid grasp of his power take hold and pulled it forth. He sniveled in disgust though as it got closer. Clearly it had been sitting in that crap for a long time, as it both looked like it, and smelled like it too.

Maybe the smell was just him now? 'Lucky for me, there's a lot of water back in the direction I'm going.' There was no "If's" about it, he needed a change of clothes. And definitely a bath.

And some soap. God, he missed the smell of soap!

Holding the new bottle as far from himself as he could by his fingers (barely), he sniveled as he began walking back the way he had come. Hopefully it was worth a little more than simply getting tossed, like someone else clearly had.

He was just walking by the Gatherer's Garden again when his ears perked. "Pssst. Pssst!"

Jack frowned. It didn't sound like a Splicer, but he drew his wrench anyway as he rounded the Garden, revealing a Gene Bank and some apparent poor sod who was still latched up to the needle for it.

"Ugh," he sniveled. "Gross." 'Whel-p, not using that now.'

He had some stuff laying around him though. Pistol shot, alcohol, cigarettes; there was even a nearby Med-kit. He was already bending down to pick them up, even turning over the booze in his hands as he looked it over in thought. 'Old Tom Whiskey,' it read. He shrugged, putting it in his satchel, no longer resisting the idea of possibly needing a muddled head to get through the rest of Rapture. ADAM may heal wounds quickly, but he clenched reflexively at times, expecting to feel a twinge of pain every step he took. A nip or two might take the edge off.

"Pssst! Hey!"

Jack swung around, lightning crackling off his wrench as he prepared to strike down whatever the Rapturous Hell might attack him. A little bonk sounded as a little head tried retreating back into the vents too quickly. "Mm! Ouchie."

A cured Little Sister (if she still counted as a Little Sister anymore), was rubbing the back of her head just inside the vent, sniffing at how much it smarted.

It was only then that Jack felt how his face contorted: the snarl on his lips, the grit to his teeth, the furrow of his brow, the unfocused wavor of his gaze. He must have looked terrifying to a little girl. That thought forced him to calm down, his heart beginning to slow again, and his muscles slowly unwind.

"You okay?" he prompted cautiously, not wanting to spook her again.

Snn! "No," came the sniffled reply.

He edged closer to the vent, keeping his eyes peeled around him. "What're you doing out? You should be with Tenenbaum."

Her head perked in recognition, and she turned to eye him suspiciously. "Mama Tenbaum said to find Big Brother Jack," she sniffled. "He wasn't picking up his… ray-doh?"

He frowned in thought as he tried to translate what "Ray-doh" meant before it dawned on him. "Radio," he offered.

The Little Sister nodded. "Yep. I have a present for him."

He sighed, partially at his lack of thought, and partially for not thinking to contact the few people he had down here. Let them know he was alive. Then again, he hadn't really assumed they'd care too much. This was Rapture after all. Still, it felt… strangely nice to know that someone was concerned for him.

Absently he pulled up his busted radio, clicking the call button gently to test if it was sending, as well as receiving.

"Hello?" the radio crackled in the static with a familiar German (or was it Austrian?) accent. "Herr Jack? Are you there?" At the sound of Tenenbaum's voice, the girl in the vent peaked her head out.

For Jack's part, he hesitated, letting the sound of that voice wash over him. Every time now. There was something about Tenenbaum's voice that made him feel… what was he feeling? The uncertainty of it was foreign to him, and yet… it felt right at home. "Nostalgia" might have been it, but he hadn't been in Rapture for more than… a day or two?

"Wenn du jetzt nicht antwortest, Gott helfe mir–" He didn't understand German, but somehow, he got the gist of it.

"Yeah," he whispered out before clearing his throat, "Yeah. I'm alright."

"Mein Gott! Weißt du, wie besorgt ich war?! Erstens reagieren Sie nicht auf Ihr Radio! Dann rufe ich immer wieder ohne Antwort zurück! Von all den unverantwortlichen Dingen, die man tun kann –"

"Can't actually understand German," he interrupted softly. If what he had seen of the woman was anything, she was half his size, might weigh a hundred – hundred-and-ten? – pounds soaked (because Rapture), and was possibly on the other side of Rapture, and yet, why was he sweating so hard from a conversation over the radio?

"Stille!" she bit back. 'Right! Shutting up.'

