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

[did_unkindly]

Jack nods.

He's looking balefully out of the window at Olympus Heights. Its black shape looms out of the greenish blanket of the sea and the neon splashes of the city itself. And one bit in particular stands out, at least in Jack's eyes: the skyscraper raised out of a skyscraper, Frank Fontaine's erstwhile apartment.

The windows are dark. The windows will be dark for a very long time.

[modestman]

It's impossible not to look at Rapture's skyline when it's there in front of you. From any sort of distance, it's still exactly the marvel it was constructed to be. Like many things that had anything to do with this city at all, it was really only ugly up close.

The tallest building in view from the bathysphere is Olympus Heights. Realm of the gods among men. Intellectual and financial nobility. And at the top of the shit pile rests the once gleaming abode of the man Frank Fontaine himself. Dead for several months now, at least. He points to it to direct Jack's attention.

"Frank Fontaine used to live all the way up there, son. He's the one who developed all these plasmids. Well. His money did, anyway. I don't believe he spent more than two seconds looking over any of the research. You'd better believe he knew how to turn a profit, though. Can't knock a fella for that."

[did_unkindly]

Jack looks startled for a moment. He wasn't expecting to hear that name out loud. It's like Sinclair is breaking into his thoughts in order to give -- not a glowing review of Fontaine, but not as bad a one as the bastard deserves.

"Did you -- know him?"

And secretly, he hopes and prays that Sinclair says no, or at least that they weren't friends. That would be even worse than being Ryan's man.

[modestman]

Ah, there it is. Something to break that heavy silence.

He shrugs, visibly trying to decide how to answer. "I knew him. Didn't talk to him any more than I had to though. He may have been good at doing business for himself but I know grifter when I meet one. No thank you, he can keep his hands well out of my pockets. Or could have, rather. He's nobody's problem anymore."

[did_unkindly]

"Yeah."

If only Sinclair knew it, by badmouthing Fontaine he's gone up quite a few points in Jack's estimations.

"Because he's dead, isn't he."

An expression crosses his face which I can only describe as a pained kind of smirk.

[modestman]

Sinclair might have been incredibly suspicious of Jack's expression, but luckily he's still staring out of the porthole.

"Stone cold," he says. There had been rumors floating around for a while that perhaps he was still alive, but Sinclair knows that to be impossible. "Shot dead in the middle of the street by one of Ryan's. As you can see, Rapture's been a place of peace and unity since long before you got here."

[did_unkindly]

He laughs a little at that, catching himself by surprise. Joking around almost makes the conversation seem normal.

Not that he knows Normal from Adam, but. He thinks he'd like to learn.

He's not sure what to say, though. He knows that Fontaine didn't die that day, so he probably shouldn't comment, because he gets the feeling that he isn't a very good liar. He sort of wants to answer the joke with another one, to impress Sinclair.

Let's go with that second one, let's give it a try!

"It's... very nice."

...

...

well for a first attempt i suppose that's

[modestman]

"Wait 'til you see the underside of the railway, kid. You'll love it there," Sinclair says, laughing. At least now it feels like he's starting to break Jack out of his shell. It appears he's got a sense of humor after all! Praise the deity of your contraband religion!

The bathysphere finally docks at Olympus Heights, bobbing in the water for a few seconds before it begins to stabilize. Sinclair stands up and pushes the door open, right hand immediately seeking out the gun at his hip.

Did he say they'd be safe here? Obviously he meant they would be as soon as they got to his room. Even from here, it's easy to hear the deranged yells and muttering and occasional singing from not far enough away.

[did_unkindly]

Oh boy. Jack clicks the safety off his own pistol, staring around into the gloom for the source of any voice that's too close.

"I don't know if you can fight," he admits, standing close to Sinclair so that they can talk without raising their voices.

Because it's going to come to a fight between here and the safe house, if the last couple of days he's spent in Rapture are any indication. He can't walk five steps down here without something gibbering and throwing a bomb at him.

[modestman]

Sinclair laughs under his breath. "I told you about my aim, son. But I do well enough to still be standing here today, for whatever that's worth. The locked door is around the corner that way, about five doors down the hall," he says, pointing in each direction as he comes to it. "I'm gonna need you to watch the door while I disable the turrets so you can get in."

[did_unkindly]

Jack nods, just as something drops from a hole in the ceiling straight down onto their heads.

