Rapture Noir

 RAPTURE NOIR: Booker the Detective by Realmzjetter

            “Yaargh”
    The groan is the only thing I can manage as I wake; my head felt like it was in a vice. The colors of the room were garish and loud to my eyes, and everything shined and glowed to where I could see it all through my eyelids, like street lamps that never went out. How damn much did I have to drink last night? My bed was depressingly empty, given the hangover that was surprising, and possibly even more depressing. If a drunk can’t get a drunk, who can he get?
            I get up and head for the shower. The sound of the running water blares into my brain, drumming out Morse code on my head. I try thinking about yesterday. I wouldn’t normally drink so much; maybe I just wanted to forget something. Whatever it was the booze obliterated it, the entire previous day was blank to me, like it had never happened. The warm water on my skin soothes me, seemed like every morning I’d wake up with more aches and pains then the day before. Whatever I had done yesterday, I was getting to old for it.
            Coming out of the shower, I pulled on some pants, the suspenders dangling at my sides. I look around my apartment turned office. Not many places could sport their own shower, not in this day and age, but that was one of the perks about this place, everything was above what you’d expect elsewhere.
            ‘The finest minds deserve the best, a place to be who they truly were,’ Andrew Ryan had said. I knew he didn’t mean me, no. I was part of the parasites in his eyes, I’m sure. The small man standing on the shoulders of giants. Well that was fine with me.
            My name is Booker DeWitt, and I perform a much needed job here in Ryan’s underwater city. A city of men and women who wanted to be free of the morality that kept them in line up above. But when they needed something done and didn’t want to be fingered for it, well, they called on someone like me.
    I was supposed to be an investigator, was told I had a knock for it during the war. I was called a sergeant then, lead my own squad of men along the lines. One of the guys, Delmar, we called him ‘Handyman’, could fix anything, a rifle, tank treads, only thing he couldn’t fix was the hole some shell shrapnel made in his chest. Well he always liked to brag to other companies that his sergeant could sniff out a kraut faster than anyone alive. Said I could do it ‘cause I was allergic to cabbage.
            Well once everything was done and over I was shipped back home with nothing better to do with myself, so I started looking into other people’s business. Made some money out of it, at first. But then people started avoiding me. Seems they didn’t think they should talk to me lest they ‘make him think about the fighting’ Went from town to town, until there were rumors of a place away from all of that.
            I found people and places for a living, and Andrew Ryan couldn’t keep a place like Rapture secret forever. I wasn’t part of the first wave of people to come in, I showed up on this soggy doorstep in 1950.
            Work in Rapture wasn’t always like up above. Sure there were murders and burglaries, and I found who did it, but most of the work was for the higher ups. The business men and the scientists and the doctors and everyone else, the people who could really afford it. I’d lie, cheat and steal for them, find out what their opponents were doing, or stop them from doing it.

            Speaking of, there was a packet in the slot at the door. Looks like someone needed something from me. I yanked it in and tore it open. Optimized Eugenics huh? Frank Fontaine wanted my help. Looked like his business with the gene tonics was getting a little crowded and he wanted some of the competition put back in its place. I was supposed to steal whatever new product they were putting out.
            Fontaine had already been here by the time I arrived; he’d started a fishery business, and soon as he did most of the other fisher’s started to close up shop. Guess I knew why. Frank Fontaine, now there was a man who was a fink through and through. Anyone who didn’t see that had to be living in their own little world. I had seen him once, opening up some charity place in Hestia, just walked out and clipped the ribbon, didn’t say a damn word. Everyone thought he was a great man, helping everyone. Security forces said different. He ran smuggling, to hear them tell it, big time on it too. At first I figured it was just more of Ryan’s rhetoric, but the more I looked at Fontaine the worse he smelled.
            I read more through the letter. This other genetics company, Parisian Possibilities, was holding a party showing off their latest tonic or plasmid, or whatever they hell they were about. I shook out the packet and a single ticket fell out. Tonight. Getting mixed up with Fontaine didn’t sound like a good idea to me, but I’d hadn’t had a job in a while and in a city like Rapture if you didn’t have money you had nothing at all. I put on a shirt and coat and set out. It would be best to get an idea on just what Parisian Possibilities was all about. David down at the business offices should be able to help me there.

            David Fairegrow was a clerk. Everyplace needed someone who knew how to keep things sorted and knew what was what. In a place like Rapture with copyrights and patents being the Law of the Land, David was one of the holders of the Holy Word. I dropped a ten on the table between us; he slapped a file down on top of it.
            “They’re a new company, came in just before Ryan sealed everything up. Not really sure where they came from. Sounded a bit upper crust, New England or something I think. They both brought in their own paperwork for their products.”
             “Them?”
            “Yeah two of ‘em, brother and sister. They seemed a bit strange to me,”   this was coming from a man who’s idea of a night on the town was staying home to reading through copyright ledgers to see if anyone infringed on anyone else. They must have been a real pair of odd balls.
            Looking through the papers, they didn’t have much in the way of products. A few tonics was all, common stuff, things to change your hair or eye color, but dozens of those were already on the market. One plasmid too, they called it Schrödinger’s Cat which made a person appear to be dead, even when they weren’t. Kids loved it for pranks.
            What the hell was in this that Fontaine wanted? “Did they run a new patent by you recently? Anything new?”
            “Oh, you’re talking about that shindig they’re putting on in Frolic, eh? Nothing new out of them, kind of slow compared to everyone else using this ADAM stuff.”
            That was an understatement. By the time I had arrived ADAM was already the craze and Fontaine had number of plasmids and tonic’s on the market. None of them made any job I had any easier when I was starting out. How the hell do you catch a guy that can teleport? It was just a saving grace that Fontaine took it off the market when I’d just arrived. Stuff like their damned Scout still made it too damn easy someone to lose a tail though.
            Don’t get me wrong, some of these things were damn useful, even if they made you feel like you’d gotten a micky after you took one. I never had to carry a lighter again since I finally broke down and injected myself with incinerate, ‘course for the first few weeks it felt like my skin was on fire. Now if only they made something to let me be a better gambler.
            I slid another ten over to the man, “I don’t suppose I could get some copies of their papers, could I David?” He picked up the bill and stuffed it into his pocket.
            “For you, mister DeWitt? Anything,” he said with a smile.

            Water leaked out of a bulkhead on the street as I left Minerva’s Den, the walkways shined like silver. It was leaking last time too. David said they’d called someone to fix it up but ‘resources are being used elsewhere’ as the only answer her got.
            You’d think they’d care more about leaks, this far down. Ryan probably wouldn’t let the whole damn place fall apart anyway, as stupid and egotistical as the man seemed I found it hard to believe he’d let Rapture fall like that.
            I was more concerned with this job. I rummaged through the papers. Parisian Possibilities was small time. Smaller then small time. Kid’s stuff and hair tonics weren’t anything to be worried about. Fontaine would muscle them out in no time. Hell he could probably just buy them out right now, and own everything they’ve got. Why even bother paying me to grab the thing?
            The rub was, I wouldn’t really know until I delivered, and then only if I asked. Something told me Fontaine’s men wouldn’t like me asking.
            There wouldn’t be any problem with just going at the very least. I never got asked, I never took any money, I just happened across a ticket is all.
            I pulled out a cigarette and gave it a light, taking a long drag. I wonder if my good suit still fits. I’d need a shave too.

            I might not be as dashing as I was in uniform, but at least the suit did the trick. Black coat and pants, black tie. Respectable at the very least. Won’t get thrown out of Fort Frolic anyway. I hoped.
            It was a bit of a walk through the streets to get there. It didn’t help at all that some of the main bathyspheres were down for maintenance either. The long walk would give me some more time to think. Hah, hell if I got their early enough maybe I’ll pop into Pharaoh’s Fortune, a few drinks could never hurt.
            I’d decided to head over by way of the mason’s quarter. For some reason the masonry and architecture of the place made me feel a little nostalgic, but for what I could never tell. Mason’s Quarter was where all the architects lived. They did their best to impress each other any anyone not as well to do as them with what they could make in Rapture. Each building sported its own design all apart from the others, with friezes and columns and statuary. You could probably take a class on the subject just by walking through the district.
    As far as I could remember I’d never been much of one for art, but every time I came around to Minvera’s on business I couldn’t help but look at ‘The Thinker’ there and feel like I was half of a misremembered conversation. All the same, even if I couldn’t remember why, I liked the look of the buildings.
            Plus it’s always good to know what the ritzies are out and about to in their buying and no place was better than Little Eden. Maybe it was the suit, hah, maybe a bit of the finery got into me. Nothing in the shops was for me, though, couldn’t afford any of it, even if I had wanted to buy.
            Fort Frolic wasn’t too far off from Mason’s; the rich don’t like to be kept away from their art for too long, lest people stop seeing them appreciate it. A few quick trips through the sea and I was back in the familiar neon and gleam of the entertainment district.
            Fort Frolic was the place to be for the arts and entertainment. Sander Cohen ran the whole damn place and the man was a wiz for the art. Statues dotted the area, glowing green and red and gold and blue under the lights. Several venues for dancing, balls, theater were spread out in the district, which more interesting fair the further up you went, sitting atop the whole thing was the Pharaoh’s Fortune Casino, and just below it Eve’s Garden.
            I’d been inside Eve’s a few times, even got to see Jasmine Jolene dance one time. I was nowhere near a regular but the barman was always helpful if I needed a tip on anything. I decided I’d forgo the drinks. The last thing I wanted was someone asking me what I was doing here and me blabbing on the job.

    The venue wasn’t exactly the cream of the crop. A small ball room off of the main entrances, Possibilities wasn’t going to attract a lot of people with their resume. If I did decide to swipe whatever they had, at least that would make it easier. The few people that were around mingled amongst themselves waiting for food to be served, I was never much for these things. You had something you wanted to show off just do it, all this dining stuff was well, it was what socialites did. Sometimes I got in because I tailed one, but then I usually ended up leaving through the kitchen to find them with their mistress.
            The other guests all had some tonic in them or another, crazy hair colors abounded in the place, green, pink, one woman’s hair was a complete snowy white and she was barely any age at all. I suppose Parisian Possibilities had a higher class of customer then I thought. Dining carts were wheeled in, stacked with little sandwiches, cheeses, grapes, sliced fruit, and all manner of fair out of Arcadia.
            The grapes were rather good, actually, big and juicy. No seeds either. I chewed away as I mingled. The other well to do guests talked about politics, or the state of Rapture in general, a few hushed voiced spread news of what was happening up top, and whenever that came up there was always the question on someone’s lips ‘Whatever happened to Johnny Topside?’
            Johnny was a bit of an oddity and a celebrity. He’d found his way into Rapture after we shut down contact with the world above the waves, then one day he disappeared. There were always rumors that he was living out his days in the maintenance tunnels, or he had died trying to steal Ryan’s fortune. If you could find him he’s still be holding the bag he stashed it in, some liked to say.
            I didn’t pay much attention to the conversations. None of them were turned to the job, and it was always the same stuff anyway.
            But not everyone was interested in what these people had to say. A girl had broken away from the rest of the gaggle, and went to a bay door off the side of the room. Hell, if she’s not interested in all of this she might have something interesting to say. I smiled and adjusted my tie. Besides, just because I struck out last night doesn’t mean I have to spend tonight alone too. I waited about a minute or so because excusing myself from a man with golden hair and orange eyes, and a pointed beard the color of fire. I don’t even think he noticed me leaving; he loved his voice so much.
            The adjacent room was about a quarter the size of the ball room it connected to. A dome slipped out over the top, and down to the floor, a railing lined the room, keeping people about two feet away from the glass. The girl was leaning on the railing, her hips swayed back and forth, like maybe she was dancing in her head.
            She wore a black skirt and white shirt. Simple and elegant, I couldn’t help but feel overdressed.
            I stepped up next to her; she was looking up into the black of the ocean.
            “Sure is something, this little party, eh?” I asked. She just ignored me. I was about to cough when she spoke. Her voice was sweet, with just a tint of gray smoke to it, “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” Looking at her, I had expected strawberries or cherries, but her breath had the faint covering of tobacco. It just made her more attractive.
            It was always night in Rapture, even during waking hours. Just one long endless cloudy night. The sea was just deep and dark where the spot lights of the city didn’t touch it. There weren’t any stars.
            I looked up anyway.
            When I glanced back at her, she was grinning. She leaned away from the railing and turned around, looking back through the double doors in at the guests. “I’ve been to better ones,” she said, pulling out a cigarette. Without thinking much of it I did the same. With a snap of my fingers I lit mine. The girl just took my hand and lit her own.
            Her lips were a velvet sun set, and pouted as she took a drag. Her eyes were the brilliant blue of the sky, the last time I saw it. And her hair was black as night. Darker even. It was as if light didn’t shine off it. She took another drag off her cigarette.  Lots of people smoke in different ways. Nervous smokers just puff, and make a lot of trouble for everyone. I met one woman who took on her cigarettes with a vendetta. This girl smoked like she was kissing a lover.
            “So what are you doing here, miss…?” I let the question hang in the air, hoping for an answer.
            “I guess you could say I’m a friend of the owners. Family friends maybe,” And that was it, not the answer I was hoping for.
            I blew a thin stream of smoke into the air, “I don’t suppose the owners would be showing up, would they?” She laughed like a melody of bells.
            “They don’t get on much with people. I think they’d much rather just be left alone,” she smiled at me, “No, they won’t be here.”
            Good and bad news. Let people to really know if I took whatever this thing was, but no real chance to get any more information about it. Still no idea on what the hell it all was about.
            The girl pushed herself off of the railing, and started to walk away, snuffing out her cigarette with her shoe.
            “Hey wait. I uh, never got your name” I said, straightening up to go after her. She spun around on her heel, the black skirt she wore flared around her, she was wearing stockings underneath. She looked me up and down and after a moment let out a self satisfied chuckle. Couldn’t say if she approved or didn’t, but I guess what she saw was just what she expected.
            “That’s because I didn’t give it,” she flashed me another smile, “Thanks for the light. See you around, Mister DeWitt.” With a little wave, she stepped back into the ball room. The girl could sashay too, like a snake in heels. I leaned back on the railing and looked up into the sea.
            The stars really were beautiful, last time I saw them. I didn’t really think much about it at the time. You never really know how much you’d miss something until it’s gone.
            Hah, I hadn’t thought about the sky in years. I doubt much of anyone did in Rapture. I half mused to myself that she must have just arrived, but no one ‘just arrives’ in Rapture. The way she looked at me, like I was an open book. And when she told me she’d see me around, it was like she’d already skipped to the end and found out the gardener had done it.
            Wait, when did I give her my name?
            I tossed the cigarette away and hurried to the door, the girl wasn’t anywhere to be seen, just the small sea of socialites gabbing about the newest trends. As I cast around for her, a man stood in front of everyone and announced that the unveiling of the new tonic was about to begin.
            Dammit, Booker. Get your head back, now’s not the time to chase some skirt. You might just have a job here.
            With the flourish of a circus ringleader the man who made the announcement waved his arms and another smartly dressed man wheeled in a cart with another dish and lid. Once it was wheeled into the center of the room and was sufficiently surrounded, the top was lifted.
            A tonic glass say on the small plate, the liquid inside glowed a faint yellow. The light reflected off the platter it was served on and made the whole thing look as if it were made of gold.
            “Parisian Possibilities is proud to present Recall All,” the man said, holding up the jar, “A new tonic that allows one to easily and completely remember any event that’s ever happened to them.” There was a smattering of applause.
            That’s what this was about? A damn memory tonic? Sure it’s a little unique but, surely Fontaine could come up with their own thing? And who the hell just forgets everything that’s happened to them?
            “For one time only ladies and gentlemen, Parisian Possibilities will give away samples of the tonic for free, just step right up here and…”
            I left the man there talking, and the company’s customers to their raving on the tonic. I opened the doors back into Fort Frolic, still burning through the night on its electric lights and anything Sander Cohen could sell. The job was a bust. If I was going to swipe something it was going to be something big enough to be taken, not some damn memory test. Of all the useless things to make a tonic for?

            I had wanted to go to Eve’s or Pharaoh’s Fortune to unwind but something pushed me away, maybe the headache I still had remnants of this morning. Maybe just my foul mood from that damn tonic, either way I needed to clear my head. I walked the streets of our fair city, this late more and more of the well to do and the business men were in their parties, their cups, or their beds, or all three if they were lucky. I found myself in Dionysus Park. Arcadia wasn’t normally open to the public, so some big doctor Ryan had gotten started up this place for people that missed trees and grass. So she made the park, carousels, and vendors, restaurants and cinema, the whole Central Park experience. The woman had set up more galleries and theaters too. I never figured Cohen to be one to share, but he’d put some of his own work here too.
            I walked through one of Lamb’s Gardens, a faint memory of central park and an Irish bar tune danced my head. The leaves in the tree swayed from the air blowing through the vents. Smart, just seeing a tree standing there it was just a big plant. But give it some wind to sway in and suddenly it was a forest. The air was always fresher here. Then again that was half the point of these places; they made a fair amount of the air we breathe down here. I lit up a cigarette, watching the flame juke and jiggle on my fingers. Burn down this place, burn down Arcadia, you could kill the whole damn city. And Fontaine gives people the power to start a fight with a snap of your fingers. I took a drag and shook my head.
            From the park proper I could hear a bell, a clock chime. It went through its little melody, a short hand version of ‘Rise, Rapture, Rise’ and then struck twice.
            Already two in the morning? Maybe I should have gotten a sample of that tonic, I can’t seem to remember where the hours go. I pinched out my Cigarette and stuffed it away, leaving the garden and returning to the park at large. It was basically deserted. Everyone and their children would be asleep by now. The lines still blared over the grass and trees, an amusement park abandoned in broad daylight. Eerie enough for anyone if you asked me. I followed the path and turned down by the theater. One direction would take me through back to some residential districts and the Adonis Resorts but that was too much out of the way from Apollo Square. I made my way to the trains.
    The Atlantic Express wasn’t used much, not since the Bathysphere’s came about, but it was still a good way to travel if you didn’t have the money to afford much. I was much more at home in a train then one of those diving bells anyway, maybe the park put me more in mind of New York than I thought. A few other people were there waiting for a train car to arrive. Some woman probably out late to the park, and a man sitting against the wall, face in his hands. Tattered clothes too, must be another worker down on his luck.
    Don’t tell anyone, but I guess I’ve a bit of a soft heart for those kinds of people. I walked over to him and dropped him a few dollars. He gave some kind of grunt from his hands as I walked away. You saw more and more of them each day, people that came to Rapture for a better life only to find that other people already had it, and they didn’t want to share. Some did their best to soldier on with whatever work they could get, but most of them turned to thieving or begging. Already rumors ran rampant about a slum in some of the darker places built by the workers themselves.
            As I walked back to the platform the woman gave me a smile, maybe she liked my bit of charity. Pretty girl too, blonde hair, green eyes, a bit of a snaggletooth but nobody’s perfect. Her red dress hugged her tight and didn’t mind showing it off. I gave her a grin and nodded my head was I walked behind her. The dress didn’t mind showing her off at all. There was a time table on a sign over a bench against the wall, no matter how many times I’d take the train I could never remember when it arrived anywhere. There were a lot of crossed out districts, more and more stations closing up, Apollo’s was still there. Good, just a little train ride and then back ho-
            “Let go of me!”
            I turned at the shout and found the woman doing her best to pull herself away from the beggar man, one of his hands around her forearm, the other holding up a twist of metal, it almost looked like a meat hook.
            “Such a pretty bird. Sing pretty bird.” He brought the metal closer to her face.
            “Hey!” I was already running towards them when I shouted. The man looked over at me just as I came bearing down on him, tumbling the three of us to the ground. At least he wasn’t focused on the woman anymore. I got up as the man reached around for his weapon, the girl had scrambled away. He found his hook and swung out with it, but I had already taken a step back, it missed me by feet. Still too close for my comfort. The man got up as he swung and for the first time I could see his face, a long open scar slid across it diagonally, separating the lower half of his face from the upper half, and skin seemed to be pulled across his scalp tightly. He shook as he moved, and kept on chanting to a melodic tune only he could hear.
            “Cut you up, take your face!” He lunged out again, I stepped to the side and snapped my fingers and opening my hand, fire filed my palm before I squeezed a fist around it. With the flaming fist of an angry god I smashed the side of his face like a freight train. Down he went as fire licked at his skin and clothes. When he felt the heat he shrieked and stumbled to his feet, fell and crawled and ran from the station.
            Panting from the adrenalin I looked around for the girl but she was nowhere to be found. Probably legged it the moment I got his attention. She probably won’t be taking the train anymore.
            Strike number two Booker.
            I’d heard stories about some of the workers. Used plasmids too much, got too much ADAM inside of 'em, made them crazy. Started cutting up their own faces and when that didn’t help started carving up other peoples. Never really thought they were true.
            I looked down at my own wrist. I still had a bit of a scar from when I’d gotten my little lighter trick, maybe that would be just enough to let the demons in?
            In a few minutes time the train pulled in, and I all too quickly left the park behind me.

