Chapter 4! Here's where things get interesting huh? Let's see how it comes out!
"And the Lord saw the wickedness of man was great and he repented that he had made man on the earth. Rain, Forty-days and Forty-nights of the stuff, and he left not a thing that walked alive. You see my friends; even god is entitled to a do-over, and what is Columbia if not another ark, for another time." Zachary Hale. Comstock
~4~
Welcome to the REAL Colombia Pilgrim
Booker approached the floating boat ahead. Crouching, he could just make out three police officers and a turret station on the boat.
"It's time to take back control from the men of metal!" Booker remembered what the girl had said. Bringing up his possession vigor, Booker aimed it at the metal turret. With a flick, he sent the green ghost after it. Before long, the machine made a whirring sound and turned on the cops.
"Hey! What's it doing?"
"Shut it down! Shut it down!"
"No! Why!"
In a matter of seconds, the machine gun turret had gunned all three of them down and had turned to some targets that booker hadn't even seen. The screams of dying men echoed in the air as Booker moved towards his now friendly turret. He was about to join in the fight when he was suddenly knocked off his feet.
Booker lay on the deck of the boat looking straight into the eyes of another cop who had popped out of nowhere.
"Die! Pig!" The cop yelled, before throwing his own Sky-hook towards Booker's face. Booker dodged the attack and kicked the man off of him. The officer rolled to the side and turned to face Booker again. This time, the two clashed with each other's hooks and a deadlock occurred. The two men struggled to get the upper hand when Booker got an idea. He let his guard down a little, letting the cop think he had won.
"Haha! Give up Black Sheep! You're done for!" The cop yelled triumphantly. Just then, Booker threw up his leg, kicking the man in the groin. He immediately lost all power in their deadlock, and Booker quickly shoved him off the boat.
"AAAAGHHHH!" He yelled as he fell into oblivion. The fight wasn't over yet, however, as Booker saw another cop arriving from the sky-line. Booker quickly fished out his pistol and fired at the man. With dead-eye precision, he shot the man in the chest, making him lose his grip on his hook, and fall to his death.
Booker looked around him, half expecting another cop to arrive and attack, but none came. When he decided it was safe, Booker stood to his full height, and hopped off the front of the boat. On the ground lay the corpses of nearly 15 officers, all chewed up by the machine gun turret. Booker walked onward up to a giant metal gate where he encountered two more police officers.
"Quick! It's the fireman!"
"The fireman's on his way!"
"He'll take care of the son of a Bitch!"
Booker didn't even need to fire at these two, for they quickly ran away. Fearing they would raise the alarm, Booker pursued them with great haste. Soon, he came along another great metal door, which he began to push open. As he placed his hands on the door, he felt a considerably increase in temperature.
"It's getting hot. What's going on?" Booker questioned as he pushed open the door. Just as he pushed open the door, he was met with an intense wave of heat. Ahead of him, half of the entire street was on fire as a lone man in what seemed like a metal suit stood atop a burning stall.
"Burn in the name of our Father!" He yelled before lighting up his hands in anger.
"Oh great!" Booker said as he took cover by a nearby stall. Booker quickly took aim with his pistol and began firing rounds into the 'fireman's' armor. Bullet after bullet the shots ricocheted off his thick armor. It was then; Booker realized the pistol was useless against him. 'How the hell am I supposed to defeat him now?!' Booker wondered. His thought process was interrupted when the man threw hot fireballs at him. Booker dove out of the way as the stall he was hiding behind exploded into flames.
The man threw another ball of flame at Booker, causing him to dive behind a nearby barrel.
"Come out, come out wherever you are! Don't hide from me!" He screamed. Booker thought quickly. The pistol was useless. He was out of salts to supply his vigor, and he had no other weapons or means of escape. The only thing to do was…alright! Let's do this!
Booker hopped out from his hiding spot and began running along the wall of the buildings, past the fireman.
"Where are you going Black Sheep? Running away? I don't think so!" He yelled after him, charging in pursuit. Just like planned.
Booker ran over to a nearby balcony and stood, facing the fireman. "Come get me you pathetic son of a bitch!" Booker taunted. "You're prophet is full of it, and you're all ignorant sheep!" The fireman nearly exploded himself when he heard this. With an angry roar, he charged Booker. Just as he was about to ram him, Booker dove out of the way, sending a third enemy off the side of the floating city. Maybe there were some perks to that after all?
Booker was about to leave when he saw another vigor bottle lying on the floor.
