No offense to the people here- But you’re goddamn right about it being a dump. The air is tinted with blood, if you ask me. Hey, we all go to places thinkin’ that they’re gonna be a ball- but then all hell decides to break loose. Just came at the wrong time. [Stares at him, raising an eyebrow ultimately in question] Y’know, I wouldn’t hold too close to that hope. I’m not pessimistic or anything, but I’m just a guy from New York with good aim. I don’t think I could do much damage to whatever caused some hell to this place. [Looks over at him, tilting his head lightly and narrowing his eyes in a tired fashion] Hey, I’m going nowhere- but you- You’ve got a wife an’ kids. That’s hell of a lot better than I can do. You don’t owe me jack squat, Atlas. Huh. Radios, eh? Wonder if any of them survived this mess. [Scratches his head, plucking at his scraggly hair uncomfortably] Yeah, sure thing. I’ll go lookin’ for them soon. [Glances unpleasantly down the hall as well, his face distorting into a look of impediment. The cool air that the varying puddles created seeping into his pores] Well, would you look at that. … … Huh? Splicers? Sounds like some sort of spider hybrid. I was uh- A man pretty deep in debts. Y’know, gambling is like a sponge. Whatever it takes to help an honest man, I can spare. Trying to do my good deed for the world, right? Yeah … I don’t know whatever the hell this place is- or how I’m supposed to fit in- But it sure beats getting chased by those crazy civilians day and night.
Them things ain’t people no more and we got plasmids to thank for that. -scratches at the bridge of his nose and lowers heavy shoulders- Maybe. But I’m not the man to believe in coincidences… I felt like a dead man walkin’ and couldn’t go nowhere without bein’ pinned by Ryan’s eyes. But now the bloody king o’ Rapture is gonna need more than his cameras and walls. We’re outnumbered by a long shot but you’ll level the field a little, just enough ‘fore he gets what’s comin’ for him. -rubs the nape of his neck, the cover of sweat rolling past his hand and plastering loose strands of dirty hair to tar-stained skin- We’ll get that radio and you’re gonna need to learn the works of how to get ‘round if you ever wanna make it outta here alive. You might have a good right hook and aim but nobody can go toyin’ down here forever. I’ll do what I can to keep you movin’. -begins forward; soft clicks of walking matches the cracks of whining pipes crying to the pressure of building seawater and crippling rust; lights flicker and short fuses spark like cherry bombs- Think about it: Powers that make a man superhuman. Lightin’ fires with your own mind and havin’ strength beyond your wildest dreams, rewritin’ your genetic code to somethin’ better than you once were. That’s what plasmids can do to people and that’s exactly what they did. But it all went wrong and the price cost ‘em their lives. Almost feel sorry for ‘em poor bastards if they weren’t tryin’ to seal ya in. -quicker pace, ears deaf to the familiar drone of creaking walls the sound of a rocking ship before a brewing storm and strong ocean currents; shadows sucked into his eyes when he runs through war torn hallways focused like a hunting fox- Gamblin’s the only thing you’re gonna be doin’ down here. Best’a luck. And I promise we’ll find your girl wherever she is. A fine lady bein’ stuck down here by herself… You must be worried sick. -stops close to a door and turns around- Sounds like luck’s just not on your side and—Look, I know you just wanna get outta here with your girl and I’m askin’ a man I don’t even know to risk his life to save me family… Nothing’s workin’ for you. But we’ll work together on this and I’m gonna like you just fine. And a word’a warnin: Don’t get in a ruckus if you can avoid it. Now let’s go get what you need.
