Making a (False) Prophet

by M.C.E.Black

When an airship arrives, claiming a new life aboard Columbia, it seemed like an out for Charlotte and her Mother. While skeptical of the Prophet's beliefs, her Mother adjusts quickly, while Charlotte learns it's best to keep her mouth closed - until the day a woman Charlotte believes to be dead walks into her bookshop and asks for her aid in bringing a guest to the flying mainland.

2. The Lutece Laboratory

Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock or any of the related titles.

Chapter 2: The Lutece Laboratory

I should not have been surprised at all to find the door closed when I reached the second floor landing. A meeting of this kind of importance could not be overheard by anyone; particularly her wretch of a library aide. Holding my breath, I dropped myself to the floor. My skirts muffled the sound my knees made as I inched closer to the door, pressing an ear gently against the wood.

At first I could only hear mumbling, and then one of the ladies passed in front of the door, nearly sending my heart into my throat. As she stepped away, it slowly settled back into my chest. Madame Lutece spoke first.

"It will only be for a short while," she said. "I need someone I can trust not to touch anything. We have the signs, but those curious enough will not heed their warning, I am sure of it."

"And just where is it you're planning on going?" Ms. Golding probed. The tone of suspicion I had become too familiar with laced every word.

"Ah," Madame Lutece replied reluctantly. "Those details I cannot divulge, as they would be difficult to explain. Too many questions will get you into trouble these days, my dear Edna. The less you know, the safer you will be."

"This has nothing to do with the uprising, does it?" Ms. Golding's voice dropped slightly. Her next few words were out of earshot, no matter how hard I pressed to the door.

Madame Lutece cleared her throat gently. "No, my dear," she answered. "I have no direct connection to any uprising. Why would I want to destroy something I helped create?"

A silence feel between them. The woman had a point. The uprisings in Shanty Town wanted to overthrow the power of Father Comstock. Daisy Fitzroy wanted nothing more to dethrone the prophet. Madame Lutece forged the world upon which he sat. From what I had learned, her entire life was Columbia and it's survival. She would do nothing to harm that. At least, I didn't think so.

"Are you willing to help me?" Madame Lutece asked, her voice suddenly sharp. Even I could tell Madame Lutece's time was precious, and her visit seemed to be proving fruitless.

Someone inside drew a deep breath - I only assumed it was Ms. Golding. "I can offer you my books," Ms. Golding said finally. "As usual, they are at your disposal. However, further than that, I cannot offer you any assistance. I cannot imagine the Prophet will approve of such behaviors. What with you leaving Columbia and all."

I had never really thought of it before, until Ms. Golding said it aloud. No one ever did just leave Columbia. People died, as they did on the land below, but never under suspicious circumstances. Perhaps cruel and heartless circumstances, but never suspicious. Acts of violence were always justified somehow, be it difference of class or background.

But as for returning to the world below the skies, no - no one had even asked. When I was younger, I posed the question to my Mother several times. At first, she joked that we would return when she tired of living in paradise. After her marriage, the suggestion of leaving sounded like heresy. My Step-Father wouldn't hear of it, and my Mother did as my Step-Father instructed, so I learned to never mention it again.

"Very well," Madame Lutece said softly, sounding rather disappointed. "I said nothing about leaving Columbia, or not involving the Prophet in my plans. However, I see you are unfit for such a position. I need someone with an open mind, and a closed mouth. I thank you for the help you can provide, but I have all the books I could possibly need. I will seek assistance elsewhere."

Ms. Golding started to protest, but I could already hear Madame Lutece approaching the doorway. I didn't have the time to run back down the stairs, and certainly one of them would hear my footsteps either way. Sliding backward, I forced myself to my feet and darted inside a supply closet at the end of the hall. I could barely close the door in front of me, but held it close to my chest as I heard both women descend the stairs. Ms. Golding put up a fight, insisting Madame Lutece reconsider her offer, but Madame Lutece held her tongue, refusing to give in, or even respond.

