At long last, here it is! Jack's about to learn more about himself than he's ever wanted to know. I know you guys were super excited for this chapter, so I'm extra pleased to bring this to you. Thanks again to Jared for helping me out! Love ya, buddy!
"Here we are."
"The moment of truth."
"I don't suppose he'll be too pleased with what he'll learn."
"About his past? Or the girl?"
"Hm. Both. I suppose it was unavoidable, however."
"Keep in mind that this was your idea, sister."
"Our idea, brother. And of course."
"Which, do you suppose, will pain him more? Discovering that his past origins were built on lies, or his present friendships?"
"I suppose we're about to find out."
It's cramped in here.
Granted, it really isn't all that surprising, considering that it's an air duct, but still. Jack's almost too big to fit.
He sees a light at the end of the duct, and figures that that must be his exit. He prepares to crawl out, pulling out his wrench in advance (just in case-in Rapture, you could never be too careful.) As he reaches the end, he cranes his neck, trying and failing to see where he'll be exiting. All he can see, however, is a wall that appears to be covered in paper-probably missing people posters. He uses his wrench to loosen the grate that blocks his exit, and prepares to jump down.
He ends up tumbling down instead, having slightly misjudged where he needed to go. His head hits something hard, and he groans as a table nearly falls over on top of him. He reacts just in time to catch it-though that doesn't stop the numerous papers and a couple of EVE hypos from falling on top of him.
He groans again, setting the table right as he gets up, grabbing the hypos and stashing them before gathering up most of the papers and setting them back on the table. Satisfied with his work, he then turns around to find the nearest exit-and promptly stops breathing.
The wall he had thought was covered in missing people posters is, in fact, not-it's covered in something else entirely. The first thing he notices-because, honestly, how could he not notice that first-are the words.
WOULD YOU KINDLY
Jack suddenly feels an overwhelming sense of dread as he reads those words, over and over and over again as if in a trance. But why? They're just words, right? Somehow, for some indiscernible reason, Jack doesn't think so. Atlas had used those words-still uses them-but maybe it was just a coincidence. That's all it is, Jack told himself. A coincidence.
He manages to tear his eyes away from the words-written in red-perhaps a crayon, or paint, or-Jack swallows as the thought comes to him and he realizes that it's the most likely answer-blood. He scans the rest of the wall, looking for answers-to what questions, Jack doesn't know.
He bumps into something then, and Jack looks down to realize that he's been walking towards the wall this whole time. He had bumped into the table-he hadn't realized there was a table-but then you couldn't really explain how those papers were hanging like that all by themselves if there wasn't one. He takes a step back, looking at the various papers and photographs littering the table.
There are a couple of him. Security cameras, Jack bets. There's one close-up of his face, and another of him pointing his shotgun at the camera. There's also a picture of his family-his mother, his father, and him. Jack gingerly picks up the photograph, not quite believing what he's seeing.
"How the hell..." Jack wonders aloud, not really caring if anyone-or anything-hears him. "How the hell did this get down here?"
He remembers when they took this photo-it had been his mother's birthday, and his father had wanted to get a picture with all of them. He remembers the photo being taken, and right after, their dog Cindy had come running up to them, knocking the camera off the stand and ruining the camera. As if that hadn't been bad enough, her barking had caused the other animals nearby to go wild, making various noises and knocking over things in their respective pens. It had taken an hour or so to get them to all calm down. Fortunately, the film had been salvageable, and so they got the picture after all. Jack smiles as he recalls the incident, thinking for a moment before folding the picture and pocketing it.
He looks at the table again. There are two audio diaries sitting there; one propped up against the wall; and the other, lying on the table as if someone had tossed it there carelessly. He ignores them for now-his interest lies in figuring out what in God's name this all means. He looks at the wall again, and this time, he notices a thin piece of red string connecting various pictures to each other. Jack steps back a bit more to get a better look.
In the center of it all is him, Jack Wynand-his picture is pinned to the wall, looking straight at him. He doesn't remember this picture ever being taken; usually, when he knows his picture is being taken, he smiles like everyone else. He's not smiling in this one. He looks...forlorn. Jack ignores that for now, and moves on.