            Some of the lights in front of my apartment had gone out again. Would probably take a week for anyone to do anything about it. Apollo’s Square didn’t get much in the way of attention from the workers. With no glare from the inside the spotlights out in the water were clearer then I’d ever seen them. Out in the water Rapture never looked alive to me. It looked like monuments in the ocean, markers, gravestones, all lit up to tell someone who’d never see them that we were here. I looked up into the deep blackness of the ocean where none of the lights of the city could reach. The more I looked into that black the less I could help but see that girl from the party.
            ‘The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?’
    It would be nice to see the sky again.

    A girl watched from an alley as Booker opened his door and stepped inside. In the darkness all he would have had a chance to see was her blouse, but a small coat she wore over that helped to block out the white.
            “So Booker didn’t want the tonic…” she smiled to herself and a soft giggle escaped her, “For being a detective he can’t really take a hint…”
            She stepped out of the alleyway and into the constant noon time of Rapture’s night.

    ----

    The Lovely Angel by Realmzjetter

            The girl looked up into the heavens. I wonder what she saw there. Did she see the clouds, the sun, starlit skies and thunderous storms? Did she soar above them all on wings of freedom? Or would she simply gaze at the cold hard metal of Rapture, and the cold unending sea beyond?
            She had two smiles, one pert and slightly parted with a little too much lipstick, the other ragged and bloody, just under her chin. Around her head blood pooled into a crimson halo, slowly being eroded away by a small leak in the wall.
            She was a pretty girl, green dress and a bit dolled up. Sixteen years old, seventeen at the oldest. Some father’s lost his little girl tonight.
            “So, Tom, what do we have?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the woman’s hands.
            “We don’t have anything, DeWitt. You have a case,” Thomas said, “I’m not keeping my boys in this shit hole any longer then I have to.”
            Thomas Mast was a sergeant in the security forces. Clean shaven and short, he had a temper on him that could frighten a lion if he got riled up. He wasn’t in a good mood.
            “Well what do you have on the girl?”
            “Exactly what you see in front of you,” I stared at the man as he walked away. What crawled up his backside?
            I sigh and kneel down next to the girl. No purse on her and her dress didn’t have any pockets or places to hide things. Robbery maybe? Clearly the cause of death was the slit throat but if she was robbed why kill her?
            “Tom being hard on you too?”
            The voice was familiar. I looked up into the small face of Abigail Williams. Abby she liked to be called. Fancied herself a reporter, liked to follow the police around to get her stories. To hear the security guys tell it she was a bit of a badge bunny.
            “Yeah, he’s not really giving me much to work on here,” I said, getting up, “And I can only hope he or his boys didn’t just decide to walk off with anything.”
            “What’s the matter, old man losing his edge?” Abby smiled like a cat with its cream.
            “I’m not that old, Abby.”
            “Oh it’s alright Mister DeWitt,” she wrote something down on her little pad, “Some girls like an older man”
    Abigail was a bit short, with good set of wide hips and narrow shoulders and not much else going for her upstairs. She could saunter like a champ though and not many girls looked as good as her in a pencil skirt. It was always nice to see her and always enjoyable to watch her leave. I never got her age, but she was probably eighteen or so. Probably.
            I grinned to myself, and looked back at the body, “Well then maybe you could tell me if she did?”
            The girl smiled and flipped back through her book, “Tommy told me the girl was found by a group of girls from the orphanage. When they talked to her she kept on asking about the angel, so that’s what they’ve been calling her.”
            “Did they get anything else out of her? She see anything strange before hand?”
            “The only strange thing about her was how happy she was to see the girl. I know what you’re thinking Booker but they weren’t related, the little girl was from a worker home originally and that dress ‘Angel’ is wearing was in the window in Mason’s Textiles and Tailor’s for 50 dollars last week.”
            “That’s why I like you, Abby. You’ve got a mind for important things,” I said scratching my wrist, “So streaks or smudges, other than those left by our friendly security men, so she was killed here. And since we’ve still got blood around with that leak it was recent. Whoever did it could easily still be around here,” I felt I should put on a hat, but I’d never gotten around to getting one. I ran my fingers through my hair, “It was nice seeing you Abby, be a good girl and call the doctors for this, I don’t think our angel here will be able to tell us much more.” I started down the alley to the main walk of the block.
            “They’ve already been called, Booker,” she said catching up with me and putting her arms around mine own, “and besides, I’m going with you.”
            “You are, are you?”
            “I need another story, and I don’t think I’ve written one about a roguish detective keeping the people or Rapture safe,” she said it as if she knew there was a bed nearby.
            I guess she decided it was my turn for a ride.

            Abigail was better at this then I figured. Her stories in the papers were generally rather vapid and short, not really explaining what happened, who did it, or even why or what happened to the criminals. She was currently interviewing home owners nearest where the girl was found. While most of the people in Rapture never had much to do with Ryan’s grand vision, they still felt wary of anyone looking around with a badge, but a cute girl with wavy brown hair? Abby could probably get them to talk about anything. We’d been at this since noon.
    Abigail came around the corner whistling a tune to herself, pencil twirling in her fingers and grinning ear to ear.
            “Well? Anything?” in the three hours we’d been at this all we’d gotten were some dead leads and people thinking she was like Johnny Topside. At least a few people had the wherewithal to remember some screaming in the night.
            “You’re going to owe me a drink for this. Last night she was seen with a boy, Damien,” she tapped her notebook as though it was the dispenser of truth, “He doesn’t live around here but Dr. Steinman’s hired him on in the Medical Pavilion.” If it was at all possible the girls grin got wider.
            “Then we’re headed down town, I suppose.”

            The bathysphere ride could have gone better, Abby clearly had some necking in mind, but I couldn’t help but think of that girl in a pool of her own blood. Don’t get me wrong, a fight riles me up like any other man, but the girl was so young, something about it just stuck in my mind.
            The Medical Pavilion was one of the places I tried to avoid. Tile floors everywhere, half the doctors and nurses covered in blood. Reminds you of triage and camp hospitals and beds filled with boys that were too damn young. The walls were plastered with Steinman’s ads for better faces and better lives. Don’t trust a man that can remake a face, just because the wrappers any different doesn’t make the food any less rotten.
            Steinman, it seemed, wasn’t busy. He saw us in his office almost as soon as we arrived. A posh little place, and with even more of his cosmetics posters, they damn near buried his doctorates. The biggest feature of the room was his massive green felt topped desk, behind it a large desk chair, with two smaller chairs on the other side for patients.
            “How can I help the lovely couple then?” he said lounging into his desk chair. The man had files and papers all over the desk, and most garish of all a skull replica as a paper weight. I hoped it was a replica. You could never tell with these medical types. I let the couple comment slide.
            “I’m Booker DeWitt, a detective, and this is Abigail. Doctor, do you know a boy by the name of Damien?” The man looked up into the lights, pursing his lips a bit.
            “I think… I… Ah yes yes, Damien! Bright lad, took to the job like a duck to… well, whatever ducks go to. What about him?” he was bright eyes and smiled.
            “I’m looking for him,” I said, as matter of fact as I could manage.
            “We think he might know something about a murder” Abby said next to me.
            “A murder? Damien? The boy’s good at the craft but when he first started he could barely stand the sight of blood. How’s he supposed to murder someone?”
            “Very bloodily, I’d say,” I said back. Steinman looked from each of us when we talked, but while he looked at Abigail in a rather general way, he seemed to be focused on me, eyes just above my own eye line. The hell was he staring at? “What does Damien do here, exactly?”
            “He’s an intern, I suppose you could say. Did poorly with all the general things, but once I got a bit of my sculpting plasmid in him and showed him how to use the tonics he was a natural for cosmetics,” the doctor twiddled his thumbs around and around, and glanced at Abigail, “Maybe you’ve seen Clovette’s theater show, miss? Damien did her up for it. Almost like Aphrodite herself that one. Not as good as he could have done, but very promising with some more practice.”
            Abby said she hadn’t seen it, but she would be sure to check on it, and made another little note in her book.
            “Do you know where he lives, Doctor? I would like to speak to him,” he turned back to me, and again with the stare.
            “Yes yes. Apollo Square I think. Let me find his address, it’s in here somewhere.”
            The man rummaged through the papers on his desk, then through his drawers. Abby and I shared a glance; clearly she felt he was bonkers as well. As he talked to himself I couldn’t help but notice Frank Fontaine’s name on some of the papers. Hah, maybe he was finally going to get around to getting some hair back on that dome of his.
            “Here it is!” he pulled out a beat up leather wallet fat with paper. When he opened it he again, rummaged until he found a slip with, presumably, Damien’s address. Ha handed it over with a cheery grin. “Is there anything else?”
            “No, thank you. Well actually, could we see where he worked? Did Damien have an office or anything?” I looked at the paper, Apollo Square, Hermes’ Hostel room 14.
            The man laughed, “Interns don’t have offices detective. Damien had a locker with the other students here. You’ll have to look down there. If you go out and head for the main lobby, it will be the third door before you enter the lobby itself.”
            “Thank you very much Doctor Steinman” Abby said as I got up, the good doctor was out of the chair faster then I’d think he could move, and shaking my hand.
            “Always good to help the people that keep our fair Rapture safe,” the grin had gone glassy, “You know, Mister DeWitt, I could very easily take care of that nasty scar, a simple rejuvenation tonic would do wonders for you”
            With some doing I yanked my hand away. The doctor’s grip was like a vice, “No, er... thanks, I like my face the way it is.”
            Steinman’s face twitched ever so slightly, “Suit yourself, detective.”

            The locker room for the interns and students and nurses was nearly empty, just a large gleaming white room with grey lockers lined up like soldiers. Abby and I went down the rows of lockers, ignoring the few people changing into those hospital uniforms they’re always so keen on. I couldn’t help but notice Abigail’s wandering eyes. Damien’s locker was at the very end of the second row and it seemed he was rather trusting, he didn’t even have a lock.
            I pulled it open, inside hung a pair of pants and a button up shirt, brown and green. I glanced at Abby, and caught her staring at some of the other occupants in the locker room, “Abby, do you… Abby? Abigail!”
            “Yes! What?”
            “Maybe you’d like to go ask around about Damien?” I suggested, might as well put her attention to some good use. The girl nodded and scampered off, a kid in a candy store.
            There were shoes at the bottom of the locker as well, some smattering of dirt and mud on them, along with a slight bit of rust too. Going through the pockets I found some crumpled receipts and a used ticket for the Express, along with two for a carousel. Nothing in the shirt pockets, but in the little cubby at the top was a note from a Madeline saying she’d love to go for a date.
            Hello ‘Angel’
            I stood back from the locker, staring at it, but my mind was back at the alleyway.
            So Damien asks the girl, Madeline maybe, out. They head over to where, Dionysus Park? I don’t know of many other carousels around, maybe Ryan Amusements? Either way, they go ride around about, probably have a good time. Then, coming home, they have an argument. Maybe Damien thinks he deserves a bit more than a few laughs or some Bathysphere Bingo, but Maddie doesn’t want to go along with it. Still a little extreme to kill the girl over that, but a girl crying rape probably couldn’t do much to help a cosmetic surgeon’s career.
            Without a murder weapon or Damien himself it was a little flimsy, but it was the best I could come up with.
            Abigail came back, all smiles, “Well the other boys said they knew Damien.”
            “And?”
            “Well, they said he was sweet on a girl, Madeline. I asked them about our ‘Angel’ and they said it sounded like her,” I showed her the note from Damien’s locker.
            “That’s good, two witnesses and some actual evidence and it looks like we know Maddie’s real name now” Abby wrote a few more notes down.
            “So where to now, partner?”
            I grinned at the comment, I never had a partner before, “We head over to Damien’s home and see what we can turn up. Maybe the kid himself will be there and save us a lot of trouble.”

            It was already five by the time we got to Damien’s apartment. The Hermes’ Hostel wasn’t too far away from my own place, even if in a bit of a poorer part of town. The landlord Mister Garbell let us in.
            Steinman’s office was a mess, Damien’s home was just the opposite, everything in its place, it was almost like he’d never lived there. The place was a two room apartment, one main room and a side room, probably for a bed, though Damien had moved his into the main room.
            The boy was nowhere to be seen. Well can’t have too much luck, now can we? “Alright, Abby, let’s take a look around.”
            He had a cheap desk against the wall at the foot of the bed, medical books rose like a tiny city all across it, all surrounding a city square made up by a notebook. Flipping through it, it was a sort of journal, the days were listed longer entries took up a whole page but other times several days were needed. It was just writing on what he’d done that day, or what Steinman had shown him. I flipped through it backwards, past the last few empty pages to his last entry.
            ‘Steinman says that I did good work, but I needed more practice. How can I practice without more patients? He hardly gives me anyone to work on to begin with; the whole situation is starting to irk me.
            ‘My date with Madeline is tonight, hopefully that will take my mind off work.’
            More stuff we already knew, though it seems like he was having some trouble at work. Who doesn’t.
            Other then the various medical books there wasn’t much else to the desk. The bed was made, and under it were some magazines and newspapers, mostly with images of pretty girls. Not to uncommon all things considered. Some of the pictures and pages were torn out. I figure it must be for a book for patients to pick their new noses and such from.
            Abby was searching along the other side of the room, going through the kid’s wardrobe and basin and such. Must not have found much of anything, she didn’t make so much as a peep.
            Until she opened the door to the side room.
            “Uhm… Booker?”
            I turned around and got up from in front of the bed. The side room was gloomy but a quick grope around for a light switch brought illumination to the case.
            There was another desk in here, and a cork board as well. Several photo’s of girls, either from a magazine or paper, or even maybe his own photo’s were pinned to the board, cut up and placed together like jigsaw puzzles, their scraps left to rot on the desk below. Some of them had notes on them, circles and arrows pointing out problems. A mole should be removed here, or placed somewhere else. A brow was too high, or lips too low or wide. And in the middle of it all was a single photo of the girl, Madeline the ‘Angel’ with a scalpel stuck into it, blood along the handle and over the photo.
            Damien was a real monster, it was a wonder no one had been killed before.
            Abby was writing furiously in her little notebook. I pulled out the scalpel. The blood was dry over it, almost looked like it was rusted. I wrapped it up in a cloth and pocketed it, then grabbed the photo.
            “That’s all I need to see. Damien’s been spending a little too much time in the pavilion, maybe seeing all those people cut up made him go off in the head,” Madeline was a clear focus on all of this. Maybe he wanted to make her more beautiful, but she didn’t want any part of it. So he gave her a ‘ruby necklace’ the only way he knew how.
            I had to nearly pull Abigail out of the room, she was writing so much. The search had only taken about fifteen minutes, but it was a slightly longer walk to the nearest constabulary.

            Mast never did look happy to see me. He looked even less happy when he knew he had to pay me.
            “I found out who your man is at the least Mast. I’ve done all your damn leg work. I should at least get more than half my fee, Tom”
            “You didn’t even bring in the guy, DeWitt. You don’t even have a confession.”
            “We’ve got two people confirming he was last seen with the girl, a witness confirming the girl was this ‘Madeline’ and his own damn handwriting saying he was out with her that night. The bloody photo and his knife in it. He did it Mast.”
            Thomas was almost as stubborn as I was. Almost.
    I walked out of the station with half my normal take. I didn’t see Abigail anywhere, must still be inside getting some more notes down.
            The boy was still missing but Mast had called up Steinman and told him what I’d found, and asked for him to call security if Damien ever showed up. Mast said Steinman was sure that Damien would get what he deserved if he ever showed up.
            Well past eight by the time I’d gotten here, nearly nine now. The station was placed at the back of a domed square from which you could see through the water to the towering structure that was Hephaestus. Fish were swimming above the square, the spot lights shining up made them twinkle. I leaned against a statue of Ryan and looked up into the ocean, a tune playing in my head. Without even knowing it, I started singing under my breath.
            “Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you," Birds singing in the sycamore trees. Dream a little dream of me,”
            “I didn’t know you sang, Booker.”
            I jerked out of whatever trance I was in, Abby was standing a few feet away, “Oh er... I don’t really.”
            “What song was that?” she asked coming a little closer.
            “I don’t know,” I shrugged, “just something I heard somewhere.”
            I looked back up into the ocean, the fish had disappeared.
            “You did a good job today, Abby.” I said absentmindedly.
            “Thanks,” she laughed as she said it, “You didn’t do too bad yourself, old man”
            I was going to tell her I wasn’t that old again, changed my mind, “How about that drink I owe you, Abby?” I’d give her that story she wanted.

