CHAPTER FOUR: MAGICAL MELODIES AFOOT
Our heroes scooted off into the beauteous underwater metropolis of Rapture. Lo! So many sights and wonders, so many diversions and obscurities! While the newcomers gazed at such establishments as "Planned Parenthood by Fontaine Futuristics" and "Sinclair's Good Liquor," Jack was sitting in quiet contemplation. Since entering the bathysphere he had already pounded four cold ones, and was torn between feelings of ennui and childlike excitement.
"Look!" screamed the boatman. "It's Nini Lyon's Doll Babies!" The Big Dog shot him a glare that could topple major architectural wonders, and the boatman quickly shut his pie hole.
The bathysphere docked and Jack quickly overtook the welcoming bay for the big room with the stairs. He engaged his quadriceps and made a massive leap to the second floor. He made a beeline for the ADAM machine he had obtained a heaping helping of Electro Bolt in his previous romp, and was furious to find it thoroughly looted.
"Fuck!"
His cadre of tagalongs caught up with him. The deformed woman gazed longingly at the broken machine, lamenting its emptiness. She had been hoping to achieve self-worth through genetic modification. Jack, who sensed her disappointment, feigned the affection one would conjure in front of the hated dog of a distant relation at a family gathering. "It's okay, I shot up like fifty of these last time I was here, there is surely more to score."
A horrible laugh, like that of a hyena, split the relative silence. From out of the shadows emerged a big, beefy man, reminscent of the incredible hulk, but with a party mask on. Jack got his blood up at the sight of this unfamiliar opponent, and he ran through his options. His hands cycled through eruptions of bees, ice, fire, and barnacles, but Big Bertha beat him to it.
She ripped a pistol out from between the unfortunately corporeal mass of her gelatinous, shivering thighs. Wanting to impress the Big Dog, she summoned up some bravery.
"Freeze!" she rasped in a grating contralto register. "Hands where I can see them!"
Her rich, dulcet tones left the beast confused and conflicted, and that moment of hesitation was all the justification Jack needed to unleash the sweet release of Satan's asshole.
Now imagine power my friends, power in the form of a song, a masterclass composition, that is the crackle of flames with a howling gurgle counterpoint. Jack thought the immolation was quick and painless, but clearly, having never gone to school, he did not understand the meaning of the word "immolation." Although quite an egregious shortcoming, I believe most individuals would agree that our hero has more virtues than most saints, and should in fact be commended for this character flaw. It brought him closer to the humanity he so tragically lacked.
After the splicers's nerve endings were frayed, the flesh charred, the blood boiled, the Big Dog began to riff through his pockets for some good eats. Rapture was hungry business. He was a ravenous beast my friends, more so than usual, and sought a hot dog to quell the lamentations of his tummy. His compatriots, the trembling trio, could only gape in shock and awe. They hadn't been prepared for the horror that is Rapture. But for our hero, the city is just an arena. A gladitorial coliseum crafted by Jack's father specifically to demonstrate his capabilities. At least, that is what Jack told himself so he did not feel sad at night. All of these shenanigans and this monkeying around were, for Jack Ryan, just an extreme sport like lacrosse or toboganning, except slightly more dangerous.
"What are you looking for?" asked the whomping 'woman.' She was clearly ignorant of how things went down in the city, so Jack informed her around a mouthful of found cupcake. "Food, you fat fuck." Satisfied with his explanation, her repulsive brain nonetheless bitched to itself "So...where is MY food?" Being just barely on the preferable side of the line between being braindead or struggling to achieve a 900 on the SAT, the trollish trollop refrained from bellyaching to the Big Dog. That would have indeed been a mistake, the unfixable kind.
Unbeknownst to our heroes, there was a doctor watching all of this action unfold. A doctor named Tenbomb MD, and she was a wicked witch. Once she had jammed a needle into a man's ballsack and...well, that is actually the entire story. Suffice to say she was not to be trifled with.
She jammed her face up against the ironglass window she was watching our heroes from, hawklike, but her nose shattered when she fell face-first into the floor due to the greaseball lubricative tendencies of her hoary head of hair.
She'd just have to cut in on the business later. Tenbalm MD, by then a horny old rapscallion who hadn't known the touch of a man in eons,screamed at nothing in the room full of little girls. The harmonic legato thunk-a-dunk of her fist on the window slowed as Jack's retreating back grew ever smaller, until he was gone completely. She turned to the cold concrete floor for comfort, before utilizing her doctor's education to surmise that probably, she was feeling enormous pain due to her broken appendage. Fuck, Tenbomb screamed, before getting up to go find a Mend-A-Bone InstaBox. One of the small girls she surrounded herself with asked what time dinner was, and Tenbomb backhanded her into a cabinet.
But she didn't know what she was missing out on. Jack had just found a bunch of used EVE needles in a woman's bathroom, and was jamming them into his feet post-haste in order to chase his quickly fading high. His eyes ignited with bioluminescent rage and he began to set the bathroom on fire.
His ragtag crew of inferior beings watched all this insanity from a relatively safe distance. The boatman offhandedly regaled them with the tale of how while living in Arizona, his girlfriend at the time nearly died of a rohypnol overdose, and how his efforts to save her actually landed him a stint in jail due to some bullshit charges. Despite the sordid subject matter, the fact that Jack Ryan wasn't participating in or the subject of the conversation made it the most comfortable and easygoing discourse they had had in weeks. They all agreed to never attempt to save a loved one, indeed, to never try saving anyone ever.
Meanwhile Jack was still freaking out and running train on the girl's bathroom. One of the walls exploded, revealing a tunnel that lead deep into the bowels of Rapture. Truly, even in the throes of madness, our hero is favored by the lady of luck.
"I think this is where we need to go." Nobody wanted to argue with him, so they scampered into the dubious tunnel.