"Huh. Another vigor. Must've dropped it…" Booker said as he picked it up. "Devils kiss…well you only live once." Booker said before downing his second vigor.
Unlike the first one, this one had a spicy, sour taste to it that was so strong it nearly made him puke. Then, he felt the unbearable burning in his fingers. Booker stared at his fingers, wide eyed, as the flesh began to melt off, leaving only his bony fingers behind.
"AHHHH! AHHHHHHH!" Booker shouted watching his skin burn away. Suddenly, just as fast as it had happened, his hands returned to normal. Booker panted and looked his hands over. Nope, no scars or anything.
"Whew, that wasn't no sample…" Booker said before tossing the empty bottle aside. Booker ran down the now empty street, past some abandoned police barricades, towards a giant gate which read:
BLUE RIBBON
Booker sighed and walked in. Hopefully he wouldn't have to meet any more freaks or religious zealots in there.
*The Blue Ribbon*
Booker walked into the room. It appeared to be a café. He walked close to the walls, and slowly inched towards the main room (where the bar was), hoping to sneak up on any unfortunate enemies. Unfortunately, he ran into that odd couple again.
"We have company."
"So it seems."
"Stop following me." Booker said towards the pair.
"We were already here."
"Why are YOU following us?"
"I…ugh." Booker couldn't think of an excuse, and instead began gathering supplies that littered the tables as they talked.
"Aperitif?"
Booker approached the woman who was blocking his exit when he had finished gathering supplies.
"You'll find that handy in a pinch."
"The difference between life and death."
The woman held out a plate with a yellowish liquid on it. Booker wasn't sure if he should accept it, but did it anyway. Just like the Vigors, he downed the liquid in one swift gulp. This liquid was cold, like ice cold, and tasted like bananas.
"Ooh...what was that?" Booker asked the woman.
"Hm. Surprising."
"Surprising that it worked?"
"Surprising that it didn't kill him."
"But a magnetic-repulsive field around one's body can come in handy."
"If it doesn't kill you."
"A fair point."
"Can you just answer my damn question for once? Wait…oh never mind…" Booker said and walked through the door, now that the woman had moved away. To be honest, these two were beginning to get on Booker's nerves.
Booker walked through the doorway. On the other side of the doorway was a kitchen. There, he searched through some crates for supplies, but all he managed to find was a couple of old apples in the trash and three pistol bullets. After moving through the kitchen, Booker came out into a balcony on the building.
"Great! Now what?" Booker wondered. Floating in the middle of the sky, not too far from the building, was another blimp. If Booker had stopped to listen, he would've heard the angry voice of someone on the PA yelling about how he was evil and such. Booker, however, could care less, as he had a job to complete. He moved down a small set of stairs trying to see if there was some sort of door. Just then, without warning, his sky-hook began pulling on his shoulder. "What the…" Booker slowly raised his arm and was immediately thrown into the air, and eventually found himself latched onto a metal hook that was hanging on one of the Fink Industrial buildings floating around.
"Woaaahh! Heh, damn hook must be magnetized!" Booker marveled at his wonderful discovery. Up ahead, Booker could distinguish another metal hook on the far side of the building. Booker leaned forwards and latched onto a second hook. "Haha, this is great!" Booker said hanging on the second hook. Booker jumped onto a third hook and hung idly, checking his surroundings. As he looked around, he spotted a lone man wandering the roof of a nearby building. The building was close enough for Booker to land on, and seeing as there were no other choices, Booker decided this was his best choice.
Before jumping, Booker summed the man up. He was dressed in a blue jacket with a cartridge belt of ammunition around his waist. Obviously he was a soldier. There was no doubt that these guys were going to be tougher to kill than the ordinary police officers he had encountered before. Atop his head was a World War I styled helmet, with goggles over his eyes and a strap over his chin. In his hand, he loosely held a machine gun. Booker thought for a moment. Maybe if he gained enough momentum, he could launch himself at the soldier, and swing his sky-hook at him (presuming that it would kill him). This way, he would be able to kill his opponent quickly and hopefully silently.
The soldier turned around so that he was no longer facing the edge of the building. Perfect. This was Booker's chance. Swiftly, Booker swung back and forth on the metal rail like he was on a set of swings. Just as he had gained some momentum, he flung himself off of the rail towards the man. Unfortunately for Booker, the soldier turned around just as Booker charged him. He was in the middle of lighting a cigarette when Booker swung the sky-hook at him. He only managed to yell out a stifled scream before he was cleaved off the building by Booker.
