Chapter 1
Welcome to Rapture
Rapture Bathysphere Station, November 1957
The bathysphere station was winding down at the end of another day. The luggage trolleys were lined up against the wall and the small welcome booth was shuttered, while the moon pool was as still as a sheet of glass. The only sign of life was a young man wearing grease-covered overalls standing beside the moon pool, removing pieces of charred electronic circuitry from a control panel.
"Hey Michael, how much longer will you be?" a voice sounded out from one of the corridors that led out of the station, "We've gotta close up for the night."
"I need a minute Sam!" Michael yelled back, "Someone made a right mess of the bathysphere controls. Half of it was burned out this time!"
He fixed the last replacement fuse into its ports and screwed it's cover back down.
"That should fix it for now, but we've gotta get better parts."
"Try telling the boss that!"
Michael sighed in annoyance. The underwater city of Rapture had been founded on the idea that everyone could do business as they wished. The workers quickly learned that meant doing things as cheaply as possible. What did it matter if the control boxes burned out every other week when the parts were fifty cents cheaper than the next brand?
He began collecting his tools together and was about to leave, when a gurgle of bubbles burst through the moon pool's surface.
"Hang on!" he shouted, "The bathysphere's coming up!"
The gurgling became more frantic as the red-headed figure of Sam hurried into the station, wiping an oily hand down the front of his overalls.
"Who the hell would come down at this time?" he asked, peering into the pool's murky depths.
"No idea," said Michael, "But you'd better tell the welcome staff to get down here and help with the luggage quickly though. I'll stay here and man the controls."
"Okay, but they ain't gonna be happy about this," Sam said, heading back down the corridor he had come from and out of sight.
Michael turned back to the moon pool, now bubbling furiously as the bathysphere came closer to the surface. He began readying the loading bay locks that would hold the submersible in place, when the bathysphere's rounded form burst into the station in a shower of salty water and gleaming metal. Acting fast, he pulled a lever on the control box, locking the craft in place. Through the bathysphere's glass door, he could see about five people inside, three women and two men, their blurry faces looking back at him expectantly.
"Welcome to Rapture ladies and gentlemen," said Michael, speaking into the control box's intercom, "If you'll give us a few minutes, I'll equalise the pressure. The staff will be along shortly to collect your luggage."
Hoping the new fuses would hold, he turned a series of dials that began to pressurise the bathysphere. This went on for a minute or two, during which Sam returned, along with several people in neat uniforms who lined up expectantly beside the moon pool.
"Fancy turnin' up at a time like this!" muttered a woman, straightening out her bellhop hat, "We just finished a double shift and now these people swan in after hours!"
"We're technically still on the clock," whispered the man next to her.
"That doesn't make it any better."
Before the argument could continue, a red light on the control box turned green and a small bell rang out.
"Pressurisation's done," said Michael, looking up from the array of dials and gauges.
One of the staff hurried forward and opened the bathysphere's door which hissed with a rush of air.
Slowly the passengers stepped out onto the tiled floor, gazing around in amazement. Having worked at the station since his arrival in Rapture almost five years ago, Michael had seen their expressions on the face of every new arrival. The journey down from the lighthouse and between the buildings was spectacular, almost unbelievable.
"Wonder how long it'll be before they see the truth of this place?" he thought darkly.
One of the new arrivals, a man with a thin moustache and spectacles, stepped forward and addressed the staff.
"Evening Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Kyle Fitzpatrick. Sorry for the lateness of our arrival, but our ship was delayed by bad weather."
"That's quite alright Mr. Fitzpatrick," said one of the staff with a small bow, "Just tell us which apartments you have purchased and we will take your luggage straight to them."
The man drew a slip of paper from a pocket and handed it to the staff member.
"Right this way sir," the staff member said, handing the paper back to Fitzpatrick once he had studied it.
He gestured to the other staff who collected the suitcases from the bathysphere, and soon the four newcomers were led off to their new apartments.
Four?
Michael was sure there had been five. Turning around he saw why. One of the group, a woman wearing a dark green suit, was having trouble dragging a large suitcase through the bathysphere's door.
"Can I help you Miss?" he asked.
The woman looked up, startled to realise that she was not alone. She had curly dark hair and brown eyes that regarded him with distrust.
