BioShock Rapture

“I don’t know, Bill. When we went to dinner in Athena’s Glory, with him and his friends—Well, Mr. Ryan ranted a good deal, don’t you think? On and on about the world above and how we have to accept our choice and rejoice in it. And to be stuck in Rapture with … well some of the people here, like that Steinman. He kept touching my face, talking about how it was ‘so close, so close and yet’! What did he mean?”

Bill chuckled and tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Steinman’s a prat, all right. But don’t worry. We’ll all be just fine. I’m going to protect you, darlin’. You can trust me to do that. It’ll all come right in the end…”

Atlantis Express, Adonis Station

1949

Stanley Poole had never been this nervous on a reporting assignment. Maybe it was being this close to larger-than-life personalities like Andrew Ryan, Prentice Mill, and Carlson Fiddle—them being all casual-like, almost acting like he was one of them.

The four men were sitting together at the front of the first train car. Poole couldn’t quite make out what Ryan and Mill were saying over the rumble of the Atlantic Express. A pensive, pinch-faced man, Mill seemed worried about something …

They were all on their way to the Adonis Luxury Resort, though it was far from finished—only the Roman-style public baths were ready, steaming for bathers. Ryan wanted The Rapture Tribune to report some progress. To Poole’s right were Mill and Ryan; to his left sat Carlson Fiddle, a bespectacled, nattily dressed, soft-faced man, gently wringing his hands in his lap. Fiddle looked put-upon and preoccupied—and prissily startled as the train lurched into motion. The kind of fussy little man who made you think of an old lady. It was like he’d spent too much time with his mother. They’d just come from the future site of what was to be Ryan Amusements, and now, as the train started for Adonis, Poole sensed that there was a story in Carlson Fiddle’s pensiveness.

“Well, Carlson—” Poole began. “May I call you Carlson?”

“No,” Fiddle said, frowning at the floor.

Poole winced as he took out his pen and notebook. He knew he wasn’t a person who easily commanded respect. As the train passed through a tunnel he could see his reflection in the dark window, beyond Fiddle—the reflection was sickly, the dark glass making him look even more hollow eyed than normal. But, at best, how did anyone take him seriously, with those jutting ears, that skinny neck, and protruding Adam’s apple? The gauntness was worse lately—he had trouble keeping his food down. Maybe it was the binges on booze and drugs he’d gotten into since arriving in Rapture.

Poole cleared his throat and tried again: “Quite a job you’ve got, Mr. Fiddle—designing Ryan Amusements, I mean. Amusement park for the kids, that the ticket?” He smiled encouragingly, hoping Fiddle would get the joke. But not a flicker of amusement came from the guy.

Fiddle adjusted his glasses. “Yes, yes, we’ll have animatronics, some interesting, ah, exhibits planned. I’m a bit baffled about what Mr. Ryan wants exactly.” He glanced sharply at Poole. “Don’t quote that in the paper. About me being baffled.”

Poole winked at Fiddle. “Oh, Mr. Ryan was clear…” He lowered his voice. “… this is going to be a puff piece all the way. All about the swell new constructions coming, the new branch line, the spa. So—what’s this animatronics thing?”

Tired of adjusting his glasses, Fiddle adjusted his tie. “Oh, not everyone calls it that. But—there was that Westinghouse exhibit, in ’39, with Electro the robot and his little pal Sparko. That kind of thing. Animated mannequins, some say. They’ll talk to visitors.”

“Animated mannequins! Do tell!”

Fiddle went back to gently wringing his hands in his lap. “It’ll be about the history of Rapture. I’d like to put in some fairy-tale material too, to keep the kids coming back. Maybe something like the Walt Disney cartoons. But he … well, never mind. Just print that I—that I think it’s a wonderful project, and I’m looking forward to making it a reality.”

“Sure thing!”

The train jolted as it took a turn, rising up to pass into a transparent tunnel through the sea. Coldly magnificent, like some sunken fairyland, Rapture rose about them. A school of big fish zigzagged by, glinting silver. A private bathysphere whipped along below them as they entered another building.

Poole glanced over at Ryan and Mill, when Mill raised his voice. “He does keep implying, Andrew, that I … that eventually—”

“Come, come,” Ryan said equably. “You worry too much, Prentice! Augustus is not some predator of the sea.”

Mill snorted bitterly. “Then what does Sinclair mean when he says, ‘Enjoy the Atlantic Express while you have it’?”

“Oh, that’s just one businessman using a bit of psychology on another! He probably plans to make you an offer and wants you to worry about a takeover. Keep you off-balance. Perfectly normal business tactic.”

“But it’s not a public company…”