            J.S. Steinman walked the halls of the Medical pavilion, a lone figure in the gleaming sterility of the facilities. This late at night they’d need nearly no one on call and no patients would be calling on them. He enjoyed the late nights. It was when he could really think. The only time he could really talk to his muse.
            He stepped into his usual surgery room, the pristine white tiles on the floor and walls shined and obliterated any and all shadows around him. Strapped down to the table was his latest patient, and arranged around him all the tools he’d need, rejuvenation tonics, sculpting tools, and the more mundane tools of his medical trade.
            Damien stared at him, his eyes wide and wobbling with tears. There was already a stink of urine and feces to him. He was babbling about how it wasn’t his fault, “Sh-sh-she didn’t want t-to come! She s-screamed! I had no choice!”
            “Shh shh shh” Steinman patted the boy’s chest, “I told you, Damien. I cannot work without a good canvas. Little Madeline could have been my master work. Aphrodite was sure of it.”
            “I-I-I didn’t see any other way!”
            Steinman looked up into the lights; Damien could hear him muttering to himself, at a length he then heard clearly, “Yes… Yes, that’s right. Of course…” Steinman looked down, and reached over to one of the many tables of tools around the gurney. He lifted up a small scalpel.
            “Be glad, young Damien. The Goddess has told me how I can help you,” he patted the young man’s cheek, “I’ll make sure you can always see…”
            Damien couldn’t see Steinman’s face, covered by his mask like it was, but he could see the manic grin that held his face all the same. He watched as the scalpel came closer and closer. Steinman pulled at the boy’s right eye lid and began to remove it.

            I laid out on a carpet of clouds, the sun shining warmly as I looked out into the sky before me.
            If this wasn’t heaven it was near as I was ever going to get.
            Around me clouds swirled and shaped themselves into shapes and faces. My mother smiled out at me, tears in her eyes just like when I went off to Europe. A dog jumped through the sky its limbs slowly growing and separating until nothing was left of it.
            I wonder why I thought I’d never see the sun again. How could you miss the sun? It comes up every damn day. I watched a cloud that shaped itself into a mushroom slowly change and turn into a rabbit. A low rumbled echoed around me and I turned around. A dark cloud swirled and blew through the air, changing its shapes faster than the other clouds. First a bearded man, then a gun, a horse and a home. Eventually a girl looking almost as if she was spinning, and eventually a face.
            I knew that face. Why did she look so sad? She was always so happy…
            “Do you know what my favorite line from a book is, Mister DeWitt?  ‘Loving is a substitute for thinking. Love is a burning forgetfulness of all other things. How shall we ask passion to be logical?’”
            I could hear the voice in my head, and when it finished the dark cloud spread about and filled the sky, and I fell. The clouds surrounded me as I plummeted through them, changing into unseen shapes and shouting unheard words. I feel through them and out of them and watched the sky retreat above me.
            Below the water spread out from one end of the horizon to the other. I wasn’t concerned with falling, or even the water. It was almost as if I’d done it before and knew what would happen.
            The water came closer and closer. I felt the cool wetness on my cheek as I came into it.

            I opened my eyes and stared out at the ceiling.
            “Damn what the hell…”
            “mm?” Abigail stirred slightly next to me, her body pressed against mine, she just drifted back to sleep.
            I knew that girl, in the dream. I’d seen her before, at that party, the tonic unveiling. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but somehow I’d have to find her.

    ----

    The Girl by Realmzjetter

            The mysterious girl just stared back at me.
            The sketches I’d gotten made were a pretty damn good likeness from what I remembered. Except the picture seemed to be missing something about her, maybe it was whatever it was I couldn’t seem to forget, or remember. I went back over what I’d gotten so far.
    Which was nothing.
            And that was the strange part. No one knew who she was. Not a single person from the event could recall her, and the people from Parisian Possibilities wouldn’t return any inquires I made about her. For all intents and purposes it seemed she walked out of, and back into, thin air. Well the sketches should help with that.
            I leaned back in my chair and groaned.
            What was wrong with me?
    I barely exchanged a few words with her, but in those few words something crawled into my head and it jumbled everything up. I’d wake up with faint inklings of half remembered dreams and the only think that I could put them on was her. I don’t remember them but for some reason I knew she was in them.
            A knock came at the door.
            “It’s open”
            Abigail smoothly opened the door and stepped inside, a smile across her face, “Good afternoon, Booker”
            “Hey, Abby.”
            “So what death defying case do we have today?” She sauntered over to my desk and sat on the corner, expectantly.
            In the days since the Damien case Abigail had spent more and more days around the office and while I might not like to admit it one or two nights as well. Not that I minded overmuch. On a case she could be rather helpful; people actually liked talking to her, and more often than not gave away something before they even realized it. On the other hand I often had to keep her in line as to who she should be looking for. The girl sometimes had wandering eyes. It also didn’t help that in interviews she tended to give a little too much away. I’ve tried to tell her to never let on what you know, but it just never seemed to take. Still she was nice to have around.
            “Nothing like that, Abby.”
            She leaned over, the neckline of her blouse shifting down, and looked at the drawings on the desk, “Ohh, she’s pretty, in a dusky sort of way,” Abby smiled as she leaned over me, “What’s all this for? I think I should I be jealous.”
            “A missing person’s case,” I lied. I doubt Abby would like it much if she knew the real reason I was looking for this girl. I wasn’t even sure I knew what the reason was, “It’s not really going anywhere…”
            Abigail leaned back and sort of wiggled her rear on the desk, sniffing the air.
            “You’ve been in here all morning, haven’t you?”
            Without looking up from the meager statements I’d gotten I simply said, “Yes”
    With a huff she launched herself from the desk and stepped around it, tugging at my arm, “Come on”
            “What are you doing?”
            “Getting you out of here.”
            “I’ve got a lot of work he-“
            “No you don’t. None of those notes have anything in them. Come on Booker, you can’t stay in your office all day”

            The more time I spent with Abigail the more she reminded me or someone else, always a slight sense of the past when she’d smile or the dark brown curls of her hair would settle as she turned her head. Maybe that’s also part of the reason I never minded her being around, some forgotten girl from years ago, maybe.
    She dragged me through Farmer’s Market stopping at every stall and store, looking through everything they had and buying nothing, tugging me along to the next place.  One particular stall owner recognized her, and begged her to wait where she was. When he came back, Abby’s eyes went wide as the man unveiled a… let’s say ‘humorous’ looking potato. He insisted it be in the paper, despite Abigail’s distress over it. In the end, after refusing the buy the thing, she jotted down some notes.
            “You’re not really going to do a story on that, are you?”
            She looked up at the ceiling, “Well… it might be a slow day sometime. It’s not really my stuff anyway” she grinned and we continued on our way.
    Eventually we found ourselves in Fort Frolic. Abby spent time looking at whatever it is she could think of to buy. Dashing from one store to another, commenting on this dress, or that I’d look good in that suit, or some other. She even commented that I should get some art for my office, to brighten up the place. The more Abby gushed over the art and the clothing the more I couldn’t shake a feeling of déjà vu. I’d never really gone through Frolic looking for things to buy, everything was far too expensive here, but somehow it felt as though I’ve done this all before.
     I will admit that I wasn’t paying much attention to Abigail. Every passing face, or opened door or window might be that girl. It went far beyond her knowing my name, she could have seen something about be before. No, it was the way she looked at me. That look of knowing full well who I was, and what I’d do.
            I wanted to know who she was, and how she knew me. It was important, I knew it. Though I couldn’t say why.
    By seven thirty Abby still hadn’t bought anything, thank God. I wouldn’t have the money for anything anyway. Regardless she decided the day wasn’t over, and on the way back we stopped at Dionysus Park. This early in the evening it was still lively, with people on rides, admiring the art, and even a few people speaking out on politics. One man had a long diatribe on Ryan’s methods and political prisoners. The Lamb woman, it seems, had gone missing, and people were starting to talk.
            “… is that the way business is done in Rapture? No! Do you think Ryan cares for you? Do you matter to him? Fontaine’s the man of the people in Rapture! He cares for your children and betters your life! Fontaine’s the man with the plan!”
            We brushed through the crowd and Abby did her best to make me enjoy the park.
    We munched on hotdogs, and played a few of the carnival games. I’d never yet had to fire a round in Rapture, but I was a crack shot at the pellet gun range. Abby walked away with a little songbird doll. I did however outright refuse the carousel. Abigail pouted and sat down in a bench, “You’re not really that much fun, old man”
            Again with the age, damn girl, “I already told you, I’m only 38”
            “Hmm. You know I don’t really know all that much about you, Booker.”
            “Eh?”
            “Tell me about yourself,” she said with a smile, patting the bench next to her.
            I sat down and sighed, running my hand through my hair, “Alright, but no notebook alright?” She let out a small laugh.
            “What’s to tell? Born in New York, The War came around and I got drafted,” I didn’t have to say which war, “Got promoted to sergeant and did my best to watch over my buddies.”
    “Did you want to be in the army?”
    “Well, I did always dream of being in the cavalry. Not tanks or anything like that, actual horses. Hah, born too late for that I guess, not much room for horses on a battlefield. After the war I set up shop as a detective. When times got tougher I found out about Rapture and made my way here.”
            Abby smiled, “And now you keep Rapture safe”
            Well mostly I do my best to steal or spy on companies, “Something like that, I suppose,” I sighed to myself and looked out at the people, a band was playing and a crowd had gathered, “What about you, Abby?”
            “Me?” she squirmed uncomfortably, “Well, you go where the work is, you know…”
            Well there was a lie, Rapture closed up six years ago. No way she was looking for work here then.
            “Come on, you got my story,”
            She sighed and looked around, “My family came to Rapture just before Ryan closed it up I was ten years old. Mom and dad came here to be workers, figured they could work up the ladder, so to speak, just like everyone else.” She was silent for some time. The songs from the band slowly filtered to us over the din of the other park guests, it was a jaunty little tune.
            “Rapture isn’t a safe place to work,” she said, “My father died working on some project, they wouldn’t even tell us what it was, or found a body. And my mother… Well she had to take whatever job she could, and there’s not that many for women around here…”
            I knew what that meant. A choice between hard labor or laying on your back for five times the profit. I wasn’t even sure she was just talking about her mother anymore. She was a sweet girl. The people around the band were really getting animated now.
    I snorted to myself. Well, why not? I got up, “Come on.”
            “Hmm?”
            I held out my hand, “Let’s dance.”

    ----

    Stacked Deck by Realmzjetter

            No matter what people might tell themselves, how they might want to change their lives, start over, redefine themselves. They’ll always yearn for something from their old life. And there will always be people glad to help them get it, and anything else anyone might need, for a price.
            Rapture was no different. Rapture had a smuggling problem.
            “So what’s being brought in?” I was given a file, inside were just some notes and references to Fontaine Fisheries. In fact anything to do with Fontaine was underlined.
            “Contraband, DeWitt. That’s all you need to know”
    You could always spot the guys who were just Ryan’s cronies. The man handing me the file was a lieutenant or captain in the central department. I really hoped I wouldn’t have to see him again. I flipped through the notes.
            “The job’s easy enough DeWitt, get pictures of the contraband, and follow it, make sure you get pictures of anyone who moves the stuff and who gets it.”
            “That would be easier if I knew what I was looking for,” I said back. It was like talking to a stone wall, “I don’t have a camera”
            “Then buy one, do you need me to hold your hand?”
            I really hoped I’d never see him again.

            Point and click, point and click.
            Damn thing had cost me twenty dollars. They never needed me to use a camera before. I guess Ryan wanted real proof he could shove in people’s faces when he tried to get rid of Fontaine for good. The plan was simple; the security guys knew it was Fontaine and his fishing operation bringing everything in. I head down there and see what I can find, then tail it to whoever the hell is getting the stuff. Easy, so long as I don’t get caught doing it.
            I took another photo of my door.
    This thing might actually help with finding that girl, but I’d have to lug it around with me in case I ever see her. Well, we’ll see.
            The camera itself was a top of the line model, smaller then some of the older ones, and a little lighter, but it was still heavy as sin. Even had a timer on it if you understood how to set the damn thing. All in all a nice piece of machinery.
            But still, twenty dollars?
    With a sigh I locked up and went on my way

            Cargo subs, fishing trawlers, and even a few recreational ships lined the docks and piers of Neptune’s Bounty, with the exception of the odd personal sub, each ship was stern and grey and unadorned. It all reminded me or Britain before we set off for France. Except these ships did lead soldiers off to war, but fishers and merchants to keep the food and materiel for Rapture flowing in, a constant stream of approved, and given my job, unapproved goods.
            Dominating the far end of the district was Fontaine Fisheries, the biggest fishing and trawling business in Rapture. A few small fishing companies still survived, but only because Fontaine allowed them to. Maybe it helped people to think he wanted to help them.
            Bounty was one of the places in Rapture where the constant light was a blessing, the place never slept, never went quiet, ships were moving to and fro constantly, leaving port or docking, unloading and loading up. It wouldn’t be too hard going about unnoticed.
            Conversations and arguments swirled around the docks, little eddies of information bleeding into each other and fueling whatever rumor mills kept the ear to the ground for this rubbish. Fontaine, they said, was going to make something to really give power to the people.
            For the past month more and more protests popped up and more and more people went missing. The lowly of Rapture weren’t happy with their lot in life and were tired of the powers that be that kept them down. Like the out of work, more and more people started to turn to other recreation to get their mind off their troubles. More drunks, more addicts, cocaine and heroin were starting to be the be all drug for any ailment. And then there were the other ones, people addicted to plasmids and tonics and anything ADAM.
            People had started to call them Splicers.
    More than a few murders had happened, and been attributed to Splicers. I remembered that girl at the Atlantic Express and what that homeless man might have done to her.
            That was probably the whole reason for this job. Rapture was in a bad way and Ryan probably figured getting rid of Fontaine would be the cure for what ails it. It would be like cutting off the foot after the leg goes green.
            Still if they wanted to pay me for their own wasted effort, why not.
            Men moved around the fishery, running in lines from the boats and docks to the warehouses, like ants marching and carrying their spoils back to the hill. I sat on some crates outside of the fisheries major thoroughfares, close enough to see what they were unloading but hopefully far enough that I’d go unnoticed. With a few pictures taken of the little operation, I waited. If anyone asked I’d just say I was working on a story for the paper.
            Soon a pattern started to show up. Certain people never seemed to head for a boat, but regardless had crates and barrels to stow. They never followed along with the other workers, and never to the same warehouses.
            Ahah.
    The warehouses themselves were plain enough, just like any other, brick and wood faced, Fontaine Fisheries brand front and center. Lots of doors to enter through, though I’d be willing to bet they’d be locked up tight. I could wait it out here and tail anything that comes out of one of those warehouses, or break into one and actually get a peek as to what Ryan and his goon’s find to be so dangerous to their little dream. Explaining why I was there with a camera would probably be beyond me though.
    No, waiting for a shipment to go out would be best. I could always find out what was in there later.

            And so I waited, watching the dock workers move here and there, shouting and yelling, faint cheers and loud grumbles as the world of Rapture spun on around me. The longer I sat there the more my mind wandered and I came back to just what could be in these crates and drums and barrels the men carried. Weapons were the best guess. Guns were not overmuch allowed in Rapture, after all enough stray blasts and you could flood an entire district. The weight of my own pistol under my arm suddenly felt heavier. In the years I was here I hadn’t yet needed to fire the thing.
            Could also be some kind of propaganda against him, I suppose. Maybe communist papers? It was certainly a big deal before I came down here, and people were like to call you a commie for even saying you should be paid more. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, closing my eyes as the smoke filled my lungs. I looked up, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. Neptune’s Bounty didn’t have a glass ceiling like many places in Rapture. This place was built more like you’d expect something underwater to be built, all steel and bolts. Probably the first place actually built in the city.
            I looked back down over the docks, and walking through the stalls and stands was a familiar figure in a white blouse and black skirt.
            It was her.
            She stopped at a stall and talked to the owner. I glanced back at Fontaine’s operations. There’d probably be more than one cart or trolley or whatever they used to move this stuff through Rapture. Probably. Definitely. I could come back.
            She was leaving the stall.
    I launched myself from my little cliff of crates and went after her. She wandered through more of the stalls and peoples on the docks. Every time I’d get close I’d lose sight of her, only to pick her out of the crowd further down. I felt like I was in one of those trashy romance novels. The girl turned into an alleyway and, pushing through the crowds, so did I, right into a dead end. And she wasn’t there.
            That’s impossible.
    It was a short alleyway, an alcove really between two smaller buildings and a larger warehouse, the ground was strewn with debris from daily life passing it by. A door was set into the wall, but the two pad locks on it spoke of disuse. The girl was simply gone. It was the same at that party, Dammit Booker what are you even doing, chasing after a skirt when you’re on the job. You’ve got Abby besides. I shook my head.
    Maybe the girl wasn’t even real, I’m just hallucinating. I scratched at the small lump on my wrist, the scar tissue build up from not just the plasmid injection but the hypos of EVE as well. Maybe this was how Splicer’s felt as they lost their minds…
             Glaring around at the alleyway, I begrudgingly made my way back to my stake out.