The air suddenly fills with shrieking. The spider splicer is a blur of rotten breath, shrill curses and vicious metal hooks. She takes a swing, and at the same time, Jack shoves Sinclair out of the way with a good bit of his strength. Where the man lands is a secondary concern. ♥

Then he lifts his pistol and gunshots overtake the splicer's screaming. There's quite a lot of blood and quite a lot of noise, and she crumples into a heap, her head one great jagged exit wound.

[modestman]

Jack's love shove sends him sprawling gracelessly back onto the door of the bathysphere with an equally as graceless noise of surprise. By the time Sinclair regains his balance, the splicer is already gushing blood onto the cement. Sinclair looks at Jack for a moment of wordless thanks, but even as he does it he's already moving for the door. That's going to have attracted the attention of others, they don't have much time.

He places himself by the entrance to the hall, gun drawn and ready as he takes a look around the corner. He sees nothing, motions at Jack to come forward. Sinclair could be the first one to run out, but he's always been a man of options and right now that doesn't sound like the best one. He'll just follow Jack, if that's alright with everyone.

[did_unkindly]

It's certainly all right with Jack. He's taken down Big Daddies single-handed, so in the face of the horde of splicers he doesn't even flinch.

In danger he has that feeling of serenity, almost moving outside of his own body as he counts the splicers -- the targets -- and readies a hand. Two drop from the ceiling in flames. A third is faster and a hook nicks his shoulder as he rolls out of the way. She yells Traitor! Parasite! as she somersaults towards him. The burning splicers are screaming and screaming and screaming. But they're dying, and he saves his ammunition.

He runs to meet the third splicer. Stays light on his feet. Electricity, then two bullets between the eyes.

A whistling noise is all the warning he gets before something explodes at his feet, bringing him back to earth and also into the wall.

[modestman]

Meanwhile Sinclair focuses on slipping down the hallway to get to the door as quickly and quietly as possible.

Which isn't possible, but Jack's more than capable of fending off the majority of the attention they receive. At least until a molotov cocktail sends him flying back against the wall. Sinclair's fingers work quickly at the combination lock on the door, but not quickly enough. He can hear the clinking hooks of another spider splicer and then the thud of it dropping to the ground. There's only time to turn, try and aim, shoot--

--the first bullet whistles past the splicer's ear, the second hits him squarely in the shoulder. It doesn't slow him down; the splicer is on him in seconds.

[did_unkindly]

Jack stumbles to his feet, blinking the white out of his vision, and just barely catches the next molotov with telekinesis. It spins in midair, burning, inches from his face. He's about to lob it right back at the splicer, but -- Sinclair. He has somebody else to worry about right now. Returning the bomb to the splicer would put the explosion dangerously close to Sinclair.

Well shit, then.

The whole thing runs through his head in just a second, and then he reverses his telekinesis and pushes the bomb in another direction. It explodes in a fireball and utterly destroys the two burned splicers, who had just managed to put themselves out.

Jack's already moving in the opposite direction, ignoring his cuts and bruises. Sinclair is just up the hallway. Only he's on the floor. And a spider splicer is standing over him, its hooks catching the light.

"You bastard!" It slams a hook into the stone floor, hard enough to throw up a spark. "Bastard! Fucking bastard! That hurt!"

Jack starts running. He's blindsided by the nitro splicer and swings his wrench, throws fire and swings again into the man's blistering face. Not a clean kill, but a fast one.

"Don't tell them. They'll all laugh at me!"

As he runs, Jack sticks himself with a hypo of EVE. It doesn't even hurt him any more.

The splicer, arms raised, hooks aloft, is hit square in the back with a bolt of electricity. His whole body starts to shake and his yells turn into wordless yammering. Then, a moment later, Jack is there with his wrench.

CRACK! Blood flies and the splicer falls with a suddenly concave head.

Jack switches to the shotgun and then takes the dead man's place standing over Sinclair. Basically you're being guarded by Rambo now so enjoy that.

Probably he should ask if Sinclair's okay, but fighting is no talky time. He's got to focus here. But as he stares around, it turns out the splicers are all corpses, and the only sounds are the crackle of flames and the creak of timbers under the sea.

[modestman]

The splicer falls on its face just beside Sinclair and he might be able to push the body away but he's a little preoccupied with the blood now seeping through the fabric of his pants. He presses his hand to the wound on his thigh. It's not deep, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

He would say he's getting too old for this, but honestly he doesn't think he was ever cut out for defending himself against throngs of bloodthirsty drug addicts. It never bothered him before; some men are just designed to be soliders, other men are designed to hold the offices. But there is the odd moment during which Sinclair wishes he were a little less of the latter. This is definitely one of those moments.

