"Where are we supposed to find a Big Daddy suit, exactly? I know Tenenbaum said that they should be just lying around, but we've been combing this place for at least twenty minutes now and there's been no sign of one. Maybe there are literal signs pointing the way?"
Elizabeth raises a very skeptical eyebrow at that, her usual charming pessimism shining through as it usually does. Jack sighs, running a hand down his face as he looks up from the sketch he's holding. They had found a layout of the area they were in—blueprints, it looked like, but they probably aren't official as the paper isn't blue and the thing isn't technically labeled. They are fairly simple, and pretty old, and Jack really hopes that the odd stain on the upper right corner of the page is dried cola but it's probably not. Anyways. The blueprints have all the areas of the facility down but no names, and the drawn lines themselves are pretty faded, so whenever this thing was drawn it was a while ago at least. What kind of blueprints aren't labeled anyways?
"It makes sense," he defends himself, lowering the drawing and looking at her with a pleading expression that says, 'please just bear with me for five seconds.' She's seen that look before, he knows she has, and so she should know that whatever he has to say will be good or at least worth her while. "I mean, every facility has signs of some sort pointing to where everything is and which workspace is which and where to go if you need 'x.' Labels, Liz. These Rapture folk are meticulous about organization and such. I know a lot of the signs are broken or vandalized somehow, but they must have had...something. I don't know."
She looks at him for a minute, that stupid look still on her face, probably expecting him to back down or add more to his theory. He stares right back, unrepentant. She sighs, throwing up her hands weakly in surrender at last. "It's worth a shot, I suppose. I mean, we could probably figure out where is where from the blueprints alone, but they aren't labeled, so we'll have to do that ourselves. What kind of blueprints aren't labeled, anyways?"
Jack nods. "We'll have to map out the area as we go along, in case we need to backtrack or something. Anyways. So we know where we have to go to find the Big Daddy suit, but what about the pheromones and this voice modification thing that Tenenbaum is being so sketchy about?"
"Well, she did say that we'd find it 'just lying around.' My guess is that the pheromones will probably be pretty damn easy to find, but the Big Daddy suit could prove to be challenging if it isn't where it needs to be or if that part of the facility is blocked somehow. The voice thing...I have no idea what she's talking about, so we're most likely going to be in the dark about that until the second we need to know. It most likely won't be good, though. I hope we don't run into any trouble getting these damn parts—time is strained enough as it is."
Fortunately for everyone, the Big Daddy suit is actually the easiest thing to find. It takes them about ten minutes to find out where they are made, and then after that it's a simple matter to hack the security and let that take care of any enemies that may wander this way before making their way into the chamber where the suits are held. They snag one off an abandoned workbench, where it looks like this particular one was being repaired, if the instruments around it are any indication. Jack questions the intelligence of taking this one if it was off the line because it didn't function correctly, but Elizabeth points out that the rest of them are missing vital parts and that it looks like this is the only complete suit. She then accuses him of being a paranoid baby when he tries to make excuses, so he grumbles and pulls the suit over his clothes to get it over with and shut her up. It doesn't, but he does his best to ignore her.
"This helmet is heavy," he grumbles, dragging the massive helmet in question off the table and attempting to raise it over his head so he can put it on. This turns out to be a terrible idea, because Jack nearly bends over backwards under the weight of the massive headpiece and ends up falling flat on his rear while his companion laughs at him. He groans, laying on the floor and making no move to get up,. "Oh, come on. Really, Liz? I thought you were supposed to be the mature one here," he complains. Is he being childish? Yes. Does he care? No.
Elizabeth sees right through him, as per usual. Of course. She bends down until their faces are mere inches apart and openly chuckles at his misfortune, ever the masochist. "Oh, hush," she says, as if she can read his thoughts, and offers him a hand up. Despite her teasing, he takes it gratefully, and absently notices that the red nail polish she had been wearing when they first met is mostly gone, save for a few patches on a couple of nails. He wonders if she's noticed, or if she even cares. Probably not. They have bigger things to worry about.
