"Clinical trial Lot 83 Dr. Johnson/Client Fontaine Futuristics. The product is entitled "Glow", which will grant the individual bioluminescence at will. Intended for use in the maintenance areas by workers in dark sections of the city. Subject is of poor health, though suitable for the requirements for experimentation. Nurse, would you kindly administer the Tonic?" the doctor drawled in his Texan accent, boredom evident in his distracted gaze.

"Please, no more," the man begged, weakly struggling against the leather belts binding his wrists to the chair. He hadn't any strength left to fight, barely able to lift his head to look the doctor in the eye. He didn't even know the doctor's name, his mind unable to retain any shred of information he was given through his fatigue.

He felt the cold lick of the disinfectant wipe against his inner elbow before the sharp scratch of the hypodermic needle, easily puncturing the vein as countless needles had done before.

A hysterical sob burst from the man's clenched teeth, echoing from the sterilized walls in the otherwise silent laboratory.

"No...I c-can't," he gasped, unable to stop the shakes as his body responded to the thousandth corporeal invasion by sterilized medical equipment. He strained to raise his eyeline, just high enough to take in the nurse's pink varnished nails as she forced the Gene Tonic into his system with her thumb, the syringe emptying of its acid yellow contents.

He never knew how he would react to each Plasmid and Gene Tonic they'd tested on him. No two were the same. The more beneficial serums, like the "Fountain of Youth" tonic that he'd been injected with several days before, or "Scout," they'd tried a week further back rarely stung; in fact, it was almost like they had injected him with morphine for the euphoric effect it had on his body. But then there were others that hurt, the ones like "Telekinesis" and "Natural Camouflage" in particular: one had knocked him out for several days with a resounding headache whilst the other made his skin sear with acid-like effects. He'd overheard the doctors talking excitedly whilst they'd been firing tennis balls at him to test his reflexes; saying how subject "Charles Haynes" had been spliced with Telekinesis with seemingly no side effects. They'd celebrated with champagne, happy that they'd finally worked the kinks out of a product to the point that it was finally marketable.

And after 12 suicides, 27 losing their minds, 16 cardiac arrests and 9 deaths of the total 173 subjects used, it was considered a job well done.

"Subject appears to be lucid after lot 83 being introduced to his system. Perhaps we could market that as a perk," the doctor observed, the accu-vox rattling in his hand as it recorded his narration.

The man moaned, his empty stomach rolling as his blissful moment of relaxation gave way to nausea. It wasn't strong, just enough to want to curl up in a darkened room and leave the world for a few minutes.

He breathed slowly, feeling it ebb with every exhalation.

"Dim the lights please, Caroline" the doctor instructed.

"Yes sir Dr. Johnson!" the nurse chirped, her heels clicking against the tiles as she hurried for the light switch. They softened under her touch, the blaring white dulling to an early morning grey.

Morning. That was an artificial word they used in Rapture. None of the citizens had witnessed a natural morning for years, but the Helios Light Inc. tried their best to simulate a convincing time cycle with public lights in the streets.

It was apparent that the Tonic worked without even examining himself: he could see his own eyelids glowing a sickly yellow-orange colour. He opened his eyes and observed his hands. They were bright orange, patches of neon red and pulses of radioactive yellow dancing across his skin as he shifted against his restraints, as though each motion caused a ripple of light in his skin. They reminded him of the barnacles and sea weed he sometimes saw growing on Rapture's exterior, taking root and providing light when Rapture dimmed for the night. Some clever sod harvested and sold it in snow globe-like glass orbs of water to parents, the self sustaining night lights keeping the monsters at bay for every child afraid of the dark.

"The subject is glowing already, though the colours are rather ostentatious. Are you doing this intentionally?" Dr. Johnson asked, sounding like he was trying to diagnose and illness; asking questions without sounding accusing.

"I don't think so," the man replied, tapping into his already known plasmid triggers to see if he could will the glow to dim.
His skin instantly returned to normal, leaving the room dark by comparison.

"Subject is able to control the intensity of the illumination without practice. It seems to require no effort, more that as long as the user selects the brightness of the skin it will remain so until intentionally changed," Dr. Johnson recorded, a note of satisfaction colouring his otherwise uninterested voice, "Lights."

The nurse flicked the lights up just as the door swung open. A scientist, accompanied by two suit clad men entered the room, walking in a tight formation through the double doors. They strode past the confused looking nurse and directly over to where the man was tied, completely ignoring him.
The scientist offered his hand to Dr. Johnson.

