"Yes Mr. Cohen, I understand your concern but…"
"Concern?! How dare you write off my personal ethics as CONCERN!"
Grace gripped the radio harder, trying to avoid visualizing the man's neck between her fingers.
"What do you want me to do Cohen? Demand that all of the bodies be brought back to Fort Frolic?"
"THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I WANT! What gives you the right to interfere with MY district? You don't own me, you don't own my work."
"I never said I did Cohen, but…"
"Then why, Miss Holloway, did you desecrate my masterpieces? Must I remind you of the beliefs tat Rapture was founded on? "Where scientist's need not fear ethics, where the artist need not fear the censor." Have we abandoned all of our beliefs?"
Grace resisted the urge to point out his hypocrisy. Apparently, it was obscene stray from Rapture's rules, yet giving up the rules of humanity didn't matter, murder becoming the new handshake. He also happened to be wrong. It was actually "A city where the artist would not fear the censor. Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small." Again, she had to fight for composure.
This had been going on for over an hour. Grace had been forced to excuse herself from the Limbo Room on account of Cohen sprouting obscenities through the portable radio, much to her embarrassment. She now stood just out side of the entrance, her attention divided between the madman in her right hand and the crowd inside. Sometimes crowds grew ugly, no matter how benign the occasion was. She'd seen splicers murdering each other whilst celebrating her own birthday.
That was three years ago, and she hadn't celebrated it since. She lit a candle instead, mourning both the people lost and Rapture herself.
"No, Mr. Cohen, we haven't abandoned all of our beliefs. I didn't dismantle your…insightful creations because I didn't agree with their messages. More the opposite, I dismantled them because I agreed with them. Tell me the meaning of Fleet Hall again?"
"Certainly. It is a reflection of Rapture, the bodies encased in plaster representing its citizens whilst the meticulously placed rubble represented devastation," Cohen replied, his drawling tone making it sound as though he'd memorized that description.
"Exactly! What better way to further your concept by cleaning it up? Think about it Cohen. The way that the devastation is contrasted with the preservation not by seeing them side by side, but through time, time being the metaphor of your career. It will show how you alone showed Rapture the way forward, and how art lead Rapture through dark times!"
It was complete and total bull. Grace couldn't care less about Cohen's career; she just needed him to help out.
Cohen was silent. Grace could hear the splicer's talking through the broken windows. They were talking about their memories of the surface. Thankfully, they were discussing how they could establish a community again, using their surface memories as examples. Grace was relieved that they weren't sad thinking of their past lives, discussing with gusto rather than grief.
"Yes…YES! I see it now! That's just…that's just genius!"
"Don't thank me, it was you that lead me to think this. I merely followed the clues you left behind," Grace gushed, putting on her most enthusiastic voice. She couldn't believe she was lowering herself to stroke the ego of this nutcase.
Then again, she had ordered the murder of an innocent man, resulting in the deaths of many. This was nothing in comparison.
"Yes, I see it now! I am the savior of Rapture. Hahaha! I never saw it like that!"
He gasped suddenly.
"I need to go. I need to create! Hahaha, another metaphor! As I repair Rapture, I create art!"
"Indeed you do," Grace rolled her eyes, "Better go be a savior then."
Sander Cohen cackled madly, his voice suddenly replaced by static as he turned his radio equipment off.
Grace closed her eyes and took a deep breath, grateful that Cohen was at least human enough to actually listen to her. That was more than she could say for some. At least Cohen could be reasoned with; she'd heard awful tales of the people in power all over Rapture, the "Founders" that people thought they could trust. Cohen being one of them, but his acts were more tame than that of Dr. Steinman, for example. She'd heard that he kidnapped random citizens and mutilated their facial features, sometimes chopping them up of cutting them off entirely, allowing them to roam Rapture entirely without a face, muscle and torn cartilage visible for all to see. Or perhaps Gilbert Alexander, another person she'd never met yet heard so much about. Apparently, he was so disfigured by ADAM he had to communicate through a customized security bot, frying his "employees" just because he could.
It was enough to make her stomach turn. At least she hadn't done anything like that. She'd just orders deaths. She hadn't actually killed anyone, and certainly hadn't done it for sadistic purposes. She'd done it because it was justice. It was mostly a life for a life, putting murderers down. Of course, now that everyone was a murderer, that part of her job was kind of redundant now.
"Grace Holloway?"
Great. Just great. More problems. She raised the radio back to her lips, looking longingly back into the Limbo.
"What now, Thinker?"
"I thought you'd like to know that the leak in Dionysus Park has been repaired and Stanley Poole is currently repairing the damage done to Siren Alley."
Well, at least they were making progress. At least it was something.
"Good, good. And Becky?"
"Becky Langford is currently unavailable. Unfortunately, I cannot see her on any camera or contact her through her radio. I am confident in her being alive however, so the fault must be technical."