Speaking of which.
"Thanks. Now, could you help…?" He gestures with meaning at the helmet that tumbled out of his hands when he fell over. Elizabeth nods, bending down to pick up the helmet, and with both of their combined efforts manage to pick it up off the ground and secure it over Jack's head. He nearly falls over again, and he very nearly pinwheels his arms to keep his balance. He frowns. "I knew these things were probably heavy, but damn. I feel like one of those Medieval knights in shining armor. I can barely move. How am I supposed to fight Splicers and Big Daddys with this thing slowing me down?" He shakes his hands out for emphasis, and is greatly surprise to find out that he can actually move them with ease. He tries it again, doing the same thing with his armored feet, and looking at Elizabeth to see if she's feeling the same way. "Holy crap, are you seeing this?"
"I see you moving your arms and legs about like an idiot," she comments dryly, and amused expression on her face. "It's probably the Gene Tonics and the ADAM in your blood. I suppose it could be possible that super strength is a side effect or something. Or maybe they're just lighter than they look. Does it matter?"
Jack tries to shrug, but he finds this action significantly harder than shaking his limbs. He lets out a long sigh instead, his breath fogging the window of the helmet and making it hard to see out of. He starts, surprised, then rolls his eyes as he moves to take off the helmet. Why do these things always happen to him?
Elizabeth notices the movement and slaps his hand away, an act which earns her a heated glare. "There's no need for that. The fog will dissipate in a few moment's time, so you shouldn't bother. Anyways. Since we have the suit now, next we should probably get those bottles of pheromones so we can spray you down. They were probably mass produced in one place, but I doubt that they're still there. Most likely they're spread out across the facility, so we'll have to really search in order to find three bottles. I just hope there's enough left." She pulls out the blueprints that they had found earlier and studies them carefully, a frown slashing her features as she mentally calculates where they must be right now. "Do you have a pencil?"
"Uh…no. Why don't you try the pencil jar on the desk over there?"
She doesn't even acknowledge his sarcasm—something which is very unusual for her—and so Jack shuts up, curious as he watches as she rummages around for a sharpened pencil, presumably to mark something on the paper. After a few minutes of no luck, he joins in, and although it's fairly difficult with the heavy gloves on his hands he finally manages to find one for her, handing it over gingerly so as not to accidentally break it. She takes it gratefully and sets the blueprint down on the dilapidated desk, rolling it out and pointing at a particular area.
"This is the entrance," she explains, pointing at various different spots in the area as she continues. "The sliding door is there, and the locked Little Sister door is over there. Over here is the entrance to the various facilities, which would mean that over here—" Here she moves to a completely different section, tapping it with her index finger. "—is the 'Failsafe Armored Escorts', where we are now." She removes her index finger and takes the pencil from her other hand, jotting down those words in the appropriate area. She replaces her finger, sliding it across the paper, trying to figure out where the pheromones would be made. "I suppose we could ask Tenenbaum where the facility is, but I'm pretty sure with Fontaine at large she'll want to stay as quiet as possible over the radio. I think we're on our own with this one, Jack."
Jack groans loudly, and nearly jumps out of his skin when the sound reverberates inside his helmet, amplifying it tenfold and even causing it to sound a bit like a Big Daddy's. "Jesus Christ!" he screams, nearly stumbling over his own two feet in an effort to backtrack. He saves himself from falling again by frantically pinwheeling his arms to regain his balance. Elizabeth rolls her eyes, and by reading her lips he can tell that he's just been insulted—if he had to guess he'd says she had called him a moron, but he can't be sure because the sound of his own groan is still bouncing around his head. He winces at the noise, wanting to take the helmet off again but knowing that it's probably not a good idea. Once the sound stops, Jack waits for a few moments to be sure before giving Elizabeth a thumbs up, signaling he's okay. Elizabeth huffs a laugh before curling her fingers and flexing them twice. Jack is very confused before he realizes that that is the international symbol for come here. Right. The vibrations must have messed with his head. Either that or he's an idiot.