After a few more seconds of getting past the intial shock of the pain, Sinclair uses his other hand to push himself up, lean back against a wall. "Thank god for you, kid," he laughs, grimacing. "Thought I was done for. Should've invested in a few shooting lessons."

[did_unkindly]

Jack's prowling slightly, still on alert, not allowing himself to get too stationary in case he has to move on a moment's notice. But if there are any more splicers out there, they don't make themselves known. It does look like the coast is clear.

Slowly, he starts to wipe his wrench off on his trouser leg.

Now that they're out of danger, he's not too worried about Sinclair's wellbeing; Jack has sustained far worse on the battlefield and come back good as new. Silently, he pulls a med kit out of his inventory and holds it out where Sinclair can reach.

[modestman]

Sinclair shakes his head. "Can't use those," he says. "I've got the stuff to take care of this in my room, we just have to get in. Hope you were right about being able to disable those turrets, chief. You're only gonna have a few seconds once you get in this door."

[did_unkindly]

He'd ask why Sinclair can't use it, but you know, that part about the turrets seems more important right now. He nods and cycles through plasmids, and sparks of blue lightning crackle away into the air as they're replaced by frost and icicles.

"Are they behind the door?" he asks, looking at Sinclair sideways. Uhh you can get up now dude, it's cool like no rush, but probably actually yes rush.

[modestman]

Um, excuse you. Sinclair was just slashed in the thigh by a rusty metal hook, I think he's allowed a minute or two to get over the blood dripping out between his fingers.

"Two of 'em," he says, nodding. "Side by side. Door combination's one-five-two-five." Meanwhile, he's going to try and figure out how to actually pick himself up and walk the rest of the way to his own medical supplies. Standing up does not seem too appealing right now.

[did_unkindly]

It finally dawns on Jack that Sinclair might consider the injury kind of a big deal.

He kind of looks at the guy for a moment in mild surprise and consternation, because how is Sinclair still alive if all it takes to fell him is a gaping wound and the shock and pain therof? Dang.

Jack starts towards the door, then hesitates, hovering between the twin duties of the combination lock and the guy on the floor.

"Get up," he says, at a worried pitch.

[modestman]

Sinclair gives Jack a somewhat resentful look. "Go on and take care of those turrets, I'll be along."

He heard that, Jack. Luckily his ego is not constructed atop his muscularity, but the concern in Jack's voice delivers a minor blow to it all the same. He doesn't prefer to be defenseless in any sort of irreversible situations, and the least that could happen right now is for Jack not to notice the severity of it.

[did_unkindly]

Oh, well, if you say so. Jack turns his attention to the door.

He clicks the numbers into place, then leans around the doorframe quickly and blasts ice first to the left, then to the --

KTCHAKTCHAKTCHAKTCHA

-- OW JESUS CHRIST right.

He bellows for a moment in pain, though to be fair he has had worse. And then he and the machines are silent.

Well.

That didn't go entirely perfectly, and now there's a bullet somewhere in his arm. Even with his genes upgraded that hurts like a bitch.

But he's on a time limit here. Jack grits his teeth and dives towards the first iced-over turret.

The frozen liquid inside is sluggish, but his cocktail of tonics let Jack work just fine in the cold. The hacking goes smoothly even with an injured arm. When the ice melts, both machine guns are lit a friendly green, and he's able to breathe again.

[modestman]

Sinclair lets his head fall back against the wall once Jack is in the door, pushing a little harder on his wound for pressure and wincing. There are definite reasons he usually works alone, if only for the sake of routine. Sure, on the one hand if Jack had not been there, Sinclair would probably be dead. But if Jack hadn't been there, Sinclair wouldn't have taken this route, none of this would have even happened at all.

He's halfway through a tired sigh when he hears Jack cry out. Reflexively he bolts upright, and it pulls his leg the wrong way but he's able to mostly ignore it.

"Kid!" he calls through the door frame, once the turrets have quieted. "You alright?"

[did_unkindly]

Jack comes back through the door and nods.

His left arm is limp and bleeding pretty badly, but he's already fumbling open the med kit that Sinclair refused.

The concerned look touches his face again when he sees that Sinclair's still on the floor. Come on, man. Stop sitting down on the job, Jack doesn't want to have to straight up carry you out of Rapture.