Thankfully, the soldier had dropped his machine gun, and Booker gratefully picked it up, putting it back to use. Just then, a whistle sounded off and a series of voices could be heard from ahead.
"Man down! He's over there!"
"Get him! He's all alone, we outnumber him!"
"For the Prophet! For our Founders! For Columbia!"
Booker quickly stashed himself behind some empty crates and pulled out his new machine gun. Slowly, he raised his head over the pile of boxes. There they were: Two men with machine guns and a woman that seemed to be their commanding officer. She only had a pistol with her, so taking her down should seem relatively easy.
In a flash, Booker stood up from his position and fired a volley of bullets toward the three advancing soldiers. One of the men dropped instantly as Booker filled him with lead. The other two quickly hid behind some cover. The other man had hidden behind some boxes while the woman had hidden herself behind.
"Give up Black Sheep! You do not stand a chance against Father Comstock!" The woman shouted from behind the chimney before firing a few shots at Booker. The bullets slammed against the wooden boxes, sending splinters flying everywhere as the bullets made impact. Booker retaliated by firing a volley back. His shots landed on the side of the chimney, sending brick and dust everywhere around the woman as she closed her eyes and prayed to the founders to avoid getting hit.
Just then, the man from before had snuck up to Booker's side and attempted to shoot him at blank range. Booker spotted him with the corner of his eye as he approached him, and quickly used the sky-hook to pry the weapon out of his hands. The machine gun was sent flying off the building, leaving the two men to engage in hand to hand combat.
Seeing as the he would easily be sliced open by Booker's sky-hook, the soldier tackled Booker to the ground and pinned his arm down.
"Ugh! Dammit!" Booker cursed as the two wrestled with one another. Just then, the woman ran up the stairs to see the two fighting one another. She quickly aimed her pistol at Booker, but didn't fire, fearing that she would shoot her comrade.
"What are you waiting *ugh* for! Take the *ugh* shot! Kill him!" The man struggled to get out. Booker watched as the woman cocked back the trigger of the pistol and prepared to fire. With all of his strength (and the will to live) Booker managed to push the soldier atop him in front of the woman's line of fire.
BANG!
The bullet went straight through the back of the male soldier's head, making his head snap back with a jolt before his body collapsed to the floor.
"No!" The woman shouted before turning to Booker and throwing a swing at him. Booker dodged her attack and elbowed her in the back of the head. She instantly fell unconscious and fell next to her fallen comrade. Booker brushed himself off and inspected the bodies. He managed to gather ten more pistol bullets, and found small, unbroken glass of whiskey in the inside of the woman's uniform.
"Hey, what's this?" Booker said as he inspected the bottle. His eyes lit up as he read the inscription. He didn't know or recognize the brand, but he knew alcohol when he saw it. A couple years of drinking nothing but the stuff did that to you.
"Oooh, it's been forever…I've been dying for one of these ever since I left New York…" Booker said to himself. And he would be lying if he had said that he had left his drinking problems behind in New York. Though he had been given a chance of redemption here, he still had a thirst for the beautiful beverage.
Booker sat at the edge of the building after making sure that the female soldier was still unconscious and tying her to a pipe. Sun rained upon his face and in the distance, some fireworks could still be seen. In a city as big as this, some incidents were only known by the part of the city in which it occurred. In other words, that part of the city didn't know that Booker was running around Columbia yet. Though, he would bet that when they found out there wouldn't be any more fireworks.
Instead of dwelling on these facts, Booker took the time to catch his breath and take a break. It was almost funny, like this was just an exercise and he needed to take a water break. This made Booker laugh, as it was the funniest thing he had heard all day.
"What the hell am I doing here?" Booker questioned himself as he took a swig of the whiskey. Why indeed?
Because he had a debt to pay off.
And a girl to find.
Booker took out the photo of the girl and looked at it again. As he inspected the photo, his mind wandered to why she herself was here.
"That man on the stage said something about a lamb? They must mean her. But how did they know I was coming? And what is she to them?" Booker wondered. After realizing that he did not in fact know the answers, Booker put the photo back in his vest pocket and picked up his machine gun.
"I'm not getting any closer to that girl sitting here." He said before running across the rooftop. When he reached the edge, he spotted another hook, and grappled onto it. As he hung, he spotted another floating building. Booker hopped off the hook and landed on its balcony, where a few tables were set up, like some sort of restaurant. Cautiously, Booker opened the wooden doors and walked inside.