To the picture's upper right is a picture of a man; he looks regal, almost, with his handlebar moustache and his slicked back hair. The picture doesn't have a label identifying the man, but he doesn't need one-he knows that the man is Andrew Ryan, though he's only ever heard his voice and seen his portrait on television screens. He frowns at the picture, resisting the urge to flip him off.
To Ryan's left is a picture of a woman. Jack squints at the woman, trying to place her, but to no avail. He has no idea who she is. She looks solemn, her eyes looking at Jack with an air that Jack doesn't know how to place. Her thick, flowing hair frames her young face, making her look like a movie star, or-
Jack glances at the label underneath the picture, and he can't believe his eyes.
Jasmine Jolene, it reads. He looks at the picture again in disbelief.
That was her? Before...before Ryan…Jack doesn't dare to finish the thought. Instead, he stares at the woman-Jasmine-for a bit longer, not quite believing that the rotting corpse he had encountered earlier in Eve's Garden was the beautiful woman whose face looked out at him now. He notices a piece of string leading far away from the cluster of photos and to the far left side of the wall. Jack follows it and his eyes land on one of those promotional posters for Jasmine Jolene at some nightclub.
In that moment, he's filled with a sense of sadness, looking back at the picture of Ryan and muttering, "Bastard," angrily under his breath. She didn't deserve what Ryan did to her. She couldn't have know that this Fontaine guy had something to do with whatever she had done with her unborn child. Ryan had to pay. Not just for Moira and Patrick, but for Jasmine Jolene as well.
The thought reminds him that he needs to get going, but for some reason, he doesn't move, doesn't tear his eyes away from the wall. Instead, he moves on to the next photograph.
The man in Jasmine's lower left looks at him with an almost smirk on his face, his eyes hiding a deceitful look in them. The man is broad and bald-Jack thinks he looks like a businessman. He already has a sneaking suspicion of who he might be-and when he looks at the name at the bottom of the photo, he sees his suspicions were correct.
Fontaine, Jack reads. He doesn't feel anything but curiosity (and perhaps some disgust, but mostly curiosity) when he looks at the man in the photo. For some reason, Fontaine seems vaguely familiar, as if Jack's met him before-but that's not right. He couldn't possibly have-from what he's heard in some of the audio diaries he'd picked up, Frank Fontaine was a con artist-a damn good one, at that. But Jack's never been involved with anything like that in his life-he's always lived on that farm on Wisconsin with his parents. Jack doesn't-at least not consciously-recognize this man at all. Maybe Jack passed him by on the street or something while Fontaine was still living on the surface. Jack shrugs and moves on.
To Fontaine's lower right is a photograph of another man, this one definitely not American. From the looks of it, Jack would say maybe Japanese or Korean. He is, judging by the photo, tall, and he wears a pair of glasses that slide off of his nose just the tiniest bit. He doesn't recognize this man; he looks at the label to be sure.
Suchong. Huh. That name sounds familiar…
He suddenly remembers a couple of audio diaries he had picked up, with the name Yi Suchong on them. This must be him, then, Jack thinks as he studies the man in the photo. There's not much to look at here; Jack moves on quickly enough once he starts to get the feeling that he doesn't just know Suchong from an audio diary.
To Suchong's right is a photo of a woman with curly hair and a tight frown. She stares disapprovingly at Jack, and he's once again hit with the feeling that he knows her-and he does. Unlike with Fontaine and Suchong, however, he recognizes her-though it takes him a few seconds, due to the shock of the whole situation.
Tenenbaum, Jack thinks, staring right back at her with the same expression. We meet again.
He feels a strange sense of calm and comfort wash over him then-as if he were back at the farm instead of in this room, confronted with things he didn't want to know about. He closes his eyes, letting the warm feeling take over until he opens his eyes, ready to move on. When he looks away from the photograph, the feeling dissipates, and Jack's mind is back on track.
Seeing no other photographs on the wall (and not being able to read the papers due to the smudged ink and small lettering), he turns to leave-but then remembers the audio diaries.
