darling it's better down where it's wetter

[did_unkindly]

It's been a day, it's been a day, it's been a whole damn day -- as near as it's possible to tell in this soggy excuse for a city. It's been a day since he killed Fontaine. And Jack is no closer to getting out. He's still down here. He did everything he was supposed to do and he's still down here.

All he's found is locked-down bathyspheres. Broken submarines. Even the goddamn boats are out of service. Where's Tenenbaum? Where's his fucking rescue?

Jack stares about into the greenish gloom, checks the ammo in his pistol, and then kicks and yanks off the rusting panel of a vending machine. His hands are soon full of little wires and pipes. A few seconds later, he straightens up with a grunt, and the machine gives him a tidy discount on a couple glowing hypos of EVE.

With his visit extended indefinitely, he's begun to wonder how many of them are left.

Now arbitrarily divided into chapters!
Part One: A Scene at the Rapture Adoption Agency ~or~ You Found [Pot of Ham]!
Part Two: Come On-A My House, I'm Gonna Give-A You Candy ~or~ Sinclair? More Like Sin Pantalones!
Part Three: Dream Sequences are a Fresh New Concept in Fiction ~or~ It's My Existential Trauma and I'll Cry if I Want To
Part Four: Southern Education Jokes ~or~ Engineer, Engifar, Engiwherever You Are ~or~ The Grave Escape
Part Five: Golfing Accident Memoirs ~or~ Mom... Dad... I'm Immortal ~or~ How To Make Friends And Immolate People
Part Six: Is It A Pie? Is It A Plane?? ~or~ Two's Company, Three's a Row
Part Seven: Escort Missions! In Rapture! Council's In An Uproar ~or~ Bioshock: Cheesecake Edition
Part Eight: Bread, Milk, BATTLE! ~or~ Pleasant Conversations, How They Bore Me
Part Nine: Choices, Schmoices ~or~ Baby's First Moral Philosophy ~or~ Go Away I Want To Take A Damn Bath
Part Ten: A Man Snoozes; A Slave Delays ~or~ The Four Second Rule Applies To Drugs
Part Eleven: A Hearty Meal ~or~ Skeletons In The-- That's Not A Closet
Part Twelve: We All Live in a Secret Submarine ~or~ Plasmids: Not Even Once
Part Thirteen: Paging Dr Tenenbaum To Surgery ~or~ Bribery And Deduction
Part Fourteen: The Prodigal Son Returns

Comments

[modestman]

Augustus Sinclair is not in the habit of paying personal visits to serial killers. The whole idea seems unsafe and generally unappealing, but sometimes it's just necessary to make exceptions. After all, Jack Ryan. Quite the man about town these days. Something of a reputation, even if it's only been just over 24 hours since Rapture caught word of the scandalous patricide that occured in Andrew Ryan's own office.

Jack wasn't difficult to track down, security cameras had caught tracks of him in a few different locations and honestly, who else wears that sweater and this time Sinclair figures it's worth the field trip. Granted, he still hasn't decided if he's here to shake the man's hand or drag him back to a cell in Persephone. Maybe that's what he's here to figure out.

He approaches Jack from an angle that hopefully cannot be misconstrued as sneaking up on him. Startling him somehow seems like a bad idea.

"Good with your hands there, aren't you son?"

[did_unkindly]

Mind who you're calling a serial killer, porkfeet. Most of those corpses attacked him first. Many of them, anyway. Probably more than half.

...Shut up.

That non-sneaky angle was a good idea, by the way. Jack was occupied with stuffing the EVE hypos into whatever Bag of Holding he uses to keep that kind of shit. He notices Sinclair coming a moment before he hears him, and goes for his gun, as fast as a snake. But then there's time to see that the guy isn't a splicer -- Wait. Wait, he isn't a splicer?

He isn't a splicer. Sinclair's face is unblemished, he's not gibbering, he's not waving a weapon around.

Goddamn.

Okay.

That's reason enough for Jack to pause and take his finger off the pistol's warm trigger. It's enough to kinda slightly surprise him, in a dull sort of way that's started to recognise a pattern.

But it's definitely not enough to get his guard down. He may be a wee babby with only a handful of years under his belt, but he's seen enough in the last couple days to know that just being human doesn't count for jack shit.

So he doesn't go as far as to lower the gun.

"I... suppose."

His voice is halting, but his aim is very steady.

[modestman]

"Whoa, hey," Sinclair laughs, holding his hands up defensively. "I'll empty my pockets if you like, I didn't come here for a fight. I just want to talk." He hadn't taken to carrying a gun yet, as dangerous as that might be. He owns a few, sure, who doesn't these days? But carrying it around on him just seems like it would invite trouble. And they're bulky, heavy, some of them. Pain in the ass, if you ask him.

