It would not be accurate to say that The Lutece Twins were the last people I wanted to see: Frank "Atlas" Fontaine, Andrew Ryan, Zachery Comstock, Doctor Steinman, and Sander Cohen all come well before The Lutece Twins on the list of people I look forward to never seeing again.
But more importantly, how the hell did these two get all the way from the lighthouse to Columbia such a small amount of time? Shouldn't they be in New York, to receive the person I'm trying to rescue? Why did they even hire me?! If they could get into Columbia, then they could easily rescue Elizabeth themselves! WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?! WHY -
Keep it together, Jack. Now, take a deep breath. Good.
Once I am calm, I can see that the man is wearing a sandwich board chalkboard and his sister is holding a plate ... for some reason. On it is a t-chart with twelve tally marks on the "heads" side and precisely zero on the "tails" side; that shouldn't be possible, because coin flips are always 50/50 (Sally taught me that one!).
"Heads ..." the man asks as he tosses me a coin.
"Or tails?" finishes his twin sister as I catch it.
I am debating which is creepier, them finishing each other's sentences or the fact that they both appear utterly dispassionate. Were they they like this when they tortured and murdered that poor man in the lighthouse? Why isn't there any blood on their suits?!
Then it dawns on me: they want me to flip the coin ...
Yep: these two are gonna stab me in the back.
These twins are probably just toying with me, either to derive some sick pleasure or to unnerve me. Well damn them! I fully intend to rescue Elizabeth and get her out of here safe and sound ... well, assuming there IS an Elizabeth (if Elizabeth turns out to be like Atlas's "wife" Moria and his "son" Patrick, then I am going to be very displeased!)
"Tails."
Glaring coldly at the two, I place the coin on Rosiland's plate without flipping it: I make sure to lay the coin so the "Tales" side is facing up.
A Man Chooses, A Slave Obeys!
Telling me this is the only thing my biological father told me that was even remotely helpful ... and I suspect it was the only thing the dead bastard ever got right.
I walk around them in a huff, and can hear them discussing whether or not to count it.
"Should we count it?"
"Well it did come up tails."
Past the gate the rode takes a sharp right turn. Overlooking the turn is a veranda, and on the corner at the streets are two girls playing hopscotch. Watching them makes me remember with sadness my own daughters back home, and how I might never see them again.
This melancholy dissipates very quickly however, when I actually start paying attention to what they are saying.
"Songbird, Songbird, see him fly. Drop the children from the sky. When - the young ones - mis-be-have… Es-corts chil-dren to-their-grave… Ne-ver - back-talk - ne-ver - lie… Or-he'll-drop-you-FROM-THE-SKY!"
Holy. Crap.
At this point, it will be more surprising if throwing people to their deaths fifteen thousand feet below ISN'T this city's favorite form of execution. I stand tensed for a few minutes, rubbing my hands together nervously. Up in the veranda, two women are whispering about me.
I had better get moving if I am to reach Monument Island.
I start walking down the street and find a large poster of a giant metal pidgin. The bolded words around it say "Sing praise to The Songbird, for he is the protector of The Lamb". Yeah, the knowledge that Elizabeth is being watched by something that "drops the children from the sky" somehow leads me to believe that Columbia might not be the best place for her. Though that can be said of any place that is like Rapture.
"Irene good night. Irene goodnight Goodnight Irene, goodnight Irene I'll see you, in my dreams!" I don't know who is singing it, but my gut tells me that whoever it is will be at the raffle.
As I walk down the street, I pass a group of citizens talking about someone called "Lady Comstock" (presumably the woman seen standing next to Comstock in the parade float imagery) and I see two law enforcement officers looking at a hook-like weapon and cackling about how they'll get to kill Vox Populi with it.
"Irene good night. Irene goodnight Goodnight Irene, goodnight Irene I'll see you, in my dreams!" I walk closer to the raffle, closer to the singing, closer to Monument Island and the beautiful woman imprisoned inside.
I only stop when I see a flickering stone statue on the side of the road. I walk closer to it, and see that it is a statue of Rosalind Lutice ... but I coulda swore that it was a statue of her brother Robert before it started flickering. Admittedly, I could just be going insane.
The inscription under the statue says "R. Lutece, gave Columbia her wings", which obviously refers to the buoyancy of the city (still have no idea why Columbia is able to fly). That means that she and probably her brother worked for Comstock in the past (if they don't already).
If the Lutece Twins think they can pull an Atlas on me then they're in for a surprise!
"Irene good night. Irene goodnight Goodnight Irene, goodnight Irene I'll see you, in my dreams!"
The singing continues as I leave the statue behind and walk further down the street, but I do not make it more than twenty steps before I am stopped in my tracks once more. A large sign in the middle of the road bares a picture of a hand. That hand is facing palms up. The message under the poster: "You shall know the False Shepherd by his mark!"
On the wrist of the poster's hand is a clear tattoo of a chain. Just like the chain tattoos on my wrists.
How did Comstock know I was coming here? This is bad! This is very bad!