The air inside the building was thick and musty. Also, it was incredibly hot. As he wandered around inside, he heard two voices,
"Violence is not the answer! As much as I support her cause and her people, blood must not be shed!" A man stated.
"What do you expect these poor negroes to do? How they treat them – it was bound to happen!" A female voice countered.
"Violence is not a foregone conclusion." The man replied. Booker rounded the corner, with his pistol hanging loosely in his hands. When he came into the large room where the voices emitted, a man and a woman stared at him with wide eyes. The man was first to speak up,
"It's him! The one they're after…Go…they're looking for you." He said with a hint of sadness in his voice. Behind him, the woman looked startled and ready to run if need be. Booker smiled sadly,
"Thank you." He said quickly before rushing past them. From behind him, he heard some knocks on one of the wooden doors,
"It's the Police! Open up! We're in need of your assistance…" A cop said from the other side. Hearing this voice only made Booker rush. From behind him, he could hear the cops break down the door, and the muffled screams of the woman as they searched the area. Looking behind him from time to time, Booker crept out the back door, leading him to an open courtyard.
Booker ran across the open courtyard, past multiple stalls and even a stage, to a large black gate. Past the gate, was a large statue of Comstock fighting what looked like a serpent. Crows flocked around the statue, and a heavy fog shrouded the area, except for the path which he needed to take. The whole area had an eerie feeling to it.
"What is this place?" Booker wondered as he walked through another set of giant wooden doors. Inside, he could smell the scent of rotting fruit, and…what smelled like death. Rotting flesh maybe? Either way, it had a pungent smell that made Booker nearly hurl.
"Jesus what is that smell?" Booker coughed as he walked through a small corridor. Crows were everywhere. They littered the shelves, the tables, the chairs, the ceilings, the walls…everywhere. Booker entered a large room where a large statue of a man holding a pistol stood.
John Wilkes Booth
'These racist bastards had the audacity to build a statue in his name? These people may live in a floating city', Booker thought, 'but they're stupider than I thought'. Booker moved past the statue to a bar room, a room which he had gotten quite accustomed to seeing the past few years. Inside, there were only three other men besides him. Each one seemed interested in staring at the table they were sitting at, like they were in some sort of daze.
Suddenly, the bartender's head snapped up and locked onto Booker's position. Booker knew that look all too well,
"It's him!" The other two men quickly leapt out of their chairs and pulled out pistols. Quickly, Booker used his possession vigor on one of the men, making him put down the other man with a couple shots. Booker then sprayed a small hail of bullets towards the bartender.
"AAARGG!" The unfortunate man cried as Booker's shots tore into his shoulder and neck. He had tried getting into cover, but didn't make it behind the counter in time. As the bullets soaked into his body, his body flung around, facing Booker. He gripped his neck as blood started pouring out of his veins. Slowly, his body slid down the wall, leaving a large trace of blood smeared across its dark green paint.
Booker walked up to the counter and found seven silver eagles. He quickly pocketed the cash, and continued to search for supplies. Along with the money, Booker was also fortunate to find a bottle of salts, which he downed, replenishing his Vigors.
After searching the entire room, Booker walked out, back towards the main statue. There, he climbed up a small flight of steps that sat behind the statue, in its shadow. When Booker arrived at the top of the stairs, he could faintly hear voices from behind the solid door.
"And so, the Prophet led us into Peking, where we demonstrated to the Sodom below the true mission our Founders had given us." A man spoke from behind the doors. Booker slowly pushed the doors open and crept through the small corridor. The corridor opened up to a wooden balcony that surrounded what looked like a shrine. In the middle of the shrine, was a man with a pointed hat atop his blue uniform, speaking to other men in pointed blue uniforms.
"And when the Mandarins and the hypocrites of Washington betrayed him, our Prophet did not heel." The fanatic preacher continued. Booker summed up his situation and brought up his Devil's kiss vigor. Fire danced between his fingers as he held his pistol in the other hand, just in case these fanatics decided to get violent.
Booker climbed down a set of stairs that led to the bottom floor of the shrine. As he neared one of the men in the blue robes, the fanatic preacher stopped his sermon, and they all turned to him. After what had happened today, Booker didn't even need to wait for them to announce their attack. He quickly threw a fireball at the nearest group of fanatics, and fired a volley of shots at the fanatic preacher.
"AAAAH!"
"OH GOD I'M ON FIRE!"
