Having finished with that task, Booker was now eying the boozes on display behind the bar lustily. "If you're going to have a drink, be sure and leave a tip for the poor man." Elizabeth said without looking up from the laptop, and he deflated somewhat. "It's the least you could do after scaring him half to death."

"You're the one who opened the tear." he said, almost sulking.

"True, but I bet it was the sight of your ugly mug that made him pass out." Elizabeth replied, trying in vain to conceal her smile. He cast one last wistful gaze at the array of alcohol, then turned away and made his way to his daughter's booth. "Find anythin' useful?" he asked as he eased himself into the seat opposite her. She said nothing for a moment. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. "Elizabeth?" he asked again, and she jumped in surprise. "Oh! Sorry, I was... Uh... Have a look at this." she said, spinning the laptop around to face him. Booker pulled it in for a closer look. "Is that-"

"That's us."

"How did they get these?"

"It gets worse. Apparently, we're not even real here."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Those are from something called a video game. You play it on a machine like this, but it sits on top of a desk and is much bigger. Or you could play it on a 'console', which has a lot less to offer but it doesn't take as much time to install..."
Booker slammed the screen down and put his head in his hands. "One thing at a time. Where did they get these pictures of us?"

"They're not pictures, Booker. They're from that video game. They call it 'BioShock Infinite.'""

He sighed. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know. I guess it has something to do with infinite worlds...? And these..." She pulled the laptop back to her and typed something in, waited for a bit, and passed it back to him. "These are people dressed up like us to promote the game."

He stared at it closely. "The girl I can see, it... It's something about the eyes. But that fella looks more 'n' twice as old as me!"

"It gets the point across though." she said. "Young ingenue on the run from an abusive father, with the withered-up husk of a man as her only means of safety!" Booker looked up at her through his fingers and she giggled. "It's a joke, Booker. He wasn't THAT bad." He sighed again.

"What I'D like to know is whatever happened to our cover?" Rosalind asked from her position in the booth behind Elizabeth.

"It would be interesting to see who they picked to portray us." Robert agreed as he edged Booker aside to inspect the screen.

"They certainly wouldn't do you justice."

"Nor you."

"All right, that's enough." Booker grumbled. He shut the screen again. "Go back to the bar and get me a drink. Make it a martini; stir it, don't shake it."

"Make it yourself." Rosalind retorts.

Robert agrees. "We're not here to provide a service."

"Then what the hell are you here for?" Booker said as he leapt nimbly over the counter-top and began inspecting the selection.

"We're here for our amusement, nothing more." Robert said. Elizabeth, meanwhile, had retrieved the laptop and was busy looking for other things of interest.

"Robert finds the manner in which you escaped the cycle intriguing." Rosalind said, crossing to join her counterpart in his booth.

"And what cycle might that be?" Booker asked.

"Why should we tell you?"

"Well, what the bartender hears is confidential..." he said slyly.

"You're not a bartender." Elizabeth chimed in.

"I did my share." he replied.

"Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." Rosalind said after some thought.

"We don't have any tea." Booker said.

"Well what DO you have?" she said irritably.

"We got booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, and to top it all off..." He served himself an eminently respectable martini (complete with olive), stirred, sipped, sighed, said, "Booze."

The Luteces looked at him expressionlessly. He raised his glass to them and took another swig.