BioShock Rapture

Sander Cohen’s distinctly demented voice minced through a recitation:

“Ahem. The Wild Bunny by Sander Cohen: I want to take the ears off, but I can’t. I hop, and when I hop, I never get off the ground. It’s my curse, my eternal curse! I want to take the ears off, but I can’t! It’s my curse, my fucking curse! I want to take the ears off! Please! Take them off! Please…!”

“Right,” Bill said, when it ended. “We already knew the bloke was eccentric, Chief…”

“Eccentric? He’s a murderer! Gone nuts on ADAM. Kills people for fun over there in the Fleet Hall. Pastes their bodies up with cement, makes them into statues for display, in his back room.”

Bill stared. “You’re pulling me leg.”

“No. No I’m not. Like to lock him up. But Ryan insists Cohen’s an ally…” He shook his head miserably.

“Ryan’s protecting him?”

“Cohen whined about Culpepper’s songs making fun of him. Said they were subjecting Ryan to ridicule too. Sent over tapes of it. Ryan went a bit mad himself…”

“Not taking ADAM, is he?”

“Ryan? No—he’s getting into the gin. Stays cool sometimes. Paranoid other times. Two days sober, one half-drunk. Not a good pattern. I know it too well.”

Bill licked his lips. His mouth was suddenly dry. “No excuse for protecting Cohen if he’s really a murderer…” He took a long pull on the whiskey Sullivan had given him and scarcely tasted it.

“So me having to protect that little prick Cohen,” Sullivan growled, “that extends to Ryan giving me orders to…” His voice broke. He reached over and picked up the red-and-black knit blanket. Clutched it to his chest. “Pretty, isn’t it? When I was done with her, I left her as she was, in the bathroom, naked in the tub…”

Bill stared. “What you mean—when you were done with her?”

Sullivan closed his eyes, clutching the blanket to him, the sudden motion spilling his drink on his lap. “I seen she had a half-knitted blanket by her bed. It was nice. You know, black and red, real pretty. So I took it … Just didn’t seem right to leave it lying there, all by itself…”

Bill finished his drink. Thought maybe he should get out of here—while Sullivan let him. But at last he asked, “Chief—are you saying that Ryan sent you to kill Anna Culpepper?”

Sullivan looked at the blanket. After a long moment, he nodded. “In her bath. Pushed her under the water … Her eyes, Bill—her eyes staring at me through the water … as I held her under … when the bubbles come up, I was thinking: there goes her life! You know? Her life all bubblin’ up from her mouth! Just like the bubbles that come up outside that window … see ’em?”

“Oh Jay-sus, Chief, that’s…” Bill took a long, deep, ragged breath. Not sure what to say. He almost felt like he ought to comfort Sullivan. Sorry you went through that. But you couldn’t say that to a murderer. “Chief—I’ve got to get back to my wife. This is … it’s too late to do anything about it. We have to … to let it go. And I want you to know, it’s all safe with me, mate. What you said.”

“Oh—I can’t let it go,” Sullivan said, his eyes closed, voice barely audible. “I’m going to Neptune’s Bounty. Find a soft spot and…”

Bill got up, backed away from him—then hurried to the door. And left without another word.

Ryan Plasmids

1959

Fully dressed, Brigid Tenenbaum lay on her cot, staring at the steel wall. She knew she would not sleep that night. She kept seeing their faces … gazing up at the metal men, adoringly …

The Little Sisters. Their large, dark, trusting eyes … She could not bear it anymore. The way they would lovingly climb into her lap—the cruelty of their innocence.

She must act—she must find relief. She could run away, hide alone in some corner of Rapture. There was that old maintenance dorm she’d found. But hiding there, alone, wouldn’t work—their eyes, their faces would pursue her. There would be no hiding from them.

No. The only way was to set them free from this place. Then she would no longer feel their pain—their release would be hers …

Now was as good a time as any. The sentries had been gathering out front late at night, and it would be necessary to shut off the cameras and bots. But she knew just how to do that. She would find some way to get past the fourth man, later. Perhaps she might have to kill him.

Brigid reached under her bunk and found the bottle of vodka. She’d bought it from Karlosky, but it hadn’t really helped smother the cruel feelings of caring for the children that had arisen in her. She’d given up after half a bottle.

Which left half a bottle …