*SPOILERS*
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As Booker was drowned beneath the baptismal waters, Elizabeth knew there was more work to be done. A million, million worlds were ceasing to exist, taking their versions of Columbia with them, but some were being kept firmly rooted in the Sea of Doors, her own among them. More remarkably, they weren't branching off into an infinite number of varieties; each world was traveling down a single, linear path. She could see the Vox Populi storming Comstock House and Daisy Fitzroy lying in a pool of her own blood, and all of it was being upheld so she could arrive in this moment to watch the last of Booker's life bubble to the surface of the river.
Elizabeth knew she had to go, but continued to stand idly, staring blankly at the water while it settled. She could feel each version of herself fading away, lost to her in a way that went beyond darkness. Booker had failed them all when he was unable to destroy their respective Siphons. Ruefully, she knew there was nothing to be done for them. Those Elizabeths were never exposed to the fullest extent of their abilities, and as a result they were as erasable as everyone else.
"Of course I'm still here." Elizabeth muttered to herself. "Without me and my past, the Sea of Doors would still be in its original state. It probably tried to erase me, but the paradox wouldn't allow it."
Taking slow and deliberate steps, her boots splashing lightly through the water, Elizabeth returned to the Sea of Doors. She knew that Comstock still existed in one form or another, and that for Booker's sake he couldn't be allowed to live. It would be like spitting on the memory of her only friend. Feeling spiteful and guilty with herself, Elizabeth formulated a plan for revenge against Comstock.
First she would need another guardian. Elizabeth knew that she wouldn't have gotten this far without Booker. Logically, another Booker was the best choice. He would likely regain his memories after recovering from tear sickness, his value in a fight was beyond question, and he would trust Elizabeth wholeheartedly. The only problem was that . . . she would have to travel with Booker again. How could she face him after what she'd done?
*No . . . No, Booker won't do at all, Too many memories and too much pain.* Elizabeth told herself. *For both of us.* she amended after a moment of contemplation.
"But who should replace him? Who even could?" Elizabeth asked herself as she walked among the Lighthouses, each one a door to another man and another city.
*What about you?* She asks solemnly, placing her hand against the thick wooden door. *Are you willing to help me?* Knowing the answer, and how this journey would end, Elizabeth pushed against the Door.
Break: Switch to Marcus's perspective.
Today just wasn't Marcus's day. Scaling over the brick wall and into the estate's inner courtyard had been easy. The barrier, if you could call it that, had only reached up to his chin, and it had been a simple matter to pull himself up and over the wall. The problems had started immediately after he'd hit the ground. Several assault rifles had begun firing, sending Marcus diving for cover behind a stone bench. More than two dozen armed cartel members were interspersed between several large bushes that broke his line of sight more than anything else. Still, that many pissed off guards was never a good thing. Marcus had quickly squeezed off a few rounds from his M9 Beretta, before a withering amount of return fire had him rethinking his position. Bullets were chipping away at the stone, sending small shards of it in all directions, while gray puffs of dust erupted across its surface.
Noticing a drop in the volume of fire, Marcus dashed towards a line of cars, as he interpreted it to mean that at least some of the shooters were reloading. Diving behind the nearest vehicle, he rapidly turned to return fire over the hood. His sights centered on a balaclava before a single 9 millimeter round cratered the man's skull. Shifting his aim, Marcus fired a flurry of shots as fast as he could pull the trigger towards a pair of armed guardsmen making a break for a new firing position of their own. Most of the shots went wild as he was attempting to suppress the cartel members, but two made clear impacts into one of the men's leg. He dropped to the ground clutching his bleeding limb and crying out in pain. Marcus was inserting a fresh magazine when he noticed the wounded guard's comrade was pulling him behind a large pile of concrete. Frustrated that he couldn't finish the job, Marcus leaned out from the safety of his position to try and draw a bead on the men. Instead, he found his gaze locking unto another member of the cartel, this one stood on a second floor balcony aiming a long, bulky tube directly at him. Recognizing his intent, Marcus found himself sprinting alongside the lined up vehicles, heading towards the estate's garage as the cartel member launched his deadly projectile.
"Jesus!" Marcus shouted over the deafening explosion of an RPG-7's rocket impacting where he had been crouching only moments earlier, behind an original '69 Trans Am Firebird. True to its name, the muscle car was now nothing more than twisted metal, billowing black smoke, and raging pillars of fire. The thick oily smoke was proof that the vehicle had been sitting on a full eighteen gallon tank of gas. The searing flames were already spreading to the nearby cars, threatening to ignite them as well.
The blast had loosed a shock wave that left Marcus sprawled on the ground. He was struggling to hear through the shrill ringing in his ear and his vision was blurring everything into indistinct blobs. Disoriented, he groped around desperately for his handgun. His fingers had finally found the barrel of the pistol when a heavy boot kicked the gun across the room.
