BioShock: Rapture

Enraged, Bill forgot his gun and rushed at the splicer, shouting, “Bastard!” He just managed to duck under the swishing blade, to tackle the splicer around the middle, knocking him onto his back. It was like tackling a live wire—there was not a gram of fat on the splicer; he was all muscle and bone and tension—and Bill felt himself overbalanced and quickly flung off.

The splicer leapt up, stood grinning down at Bill—throwing the hooked blade before Bill could fire his pistol. Bill twisted aside, felt the curved knife shear a piece of skin from his ribs—and then there were three quick gunshots, each one making the splicer take a jerking step back. The third one went through the splicer’s right eye, and the splicer went limp, falling on his back, feet twitching.

Bill turned, panting, to see his wife with the gun in her hand, a wild look in her eyes. Sophie was clinging to her mother’s leg, face buried in her hip.

“You’re a bloody fine shot, love,” he told Elaine, “and thank God for that.”

“I had a good teacher,” she said numbly, staring at the splicer’s body.

“Come on—into the lift…” Elaine nodded and took Sophie into the bathysphere. Bill climbed in after them, found the release hidden under the control panel, and activated it.

They took the bathyspheric lift up the shaft, out of the undersea—the three of them riding up into the lighthouse. Bill had cut power on the security bots and turrets guarding the way out through the lighthouse this morning, but he was afraid they’d be back on, somehow, to greet his family with a spray of bullets as soon as they stepped out of the bathysphere.

But only quiet greeted them, at first, when they stepped out. And the echo of their footsteps in the dome…

Sophie looked around in awe, stunned by the naked daylight coming through the entrance to the lighthouse, the unfamiliar sound of breakers outside—then, eyes wide in fear, she stared up at the enormous electroplated bust of Andrew Ryan, glaring back down at them. Ryan seemed to be holding up a banner, yellow lettering on a red field, reading:

NO GODS OR KINGS.

ONLY MAN.

“It’s Mr. Ryan!” Sophie gulped, stepping back. “He’s watching us!”

“It’s just a statue,” Elaine said.

“Oh, but she’s right,” said Head Constable Cavendish, coming around from the other side of the bathysphere. Bill spun, raising his gun, but then he saw that Karlosky was there too, and Redgrave; they all had tommy guns at the ready in their hands. Redgrave was pushing a despondent Roland Wallace, who had his hands bound behind him. If Bill fired, the constables would return fire, and Elaine would likely be hit. And Sophie. He couldn’t get them all.

Bill lowered his pistol—and then let it slip from limp fingers to the floor.

“Drop it, lady,” said Cavendish, pointing the tommy gun at her.

With a sob, she dropped her gun, and clutched Sophie to her. “Oh God, Bill, we were so close…”

He put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, love. I should have found a better way…”

Karlosky looked grim; Cavendish was grinning wolfishly—but Redgrave looked stricken, uncertain. Deeply sad.

“I tried, Bill,” Wallace said. “I got the boat here. I climbed out to look for you, and there they were. Coming up in boats.”

“You don’t reckon Ryan has cameras none of you know about?” Cavendish sneered. “’Specially outside this place. You think you’re the only ones who tried to leave? Others tried—they’re Big Daddies now. The external camera caught ol’ Wallace here slippin’ out…”

“Ryan—is he dead?” Elaine asked. Her eyes showed hope; her voice was defiant.

“Nyet,” Karlosky said. “A headache. But he is strong man. Not so easy to kill. Your man—he did not have nerve to finish job.”

“Couldn’t do it,” Bill admitted miserably. “He was my friend. There was a time he was like another father to me.”

Redgrave nodded. His voice was husky as he said, “I hear that, Mr. McDonagh. I sure do. It’s the same with me. I’m sorry—I’d like to help you. You were always good to me. But…”

“I know,” Bill said. “But let me ask you one thing. Did he send you to bring my wife and child in? Or just me and Wallace?”

“I…” Redgrave glanced at Cavendish. “I heard him say: ‘Stop Bill McDonagh. And that traitor Wallace.’ That’s all he said.”

“He does not want anyone leaving,” Karlosky said. “Now—all three of you, turn around. We tie your hands; you go with us. We all go back down…”

Bill looked at Karlosky. “I’ll take what’s coming to me. You can tell him anything you want about my girls. Tell Ryan that the splicers got ’em.”

Cavendish snorted. “Karlosky’s not doing any goddamn thing of the sort.”

Bill went on, looking steadily at Karlosky. “We got drunk together, you and me, Karlosky, more than once. Christmas Eves. Holidays. Long nights with vodka. We fought side by side in battle…”

Karlosky licked his lips. Comradeship mattered to Karlosky.

“What’s this horseshit?” Cavendish growled, seeing Karlosky hesitate. “You three turn around, like he said.”

“Yes,” Bill said. “Elaine, Sophie—turn around. Just do it.”