    I spent the rest of the day there. Maybe even nodded off once or twice but by the end of the day it was worth it. A trolley had come out of the warehouse I was watching. Nothing from the boats ever reached it but this little cart portraying a large fish on the sides headed out into Rapture anyway. I followed the rambling cart as best I could, keeping my distance and cutting through any alleyway I could. I think it’s mostly the trolley’s pusher being distracted, whistling and singing to himself, that really let me get as far as I did.
            The pusher ran through all of Neptune’s Bounty, down through Farmer’s Market winding its way through the streets and stalls still open there. The guy even stopped for something to eat. After maybe an hour of wandering he finally came to his destination, some kind of center near Artemis Suites.
            I grabbed at my camera and took a few pictures. Should be enough light. Artemis was a poor place but it still had the lights running, just like everywhere else, hopefully the pictures will be clear enough.
            Right, let’s see. Find the contraband; see who’s really bringing it in. Check. Follow it. Check. Get evidence that they have it. Check. Don’t look in the boxes. To hell with that. I’m getting in there.
            I sat tight, hidden as best I could in an alleyway with a view of the building. The man handed off the small trolley, and exchanged a few words with those inside. Once he was gone, I waited another minute or so before sidling up to the wall of the building center. It had a few windows about and I peered in through one of them. Inside I could see a relatively large room, probably the majority space of the building, with chairs sat about in a circle lit in the yellow tungsten of cheap light bulbs. Some people milled about inside. It occurred to me that if these people were getting weapons, I was about to head into a room with some fifteen presumably heavily armed men and women with a pistol and only one magazine. Just as I pull out my pistol, a voice rang out behind me.
            “Well, it seems were to be having a visitor”
            It was a little raspy, a smoker, I’d guess, and Irish. One of my boys in the war was Irish; he talked like that, from Sligo if I remember right. I, as carefully as I can manage, slip my pistol back into the holster and turn around. The man has slicked back black hair, and is just as tall as I am, wearing a dark grey suit. He was clean shaven with an amiable, if sour, face.
            “So, sir, what are you doing here?”
            “Er…”
            “Or were ye just following ‘our man?”
            The man’s expression didn’t change. I raised my hands, “I guess the jig is up huh?”
    At my admittance and surrender the man smirked.
            “Com’ on in, sir.”
    The room inside was much like the outside, simple wood lined walls with a hardwood floor. The chairs were still arranged, and people were talking amongst themselves. When I entered with the Irishman they stopped for a moment and stared at the two of us. The man raised his hand and smiled, and they all went back to whatever it was they were talking about.
            I was lead to a back room, and there sitting by the back door was the cart.
            “I take it you’re interested in what we’re doing here, mister…?”
            If they wanted to kill me, they could have just done it back in the alley. Wouldn’t be too uncommon, “DeWitt. Booker DeWitt.” The man kept his stare on me. I waved the camera absentmindedly “Er… I’m a detective”
            “Ahh, there it is,” he said back, “Mister Ryan’s men want to know what we’re all about then?”
            “Yeah”
            The man walked over to the cart and opened it, “Let me show you then” he reached in and tossed a square of material to me.
            It was a book, a rather small one. On the cover in gold leaf words gleamed in the faint light of the back room. Holy Bible.
            “They’re just bibles?” The man nodded.
            “Are ye a Godly man, Mister DeWitt?”
    Religion was banned in Rapture, though I couldn’t tell you why. Actually that was one of the reasons I even came here. Religion never really sat well with me, I couldn’t really say why. I had nothing against it, or people that wanted it. It just wasn’t for me.
            “No.”
            “Shame,” the preacher said, “Rapture… It’s a Glorious name, is it not? But it’s filled with heathens that would sell their souls to a devil for a little more coin,” he shook his head, “We’ve done no trouble to anyone, DeWitt. Every Saturday we come here and I preach the Word to those that want to hear it. We just want to be with ourselves. No man here signed up for Ryan’s dream.”
            How many people really did, I wonder?
            “God watches over us all, Mister DeWitt, even you.”
            “I doubt that, buddy” again the man smirked.

            I’d spent the next two days stewing around in my own head about the church. I gave the boys in the police house what they wanted; they’d head down there and burn the damn place to the ground, and take or kill everyone inside. Ryan was good at making people disappear. If I didn’t I wouldn’t get paid, probably never get another job from the security guys. There were few enough jobs as it was.
            One night I even asked Abby for help, she figures Rapture could use a little Grace.
    I was starting to think it could use one less Booker.
            On the third day I rose again. I left Abby in bed and went out into the city. The police were getting antsy, and more than once I noticed some security goons tailing me. So I did what I always did when I couldn’t make a decision.
            I sucked down as much alcohol as I could get.

    The countertop was nearly so clean you could almost see your own reflection in it.
    Had I… fallen asleep? Or maybe it was just the stupor I’ve got going. Maybe it’s a little of both.
            What was I doing here again?
    I looked up into the mirror that ran the length of the bar. Who puts a mirror in front of a drunk? Maybe the own just thought it classed up the place, or maybe that it made it look larger. A drunk doesn’t want to look at his own mug when he looks up. So what was I doing out here? Oh yeah…
            “You know what I miss? What I really miss?”  I said to the man, “Cars”
            “Yeah?”
            “Y-yeah, I alaways wanted one,” I grinned, “A big black one, hughes.”
    The man smiled back, “No cars in Rapture, friend.”
            “And that’s the problem, innit? No carsh, what’s people going to buy, right?”
            “I suppose so”
    I looked back down at the countertop, and then to my drink. What had I ordered?
            “You got a whiskey, on the rocks ‘no ice’” the man said.
            “Thanks”
            “No problem”
            “It’snot that I want them to get hurt,” I admitted.
            “Who?”
            “That preacher… inish people”
            “So then don’t do it”
            “Gotta get paid, can’t not get paid”
            “Then get paid”
            I looked up at the other man. Jesus he looked in a bad way, must have been near forty, bit of his face chewed up, scar over his eye, and drunker then I was. How was I supposed to get paid without letting on about the preacher man?
            “You’re drunk”
            He just grinned back at me. I shook my head and got up, the other man did the same, we both walked out by ourselves.
            A car would be a good idea. Could drive it all around Rapture. Go outside and feel the wind in my hair. Would be great. Abby could sit next to me and the girl could sit in the back. Grand old time, yeah.
            “Queen that’s you Pretty Mama, and you’re trying to cut my throat.” I shambled along the walk ways, looking up into the water all around me, singing to myself, “Whao, but the King that’s me, Lord and I’m about to wear my crown” I don’t even know where I heard the song from, “So be careful Pretty Baby, you ain’t dead when the deal goes down.  If you’re gonna play cards Baby, don’t you know you’ve got to deal sometimes…” I stopped and stared at the girl. She was scratchier then I remembered.
            I grabbed at the poster. Did I put them up? When did I do that? The bottom was cut up with numbers. My address too. One of the cut up slips was missing.
            “So listen to me, Baby, that you ain’t dead when the deal goes down…”

            I pushed open the door, and stumbled into my apartment. Blessedly empty, I shuffled over to the desk and collapsed into the chair. I didn’t know what time it was, damn lights. Always daytime in Rapture. Didn’t I have a bottle around here? I think I locked it in the drawer.
            I hadn’t. But I did find the camera again, and a packet with it, sitting in the middle of my desk.
            ‘Got these done up for you, Good Luck’
            She was a peach, wasn’t she? Good ole A. Abs. Abigail.
            Right. What is this?
    I tore open the packet and photo’s spilled out. Photo’s of the fisheries, men moving carts and crates and barrels and drums. A little church not to far away, and even the back of a mystery girl’s head.
    And one more.
            A woman sat on a bed, pillows about her, naked as the day she was born. It was Abigail. Written over it was a note, ‘B.D., You’ll always do right, whatever you do. Lots of love. – A.’
            I stared at it for a while and then set it down on my desk, now surprisingly sober. Staring into space I saw the past few weeks play in my mind.  We’d been going along with our… well, whatever it was for some time. She was a good girl, maybe I loved her. Had I ever loved someone before? I guess without us knowing, we became an item.
            Well maybe without just one of us knowing.
            I looked back down at my desk. Abigail’s photo had flipped over when I tossed it to the desktop. And next to it was the sketch of the mystery girl.
            I stared up into the ceiling, what else had the Irish preacher said?
            ‘God has an angel for each of us, Mister DeWitt.’
            “Fuck”

            “Yaargh”
    The groan is the only thing I can manage as I wake; my head felt like it was in a vice. The colors of the room were garish and loud to my eyes, and everything shined and glowed to where I could see it all through my eyelids, like street lamps that never went out. How damn much did I have to drink last night? My bed was depressingly empty, given the hangover that was surprising, and possibly even more depressing. If a drunk can’t get a drunk, who can he get?
    The air smelt wrong. Like I’d burned something.
    Right. Right. The case.
    I got a shower and into a mostly clean and mostly not wrinkled suit, and headed down to the constabulary. The security boy would get their proof of smuggling, but I lost the cart as it left. Some of Fontaine’s men maybe. No idea where it went. Or what was in it. Or who got it.
            If they didn’t like that they could shove it.

    ----

    An Interlude by Realmzjetter

            This was more enjoyable than I thought it would be. We both sat at the bar, me with my third glass of scotch and Abigail still nursing her first cocktail. The place itself was some dive in Apollo not all that far between my apartment and the station.
    “So, a writer huh?” I said, staring straight ahead.
    “Yup,” she stirred her drink a bit.
    “What’s that like?”
    “Pretty simple really” she said back, “Have you read much of what I’ve done?”
    Yeah, you’re not very good, you never follow up on anything and you write more about the officers then the victims, “I’m not much of one for newspapers” It wasn’t really the best of conversations, but it was nice to have someone else to drink with for once.
            By the time she finished her cocktail I’d already had two more glasses.
            “So how do you do it, Booker?”
            “Do what?” I gulped down the rest of my drink.
            “Catch killers and all of that?”
            “Didn’t really catch anyone today” my head was starting to buzz.
            “But you found out who it was”
            “Hah” I could hear a clock chime. I’d have to get a watch one of these days. Must be near midnight, “I think I’ll call it a night,”  I said. I didn’t really want to get drunk.
            Even with that I still slipped getting off my stool. The girl giggled.
            “Maybe that’s a good idea,” Abigail giggled.
            “Eeh, I just lost my footing is all” I held onto the bar and rolled my ankle a bit.
            “I guess I better make sure you get home alright” she said.
            “I thought that’s what I’m supposed to do”
            “But you’re drunk”
            “I’m not that drunk”
            “But you’re drunk”
    Abigail ended up walking me back to my apartment. It wasn’t that far of a walk, but Abigail insisted on holding onto my arm the whole way.
            “… then I bet Delmar five dollars that he couldn’t fix it. Then when he does, I have to sneak around behind his back and break it all over again,” it was a good story, and she laughed. It wasn’t a very funny story.
            “Sounds like you miss some of those boys from the war.”
            “Eh… just the ones that I didn’t share the ride home with,” I said, “They were real asses on the ride home,” that got another laugh.
            “Oh here we are,” I said, grabbing my door as we walked by it, “Nearly missed it”
    Abigail finally let go of my arm as I unlocked the door. As the lock clicked open I looked back at the girl, “Ah, thanks for the company, Abigail. And the help. On the case, I mean.”
            “Anything to help the elderly, Booker”
            “I told you I’m not that old”
    She looked at me and smiled. She really did have pretty eyes, blue like an endless ocean, “I told before, some girls like older men”
            My head was warm and fuzzy, I liked it that way. I pulled Abigail close and kissed her and eventually pulled her into the apartment. I’d like to say this doesn’t normally happen but well, at least with Abigail I’ve talked to her on other days.
            We stumbled and bumbled into the apartment. I somehow closed the door, and pushed Abigail up against it, still kissing her. Her lips tasted like honey, must have been whatever she was drinking. When I pulled away the girl already had most of my coat off and my shirt unbuttoned. I chuckled, she works fast.
            I kissed her again and trailed down her cheek and neck as I felt her pull at my pants and pulling my shirt out of them. I went to work on her shirt, fiddling with the buttons and pulling it open and wandering my hands down and around her waist. I found the buttons holding her skirt to her waist just as she pulled at my belt and it came loose. I felt the pants fall and pool at my feet just as I pulled away her garment.
            We pulled apart again. I struggled out of my shirt just as she did the same and before long we both stood there in our underclothes. It was only then I suppose I really noticed how small she was. A slight figure, even with her wider hips, she was shorter than me though not by so much. She didn’t have to stand up on her toes at least. I lifted her up, my hands sliding along her stocking enclosed thigh, and carried her easily to the bed.
            I laid her out and she smiled at me holding herself up on her elbows. I came down and kissed her again, my hand wormed its way up her leg. She had worn a gray brazier and garter skirt with dark stockings. I slid my hand along her stomach and up to her chest and around to her back and kissed her again as my hands searched for the clasp to her brazier. There wasn’t one. Abigail pulled away and said in a breathy whisper, “It’s in the front” with a soft chuckle.
            Back to the front, I unclasped the garment and let the front of it fall to the sides. Abigail held herself up and let it fall away and tossed it to the floor. Her breasts were small, almost but not quite a handful really. But I’ve been told I have large hands. I kissed the girl again, and down her neck to her breasts. As I reached them she arched her back, a soft and self satisfied moan echoing in her throat. As I kissed and suckled at her chest my hand against snaked its way along her inner thigh and up between her legs. As I did I realized the girl hadn’t worn anything with the garter skirt. As I moved from one breast to the other, I looked up at her. A little presumptuous, but here we are all the same. I stroked my hand against her and as my finger entered her, the moan in her throat finally escaped her lips as she said my name.
            She pulled at the sheets on my bed as I continued to stroke and plunge my hand between her legs, kissing her breasts and neck as I did so. Her legs squeezed at my arm and her toes curled as her breathing became heavier and heavier. Abigail took my head and brought me back to her lips, kissing me as her hands ran through my hair.
            I pulled my hand away from her and she sighed sadly into my mouth. I pulled back again and positioned myself between her legs, gripping her hips and pulling her closer. She let go of the sheets as I pulled her up and close to another kiss and let her hands wander long mine own body and down to the shorts I wore.
            As she released me from the shorts my hand slid down to her rear, gripping it hard and, with a gasp from the girl, lifted her up. She guided me into her and groaned into my mouth as we kissed. I slowly let her slide down unto me and held her fast as I fully filled her. I held her close, her body pushed against mine and we stayed still for a moment, eventually I felt her hips begin to buck against mine, and I let her go. With an excited gasp she fell flat backed onto the bed. I gripped her hips and thrust into her.
            With her eyes closed Abigail’s head rolled back as she groaned. I slid a hand from her hip up her stomach and between her breasts as they bounded and jiggled with every jerk forward. Abigail groaned something, I couldn’t hear, encouragement maybe? My name? Did it even matter? She bit her lip to stifle them and her hand came down to rest on my own and took it to her breast, massaging it. She began to buck her hips against mine.
            I pulled my hand back to her hips and watched as Abigail squeezed her own breast, her other hand gripping the sheets as she squeaked and moaned. Watching her writhe under her own touch only made me want to plunge into her harder, deeper. I lifted her hips up, squeezing her read and brought myself hard against her, eliciting a cry. A haggard breath left me as I grinned; lifting her hips again and bringing them back down against me, harder.
    Smacking our hips together one more time, I felt her legs wrap around my waist. I was close now. I leaned forward and lifted her up, Abigail’s arms wrapping around my neck as I did so, pulling us closer together and smashing her body against mine. We kissed as one of my hands wriggled along her back, the other squeezing her read as we bucked against each other. Whenever we broke apart she’d hoarsely whisper my name before our lips met again. I felt my release coming, rising up a heat within me.
    Her legs squeeze against my body and with both hands I lifted her up and plunged myself as far into her as I could. Groaning I emptied myself in her as she clutched to my body both of us frozen on the bed and joined together before I fell back with Abigail laying atop me. A few more thrusts into her, her grinding down against me, we kissed and sighed. Sweat covered both of us as she laid her head against my chest.
            Abigail had a reputation, I knew, but even then, glistening in what little light was in the room, her sweet face with her eyes closed and a smile, she looked almost innocent. It was almost like a memory, like half remembering someone from a story.
    As Abigail sighed on top of me, I leaned by head back and closed my eyes. For some time, though I didn’t really notice until I’d come to Rapture, I always felt like I was missing something. Something I should have done long ago, but never did. Like a little hole in my life was waiting for the right piece to come along and finish the puzzle. Maybe she could do that. Strange, I never thought of that with other girls.
            There was a soft moan above me, and I felt the girl’s hips wiggle over mine. I hoped my eyes and smirked. Her night black hair was tussled and tumbled down her back, great blue sky lit eyes smiled at me in a sultry grin. The sweat on her back glistened in the light of the lamps, like little diamonds. The girl’s breasts were pushed against me, pillowing out over my skin.
            “It’s been so long, Booker,” she said, lips the color of a sun forming every word, “We’re not done yet…”
    She slid her body down against me and I closed my eyes as I felt her take me into her mouth.

            I opened my eyes. It wasn’t the groggy awakening I was used to nor the sudden start of waking from a nightmare. No, I was simply asleep, then awake.
            This was, what, the fourth, fifth, time I’ve had the dream of my first time with Abby? Every time was a little different; I’d had enough of them to not really be sure I could remember how it had happened.
            This was the first time she was in it though.
            I was alone in bed. That’s right, Abby was working on something, and I hadn’t seen her in a while. What time was it? Light filtered in from the door, and I pulled on my clothes. No matter what time it was, it was always daytime in Rapture. On my desk were a number of files I’d made, one of them in particular was what I was interested in.
    A man in Athena’s Glory was convinced someone had kidnapped his six year old daughter. He said the security forces were sure he was overreacting, that she was just staying with some friends. It’s not like she could really run away or anything. Where could you run away to from Rapture?
            I’d taken it on, not just because I needed the money, I always felt obligated to help with anything involving a girl. Even more so if she was young. I’d never had a daughter but maybe there was some fatherly instinct in me after all. Hah, if the boys from back when could hear that. ‘What sorry girl would want you, Booker?’
    Putting on my coat, I looked down at the picture Abigail had taken for me, of her on the bed. I’d framed it, for whatever reason, and always had it on my desk. I wondered which girl I was thinking of in my dream. I didn’t know anything about the dark haired beauty I’d barely met, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind. And Abigail was… well, Abigail. A little part of me seemed to feel like either one was the right choice.
            It sounded crass but, maybe I’d have to end up flipping a coin…

