Sorry about the long wait for this. I've been doing things in real life, as well as taking a trip to NYC in order to get the right ideas for the next chapters. Hope this extra long chapter was worth the wait!

You pushed and paddled the lifeboat, with the assistance of Eleanor, for three days. Since there was little food on board, you had volunteered not to eat anything so that the rest of them could at least take the edge off their nagging stomachs. Eleanor, following in your wake, also abstained from food, and even took to distilling water from the sea so that everyone could at least drink. Your muscles ached, your mind was foggy, and your belly, if it were its own creature, would've torn through your suit with its thrashing. Regardless, you pressed on, and as luck would have it, a cruise ship passed your vessel by.

They loaded everyone onto the boat, Eleanor speaking for the group. She told the crew members that you had engine problems with your custom seacraft, and had been floating for three days. They ushered your group onto the top of the deck, where they gifted to the girls blankets and hot coffee. Some of the little ones, notably one of the girls that you'd mentally taken to calling Bertha, said she was a bit chubby compared to the others, refused the coffee and had it swapped for hot chocolate and marshmallows. You accepted the cup of coffee they offered you, but the fear of exposing your body to these people, who could have your new life ruined before it even began, forced you to simply hold it in your hand. The heat barely penetrated the thick material of the suit. Despite this, the small feeling brought with it a flicker of hope for something new and different. You closed your eyes, to better experience this flame inside.

Though a mere ember, your body felt uplifted. Strong and indomitable. Ready for the next set of challenges that lay ahead for your family. Your mind churned with anticipation, thinking of where you'd be going and what you would need to do, or even could do, once you landed ashore after so long. Maybe you could be a deep sea diver. That seemed natural enough. A security officer, perhaps? Maybe even doing maintenance for machines and electronics. You got enough practice with both in Rapture.

"Hello?" a voice sounded, sending you out of your fantasies with a jolt. The intensity of combat came upon you, until you looked up and saw the face behind the voice. It was a black man, covered in numerous scars and burns. His hair was thinning and grey, with the deep black hair still lining his jaw. He also appeared to be extremely fit for his age, as if he were a bodybuilder that never lost his passion and youth.

"My name is Charles Porter. I was informed by my crew that you were floating in a 'custom vessel', is that correct?" he spoke to you, staring at your visor and squinting with the silent intensity of a clinical physician. Eleanor spoke up for you.

"Hello, Mr. Porter. I-" she began, before Charles held a hand up.

"Please, call me Milton. I get called Mr. Porter on board this ship too much for my liking as it is." he stated coolly.

"Yes, of course Milton. As I was saying, we were adrift and trying to get back to shore. Since he's been without food and for the most part drink for the better part of a week, he's not really up for chatting." she said, only giving half the truth.

"I see. Well, if it's that bad, let's bring him down to the medical deck. Can he walk?"

"Yes, sir. He can."

To prove her point, you forced yourself once more to your feet, handing the coffee cup to Milton. Standing at least two heads taller than Milton, you clamored behind him as he led you down to the med bay. Eleanor opted to stay with the sisters and ensure they didn't feel afraid. As you sat down at the edge of the bed, the frame bowing below your massive weight, you stared up at Milton expecting him to call a nurse or at least attempt to get you to take off your suit.

"I saw that mark on your hand. Delta designation, right?" he observed, with his smooth, deep voice that now took on a sense of sinister intent.

"Yes, I know all about your kind. You were the first successful 'Big Daddy' prototype. As it turns out, I was also the last of your kind. A woman named Brigid, with the help of my Thinker, were able to restore me to the man I was before. For the most part, at least. Only so much surgery can do when your DNA is spliced to hell." he elaborated upon his own story. "I began to run a cruise line solely because of how much money I was able to procure for some of the code for my Thinker, a genius piece of tech. I told myself it was just because I liked to sail, but I had this attachment to Rapture. As if the animal part of me knew that city had more to bring to the surface. Looks like I was right after all."

You couldn't believe it. There were others from Rapture that got out? Sure, you heard rumors of one person saving all the Little Sisters before and leaving with them, but that was all it was to you, a rumor. Could this be that man, the legend, in the flesh?

"I'm sure you want to get out of that suit, Delta. That suit is the only thing standing between you and the life you've sought to make for yourself. The last mark of a man bound to a drowned city. I can help you, but we need to get you back to New York first. I don't want any prying eyes involved in the process. In the meantime, I recommend you eat something. You might be durable, but you're still human. I'll bring you a meal in shortly. Please, take your helmet off and relax. I'll draw the curtain here and inform the physician not to disturb your bunk."

Milton stepped out of the room with that parting reassurance. Having someone that knew about your history, what you are, has stirred up a hotbed of anxiety. It's the same feeling as when you were laying on that table in Persephone, slowly dying and unable to do anything. Milton also claims to be able to cure you, though you don't have any reason to believe him. You don't even know who this man is, or to what extent this cure, if it does exist, will be able to help. Despite all the doubts that poured like a flood into your mind, you had only one lead, one lifeline into this world that you've fought hard to enter. You had no better options but to trust the main, for now.

You disconnected the oxygen tubes once again, the movements still not feeling quite right, and tugged your helmet off with a hiss from the air-tight seal being broken around your neck. Setting the helmet at the foot of the bed, you rub your exposed face, trying to get some sort of mental image of what you looked like. You were still far too scared to look in a mirror, but eventually someone would have to see this in order to cure you. Your sense of touch was stifled, but you could make out your fingers pressing into your skin. Above your left eye, you groaned internally from the rough, hard scar tissue stretching to your forehead. Moving down and to the right, your right cheek reminded you of leather, having been burned by Houdini Splicers over and over again. As you explored the rest of your face, you found so many more wounds. Three cut that never fully healed on your lips, a cleft chin, and your hair, oddly enough, felt smooth and soft, if fragile due to the lack of sunlight and vitamin deficiency., you presumed.

The bay door creaked as it began to open, and you tensed up once more. Through the curtain, you could make out the shape of Milton's face, holding a tray with a thigh of chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob. He placed the tray on the floor and slid it under the curtain for you to pick up in private.

"Enjoy your meal, Delta. One of your groupmates, Eleanor, wants to see you. I'll send her down in twenty minutes." Milton told you before making his way out again.

God, it smelled good. You would've thanked Mr. Porter before he left if you could. Now though, all you could think to do was get your fill of food. Your stomach had gotten the better of you.