"Uh-oh. You made Mama Tenbaum angry." He looked up to see the cured Little Sister blinking owlishly down at him from the vent.

"Was ist das? You have another little one with you?"

Jack looked up at the girl in the vent with a relieved smile, quietly mouthing "Thank. You." before turning back to the radio. "One of the cured girls was in the vent trying to get my attention. She said you were looking for me." Just saying it out loud sounded ridiculous.

"Ja. She was supposed to have a gift for you. For helping with the little ones. Do you still have it Kind?"

"Yeah! I have it!" the little girl shouted softly under her breath, clearly trying to be quiet… but not quiet enough for Rapture. Jack winced, ears immediately perking for trouble, and eyes scanning the surrounding wharf warily.

"Good. Give it to your Großer Bruder, and come straight back," she ordered.

Jack looked up as the Little Sister retreated back into the vent. The sounds of her struggling and grunting could be heard, right up until a small, teddy bear was roughly pushed to the opening just shy of flopping to the ground. Then she was up next to it, her chin resting between its ears, and together, girl and bear stared at Jack.

God if it wasn't so damn cute.

"Here you go," she chirped, lifting the bear out of the vent while still half hang out of it.

"Um… thanks?" he muttered, picking up the bear with ease while it seemed a struggle for the Sister to maintain. Now that he thought about it – weighing it absently in his hands – it was kinda heavy for a teddy bear.

It stared at him with it's blank, beady yellow gaze, the cloth an obscene pink and smudged with whatever it had flopped on down here, and the stitching among the lowest quality he had… ever… seen?

… He stared at it, feeling like those yellow-beaded eyes were consuming him. Absorbing him. Rapidly flickering untold images across his vision.

"~Ring around the rosies, pocket full of posies~" He shook his head as the pitched tones echoed within his skull, the strange images shuttering through his mind's eye to fast to focus as he closed his eyes to cut it off. And yet they imprinted, burning false images behind his eyelids. Like dancing spots… but almost clear… and yet not.

"Are you gonna name him?" He looked back up from the bear in a daze, his breath trembling as he glazed over her.

"Huh?"

"A name," she said with a quirky little eyebrow raise. "You're supposed to give him a name. Duh!" Oh, of course. Because that's what he should focus on while in Rapture: Naming some… decrepit form of a teddy bear. That left his insides squeamish and his head fuzzy just by looking at it. At least his head wasn't ringing.

Ringing? Ringing? Where did that come from?

"Um, I'll… think of something," he shrugged. Priorities and all.

"M'kay," she nodded. "Make sure it's good." She quickly retreated back into the vent, leaving Jack alone with… whatever this thing was.

"You did not call back. I had feared the worst," Tenenbaum admitted over the radio.

For what it was worth, Jack just leaned back against the vent, sighing aloud. "Turns out, the Splicer's aren't so dumb. They figured that I knew exactly where you kept the Little Sisters… and their ADAM."

"Gottverdammt," Tenenbaum cursed, a soft pause extinguishing the static before she continued. "Are you alright?" Her tone was so soft, Jack almost thought he was imagining it.

He sucked in a sharp breath as the sharp CRACK! of being beat, the suffocation of drowning washing down his nose, the rush of raw ADAM in his veins, and the gut-throbbing helplessness all pounded into him simultaneously. 'Breathe Jackie. Breathe.' Now if only he would listen to himself.

"I will be," he sniffed, swallowing thickly. "But… uh… they might have… injected me with something."

The pause was different this time, almost as though she were bracing on the other end of the radio. "What, exactly?"

"ADAM," he whispered, wiping his nose. "They said… that they needed me hungry enough. Wh– What does that mean?"

Pause. Another pause. God, he was getting sick of the pauses. "You will… want it simple I would think." She sighed in reluctance. "You know of the splicing and what makes the Splicers, yes?"

"Yes. Atlas gave me… well, the short version I suppose."

"Raw ADAM will accelerate this process, with several times the side-effects. That is why it was best taken in as Plasmids. Altered, and for the most part, stabilized."

'Fuck!' Jack had the good sense not to say it out loud though, lest younger ears be present on either end. He didn't feel like getting told off again. He looked at the inside of his arm, needle marks clear and visible. He ran a hand along the side of his neck, half-expecting a wound where he knew there was none. "And what now?"