    ----

    Speak of Me by Realmzjetter

            Music flittered through the air but I didn’t much care. This wasn’t a bar I usually went to; this was more of a younger joint. The man singing had a deep voice with a thrumming beat, very blues sounding, something about a hotel and heartbreak. The kids these days loved the stuff. The bar was rather large, larger then my usual hang out, with more tables, a place for a life band (which they didn’t have tonight) and a dance floor. Like I said about the music, the kids these days love the place. No one danced right now, not how they usually do. This song was the blues through and through.
            I felt so damn old.
            My scotch tanged of blood, and I was somewhat sure that two of my teeth were loose.
    I smirked. But Old Booker DeWitt could give as good as he got. The one man, Jeff, pretty sure I broke his damn jaw, the way his face crunched as my fist met it. And Gregory would by walking with a limp after the kick I gave to his knee, the third man got off light, but I messed up his face as good as I could too.
            I held up my glass and looked at my bleary reflection in it. My eye was already getting puffy, but for the most part the blood on my split lip had congealed. The scrapes on my face had stopped bleeding an hour ago, the blood that had dripped from them still stained the side of my face. You couldn’t see them but in the morning I knew the rest of my body would be black and blue, people these days really liked to work the body. When I grinned my teeth were brown and red. It took three boys to beat me senseless. Yes. Booker DeWitt could give as good as he got, thank you very much army training.
            My body racked itself with a heavy cough. I still felt old.
    The music ended, and there was some clapping, a cheer here or there, then the record went to the next song, a far more upbeat one about prison. A loud cheer went up and the dance floor quickly filled, teenagers and young drinkers alike twisting their bodies and stomping on the floor.
            It had been a while since I got into a good thrashing. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it on my fingers. I didn’t used to act like this, the boozing and the gambling, not that I can remember anyway. Not until after I got drafted. Maybe nearly getting killed everyday put a destructive streak in me.
    The truth of the matter is most people weren’t very good at fighting; they’re just too scared about getting hit. But Gregory and his boys were part of Ryan’s Central Security, if there was anyone in Rapture that knew how to fight, and how to do it dirty, it was them.
            So why the hell did I pick a fight with them?
    My grin soured in the reflection of the brown liquid, and I took another gulp of it.
            They’d called Abigail a harlot. A slut. A Whore.
    I suppose after the fact, they may have had a bit of a point, but regardless Abby didn’t deserve to have people like them say those things about her. As bad as she’d had it Greg’s men were worse. I blew out a stream of smoke. Maybe his men would think twice about saying something about her now, or at least not with me around.
            I wonder if this would mean Abby and I were official. I don’t know how people looked at these things these days, how do you really tell? A lot of girls were loose enough now. I was pretty sure she wasn’t seeing anyone else on the side.
            I drain the rest of my glass and lean back, the music ends and the people cheer once more. Conversations and drinking start up again. I start to bring my cigarette to my mouth when, “Hey!” It’s plucked from my fingers. I turn my head and find her standing there, a smirk on her face, like she’d just found an old friend.
            “You look like you could use a friend, Mister DeWitt,” she said, bringing the tobacco stick to her lips in a kiss and pulled out a wad of folded paper with her other hand, tossing it in front of me. When I didn’t move she nodded at me, “Open it, Booker”
            I unfolded the thing. It was one of the missing posters I’d had made. I never did remember putting them up. It was missing a tag at the bottom.
            “I didn’t know I was missing” she said, sitting on the stool beside me.
    I looked at the sketch and then back to her. How’d I think this looked like her? I got it all wrong. A photo would have been better, “I just… I wanted to find you”
            “Should I be flattered, or worried?” she gave me a sardonic smirk, like there was some joke I just wasn’t in on. She took another drag from the cigarette. Looking at her now, some part of me thought that she shouldn’t smoke at all. Another part hoped I’d never see her without a roll up in her hand again.
            “Another scotch, sir?” I jerked my head back. II was staring at her, damn. The barman grinned at me when I looked at him.
            “Yeah. Yeah, another scotch”
            “And you?” he looked at the girl.
    She smiled and looked up, a soft ‘hmm’ resonating in her throat, “I’d like… a Devil’s Kiss, please.”
            The barman nodded, and reached around the bar.
    I was never much of one for cocktails but the whole affair was rather interesting, lots of pageantry. The man got a glass and poured in liquor and syrup, then some lemonade and ginger beer and some rum. He slid out two small dishes, pouring more rum into one and some cinnamon into the other. The glass was then put in the rum and with a snap of his fingers it was lit, surrounding the glass in flame.  He tossed a pinch of cinnamon over the drink and it crackled as it met the fire.
            After a few moments the fire died down enough and he blew it out, pulling the glass out and adding a straw. When he tried to take the two dishes away the girl told him that she’d keep them. He smiled at her, and got me my scotch. I felt a bit of a plain Jane in comparison.
            After he left I looked at the girl, she took more cinnamon and sprinkled it into the glass, “That was a hell of a drink order.”
            She smirked again and offered me the glass, “Do you want some, Mister DeWitt?”
            She kept using my name like she knew me. That was part of the problem wasn’t it? “No,” I said back, I brought my own glass to my lips and stopped, “Maybe the rum”
            “I knew you’d say that” she slid the dish closer to me. It wasn’t ‘I thought’ or ‘I had an inkling’ or ‘I figured’ she said she knew. And the way she said it, the smile on those sunset lips, I knew she meant it. She just sat there drinking her drink and watching the people mingle on the floor. I looked over at her, then back to my own scotch and took a gulp. Right. I turned to her.
            “So, do I get to know you’re name now?
    There was a brief look of disappointment on her face, her eyebrows curved ever so little, but I saw it. She quickly smiled again, “You know, I’ve read about you, Booker. A little story about you in the paper, ‘Detective Looks for Little Girl’, ‘Mad Surgeon’s dead discovered’ If you’re so good, why don’t you know my name?”
            I snorted and took another drink. What was it the Brits had called it? Silly buggers? Fine, I could play, “Alright. Alright. I’ll guess your name.”
            “Oh a game. What happens if you win?” she said sultrily, bringing the cigarette to her lips in another kiss. I remembered the dream from the other night, with her at the end.
            I shook my head, “You buy me a whole bottle of this rot gut,” I said, holding up my glass, “And if I can’t, I buy you another one of those fire starters.” She giggled and agreed and held up three fingers.
            “Only three tries.”
            Thankfully I’d only had two glasses before this one. Maybe she thought I was drunk then I was. I looked her up and down.
    Her shoes were black, with a strip of white along the top, and from those her stocking’d legs, crossed as she sat on the stool, rose up to the hem of her skirt, pulled up ever so slightly to her thigh. The black skirt was different this time, a white trim along its hemline. A different blouse then from the party too, this one had a plunging neckline and open collar, the hint of cleavage just above the garment. Given the memory that just flashed in my mind the décolletage was more than a little distracting. Her hair was different too. Tied up into a loose bun, it fell around her face and dropped to just the top of her neck.
            “Well?” she said.
            When I realized I’d been staring again, I took another drink, “How about… Courtnee?”
            She smiled as she took another sip, “Sorry”
    It was a shot in the dark, but why not. Let’s see. I’d been able to find distressingly little about her. For some reason her eyes leapt out at me. I bet she had her mother’s eyes.
            “How about a hint?” I asked.
            “Like what?” she said, puffing out some smoke as she spoke.
            “What’s your mother’s name?”
    She looked surprised before she waved the cigarette in front of her, “Na-uh-uh. No,” she smiled this time. Maybe she liked what I’d asked, “Two more guesses.”
            “Hmmm…” I looked at her again. No ring on her finger, came around to places like this. She probably liked the music too. Maybe a nick name? She seemed spiky but a girl was a girl, after all. I wondered how she’d look with a flower on her shirt, “Rose?”
            She laughed at that one, “No” she put down her drink and held up two fingers, “Two down. Last one, Mister DeWitt” She said my name like she was a newlywed and again the dream rattled in my head.
            Alright Booker, calm down. Sometimes your intuition was best. Alright, it wasn’t any good at cards, or races, but you could trust it on a case, and what was detective work but a gamble with a bigger pot? So what’s your gut tell you? Just listen, and what’s the first name that comes to mind?
            “Annabelle?”
    Her eyes went wide and the sparkled like stars in the lights of the club, her face flushed like the sun peaking through a cloudy sky.
            “Hah, that’s it, isn’t it? I won?”
    She didn’t say anything; she just rubbed out the cigarette in the tray and finished her drink. When she pushed it away, she stood up, face still a little red, “No. More like… more like a draw,” a smile graced her face. Unlike the other’s she’d had this one wasn’t so fierce or sultry, it was soft. She looked beautiful with that smile as she blushed. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek, The pressure on my would-be bruised face hurt, but as she pulled away it burned. Must have been the drink, “You can call me Elizabeth,” she said, and stood up, “I’ll see you again, Booker”
            As she walked away I grinned and gave a little wave, “Nice to meet you, Elizabeth”
            I went back to my scotch, nursing it for about a quarter of an hour, until the barman came back over, “Where’d the lady go?”
            “She left”
            “Did you know her?”
            “I… I think so.”
            “Are you paying for her?”
            “What?”

            Abigail sat at Booker’s desk. She was waiting.
            He wasn’t expecting her. She’d been busy with the paper, writing more. Something about Booker made her want to write. Before she met him she’d have just spent the day jotting some things down, maybe flirting with the editor, or more. But since she’d done something she never thought she’d be able to do. Be a one man woman.
    She smiled to herself and undid two buttons on her blouse. She’d surprise him, that would take his mind off things.
    After a while she started to lift the pages up on the desk. The the little girl's was still on top, but others were under it. A robbery here, a woman disappearing there, even a few from the security people. She was sure he said he wouldn’t do any more for them. Under all of them was a file that she’d seen him working on. The missing girl.
            She opened it and met with the girls face. It was another of those missing person’s fliers Booker had made. Abigail was sure she’d put them all up for him. Why did he have more? She flipped the pages, behind the fliers were notes. Booker didn’t normally keep them. He just left everything in his head, he said. But here he’d written down everything he could think of about the young woman.
            It was… it was almost like poetry. Rough, but it was there. Eye’s like a cloudless sky? Night black hair? It just went on and on for three or four pages.
            She closed the file, thoughts spinning in her head. Booker hardly wrote anything down but he had pages about this girl. Describing her, he’d even written that he’d had a dream about her, and underlined it. Twice.
    She looked at the picture she’d taken for him. In the picture her dark brown hair looked old and grey and she thought of a doctor she’d met with Booker.

    ----

    Rapture Noir: Hot Encounter (by Daily Reminder)
    http://pastebin.com/K4S0WwHw

    ----

    The Ellipse Murders by Realmzjetter

            The neon lights of Fort Frolic gave the shadows of the district distinct hues, and Sander Cohen used this to great effect. Like the red light districts of western cities you could often tell what kind of entertainment you could get from areas with color alone.
            Agatha Moore’s playfully pushed the man away, Francis she thought he’d called himself. He was rather dashing with his dark hair and little mustache. He’d smile and tell her she was lovely and kiss her neck some more. She felt his hand wander up her blouse and pretended not to notice.
            “Francis, what if someone sees?”
            “Oh, who would care?” he said back, kissing her ear, “Everyone knows Cohen doesn’t mind at all” He groped at her breast and she felt the wall against her back, it was wet, and her shirt stuck to her back.
            “W-wait” she said trying to push him away, “There’s something on me”
            “What now my dear?” he let her go and she felt at her back, it was wet, and sticky, she turned around. Agatha looked at her hand; even in the pink and greenish lights of the Fort she could see it was a deep dark red.
            “Is that blood?”
            The couple looked up and hanging over a railing against the wall above them, upside down from one leg, hung a dead man.

            From what I’d been told, the pictures weren’t much better then actually being there, you could almost smell the stink of the blood on them. The black and white and grays painted a bad picture.
            Whoever had killed the man didn’t want to take any chances, they didn’t just slit his throat, they’d all but decapitated him, the cut was right down to the bone all the way around his neck. In fact it was almost like they wanted him drained of all his blood, and they damn well did that. Massive amounts of blood were there oozing under the body and ruining the woman’s shirt that had found him. From the photo’s it looked as though they’d sliced into this neck and then threw him over. The impact sent a splash of blood around his head like a halo, and the rest just drained out.
            The man had worn some rather fancy duds as well. Clearly he was going to or coming from one of the more upper crust entertainment centers in the Fort.
            I looked up at the wall, its surface fully stained with the man’s blood.
    Why hang him like they did? From one leg over a railing, with one leg tied to the others thigh, and both hands tied behind his back? It was almost like they were trying to write the number four with the dead man’s body.
    The security men had already packed up and left, but it wasn’t them that called me, it was the man’s family. More and more people trusted Ryan’s security forces less and less these days. Rapture was coming to a boil over the debates between Ryan and Fontaine, and people were starting to pick their sides.
            I just keep my head down about the whole thing and do what I can to help whoever comes to me for it. Besides it wasn’t like I needed more jobs. I still had the little girl to find, and the arson murders were still up in the air, and now this?
            I look back at the photos in my hand, and then slap them into the file, and pull out the witness reports.
            One Agatha Moore found the body. Early thirties and still a bit of a looker. She was alone when she leaned against the wall and found it wet, saw it was blood and then saw the body. Among the items found around the place were of course, the rope used to tie up the body and hang it, loose plaster along the railing and floor, and cut marks into the railing the body had hung from. Maybe a struggle that kicked up some plaster from the walls up there, the knife stabbing into the railing before the killer got things under control?
    There were also new fliers for ‘Patrick and Moira’ but I doubt that had much to do with anything. The flied was different from the previous ones that showed the couple dancing. Instead this one showed the title characters standing apart with a third person in between them. The flier proclaimed it was the sixth version of the play. A silk handkerchief was also found, probably the victim’s given the material and lace trim of it. A few packages of cigarettes and an unopened condom were there as well.
    I went around to the stairs and walked up to the next level of the district, and found my way back to the blood stain. There were certainly several cuts into the railing, but it looked more like scuffs and notches from just being banged against. Certainly not anything cause my erratic knife slashes. White particles were all over the railing as well, plaster? Kneeling down I looked around the floor edge and plaster still sat on the carpet there. But it was white, not the green of the wall. Not to mention there wasn’t any kind of damage done to the wall on this level.
            Of course there was artwork everywhere; the plaster could be from anything. Hell, from the look of it someone bumped one of the statuary while moving it.
            So what’s part of it and what isn’t?
            “Booker? Booker?”
            I leaned over the rail; below me was Abigail in another one of her pencil skirt reporter suits. I whistled and waved and she looked up and nodded.
            “So what’s this all about?” I handed her the file and she started reading. She stood there in her brown suit, pushing her hair back behind her ear eyes widening and brows furrowed at the more sordid details. I hadn’t seen Abby in some time, near on a week I’d say. I had an inkling to kiss her but, well, standing above a blood soaked wall was probably not the time nor the place.
    “You get such interesting cases, Booker”
            “That’s one way to look at it,” I said, “I’m a little surprised you weren’t here sooner”
            “My editor says I’ve been giving him too much crime stuff” she said with a smirk, “So I’m officially here, unofficially”
            There was something different about her, now that I had a closer look. It was hard to tell in the many and changing lights of Fort Frolic but, well, it looked like her hair was darker, almost black.
            “So what’s it looking like Booker?”
            I looked down at the railing and the bloody wall below it, “Not sure lots of stuff around but, well given the area hard to tell what’s what. We need someone who’s more in tune with everything going on”
            She smiled like a snake, “Looks like we get to meet another big name in the city”

    We didn’t get to meet Sander Cohen, the artist was far less interested in what I needed then the doctor had been, instead a man named Martin Finnegan met us.
    He was a sculptor he said, the office he showed me to had several statues, presumably his own from the way he gushed over them. Marble and bronze they were all extremely lifelike, I half expected them to move when I turned around.
            Abigail had stayed outside of the hall that Cohen and his, well they called themselves disciples, kept their offices and studios, to ask around as to if anyone had seen the man prior to his murder.
            “It really was a shock, Mister DeWitt,” Finnegan said as he sat down at a small desk. It had to be small; both sides of it were flanked by statues of nude women in various states of self pleasure. Clearly Finnegan had something on his mind.
            “Do you have any idea as to who did this? Or why?”
            “I’m afraid not. But I’m sure I speak for Sander when I say that we hope that you and the security forces are able to find whoever did this.”
            I’m sure, “Mister Finnegan, where were you last night?”
    The man smiled back at me, a cold smile, “I was here working on my latest sculpture, if you’d like to see it.”
            “Anyone that can verify that?”
            “My model for one thing, raven haired girl, blue eyes. She comes in every now and then to pose. A lovely little cocktail she is. Other than her my assistant can give you a list of other people who were around last night, I’m sure.”
            “What about Mister Cohen?”
            “I’m not sure anyone knows what Sander does when he’s not out on stage lapping up his praise. Most of the time he’s locking himself in his studio, or in that gaudy apartment of his.”
            “Was he even here?”
            “I doubt it. He’s become rather disillusioned with his recent play”
            “That would be ‘Moira and Patrick’?”
            “Yes that’s the one, the two lovers that keep finding each other after they die. At the end they need to chose if they really want to be together, or something like that. A little cliché but it puts the seats in the seats, as they say. I think I overheard him saying something about starting work on his true masterpiece.”
            Well that might be something Abigail could get a story out of at least, I got up to go, “Thank you very much Mister Finnegan”
            “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to see the model? It’s coming out rather well. I’m thinking of calling it ‘Songbird in Repose’”
            I waved my hand, “I’ll pass, I was never much of one for art” Finnegan’s eyes were twitching as I closed the door behind me. Why do all these damn people want to show me these things? Through the red carpeted hallways of the ‘Rise Rapture Gallery’ my thoughts wandered to the body again. Abigail still had the photos but there’d be something wrong with a man if he couldn’t remember someone being trussed up like some kind of pig carcass.
            The way the body was arranged had to be the key. If they just wanted the body found they could have left it on the ground anywhere in the district. If they wanted the blood why leave it in the open to drain where they couldn’t get it.
    And why even bother with tying the arms and legs like they had? I couldn’t think of any other murders that Rapture had seen like this, and certainly nothing else with whatever kind of imagery they were putting out with this. Knowing why the body was the way it was might not be a corner or even an edge piece to the puzzle, but maybe then it wouldn’t all just be sky.
    I head over to Pharaoh’s Fortune, I liked the casino, it had a two drink minimum. With any luck Abby would meet me there once she found another witness.

