ooc;; Again, I do not own Bioshock. or its lovely music, though I am learning Cohen's Masterpiece (one of many, I'm sure) on the piano
Once more, please, I implore you to review. x3
I would like suggestions to the plot, too, if you want. Of course, I'll credit you and shower you with affection.
"No Gods Or Kings, Only Man." And the head of Andrew Ryan, himself. Dark brown eyes, burned almost black with suffering, squinted slightly at the words-- had it been his imagination, or did the scarlet banner just a few moments ago read "Arbeit macht frei"? It must have been his imagination... it tended to run away with him when he was bored, or nervous. And right now, Garrus was both.
He hated waiting in lines, he could still hear them at night... "MEN LEFT, WOMEN AND CHILDREN RIGHT! SCHNELL, SCHNELL !!" Oh, the nightmares he had. They made him cower in absolute mortal terror. And he felt so weak, so hopeless and so lost and... so damned weak. Some days he felt like the only one who still cared, who was still tortured every minute by something so long ago. He thought as long as he bore the number he would be tortured, and that would be forever, at least until his skin rotted away. And it didn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon, much like the line.
The next bathosphere would be here in fifteen minutes; Garrus tossed his fag to the dampened stone floor, crushing it with the heel of his shoe, which he hated to do-- it felt like he was grinding the life out of it. And as many terrible things as he had seen, he hated to kill things-- the sight of blood was more than enough to bring all the terrible memories flooding back and it was all he could do to not vomit.
Rapture, as far as he could tell, seemed safe, unlike the rest of the world, and, also unlike the rest of the world: sane. Garrus Vogel did not expect to find blood here, for here the world was not going mad, here the world was not threatening to blow itself up in a nuclear holocaust. It would be a refuge from violence, and escape from fear. The young man shuffled his feet, impatient, self-conscious, and uncomfortable as always, and never just because he tended to tower over the majority of the population, and not because of his sad eyes... Damn it, he hated waiting in lines. His parents waited in a line, and then walked into the gas chambers and to their death. Lines meant Death... Frankly, it was a miracle he had survived, but he and his brother, who were twins, had been at least half-spared the gas, and the crematories, because they had a far nobler purpose-- serving in The Angel Of Death himself's, Dr.Mengele's medical experiments.
Garrus had never set foot near a hospital or doctor since.
"Finally." He whispered to himself, as the people in front of him started filing forward and around and downward and around and down again. Garrus, half-sick with relief, half with dread, was one of the last to step into the overcrowded Bathosphere. It was incredibly cramped, no one had an inch of space-- much like the cattle car he was in on the transport to Auschwitz... Garrus rubbed the numbers on his forearm self-consciously, though no one could see them either in the dark or under his clothes, but it was there all the same. Sometimes he swore he could feel it burning white-hot... of course, he never saw anyone about it. Or said anything. He never wanted to go to another hospital again as long as he could say his name was Garrus Braeden Vogel.
His still slightly skeletal body wound up nearly pressed against the thick glass of the bathosphere door when it began its descent-- part of him was amazed the small sphere did not simply fill with water, though he knew well enough how submarines worked. Another of man's inventions. Another tool of destruction.
He uneasily glanced at the people around him, usually too busy with their sordid affairs to pay another man an ounce of notice or compassion. Humanity never changes, really. No matter where you go, people are still full of shit. But these, maybe it was his wild imagination, or an insane hope, but these seemed different. They had kind eyes, he did not mind standing so close with them, because though he was certain they would all die eventually, it wouldn't be today. And down in Rapture, there would be no fires, and no gas. And maybe if he stayed here long enough, he, too, could learn to forget the troubles of the world above. But for now, he would smoke, and he would wait.
Like so many sheep, or perhaps cattle, the crowd migrated out of the Bathosphere and dispersed into the throng of people who already called Rapture their home. Garrus disappeared into the humming mass as well, stopping once to buy a paper, and once more to check his watch. The clock read half past noon.