BIOSHOCK DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. STILL ISN'T STOPPING ME FROM HIRING A SCIENTIST TO DO CRAZY STUFF FOR ME.

Here we go, the next entry in our tale of miserable people in horrible situations. Enjoy!

Bioshock: Constants and Variables

Chapter 3

Elizabeth and the Rough Start

As much as I like my life now, I will admit that I am not a happy person. I've enjoyed many things since Booker rescued me from Columbia, but it's hard to be truly happy when you know that something horrible could happen at any moment.

Granted, yes, that could be said for every living person, but worrying about tripping over your shoelaces kind of pales in comparison to worrying about when you have to go to another time and place to deal with people who want to murder you. So forgive me if I feel like my problems are a little bigger than most.

"It is time," Robert had said as he appeared.

"You must fulfill your end of the bargain," Rosalind had added. "Once you do, your debt is paid."

I very much wanted to punch the Luteces when they showed up in our home. I knew that I had to honor the deal I'd made with them, if only because I wanted to be different than Comstock. He went back on the deal, or tried to, and that only caused more misery.

At least I was better prepared than I was in Columbia. I could fight, and I had more control over my powers. I still didn't know what my limits were, but I had a feeling that I could handle most situations. And if I couldn't, I'd have Booker at my side to—

"Mister DeWitt will not be joining you," Robert had said, as if reading my mind. He didn't really, of course; he simply saw all the variables, and interrupted my thoughts based on how many constants shared a commonality at that point in time.

I'd tried explaining that to Booker once; he'd gotten a dazed look on his face. I love him, but trying to explain the threads of space-time to him is like trying to teach a monkey to play the piano with a chainsaw—utterly pointless, and a waste of a piano.

But, back to the point. "I thought the agreement was that Booker and I would both be part of this."

"And he will be," Rosalind said, "but his part of the task requires that he be elsewhere."

I looked down at Booker, still asleep—and I could see that the twins had nudged the cosmic threads around him, keeping him 'frozen' in time. I could undo it, I had the power, but it would take some effort, and fighting the twins would cause all sorts of problems. The planet would likely either be reset to the Dark Ages, or just explode.

"Will he be all right?" I asked. I could have looked at the threads myself, but the more I became involved with the flow of time, the harder it was to read it.

"You have both been preparing for this," Rosalind reminded me. "The odds are in your favor."

"Far more than they were last time," Robert added.

I blinked and turned to Rosalind. "Did you just quote the Hunger Games?"

She didn't answer, of course, but I swore she almost smiled.

"Something to begin the trip," Robert said, handing me a bag. Inside was a change of clothes, as well as a yellow bottle, one that I recognized.

"You want me to have a barrier?"

"Similar, but different," Rosalind said. "Your tasks will require more… subtlety than what your partner is capable of."

"This will render you invisible for short periods of time," Robert clarified.

I'll admit, without a shield like Booker's, charging into combat didn't appeal to me. Then again, I'd discovered that I had a talent in moving quietly. Sneaking around would be much easier now.

I took the bag and went to the bathroom to change. The clothes were nice—a white blouse with black cuffs and collar, and a black skirt and stockings. The skirt was short, but comfortable enough to run in, which I was sure I'd have to. The shoes had high heels—not quite stilettos, and wider, so that I wouldn't fall down.

Unlike Booker, I didn't have a gun, or a skyhook; the one I'd used in Columbia had been destroyed. Instead, I had a pair of knives, each hidden in a sheath attached to my forearms, and could be concealed by my sleeves. With a flick of a wrist, a knife would fall into my waiting hand. When I'd shown him, Booker had called me Ezio for a week, and couldn't stop laughing. He slept on the couch for that week, but he said it was worth it.

Even without any weapons, I was reasonably sure that I could handle anything thrown my way. After all, I could alter reality—to an extent, anyway. Granted, I didn't enjoy using that kind of power; I didn't like the idea of it going to my head. Booker had once told me that I'd only have to use it for the Last Job—we'd started saying it with capital letters, but I don't know when—and then we could live normal lives.