[Lets out a long sigh in utmost relief, chuckling slightly to himself, tension still escaping his throat in between his nervous laughs.] Well, with what’s happenin’ lately up here in Columbia, I could understand. But this place doesn’t remind me of any Columbia I know. Not New York either.Elizabeth, what have you done.[Stares at him for a moment, cautiously listening to the man’s words- such niceties the man was offering through words being unusual for him.] You know, I could get used to being around people like you. You’ve got a family? Must be a hard thing to get through, this mess of a world. [Lets out a small sigh, rolling his hand into a fist and sticking his thumb out at himself] I’m just a gambling man. Got no family to spare. [Pauses, letting his free arm drop to his side, his other hand clutching the pistol] Alright, seems like a good time to me. [Uses his free hand to shake the other man’s hand, nodding in approval] But how do you suppose we meet up again when we have to split? [Takes a step back] Yeah? Never thought that I’d be someone’s relief. Not too many people are fond of me these days. [Regretful shrug] Huh. Atlas. Got a nice ring to it. What do you mean by that? [He shifted his weight, gesturing toward’s the man’s direction, his index pointed out loosely] I can take care of myself just fine. Yeah, smart idea.
Welcome to Rapture, the biggest dump you can possibly imagine. This place don’t look like anythin’ anyone knows, but trust me, it wasn’t always this way. You play your cards right and you might just make it another day but I’ve never been one to take things for granted. Jeez whip, what was I thinkin’ for comin’ down here? -loud exhale a whistle under the rumble of running pipes and cracking glass overhead- Don’t know how you crashed here, Booker, but I’m feelin’ like you’re the answer to my prayers. I owe you everythin’ I’ve got. -fingers wrap around his hand, the weak tremble dispersed in his hold the balm to his anguish; a quiet smile- Should be a spare shortwave frequency radio lyin’ ‘round. Try in any one’a them bathyspheres if they’re not all gone to Hell like the rest’a Rapture o’ course. If not, we’ve got some lookin’ to do ‘fore we can go our separate ways. -glass cries loudly under his crushing weight and he looks through the hall flushed in raining sparks, light embers burning through the black air- Take a shot in the dark. Not all’a us can be a Jimmy Braddock and I need all the help I can get. Maybe you’re tough’ta go out yourself but I don’t run on faith alone, gettin’ cut off by those… Damn those Splicers. If only I could just reach me family without puttin’ them in any more danger. -looks down to an old nail gun coated in spreading rust- Don’t know what you did back in Columbia or York, but if you’re willin’ to help find me wife and child, I couldn’t have asked for more. Heck, I can tell that you’re gonna fit in down here.
adymus started following you
…! Huh. [Looks the man up and down, stealing a quick glance at him, almost questioning his attire but deciding to completely dismiss the itching feel of curiosity] Now I don’t want any trouble, friend; But you seem to be a man of understanding, and I’m in a tight situation. [A slight tremor of panic rising in his voice, a feeble attempt made at trying to contain his insanity within his larynx] But have you happened to see a girl in blue running around?
Names Booker, by the way.
-a falling look of reddening eyes, he’s strong in the smell of thick Old Tom Whiskey and aged sea salt, the burns of stress and worry wearing on his skin like the cover of fifty years- Can’t lie, I haven’t seen anyone with a shred’a their mind in tact in what feels like a lifetime. The world’s spinnin’ mad and I just can’t keep up with this nightmare much longer. But I’m lookin’ for someone, too, me family, and I can’t leave ‘em hangin’ here like live bait and live with myself… They’re all I’ve got. They’re my everythin’. If we work together, we can cover more ground and maybe, just maybe, we’ll find ‘em faster. -holds a strong hand out, a slight shake raking through gloved fingers his red flag of deprivation; he doesn’t take notice of the strain deep in his throat- Guess it’s true what they say, luck can change on a dime… You’re a real sigh’a relief, Booker. I’m Atlas and I’ll do whatever it takes to help you find your girl. Don’t worry, I’m not about to leave you out to dry by yourself. Now let’s get movin’.