I heard the bell above the door chime, and knew Madame Lutece had left, although I found myself entirely unsure just how I planned to sneak back down to the first floor where a miffed Ms. Golding awaited, assuming I had already left. I could be quiet, I decided, tip-toeing toward the stairs. I could be quiet, and slip by her, and be long gone by the time the bell caught her attention.

But no, I thought. Ms. Golding had more than likely set herself at the front counter, going over the dailing numbers and mentally kicking herself for speaking such a way to a woman like Madame Lutece. I would just have to risk it. If she asked I would - well, I would just have to come up with something.

Landing at the foot of the staircase, I thought for only a moment I was in the clear, when Ms. Golding's voice sounded, just as expected, from the counter.

"What do you think you're still doing here?" she screeched.

"I was just..." I stumbled, the pitch of her voice causing my ears to ring. "I was putting a few things away upstairs. I didn't know if your guest was still here, so I thought I'd help tidy up."

Ms. Golding gaped at me, her mouth dropped open ever so slightly. Giving her head a small shake, she waved toward the doorway. "Yes, yes, very well," she said. "You're excused for the evening. I will see you in the morning."

I nodded and retrieved my coat from the chair next to hers, draping it over my arm. As I reached for the doorknob, she spoke up once again.

"You didn't hear anything while you were...tidying up, did you, Miss Costello?"

"Hear anything, ma'am?" I feigned innocence. "Hear what?"

Ms. Golding blinked. "Nothing. Forget it."

"Yes, Ms. Golding," I said. "Good night."

"Good night."

And I was finally outside into the chilly evening air beyond. I had never been so thankful in my life to be outside those walls than in that instant. My head reeled with the thought of Madame Lutece standing only a few feet in front of me, even if it were only for a brief moment. There were so many things I wanted to ask her, so many questions we all had asked for years. She would know about the Prophet, for certain. She would know the truth behind the one they called the Lamb - this Elizabeth child. She had to be the most wonderfully fascinating human being on the whole entire -

"Good evening, Miss."

A woman's voice interrupted my thoughts, and I came to a halt. From the shadows just around the corner of the bookshop, under the awning of another building, stood the figure of a lady. As she moved into the fading sunlight, my heart stopped.

"M-Madame Lutece," I greeted her with mild shock. "I did not see you standing there."

"You are the girl from the bookshop, are you not?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "You were there in the shop with us just a few minutes ago?"

I nodded hastily. "Yes, ma'am," I said, although I almost regretted it. Even she had said it was better the less people knew about her - or her plans. "I - I mean, I was downstairs."

"You were outside the door," she smiled as she spoke. "A natural curiosity. I don't blame you."

I opened my mouth to insist that I had not been eavesdropping at all, but before I could form the words, she arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

I apologized, avoiding looking the woman in the face. It wasn't a ladylike quality to listen in on the conversations of elders. It wasn't the first time I'd gotten in trouble for it, and I was certain it wouldn't be the last. Although, Madame Lutece did not appear to be concerned or insulted.

"Do you like working at the bookshop, my dear?" she asked.

Politely, I replied: "Yes. Of course."

She saw through that lie just as she saw through the others. It was a little unnerving.

"Now, now," she said. "No need to put on a face for me, Miss..."

"Costello," I provided. "Charlotte Costello."

"Ah," she smiled, as though knowingly. "Yes. Miss Costello. You and your Mother arrived just over a decade ago, am I correct?"

I was baffled. Completely and utterly baffled. How a single woman kept tabs on the entire population of Columbia was beyond me. Unless, of course, my Mother and I were known for something I wasn't aware of. Perhaps my Mother's involvement at the Church had reached either the Prophet or Madame Lutece's ears. Yes, that would make sense. She had to have been acquainted with my Mother.

Although, Mother wasn't the kind of person to keep such things secret. Meeting an almost-celebrity - at least in regards to the folks of Columbia - would have been first class gossip amongst the women my Mother surrounded herself with. I would have heard about it in no time at all.

"Yes ma'am," I concurred. "How did you know that?"

"I know a lot of things, Miss Costello," she said. "Especially in regards to Columbia. But that's not why I've stopped you."