"Anyways," Elizabeth continues, turning back to the drawing, unaware of Jack's plight. "If this is where we are now, and this is the entrance—hang on—" she takes the pencil in hand once more and scribbles out entrance, LS door, and balcony over their respective areas. "Okay. If this is where we are now, and the balcony is there…it should stand to reason that the other facilities are on this floor as well, since there are two unidentified areas here and here. Granted, there is a chance they could be subsections of the Failsafe Armored Escorts, but I doubt it. We most likely aren't going to find those pheromones bunched in one place—like I said before they're bound to be spread around the facility so keep an eye out. Do we know what they look like?"
Jack tries to shake his head, but all he gets is vertigo. He holds his hands on both sides of the helmet as if that will stop it somehow. "Oh, I hate this thing," he mumbles grumpily. "No, I don't think we have any description for these bottles, so it's going to be a hit-and-miss kind of thing. Hey, have you noticed that we do a lot of fetch quests? I really hate those, so I think that's why we're getting so many of them. Karma's out to get me."
"Not karma, no. You're thinking of the universe in general. Karma is an entirely different thing—good things happen to good people, and bad things happen to bad people. It's simple, yet elegant. It does have something to do with the universe, just not the bit that you said. There's a lot more, but that's the simplest way of explaining it. The gist, if you will."
"…What?"
He never should have asked. One would think that by now he would have learned to keep his mouth shut, especially around her, but Jack Ryan has always been kind of a dumbass whilst standing in the presence of certain formerly all-powerful interdimensional beings with IQs of over 120 who also happen to be extremely attractive. It's not his fault, honest.
It turns out that while they do indeed find out where the bottles were made (which they subsequently mark on the blueprints) there aren't actually any in the area, something which frustrates Jack and confuses Elizabeth. As she wonders aloud why the hell they would make them here but not actually store them here, Jack pokes around the area for any sign of where they might actually be. He turns up empty.
"Hey, I don't think they're here," he tells Elizabeth, and only after he receives her glare does he realize how pointless that sentence was. He sighs, and immediately regrets it as his helmet window fogs up again. "Okay, so maybe that was a completely unnecessary thing to say. But it doesn't look like there are any clues as to where they might be around here, either. We sure as hell didn't find any while we were searching for the suit, and I have no idea where the rest might be. I know, I know, you said they'd be scattered around, but where do we even start looking? We don't even know what we're looking for. This is hopeless."
"I thought you were supposed to be the annoyingly optimistic one, Jack. We'll find them, they have to be around here somewhere. We just need to look. This place is big, sure, but there has to be at least three bottles of that stuff around here somewhere."
"Fair enough. But, and apparently I cannot stress this enough, we have no clue what we're looking for. Tenenbaum never revealed that information, and like you said she's in hiding with the kids right now. I don't think she'll answer us if we call. Now, I'm sure if we had time we could eventually find these things but you and I both know that time is not something we possess. We have to get out of here so we can kick Fontaine's ass. If we don't have those bottles, the girls won't follow or trust me. The scent of the pheromones is what attracts the Little Sisters to the Big Daddys. Without it, I'm just a freak in a costume, so simply ignoring it isn't really an option here."
"I know that, Jack," she snaps at him, folding her arms against her chest and scowling. "Look, I have no idea either, and to be completely frank with you I don't think we're going to find them by standing around and bickering, so why don't we simply start looking. There has to be some sort of clue around here as to their whereabouts, or a generalized location for them. This is where they were manufactured after all, so—"
Jack waves a hand, tired of arguing with her—it's fair enough, he supposes, since she's the brains in this outfit. He barely resists the urge to sigh again, remembering the last two times with little more than a grimace. "—so this is probably the best place to start looking, even though it's highly unlikely they're here. Got it."
"Thank you."