"PUT IT OUT DAMMIT PUT IT OUT!"
The few unfortunate fanatics cried out as they were lit on fire. Their screams were just the background as Booker killed off the rest of the fanatics. Booker's shots from the pistol hit two other fanatics that had just scrambled out of their seats downwards him. One fell dead on the floor, while the other was sent flying backwards into a pew, which he knocked over upon falling down.
"Die you bastard!"
"Die Black Sheep!" Two other fanatics yelled as they charged him. Booker quickly shot the first one in the head, leaving him standing still a moment before falling over dead. The second one threw a punch at Booker, only to miss and have a sky-hook shoved in his face. The fanatic struggled to stop the blades from cutting through his skin, but his strength failed him and the blades promptly sliced his head clean off in a display of blood and gore. After finishing off the remaining fanatics, Booker looted their bodies and pressed onward. Even though he had just separated several men from their lives, he had no other choice. These men were evil, in the sense. Also, after joining the Pinkertons, this had become the norm for him.
However, Booker realized the preacher was nowhere to be seen. It was as if he had disappeared. Booker decided that he would keep his eyes open if the man decided to reappear, but for the moment, he walked past the litter of dead bodies towards the top of the shrine (stage). There, on the podium, was another bottle of the peculiar liquid that one of the twins had given him back at the Blue Ribbon. Booker grabbed the bottle of mysterious liquid and drank it down. The taste made him gag a little bit, but he did feel better after drinking it. Next to the stage, on the right was an elevator. Booker walked into the elevator and pressed the button. As he did so, a radio played from a set of speakers in the elevator,
"Shortly after 1'oclock this afternoon, the scoundrel – believed now by many to be Vox Populi – began his terrible rampage. Trouble came almost instantly. Full of wrath and bent on harm, the Anarchist wounded several Columbian peacemakers – before arming himself and firing into an assemblage of virtuous fair-goers."
Booker snorted after hearing the announcement.
"Even here, the press manages to twist and turn every story to their own benefit. This place starts to seem more like New York by the minute." Booker said as the elevator stopped. The metal doors opened to reveal yet another corridor.
"What does it take to get to this tower? Why don't they just have a ferry…?" Booker complained as he walked down the corridor. Before long, he encountered another wooden, door which he began to open when he saw a shirtless man strapped to a wooden board.
"Why do you do this? I just want to go back to my family!" He pleaded to an unseen figure from where Booker was standing.
What happened next, Booker would never be able to wipe from his memory.
With a hissing noise from beyond his sight, Booker heard a sudden outcry of crows from aside his view. Suddenly, the man who was strapped to the table was overcome by hundreds of crows, which viciously tore at his flesh.
"No! NO! WHY?! WHY?!" The man pleaded as he was ripped to shreds.
"H-Hold on! Hold on I'm coming!" Booker shouted as he pushed at the door, but to no avail. "What the?!" Booker looked at the gap between the doors and saw a weak metal chain holding them together. The man on the table continued to scream for mercy as he was being eaten alive in front of Booker. With adrenaline now coursing through his veins, Booker pushed the wooden door open, breaking the chains.
Booker's presence scared the flock of birds away back to their master. Booker's eyes followed them till he spotted the fanatic preacher from before. He was dressed entirely in black, with a coffin chained to his back and a thick black robe on his back. In an instant, he disappeared with a puff of black smoke and some feathers. Booker turned his attention back to the man who had been tortured.
Most of his skin had been ripped off his body, leaving nothing but blood practically over where his skin should've been. Booker slowly approached the man with his eyebrows lifted, unsure if the man was still alive.
"Uh…" Booker said as he approached the man. At first, he seemed dead, until he spat out a small pool of blood.
"…kill…me…" he said quietly. Booker stepped forward,
"What?" He asked quietly.
"KILL ME! KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME!" The man shouted back. Booker took a step back, shocked by his sudden outburst. But he knew why he had done it. He was going through immense pain right now, from a wound he would never recover from. It was either let him die slowly, or quickly. Somewhat like ending a horse's misery when it is about to die.
Booker slowly raised his hand holding the pistol to the man's face.
"I'm sorry." Booker said before pulling the trigger.
Honestly, I hated the ending to this chapter, as I feel it dragged on a bit. I hope that that's not the case, but if it is, I'm sorry. It is a filler for what is to come. Man it takes Booker FOREVER to get to Monument Island doesn't it? Well, anyway, there you go! Chapter 4!