He has a quick internal debate on whether or not he should before reaching out and grabbing the nearest one anyways, pressing play before he can change his mind.
"Advanced Deployment, Lot 111 Dr. Suchong. Client: Fontaine Futuristics. Baby is now a year old, weighs 58 pounds and possesses gross musculature of a fit 19-year-old. The results are...disappointing, but within expected tolerances."
The audio diary ends, leaving a very confused Jack in its wake. He looks at the label on this particular audio diary: "Baby Status."
Jack's not sure he wants to listen to the other one.
He swallows his fear, however, and grabs the other one, looking at the label before pressing play this time: "Mind Control Test."
...Okay, now he's sure he doesn't want to listen to the other one. But curiosity eventually gets the better of him, and after about a minute of stalling he finally presses play, preparing for the worst.
The same voice as before-Suchong's-comes out of the machine, accompanied by the sound of a puppy yapping.
"Is that your puppy?" his voice asks, a little too sweetly for Jack's liking.
"Thank you, Papa Suchong,"a little boy's voice responds happily, clearly not hearing the deceit in the older man's voice.
"Break her neck for me."
Jack resists the urge to shut it off right then.
"...What?"
"Break that sweet puppy's neck."
"No…" The little boy sounds terrified, and it makes Jack's heart break for the poor kid. His heart beats even faster than before as the boy whimpers, "Please…"
"Break that puppy's neck...would you kindly?"
His heart stops.
"No...no…" The boy's protests grow louder and more frantic as the puppy's barking becomes more alarmed. It's with a sickening crack and a sob from the boy that the yapping ceases altogether.
"Very good," Souchong says, sounding very pleased.
The audio diary stops, and Jack feels like throwing up-but he's too shocked and horrified to move. Jack manages to close his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down. His hands are shaking, and he hardly notices when a loud thunk lets him know that the wrench is no longer in his hand. He doesn't care. He's too shaken to even notice when the audio diary slips from his hand as well, landing on the floor with a crack.
This room...this room is familiar and yet foreign to him. He feels like he should recognize it-all of it-but he doesn't. He doesn't know this place-Rapture-but he does. He knows he does, and that thought stops him cold.
He...he knows this place. He has...he remembers...something.
Jack groans in frustration as the memory fades before he can remember it. He balls his hands into fists and does the most rational thing he can think of.
He punches the wall.
A flurry of papers and photos come raining down-though, not surprisingly, the photos Jack had looked at earlier were still in place, though the poster rattles for a few seconds before falling to the ground.
Another punch. More papers fly down, littering the floor. Jack's breathing is ragged, and his mind is a confusing jumble of thoughts and emotions, more clouded and tangled up than he had realized. As if in a trance, Jack punches the wall, again and again and again until he feels something trickling down the side of his hand. He holds it up to his face-it's bleeding. The sight of his own blood somehow snaps him out of his trance, and he grabs a first aid kit lying on a nearby table and bandages it up.
He takes a deep breath, calming himself before standing up again.
He can't get angry right now. He can't mourn right now. He can't be emotional right now. He can't. There's still Ryan to deal with, and even after Ryan's dead, he'll still have to find a way out of here-the main entrance collapsed after he and Elizabeth went through it, and as far as Jack knows, there are no other entrances or exits. He'll have to ask Atlas-
The thought of him sends a chill down his spine and a rush of anger through his veins, but he doesn't know why-subconsciously, he thinks he does, but consciously, he has no idea. He shakes his head, remembering that his primary concern right now is Ryan, and once that son-of-a-bitch is lying dead on the floor Jack can worry about the other things.
With a final, deep breath, Jack grabs his wrench, steps on the audio diary for good measure, and heads out the door.
"The assassin has overcome my final defense, and now, he's come to murder me."
The room is much too dark to see who is speaking, but Jack would know that voice anywhere-though, it's much clearer without the buzz of an intercom in the background.
"Ryan." He barely contains himself-he has to ball his hands and count to ten before he can continue. "You..." He can't say anything else. He won't let himself.