'Normal lives'. The idea sometimes made me laugh. I don't even know what constitutes as 'normal' for me; I barely counted as a human being. I never shared those thoughts with Booker; he had enough to deal with, and didn't need my problems piled on top of that.

"All right, I'm ready," I said quietly.

Rosalind looked me up and down and nodded approvingly. "Very good. I know that you do not need our help to get to your destination…"

"But we can make it a little easier on you," Robert finished.

"Very well." I looked down at Booker again. "Just be sure not to put him in too much risk, at least in the beginning? It's been a while for him."

"We shall do our best." Something made me suspect that they were lying, but I knew they wouldn't put Booker in anything he couldn't survive. They cared about us, in their roundabout way, and they didn't want me to go to war with them.

With that done, I concentrated, looking for the pathway I needed to walk. I opened the Tear, took a step—

…

—and found myself standing in a puddle of blood.

I scowled. I'd been in Rapture for two seconds, and my shoes were already ruined. Fine, whatever; I reached into another timeline and snagged perfectly good shoes off the corpse of an Elizabeth that had died from an unlucky headshot and swapped them out. I made sure to close the Tear, just in case something tried coming in from the other side.

It never bothered me to observe, or even interact with, other versions of myself. Some of them were alive, and I—we? Sometimes even I got confused—shared information. The ones that died were ones I studied, so that I wouldn't make the same mistakes they did. It felt perfectly natural, like looking into a mirror. I didn't tell Booker about it, though I'm sure he suspected. He called it 'one of those things that made his head explode', and never asked for details. The only thing he wanted was to know if I needed his help for anything.

Now, where was I? I knew I was in Rapture, many variables had us coming here, so I knew some general facts about it, but—ah, there was a helpful map, like one at a mall. I was somewhere near Medical, but all my routes there were blocked; the tunnels had collapsed and filled with seawater. There were hardly any variables that had Booker and I coming to Rapture in its heyday; instead, we'd come to an era when it was crumbling around us.

I felt a tiny Tear appear in my hand, which quickly vanished. I looked down, and saw a note, written in Rosalind's flowing handwriting.

Go up.

Thank you, that was extremely helpful.

I looked around the filthy room—it looked like an old apartment complex—and found a flight of stairs. There were a few bodies of people with misshapen features—some looked like genetic mutations, others looked surgically altered. I was glad that most were wearing masks, because those that weren't were horrifying. All of them looked recently killed, likely some kind of territorial dispute with another group. I stepped around the corpses and went up the stairs, idly pocketing some cash as I went. It was a habit I'd picked up from Booker, but it would probably save my life.

There was loud footsteps up ahead. I froze. If this approaching person was hostile, it would be the first time I'd really have to fight on my own.

I had to survive. I wouldn't let Booker be alone after only a few minutes.

"Well, well," a raspy voice said as its owner saw me from the top of the stairs. "What have we here?"

The man was nothing impressive. He was skinny, almost skeletal, and his ragged clothes hung off his frame. His face was covered by a burlap sack with eye-holes, and he carried a rusty pipe in one hand.

"Hello," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "I don't suppose you know your way around here, sir?"

"Name's Cleetus, pretty thing," the man said as he walked towards me. "And I know all about this building. It's mine, see?"

"That's wonderful," I said, hoping I didn't sound too droll. "Do you think you could show me the way to…" Come to think of it, I didn't actually know where I was going. "To Medical? I don't feel too well."

Cleetus looked me up and down. I could feel his disgusting leer. "You don't look sick, pretty thing. Even if you was, you don't want to go to Medical. The docs there ain't nice. If they got ahold of you, you wouldn't look so pretty." He tilted his head, and I think he smiled. "Why don't you come with me, pretty thing? Maybe, if you're good, I'll give you some Adam as a reward."

Ah, so that's what he was suggesting. Well, that wasn't happening, but I doubted he'd just let me pass if I refused. I had a feeling I'd need to fight, and he had reach with that pipe.