"Okay then. What's next?"
"The Adonis Luxury Resort. This district is fully inundated. Fortunately, this district is easily repaired, as there is only one main area of destruction; the windows in Demeter's Banquet Hall are destroyed. A barricade can be placed over the breach whilst the District is drained, as these pumps are fully functional. Once drained, the windows can be replaced and the barricade will be removed."
"Thinker, you know you don't need my permission, right?"
"On the contrary, I want your permission. I feel the compulsion to inform you of my solutions, and you can either confirm or prohibit them."
"Now why the hell would I prohibit them?"
"My choices are not made with morality in mind. That's why I would rather have you review them first. For example, I may make the logical decision to destroy part of a district in order to repair wires, whereas this district could house many people."
"I see. Well, everyone in Adonis is either dead or a fish, so I got no trouble there."
Across the city, in a warehouse joined onto the one with the replacement tunnels, a green light glowed to life.
"I'm guessin' that this is the same thing as the tunnels. Fully automated, right?"
"Correct. The pumps are always on regardless, so as soon as the barricade is in place draining will begin immediately."
The barricade was, of course, specifically designed to cover that particular window. Again, when in place the barricade will expand sideways, leaving a slight gap between the window and itself so that another window could be secured with ease. A motorized crane plucked it from its resting place and dropped it into a plunge pool, where it instantly sped of to the resort, head first to avoid water resistance.
"So, was there anything else you wanted?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact there was. I wish to meet you in person,"
Grace nearly dropped the radio. Meet The Thinker? She couldn't possibly make it as far as Minerva's den at her age, despite the use her cane.
"But…"
"Meet me at the Fishbowl Diner in ten minutes. I have a feeling that it's time we got properly acquainted," Thinker said, cutting Grace off.
The Radio went dead, signifying that communications had been terminated.
What on Earth? How could she meet the thinker at the Fishbowl? She knew that he was fully integrated throughout the city, but was that because he had more than one…body? Was there a Thinker in each district, discreetly hidden yet fully in control?
Slipping the radio into her pocket, Grace re-entered the Limbo.
They were now singing an old Rapture song, one she herself had been taught and had taught others. It was like a nursery rhyme, yet kids and adults sang it alike. It had spread like wildfire since its creation. It was ironic really: fire spreading underwater.
Are you missin' the sun, are you missin' the air?
Well just sing this song and you'll forget to care!
Down in the depths here we're different and proud,
With ADAM and EVE, we'll sing way out LOUD!
With Ryan and Steinman and Lamb and Suchong,
Cohen, Alexander and old Tenenbaum!
We're links in the Great Chain, we hold fast and strong.
Still feelin' bad? Well, just re-peat the song!
It was the kind of song that was sung slowly, then when repeated it gradually gets faster and faster until people can't help but laugh as they get tongue tied. It eventually ends up a light hearted competition, people trying to sing it faster than one another.
They were currently singing at moderate speed, though it was easy to see that some were struggling whilst others were flourishing.
It was something she'd come up with herself; a way of identifying how people were spliced up if their physical stature wasn't enough to go by. It was simple: if they sing it slow, they were probably armed with Gene Tonics, the kind that affected the person's body, like increasing muscle size or enabling camouflage. Those who sang it quickly had Plasmids. They could do things quickly as Plasmids sped up reaction time as they heavily relied on the brain to direct them.
She'd been quite proud when she'd discovered this, but she'd kept it to herself. Knowledge was her weapon; there was no logic in arming others with it and loose her advantage.
Grace walked over to where Gideon was sitting, careful to avoid excited splicers as they danced to the song. She lightly tapped him on the shoulder.
He focused on her immediately, though he was smiling. It was nice to see him enjoy himself for a change, as opposed to the sullen, antisocial eccentric he used to be.
"Gideon, I'm just goin to meet a friend at the Fishbowl. Are you okay handling things here?" Grace asked. She'd intended to take Gideon with her, but seeing his face…she couldn't bring herself to take him away from the room.
Gideon shrugged.
"Sure, I can take care of things here. Just don't be too long," he said, his face now a balance between entertained and serious. Grace decided to leave before she tipped the scales in the latter's favor.
"Bring your friend with you!" Gideon called after her, and she heard him laugh.
It was such a welcomed sound in Rapture, a laugh. Hardly anyone laughed nowadays.
Maybe this was a sign that things were getting better. Maybe it was time to relax slightly, to take a break from work.
Of course, no such thing could happen.
"Grace? It's Becky. We've got a situation here."
A/N: I'd just like to take this opportunity to thank lucie-anne and Gunnery sergeant Nathan smith for their continued support throughout this story. Without your encouragement, i probably wouldn't had had the confidence to carry on. (By the way, if you like this story, please check out lucie-anne's " The Making Of A Little Sister", as it will provide insight to the Little Sister's creation 3)