Burial at Sea: epsiode 3 (part 1)

The light of a swinging lamp pierces the darkness as a lone figure rows in silence. His passenger, a woman who resembles the man in all but gender, stares off into the distance. Their voyage continues in silence for some time, with the occasional meeting of their eyes being the only form of communication between the two.

Finally the man speaks up. "If it's all the same to you, I've grown quite tired of this mask."

"Indulge yourself, brother."

"And I shall." The man replies, retracting the oars of their small wooden boat. "We simply cannot seem to stop ourselves from interfering with the DeWitts."

"They are our cross to bear."

The man waves his hand dismissively. "Be that as they may, I'm finished. What we are doing to the girl is far too cruel."

"To leave her as she is would be crueler still."

"Yes, but she is a monster of our creating."

"Quite, and we must see our experiment all the way through."

"Is that all the girl is, an experiment?"

To this she smiles. "Of course not. Like you I've failed to be completely objective in the matter."

"Then what's the point?" He asks, visibly annoyed.

"Dear brother, the point is to atone."

"Atone?"

"Yes, atone. The thought experiment is over. We must clean up after ourselves."

"And all it takes is dragging the girl through hell one more time."

At this final statement both figures once again fell silent.



Booker DeWitt opens the door in a hurried panic. Anna, she had to be there. She couldn't just be-

Gone. The crib was empty. Had it all been for nothing? Was this all just some hellish cycle? Damned to repeat these events again and again. Damned to face his failings as a father and as a man. Damned to watch Elizabeth suffer both by his hand and through his inaction? His heart ached with the confusion.

A voice from behind shook him to his core. "You're lucky, Mr. DeWitt. Not many people survive their own death."

"Paradoxes are messy things." A feminine voice added.

Booker turns to face the pair and steadies himself against the doorframe. Why are they here? Is this just the cycle repeating itself? Are they here to mock me? "Lutece?"

"The very same." The masculine voice replies.

"Where is Anna?" Booker demands, righting himself.

"A good question, Mr. DeWitt."

The woman, Rosalind, extends her hand. "We shall take you to her."

"Wait." Booker said, withdrawing his hand. "I have questions."

Rosalind frowns and steps forward. "I'm quite sure, but we have work to do." At this she extends her hand again, more insistently this time.

Booker's temper begins to flair. "What is all this? Where is she?"

"First you must play your part."

"My part?"

A small service radio is shoved into Booker's hands. "The girl must have something to rely on. But she must believe she has nobody."

"What do you mean? Just tell me what's going on."

"The girl has been set down a dark path. Try as she might, she cannot escape the cycle of violence."

"That is where you come in." Robert adds.

You want me to-"

"To guide her. Be her inner voice when she needs you the most."

"But this is something she must do on her own. She can never know that it's you."

"Ho-what do I do?"

"It's simple, pull up a chair and wait."

Booker looked around in confusion, but sure enough there's a small stool by his feet.

"And I just wait?" Booker asks, taking a seat on the stool.

"You could play the guitar if you like." Robert suggested.

As he's about to ask what Robert means he realizes that he's holding a guitar. Not just any guitar, but his old guitar from his military days. Those scratches on the neck left no doubt in his mind.

"How the hell do you keep doing that?"

But as he asked an even more fantastic display took place. In one instant he was standing in his office with the Luteces. Now, now he was somewhere completely different, yet strangely familiar. This architecture, Elizabeth had taken him here before. A city under the sea, is this where Elizabeth was?

As if in answer the room suddenly shifts. Metal rusts, lights dim, pipes break. The room aged years in mere seconds. Then Booker noticed the figures, several men dragging a corpse away. A young woman laying on the ground. She was hurt, he could tell that. Then it struck him: the woman, that was Elizabeth.

Suddenly Booker became aware of the fact that the scene around him was playing out in real time. But before he can react a hand touches his shoulder reassuringly. "They can't see us. The girl can see you, but that is the extent of it."

Elizabeth cries out as one of the men drags off a small child. Is that why she's here? Who is that child?

"Repeat what I say to you. No questions." Rosalind commands, urgency dripping from every word. "Say 'Tell him you can get him back.'"

"Tell him you can get him back."

Elizabeth's voice was chocked with confusion. "Booker? Oh, Booker...What? I don't understand what...How-"

"Say 'I can get you back to Rapture.'"

"What?"

Booker's impatience rose. She was going to get herself killed asking so many questions. "Just say it."

Booker watches the exchange between Elizabeth and this Atlas character in pained silence. Finally Rosalind provides him with a name. "Tell him, 'Suchong.'"

"Suchong."

"And how do you know that slant-eyed wonder?" Atlas inquires, stalking over to Elizabeth.

"You're his lab assistant."

"I'm his lab assistant." Elizabeth responds confidently.

Atlas, he had met men like him before. The army, the gambling halls, they were always the same. A common street thug made a tyrant by an ounce of power.

Again Rosalind prompts him. "That's between me..."

"That's between me..."

"And the slant."

"And the slant." Booker's hairs rise as she continues. She's going off script, she's going to get herself in trouble. "But if I do this, the girl goes with me." Who is this girl?

"Little sisters are worth their weight in gold. She's not up for negotiation."

"Last time I checked, back in the city they were making Little Sisters by the dozen."

"That's a right fairy tale you've dreamed up, sister. But if you're lying I can just as well kill ya tomorrow. Down here we got nothin' but time." With that Atlas slides a service radio over to Elizabeth, much like the one Rosalind gave him. "In case I need to get a hold a' ya." Atlas turns, but then thinks better of it. "If you see suchong, tell him: Atlas says he hasn't forgotten 'im."

Booker's blood began to boil as one of Atlas' men strikes Elizabeth knocking her out cold. It takes every ounce of willpower not to rush to her side. But he doesn't.

Why? He asks himself. Why not go over there and tell her the truth, why not stop the man when he saw him raise his fist against her? Truthfully he didn't fully know. But if playing this part could save Elizabeth, then so be it.