"No?"

"No," she repeated. "I have a business proposition for you. Or rather, a request, if you will. You see, my brother and I have been working on a project of sorts for some time now, and we could use a little help around our laboratory."

I had been by the Lutece building many times before. The police barracaded most of the entryways after the disappearance of the twins, decreeing the site entirely unsafe for human entrance. I wondered, perhaps, if this whole set up had been a ploy to keep others out of their business.

"You want me to help you?" I didn't quite understand. I had been kicked out of school, and yes, I had read many books in my time, and considered myself well educated, but I wasn't ready to work in - did she say a laboratory? In that old house? It was a wonder the whole thing never burst into flames.

"That's correct," she said.

"What would be expected of me?" I asked. "I'm not too familiar with many sciences, I'm afraid, ma'am."

"That's perfect," she commented. "Because what Robert and I do, my dear, is not an exact science. Some call it meddling. Some would even go so far to accuse it of witchcraft - but I assure you, it is one of the above. Oh," she chuckled. "Well, I suppose we do a little meddling here and there."

Curiosity certainly was getting the best of me. I would be absolutely mad to turn down such an incredible opportunity, even as potentially dangerous as it sounded. I would be working alongside the two most important people - aside from Father Comstock - I had ever been near in my entire life.

"Are you interested?" she pressed.

"Yes!" I answered, without really thinking through all the potential repurcussions of my response. "Of course!"

Madame Lutece grinned widely, catching me just below my elbow. "Wonderful!" she said. "Come along. I'll explain more at the house."

"Oh!" I fell behind, pulling my arm from her grasp. I had to get home to Mother. I was already late, and if I didn't return home soon, she would send someone out to fetch me. That someone would, more than likely, be my Step-Father, who would have an unreasonable punishment awaiting me when we returned home. They would never believe me if I told them about Madame Lutece. "I have to go home. My Mother is waiting and -"

Madame Lutece frowned. "I'm sure she will understand," she started. "It will only take a few minutes."

"It's not really my Mother I'm worried about," I told her honestly. "It's my - "

"Step-Father, I know," she provided for me. It was strange for a moment, but then I reminded myself of the hundred or so other things she already knew off the top of her head, and it felt far less unusual she know this detail as well.

"How do you do that?" I asked, stymied.

"Do what?" she asked with a smile.

"Know everything," I pointed out.

Not answering, she merely laughed, starting down the path I knew led straight to the Lutece house. It was a moment of truth, in a sense. Would I pass up such an incredible opportunity, especially for someone who showed little potential in the eyes of the community such as myself, or return home to continue the monotonous strain of life I had grown accustomed to over the years?

I didn't really have to think about it. I could tell Mother that Ms. Golding asked me to stay late to help with the filing. Or perhaps I would tell her that a young man stopped by the shop before closing, and asked me out for a walk. She would then, of course, demand to know the name of the young man - who did not really exist - and proceed to hunt him down for further questioning.

Hurrying after Madame Lutece, she seemed pleased to find me walking alongside her. We approached the house, bypassing all of the warning signs and the locks, to enter through a side door. Electricity filled the air almost immediately, and I could feel the sound popping in my ears. Large wires twisted together, leading to the second floor where a dull blue glow of light eminated. Madame Lutece offered to take the coat from my hands, and placed it on a small rack by the front door.

"Come now," she said. "Don't be shy. Mind where you step, though. Nasty shock if you catch a wire wrong. Remember to lift your feet. Robert shuffles his something terrible. Gotten him into a spot of trouble here and there. He'll be the first to deny it though, so don't bother asking."

I didn't know what to say. Books lined every single shelf in the house. Large overstuffed furniture decorated the sitting room, although the thick layer of dust upon everything implied the Luteces did not spend a good portion of their time relaxing.

"Robert!" Madame Lutece called up the stairs. "Robert! We have a guest!"

While I had glimpsed Rosalind before meeting her, I had only seen the rare picture of Robert. The spitting image of his sister, albeit male, down to his clothing, Robert appeared at the top of the stairs, peering down at us waiting below. He did not smile, his expression perturbed and a bit hesitant.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"This is Miss Charlotte Costello," she explained.