"Don't move American!" a voice ordered shakily in accented English. Marcus's head had cleared enough for him to see that the man aiming a Kalashnikov at his head was staring back at him with nervous eyes. For good reason, Marcus had left at least one of his friends a corpse, while managing to evade all of their return fire.
*Except the one shot that mattered.* Marcus thought angrily. It always came down to that with him. There was always just ONE too many enemies, or they were just a LITTLE too coordinated. This time it was his own fault. He'd been just a BIT too focused on the here and now, not paying enough attention to the rest of the battlefield.
"If you move I will shoot you 'til you are dead." The man warned in a voice too anxious for Marcus to take seriously. He was clearly a recent addition to Hidalgo's guard, and Marcus would hardly call the cream of the crop effective warriors. He'd have been dead long before this point if they were. Sheer numbers made them dangerous. Alone, they were nothing more than a hindrance.
Sounding remarkably unperturbed by the soviet made assault rifle that was all but pressed against his face, Marcus asked the cartel member a simple question.
"How can you shoot me dead if your weapon is still safed?"
Confused, the man tilted his weapon to the side so he could confirm Marcus's observation. Seizing onto the guard's distraction, Marcus also seized the barrel of his Kalashnikov, wrenching it from the man's hands. Wasting no time, he swiftly jammed the weapon's stock into the guard's ribs, causing him to drop to his knees clutching at his stomach. Marcus finished the guard by bringing the firearm's stock crashing down into his head.
Pausing for a moment, Marcus examined the man's weapon, an old AK-47. To his disgust, he discovered that the firearm actually was still on safety.
"Stupid incompetent Motherfu-" Marcus started before being cut off by the sound of rapid boots and orders being shouted in Spanish. Flicking the safety off, he spun around and aimed down the sights, ready to silence anyone who dared to use the doorway leading from the estate into the garage. Surprisingly, the noise was heading away from Marcus and up to a higher floor. Deciding the need to complete his mission as quickly as possible was more important than his own safety; Marcus began to move into the estate of his primary target, one Hidalgo Delgado.
The man was a drug smuggling kingpin, dominating the trade being routed across the entire southern border of the United States. His men were personally responsible for the killing of eleven DHS border security officers over a three year period, and a plethora of other offenses ranging from human sex trafficking to the assassination of specific individuals the cartel needed to put in the ground. Marcus had faced one of these would-be assassins after he had been labeled a problem individual by the cartel. He had been a fierce combatant, giving Marcus two long gashes across his chest with a machete, before receiving a wound of his own in the form of Marcus ramming his Kabar knife into the Mexican's chest. Avoiding the sternum, he'd angled the blade to pierce up and behind the thick bone protecting the heart, resulting in a near-instantaneous collapse from the rupturing of so vital an organ.
Marcus had all his senses on high alert for just such an adversary as he moved from the garage and into Hidalgo's kitchen. Checking right, then left, he proceeded past the rows of shelves stocked with all manner of goods both fresh and prepackaged. Stopping at an open doorway to listen for any guards, he was able to identify the staircase leading up to the second floor. After a few more moments passed with no signs of danger, Marcus made his way silently to the foot of the first step. He stalked his way up the stairs. Each step was careful and deliberate, and while he moved he kept his weapon aimed at the doorway waiting at the end of the spiraling staircase.
Sounds of a struggle could be heard coming from under the door. Prepping one of his British G60 'flashbang' grenades in his left hand, Marcus got his Kalashnikov settled into the crook of his right arm. Its long barrel made it a less-than-ideal weapon to breach with, but the panicked, angry cries of a woman on the other side of the door left Marcus with little choice. He activated the cybernetics installed throughout his arms for muscular enhancement, hammered the length of his left arm from elbow to fist against the door, and released the flashbang as he felt the hinges give way, sending both the door and the stun grenade into the room. With the ignition of mercury and magnesium powder producing a sudden burst of light, adding to the disorientation of one hundred sixty decibels sounding off in an enclosed space, the room's occupants were rendered blind, deaf, and dizzy as the noise disrupted their sense of balance.
Marcus assessed the situation before fully registering it. Three cartel members in black balaclavas were reeling alongside a young brunette woman, presumably the one making the defiant outbursts that had prompted his breach. Working on auto-pilot, Marcus put a pair of rounds into one man and then a second, before throwing the full weight of his left fist into a straight jab that connected with the third man's throat. Belatedly, Marcus realized he'd failed to power down his cybernetics as his augmented strength had launched the guard into the wall with tremendous force. The blow had crushed his throat to the point his cervical spine had been jarred out of place and a smear of blood colored the wall over his corpse.
