The tavern door opened to a lightly flooded hallway. Water leaking copiously from broken pipes, though that did nothing to quell the small fire that burned lightly behind one of the pipes.
On the edge of the concrete platform behind the pipes, precariously close to the water laid another, apparently long forgotten recorder.
"Eden leaking?" Jack read off the little tape label on the side as he picked it up, pressing the button as he sidled away from the spray of water coming from the pipes.
"If things weren't bad enough," Began the voice of the same man who they'd heard scolding the crazed Dr Steinman in other recordings in the medical pavilion. "It seems that even our water system's sprung a leak. Yep, that's right. The irrigation system in Arcadia is taking on seawater. I told Mr. Ryan when we were building this place that either you build her like a bathtub, or she's gonna turn into a sewer. No, Mcdonagh, he said, we're not gonna build no bathtub… We're gonna build Eden."
"Mcdonagh… thats the name on the tavern sign." The Demoman said. "So he was a plumber, and a barman?"
"A day job and night job, maybe?" Jack shrugged, setting the tape aside.
As they approached the door at the end of the hall, Atlas came through the radio. "You have the Research Camera? Good. Guess it's time to get the camera to ol' Peachy, and let's get the hell out of this place."
"Easy for him to say." The Scout muttered, taking the lead through the door. The door opened into another underwater tunnel way. Seaweed swaying listlessly in the ocean currents on the outside of the glass walls.
A Security camera above a bench swiveled gently, and the Spy carefully slipped under it when it was turned fully away. The electrical sapper he carried with him sending the machine into a fit of sparks before it hung limply from its post. The danger averted, he picked up the recorder left sitting carelessly sitting on the bench besides the empty ashtray someone had laid across the bench.
"As the respectable labs have all turned me away, I have turned to Fontaine's smugglers in Port Neptune for supplies." Said Tenenbaum. "Fontaine's men are pigs. They spit, they stink. But they deliver and they don't ask questions. They're all terrified of Fontaine… he reminds me a bit of the Germans- so efficient. It wouldn't surprise me if he were soon running things down here…."
"These people sure weren't careful where they left these things lying around, eh?" The Scout said as the Spy set down the recording. "Perhaps once things went to hell, they no longer cared where their audio diaries ended up." The Frenchman replied.
They followed the sign for the tavern, the door opening onto a walkway surrounded on either side by shallow water that was dotted by lanterns long knocked from their place hanging from the ceiling, but still glowing with their colored lights.
The door beneath the large sign led into a cozy bar, the tables fashioned from old wooden barrels.
On the nearest table, laying abandoned was another recorder, and Scout pressed the button.
"I'm closing in on the whole ring." Said a man. "I'd pat myself on the back, but let's face it… these aren't exactly bloodthirsty desparadoes we're talking about. Rapture's full of poets, artists, and tennis players, not hired gorilla. But this leader of theirs, this Fontaine… he seems to know his way around a grift. He keeps his nose clean, but not so clean that the right people don't know he's not to be trifled with…."
"Sounds like he was a decently smart fella, if he could keep so many balls in the air." The Engineer mused.
The bar, as it turned out, was a dead end.
Upstairs there was a few rooms, one of which held the grisly sight of a mans corpse handcuffed to a bedframe, the copious amounts of blood around him and on the bed clearly his. Another locked by a code.
But there was now way forward through there, or through the cellar near the stairs.
The door set behind the bar with a lever that needed a shock to get it to work had looked promising, but it had only led down into a dank, dark room.
By a desk in the corner laid a corpse that, judging from the blood trail smeared on the floor, hadn't died where he laid. On the desk sat another recorder.
"Rapture's changing." Said the voice of Mcdonagh, and as they listened, they watched a Big Daddy lumber by the large glass window. No little sister in sight, but moving with a purpose, it's rivet gun clutched idly in its hands as it went. "But Ryan can't see the wolves in the woods. This Fontaine fellow… he's a crook and a proper tea leaf, but he's got the ADAM, and that makes him the guv'nor. He's sinking the profits back into bigger and better Plasmids, and building them Fontaine poorhouses… more like Fontaine recruiting centers… Fore we know it, blokes gonna have an army of Splicers, and we're gonna have ourselves a whole heap of miseries."
"This Mcdonagh bloke sounds like he was one of the only sane sods in this place." Said the Sniper, giving the lumbering figure of the Big Daddy one last glance before they turned away, back up the stairs.
"So now what?" The Scout questioned, leaning against the bar as the Demoman rummaged about the shelves beneath the countertop.
"I guess we don't have much choice but to risk blowing those bars back through to the upper wharf." Replied the Engineer. "It ain't ideal, but we ain't getting through this way. "Hell, I wish we had a map of this place. Even an outdated one oughta be better than roaming about blind like we've been."
A lone splicer stood in their way back through the sea tunnel, the defunct security camera well and truly broken, lying at his feet. A shot from the Engineer did well enough to send him flying back, unmoving.