"Maria Costello's girl?" he asked, loftily. "The one who caused all that trouble a few years ago? Down at the school?"

"Ah yes!" Madame Lutece - er, Rosalind - replied, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. "What was it you did that caused such a stir?"

"Accused the Prophet of being a heretic himself, I believe it was," Robert answered for me. "A false prophet, if you will."

"Oh my!" Rosalind grinned. "How scandalous."

If the Luteces had heard about that, surely the Prophet himself had heard about it. And all of a sudden, the public backlash I received from the neighbors suddenly made sense. It was as though I were questioning their whole existence. There were children, after all, who were born on Columbia, and knew of no other lifestyle but our own.

"And how very accurate," she added.

Robert shot a dangerous look at his sister. "Now, now," he said. "Be careful what you say."

"Oh hush," she reprimanded. "If she breathes a word to anyone else, they'll just think she's gone mad. No harm done." She shot a sideways glance at me, as though suddenly unsure. "That being said, I don't believe Miss Costello will say anything, am I right?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, ma'am! Absolutely not!"

"She's telling the truth," Rosalind said firmly. "You know she's telling the truth, Robert."

Robert still looked unsure, but nodded, finally descending the stairs toward us. Rosalind gestured toward a doorway just beyond the sitting room. Robert followed close behind, remaining silent. We entered a rather small kitchen, and Rosalind gestured toward a small stool, encouraging me to sit down.

Politely declining, I raised a hand in protest: "Oh no," I said. "I'm fine."

"You say that now," Robert said, closing the door behind him.

"Some of this information will be difficult to digest," Rosalind explained. "Some of it will be nearly impossible to wrap your head around."

Robert corrected her. "Most of it will be nearly impossible to wrap your head around."

Rosalind shot him another dangerous look. "We would never steer you wrong - or put you in any kind of dangerous position -"

"That being said," Robert interrupted. "What we're about to confide in you is not popular among the public."

I stared between the two of them, confused.

"We've already established that you won't say anything, though," Rosalind said hastily. "So no matter. As long as it's not mentioned to anyone - in particular, your family - you should be perfectly safe!"

"I thought you said you two were going away for a bit?" I tried to recall our earlier conversation, and the conversation I had overheard between Madame Lutece and Ms. Golding. I was missing a very integral part of this story, and I hadn't the faintest what they were about to reveal to me.

Robert glanced at Rosalind, an auburn eyebrow twitching ever so slightly. Rosalind avoided his gaze and focused instead on me. "Yes," she agreed. "For a very short while, although even after our return, I should say we may keep our distance from the lab until we've completed our -"

"Experiment," Robert supplied.

"Yes," Rosalind nodded. She drew a deep breath and faced me, folding her hands in front of her. "Now, tell me, my dear. You don't believe in the word of the Prophet?"

I looked between the two of them, unsure what to say in response. Here, standing before me, were two of Father Comstock's most prized confidantes. I certainly couldn't insult him openly in front of them, even if they already seemed to know my answer.

"I - I wouldn't say that, exactly," I mumbled.

"Speak up, girl," Robert instructed.

"Now, now," Rosalind said, more to me than to Robert. "We're all friends here. You can speak freely."

I sighed, shaking my head. "No," I admitted. "I don't believe in the word of the Prophet. In fact, I believe it to be a load of hogwash if you ask me. The whole lot of them up in Emporia. No offense, meant."

Neither twin looked offended. Both bore a similar half-grin that made me feel slightly uneasy. I waited for them to speak before saying anything more against the Prophet.

"How did you come to such a conclusion?" Rosalind asked.

I was a stubborn child growing up, was the real reason. I remembered what life was like back on the ground. I hadn't been raised with any real beliefs, before coming to Columbia, and didn't like having new ones forced onto me. Also, the idea of a Prophet just seemed rather, well, foolish. I told them such.