            “What do you mean nothing?”
            “No one saw anything,” Abigail said, absentmindedly stirring her drink.
            “How do you flay the meat off a man’s neck and toss him over a railing without anyone seeing or hearing anything?”
            “I ‘unno.” She shrugged. We both drank.
    We sat at a table, near the bar, the casino’s music and chimes and laughter and livelihood echoing around us, a concert of gambling. Waitresses walked amongst the tables carrying drinks and glasses wearing cocktail dresses and not so subtly flirting with the men they served. It reminded me of the Kashmir and Elizabeth.
            I glanced at Abigail and then back to my drink. Best to keep it under my hat and forget about it. Like it was that easy.
            “Let me see the file again” I asked. Abigail handed it over. Her hair was definitely different, it wasn’t the dark brown or auburn it was before, it was black. Had she dyed it? Why? I let it go and looked back at the photos. I doubted them shedding any new light for me, but at least they could take my mind off of the girl.
    It was only then I noticed something in the photo’s on the man’s head there was something there, almost smudged by the lens, or maybe… maybe carved into the skin? It looked almost like an X with two I’s next to it.
            “Twelve?”
            “Twelve what?”
            I showed Abigail the photo. It was definitely roman numerals, Ecks Aie Aie, Twelve.
            “It’s not a very good photo Booker,” Abigail said putting down the picture,
            “No. That’s why I’ll have to pay the Morgue a visit. This could be a brand or something, a warning maybe? Whoever did this has already killed eleven other people, or they’re going to kill twelve more, maybe,” I downed my drink, “Either way I want to make sure I’m seeing this right”
            Abigail moved her chair closer to me, “It’s kind of late to head over there now…” she let the implication hang in the air. It was late. I hadn’t gotten the file or even to Fort Frolic until well past six, and sorting through everything and coming here had taken some time. Abigail batted her eyes.
            With the black hair, she looked like the girl, Elizabeth, nearly the same blue eyes, though Abigail’s hair was shorter, with a more angular face. It was still unnerving. I wanted to forget what had happened.
            “I should head home,” I said, standing up. Abigail’s face held a brief look of surprise and disappointment before she waved me off.
            “Alright, alright. I’ll see you later, Mister DeWitt”

            I light a cigarette as I walk through the waterways, the ocean surrounding me as I leave the Medical Pavilion. The doctors were none too happy to see me, and even less happy to know what Steinman himself had allowed me to sit around for the autopsy. Sure enough carved into the man’s head were the roman numerals for twelve.
            Beyond that the doctor didn’t find anything other than severe blood loss to be the cause of death. Thanks to scratches on the man’s spine the doctor figured the knife that carved up his neck was serrated, and needed to be at least a foot long to do the job. Drugs were found in his system, formyl trichloride chief amongst them. Chloroform. Stomach contests didn’t provide anything else and there was no evidence that the man did anything to prevent his grisly fate.
            I suck down on my coffin nail like I had a vendetta; the damn man’s body didn’t lead me much of anywhere. With so many scientists and doctors in Rapture chloroform was common as hell; I could probably head over to any store in Apollo Square and get myself a bottle. I wrench up on the door handle and as I wait for the door to open I’m standing there puffing like a nervous con hoping not to be found out.
            The whole thing had gone to hell. If I was hoping to get something from the autopsy all I was left with were center pieces and all the jigsaw curves looked the same. I just needed to find a corner and I could get in business. The door screeches and you can damn well hear the teeth on gears getting stripped.
            “God Dammit!” I kick at the door.
    Most cases are easy; the last person to see the vic did it. Their best friend didn’t like that they got a raise. Most of the time they knew who attacked them. No one saw anything for this man, there was no guardian angel looking out for him, preacher. I leave the half open door, someone else will deal with it, there’s a tram stations in the pavilion anyway.
            Stepping back into the hospital my shoes ringed against the pristine white tiles of the district. Steinman’s advertisements for his beauty and surgery tonics line the walls between doors and waiting rooms. An entire district dedicated to beauty, I think I heard him say once. An entire part of the city that was a hospital.
            I was halfway through the place when a scream went out, and my feet started moving before I even thought of it. I was off and running towards it. Another scream, echoed through the walls of the pavilion, and then a shout for help and a third scream.
            A knot of people crowded around a small niche in the wall. I yell that I was a detective, and when no one moved, I shoved my way through the press. Through the other side I met with another ghastly scene.
            A woman, at least I think it was a woman, laid out on the ground. Around her body the floor was awash with blood and about her shoulders two bloody masses of flesh, large and pink. Around the masses were long white and red curved objects. It took me a moment to realize they were bones, the woman’s ribs. They formed bloody wings that stretched out from her shoulders. Her arms lay limp at her sides and on either side of her were cups, one was filled with water and the other with a red fluid, blood, I’d guess.
            Her stomach was also covered in blood, but ragged gashes made an unmistakable pattern there, an ‘X’ and ‘I’ and a ‘V’.
            Fourteen.
    A numbered body laid out to be found and killed in a horrific way. Two bodies in as many days. Blood still oozed from the body, bright red, loose, fresh blood. This was done recently.
    I whirled around, “Someone get me a camera quick! Who found the body?”
    The people around the niche just talked amongst themselves.
            “Dammit who found the body?!”
            “I-I did” a girl, blond with short hair raised her hand.
            “Did you see anything? Anything at all?”
            “N-no I just... I-I-I just,”
            “Where’s the damn camera? Focus! Did anyone go into or out of here? Anyone?”
            “N-no!”
            “I-I’ve got a camera!” a man came forward, an older camera in his hands.
            “Takes pictures of everything here. Everything. And not just one, a bunch of everything, got it?” I turned back to the girl, “You didn’t see anyone come in or out? Did you hear anything? Another scream? Anything at all?”
            “I-I-I” I was scaring her, I knew, but whoever did this could still be near.
            “I heard something!” Another man, older than me by a long ways, “Sounded like a, like a clap.”
            “A clap?”
            “Like uh, like thunder” he said, “But not very loud. A rush of wind, and then a clap.”
            Behind me the man with the camera took more and more photos, “Did anyone else hear or see anything? Anyone?” the people still remaining mumbled and grumbled, ‘No’s’ rang out. IU turned from them back to the body. The Pavilion’s doctors would be here soon, no doubt about it and on their tails would be the security forces. Like hell I’d let them muck about in this.
            I walked around the body, making sure not to step in the slowly growing pool of blood. The woman was naked from the waist up, the letters caved into her stomach. Without her ribs her chest was almost deflated like an empty ball. Unless I turned over the body I couldn’t say if there were any other injuries, but the ribs and whatever it was that was lying next to her had to come out of her from somewhere.
            The cups were strange. Those with how the body was arranged brought everything into a disturbingly ritualistic view. Ryan’s men would want this squashed out quick.
    I stepped around to the women’s feet; she was wearing a skirt the hem of which was soaked with water, nearly sodden. Stuck to the skirt were white particles. They crumbled easily enough between my fingers.
            More plaster or grout from the tiles? It wasn’t coarse enough to be grout and it smeared more easily the wetter it was. Plaster. I stood over the girl and looked at the wound in her stomach. It was jagged, a lot like the one cut into the man’s head.
            I took a step back, and felt something under my shoe. I looked down to find a round object, a poker chip I realized once I’d picked it up. A simply clay chip pressed to have a pyramid on one side and an Egyptian death mask on the other. A Pharaoh’s Fortune chip. It was the woman’s it brought a connection between her and the previous victim, they were both in Fort Frolic before dying, possibly right before dying. And both had plaster on or near the body. The man it could easily be a coincidence but in the medical pavilion I doubted much plaster would be thrown around without some kind of trail and there wasn’t one from the girl.
            I pocketed the chip just as some medical men showed up. The girl’s body was going to be brought in and examined.

            “So what killed her, doc?”
            “Blood loss, just like the last one, Mister DeWitt”
    The woman’s cold body was laid out on the slab, lights all around her. She’d been cleaned up, and you could now easily see the letters cut into her abdomen.
            “What about everything else? The bones and all that?”
            “Ahh well” the man lifted up the body, showing her back, two long cuts ran down her spine, “Her ribs were sawed off at her spine and broken and pulled out, then her lungs were pulled out as well. It’s called a-“
            “Blood Eagle” I said. In Germany we’d heard some stories about it. It was supposed to be a torture that Vikings did to people that crossed them or betrayed them. We’d heard stories of German’s doing it to prisoners. The people were supposed to still be alive when it happened.
            “Right.”
            “What about blood work? Was all this stuff hers? Was she drugged?”
            “It was all her blood, near as we can tell. And just like the last stiff you came to see she’s got formyl trichloride. Someone drugged her up just like the last guy”
            He drugs them, takes them wherever he wants to dump them, and guts ‘em? The doctor goes on about detail on what he can tell on the bones. I can already bet it’s a long knife or something similar, serrated and about a foot long.
            I left the pavilion a second time, lighting up another cigarette. I came to the Pavilion first thing and it was already past midday. I needed a drink.
            The door through the waterway was fixed by the time I’d gotten back. I yanked at the handle again and turned as the gears whirled and the door opened. Turning, I ran straight into someone.
            “Oof, Oh well, fancy meeting you here, Mister DeWitt”
            Bright blue eyes like a cloudless morning looked back at me, black hair tumbled to her shoulders and sunny red lips pursed into a smile and all at once a vision of the Kashmir stage came back to me.

    Another day, another bar, another table. Elizabeth sat opposite me this time, another cocktail in her hands, what was it called this time? Possession? A green drink. I watched her take a sip and briefly wondered how it would taste, even more so how it would taste from her lips.
    I swallowed the thought and my whiskey.
    It had been hard staying on the job at Kashmir, after her song. I still had the Meyer and Hayes file open on my desk. The help at Kashmir hadn’t been much, well help, and it had gone cold. It was unfortunate to say but it seemed that I’d just have to wait for someone else to get ashed.
            The dress she’d worn then made the open collared blouse and tight skirt she wore now look downright homely.
            “I’m surprised you hadn’t heard anything about it” I really was, the girl seemed to know everything going on with me, did she even know I was at the restaurant that night?
            “I guess I’m just not much with the paper” she said with another smile. Since I guessed her name she didn’t give me those sarcastic grins anymore. And since Kashmir…well, a smile from her felt nice.
            “Two people dead, same circumstances. And really butchered too, blood ev-“ I shook my head, “Not the kind of conversation with a lady.
            A grin like a lioness, “I don’t really think of myself as a lady, not with you, Booker” She took another drink as I choked on mine.
            I coughed and continued, “Lots of blood. And the bodies were set up like a ritual. The man was hung upside down and the girl made to look like an angel with cups. They both had numbers cut into them”
            She stop drinking and put down the glass. Her brow was furrowed, “That sounds familiar,” she said, “What was it like?”
            “Er…“ well why not, Abigail always helped me out, “The man was hanging upside down from a wall in Frolic, hanging from one leg, with his other tied to it, bending at the knee. Both his arms were behind his back.  The way the blood slapped around his head it looked like a halo. The damnedest thing was that he had lettered cut into his head, two ‘I’s’ and an ‘X’ like the number twelve.”
            Elizabeth looked into her glass, eyes flitting from one side to the other, “I know that, I know that…” she said.
            After a few moments I continued on, “The girl had her ribs and lungs town out to look like wings, like an angel. There were also two cups by her, one had water and the other blood.”
            She set down the glass, “Show me what they looked like”
            The barman was nice enough to give me a pen, I sketched out as best I could what the bodies looked like. A man hanging from one leg with his other leg and arms behind him, and the girl with bloody wings and two cups by her hands, Elizabeth looked at them for some time before saying anything
            “Do you know anything about Tarot cards, Booker?”
            “What?”
            “Tarot Cards,” she said again, putting down the napkins I’d drawn on, “They’re like playing cards; they used to just be that but some people think you can tell the future with them”
            “That seems kind of farfetched”
            “Tell that to people that believe,” Elizabeth said. She pointed at the drawing of the man, “This is The Hanged Man, and this” she pointed to the girl, “is Temperance”
            “So it’s what, ritual killing? They’re trying to tell the future?”
            Elizabeth shrugged, “Maybe? The meaning the cards are supposed to have change on how they’re drawn and in what position they’re in.” she sighed looking at my drawings, “The Hanged Man is about things like sacrifice, letting go, and accepting fate and being at peace with it. But also about staying in line and accepting a new point of view and patience.” She held up the woman, “Temperance is about harmony, and moderation. Bringing things together. Healing”
            “So what, the guy wants to bring people together so they’re at peace?”
            She shrugged, “Things aren’t exactly peaceful in Rapture. How were they found? The meaning’s different if they’re upside down.”
            “Well the man was just like that, hanging from a railing.”
            “You said they had numbers in them? From how he was hung what did the numbers look like?”
            “Er.. Ecks, Aie Aie. Twelve, right?”
            “Just like this?” under the drawing she wrote out the letters.
            “Yeah”
            “And the girl?”
            “Same thing, on her stomach Ecks Aie Vee, fourteen” again she wrote them out under the drawing. But they weren’t that way, they were reversed.
            “So, they were upside down?” she said.
            “I guess so” I watched Elizabeth turned the picture over.
            “Temperance upside down means the opposite of its usual meanings. Unbalanced, excess. The cups she’s supposed to hold are water and wine. Normally she’s making the wine weaker, the other way around and you just get stronger wine. They probably had a reason to put them where they were.”
            “The girl, the angel. She’s about healing? Well that’s why she’s at the Pavilion. But what about the man? Letting go? Acceptance? What’s that got to do with Fort Frolic?”
            “Maybe like… seeing someone else’s point of view?”
            It was a long shot, but I didn’t know anything about this symbolism garbage. So they were both made to look like Tarot cards, at least that explains some of the reason behind the state of the bodies. A little bit more of the puzzle fell out, and I may have just found a corner and two edges were feeling to be about the right shape. There was a pattern here.
            “Why set them up as these cards if not to try to tell the future with them, in some way?”
            “What do you mean?”
    “The… the Hanged Man, What’s he represent?”
            “Giving up, giving in, patience, non-action”
    “Oh lord,” Could it really have been that easy? A damn pun? “Patience, like patients. The Hanged Man points to the Medical Pavilion and the girl. Healing right?”
    Elizabeth smiled and nodded, she almost looked nostalgic? Like she’d seen this before.
            So the first body leads to the second, and the second should lead on to, hopefully where the next person is supposed to be killed, and not just another bloody corpse, “What does temperance mean?”
            “Upside down it means excess, not keeping things in balance, uhm…”
            I pulled out the casino chip from my pocket and smiled, a two drink minimum.

            Abigail stood in Fort Frolic, looking at the still bloodstained wall, doing her best to imagine what the body had looked like without imagining the blood oozing out of it.
            It wasn’t so much the blood that disturbed her as it was the ritual look of it. She’d gotten through that ‘Angel’ case fine, but that was just a killing. This was more like a, a slaughter. She snapped her fingers and a flame blossomed from them and she looked more closely at the wall.
            Abigail had never had a plasmid before. The ability to use them was rather exhilarating, making fire from your hand. She hadn’t much thought about it until she’d gone through Booker’s desk and saw his notes. After that she went to the Pavilion and got a gene tonic for her hair, Raven Black. When she thought about it more it was a silly thing to do but after a few days she liked the black hair, so she decided why not, and got Incinerate as well. Booker used it for a lighter all the time, it couldn’t be so bad.
            Content that there was nothing new with the wall she rubbed the flame out on her fingers and turned around, the lights and sounds of Fort Frolic ahead of her. Booker hadn’t talked to her about what he’d found out at the Pavilion, but she’d gotten word that another body had been found. She went to Bookers apartment but it was empty, so she came back here. Abigail figured that there must have been something they’d missed, so it was back to square one, as it were.
            While debating on where to go next, she’d caught sight of her man. She was about to call out when she noticed he was arm in arm with another woman, black hair and, if you asked Abigail, a far fuller figure then herself. She looked familiar. They headed up the stairs and she followed them all the way to Pharaoh’s Fortune.

            The Casino blared and clanged around us, slot machines dolling out pittance for the fortune they took in. If I was right about what the cards were supposed to mean then my man was in here somewhere, ready and waiting. Elizabeth had said that the Wheel of Fortune was probably the most fitting for the casino, representing sudden change, possibilities and destiny. The hope of people trying to get rich. The other body pointing back here also fit with people being taken from Fort Frolic. The Casino wasn’t as lively tonight as usual, maybe word of the hanged man had gotten around. Dead bodies tended to put people off. Elizabeth was talking to herself absentmindedly.
            Walking through the slots and tables I couldn’t help but notice a number of the prizes had changed. Money was of course always a winner, but there were now prizes like tickets to shows, and even gene tonics and plasmids. One bank of slot machines attested to a winning take being Winters Blast. Why anyone would need to freeze what they touch was beyond me.
            “This would be faster if we split u-“
            “Booker?”
            Elizabeth let go of my arm as I turned around to see Abby standing there, hands on her hips.
            “Abby?”
    “Who’s thi-?” Abigail waved her hand at Elizabeth, “You, You’re that missing girl Booker was looking for.”
            One look at Abigail’s face reminded me of what I’d come home to one night, it seemed so long ago now. Papers strewn over my desk, the notes and pictures of Elizabeth on top. Oh hell, first that and now she sees me walking arm in arm with the girl? It wasn’t even my idea, Elizabeth just did it, why didn’t I pull away?
            Before I could say anything Elizabeth stepped up to her and smiled giving her a friendly hello. They shook hands. “I’m Elizabeth, and you are?”
            To her credit, Abby took the girls hand and shook it, “I’m Abigail.”
            If looks could kill I’d be a black smudge on the wall.
    After the glare at me, Abigail looked Elizabeth up and down. Suddenly I felt more like a ref at a boxing match then some guy in a casino.
            “So what do you do, Elizabeth?”
            “Oh, odd jobs, this and that” she said with a smile, “You?”
            As Abby started to tell her about her work as a reporter I heard something that I hadn’t in some time, a rush, like wind blowing through trees.
            There wasn’t any wind in rapture.
    As the thought entered my mind I could hear a pop, a clap like thunder, but softer and quieter, just like the man at the Pavilion had said.
            Whatever it was, it had been moving behind me, without a thought I turned and ran. I could hear Abigail and Elizabeth call my name.
            Whoever was doing this, they needed a secluded spot to do it. The Casino wasn’t full but there were still plenty of people, and alcoves were not in plentiful supply here, save for the- The Restrooms!
            Skidding on the carpet I took the turn sharply and dashed for the far wall, the men’s and women’s rooms were off a small corridor from the power tables there. If you wanted a place to be alone in a crowded room, it was there. I knew form experience.
            Rounding a table and entering the small hallway I finally got a look at the handiwork in progress. A man was holding a girls head, blood dripping from her neck as she slashed a long serrated knife over her eyes. It was clear she was already dead, living people have more of a stomach then she did, and their guts weren’t strewn over the floor in a large circle.
            “Hold it!”My gun was out and pointed right at the man’s head, “Drop the knife”
    Wild eyes stared back at me. I’d seen eyes like that before, some time ago, when I saved a girl from a homeless workless man at Dionysus. He gurgled something to himself and dropped the girl, taking a step forward.
            It was then that Elizabeth and Abigail showed up. I’m not sure why, but the man shrieked something about an angel and threw the knife. As soon as his arm raised I turned and grabbed both girls, the three of us tumbling down as the blade flew overhead and buried itself into the side of a poker table. That was when the first woman screamed.
            Another soft pop and a rush of air. As soon as I got up and turned the man was gone.
    Shit. Someone still had one of those teleportation plasmids. With the screaming and yelling I couldn’t hear anything. The plasmid was good but you could tell where they were going sometimes. Sounds, the air, they had tells. With all the commotion I had none of it.
            “He’s… he’s going to the bar, Booker!”
            I didn’t wait another second. After it was over I’d wonder how she knew, or why I believed her. Her eyes were closed then, and you couldn’t even see the bar from where we were, but I ran all the same. Just as I arrived at the area the man appeared again and I barreled into him. We both hit hard against the side of the bar, and it took me a moment to get up from the daze, but he was already up, and soon I felt his hand around my neck. God the man was strong, far stronger then he looked.
            This close I could see him more clearly, his skin drooped under his eyes and along his jaw on his left, but was pulled tight in other places. He stank of blood and sweat and filth. The skin at his lips was pulled in such a way that he always had a half sneer on his face. If ever there was a face to what people were calling Splicers this damn well was it.
            “I’m going to enjoy making you into a piece” he slurred as he brought me close.
            “Let go of him!” a hand came from behind him, slapping the side of his face and spinning him and dropping me. As I coughed Abigail stood face to face with the Splicer.
            “Abb-by, g-go! Run” the man grabbed at her arm when she tried to retreat and again wrapped his hands around a neck. I kicked at the man’s shins but before I could connect another punch went into the man’s face. It was Elizabeth this time and the man and Abby both stumbled away from her. I stood back up, gun at the ready.
            “You’ve got nowhere to go, buddy.” I said, “Just come along nice and easy.”
    He didn’t yell the word. It was just a gurgle and a slur like everything else he’d uttered up to that point, a simple ‘No’ but it still blew me across the bar and into a slot machine all the same.
    God damned plasmids.
            They were the biggest problem. How do you stop a person with God damned magic powers? As I tried to pull myself up from the ruined and twisted metal and glass and plastic and wood coins and paper clinked around me, until I heard distinct ping of glass and looked down. A hypo lay at my feet with a label bearing a snowflake.
            Everyone had their own way of using Plasmids. Most just associated the power with a hand movement. You didn’t need the friction to make the fire for incinerate, but in people’s minds it made sense, so it worked. So how do you stop someone from using plasmids? You take away how they think it should work. I grabbed the hypo and slid the needle into my arm. When I’d gotten Incinerate my veins felt like they were filled with gasoline, like at the slightest spark I’d go up in flames. This time it was cold, freezing, I looked at my hands and I could see my veins they grew larger and larger, swelling red and then turning black, frost crawled over my fingers and the black bite spread over my whole hand. And soon enough my hand felt hard, like stone. The pain of it was incredible. It took me days to feel right after my first plasmid. I didn’t really have that luxury this time.
            Through blurry eyes the man was back on his feet, and he’d grabbed and tossed Elizabeth down with Abby. I stumbled as I got up, something cut through my clothes and into my arm, metal from the machine I’d wager. My heart pounded in my head as I moved as quickly as I could towards the three. I man stretched out his hand and, snapping his fingers, was filled with flame.
            “It’s the Tower for you two” I could barely hear him say, he pulled his hand back and I grabbed his wrist.
    He shrieked and the fire went out, the heat of his own skin sending up plums of steam as it met my own freezing grasp. His skin quickly puffed up red and tender before the black frostbite started to creep out from my hand, followed quickly by a thin sheet of ice. The man screamed and wriggled but I held on tight, my own hand screaming at me as every movement sent jolts of pain through my arm. Before long the man’s entire hand was coated in ice and unmoving. He was down on his knees. I raised up his arm and brought my pistol down on his fingers. The sound of flesh and bone shattering wasn’t all that different from glass. I doubted he could feel it, but he wailed all the same, whatever concentration allowed him to send the shockwave with his voice before was gone. Even so, best to play it safe. I dropped his ruined arm and put my hand over his mouth, his lips were wet, and they froze even faster than his hand had.