"Me," he agrees, and the lights come on, revealing the man himself, in a crisp
Golf.
Andrew Ryan is about to die, and he's...playing golf.
"In the end," he continues, as though Jack hadn't interrupted. "What separates a man from a slave? Money? Power? No." Ryan straightens, and paces to the side to line up his shot. "A man chooses. A slave obeys."
He looks straight at Jack then, tilting his head and frowning as if observing an animal at the zoo. He casually leans on his golf club, watching as Jack tries to get a few words out through his anger.
"You're going to pay for what you did to them," Jack spits out, anger overruling any other emotion he might be feeling right now. "You bastard. You're going to pay for it all. So if you've got anything to say, say it now, because you won't be able to later."
"And why might that be?" Ryan asks, an amused smile on his face.
Jack's blood boils when he sees it, but he carefully checks himself, taking another deep breath before replying, in an oddly calm manner, "Because you're going to hell, and I'm going to be the one who sends you there."
The amused smile slips off of Ryan's face; Jack smirks when he sees it. But Ryan quickly replaces it with a disappointed frown. "Of course, of course. But let me ask you something first: what do you remember?"
The question throws Jack off completely. "I-what? What the hell are you talking about?"
"What do you remember from before you came here?"
"Is this a trick question?" The anger is fading, being replaced by genuine confusion and irritation. "I don't understand."
Ryan is silent, so Jack takes a deep breath and decides to play along, God help him. "I remember my parents, Bill and Mary Wynand. I remember my home, a small farm in the middle of nowhere in Wisconsin. I remember-" Here he falters, trying to remember something else. But...he can't. Why can't he remember?
Ryan looks on smugly as Jack struggles to recall even the most trivial thing. "You think you have memories. A farm...a family. An airplane...a crash. And then this place."
Jack is about to respond when he doubles over, visions flashing in his head; he sees his farmhouse, standing tall and proud, looming over him, as it always has. He sees himself, between his mother and father-in the same photograph he now has in his back pocket; he sees the back of a man's head, the man sitting in front of him on Apollo Air Flight DF-0301; and he sees the tail of the plane, sinking into the deep, dark ocean below as Jack himself struggles to stay afloat.
Meanwhile, Ryan looks down to his game and carefully raises his arms to the side in preparation of a swing. "Was there really a family?"
As the club connects with the ball, another image flashes before Jack's eyes; a baby, one that Jack swears he's seen before, sits on a cot beside a woman-Tenenbaum. A man-Suchong, Jack realizes, as he sees his face-holds a syringe and is standing beside the cot, not looking at either of them.
"Did that airplane crash," Ryan continues dryly, studying a golf ball held in the tips of his fingers. "Or...was it hijacked?"
Another lost memory-were they memories? Jack wasn't sure-comes into view, to his eyes only; an unwrapped present sits in his lap, carrying a gun and a note reading, To Jack. With love from Mom & Dad. Would you kindly not open until: 63˚ 2˚ N, 29˚ 55˚ W.
"Forced down," Ryan is pacing again, and it makes Jack want to scream for no reason. "Forced down by something less than a man. Something bred to sleepwalk through life until they are activated by a simple phrase, spoken by their kindly master." He pauses to look at Jack again, who by now is shaking violently, resisting the urge to scream and cry and throw up all at the same time. "Was a man sent to kill?" Ryan taunts, setting down his golf club and leaning against it. "Or a slave?"
Jack can barely breathe right now. He doesn't know what he feels-he doesn't even know how he should feel. What was Andrew Ryan trying to say? He tries to figure that out as Ryan turns and walks to the left, out of sight. "A man chooses. A slave obeys. Come in."
As he speaks those last words, the door to Andrew Ryan's office opens up, allowing him access to Ryan. But Jack doesn't bolt as soon as it opens-the anger he had felt coming in here had long since dissipated, leaving him confused and terrified. Even so, Jack walks cautiously to the door, where the man himself stands, waiting for Jack with his golf club in hand.
Jack approaches, slightly scared of what Ryan is going to do or say. He's not sure he can take much more of the truth-right now or ever.