Transfixed by the gore caused by his fist, Marcus forgot about the woman he'd just rescued for several seconds, thinking only to power down his cybernetic enhancements. When he did remember, he dropped to a crouch beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder that she quickly shook off. Her hair looked like it had been longer, but someone had done an absolute hack job, messily shearing off the brown locks to just over her chin. As she tried to clear her vision by blinking rapidly, Marcus was able to observe that she had piercing blue eyes. Vigorously rubbing her eyes seemed to do the trick, and when she took her hands away, they held Marcus's own with an off-putting intensity. Marcus found himself silent for a few seconds, frozen by the clarity behind those eyes, before he cleared his throat and addressed the woman in a business-like tone.
"I'm a DAS agent working with the United States government. Are you alright Miss?"
Break: Switch to Elizabeth's perspective
As soon as she'd entered the lighthouse to leave the Sea of Doors, Elizabeth knew something was wrong. Her powers failed to manifest to allow her a way back. The door had, for all intents and purposes, locked behind her, and she couldn't remember where she'd hidden the key. Left with no other options, she'd continued to walk through the space between what both was and wasn't until the universe got its facts straight and solidified into one fixed reality. Immediately, three armed brigands had set themselves upon her. She'd struggled futilely against them, throwing insults their way the entire time, until a blinding flash accompanied by a deafening noise took the fight out of all of them.
She'd been waiting anxiously for her senses to return when she'd felt a heavy hand try to grab her shoulder. After shaking it off, Elizabeth had begun trying everything to bring her vision into focus. She had blinked and rubbed at her eyes until they finally settled on a pair of dark blue eyes directly across from her. They belonged to an imposing figure of a man with black hair wearing an even darker suit of armor; at least the thick padding along the torso and chest implied it was used for protection. His gloves, while thin around his hands, looked more like a knight's metal gauntlets, but the overlaid plates were made from the same material as what protected his torso. His boots seemed to be made from a simple combination of cowhide leather and nylon, dyed black to match the rest. All in all, it looked as if a dangerous individual had come to her rescue.
Rather than shy away, Elizabeth held the strange man's gaze while trying to gauge his intentions. His eyes held both concern and suspicion; a reasonable combination for someone eyeing a potentially injured woman with an equal potential for being a threat. She was about to speak up when the man did it for her.
"I'm a DAS agent working with the United States government. Are you alright Miss?"
This 'Dee-Ae-Ess' agent may have had emotion in his eyes, but that voice was as serious as they come. Not a trace of any concern for Elizabeth, sympathetic or otherwise, could be deduced from his tone. Taking a breath to steady herself, she responded in a civil, if cool, tone.
"I'm quite alright, but thank you for asking," she told him, starting to rise to her feet. "and please, call me Elizabeth." She added on a whim, wiping the dust and dirt from the rich, deep blue fabric of Lady Comstock's skirt.
"Sure thing, Elizabeth." Marcus responded with the serious tone still firmly in place. "If it's alright with you, can we finish twenty questions later, because right now I have a timeframe to keep to? Ah, who am I kidding? With all the detours I've had to take, you'd need a damn time machine to have any chance of still making the timeline."
"Well, you know my name." Elizabeth remarked as she followed him back down the stairs. "If you don't mind me asking, what's yours?"
Marcus answered her in a voice that had an undercurrent of irritation "Actually, I do mind. Now, if you'd be so kind as to stop talking, I'd like to ensure that we can get out of this estate alive."
Annoyed herself, Elizabeth merely huffed, and folded her arms across her chest. Seeing no way to force a conversation, Elizabeth began learning all she could of the man before her by watching every nuance of his movements. His steps were long and nearly silent, the mark of someone trained to stalk their adversary. He maneuvered his weapon around every corner, much like Booker would always turn in a way that left him prepared to kill whatever might be waiting on the other side. His focus seemed a bit more direct than Booker's though. He wasn't stopping to rummage through drawers; in fact he was only looking long enough to confirm that no one was trying to ambush him before aiming back down the hallway they were taking. He was moving with one goal in mind.
*He's planning on killing someone.* Elizabeth realized with sudden shock. *And clearly whoever it is must be a dangerous person, as he is checking each and every doorway looking for threats.* She felt a nagging suspicion that his target wasn't here anymore, if they'd been here at all. Surely someone would have tried to stop them by now, as they had walked down the hallway for two full minutes without seeing a single guard. Silently, she watched the agent in front of her press his ear against the wood of an ornate door at the hallway's end.
"Bastard was kind enough to not leave any active booby traps at least." She heard Marcus mutter under his breath. Pressing himself against the wall on the door's left side, he waved Elizabeth over.
"When I break in there all Hell is likely to break loose, so I need you to find a safe place to hide. Can you do that for me?"
His eyes now matched his voice. There was a lethal focus behind them that spoke of death to any who got in his way. Yet another similarity this man had with Booker. Both became lions before a fight.
"Yes, I'll go wait in that room over there." Elizabeth said while indicating a small bedroom two doors down the hall.