            Afterwards both Abigail and Elizabeth tried to hug me, but I pulled my arm away from both of them. I doubted I could be able to touch much of anything until I could get the plasmid under control. They both settled for a half hug of my shoulder.
            The Security boys came eventually, and did their checks on citizens of Rapture. The Splicer was a man named Heath Hayes. They didn’t tell me if there was any relation to Angela. He was another follower of Sander Cohen, though the other ‘disciples’ said he wasn’t particularly good, or even noticed by the man.
    They’d found his apartment in Olympus Heights, and his studio at Fort Frolic. The murder scenes were bloody, but his home and office were covered in gore. There were more bodies there, tied up and laid out and withered. In his home they found a deck of Tarot cards, with some of them laid out in a wide ‘V’, The Hangdman, Temperance and Wheel of Fortune among them. It seemed he became obsessed with the deck, and dealt out a future he thought he could make come true.
            Once his lips were thawed enough to speak Hayes muttered and sputtered about ADAM, he needed eve, or a plasmid, anything. They gave him an Eve hypo and he calmed down, and started to spill everything he knew. He killed the people, he wanted to please Sander. The other’s only made copies of people as art, but he made people art. It was insane and Sander’s cronies said as much.
            Thanks to the spread of the cards in Hayes’ apartment’s the papers ended up calling it the Ellipse Murders. Abigail said she wanted it to call it the Tarot Terror, but her editor turned her down. That was strange; he always seemed to do what she wanted before.

    I shut off the water to my shower. I couldn’t really tell if the water was boiling or tepid. Since getting Winter’s Blast into my system it was getting harder to feel heat. I didn’t feel cold, it just seemed more and more I couldn’t feel any kind of temperature change. Probably just a side effect of the plasmid. I grabbed a towel and scrubbed my body free of as much water as I could.
            Stepping out of the shower I looked around my home turned office. Papers still strewn over my desk. Clothes mostly where I’d let them drop. I’d half expected to see Abigail in my bed, in some part of my mind I might even have hoped to see Elizabeth there.
            For once I was glad to see it was empty.

    ----

    A Friend in the Drink by Realmzjetter

            What was it Jayne had called it? Proper action? Yeah, that’s what it was. It actually felt pretty good, no one else to worry about, just you and the other guy, guns drawn and waiting to see who makes the first move.
            Well no one else to worry about except the girl.
            “Just put it down and we can all walk away, buddy”
            “I’m not your buddy, stop calling me that!”
            I don’t know who she is, but the man holding the gun to her head is Marvin Gallins a small time crook who most people would say was never really worth the effort to bring in and I’d have to agree with them.
            Except he might have something to do with the little girl that went missing weeks ago.
            Her name was Mavis Orden and her father came to me hoping I’d be able to find her. As the days passed I knew she wouldn’t be coming back, and I got even less and less to work with to find out what had happened. Her father had already given up hope. At the very least I could find out what happened to her and that’s what I aimed to do for Mister Orden.
            First I had to get Marvin out of this damned fool idea of his to rob a store in the middle of the damn day.
            “Just let her go, she didn’t do anything Marvin”
            “Back off!”
            “I just want to talk-“
            “You just want me to spill what I know about Frank. I’m not talking to some bozo for Ryan”
    You do enough jobs for someone everything thinks you’re on their pay. The Security guys were fine sending the shit they didn’t want my way, but when push came to shove they’d leave me out in the cold just like everyone else. Notoriety can get you lots of jobs and can help you solve ‘em quick. In certain circles it can also get people killed.
            “I don’t work for Ryan, I’m here about a little gi-“
            “Fuck off!”
    Through it all the girl just kept on begging for Marvin not to shoot her, for me to save her, for anyone to help. She even prayed to God. Good thing the security forces didn’t care much for the back alleys and slum areas of Rapture, they might try to throw her in the lock up for it.
            “Fine, I’ll do it your way…” I hold up my gun in one hand, finger off the trigger. The guy relaxes, but only a little, “I’m putting my gun down”
            I place the gun on the floor. My fingers clench over it and the floorboards of the store start to flash freeze, the frost rushing over to the man’s feet. He sees it coming, but not fast enough, he lets go of the girl, sending her sprawling, and tries to run for it, just to find the wood under him slick and he topples over. I can hear the crack of his chin as he hits the floor face first.
            My gun is frozen solid, the slide’s shut tight and the springs have snapped. It’s too bad, I liked this gun.
            I saunter over to Marvin as he tries to shake off the birds floating around his head, a good shot to the jaw would daze any man, and Marvin didn’t look like much of a boxer to me. I almost slip as I crouch down to lift him up, “Alright, Mister Gallins, lets you and me have a little talk”

            Gallins sat in a chair, the only whole chair in the whole damn bar. The place was empty, it’d been condemned some time ago, Ryan or Sinclair or someone was going to knock it all down for more apartments or something. No one but rebel kids came in here now.
            Floorboards were broken; support beams and trusses were rotten and sodden from leaking water. None of the lights in the place worked but Rapture’s street lights let in enough to see by. It was dank and dark; it was a good place to have a talk, and a good place to hide a body. I was counting on Gallins realizing the latter.
            “I told you I don’t know anything about a little girl,” Gallins said, “I don’t go in for that kind of thing.”
            “Sure you don’t Marvin, sure you don’t,” I pulled out a cigarette and light it, “I’m sure if you had any friends they’d say you’re the pinnacle of society here in Rapture, a real go getter.”
            I half hope the smack to his face breaks his jaw. Gallins was the kind of guy that would grab a girl from the street and send her off to anyone for the right price. ‘Didn’t go in for that kind of thing’ Phffa.
            “D-Dammit!”
            “Where did you take Mavis, Gallins?”
            “Who’s Mavis?”
    I wrench him back into the chair, “You’d know her well enough. Black hair, blue eyes, liked stripes, wears a distinctive bracelet? I’ve got plenty of people telling me you were in the area when she was last seen,” it wasn’t the best lie but thugs like Gallins were low on the totem pole for a reason, they could never spot a bluff.
            “I don’t know any-“
    I smash my fist into his knee next. It feels like hitting a brick wall and I hear a crack. From Gallins’ scream I’d say he got the worst of it.
            “Sshhit!”
            “I’ve never been known to be a very patient man, Gallins. I’ve also been told I’ve got a bit of a temper and frankly, people that hurt little girls make me angry.”
            “Shh shhi… I..I-I didn’t take her”
            I’m about to send another fist into his gut when he flinches and jerks back in the chair
            “B-but I know where they take ‘em!”
            “Talk”
    Gallins didn’t take Mavis, he says, but he’s clearly taken other girls. He says it’s mostly from the orphanages. Most of the time the girls are just taken to the big one Fontaine’s got over in Hestia. Like a taxi service. But some of them don’t go there. They’re dropped off in some of the maintenance junctions.
            “Why?”
            “I-I don’t know!”
    I could guess. Mavis’ father was upper middle class. Not big enough to bring hell down on whatever sick operation this was, but big enough to make a stink if he finds it daughter in an orphanage. A big enough stink that maybe bring the security men down to take a closer look at things.
            “What maintenance route did you send most of the girls to, Gallins?”
            “I-I-“
    I grabbed his shirt and yanked him towards me. The cotton in the garment starts to smolder.
            “Where!?”
            “S-Seventeen!”

            Some things should probably be explained at this point, namely how the people that built Rapture lived once the city was largely completed. Ryan wanted a city built on the bottom of the sea and to do that you needed workers, a lot of workers. But the city didn’t have any place for them. Ryan wanted Rapture to be a city for people like him, people that thought big things, sold dreams and danced in the limelight, he didn’t care for the ‘vermin’ that made his dream real. So the workers built their own homes in the maintenance byways and corridors of Rapture. A city inside the city.
            Junction Seventeen was known as Pauper’s Drop and was one of the more well off places of the poor in Rapture. Of course the problem with being one of the up and up poor is that you’re still poor. Before heading here I stopped over at the Orden’s told them I had a bit of a lead. He gave me a photo of Mavis, it was from over a year ago but it should still do.
            The train slowly pulled out of the station and I watched it leave. No bathyspheres went into the junctions, the only way to get there were the few train stations converted from freight and the airlocked water walkways.
            Walking through the station, no one spoke to me. They’d look at me and sneer, or hurry away. Made sense I suppose, you spend your life getting talked down to and kicked you start to distrust anyone new coming along.
            The walls were paneled in tile, the floor the straight cement pads used as a foundation everywhere else in Rapture. The workers hadn’t wasted much time on superfluous things like wooden floorboards. Every now and then there’d be picture on the wall of the lady Lamb. She’d disappeared some time ago, everyone was sure Ryan did something to her.
            “They really like her here, don’t they…”
            You have to admit, workers knew what they wanted when they got home. The very first thing that you see coming out of the train station is a diner, a good ole greasy spoon. The Fishbowl Diner’s sign flickered, changing the colors of the shadows ahead of it. The people inside ate in silence or in jovial conversation. That’s how you dealt with what life gave you, shut it out or live it up.
            I grab the attention of the nearest person and show them Mavis’ photo, “Have you seen this girl anywhere? She may have been here, maybe two, three weeks ago?” the man just gave me a half hearted no, and went on his way.
            It was the same with the next person, and the next and the next. No one wanted anything to do with me, or the girl. Eventually they even stopped acknowledging I asked they just kept on walking. An hour of wandering and questioning lead me back to the diner. I collapsed onto one of the benches outside and looked at the photo. The girl’s father had already given up on her; he nearly kicked me out when I asked for a photo. He just wanted the past to stay buried. Why did I care so much?
            “Mister?”
            I looked up from the photo to find a little girl, five or six maybe, looking at me. She had brown hair, tied back into a pony tail, and blue eyes. A cute kid.
            “Er… yeah?”
            “What’s your name?”
            “Uh.. Booker. Booker DeWitt”
            “I’m Eleanor” she held out her hand. I shook it, it was so small.
    “Whatter you lookin’ at?”
            I showed her the photo.
            “Is that your daughter?”
            “No. No. I’m looking for her. Her father’s… very worried. He’d like to have her back,” this girl was the first person to actually talk to me down here.
            “You should talk to Mister Flanagan.”
            “Who?”
            “Mister Flanagan!” she said it again, slower, like I was stupid, “He finds things out about people.”
            “What, he’s a detective?”
            “Yup”
            “Eleanor, come back here!” I turned to see a black woman coming out from inside a flower shop, “I’ve told you before not to talk to strangers, your mother would have a fit if she found out”
            “’M sorry Gracie”
            “Just come here!” she took the girl by the hand and glared at me, pulling her away. The little girl twisted around and waved at me, I waved back.
            I guess she’s not from around here. Maybe she was dropped here like the other girls, she just found someone that could take care of her. I look back at the photo. If that’s the case what happened to girls like Mavis? This Flanagan might be able to help, if he’s a dick here in The Drop, he might have seen something. It’s all just a question on if he’s willing to talk about it.

            Flanagan’s office in the town square was a mess; the man himself was sleeping at his desk, paper of his face, like an incompetent sheriff in one of those old west books. I rap my hand on the door jam and he startles awake.
             “W-who’s the- ah, Good ahh” He looks at his watch, “Afternoon. Need something?”
            “You’re detective Flanagan?”
    The man stood up and he certainly was a mountain of a man. Flanagan looked like how you’d imagine a heavy weight boxer to look, wide shoulders, big arms, hands like slabs of meat, and a chin like an anvil. “Rock Flanagan, private detective” he held out a hand and I took it, if Gallins knee hadn’t cracked some bones I was sure Flanagan’s grip did.
            “Booker DeWitt, same”
            “Ahh been a while since I’ve seen another dick around here, you setting up shop in The Drop? I might have a few cases you could help with”
            “No. I’ve got an office up in Apollo, actually,” I said, looking around the place. I guess every detectives office is the same. Hell he even had bet slips and I.O.U.’s all over his desk. I could have just sat in the chair and felt like I was home, “I was hoping you could help me. I’m looking for a girl.”
            “We’d all like a girl in our lives, buddy”
            If he only knew the trouble I had on that end, “No, a little girl, six years old. Name of Mavis Orden. Seen her?” I handed him the photo.
    “Cute kid. There’s a lot of children around The Drop, you might want to ask around for her”
    “I did, no one seemed to be the talking sort.”
            At that Flanagan started laughing, “Well no wonder with how you’re dressed,” he said, slapping my shoulder, “Is that shirt tailored?”
            “It was once…” I’d had to sew it a few times after ripping it up, it was too short by a bit these days.
            “There’s your problem, DeWitt. The people here in Pauper’s, they don’t trust the high society of Rapture. You’re from up top, so they don’t like you. Down here, you’ve got to look grubby.”
            Interesting, because everyone I met ‘Up top’ always said I looked so bad I should be down here, “Like how?”
            “Here, I’m sure I’ve got an old coat here somewhere.” He went to a wardrobe on the far well and rummaged around in it, after half a minute he pulled out an old dark tan coat, “Here we are. First things first, gotta cover up the niceties you’ve got yourself wrapped in.”
            He tossed it at me and I unfolded it. The damn thing was clearly one of his, too big by a gallon. I struggled into it, it was loose and the edge nearly touched the ground. I could probably fix it up when I got home, but it would do for now.
            “That’s better. Here” Flanagan shoved a hat onto my head, “No one likes a tailor and no one likes a barber here, DeWitt. Sides, there’s leaks everywhere. Gotta keep the rain off”
            Without another word he walked out of the office, photo still in hand.
            “Hey!” I hurried after Flanagan, “Where are you going?”
            “I’m hungry, and I don’t work for free,”

            We ended up back at the Fishbowl, Flanagan was scarfing down something that looked like it fell off a chuck wagon.
            “So what’s the deal with the girl?” he grumbled through mouthfuls of meat and bread, looking at the photo.
            “Mavis Orden, she went missing almost a month ago. Her father hired me to find her.”
            “Anything other than your little photo here we can use to find her?”
    I leaned over the table and pointed to the bottom of the photo, “Her father says she always wears that bracelet there. She made it, one of a kind”
            “Jewelry is your best lead?”
            “It’s my only lead”
            “Hrumph” he just kept eating his chili.
    The diner was a pretty nice place, all things considered. Some of the cushions in the seats weren’t doing so well, but the chairs and tables hardly wobbled and the place was clean enough. Flanagan had gotten his chili, I made due with some coffee, and this little luncheon wasn’t exactly my idea.
            “Tell you what, DeWitt. I’ll look into it for you. See what I can dig up.”
            “Thanks Flanagan, I cou-“ He held up his hand.
            “In exchange, you cover this lunch,” he mopped up his mouth, “and help me with anything I need doing topside, got it?”
            “A partnership then?”
            “A partnership” He held out his hand again and I took it. Two men trying to do a little bit of good in a city that didn’t want any of it. I felt like I’d been here before.

            “Well, not every day can be as exciting as the last time I saw you” I said, finishing my drink.
            “I don’t know, I liked the start. You did save a woman, Booker” Elizabeth said. She wasn’t drinking anything and instead pulled out a cigarette, I did the same, “That’s got to count for something”
            “But I didn’t get paid for it, and I had to buy a lout some lunch”
            “Sounds to me like you made a friend,” she held up her tobacco stick. I snapped my fingers and we both lit them on the flame. After a little pull of it she grinned, smoke coming out of her mouth as she spoke, “Everyone could use a friend now and then, Mister DeWitt.”
            I smirked back. It was something in the way she said my name. Something in how she made the words ‘Mister DeWitt’ that sent a shock up my spine, the same way Abigail called me ‘Old Man’
            I’d found Elizabeth as I was wandering back from Pauper’s Drop. I was meaning to visit Abby but I found her instead. Asked her for drinks and I’m back in a bar. Not the best thing to be doing when you were looking for your girl.
            “I suppose so,” I said, “I could always use more help. Maybe Rock can get some leads I couldn’t.”
            “There’s one thing I’m curious about, though”
            “Hmm?”
            “You didn’t much care about the woman, she didn’t pay you. Do you think Orden will pay you if you find out his girl is dead?”
    I blew smoke out of my nose and stared at her. He wasn’t going to pay me. I show up there with any news about Mavis and the man would probably want me arrested, “It’s not about the money with her.”
            “Then why do it?”
            “Because… Because If I had a daughter, I’d want her back,” I said, “At the very least I’d need to know what happened to her. I’d have to find out… It’s the least I can do.”
            Elizabeth smiled in that way I’d only seen a few times before. That soft smile that I knew meant I’d touched on something she knew, but wouldn’t say anything about. She snuffed out her Cigarette and got up. As she walked by she tugged on my sleeve.
            “That coat looks good on you, Booker. You should keep it.”

