A Girl of Columbia.

Standing over the dead man's body I feel a twinge of guilt. I regret the necessity of killing this poor man, but he was too far gone. Spliced up and insane beyond reason.

Rummaging through the man's pockets I begin to search for supplies. I had to escape. This place, Rapture, it wasn't my home. I had to get back to Columbia. Back to Booker.

I stare down at my blue dress, torn and marred with blood. Something had gone wrong. I wasn't supposed to be here. I had memories of a city in the sky. A man named Booker who would do anything for me. And a young woman who had to be me.

Whipping my head around at the sound of approaching footsteps I frantically search for a place to hide. At knee height is some kind of maintenance access. Hurriedly I pull aside the grate and begin to crawl through.

The voices are long past as I venture deeper into the crawlspace. Perhaps I would luck out? The bathyspheres had all been locked down, but perhaps one of the maintenance workers had some kind of key that would allow me to bypass the lock? How my ability to open tears was taken from me, I had no clue. But I miss it sorely.

Finally I come to an exit. Another small access like the one I had come from. Carefully I move aside the grate to reveal a sight that sends me reeling back; A woman. She has strikingly familiar features, sullied by dirt and cuts, and her short blonde hair is in disarray. I can feel that I know her, or knew her; That her name was just on the tip of my tongue.

Slowly we approach one another. I extend my hand and reach out to the figure. As our hands meet I feel the smooth surface of a wall-mounted mirror. In anger I ball my fists and destroy the surface, driving the figure from my sight. "Get a hold of yourself, Carol."

As I stare down at my bloodied hands I begin to regain my composure. There was no time to dwell on trickery. I needed to get out of here. I needed to find him.

But not right now. I could feel weariness tugging at me. It had been a tiring day and it had been so long since I had a decent night's rest. Finding a small corner I lay down and cradle my gun to my chest. As I begin to drift off a familiar feeling began to overtake me. How long had it been since I had last seen him?

"Booker?"  I croak.

"Booker?"

"...I miss you."