"Good. Don't leave it." He ordered her. "I'll come get you when it's over. Now go."
Break: Switch to Marcus's Perspective
After ensuring Elizabeth was safely tucked away in one of Hidalgo's spare rooms, as it just wouldn't do to kill the asshole but have an innocent die in the crossfire, Marcus readied another G60 to breach the room. This was Hidalgo's private quarters. All the intelligence they had on the man stated that, if he was anywhere in the house, it would be this room right here. Breaching in exactly the same fashion as before, Marcus swung his rifle across the room, searching for targets. Instead, he found a room that told a story he was sick of hearing. Hidalgo had been indulging himself in one of his many expensive leisures, champagne this time if the empty bottle was any indicator, when he received a rude awakening. A Direct Action Specialist was attempting to storm the building, and they needed to leave without delay. Within minutes Hidalgo would have escaped through a hidden passage, or a waiting get-away vehicle, or some equally cliché bullshit. Marcus had played his part at least a half dozen times since he joined Shadows Inc. early this year.
Marcus's radio burst to life as it relayed Cassie's voice from where it sat on his shoulder.
"Come in Agent Delavee, Command wants an update. Do you have Hidalgo?" Her voice was still too official. She was either worried about him or Command had been riding her ass for that update. In all likelihood, both were probably true. Marcus mused, while he keyed in to respond.
"That's a negative Cassie. Sorry, but we must've just missed him."
"Surely there's something we can do to track him down." She proposed half-heartedly.
"You know as well as I do that that ain't happening." Marcus told her in a defeated undertone.
"Ain't?" Cassie giggled lightly. "Careful Marcus, your hick is showing."
"So it is. In other news, this mission wasn't a total loss." Marcus said, brightening with change of topic.
"How so?" Cassie asked, her mood also making a change for the better.
"This place is a treasure trove of intelligence. I'd tell command that we need a cleanup team down here before the U.S. tries to get involved with all of its 'regulation'" Marcus suggested with a small scowl placed on the last word.
"Already on it, big boy. This isn't my first trip around the block you know? Anything else?" Cassie asked while giving the local cleanup squads the green light to move in.
"Two things. First, there may still be armed cartel members wandering around, as I can't clear the entire estate alone. Second, I've picked up a tag-along."
"Are you going to need a black room?" Cassie asked in reference to the facilities used to interrogate individuals for information.
"No. She's a young woman. Goes by Elizabeth, no last name, and I'd say she's in her early twenties, if she's even that old. Found her struggling against some of Hidalgo's thugs. Killed them, rescued her, and now I feel like she's sorta my responsibility. Odd thing about her is that she's wearing vintage clothing."
"Vintage?" Cassie asked incredulously.
"Yeah. She wears a waist length jacket with full size sleeves cut from a rich, dark blue fabric that end in white cuff links. Her dress is more of a full length skirt 'cept it has small hitch that causes the fabric to stop in different places. It creates the effect of the dress ending in a circle tilted along its axis. The dress is made from the same fabric as her skirt, and a white corset acts as the bodice to her dress. Her boots just seem to be an authentic leather set for whatever time the dress is modeled after, as they complete the ensemble quite nicely."
"You're kidding." Cassie said, still in disbelief.
"Like I said, vintage." Marcus told her. "I'll talk with you later Cassie, cause right now I need to grab the girl and go."
"Alright. See you later Marcus." Cassie told him.
Turning off his radio, Marcus returned to where Elizabeth was waiting patiently. Speaking conversationally to Elizabeth, Marcus asked a rather odd question.
"Would you like to stay with me for the time being Elizabeth? I don't have the time to find you a place to stay, and something tells me that you wouldn't have the money for it anyways."
Elizabeth managed not to let her face flush at the implications of his question, and thought about the pros and cons of such an arrangement. It only took her a few seconds to realize that there was really no benefit to turning him down She needed somewhere safe, quiet, and controlled to figure out why her abilities had diminished from their earlier omniscience. The street offered none of these, no matter what city you were in. Grounded, flying, underwater they all had their downsides. Elizabeth accepted his proposal with as much grace as circumstances allowed, but Marcus brushed aside her thanks. He just remarked that he couldn't very well leave her here now could he? Elizabeth didn't know, but after the adrenaline wore off she was too tired to care. She hardly even noticed that Marcus lived in a one bedroom apartment with only bathroom, a tiny living space, and kitchen too small to be truly functional, and it escaped her attention that Marcus had Elizabeth sleeping in his bed while he slept on a love-seat in front of his television monitor.
Author's Note: No real message this time, just leave a review if you happen to stop by. Praise, criticism, feelings it's all welcome. Just please don't be downright hateful. (It's not like the Author's Note will have any real effect on you if you plan to leave hate posts. I just felt like saying it.)