"Eventually, you will need more. And more. And more," she answered grimly, a shuddering breath quivering through the radio. "And guess what the most abundant source of ADAM is in Rapture."

Jack closed his eyes, not wanting to think about it, but unable to do otherwise. "The Little Sisters." His body shivered as he thought about how the Splicer's looked at the Little Sisters. Hunger. Now, all he could see was his face looking just as hungry, his clothes rotting on his body, his hands grasping for the tiniest drop of ADAM. Just as wanting and cruel and vile.

"How long do I have?" he asked, holding the bear closer to his chest.

"If properly managed, the side-effects will be minimal and brief," she answered honestly. "Just be careful when taking in any new Plasmid or Tonic. I would prefer you did not have to take anymore, but I do not think that is an option. Either way, it is not looking good."

Jack nodded, currently dreading becoming one of those… monsters, more than anything. "And the Sisters? What do I do if I start craving ADAM while I'm trying my damnedest to save them?"

"I don't know, Jack." Helplessness wasn't a tone he found suited the good Doctor. Like a hollow echo in her voice that just… barbed into his ears. It shouldn't be that way. "I wish to protect the little ones, but you are innocent of this place, just as they are. And you are doing much to help where I cannot. So we will have to do the crossing of that bridge when we do the coming to it, ja?"

"Yeah," he resigned, his eyes closing as the weight on him increased several fold, like a Big Daddy had taken a seat on his shoulders. 'How long will it take before I want to rip out their little bellies?' No sane man should think on those things, and yet he found that it was only dread he could muster. Would it hurt? Wanting for something so tangible and close, and yet knowing that denying it would be the only way to save such a little life?

He wasn't there yet, and perhaps he would never be there. But who was to say he was that strong, when everyone else in this cesspool had fallen so easily?

"On a slightly related note, you will want to be doing the opening of your gift."

Jack looked down at the bear on his lap, sighing, but cocking an eyebrow at it none the less as he turned it this way and that. "Um, opening?"

"The back."

He turned it around, noticing the stitching was looser in the back. Very gently, he pulled at the seams, revealing stuffing, a small-capped syringe, some AP Pistol rounds, and that dreaded red liquid glowing in a bottle.

"I know it is not the best of circumstances, but these may be of use to you."

Jack nodded silently, understanding what she was trying to say. "What's the syringe?" he asked, pulling it out and looking it over in the light. He shivered as he saw that same yellowish glow he'd seen in in a Little Sister's eyes.

"My own creation. A Plasmid. For a short period of time, a Daddy will see you as one of the Little Ones. It is not much, but you may find it useful, I hope."

He looked over the small syringe carefully. "There's not much here."

"It was difficult to make," she admitted, before hesitating slightly. "And it is so none of the Splicers can get ahold of it."

Well that made sense! A Splicer with a Plasmid like that would be among the most dangerous in all of Rapture. He didn't even want to think about one of those things having that kind of power. "Wait a second!" Jack burst out, "Does that mean I can take away a Little Sister's protector?" I'd be convenient if nothing else, but it also left a lead-weight in his stomach.

"No," Tenenbaum stated firmly. "You will merely be seen as a Little One by the Daddy. A Daddy without a child will defend you as if you were theirs, but for one with its own Little One, you simply won't be a threat.

"Unless you prove you are a threat," she warned. "Unfortunately, it is only temporary. The biologics of it were quite complicated to replicate."

"Fair enough," he stated. It would be too much to ask for it to make all his problems disappear. He glanced down at the syringe again before sighing. "Alright, see you on the other side. Though I might have maxed out the number of Plasmids I can stably hold for now."

"That is okay. Newer Plasmids will simply integrate recessively after taking effect. It is merely to give you more options." He appreciated that.

"Tenenbaum…." He hesitated for a moment, leaning back against the vent, unsure what he could say. What he should say. "Thank you."

"Mein alles für dich, Kind," she whispered back. Then the radio went silent.

Jack didn't hesitate to inject the new Plasmid. Consequences be damned, if he was going to turn into a monster, he was going to save as many little girls as he could before that happened. He wasn't concerned about the Splicers; he had the feeling that even as a monster, he'd probably decimate their ranks for the shit of it.