"Father Comstock believes in Benjamin Franklin as a deity," I explained. "Benjamin Franklin isn't a God. He was a human being. How could one claim such prophecies were bestowed upon him by the man who discovered electricity?"

"Fair enough," Rosalind reasoned. "That being said, one must also be open to the strange discoveries Columbia is making every day. These vigors, for example, the ones they're selling at all the fairs and festivals? There is nothing like them on the mainland. We have..."

"Access," Robert spoke up again.

"Yes," Rosalind accepted the word. "To sciences they don't quite understand on the ground. To materials not yet discovered by the common scientist. Those vigors - they were our handiwork, and continue to grow with potential."

I had seen the vigors before, although I had never tried them. Mother insisted they were dangerous, fit only for the men who dared to drink them - most of which were already under another influence. Not to mention, they were terribly expensive, and we just didn't have the money.

"But what do these vigors have to do with Father Comstock?" I questioned, failing to see the connection. "Are you trying to tell me that Mr. Franklin came to you in a dream and told you how to create them?"

Rosalind nearly laughed out loud, while Robert looked thoroughly annoyed.

"Oh heavens no," Rosalind said. "My dear girl, the Prophet's fascination with these men of power who came before our time has nothing to do with actual prophecy. They are idols to be worshipped, but not necessarily believed in. The people often take these ideas and make their own stories from them, and that is precisely what the people of Columbia did. Father Comstock did nothing more than perpetuate the stories."

"It would have been foolish to try and stop them," Robert said. "People don't often like it when you tell them their beliefs are incorrect."

"No matter how ridiculous they are," Rosalind added.

"Indeed."

I blinked slowly, trying to make sense of it all. "What you're trying to say is that Father Comstock merely allowed the people to come up with their own stories? And passed them off as his own?"

Rosalind half-shrugged. "Father Comstock more or less started quite a few of them, himself. Especially when Columbia was still in its early development. One had to develop a following in order to procure the kind of funding such a project would require. I - " she stopped herself, glancing over at Robert subtly. "Rather, we, had to do much of that work on our own. While the future Comstock spoke of enticed many, it needed to be backed in science, in something - rather ironically - grounded."

I nodded, understanding at least that much.

"Have you ever considered, Miss Costello, the potential for life outside our own existence?" Robert asked, rather abruptly.

I gaped at him. "You mean, the afterlife?"

Rosalind shook her head. "No, we mean, simultaneous life. Or lives. Infinite lives, occurring at the same time."

And once again, I was lost.

"For a single person," Robert added.

I had read about the possibility in books, and started to recall something the two of them had written in particular, but had never entertained the idea of multiple realities. It seemed even more absurd than Father Comstock's practicing idolatries.

"You mean," I started, unsure of exactly what I thought.

"We mean dimensions," Rosalind said. "Outside our own. And the ability to pass from the world we know now, and the worlds beyond."

"Miss Costello, you sit here before us as nothing more than a librarian's aide," Robert pointed out. "In one of these alternate realities, you may be the Queen of Columbia. In another, you could have returned to the world below. In another, you may never have heard of Columbia."

I had to sit down. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. And even if it were, it would be impossible for one to ever find out. Unless of course -

"You said you were traveling," I echoed my earlier statement.

The twins nodded simultaneously, and something inside fell into place. It all made sense, as absolutely ridiculous as it all sounded to me, it made complete sense, everything they'd been saying.

"You're going to another world," I stated.

"You're taking this much better than the last girl we hired," Robert commented, sounding rather impressed. I didn't know whether or to feel complimented.

Rosalind heaved a small sigh, closing her eyes. "Poor girl nearly fainted right out of that chair."

"Then ran off to the others, claiming witchcraft," Robert scoffed.

"That didn't go over well with the Prophet at all," Rosalind kept her eyes closed as she spoke. "Bit of a nasty cover-up work we had to do with that one. Fairly sure he's still got the girl locked away up there. Servant or something of the like, in his home. Only way to keep her from spilling the news to the rest of the country."

"That's terrible," I gasped.

"Better than killing her," Robert replied, rather emotionless. "Could have been much worse. Then we'd have murder on our hands."

