He panicked, heavy arms swinging around as he tried to grab onto something – anything to prevent him from sinking into the darkness. Pain wracked his body – the heat of agony melded together with the ice-cold sea. His suit was breached; he needed the surface.
Though blinded by the billions of bubbles, his hand managed to clamp around the sturdy steel of the railings of the ascending escape pod. He struggled hard not to lose his grip, and in a moment of weakness, he turned to Rapture. One building loomed in front of them: Fontaine Futuristics. The mere sight of it returned the forcibly repressed memories of experimentation. He had been a lab rat in their hands, subjected to the torment of the needle and made to perform like an animal on the leash. He wished he hadn't remembered, because every sensation of every act and plasmid came back to him. The blissfully oblivious crowd then had no idea what it was like to have a plasmid injected straight into the blood. It was change in the most brutal manner, and the worst of changes were the ones uninvited.
He turned back to railing, lifting his other arm to the post and dragging himself up onto the side. Pushing himself away from the rails, he fell onto his front, gravity conspiring against him. It seemed so far away, and his vision was so faint, a few feet became a few miles. Yet, he had to go there – not because he wanted to, but because choice was merely an illusion. Circumstance dictated what brought him here, and if he had a choice from the beginning, he would've just focused on his own survival, but there was Eleanor. He didn't know if it was real love or conditioning that made him feel compelled to be at her side and protect her, but it was there nonetheless. Was it a choice for a guardian to go after his ward? Or a father to save his daughter?
Unable to stand up, he was forced to drag himself across the surface, fingers digging into the grooves as he crawled like an animal to the glass. The world blackened around him continuously, fluctuating into intensity as it threatened to swallow himself whole. For now, he shrugged it off, leaning against the glass as he fought to stand up. There within the flooded escape pod were two Lambs – one he had sacrificed everything to save and the other everything to oppose. He watched Eleanor intently; the girl had so desperately sought to be like him – would she murder her own mother as she did the children? Perhaps his presence had an effect on her – Eleanor seemed to falter for a moment. He could see in her hand was an oxygen mask, but he knew she only had it because she was still uncertain. It was not black and white to her as it should have been, and Delta knew he was at fault for that. He had saved, and he had killed.
Making up her mind, Eleanor swam up and thrust the mask to her mother – as if angry for feeling familial duty for someone who had caused so much pain. Delta watched without a perceptible emotion. There was something in him that stirred in his hollow chest, but he was unable to interpret what it was. Wordlessly, he gave a small tilt of his head. Approval, and even if it was in the slightest of forms, Eleanor drifted closer to him, pressing a hand to the glass as if she was trying to reach out to him. He stared at the gloved hand that was not unlike his own for a moment before turning his head skyward – or to the surface at least.
White flooded his vision.
He was blind. His knees buckled without the sea's support and he collapsed onto his back where he could only see stormy clouds. How could it be so bright when the sky was so dark? Where was the sun Eleanor had wanted to see? He couldn't breathe again – couldn't feel anything except a numb feeling washing over his body underneath the suit. He accepted it then. The terms for survival were out of his reach, and he was but a shell of a man that already died years ago. A shadow hung above him, leaning down close to get a better look at him. In him, she could see the only vestige of Rapture worth keeping – all of his memories and motives could be hers. Every part of his mind would be preserved through her, and somehow, he was revolted by the thought. She would be inheriting his legacy as a murderer – a beast. It was something he could not allow. There was still a fragment of his humanity yet preserved, and he felt that it was through this little shard that he could seem to only empathize with Eleanor.
The needle was poised over his chest, and determined reluctance flashed into her eyes. But there was still indecision in her eyes. He saw that she wanted to be like him in every way possible, but he could not allow this. As he pushed it away, her face fell into confusion. She was hurt, and he could feel every bit of it. But as her father, he must bear the burden of hurting her to give her a future – her future untainted by his fatalistic journey through Rapture. There would be no ruinous creature crawling through her head, whispering every instinct and urge into her ear as she succumbed to raw emotion. It was for her and for him, and it was his choice. Death was inevitable and unconquerable – and if it wanted to take him into oblivion, it was to be on his own terms.
Lines of water flowed from her pale face. He was uncertain whether they came from the light drizzle dousing both of them or if they were the product of her sadness. He didn't know, and his head rolled to the side, watching her reach for his arm. She dropped the needle, letting it clatter to the ground, and slowly, he felt himself being dragged to the ocean. For a moment, he thought Eleanor would send him back to the depths where he had begun, but she didn't. Instead, his arm was draped over the side where his hand just dipped into the sea. His reflection gazed back up again, and though he had no face, his resignation to his fate was obvious.
Eleanor joined him at his side, letting her legs hang over as she sat hunched over. He managed to use the last of his strength to face her, and father and daughter met eyes for the final time. Eleanor, unable to bear the sight of his life decaying before her, looked away. She carefully wiped a tear away from her eyes, and a spark of guilt flashed through him. As Subject Delta, his choices were never the best. He survived, but he only saved a few Little Sisters as if the act brought some form of comfort to the then ever-distant Eleanor. She was confused and orphaned all at once – and he knew it was his own doing. He erred, but what did it all matter in the end when he was dead and gone? Eleanor didn't need his legacy – just the freedom he had gifted to her.
He shifted onto his back – Eleanor seeming to start for him should he fall. The gesture, though small, was not unnoticed. She loved him, and he was leaving her; but facing death without having to watch her would prove easier on his mind. By now, the storm had cleared – the clouds breaking above the Rapture Lighthouse. And then there it was: the sun. He wondered what she was thinking – was the sun pretty to her? Or was it simply too bright of a light? They had both fought for this moment to see it and seize the day together, but now it would pass unfulfilled. He could only imagine the agony the girl could only be feeling.
His world darkened again, and he knew it would be for the last time. Alone in the cold morning, Eleanor watched him fade away. Only three words were etched into her conscious thought, and these words would be there every day in her mind.
I miss you.