BioShock: Rapture

Then came a sad, low-pitched groaning noise and an ominous vibration of heavy footsteps—and they turned to see the hulking, plodding, clanking form of a Big Daddy. There were at present two models of Big Daddy, the Rosies and the Bouncers. This one, a Bouncer, made a drawn-out moaning sound as it came, almost as if in mourning. They all did that, of course. They all smelled rancid. Like dead things.

The Bouncer was carrying an oversized drill built into its right arm; on its back was a heavy power pack. To Bill the Big Daddies almost looked like pictures of robots he’d seen on the covers of pulp science fiction magazines. But he knew there was most of a human being inside that Big Daddy suit—some poor blighter who’d been caught breaking a rule, sometimes a criminal, sometimes a Lamb follower, sometimes just a hungry man who’d stolen an apple. The constables tranquilized “candidates” for Big Daddies and took them to Prometheus Point, where their flesh was fused with metal, their brains altered and conditioned to focus on protecting the Little Sisters and on killing anything they perceived as a threat. When the Big Daddies were damaged, repair parts were scavenged, on the sly, from the Eternal Flame Crematorium. Who was going to miss a leg or an arm when the rest had been cremated?

All over the massive Big Daddy’s great round metal head were circular, glowing sensors; its huge metal-encased legs clunked along relentlessly—but careful never to injure the barefoot, grubby little tyke of a girl who scampered along beside it. Gatherers, some called the girls. This one was tiny and fragile compared with the Big Daddy, but she dominated it completely. The Little Sister wore a dirty pink smock; her face seemed faintly greenish, her eyes sunken. There was a distance in those eyes, like something Bill had seen in Brigid Tenenbaum’s—as if her peculiar aloofness had been installed in her creation.

“Come on, Mr. Bubbles!” the Little Sister fluted, calling to the Big Daddy. “Come on, or we’ll miss the angels!” The towering mock of a deep-sea diver lumbered after her, moaning…

“Oh Christ,” Bill muttered.

A dark-haired Little Sister skipped past them.

“Mascha!” Sophie called out.

The Gatherer stopped, blinking, mouth open in an O, to look at Sophie for a long, puzzled moment. Then she said, “What is that one? That’s not a Gatherer; and she’s not an angel yet! We can’t play with her until she’s an angel!”

Then the little girl danced away. The Big Daddy gave out its long, mournful groan and clumped after her. The floor shook with the creature’s going.

“Oh God, Bill,” Elaine said, hugging Sophie to her. “Was that—?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m sure it wasn’t her.” He doubted she believed the lie.

Bill was just grateful that Sophie hadn’t seen what was left of her friend Mascha sticking a syringe in a dead body, drawing out the pulsing red effluvium of living ADAM. A sickening sight. It seemed to belong to Rapture the way giant pink elephants belonged to hallucinating drunks.

The public address chose that moment to inform them, “The Little Sisters Orphanage: in troubled times, give your little girl the life she deserves! Boarding and education free of charge! After all, children are the future of Rapture!”

And Bill noticed that Ryan was staring down at Sophie…

Olympus Heights 1959

Feeling weary, deeply weary, yet restless too, Andrew Ryan poured himself a martini from the silver shaker and settled back in his easy chair at the picture window, gazing out over the shimmering skyline of the submerged city.

I’m getting old,

he thought. The city should still be young. Yet it seems to be aging right along with me.

A couple of squid rippled by, outlined against the glow—and then were gone. The neon signs for Rapture businesses were flickering, threatening to go out. Some of the lights supposed to shine up from the bases of the buildings were dark. But most of the lights still worked. The city of Rapture continued to glow.

The city itself was showing signs of new life. There were the new Circus of Values machines, expected to raise a great deal of revenue. There were the Gatherer’s Gardens too. Scientists were working on machines that could raise man from the dead, if he hadn’t been dead long, and restore him to life. Sure, the population of Rapture was depleted, but when he completed his control of ADAM and the splicers, and rid the city of the rebels, he could build Rapture up anew.

He sipped the martini, put it on the end table beside the tape recorder, and then pressed Record for his audio diary. History must have its due.