"Good morning, Dr. Alexander," Dr. Johnson sighed, pausing the accu-vox and lazily setting it on the surgical table. He shook Alexander's hand without any conviction, a simple touch of the palms by way of greeting.

"Yes, hello Dr. Johnson. Sorry to drop in on you unannounced," Alexander winced, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably as he realised he had interrupted an experiment. Dr. Johnson gave no indication of accepting Alexander's apology.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Dr. Johnson asked, moving back to the man in the chair and withdrawing a stethoscope from within his coat. He applied the cool metal disk to the man's bare chest, evidently resenting being interrupted despite Alexander's precedence in Fontaine Futuristics.

"Oh, yes," Alexander laughed nervously, "The file, Mr. Jensen?"

The man to Alexander's left held out a thick looking file, printed with the almost cliché "CONFIDENTIAL" in block red capitals, along with the logo for Fontaine Futuristics. He flipped open the file, flicking through papers of various colours until found what he was looking for.

"Ahh, here we are," Alexander announced, removing the file from the folder and handing it to Dr. Johnson.

"As stated in this document, this man has been carefully screened and selected to participate in the protector program, run by myself after Dr. Suchong's passing," Alexander rattled off, sounding as though he had said this speech several times, "He is to be taken into my custody with immediate effect. He will be escorted to the erm, private laboratories to be prepped for the experiment."

"With immediate...I'm in the middle of a test," Dr. Johnson frowned, exasperated by this new information, "Couldn't you have waited until I was at least finished recording my observations?"

Alexander cleared his throat awkwardly, turning to the man at his right. The man nodded, and popped the clasps of the suitcase he had been holding. He removed the crossbow that lay inside and aimed it at the Doctor's chest.

"I see," Dr. Johnson shrugged, dutifully untying the belts around the subject's wrists, "You realise that I shall have to notify my superiors about this? This is the only test subject for this product so far, and the client would prefer to see the results first hand."

There was a soft twang of stretching elastic as Alexander's subordinate pulled the trigger, so quiet it was barely audiable; it seemed that Dr. Johnson had simply collapsed, pausing for a moment before sinking to the floor as his heart just stopped beating, his back turned all the while.

"Be sure to collect that accu-vox," Alexander said, motioning for the men to tidy up the lab. They quickly moved about the room with rehearsed familiarity, efficiently removing any incriminating evidence from the lab whilst Alexander set to work. He quickly retrieved a small torch from his pocket, lifting the eyelids of the subject and testing the reactivity of his pupils by shining the light in his eyes. He tutted disapprovingly, moving to take his pulse. When half a minute had past, he withdrew his own personal accu-vox, pressing record.

"I have procured the next test subject for the protector program. Following the success with Subject Delta, I am confident that we will be able to restore this subject to an adequate state of health. He has already been spliced with," he checked the subject's notes, "37 assorted Plasmids and Gene Tonics. I can see he already has several of the modifications required of a protector; the Armoured Shell, Elemental Sponge, ooh! He has the experimental Natural Camouflage I worked on. Yes, he will do perfectly."

He hoisted the man to his feet, lifting his chin with his finger.

"Welcome to the team, subject Digamma."

"Hey, Diggs, you gotta focus for chris' sake!" Zeke hissed, heavily clapping him on the back. Despite his suit, Digamma winced; Zeke had a really heavy hand, regardless of the recipient.

"I m sorry Zeke, I just lost focus."

It had been years since that moment. Ever since that day, Digamma hadn't been able to prevent the flashbacks he'd endured throughout his life in Rapture. They said that ADAM was supposed to deteriorate your mind in all aspects on the logical side; reasoning, memory, problem solving. By all rights, that moment should have been eradicated from his mind as he ransacked the city for any consumable items and maybe smash a few windows along the way. Instead, the ADAM seemed to have bestowed that memory resilient properties; it sprang up whenever he least expected it and usurped any thought process he had been entertaining until it was finished. It had been a constant source of aggravation for Digamma, but none more so than to Zeke.

"Nuff' of your excuses mate. We've been trackin' this bastard for the last three hours and i'm jus' abou' ready to eat him instead. The las' thing I need is you starin' at the wall like a crank. So jus' pay attention to ME!" Zeke whacked him again, his voice hissing just loud enough so that their prey couldn't hear.