"Stop, would you kindly?"
It's as if someone had flipped a switch inside of him-suddenly, that familiar hazy feeling is back, and Jack no longer feels in control of his actions. This has happened before-every time Atlas had said those words. But no, Jack thinks, now terrified as he obeys, stopping just in front of Ryan. Atlas is my friend. He'd never...he wouldn't...
"'Would you kindly…'" Ryan repeats. He steps closer, pointing his golf club at Jack. "Powerful phrase…" he murmurs, cradling the club in his hands. "Familiar phrase?"
Jack is starting to panic. No, no, no...this can't be happening. It can't be…
Would you kindly?
Jack's hands curl and uncurl as he tries out his Electro Bolt plasmid for the first time.
Would you kindly?
The first time he ever saw a Little Sister, singing as she gathered ADAM from a Splicer corpse.
Would you kindly?
Jack's wrench connects with a Splicer head, sending her tumbling to the ground, dead.
After that, the voice and the images shooting through his brain become too much, and he feels himself double over again as the pain increases. A Splicer being electrocuted in the water; a Little Sister crying over her Big Daddy, dead at the hands of Jack himself; Arcadia.
Would you kindly head to Ryan's office and kill the son-of-a-bitch?
The wall. He sees the wall again, the one with the photographs and the papers-only now, it all makes sense...
"Sit," a voice orders, and it takes Jack a moment to realize that it's Ryan, not Atlas, speaking. "Would you kindly?" he adds, pointing his club at Jack.
Jack sits, the hazy feeling returning and taking away his free will for the moment. He wants to scream.
"Stand," Ryan barks next,"Would you kindly?"
Ryan positions his golf club beneath Jack's chin, forcing him to rise. His heart is beating faster than it ever has before, and his mind is fighting back against whatever is compelling him to listen to Ryan.
"Stop...stop, please," Jack begs, panic inching its way into his voice as he struggles to fight the hazy feeling, to make it go away. "Stop it!"
Ryan doesn't respond; instead, he shouts, "Run!"
Jack turns and runs to the other side of the room, fighting back tears as he does so. He tries to make himself stop, to stop listening, but to no avail.
"Stop!" Andrew Ryan speaks from behind, and Jack briefly wonders how he got there so fast. "Turn."
Jack obeys, having no other choice. Ryan stands in front of him, studying his golf club as if it were a priceless antique.
"A man chooses…" He raises the club over his head, as if preparing to strike Jack with it. Jack wants to step back, to make sure that doesn't happen, but he can't move his feet-in fact, he can't move any part of his body. He's shaking, though-he feels like he's going to throw up, again. He wants to shut his eyes tight and never open them up again, but he can't. "A slave obeys."
Ryan twirls the golf club in his hand, turning it the right way around before handing it to Jack, who takes it instinctively. "Kill!"
No. No no no. No!
But his body won't listen to his mind. Horrified, Jack watches as he swings the club at Ryan without a second thought, wincing in his mind when he hears the wet sound of blood squishing.
Andrew Ryan keels over, clutching at his face, a bloody gash covering the side of his cheek where the club had struck him. Though eh trembles and twitches, he manages to straighten in front of Jack, voice as steady as ever-thought, it might have been more effective if he hadn't been coughing up blood.
"A..man...chooses…" he gurgles out, stumbling towards Jack, who swallows, trying to speak-but nothing comes out.
Another strike. Jack actually winces this time as the club connects with Ryan's head, creating another deep gash in the man's face as he stumbles back, falling down on his hands and knees. Jack can feel Ryan's blood on his face by now, and it makes him sick. Ryan struggles to get up, but when it becomes apparent that he can't he settles for turning to Jack and looking up at him. "A slave...obeys!"
Thwack. Jack wants to look away, but his eyes fall on the golf club, now bent from beating Andrew Ryan to death-though he's not dead yet-but he will be, soon. Just one more blow...
Ryan crawls over to him once more-but this time, he grabs the front of Jack's sweater and pulls him close, allowing Jack to see the deep gashes he had created and the blood pouring from Ryan's face. He pushes him away, clutching his fists and screaming, "Obey!"