Calm down Jack ... nobody's seen your wrists yet, and if you are quick then they will not be likely to. You made it through Rapture when everyone there was trying to kill you: you can survive Columbia too!
Ready to continue, I headed onward down the streets and through some small parks until I finally found the source of the music.
A crowd of nearly one or three hundred was gathered around a massive stage. Atop the stage was Jeramiah Fink, whose image is almost as plastered across this city as that of Comstock. Just like in the posters, he is wearing a suit and a top hat. Mr. Fink was leading the crowd in this song, riling them up for an exciting and festive event.
Each and every person in this raffle is holding a baseball with a number on it; you'd think tickets would suffice.
After he finishes the last verse, Mr. Fink begins the raffle. "And now, the 1912 Raffle has officially begun!"
... 1912? He should have said 1960, that's the year it actually is. Right? Well, at least that's the year all the calenders in Rapture were flipped to; at this point I honestly can not decide which city is telling the truth. Maybe neither, maybe both.
It doesn't matter what year it is, Jack! Just get Elizabeth to New York, and then you can find out what year it is!
I attempt to sneak behind the crowd, but evidently someone spotted me.
"Hey Mister! Mister!" Damn. Just a few more seconds and I'd be through.
The person who called out to me was a woman holding a large basket filled with baseballs. This must be where everybody else got theirs.
Guessing that it's for the raffle, I pick up the first baseball on the pile. I turn it around and see the number painted in red on the other side.
77.
The woman smiles."That's a lucky number. I'll be rooting for you."
No, I can NOT pick 77. The Luteces told me not to, and even if they're planning to backstab me my gut tells me I should.
I hand the ball to a man standing next to me and stammer a plausible justification. "Actually ... uhh ... I think I'll just watch this time around."
I find a spot in the audience and wait patiently for it to be over so I can head to the tower so Elizabeth and I can get out of her ... assuming there IS an Elizabeth, of course. I can see another man picking up the raffle ball; whatever, let him have whatever it is.
Jeremiah Fink reads from the paper excitedly, and announces the winner. "All right then ... the winner is ... number 77!"
The man who took my discarded baseball looks at it and becomes downright giddy with anticipation. "Oh boy! I finally won one!"
"FIRST THROW! FIRST THROW! FIRST THROW!" The crowd started chanting this wildly as the red curtain behind Fink rose. It revealed a man and a woman, tied to posts and squirming in mortal terror. There are wooden cutouts around them, but I am too taken aback to notice background objects.
The man, a light skinned person, begins pleading. "Please! Please, you don't have to do this!" The audience just laughs, prompting the condemned man to beg further. "Please! It was me, it was all me! Please!"
It's clear he doesn't care what happens to him, just so long as the dark skinned woman tied next to him survives. I suspect she might be his bride.
The mob chants grow louder, and I can tell that as soon as the first person throws his baseball all the others will as well until the couple is dead.
Think Jack! If I sneak past during the throwing, I can reach Monument Island. I can-
"STOP!" ... fuck me.
The person chosen to throw first stops mid-swing, and the entire audience turns to stare at me. Why did I choose to draw attention to myself? If this is a crowd of splicers then I'm beyond screwed.
I clear my throat and begin to speak. "Whatever these two did, they don't deserve to be stoned. This isn't just. It isn't right!"
This causes gasps and shouts of ridicule to break out among the would-be lynch mob.
Jeremiah Fink glares down at me, as though I were a but in want of squashing. "Comstock says miscegenation's to be punished by death, boy!"
"Well Comstock's wrong then." By the time I realize how bad an idea it is to say this, it is too late and the words are already out of my mouth.
"Don't you know that's something only a back-stabbing snake-in-the grass Vox Populi? Well we ain't lettin' no dirty vox into our flock. Show him what you have planned boys!" As he says this, one guard stands behind me while the other gets out the hook-gun and starts spinning it.
Diplomacy failed; now I have a fight on my hands.
Before he can rip my skull to shreds, my left hand is already conjuring up a blue flame. With a single flick of the wrist, I have shot a blast of Level 3 Incinerate! at the Officer. He and several of the raffle participants are engulfed by the ball of Plasmid Fire I sent their way, and start screaming and flailing in agony as they burn alive. Their entire bodies are covered by the flames, and I can feel my heart beating faster as I watch their immolation.I do not feel any more pity for them than I did for the Splicers in Rapture; if you are the type of person who stones people to death or drinks the blood of children then you frankly deserve to spend your last moments roasting in panic.
Once these fifteen or so people finished burning, there is little more than ash and bones left of them. The Incinerate! burned through their clothes, their skin, and finally their muscles. And it reduced all of this to ashes within merely a few seconds.
I look around and see that everyone else has fled. There is no sign of Fink, the condemned couple, or the other raffle goers. Instead, there are only angry and violent Columbia Police Officers.
I pick up the spinning hook gun and fasten it to my side in case I need it later. Then I draw out the pipe wrench that served me in Rapture.
Looks like I have a fight on my hand.