Rosalind's eyes popped open. "And we certainly can't have that on our conscience, now could we?"

"I suppose not," I agreed.

"No," Robert chimed in. "No, I suppose not either."

A strange silence fell over the three of us, and I couldn't help but suspect there was something else missing from their story. It was already eerie that the pair in front of me looked so perfectly alike, and that they finished each other sentences, but as I watched them in silence, I couldn't help but notice they reacted in the same fashion. The slight tilt of the head, the deep breath, followed by a flutter of the eyelashes. Robert kept his hands, however, folded behind his back, while Rosalind's remained in front. Otherwise, the two stood exactly alike.

"What do you propose to do in this other world?" I broke the silence, a very small chill running along my core. "Convert them?"

The pair exchanged uncomfortable looks. We finally reached the difficult part of their story, and I could already tell Robert wasn't going to be as cooperative as Rosalind hoped. She took charge, speaking on behalf of both of them.

"No," she answered. "Quite the opposite actually."

"Take Comstock down?" I toyed with my own theories. "You're building an army?"

"No, no," she continued, her head swinging back and forth as though hinged.

"She's not entirely wrong," Robert argued.

"No," Rosalind insisted. "We're not building an army."

"Not us, at least," he allowed. "Indirectly speaking."

"We're fetching a single man," Rosalind spoke over him, now looking directly at me. She no longer smiled. "Just one. No one else."

"Who is he?"

"A private investigator, of sorts," Rosalind supplied. "A Pinkerton. Goes by the name of Booker DeWitt."

Another span of silence. The name bore no importance to me. I had read about the Pinkertons, but knew little about them, aside from their rowdy personalities and brutal nature. Perhaps Mr. DeWitt would be willing to risk much more than the people of Columbia to force the truth out of the Prophet.

I wondered, however, why the pair couldn't simply turn on him on their own. If they knew the truth, and were the very reason he had the power to do what he did, they could expose him for the fraud he was. It would save them the trouble of jumping through what sounded like a very difficult and time-consuming scientific experiment.

As I thought this over, I caught the look on Robert's face. He was young, they both were, but something darker lingered behind his nearly vacant expression. I couldn't imagine they wouldn't have already tried such a tactic. In fact, I was certain they must have. Which only implied they were less than successful.

And explained their very sudden disappearance.

"This Mr. DeWitt," I said slowly. "He's going to help us? You know that for sure?"

Rosalind nodded. "Yes."

"So you've spoken to him?" I pressed on. "You've already tried this whole reality skipping idea?"

Robert's turn: "Yes."

And Rosalind: "Many times."

"The plan is foolproof," Robert assured me. "He goes for it every time."

"Every time," Rosalind echoed.

"Wait," I stopped them. "You mean, you've - you've done this before? With Mr. DeWitt?"

They nodded in unison.

"And..." I dreaded the answer.

"Each time we have been unsuccessful in..." Rosalind searched for the end of her sentence.

"Acheiving the result we seek," Robert finished. "Each time a complete failure."

I swallowed the large lump forming in my throat. "And Mr. DeWitt? What happens to these DeWitts you bring here? What happens when they fail?"

They didn't have to answer for me to know the answer. He died. They did have blood on their hands after all, albeit the blood of a single man, but still repetitive murder of one human being is murder nonetheless. And entirely unfair. What could Mr. DeWitt possibly have done to deserve such a cruel ending over and over?

"How many times?" I asked bluntly.

"Excuse me?" Rosalind looked confused.

"How many times have you brought Mr. DeWitt here from another world?"

Rosalind looked to Robert for the answer to this one. As her eyes fell to the floor shortly after, I could tell she merely didn't want to say the words herself. Remaining stoic, Robert provided me with a number I had not been expecting.

"One hundred and nineteen."

A/N: I know these chapters are lengthy, but there's a lot of background going on at the moment. Things will get adventurous and exciting once Booker's present, of course. (And as you can already tell, this is not the current Booker attempt present in the game. This happens before that.)

Please let me know what you think? Thank you again for reading!