BioShock Rapture

Fontaine stalked toward her, drawing a buck knife, opening it with a practiced motion, the blade making a snick sound as it flicked into readiness. “It don’t matter, kid,” he said. “Because it’s all lies. Everything is. Except for…” Then she felt the cold blade slash upward, into her belly, just under her ribcage, “… this.”

Rapture Central Control

1959

Bill McDonagh paced up and down in the passageway outside Central Control. The constables at the entrance to the hall had been friendly, glad to see him. Not knowing his mission.

He had to make his move, and soon. Then signal Wallace to take the minisub up to the boat. Conditions were as good as they were ever going to be for escape. The city’s turbulence indicators showed the sea was fairly calm right now. Ryan’s men were dealing with a new disruption, concentrated in sealing off Apollo Square—there weren’t many of Ryan’s bunch between here and the lighthouse.

Roland Wallace wouldn’t take the minisub unless Bill gave him the signal. But there was something he’d have to do then. About Ryan. And Rapture. He had made up his mind that if he succeeded today, in Ryan’s office, he would send his family to safety but stay in Rapture, at least for a time, and try to create a new leadership, make a peace deal with Atlas. He had helped build this place—he felt an obligation to the survivors. Eventually he could rejoin Elaine and Sophie …

The survivors. Quite a surprising number of people had died here or been executed. Ryan was starting to put the corpses up on stakes at the entryway to Central Control. Rapture had become a police state—it had turned into its own opposite.

Bill let out a long, slow breath, reached into his pocket for the pistol. Checked the load for the fourth time. Put it back in his blazer. Could he do this? Then he remembered Sam and Mariska Lutz.

“Got to face it, old man,” he told himself. “Got to be done.” He put the pistol back, took out the little radio. He clicked it and murmured into it. “Wallace?”

A crackle. Then, “Yes, Bill.”

“It’s time.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Going to take care of my business and then bring the family for the … picnic.”

“Okay. I’m ready. Meet you there.”

He put the radio away. Heart pounding, he straightened his tie and opened the door. A security camera swiveled to take him in as he stepped through. He had his ID flasher on, and it let him pass without releasing the security bots. Ryan still trusted him.

He strode past the crucified corpses, smelling them but steadfastly not looking at them, and went to the door of Ryan’s office. He was scanned by a turret—and it let him pass. He reached for the door just as Karlosky came out. Bill almost jumped out of his shoes.

Karlosky looked at him curiously. “Something making you nervous, Bill?”

“Me, no, it’s just them bodies out there—give me the willies.”

Karlosky nodded sympathetically. “Don’t like that decoration either. Sometimes necessary. I’m going to get sandwich for me and Mr. Ryan. You want something?”

“Me? No, I…” Christ, how could he eat sandwiches with these bodies stuck up out here? However … “Well, yes, Ivan. Whatever … whatever you’re having.” The longer Karlosky stayed away, the better.

Karlosky nodded and strolled out. Bill went into Ryan’s office.

Andrew Ryan was standing by the window, gazing out at the sea, leaning on his walking stick. He wore his tailored three-piece gray silk suit, and, in that moment, Bill felt his heart go out to him. Ryan had built this brave new world to match his dream. And it had become a nightmare.

But Bill reminded himself of those men and women crucified in the outer room. And he took a deep breath and pulled the pistol.

Ryan didn’t turn around. He seemed to know. “Go on, do it, Bill. If you’re man enough.”

Bill raised the gun—and it trembled in his hand.

Ryan smiled sadly. “What was it you said, Bill? You’d stay with me, ‘from A to Zed.’ Well, we’re not quite at Zed yet. But it seems you’re taking your leave.”

“No,” Bill said, his voice breaking. “I’m staying … for a while. Can’t desert all these people. I helped bring ’em here.”

Ryan turned toward him, hefting the gold-topped walking stick. “Bill, you’re a weak link on the Great Chain—and I cannot leave that weak link in place…”

Bill aimed the gun as Ryan stalked toward him.

Bill’s mouth was dry, his pulse thudding.

Ryan was almost in reach. “A man chooses, Bill—a slave obeys. Choose. Kill me or obey your cowardice and run away!”

Andrew Ryan, the man who’d plucked him from obscurity—who’d elevated Bill McDonagh in this great city—raised the walking stick to strike him down. It was in Ryan’s hardened eyes, his twisted mouth: the aging tycoon had every intention of using that gold-headed cane to crush Bill’s skull.

Shoot him!

But Bill couldn’t do it. This man had reached down from Olympus and raised him up to Olympus Heights. Andrew Ryan had trusted him. He couldn’t.