I’m sorry to hear that… *draws his lips together to form a thin line as the man finished his story* Is there something I can do? If they’re lost, we can go back and try to find them. Don’t you have anyone to help you? *raises his eyebrows then gives one small nod* Yes, I am from England, so that’s proof enough that I’m not home. I guess I can’t help you as much as I wish I could, not with my limited contacts, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try. We can go find Andrew Ryan, your child and your wife then get the hell out of here.
I don’t wanna put it down on you but you’re the last chance I’ve got of ever seein’ my family again, please, I need to see ‘em again… They’re the world to me. Jesus Christ… Ryan’s got ‘em pinned in a damn bathysphere like their lives aren’t even worth’a penny but I can’t get in there without an army of those bloody Splicers… Those God damn bloody Splicers! I swear I thought this would be better for us… How could I have been such a fool? -the heavy weight pulls down on his eyes smeared in charcoal the mark of sleepless nights, scratching the burden of trouble on his stained face- Don’t kid yourself. Nobody’s safe here and we’re just two players in the biggest game’a cat ‘n’ mouse in history with the bastard Andrew Ryan as the champ of it all. -a weak grin- I’m startin’ta look’ forward on workin’ with you already. The name’s Atlas. I’ll watch your back and we’ll find my family and bring Ryan down with his city soon enough.
*coughing, he shakes his wet hair, moving the curls to the side of his head* Ah, Rapture, interesting. I can tell things are only going to get worse. *His voice was deep and hoarse, opening his long coat, he pulls out a semi-automatic* I have this, no extra ammo, but it is better than nothing on long range. *Bending down, he takes a medium pipe in hand, smirking at the crushed pipe*
Gonna get worse? More than you know. -the clicking of heels rip through the air like a ricochet of bullets and threatens to shatter the cracking gash overhead the glass wound before their drowning- [heavier in breathing] Close enough, but close don’t get you no place in Rapture. Look, listen’ta what I tell you and you might just make it out alive. You got enough to last you for a little while but that ain’t gonna last you forever. Grab whatever you can get your hands on and give those ugly Splicers a taste’a their own medicine without any mercy. If it’s one thing you learn fast here, it’s that it’s every man for himself. They want you here and you want out. Can’t have it both ways, and to be frank ‘bout it, I don’t give a damn what they want. -fingers an old rusted revolver and looks around in a wary nature- Now might be a good a time as any. Name’s Atlas. Don’t know how you made it here all together or how I missed your face, but it’s good to see somethin’ that isn’t some sort’a experiment gone bad.
*Taking in the collapsed area, he coughs feeling the debris fill his lunges. Looking to the other man, he rushes to other’s side, while millions of ideas rush threw his mind* What is this place? *As he begins to piece the puzzle forming his brain, hearing noises of what may sound like people in the echo of the dark halls*
-the rush of stiff air strong in the stench of deteriorating gasoline and bitter metal combing through thick hair locked in dried sweat; wipes straying beads crawling down his temple to the flat end of his chin- Welcome to Rapture, the world’s largest failure of a sewer. But don’t get too comfortable, it only gets uglier from here on out. -rattling cries rip the jarring silence and vanishes like a blurring ghost caught at dusk; he stands on bent knees as if prepared for a dash like a hunting tomb weasel- [under his breath as he turns away] I plan on keepin’ you alive, now get a move on it. And Christ, would you kindly find some sort’a weapon? Even a pipe will do. Just somethin’. Anythin’. You’re gonna need it.
-the tip of his tongue slips past chapped lips, the bitter copper is the taste of blood brushing over and rolling to the back of his throat when he swallows dry air thick in rising tension- [a low, raspy command] Get over here now unless you feel up’ta bein’ on the wrong end of an operatin’ table! Won’t do either of us any good. -fingers blanketed in scabbed abrasions wearing a coverlet of dirt and grime motioning like machine gun fire-
What kind of things? Looks like hell tore through this place… Something tells me you’re really friendly with it too. I— *swallows thickly, shaking his head* Rapture? No, no. Where is Rapture? I was in my flat just a while ago, my flat in Bakerstreet in England. *frowns* What’s happened? *cautiously steps forward, seeing that his phone had no signal and frustratingly stuffing it back in his pocket* What’s happened to Rapture?