"Me wife, Moira- she's a right pain in the neck." Said Atlas quietly through the radio. "But she's a beauty and she means the world to me. I can't help but feel God's punishing me for bringing her and Patrick to this place." He sounded thoughtful and remorseful before he continued. "I thought this would be a better life for us. Can you imagine a bigger fool than that?"
"It is not foolish to want a better life for family." The Heavy said, an almost sympathetic note in his deep voice, but if Atlas heard him, he didn't reply.
As it turned out, they didn't need to blow the iron gate when the emerged from the watery hallway they'd first entered through. It already stood open. Some one or thing having already opened it in their absence, and the opportunity to go through and back through the door that had led them into the upper wharf was one taken eagerly.
A few stray splicers slowed them, but only a little, and the way back towards the fisheries was thankfully mostly peaceful.
The Soldier gave a few hearty thumps on the door with the side of his fist.
The Judas slid open, and from behind the glass appeared Peach, still masked as he was before. "The Wharf rats didn't get themselves wet. You got something for me and my crew, or are you just looking to get criticized?" He asked. "You set here a spell, I needs to set on some coffee, maybe puts on the silverware and the like."
"No, you will open this door and let us pass through or I will-" Much as before, Peach Wilkens was uninterested in hearing whatever else the spy had to say.
"Before you head into the fisheries, a word to the wise." Said Atlas. "Ol' Peachy seems about as straight as a dogs hind leg. You fellas keep your eyes open."
After a moment, the door slid up into the wall, but Peach was no where to be seen.
When they stepped inside the small chamber, his voice came muffled from the other side of the next door. "Nobody walks into my swampy caring the heat. Put your weapons in the Pnuemo, and then I'll let you in."
"Absolutely not!" The Spy fumed. "Going around this hell without our weapons would be tantamount to suicide."
"If that's his price, you're gonna have to pay it." Scolded Atlas. "….But he can't very well take your plasmids away, now can he?"
"Going through might be the only way to find a way out of here." The Demoman reasoned reluctantly.
"I reckon he's got a point. He can't take away what we've got under our skin, and it's not like we're entirely defenseless. It ain't ideal, but we all know how to throw a right hook, if it comes down to it."
"I do not like this." The Heavy said lowly, but reluctantly he dropped his own gun down the tube.
"I mean, he did send us a freakin granade launcher. Maybe he'll give em back later." The Scout said following suit, though he didn't sound entirely hopeful about it.
It took more than a few minutes for the machine to whisk away all the weaponry they carried, with so many guns and knives between all ten men. Though the Engineer left the wrench on his belt, and Jack followed suit.
Once everything was gone, the Engineer thumped on the door. "Alright, we've done as you've asked. Now open the door."
After a moment, the door did just that, and let out a wall of cold air.
Through the other door, frost covered the floor, and sat in piles around the edges of the walls.
The further in they went, the worse it got, and nobody protested when the Pyro, the only one capable of fire took the lead.
As they passed through a gate, is slid shut behind them, and men froze as the lights dimmed and a fog filled the room, making it near impossible to see.
"Now, I bet when your boss weggled out of hell, he done told the Devil he'd be right back and the Devil said, sure thing Mr. Fontaine. I'll hold you a spot." Peach's voice echoed through the darkness. "Ryan promised Fontaine was dust, and now here you are, doing his dirty… I guess that makes Ryan a bum, and you a-" His voice trailed away, sentence left unfinished.
"Now you listen here!" The Engineer shouted. "We ain't got no business with this Fontaine fella."
When the lights returned, a figure holding a box loomed in the shadows further in. An ambush.
The first man who charged them froze mid stride, and a swing from the opposite hand of the one that had sent the ice that froze him sent him shattering.
The chamber they were trapped in dissolved into chaos.
No weapons and no Plasmids, the Scout had broken a board from a crate, using it as a bludgeon. The Sniper and Spy had followed suit, though it was clear bludgeoning weapons were not either mans preferred style of weapon.
Peach was among the number of attackers, and he proved himself a slippery foe, but neither he nor his men were trained killers like their targets were, and eventually, with more than a few wounds that needed tending to by the end of the fight, Mercenaries proved the stronger lot, even without their weapons.
"Bloody hell, that was a headache." The Demoman complained as the Medic finished tending to the last of the injuries that needed tending.
"Why in the hell would he think our lots thrown in with that Fontaine fellas?" Jack said, brushing a bit of ice from his sleeve from where he'd been knocked to the floor at one point.
"Don't much matter know. Atlas was right that he seemed to be missing a few tools in his box." The Engineer said, urging the group to their feet and forward.
In the small stairwell across the room was a welcome sight for once. Next to another Pneumatic tube was their weapons, piled around it.
Men swarmed it, happily snatching up all the weaponry.
The odds had turned back in their favor. Or at least as good of odds as they'd had before.
Down the stairs was a chamber that didn't seem to lead anywhere, but upon checking either freezer they found their answer In the form of a hole in the wall, half frozen over.
The Pyro was more than happy to fix that issue.
"You got it!" Atlas cheered as they stepped through. "Should be smooth sailing from here. I'll meet you up ahead!"