Several minutes pass by as the two frantically tear the place apart looking for any sign of what they need. Obviously, they don't find anything even remotely useful—what they come across instead are empty tin cans, discarded cups, half-filled beakers filled with strange, colorful liquids, or soda/beer bottles. Elizabeth picks one of the beer bottle up in disgust, cautiously sniffing the contents and recoils almost immediately. She turns the bottle to check the brand, but all that's left is the logo, and Elizabeth doesn't recognize it, so she deems it not worth her time. She finds a few packs of cigarettes, but most of them only have three or four left in them anyways. She leaves those behind, but she notices a little later that Jack has found them and is taking the remaining cigs out and placing them in his own package. She rolls her eyes at him, but she doesn't think he notices.
She turns from him and continues searching, silently lamenting the disarray of the laboratory and taking note of the many notes, experiments, and personal effects still left behind. She notices quite a few photographs of people she obviously doesn't recognize strewn about, both on the various desks and the floor; one, loosed from its frame and sticky with an unknown substance, gets stuck to the bottom of her high heel. She leans down to pick it off, but stops short when she sees the photo itself.
The colors are slightly blurred together by water (or some form of liquid) damage, and the sticky substance that stuck the photograph to Elizabeth's foot in the first place covers the top right corner. The photograph doesn't look very old at all; in fact, this picture was most likely taken four or five years ago, if the amount of fading and the saturation is anything to go by. Elizabeth studies it carefully, combing over every little detail.
There are three females in the photograph, of varying ages—one looks to be in her sixties, her white hair tied in a neat bun; the second looks to be about late twenties/early thirties, and the third one cannot be older than 6. The elderly woman has one hand on the shoulder of the other woman, who in turn is sitting in a lounge chair with the young girl on her lap. None of them are looking at the camera. A dog sits at the foot of the chair, its eyes locked onto the little girl, who has her hands outstretched towards him, her little cherub mouth open in eternal laughter. The woman on whose lap she sits looks at them both, grinning widely and squeezing the girl to her chest with one arm as the other one reaches down to pet the dog. Her arm is suspended halfway there. The elderly woman looks at all of them, a small but satisfied smile on her lips as she watches them. There is a calendar in the background of the photo, but Elizabeth cannot make out the date the picture was taken. She sighs ruefully, flipping the photograph around.
Mom, Carol, and little Eloise, age 4. She's gotten big! Must go see my sister soon... –April 19, 1955
Little Eloise would be about 9 today, Elizabeth thinks absentmindedly, her eyes never leaving the smudged blue scrawl. She has no doubt what happened to this family—either they became drug-addicted splicers or were killed. "Eloise" was probably taken to become a Little Sister. She wonders if they met her and saved her, or if she's still roaming the halls, damned for eternity. She flips the photograph back around and looks at all of their faces, smiling brightly at each other and full of happiness. She notes that "Carol" has a ring on her finger, which shines bright in the camera's flash—a detail she had somehow missed the first time.
What did they do to deserve this?
Rapture was supposed to be a haven. A place for the shunned, the scorned, those discriminated against and mocked on the surface world. It was supposed to be a place where those who could never survive in the world were supposed to go to be free, to live out their lives in peace and never fear those things again. Instead the weak-willed and the submissive were trampled under the feet of big shots like Ryan and Fontaine, and anyone who opposed or fought was destroyed. Lives were destroyed, people were hurt, horribly disfigured (both mentally and physically), and killed. Little girls were taken from their very homes and sold to bigshots like Suchong and Tenenbaum to be turned into walking drug factories, their lives and free will nothing more than an obstacle on the road to profit. People were desperate, trapped in a failing utopia that was crumbling around their ears, and all they wanted was to get out and go home, but they couldn't, so they did the next best thing and got involved with ADAM, which could rewrite your DNA, give you superpowers, and drive you insane—all so they could feel something inside, while bigshots like Fontaine and Ryan just sat back and laughed. They waged their petty war, and destroyed Rapture in the process…but both of them still think there's something worth ruling down here. She huffs a rueful laugh as she realizes that the situation is eerily reminiscent of Columbia, save for the drug-crazed maniacs and the Little Sisters.