Hell did tear through this place. And friendly with? Rapture’s the reason for everythin’. Have myself a beautiful wife and the greatest, spoiled kid and this hellhole with it’s damned Splicers want to burn them to the ground like nothin’ at all. I’m the biggest fool to have ever walked this God forsaken world for tradin’ it all away. You must think I’m crazy for bringin’ my family here… but they mean the world to me. God, please, anythin’ but this… if anythin’ happens to them… -tone lowers down, a dry choke clawing deep in the back of his throat and a swelling wave of heat rising to his ears a kindling anger- [deep sigh and a small shake of the head, capillaries igniting in the white of eyes] England? Boyo, you sure you didn’t hit your head harder than ya ever thought? Stick with me and I’ll be sure’ta keep what’s left of it on your shoulders. -turns his head back to him like a defeated, predatory hawk, the moan of whispering steam pipes and leaking water rippling through the narrowing hallway an underground catacomb- I’ll tell you what happened to this damn cesspool: Andrew Ryan. He’s the reason my family’s holdin’ on for dear life and the evil bastard’s gonna pay for it if it’s the last thing he ever does.
Wouldn’t be the first time I got caught in a bad spot. *gives the man a wondrous and confused expression, looking around him to make sure that there wasn’t anyone else he could possible be talking to* I’m sorry, um, what exactly is this place? I would very much like a map… Don’t know what’s up and what’s down here. *walks closer to him*
Not the first time? A lot’a things go chargin’ ‘round these grounds—things you probably never seen before. And if you’re lucky, it’ll stay that way, but stick ‘round long enough and you’ll learn that luck’s nothin’ but what fools prey on. -wipes his nose against his wrist, the strong stench of gunpowder searing through his flaring nostrils; he smears sparse grime onto rumpled slacks wearing the faint fine age of rotting oil. He looks worn and displaced, drained of life like a tourist in the waking world- This, my friend, is the armpit of a city called Rapture. Don’t think your friend is gonna pick you up any time soon and if he ever sees what runs amok here, he never will. I suggest you start cuttin’ that lifeline and start considerin’ yourself your own savior. -turns his back, his footsteps a harsh echo in the closing tunnel choked in the smoke of wheezing pipes- Now you’re talkin’ sense. Come’ere.
What is going on around here? *slips his hand into his pocket to fish out his cellphone, fingering by the screen and noticing that he had no messages or missed calls, so that most certainly excluded the possibility of Sherlock knowing his whereabouts* Dammit, where is the bloody reception— *his shoulders tense but the man quickly relaxes himself, turning around to the nearby voice of a stranger, a man soon making himself visible* Oh, well, actually, I just need to get out of here. *looks around with a confused expression* Just back to Baker Street if you please? Wait, you’re Irish… Not sure if you’d know. *frowns* Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to bother you. I’ll just phone someone.
You should know that people from all walks’a life don’t come crawlin’ down here unless they’re lookin’ for trouble. And you know, that’s exactly what they find. -low raking when his fingernails dig over the edge of his jaw, the stinging grains of salt dissolving in thin cuts the markings of surface-grazed wounds- But tell you what, keep talkin’ to yourself that way and nobody’s gonna mess with you. Not without stoppin’ and wonderin’ first anyhow. -lowers his hand and peers down to the cellphone- Can’t help you none with that or whatever that is. Not about’ta give you some false hope. And no, I haven’t the faintest idea about any Baker Street. Got a map if you’re lookin’, though, and a radio—don’t know what you’d need that for and it’s not in tip-top shape but it still works like a charm. If not, you’d find yourself gettin’ out of here in one piece a helluva lot harder than survivin’ a shootout staged in Hell itself.