"That sounds wonderful!" I took a few steps forward, until I was inside his reach. "Let's be off."

Cleetus started to chuckle, but it turned to a bloody gurgle when I slid one of my knives free and rammed it into his throat. I stepped around and pulled the knife out to avoid the bloody spray that followed. The corpse tumbled down the steps, twitched once, and was still.

I took a moment to process what I'd done. I'd killed before, back in Columbia, but never like that. It made me appreciate what Booker had gone through, what he was likely still going through.

The noise would draw others; from the bodies I'd seen earlier, I doubted Cleetus was alone, and I didn't want to fight my way through hordes of thugs. Better to be more subtle on my way to Booker. I took a moment to get a grasp on the concoction the twins had given me, and vanished.

It was an odd sensation, turning invisible, and it was even more surreal when I tried looking at my hands; I couldn't see my own body, which meant I had to do everything by imagining my limbs being where I felt them. I wished I'd had time to practice a bit, but the Luteces wouldn't have given me that time.

After a few stumbling steps, I made it to the far wall and waited as a group of other misshapen people charged down a hallway and to the top of the stairs.

"Hey, Cleetus is dead!" one shouted.

"Get his Adam!" Another pushed past the group. "I know he's got some on him!"

I watched in detached horror as they descended on the body and tore it apart, but I knew I had to keep moving. Just because I was invisible didn't mean I was safe, and if the slight fatigue was anything to go by, I couldn't maintain it for long. Rather than let it drain more of my energy, I focused and canceled it early, once I was sure I wouldn't be noticed.

Another mini-Tear appeared, along with another note. This one was from Robert; his handwriting was slightly sharper, something I think he did deliberately, so that I could tell who was sending what.

Go to Medical. Watch out for the Big Daddy. Avoid the large Tear. Do not try to close it. You'll die.

Oh, great, I was dealing with an anomalous quantum bridge. They weren't necessarily dangerous to anyone else, unless I tried to interact with it. They were basically my Kryptonite, causing a severe allergic reaction that nearly killed me the first and only time I'd tried messing with one. Afterwards, Booker practically begged me to never get near one, which was probably a smart thing for him to do; my own curiosity might have caused me to try anyway.

I made my way down a series of hallways, occasionally stopping to listen for someone who would want to hurt me. Despite only having limited knowledge of this place, I knew that that included about ninety-nine percent of the city.

I was surprised when I heard loud, clomping footsteps; for a moment, I was back in Columbia, watching a Handyman make his way toward Booker with fists raised. I shook the thought away; there were no Handymen here. Instead, what rounded the corner was a hulking figure in a modified diving suit. It carried a large rivet gun in one hand, but it didn't aim in my direction. In fact, it didn't appear to notice me at all.

Well, time to test that hypothesis. I stood to the side and watched it pass; the creature—the Big Daddy—paused as it reached me, but only gave me a passing glance before moving on. Ah, so that's what it was; it responded to threats, and I was being nonthreatening. I doubt I'd be so lucky in the future, but it was something to be aware of. Perhaps I could take advantage of that.

Another map pointed me in the direction of Medical, but to my frustration, I had been going further away. I'd have to cut through another group of living quarters to get there. I didn't have to look into the infinite tapestry of possibility to know that my odds of avoiding trouble weren't good.

Sure enough, the apartment complex was even shoddier than the first one. The floors were mostly rotted wood and half-welded sheets of metal, and the walls were so covered in mold that I couldn't tell what they were supposed to look like.

"Hey, you hear about Jake?"

"Yeah, he got killed messing with a Daddy. Idiot."

I froze, then belatedly turned invisible at the sound of voices. They didn't sound nice, and I wasn't taking any chances.

"But did you hear what he almost got?" The first voice sounded… hungry.

"I'm not stupid," the second snapped back. "The only reason you mess with a Daddy is because he found a Sister."

"Wish he'd got her," the first said wistfully. "We could'a jumped him for all that Adam."