Columbia. When was the last time she had even thought of that place? The memories of it seem as though they belong to a different person of another time. She supposes that in a way, they do—the Elizabeth of old was naïve, young, innocent—she, like them, wanted nothing more than to be free of her chains, to finally know what and who she was and to go to Paris—and when was the last time she had thought of that place? It seems a lifetime ago—it must have been, for the Elizabeth of today is no older but is weary, and wants nothing more than to finally be at peace with all of this. She has seen and been through too much in her short life—how old is she, anyways?
She decides to take a moment to do the math. She was born in 1893…and it's 1960 now. She has no way of knowing what month it is, but she assumes her birthday has already passed, so she adds that to the equation. If that's so, then that would mean she's technically…oh God, she's supposed to be sixty-seven. She stops dead at the realization, instinctively reaching a hand for her face to smooth out any imaginary wrinkles. In truth, since she came here through one of her Tears, she's still only…nineteen? She's nineteen?
She feels the soft, smooth skin under her fingers, dirty with blood and gun grease but no wrinkles, as she expected. She sighs deeply, closing her eyes as if to reminisce upon that fact. God, she's only nineteen. She's been through so much crap, and strictly speaking, she's not even an adult yet. She's lost her mother, her father, her home, her powers, her life, and everyone she's ever cared about (save for Jack, thank God), and she's not even legally allowed to drink for another two goddamn years. Where did it all go wrong? Once, her future was clear—once, she could see everything and everyone in every universe, all at once. She was omnipresent, all-powerful, and she could do what she pleased, and she did. She went places, she saw things, she enjoyed life. Sure, she was lonely, but that's an incredibly small price for practically godhood. But those days are over. She has lost her powers and she fears her mind has gone along with them. Her future is uncertain—the things she once saw so clearly, the things she was once so sure of, they are unclear to her now, and she is afraid and uncertain—not for the first time, but she hopes that now that she has Jack, it'll be the last.
She used to have a very specific vision of how she wanted the rest of her life to be. In her tower, with all of her books and lockpicks and isolation, she would often sit at the window and daydream what it would be like when she finally escaped. She'd go to find out who she was, and where she came from. Maybe she'd even find her family and figure out why they left her (or gave her up—all possibilities had to be considered, after all). She'd get out of Columbia, and she'd go see the world, discover all of its secrets and mysteries. Perhaps she'd even start a collection of things from various different places—maybe dolls or spoons from all over the world. One of her favorite and most often-visited daydreams was of Paris. She would dream of sitting outside a café, perhaps somewhere with a view of the Arc de Triompe, listening to Edith Piaf as she sipped her coffee and the sun shone on her face. She would be content, and happy, because she wasn't trapped anymore and she got what she wanted and nobody was stopping her now. She would be invincible.
What now?
"I don't suppose these bottles would be labeled?" asks Jack, some time later. Out the corner of his eye he sees Elizabeth startle at the sound of his voice, looking up from where she had been situated for the last several minutes, looking at something she had found on the ground. He doubts it has anything to do with their current situation, or is at all helpful, but after going over there once to see what she was brooding about and seeing her expression, he had decided that he probably shouldn't get involved. It's good to think all your feelings about and try to make sense of them, he had decided, backing away slowly after he thought he heard a sniffle. I mean, I still haven't done that, event though I probably should. I've got a lot of them and they need to be dealt with sooner or later. Maybe once I get out of here I'll get us both a therapist. God knows we need one.
His ramblings thoughts are cut short when Elizabeth stands up, placing whatever she was holding on the nearest desk and turning to him. He notes with particular curiosity that she seems a bit shaky, like she had after their first failed attempt at reconciliation, way back at Tenenbaum's sanctuary. On that note, he's about to ask, but after seeing the look she gives him decides you know what, she's fine now, I don't need to know anyways. Is he going to spend the rest of his days being constantly intimidated by her? God, he hopes so. The thought startles him, and he quickly shifts his attention to the real Elizabeth instead, focusing on the red slash of her frown as she walks over to him and snatches the bottle he had been inspecting. She too studies it closely, her frown deepening when she shakes the bottle a bit and the red liquid inside sloshes against the sides. She hands it back to Jack, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.