"You Jack Ryan, chief? You're a popular man right about now. There ain't a pair of lips in Rapture not flappin' about you."

[did_unkindly]

Jack doesn't ask how Sinclair knows his name; between Ryan putting out an APB on him and half of Rapture turning out to have fiddled with his past, he finds that he doesn't really want to know.

And he's not too keen on taking his father's name, either. That or the one Fontaine made up for him. His lips tighten; he's upset and never really learned how not to show it.

"I don't know your name."

He mended his fucked-up throat as best he could with generous amounts of ADAM (and its source, maybe, is part of the reason Tenenbaum doesn't contact him, though what else was he supposed to do). But he isn't a doctor and it still hurts to talk, so he keeps it brief.

[modestman]

"Augustus Sinclair, at your service." He holds a hand out, smiling broadly, warmly. Jack is suspicious, obviously, and it's understandable. He's been through a lot since he arrived here, and if Sinclair has the story straight, he hasn't made a lot of friends to show for it. "I understand you've had a rough couple of days," he says. "Can I get you a drink? On the house, anything you like." And maybe he can get him to loosen up a little. There are quite a few things he wouldn't mind talking about, if this works out the way he'd like it to.

[did_unkindly]

Jack looks at the hand and does not shake it.

He vaguely recognises the name Sinclair from signage around Rapture, and he really would like to believe that he's finally met someone friendly, but... Atlas seemed friendly to begin with. And Rapture isn't full of charitable folks. Jack wasn't engineered for incredulity, but he wasn't engineered stupid either.

"What's... in that for you?"

Uh... well, I said he'd learned suspicion, I never said he'd learned subtlety.

[modestman]

Well, it's not as if it's the first time that's happened in his career. Jack's straightforwardness amuses Sinclair though, which makes it easy to drop his hand and carry on as smoothly as ever.

"Just the pleasure of your company, if you're not too busy. I could go for a drink myself, it's been a long day."

[did_unkindly]

"You've had a long day."

Jack is pretty sure Sinclair should remember who he's talking to. Jack would be half convinced that that was a joke at his expense, if he had more practice at looking past the face value of things.

He lowers the pistol slowly, keeping an eye on Sinclair for any sudden movements. It's weird how fast that precaution became second nature once he was down here. Or not weird at all, if you think about it.

[modestman]

Sinclair shakes his head, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders. "You're right, chief, you're right, I can't imagine what you've been through since you got here. But if you're willing to give me a few minutes of your time, perhaps I can get an idea."

He gives lets the silence sit for a couple seconds, letting Jack think it over. "One drink, that's all."

[did_unkindly]

And think it over he does, chewing on his lip like a child trying to make a tough decision.

"Okay," he says at last. He doesn't know if he can trust Sinclair, but he does know he can defend himself if it comes down to a fight.

He holsters the pistol in his belt.

[modestman]

Sinclair smiles again. "I've got a place out in Persephone that's safe enough, and not a bad selection of liquors at that. You can take your pick when we get there. You strike me as a whiskey man, am I right?"

He talks over his shoulder as he begins walking. It's a bit of a distance back to Persephone, but it's worth it if they ever want to be able to sit down for more than two minutes without worrying about being jumped by a splicer and walking out a few ounces of blood lighter than they were when they got there.

[did_unkindly]

"Whiskey is okay," he says, reserving judgement. Whiskey's also pretty strong and he doesn't want to be defending himself blind drunk.

He starts to follow Sinclair, with an easy, loping stride that an observer might say was just made for a place like Rapture. But that would only be a turn of phrase, of course.

"I don't know where Persephone is."

He pronounces the name quite carefully, with the same inflection Sinclair used. It's pretty clear that he's not heard it before.

[modestman]

"Persephone's my own place, a little ways from here. Maybe a ten minute walk or so, at the most."

Although walking from point A to point B could pretty quickly turn into a contact sport if you don't stay aware of your surroundings. Sinclair thinks that maybe it's getting to be time to start carrying a pistol, and suddenly feels somewhat relieved that Jack is armed. Not that Jack would necessarily be inclined to save his life, should something happen, but worst comes to worst Sinclair believes he might be able to get Jack's gun from him. Somehow.

"Now, I don't want you to be startled when we get there, son," he continues. "Persephone's a detention center for Rapture. My office isn't anywhere near all that, though, you don't have to worry."