Digamma closed his eyes, focusing as he tried to clear all thought of his past from his mind, trying to lock them away as he always tried to do. It never worked.

"Jus' think of all those cans," Zeke groaned, clutching his stomach as he crouched behind the wreckage of a long-destroyed defence turret, "and all those packets the bastard is hoardin' in that cupboard. Now, i'm gonna hit him with the juice, you're gonna mow him down and the key is ours, okay?"

Digamma looked one last time at the man ahead. He had stopped; a faulty Securis door was refusing him entry and he'd resorted to hammering on it with his wrench.

Without a moment's hesitation, Zeke ran out from behind his hiding spot and charged strait for the splicer, his fist already crackling with blue sparks. The man turned just in time for Zeke to punch him strait in the mouth, electricity flaring around the man's head as Zeke rammed an Electro Bold down his throat. He hadn't the time to cry out in shock, the electricity paralysing his body. Zeke quickly skipped back, allowing Digamma all the room he needed. He fired up his drill, the engine roaring in the enclosed space as he lined his body up with that of the man; he was shaking on the spot, electricity still arching from his body and licking the metal around him.

With one flex of his legs Digamma surged forward, closing the distance between himself and his target in one bound. He saw everything as though in slow motion; the man regaining his senses, turning to look into the eyes of his killer, raising his hands in a futile attempt at protecting himself. Digamma saw his own arm swing as hard as it could, an action that had seemed to have been encoded into his body's nervous system the moment they'd bolted his drill on. He didn't even feel the drill connect, his body numb to the impact as he sent the man flying back, his head all but liquefying as it connected with the Securis door at such a high speed. Time returned to normal as his body slid to the ground, his blood painting a gruesome red stroke across the metal.

There was the grinding of machinery as the door seemed to have worked its obstruction free. It opened, belatedly permitting the now dead man through. His upper body slumped back, lying across the threshold.

"Keep watch, you!" Zeke barked, falling on the man's corpse and frantically searching his pockets, "That stunt with the drill probably woke the dead with that racket!"

Digamma did as he was told, deciding it was better to attend to their security rather than argue Zeke's hypocritical comment. He didn't have to wait long; Zeke had found the key he was looking for in seconds, ripping it triumphantly from around the corpse's mulched neck.

"GOT THE BUGGER! Now quick, back to the-"

"...really remember her that well. I think she was brunette? I know, she was my mom; I'm a terrible daughter. I should remember her face."

Voices. Zeke's head whipped around, searching for their origin. He cursed, unable to locate them; they seemed to be bouncing from the walls, echoing all around them. He snapped back to look at Digamma, their eyes locking.

"Quick!" he rasped, grabbing Digamma by the collar and dragging him away to a corner of the room. There were several discarded sacks of fertilizer to hide behind, providing convenient cover. Digamma had just dived behind them after Zeke when the voices suddenly magnified, signifying that the strangers had entered the room.

"But you tried your best Becky! You escaped from them, which is all your mother wanted."

The woman, Becky, laughed kindly at this.

"I know you're trying to help, but you didn't know my mother. I shared her heart with the trees. While I was away, she had plenty of time to focus on her work...don't give me that look! That was how we lived; we loved each other, but work was quintessential to our relationship. I guess she thought we could bond over science, and I'd be lying if I said I wanted it any other way. She knew I would escape from them anyway, so there was no point in looking for me. And I thank her for that."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I can't remember having parents at all."

"That doesn't help, but I appreciate it all the same."

Digamma peeked over the top of the bag he was crouching behind, careful not to reveal his location by moving too quickly or making any noise. He saw two people: a man, a strange mask perched on top of his head accompanied by a woman, pale in complexion and mousy brown hair.

They were both young, a rare commodity in Rapture.

Digamma felt a sharp pain tear along the left side of his face as Zeke yanked on his ear, forcing his head down.

"What the hell'a you tryna do?!" Zeke whispered furiously, his eyes wide, "We don' need any attention you palook'uh!"

But Digamma wasn't listening to him. He had seen her face, her hair, those eyes. It had triggered another memory, a memory he had been certain he'd never re-experience.

A memory he'd never wanted to lose.

A/N: I'm sorry for being such a crap uploader, so i made this one extra long. As an idea, would it bee good if i consolidated some of the chapters so that rather than having 20, i have 10 instead? Just a thought :P