The hole had led into a long, rocky corridor, and cautiously they followed along the pipes that ran along the walls. A little hesitant to relax and let their guard down.
The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually it ended, leading out into a wider, waterlogged stretch of tunnel.
"I'm right outside the submarine bay, but I can't get in." Atlas said, distressed. "I'll need you fellas for that. My family can't be more than a hundred yards away."
The tunnel was thankfully Splicer free, though the knee high water made the going slower than any of them would have liked.
They were all too glad when they came upon a slope up out of the water.
Until the bullets from a sentry further in chipped away at the wall, and bodies dropped to the floor, or pressed against the wall until the Spy slipped away, and the sound of a machine overloading gave the all clear.
Spy was waiting besides the sapped sentry, holding a recorder in his hands. "Given the location, this might be informative."
"We all come down here, figured we be a part of Ryan's great chain." Came Peaches voice, sounding less strained and far more stable. "Turns out Ryan's chain is made of gold, and ours are the sort with the big iron ball around your ankle. He's up in Fort Frolic banging fashion models… we're down in this dump yanking guts outta fish. Fontaine's promising something better. He's like one-a us, you know, like he's worked a day in his life. He says meet him at his fish packing joint at Eleven. I'll go, bring a couple of guy. Hey, it's not like things could get a lot worse." Peach had sounded almost hopeful.
"So, at some point crazy Peach and Fontaine were buddy buddy." Said Jack. "Wonder what happened that made things sour between em."
A rocky slope led them further beneath the sea, until a short ways away a dark submarine bobbed in the water.
"Hit the switch up there in the control booth, and let me in." Atlas said. "I think it's time to shake hands and get acquainted."
"You've had your fun," Andrew Ryan's voice cut in. "But enough is enough… if you press that button, you'll learn what it means to truly be my enemies."
A look passed through the group. Andrew Ryan had already made himself an enemy, and it was obvious they'd get no help reaching the surface from him. But there in front of them was the submarine and the promise of help from Atlas.
They climbed over the debris blocking part of the way, and the Sniper shot open the padlock holding the gate blocking their way closed.
In front of a large window overlooking the submarine was a small control panel, and the Engineer stepped up to it. "Alright, here we go. About damn time."
The lights in the control center went dark as he pulled the lever, and a small, sharp, analog alarm began to beep.
But the door down below began to lift, and a man clad in a white shirt and blue workman's trousers fixed place by suspenders, and a welders mask over his face came hurrying in.
The radio gave a complainant whine at the proximity of its counterpart before Atlas' voice came through.
"You boys blow a fuse up there? Can't see a damn thing in that booth! Give me a tick, and I'll get you out of there." He said, before he turned his back towards the control booth, hovering along the waters edge. The button of his radio still on as he called out. "Moira! Can you hear me in there, darling?"
The radio hissed as another frequency came through. Tension building in the room as it was Andrew Ryans voice that came through now. "So dark in here… If only your friend could look up and see you…." He taunted "Maybe you could warn him… if only you could do something… anything… except just stand here... and watch him die…."
They watched with horror as Splicers began to descend from the ceiling above the submarine, and unsuspecting irishman below.
The Scout and Demoman pounded their fists against the glass wall, their shouts loud, but it was clear Atlas below couldn't hear them.
An explosion rocked the submarine bay, clouds of dust and steam from a tipped over pipe obscuring their view of the room below.
But it did nothing to obscure the splicers who crawled face first down the glass like monstrous humanoid spiders.
One splicer stopped, peering in before he began to hack at the glass with his wickedly curved blades. Creating a spiderweb of cracks, but the glass proved stronger than the maniacs patience, and instead he dropped below to join his fellows.
"They're everywhere! I can't hold em, got to fall back!" Atlas cried through the radio. "Get me family out, and we'll regroup as soon as we can!"
No one waited before they hurried through the door way of the booth.
Splicers charged from the docks the door led out to, and the sound of gunfire and half coherent shouting echoed sharply off the stone walls around them.
A lucky shot from one woman who found her end at the barrel of the Pyro grazed the Medic, but thankfully something about genetically modifying oneself to the point of insanity, is it certainly doesn't help ones aim. The submarine could be seen ahead as they charged their way down the docks.
Several men were knocked from their feet as heat belched into the short span of tunnel and the caverns shook thunderously. Atlas' anguished cry just as thunderous.
"You ooze in like assassins and then you try to sneak out like thieves. You're no CIA spooks. Who are you? Why have you come here?" Questioned Ryan. "There's two ways to deal with a mystery… uncover it, or eliminate it."
"Shite," The Demoman cursed as he got back to his feet, stepping out into the cavern where the submarine once bobbed.
"Get out…" Atlas said tightly through the radio. "Get out and get to Arcadia… Jesus Chirst…." His voice sounded on the edge of breaking, and no one had words they knew would be of any comfort.
They shuffled their way around the rubble, most doing their best to avoid gazing at the wreckage of the submarine as they made their way through the door Atlas had come, and escaped through. Passed a small bridge was an airlock, and silently they stepped inside