"I don't think so. I mean, true, they probably were originally, but by the looks of it no one has been here in years. That alone would make the labels fall off or fade but combined with the saturation in the air and the environment in which they're being kept now, not to mention a bunch of different things like the different types of gases in the atmosphere and what not—I mean it's probably littered with—"
Jack stops her before she can continue, sensing another lecture and wanting to stop that noise before it can begin. He does not need another ten minute lecture on the universe, or whatever, thank you very much. "It says 'LS Pheromone Spray' right here, Liz." He holds up the bottle for her to see, turning it in just the right way so that what little light shines through the windows catches the very faded label, and Elizabeth's eyes widened when she manages to read the scrawled label.
"No way," she breathes, indignance written across her face plain as day. "No way. It can't be that easy. That's ridiculous. That's—what—it can't be that easy, I wasn't expecting us to find it so soon, what the hell? And they're labeled?" She scoffs in disbelief, snatching the bottle from him again and uncorking it carefully. "Ridiculous. Absolutely—bull. Why would they make it this easy? It can't be this easy. There's no way they made it this easy."
Jack shrugs, taking the bottle back from her and dangling it in front of her. "Okay. Well. They did. So, can we get on with it?" He gestures meaningfully to himself, handing the bottle back to her and shutting his eyes tightly. "Hey, how much do you think this is going to stink? Do you think you'll be able to handle it? Because I don't think I will. I threw up twice at just seeing a dead body, after we'd already seen dozens of dead bodies. Man, I have a sensitive stomach. You don't have a sensitive stomach, do you? I don't think you do. I haven't even seen you go green or even look a little sick. Either nothing affects you or you've seen way worse. God, I'm scared of you. Wait, crap, I shouldn't have said that. Forget that, you heard nothing."
Elizabeth knows from personal experience that with him, this is simply a defense mechanism—when nervous he tends to ramble on about several different things, either in his head or out loud. When it's in his head he of course usually doesn't pay attention to anything else that's going on around him, which has almost gotten them killed a couple of times, so she's glad that this time he's actually talking. She somehow resists the urge to laugh, but she does let an amused smile show on her face as she holds the bottle firmly before pushing down the nozzle once.
"Oh my God. This stuff smells terrible. I can't—hurrk." Thankfully for the both of them, she manages not to puke, but she does bring a hand up to cover her nostrils while the other hand does the spraying. She circles Jack, spraying the disgusting chemicals onto the suit and feeling immense pity for him. The chemicals have probably already infected his helmet and snuck into the various openings, forcing him to inhale the stuff directly. She just hopes he doesn't puke in it—they don't have time to find another helmet.
"Okay. Done. Thank God." As soon as she's finished, she quickly backtracks away from Jack, neatly placing the empty bottle on the table farthest away from their position and remaining there while she gauges his reaction. Even after Jack gives her a thumbs up, signaling that he's okay, all she does is give him one in return and stay right where she is. Jack sighs, and immediately regrets it as the sound is duplicated tenfold in his helmet space. He winces.
"I need to remember not to do that," he mutters once the sound has died down and his ears have stopped ringing. He huffs in annoyance when he looks over at Elizabeth and finds her grin. "Oh, piss off. Don't we have two more bottles to find? As I recall, we're kind of on the hunt for a madman that's kind of trying to kill us."
Elizabeth has the audacity to roll her eyes, and wow, that's kind of adorable. Oh, shut up. You've caused enough trouble. "Right, right. Right. Okay, one down, two more to go. Now that we know what we're looking for, it should be fairly easy. I mean, dozens of these must have been manufactured, right? So it should be fairly simple to get the rest and then…" she gestures meaningfully at Jack, unable to think of how to end that sentence.
"Kill Fontaine and escape this deceased hell of a city and spend the rest of our lives trying to forget about all of this crap?"
"Exactly."