[did_unkindly]

What they'll find when they get there isn't what's on Jack's mind. First they have to actually get there.

"Why aren't we using a bathysphere?"

Since, what you said. Contact sport.

[modestman]

Sinclair frowns. "The bathyspheres are locked down, sport. Nobody's been able to use one of them for months."

[did_unkindly]

Short and to the point: "I can."

[modestman]

He stops, turns around and looks at Jack. "Now how do you figure that works?"

It's a genuine question, not challenging Jack's word so much as trying to figure out why Jack would be able to use them and no one else.

[did_unkindly]

Guess which audio diary Jack hasn't picked up!

"I don't know," he says honestly.

Though if he'd known they were supposed to be locked down, he would have done a bit more wondering about it.

[modestman]

Sinclair shrugs with his mouth and turns on his heel to redirect himself. "I guess we're taking the bathysphere then."

He hasn't even decided what he wants to do with Jack yet, and already he's turning out to be a valuable asset. This is good.

[did_unkindly]

Repeat that last part in an Irish accent, I fucking dare you.

"Okay."

It's a little too easy to fall into step behind the other man. A few moments after they change direction, Jack realises that fact, and with a lurch of his stomach he speeds up to take the lead.

The walk is short enough to be uneventful. In just two shakes of a lamb's tail, they're standing in front of a large metal bathysphere, and Jack is heaving open its creaking door.

[modestman]

He hasn't even decoided wot to do with Jahck yet an' ahlready he's ternin' out to be a vaaaluable aaasset.

(gosh calm down narration, it's just business)

Sinclair lets Jack lead the way, falling back an extra pace just to give him a sure position. If Jack needs a turn being the leader, that's alright with him. Walking behind him gives Sinclair a better angle at Jack's gun, anyway. You know. Just in case.

At the bathysphere he starts to move to help Jack, but realizes pretty quickly that that's quite unnecessary. Jack pulls open the door with apparently minimal effort and Sinclair follows him inside.

"You're just full of mysteries, kid," he says, laughing as he sits back and crosses a leg over his knee. "Now, I've heard my share of rumors but I'm curious to know the facts, and I'm sure you've learned a thing or two since your arrival." He leaves it hanging as a question, open ended for Jack to answer whatever he likes. Whatever he wants to talk about first. If he wants the lead, he can have it in conversation too.

[did_unkindly]

Wow the narration really went all out on that one, I'm starting to get suspicious, have you ever been a Chinaman for a month

"Yeah."

He says it kind of heavily, for reasons I'm sure I don't need to expand on. It's been an odyssey of discovery for Jack since he crashed that plane.

With a metallic clang, he closes the bathysphere door. The noise echoes around the silent bathy station. It's cold, all water and stone and metal, and far too big for so much emptiness.

"A lot of things, actually."

[modestman]

Sinclair nods. "Care to expand?" He's going to get Jack talking one way or another, even if it takes all day. He watches Jack to see if he knows how to direct the bathysphere to their destination and offers, "Persephone's out by Fontaine Futuristics, if it helps any."

[did_unkindly]

There's that unvocalised look of upset again.

"Not really."

...Well, at least he's honest about it.

And while he's not exactly happy about it, he mans up and [ERROR - NATURE_OF_BATHYSPHERE_CONTROLS.DAT - FILE NOT FOUND] sending them diving in a column of bubbles into the cold womb of the ocean. The destination: Fontaine Futuristics.

Jack sits down opposite Sinclair on the plush, mildewy bench.

"What are futuristics?"

[modestman]

Okay, so maybe he's going to have to be a little more specific with his questions if he wants any answers. But there's no harm in a little give and take, so Sinclair answers.

"Well I'm not sure what they were supposed to be originally, but for Fontaine it's laboratory of sorts, I suppose. Research facility, you could call it. It's where those plasmids you've been using were developed, still are. Trying to get them a little more stable, minimize the consequences of using them. Among other things."

He stares out of the bathysphere porthole, watching a school of fish disperse as they pass. He never did get used to the scenery down here, it seems to be the one consistently good thing about Rapture. In taller buildings, when you're a little closer to the surface, the sunset turns the whole city a burnt orange and red, fading into purple like a watercolor painting. Breathtaking, really. He'd never seen anything like it before. Sometimes you can stand at a window and look out at the ocean for a while and just forget. Everything is so peaceful out there, and then you come back to yourself in here. This place isn't a dream for anyone, even the now most successful businessman in Rapture. The money's there, but sometimes he has to sit down and figure out his priorities.

Which brings him back to Jack.

"How'd you end up here anyway?"