The second sighed. "Yeah…"

What was Adam, and why was it so important? I only knew basic information on Rapture—it was meant to be a utopia, free from politics, greed, or religion, and then it had all fallen apart in a civil war. The more I used my powers to learn and become involved with a certain time and place, however, the more I'd become anchored to it. After a while, it would be hard, maybe even impossible, to return home.

I crept across the room, trying hard not to make any sound. It was difficult when the wood creaked, and my shoes clattered over the metal, but I did well enough to avoid the two men… until I realized that the only way forward was past them, and there just wasn't enough room to squeeze through without touching them. I'd have to kill them.

I drew both knives and snuck up on them. I put one knife through the spine of the one on the right, dropping him instantly. The second, however, turned at the last second and just got stabbed in the shoulder. He swung his rusty pipe in reflex, and caught me in the jaw.

Pain was something I had a high tolerance for. After being tortured in Columbia, there just wasn't a whole lot that could make me flinch. Still, being hit in the face with a pipe doesn't feel good, and I was knocked to the ground.

"You bitch!" the man shouted as I reappeared. He stood over me and raised his pipe for another blow.

I did the first thing I could think of. I brought up one foot and drove it between his legs. I think I heard something break, and it wasn't my shoe. The man fell to his knees, screaming, and the floor chose that moment to give out under us.

It wasn't a long drop, only about ten feet or so, but have you fallen ten feet onto your back? It isn't fun. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, but when I saw the man starting to get up, I acted. I threw myself forward and brought my elbow down on his throat. He choked and sputtered; I grabbed his head and slammed it down on the floor, over and over, until brain matter leaked from his broken skull.

With that over, I took a deep breath. Was this how Booker managed before getting his weapons and Vigors? He mentioned only having a skyhook at first, and I knew those made quite a mess. Compared to that, I suppose I got off relatively easy.

Once I got my breath back, I got to my feet. I wasn't too hurt, though I had a nasty scrape and a bruise forming on my jaw, and blood was trickling down the side of my throat. I held my sleeve against the cut to stop the bleeding, but I knew I was a mess. Twenty minutes in, and I had blood everywhere; the worst part was that most of it was mine.

I was about to retrieve my knives, but then a horrible cough clawed its way out of my throat. I fell to my knees, throat and eyes burning. I knew what this was, but where… oh. The Tear, the one that Robert had warned me about, was right in front of me. I could feel it tearing me apart, bit by bit, from the inside out. I had to get away!

Coughing all the while, unable to see with my eyes burning, I crawled away from the Tear. with every inch that I put between me and that stupid thing, I could feel a little bit of my strength returning. I made it to the far wall and leaned against it; I spat out blood, then rubbed my eyes until my vision cleared.

My sight had barely returned when something came out of the Tear. That… shouldn't have been possible, unless someone like me was manipulating it, and even I couldn't touch that kind of Tear. Even the Luteces didn't go near them! Who had that kind of power?

I didn't get a chance to wonder further, because a thin figure in a diving suit crossed the distance between us in a single leap and landed on top of me. I felt one leg snap under the sudden pressure; torture or not, breaking a leg hurts. I opened my mouth to scream, but the figure shrieked, and then the last thing I saw was a gloved fist hurtling towards my face.

This was not a good way to start the day.

So, yeah… that happened. I decided not to go with the DLC stuff for Elizabeth, except maybe mentioning it once in a while, and instead do my own thing. And, yes, that was a Big Sister that knocked her out. Reasons will be given later.

Now, as you obviously noticed, this chapter was a bit on the shorter side. This is because this was an introduction to Elizabeth's part of the adventure, and she's already off to a rough start.

Another reason is that I just don't have the time to write very much right now. I published my first book a couple months back (please go check it out via my profile page! I'm literally begging!), and I'm working on a sequel. However, sales aren't as good as I'd hoped, and I'm really short on cash right now. I'd appreciate it if you bought my eBook, because the more sales I have, the more time I can devote to my stories here.

Next chapter: Booker gets the bad news, and is understandably pissed off. People tend to die when that happens.

Is a Muffin not entitled to the crumbs of his brow?