"Let me see you."
The words were so gentle, and they still managed to daze you. She looked so frail, it didn't seem like the words could've come from her lips. With a wrenching heart, you honored her request. Tearing away the tubes that fed you oxygen from the tank on your bank, you seized your helmet and raised it up to the ceiling.
Removing your helmet, to you, felt like a feat comparable to Atlas holding the world upon his shoulders. It had become your face, the you that was known to everyone. Taking that away felt like stripping yourself of your own identity for the second time. You had no idea what you looked like, and your imagination filled with the unspeakable horrors that splicers whom had less mutilation on the genetic level wore. From behind you, you could hear the other Sisters "Oo"ing and "Ahh"ing at what must've been quite the sight to behold. Fortunately, your darling daughter gazed upon your visage and smiled. It was one that could melt the coldest hearts, one of pure love and acceptance.
"Even your face. The man still shines...past the monster they tried to make you." Eleanor stated. Her eyes closed, and she drifted back to an uneasy slumber.
Those words were the straw that broke you down. Placing your helmet onto the floor, slowly enough to avoid the clanking of metal on metal, you lowered yourself until you were on your hands and knees. You did something then you had forgotten was possible.
You cried.
The tears came like a flash flood. The walls you had built came crashing down in that moment. All the horrible, detestable things you pushed away assaulted your memory on every front. Sammy Fletcher and Lizzy, killed by a torpedo for wanting to move on. Tenenbaum, having to watch her creations keep the mad philosophies of not one, but two tyrants going at the expense of the innocent. The girls that you brought back from an underwater prison, back to their families and homes. Sinclair, the man who died at your hands because of his attempts to aid you. For some reason, the thought of Sinclair your mind centered on the most.
Maybe it was because it was you that had to take his life in the end. Perhaps it was because he was a reflection of yourself, and what you once were. What you think was probably the reason, above all, was that Persephone was where your story began as who you are now. You became a Big Daddy because Sinclair held you there, and sold you out for experiments. The clash between the idealized version of the man and the legacy he had left behind conflicted your sense of motivation. In that single instant, you had wondered why you were doing what you were. Were you crawling through that ice-coated vent for mere utility? Revenge against the past? Or was it because you couldn't leave a man who had risked it all to save you to rot in that iron shell, without even his own thoughts and actions? A phrase came to mind that described this sensation: There is nothing new under the sun. Truly, there was nothing new under the sea either.
"Daddy, are you okay?" asked one of the sisters, one of the few whom hadn't been watching from a spot around the lifeboat, pretending in vain to be asleep as they watched their pillar of strength collapse. You couldn't respond, even if you found the words. The voice box modification took your voice and gave you the signature moans of your kind. How completely they had wiped you away once again bashed into your consciousness, in the vain hope of making a horrid mix of sentinel and sentry. Still, even this could be put behind you. If you wanted to be there for these girls, you had to move on, and let your past sink below the waves of time.
You wiped your eyes with a massive thumb, the salty tears burning your eyes, dried from the sudden change in temperature and humidity from your new surroundings. You turned to the girl that had asked if you were okay and looked at her, eye to eye. You gave a smile, weak and forced, in an attempt to reassure her. The muscles in your face felt taut from the effort. You can't remember the last time your face ever expressed anything but grimaces of pain. The little sister, that you decided you needed to call something unique, came closer and ruffled your hair as if you yourself were a child before recoiling her hair.
"Your hair is all sticky and gross!" she commented, elicited giggles from some of the other girls. You couldn't help but chuckle along, the sheer innocence of the moment overwhelming the darkness you'd lived in for so long. The sound reverberated through the titanium shell, rattling the ceiling from the baritone sound alone. You held your arms out, and the little...no, her name could be something blunt and curt, like her personality. Abigail? Susan? Fran? Yeah, Fran will work. You held out your arms and Fran fell into them like she belonged there. The two of you embraced for several seconds, before you released your grip and instead lifted her up onto the bed next to your dear Eleanor. Tucking the two of them in, you made a round through the submersible, trying to grab anything you could find to make the nooks the girls found themselves in, and the floor, somewhat more comfortable for their sleep. Regrettably, Sinclair had only planned for one person to be on here, so the pickings were sparse. Only a spare blanket could be found by your rather untrained eyes, and only three girls could fit on it. Shaking your head at your pitiful results, you decided to take a couple of the girls and held them in between your arms. Even though the suit held in heat, it was still slightly warmer than the floor, and softer too.
After what felt like ten minutes, the only sound to be heard of a symphony of soft breaths, and the heavy, labored breathing of your own person. The more you sat there, the more you had wished you'd remembered to put your helmet back on before settling in. Now, if the girls curled up next to you on either side, you were in it for the long haul. Your lungs were tingling from the fresh air that had begun filling them, instead of the recycled air from your old and crusty oxygen tank. You could imagine what your body must look like from all the fighting just these last two, three days? Maybe more? Rapture had very little sense of time. The lack of sun coupled with every clock being broken or the battery dead made time a foreign concept. It didn't help that you weren't at all tired, and couldn't sleep even if you wanted to in that moment.
What kind of future can be found for something less than a man? The thought swirled in your mind, seeking answers fruitlessly in your empty mind, memories vague and lost forever in the sea of ADAM.