"Oh sorry," she said hastily, "My suitcase's handle has come off, could you help?"
"Sure," said Michael, leaving the control box and crossing the platform to her.
He took hold of the case and tried to drag it onto the floor, almost dropping it when the weight surprised him.
"Bloody hell," he said, lowering the case to the floor, "What you got in here? Dumbbells?"
"Just a few books," the woman replied.
"A few books? By the weight of it I think you could start a library!"
He took a screwdriver from his tool belt and began screwing the handle back into place.
"So, why did Ryan bring you down here?"
"Me?" the woman said, sounding surprised by the question, "I was…was… was hired to work with a Doctor Suchong."
"Working on plasmids eh?"
"Plasmids?"
"Yeah, ain't you heard about them?"
"I was recruited because of my work in genetics," she said, nervously twisting a few strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger. "But they were rather hush-hush about what the work was. I would have turned it down, but the money was more than I could refuse."
"Isn't it always," said Michael, tightening up the last screw, "There, that should hold it."
"Thank you,"
The woman grabbed the newly repaired handle and began dragging it across the station.
"You need help getting that up to your apartment?" Michael asked.
"Thanks, but there's no need," she said, "I'm sure I'll be fine."
She carried on across the station, only to stop at the exit, clearly at a loss as to where to go next.
"Where ya heading?" Michael asked, a smile playing across his face.
The woman looked back at him like a rabbit in the headlights of a car.
"Hey, I don't bite."
He walked across the station, only for her to back off a little.
"I'm sorry," she said, "It's just…just…"
"What," said Michael, "Never chatted with a grease monkey before?"
"No, it's not that, it's… it's…" she took a deep breath, "On the ship… I heard… stories… about Suchong."
"You can't believe everything you hear," said Michael, "Here, I'll take one handle, you take the other, and we'll get you to your new home."
"If you insist," she said eventually, "My apartment is number 234, Olympus Heights."
"Olympus Heights eh, lucky you, that's the posh bit of town."
"As I said, the money was more than I could refuse."
"If only we were all so lucky," he thought, picking up one of the suitcase's handles.
"Okay, this way miss," said Micheal, leading the woman down one of the corridors, the suitcase held between them.
"Here we are," said Michael about an hour later as they reached apartment 234 on the middle floor of Olympus Heights, a luxurious art deco tower at the heart of Rapture.
"Thank you," the woman replied, taking a key from her pocket and unlocking the front door.
"Is there anything else you need miss?" he said, bending down to put the case just inside her doorway.
"No, but thanks for your help, I'd have gotten lost without you."
She stepped into the apartment and was about to close the door, when Michael realised something.
"Oh, one thing before you go. What's your name miss?"
"My name?" she replied, "It's Hannah, Mr.?"
"It's Michael," he replied, "Well, it was nice to meet you Hannah."
He took a step down the hallway, when the woman spoke again.
"Hold on, you dropped this."
Michael turned and felt the blood drain from his face.
Hannah was holding a small red booklet with the words, Rapture General Workers Union, stamped across its cover in gold lettering.
"Er, eh, thanks," he stammered, quickly taking the booklet and pocketing it.
Hannah looked confused.
"Is something wrong?"
Michael gave the woman a long hard look.
"What do you know about Rapture miss?"
"Only what they told me. It's a place where the individual can do all they wish."
"Well, that doesn't include forming trade unions."
The two regarded one another in an awkward silence
"Look," he began, but Hannah stopped him.
"Don't worry," she whispered, smiling for the first time, "I didn't see anything."
"Thank you," he said, some of the colour returning to his face, "Thank you."
With that she closed the door with a quiet click.
Michael leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh. He did not want to think about what would have happened if she had turned him over to security. He had seen friends arrested, their rooms emptied and their names wiped from records, just for speaking out against working hours. If his membership with the union was exposed, he too would disappear into Persephone, or worse. He may have told Hannah not to believe everything she heard, but he knew full well that things were happening in the city's laboratories too terrible to imagine.
Michael rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling tired for the first time that evening. He needed to get back to Pauper's Drop and get some sleep before his shift at seven o'clock the next morning.
With a shove, he pushed himself off the wall and walked back down the plush corridor, his footsteps echoing off the hardwood floor.