He collapsed, rolling through the punches of a new Plasmid taking effect in his genome, getting more and more used to their integrating effects. He looked down at his hands, watching was they began to ooze a slimy grey mucus, pustules of off-yellow slurching as they rapidly expand from his skin. He can feel them all over his body, pressing and oozing, and some of them popping under his weight where he lay. He felt gross, and slimy.

The largest pustules formed in the middle of his hands, splitting up the middle like an eye opening.

It doesn't hurt that much this time either. Just brief, sharp pains as it passes. At least it doesn't smell… that bad. Better than the muck in the Lower Wharf.

"Ah, Christ! Is he dead? Poor bloke looks like 'e's been there a while."

God, these Splicer's were everywhere! And of course it was while he was integrating a Plasmid through his system! Jack held as still as possible, waiting for the Plasmid to run its course. But still.

'Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry ~uuu-uuup~!'

"Well," the Splicer said to itself, "it makes 'im easy pickin's."

He felt the Splicer crouch down next to him, prepared to rummage through his stuff.

Ding!

Jack felt the instant the Plasmid was done. The pustules rapidly retracted, the mucus shed almost like a second skin, and his genome stabilized with the new Plasmid laid in the deeper recesses of his body.

Telekinesis flared as he handlessly reached for a nearby barrel, pulling it with fervor. The metal groaned, alerting the Splicer just before it took the barrel drum to the face, causing him to trip over Jack's prone body. In the next moment, Jack moved instinctively, pushing Telekinesis against the ground, only to push too hard in his surprise and send him flying back-first against the vent with a clunk!

"Ow! Ow! Damnit!" he winced, keeping one eyes barely open and on the recovering Splicer.

"OW! Motherfucker!" the Splicer raged as blood spurt from his face, feeling around blindly for a weapon. "I'll kill you! I'll fucking–" His voice ceased when he felt cold metal against his head.

"Mmm," Jack groaned, blinking his vision back to life as he pointed his gun at the Splicer's head. 'God, I must've really hit my head there.' Not wanting to make a mistake on a potentially hard-headed Splicer (again!), he adjusted his aim for the eye. Not nearly enough density there.

BANG!

One shot to the eye later, and Jack didn't hesitate to loot him. Only a few bucks for the bullet. "Should have just brained him," he moaned, making sure all his stuff was intact. His skin still felt grimy, and since he needed to clean off anyway, he peered down over the dock-like structure to the water below. The Fisheries wasn't too far away, and it was as clear as he could make it for now. At least until the roaches started breeding again.

There was no way in Hell another Splicer was sneaking up on him. He rubbed his neck absently. They had seen to that real quick.

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

Yeah-yeah! I know! Oof!

Jack just got tortured. The fact that nothing like this happened in the game is understandable, but it really would have added to the story I think. I wanted to show that Splicers, despite being deranged and insane, were still a threat, that some were still intelligent enough. I hope I captured that.

How Jack never got infected with Raw ADAM was a story opportunity I wasn't going to waste! It also made me feel a little evil. Make Tenenbaum more sympathetic to his plight was also an interesting choice. Her involvement always struck me as a little stand-offish at best, apathetic at worst. Here, she's not just showing compassion for the Little Sisters, but all her creations, especially since Jack is the one that's getting torn up about this.

Writing Jack's new Plasmids was SUUUPER! fun. While I originally wanted to give him the 'Winter Blast' Plasmid, like I usually always get in my playthroughs around that time, I went with 'Decoy' Plasmid to reflect this Jack's experiences. He's tired of getting hit. He's tired of taking it head on. Jack wants a break. Plus, he was getting the 'Hypnotize Big Daddy' Plasmid anyway. Writing their integration scenes is always a blast for me, and changing up how it happens is always a treat.

Yes Jack got his stuff back, since I wouldn't think the Splicers would have a sufficient amount of time to use it, and Splicer's have also been shown to build 'nests' to house the gear they've stored up.

Jack's usage of Plasmid's is advancing. While it may seem further along than a basic 1st level Electro Bolt or Incinerate or Telekinesis should be, I'm doing my best to make them not just about the Level, but how it's used, and how often it's used. Heads-up, Splicer's will reflect this too, just a bit differently, since Jack - as we already know - is a special case.

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

Until next time. Possibly to be called Chapter 8: You Want Me to What Now?. (No idea if this will stick, but considering the next phase of Nepture's Bounty... yeah)