BioShock Rapture

Just two doors down, Sullivan unlocked a nearly identical cell. When Sullivan opened the door, Ryan had to step back from the reek of an overflowing chamber pot in the corner of the nursery. Toys were scattered on the floor along with tin plates of half-eaten food.

Brigid Tenenbaum was huddled on the cot in the corner, just like the little girl in the previous cell, but with a buttoned lab coat instead of a frock. She was gnawing a knuckle and the expression on her face was the same as the child’s.

Suchong stood with his back to the door, writing on the wall with crayon in Korean ideograms. He had covered several square yards with the enigmatic writing.

“Suchong!” Ryan barked.

Dr. Yi Suchong turned to Ryan—and he saw that one of the lenses of Suchong’s glasses had been knocked out. There was a purplish mark across that side of his face, and his lip was split.

“Doctor Suchong tried to escape when we raided the place,” Sullivan explained blandly. “Had to crack him one with a truncheon.”

Suchong bowed. “Suchong sorry about writing on walls. A little dissertation. No paper to write on.”

“And what’s the dissertation on?” Ryan asked, nostrils quivering from the stench of the chamber pot.

“Accumulation of harvestable ADAM in splicers,” Suchong said. “Possible methods of extraction.”

“I see. Would you two like to be released from these … quarters?”

Tenenbaum sat up, still gnawing her knuckle, looking at him attentively. Suchong only bowed.

“Then,” Ryan went on, “I’m going to need a loyalty oath. And the understanding that breaking that oath is agreeing to execution. We are in extreme times. Extreme measures are necessary.”

“And…” Tenenbaum’s voice came in a croak. “The Little Sisters?”

Suchong frowned and shot her a warning look.

Ryan shrugged. “They will continue here—we need the … the commodity. In time we’ll find some other way. But it seems you and Fontaine left us with this one for now … And, after all, the children have nowhere to go.”

Sullivan muttered something inaudible. Ryan looked at him. “Something to say, Chief?”

“Oh—no, Mr. Ryan.”

“Very good. Set a guard on this place—but let these two go to their previous quarters and clean up. And see that Suchong gets new glasses.”

Fort Frolic, Poseidon Plaza

1958

Stepping out into Poseidon Plaza, Diane McClintock realized she felt no thrill—felt nothing at all—about winning so much money in the Sir Prize Games of Chance Casino.

She fished in her purse for cigarettes, and it took some looking because her purse was stuffed with the Rapture dollars she’d won, quite improbably, on the higher-priced slot machines. She’d had an amazing run of luck, and it meant nothing to her. It felt like mockery somehow. She couldn’t spend the money on Park Avenue, in New York, where she longed to be.

She lit a cigarette, lingering outside the casino, reluctant to go home. The whirring slots and the agitated people wandering from one game to the next—they were better than no companions. She knew she could spend time with one of Andrew’s friends. But they were hard to bear, after all that’d happened …

“Miss?” It was a woman in a blue dress, a blue velvet cap; she had mousy brown hair, large dark eyes. She clutched a handbag to her. “Miss, my name’s Margie. I was wondering … if you could spare us a donation?”

“Who’s us?” Diane asked, blowing smoke at the ornate ceiling. “You seem to be out here alone. Need money for kids at home?”

“No, I … no. I’m with Atlas’s people…”

“Atlas! I’ve heard about him. Also heard about Robin Hood. I don’t believe in him either.”

“Oh Atlas is real, ma’am …

“Yeah? What’s he like? A good man?”

“Oh yes. I trust him, even more than Doctor…” She broke off, glancing around.

Diane smiled. “More than Doctor Lamb? If that’s who you were going to mention, I don’t blame you for clamming up, Margie. Got traded from one radical ball team to another, huh?”

“I guess you could say that. When she got arrested, I needed someone to … it doesn’t matter. What’s important is, we’re collecting money to help the poor around Rapture. Atlas, he buys canned goods and stuff with it, hands it out…”

Diane snorted. “All this talk of a poor underclass around Rapture. Exaggerated, from what I hear.”

The girl shook her head. “I was there! I had to … to do some pretty awful things. You know. Just to keep going.”

“Really? Is it that bad? There wasn’t any other kind of, um, work?”

“No ma’am.”

“Andrew says there’s plenty of…” Diane let it trail off, seeing the fear on the girl’s face. “Anyway. Donations. Sure—here.” She took a wad of cash from her purse and handed it over. “More power to anyone who pisses off Andrew. But don’t tell anyone it came from me.”

“Oh—thank you!” Margie put the money in her handbag, took out a leaflet. “Read this—it’ll tell all about him…” And then she hurried off into the shadows.

Diane looked at the leaflet’s heading.