This time, Jack holds the club with both hands, raising it above his head and bringing it down so hard that the head lodges in Ryan's head and breaks off from the rest of the club-and Andrew Ryan finally falls over, dead.
Jack takes a moment for himself, shutting his eyes as tightly as he can and ignoring everything else that's happening.
He did it. Andrew Ryan is dead at his hands.
...And Atlas is a traitor.
He was never Jack's friend-he knows that now. He's nothing but a pawn to Atlas-if that's even his real name. From the beginning, Atlas had controlled him using those words-would you kindly, a voice in Jack's head mocked. He must have orchestrated this entire thing-his coming to Rapture and his entire journey up to this point. Drops of blood trickle down his palm as he clenches his fists, his nails digging into the flesh there and breaking the skin. He had trusted Atlas with his life, and Atlas-or rather, the man he had come to know as Atlas-had been playing him all along.
Andrew Ryan had been right. There were no memories, save for the ones he had created here. There was no family-save for the scientists who had created him. There was no plane crash-Jack remembers clearly now. He had murdered the pilot and sentenced all of those innocent people to death. They were all dead because of him.
Except for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth hadn't died because of him-not yet, at least. She's still here, waiting for him outside of Ryan's office-at least, Jack hopes she is. He doesn't think he can stand it if she's either dead or gone when he gets back. She's his only friend down here, save for Atlas-but Atlas is no friend. Not anymore.
What if she were playing him too, though? He knows she's been lying to him, perhaps ever since they met. He doesn't know if she's ever told him the truth-she's basically Atlas with a new face. She could be working for Atlas, making sure that he never found out the truth. It was certainly a possibility. And yet…
He's still convinced she's different. He trusts her with his life-but he had also trusted Atlas, hadn't he? Whenever Atlas had told him to do something, he'd done it. Whenever Atlas had reassured him that everything was going to be okay, you'll see the sun again, boyo, he'd believed it. Atlas had been his friend, too-but she was different. She had wanted to confess, hadn't she? He's no fool-he knows her talk about him being her friend wasn't what was really on her mind. But she had still been honest. Maybe it hadn't been what she'd really wanted to talk about, but she still does see him as a friend. So she is different, at least, different from him. From the start, she had toughed it out alongside him-through all of the Splicers, the Big Daddies, the threat of death around every corner of this failed dream. She had saved his life countless times, and he had done the same for her. She has to be real. She has to be. After Atlas, Jack needs her to be real.
He takes a deep breath, opening his eyes, and that's when he hears his radio crackle to life and the person he loathes the most speaks to him, still pretending like he's his friend, after everything he's learned.
"Is it done? Is he dead?"
Jack wants nothing more than to grab the radio and rage at Atlas, confronting him about everything he's done to him, and ask why. But he doesn't-instead, he grabs his radio, and says, "Yeah. The son-of-a-bitch is finally gone."
"Thank God. Hurry, now, grab Ryan's genetic key!"
Jack wants to tell him to fuck off, but then he remembers that, Atlas or no, the place is still going to self-destruct if Jack doesn't do this, and so he kneels down and fishes Ryan's genetic key off of his corpse, trying his best not to look at the body in question for too long.
"Got it."
"Great. Now would you kindly put it in the goddamn machine?!"
Jack's heart skips a couple of beats as he utters those three words, and prepares for the hazy feeling to overtake him again. Sure enough, it does, and Jack finds himself heading towards the machine Atlas had indicated and sliding the genetic key into the slot.
Somehow, Jack knows what's going to happen next before it does.
He hears the radio crackle to life at his hip, Atlas taking a deep breath. "Nice work, boyo!" he says, with an exaggerated voice. Then he laughs. It takes all of Jack's self-restraint not to crush the radio in his hands as Atlas finishes cackling, his thoughts focused on finding the son-of-a-bitch and tearing him to pieces.
"It's time to end this little masquerade. There ain't no 'Atlas', kid. Never was. Someone in my line of work takes on a variety of aliases. Hell, once, I was even a Chinaman for six months. But you've been a sport, so I guess I owe you a little honesty. Name's-"
"Frank Fontaine." Both Fontaine and Jack speak in unison. The Irish accent is gone, replaced with a thick Bronx accent. Jack wants to scream-another lie. Will they ever end?
"...How did you-"
"Ryan told me everything. You bastard," he growls, actually beginning to crush the radio in his hands. He loosens his grip before he can destroy it completely, however. "I'm going to find you, Fontaine. I'm going to find you and tear your goddamn heart out."
"Aw, how cute," Fontaine cackles. Jack really wishes he'd stop that. "You think you can take me, kid? You're welcome to try."
"You can be sure I'll take you up on that offer."
"Kid, you won't even make it out of this room. But you know, I'm not the only playing a charade. Your friend there...Elizabeth? She's playing you for a fool, too."
At the mention of Elizabeth, Jack stiffens, some of the anger leaving him to be replaced with fear; not just for what Atlas-Fontaine-is about to tell him, but for Elizabeth's safety as well. Is Fontaine going to hurt Elizabeth? Even worse...would he force him to hurt her?
"I know."
"Ryan tell you that, too?" He sounds irritated, but at Ryan or Jack, Jack isn't sure. He supposes it could be both, though.
"No. I figured it out on my own. I'm not stupid," he spits angrily.
"But you're not smart enough to know when a man is playing you for the long con, eh? I'll bet you didn't know that everything she's told you is a lie."
Jack knows this already, but it doesn't make Fontaine saying it any less painful. "Actually, I did. What's your point?"
"She wasn't on that plane with you, you know. She was in Rapture long before that, kid. Helped me get the trigger phrase to control you and everything. What a sport. Oh, and she worked with Cohen, too. She was his 'little Songbird', if I recall correctly. Don't know much about that, but hey-you've seen the posters, haven't'cha? Not to mention, she killed a guy-don't know who he was, don't care. He wasn't a Splicer, though, that's for damn sure. Kid, trust me-she's been lying to you from the start, and she's a bad person. Kinda like me, eh? I guess you have a type." He chuckles.
Jack can't believe what he's hearing. He can't. He refuses to. So he does the only thing he can think of. "You're lying."
"Oh, of course. And I suppose you think I got that activation phrase all by myself when it was in Suchong's clinic and I was at the bottom of Rapture?"
"That doesn't mean it was her!" Jack is actually screaming now, and he doesn't want to stop.
He's lying. He has to be lying. Sure, Elizabeth had probably lied about everything from the plane crash to her own name, but that didn't mean she was a traitor like Fontaine. She would never betray him, not like that-would she?
"Sure, sure. I'm totally lying. Oh, quick question-does your 'friend' happen to have a bird pendant pinned to her blouse?"
"I-I don't..." She did. Elizabeth did indeed have a bird pendant pinned to her blouse-he had asked about it once, and she had told him that her father had bought it for her. But how did Fontaine know about that?
"I'm tellin' ya, kid-she sold you out before you even got here. Willingly, too. Offered up the information and everything. What a whore."
Jack can't even bring himself to speak.
He had been right. Elizabeth had been lying to him from the beginning, about everything-where she had come from, what she was doing there, having never spliced before, the posters, about being his friend-all of it. He wants nothing more than to find her and demnad to know why, why did you lie to me, I thought we were friends, but he can't. He can't move, he can't breathe-he feels like going to sleep and never waking up again. Involuntarily, he looks to his pistol, and he can't remember if the barrel is empty or not.
"I guess this is goodbye then, kid. I gotta say, I had a lot of business partners in my life, but you…'course, the fact that you were genetically conditioned to bark like a cocker spaniel when I said 'would you kindly' might've had something to do with it...but still. Now, as soon as that machine finishes processing the genetic key you fished off Ryan, I'm gonna run Rapture tits to toes. You've been a pal, but you know what they say...never mix business with friendship. Thanks for everything, kid. Don't forget to say 'hi' to Ryan for me."