    ----

    One Step Forward by Realmzjetter

    I rap my knuckles on the door and a muffled voice from inside calls out.
            “It’s open.”
            The inside of the apartment is dark, but the finery in it can be made out from the light coming in through the windows at the far end. As I move to turn on the lights, a shadow by the windows turns and hisses “Don’t do that you idiot, they might see us”
            “What’s this all about Flanagan?”
            “C’mer, DeWitt, you’ll enjoy this.”
            I’d met Rock Flanagan weeks ago hoping to find a lead to getting to Mavis Orden, a kidnapped girl. Since then he’d drop me a line now and then and we worked on two or three cases together. Nothing big, just regular tail jobs. I’d say he was a bit of a mentor to me, if he wasn’t eight years younger than me and living in Pauper’s Drop.
    Rock said he had something important for me and to meet in the Chronos Condo’s in Olympus Heights. It was a nice apartment building, though in the more run down section of the district, if you could call any place in ‘run down’ in Olympus. The place was the luxury playground for the rich in Rapture.
            I dropped my hat on the finely crafted table and wandered over to Rock’s little perch by the window. He’s got his face buried in a camera looking out through the window into the building beyond. The apartments and hotels in Olympus Heights weren’t that far apart, but they were spacious on the inside, across the street you could easily see a man and a woman talking together as they entered their room.
            Flanagan’s camera looks damn new. It’s even got a lens apparatus on the front. He can probably get in real close with it.  I hadn’t gotten any cases recently where I’d have to use mine, it was starting to collect dust.
            “Nice Camera.”
            “Ya think so? It was an expensive son of a bitch, but I figure I can get it paid for in no time. This camera? It’s gonna be with me till the day I die, I can tell you that. Ah hah here we are.”
            He started taking pictures, the click, click, click of the shutter filling the room.
            “So we’re just such good friends you’ve decided to bring me into your voyeurism, hmm?”
            “We’re private eyes; I figure being a voyeur is part of the territory. And no, I’m on the job.”
    “So who’s that?”
            “Man’s name is James Reversal, up and coming star in Sinclair Solutions. And that is not Mrs. Reversal.” He said with a grin.
            “So who’s she?”
            “I never got a last name. Don’t even know if the name I got is a real one. She calls herself Elizabeth”
            The next thing I know I’m looking through the camera, staring through the window. The woman is blond, and taller than the man. I sigh and look up from the camera, Rock snatches it back and glares at me.
            “Jeez Booker, what is she your doll or something?” he grumbled, looking back through the lens.
            “No. No it’s just…” he’s not even listening anymore. Abigail was my girl, I didn’t have a doubt about that. It was just… I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was Elizabeth, but, I guess the term is in my heart of hearts? I’d hoped and prayed it wasn’t. Something about the thought didn’t sit right with me, more than just an upsetting realization.
            It felt a though it was just wrong. Set in stone wrong.
            Ah hell, I’m not going to talk to Rock about this. Not sober anyway.
            “So what, is the wife paying you?”
            “Hah, no. That’s the flip. It’s Sinclair,” Flanagan said, “He gave me some bullshit about wanting his company to be morally better then Fontaine’s or Ryan’s. A big load but hell he’s paying the bills.”
            Sinclair owned nearly everything in Pauper’s Drop. Half the apartments down there were built by him, and the other half were bought out by him. He kept the rates low enough that people could live there, probably figured having enough people under his roof would give him someone to call on in a pinch.
            As Rock clicked away at the shutter my eyes got a little more adjusted to the gloom as I stared back into the room.
            Plush four post bed. Thick carpet, large chairs. A full sofa. It was a nice place.
            “How’d you afford to get in here?”
            “I jimmied the lock,” he said absentmindedly.
    “I’m gonna have to get you to teach me how to do that one of these days.”
            “If I teach you then why would you even have me around?”
            “Good point”
    I was never any good with lock picks, it was an art that I felt I would sadly never have. It made most of my job hell. Oh sure I could break in a door like anyone else, but sometimes you just needed to get in quiet like.
            “So are you going to tell me why I’m here?” I asked, taking out a cigarette “Watching someone have his way with a girl isn’t really my bag, Rock”
            Flanagan set down the camera and reached in to his coat and pulled out some folded paper and a card. He looked up at me as I snapped my fingers and lit up.
            “Oh you’re a splicer?”
            “Huh?” Flanagan snapped his fingers, “Oh, I’ve just got two plasmids. One wasn’t really by choice anyway, but at least incinerate cuts my costs on matches.”
            Rock still stared at me, eventually handing over his handful of paper.
            “Turns out Mavis was around here, Booker. Drew that up myself off of a pair of twin’s description,” he said, “Now don’t go running off, this was weeks ago they saw her, you won’t find squat there now anyway.”
            I unfolded the paper and staring back at me was a decent picture of Mavis, judging from the photo I had, “Where’d they see her?”
            “Heading for the work tunnels, with a man. The twins were pretty sure he was a chinaman”
            “Chinese?” the Chinese weren’t exactly common in Rapture. A handful of workers at most, and less than half that in Rapture proper, “Anything else about them?”
            Rock shrugged, “That’s all the ice cream I could buy, Booker” he said with a grin. I looked at the card, it was for a plant shop, “And what’s this?”
            “Another job. I’d do it myself but I think it’s more up your alley.”
            “Meaning?”
            “They wouldn’t let a bum like me into Arcadia,” I snorted as Flanagan waved off the smoke, “These guys want some sample from Arcadia. They said the Langford woman’s got some special thing that gets things growin’ fast, and they want it.”
            “Another smash and grab job, huh?”
            “I don’t recall there being a law against picking fruit, Booker”
            We both laughed. Getting your hands dirty was usually just an expression, “Guess I’ll be adding a green thumb to my resume”
            “Or your warrant,” Flanagan said, looking back through the camera.
            I shoved the paper and card into my over coat and grabbed my hat. I could still hear the clicking of Rock’s camera as I closed the door behind me.

            Pauper’s Drop was originally built as the crossroads for freight and rail; there were dozens of tunnels leading out of the place, either by foot, by rail or airlock. Flanagan had been kind enough to scribble a little map showing where the twin’s he talked to said Mavis was headed. It was a small corridor, probably set up from back when Rapture was first being built.
            I figure Rapture’s full of these little hidey holes. Probably why so few people are ever really caught for the spying they do.
            I looked down at the botanist’s card.
            That I’m gonna do.
            Well first things first, see where this hole lets out. Can’t take too long, I’ve got a date to keep. I look behind me to a clock face set into a box on the street. It’s three in the afternoon. Plenty of time.

            With a snap of my fingers the blackness of the maintenance corridor shines in an orange glow. This thing better not be too long or I’d have to stop off to get some EVE before the end of the day.
    That was another thing, I’d been using more and more EVE these days too. Getting into fights, needed to use my plasmids to bring down the more rowdy bunches in the city. Before I could go two weeks or more without a hypo, now it was more like a week. I looked at my wrist in the glow. Maybe I was a splicer and didn’t know it yet. Maybe I just saw what I wanted and I was already crazy.
            You’d have to be insane to decide to live in a city at the bottom of the sea.
            I don’t know if I walked for minutes or hours. Down in the dark it’s hard to keep track of time. We had the same problem in our holes in Germany. You’d sit there, rifle at the ready, waiting for the bastards to pop their heads up, hours would pass and your CO would come over and tell you it’s only been ten minutes. Or you’d be in the thick of it, time moving at a standstill as you ran from cover to cover, only to find you’d been up for a whole damn day. Must be the brains way of coping with the world we made for ourselves.
            Signs pass me by in the gloom, illuminated by my own little orange sun on my fingertips.
            ‘Hard hats required’, ‘Danger Electricity’, ‘No Entry’ I walked by them all, they weren’t talking to me. Whoever they were for didn’t come this way anymore.
            The place was dank. Water was already seeping in and you could smell the wet concrete and the rust in the air, the dust and powder floating around me like moats in a sea. I was underwater already and didn’t even know it.
            I double over and cough and I’m in darkness, damn shit’s everywhere. I lean against the wall as if feels like I’m hacking up a lung.
            Was there some kind of disease you could get from breathing in rust? What about cement powder? That stuff can’t be good for you at all.
            I spit the dust out of my mouth and pull out a cigarette, lighting it.
            The damn hallway goes on forever it seems until I find a door, it’s not locked but it doesn’t budge easy either. A few kicks knocks it open and with the flame in my hand I’m greeted with stairs.
            So it’s topside, huh?
            The climb isn’t too tough, the stairs wind over themselves like an apartment, up and up darkness ahead of me and darkness behind, like a man heading for the future but can’t remember his own past. The door at the top opens easier than the one below.

    The lights and sounds of Point Prometheus were a far cry from the tunnel and The Drop below. If this was the place Mavis was brought then tens of dozens of people could have seen here. Point Prometheus was like the welcome center for Fontaine Futuristics. Museums and libraries, attractions and showcases for their plasmids and tonics.
            I’d never actually been here before.
            I wandered around the district. Any signs of Mavis being here would be long gone, the foot traffic of one day would be enough to move anything she dropped or get rid any sign of her being here.
            Another abrupt stop in the trail. That seemed to be par for the course on this one. Every time I’d hit a wall and it would be days until I got another lead. Maybe I could find some people that worked here, or maybe at the orphanage school.
            Now that. That was one thing Fontaine got right, teachin’ the kids.  Don’t know rightly what he’s teaching them, but it’s got to be better than just getting them to grow up and shoving them off at fourteen like the places in New York would. Give them an education, teach them something. Give them a future.
            Maybe Mavis is in there, learning how to be a writer or a-
    DING DON DON DONG DING DON DONG DING
    DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG. DONG.
            It’s a clock I can’t see, and each chime sets itself like a little gravestone into my head. Seven strikes, it was already that late? Damn I must have been walking down that damn tunnel for hours.
            I straighten my coat as best I can, head for the Bathysphere Station.

    I hadn’t seen Abigail in nearly a week. Usually that means work is going well, got lots of jobs. Both of us. But this was different. I knew Abby was upset. Reading what I’d written, seeing me with Elizabeth. Abby did her best to act like it bother her but I could tell in rankled. Not even to mention her hair. So today was supposed to be me showing her she was still my girl.
    And I was late.
    I was going to wear my good suit for this too, damn. I push open the door to Rick’s Café It’s a bar and restaurant settled into a little nook in Apollo Square near Hestia. The place felt like something out of time with everywhere else in Rapture. White washed walls and wide arches made the inside feel more open then outside in Rapture felt. Lights inside made it almost as if it was a bright sunny day just outside the doors.
            Abigail sat at the bar, her now black hair pulled into a messy bun and a backless red dress draped around her. She’d never worn that dress before. It clung to her body and gave her curves I never knew she had. I put on my best smile.
            “No flowers, Booker?” she said, putting down her drink and sliding off the stool.
            “I’m sorry Abby, something came up, I thought I was close to-”
            “It’s alright,” she finally returned with her own smile, “Let's eat.”
            Even with me being late, the night went well. The food was good, and after not seeing each other in so long we both had plenty of stories to tell. Abigail was telling me about a plasmid showcase she’d had to cover, Fontaine showcased a plasmid that could let you hypnotize people and another to lift objects and move them through the air. In the middle of her story the restaurants band strung up a tune I’d heard a few times in my dreams, from Kashmir. I prayed Abigail didn’t notice how I tensed up inside when the horn rang out, but when no one started singing, I calmed down.
            The night ended in my bed, like I knew it would.
    There was a soft moan above me and I felt Abigail wiggle herself as she tried to cuddle up closer. Her black hair was tussled and tumbled around her shoulders; her eyes were closed as she laid her head on my chest. The sweat on her back glistened in the light of the lamps, like little diamonds. She eventually opened her eyes and looked up at me. The girl’s breasts were pushed against me, pillowing out over my skin.
            “It’s been so long, Booker,” Abigail said, “I missed you.”
            “I missed you too Abby.”

            Abigail closed her eyes again and remembered her appointment at the Medical Pavilion; it was just a few days after that whole to-do in Pharaoh’s Fortune. Elizabeth, the missing girl, the one Booker was with, Abigail could see what Booker saw in her, why he’d written what he did. Pretty hair, pretty eyes, and that figure? It was enough to get any man to stray.
            But Abigail wasn’t going to let that happen.
            “It’s so nice of you to see me, Mister Steinman”
            “It’s no trouble at all. Why if it weren’t for you and your detective, Damien would still be all about the place, I’m sure.”
            Abigail had nodded, though she didn’t remind him that they never found the man.
            “So what can I do for you? Is your hair alright?”
            “It’s perfect thank you,” she said back, “No today I was wondering if you could… uhm…”
            “Hmm?”
            “There’s another woman and she… well she’s got a ‘fuller figure’ then me, so to speak.” Abigail said. Why was she feeling so shy about it? You’d have to find a few more people than her to count out the number of men she’d been with, even if you used toes. Or Splicers.
            “Ahh, I think I see.” The doctor had said back to her. He gave her a smile like a knife, “Well my little Aphrodite, we shall see what we can do, shall we?”

    ----

    Rapture Noir: I Live By Night (By Lewdist)
    http://pastebin.com/HQv38rLG

    ----

    Rapture Noir: Forbidden Fruit ( By Daily Reminder)
    http://pastebin.com/Xbr42a5d

    ----

    Both Faces by Realmzjetter

            Abigail stared at her typewriter.
    The story was awful, some socialite to do in some club in Fort Frolic. She didn’t even go to it. It didn’t matter none of those rich pricks would be reading the paper anyway, and those that did only read these things to get mad at them.
            She sighed and pushed her chair away from the desk.
    Around her the small office of the Rapture Tribune clicked and ticked and screamed away. People shouted their leads over the din; the editor shouted them down again. It was always so lively even this far past midnight. She tried flexing her fingers as she looked over at Peter Milliew. She’d slept with him once, when she first started, but that fell apart fast after he told her he was married. He ended it, not her. A sudden little spur of anger burned in her hand. She’d just have to snap her fingers and his whole suit could be on fire.
            She put her head in her hands.
    She wasn’t mad at Peter. Peter was nice to her, even after that whole affair.
            Why hadn’t Booker come?
    She waited outside Arcade for more than an hour, anxiously searching any crowd that went by, and Booker was never in them. She thought for a moment that maybe he was already inside, but the teller said they didn’t remember a man that looked like him. When she was sure he wasn’t coming she came back here. Sometimes writing helped her to think. Or not think. She couldn’t do the other thing that could calm her down, or she didn’t want to. Not with anyone but Booker.
    Abigail looked back at her typewriter; the paper stared back at her, accusingly naked.
    The editor, Mister Jameson, didn’t want any more crime stories, ‘The people don’t want to hear about all that sordid mess, Abby. They’ve got enough with the unrest and Fontaine's  ‘Power to the People’ nonsense. They want to forget about those machine men and hear about the beautiful people.’
            Phfaa. Abigail had thought she could write something about Arcadia, remind people it was still there, about the plants and the flowers. ‘Go there to relax, read a book, with a sweetheart’
            Why didn’t he show up?
    She wasn’t mad at Booker. How could she be? She knew what people thought of her. The names they said. But Booker didn’t say those things. She’d heard from some of the other girls that he’d gotten into a fight with their men in the Security Office. They’d called her things. Things she knew she was, but Booker stood up for her. She had decided, after she heard about it, that no matter what she’d always forgive him because of it.
            She used to think that the life she had made her free. But the longer it went on, the more men she slept with, the more relationships that abruptly ended, the more she felt it wasn’t so. She was caged in it, trapped in a tower, away from the world and all the things that made other people so happy. The Booker came and took her out of it.
            Maybe he was just too busy on a case. That happened sometimes. Booker often got sucked into a case, a kind of intensity that maybe even he didn’t know about, a single mindedness about the job. That’s what made him so good at it, sometimes. Like in each case there was something he was searching for and he had to find it. That must have been it.
    Abigail’s thoughts drifted back to the woman. Elizabeth. When she thought about her, Abigail’s memory became a little muddled. Dazed, like spinning around too much. She imagined it was how boxer’s felt when they’d taken too many punches. It was certainly what they looked like. For a brief moment she imagined what Booker would look like as a boxer, just fresh from the fight. His body steaming from sweat, blood caked on his face and slowly dripping from his nose. She’d be the girl next to him, mopping his forehead and cleaning his face. Always at his side.
            Kind of like how that woman was when Abigail had seen the two of them in Frolic.
    Abigail looked down at her blouse. Even with doctor Steinman’s ‘help’ she was sure Elizabeth had the better figure.
            She sighed and glared at the page before her.
            Why didn’t he come?
            Why didn’t she stay?
    Oh God. What if he was late, what if he did show up and she wasn’t there? Maybe he thought she was mad at him. She could never be mad with him. It wasn’t his fault it was the case, or someone wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to know. Someone held him up. The Police wouldn’t stop asking for help. Something.
            Abigail got up from her desk, the pages before her and in the typewriter left there. She was going to see him. She’d tell him she wasn’t angry with him. That would make everything better.
            It had to.

            Booker wasn’t expecting her, not that late. He answered the door in trousers, suspenders dangling at his sides, and shirtless. When he saw it was her, Booker tried to tell her that he was sorry, but she cut him off. He was more jittery than normal, like something ate at him.
            He thinks I’m mad at him.
    Abigail told him that she should have stayed longer for him, that she was sorry for leaving so soon. He tried to tell her to stop but she continued. She knew about what he did to the men at the bar, over her. She told him she loved him. She didn’t know if she ever told him before, but she did she really did. He hugged her close and she kissed him.

            She lay on top of him, breathing softly, exhausted from their vigorous love making. Booker was rougher than usual. Something about the case he was working on had to have been bothering him. She didn’t hurt anywhere but she found some blood on her arm. Had Booker bitten her? She didn’t care, she just laid her head on his chest.
    Booker smelled different. Normally he smelt of tobacco and smoke and sweat and Alcohol if he’d been drinking. He didn’t smell that way. There was sweat. There was always sweat when they shared a bed, but there was something else, something earthy, like wet leaves on the ground, like growing grass. A slight breeze through the woods. Abigail hadn’t smelled anything like that in years, and she breathed deep.
    The next morning she’d realize what the smell was. Booker had gone to Arcadia without her.

    Elizabeth’s face is shining, a content smile playing across it as her fingers work. Eleanor liked her like this. She looked so pretty, Eleanor thought, like a bride should look on her wedding day.
            “Why are you so happy, Miss Elizabeth?” she asked.
            “Oh… No reason.” The woman said back, he smile growing for the girl.
            She’s getting better at braiding hair too, before it just ended up in tangles, but now it gets to be a real proper braid, it’s brilliant. Elizabeth even put a flower in Eleanor’s hair. The two sit quietly for a while. Elizabeth had come down to the Deluxe and the Diner earlier in the day, she usually came around once a week or thereabouts, but this was a rare second visit this week, and Eleanor was going to make the most of it.
            “Miss Elizabeth?”
            “Yes Eleanor?”
    “What’s the sky like?” Since her mother went away Eleanor didn’t get to read many books anymore, they were all left at their old home. But she got to talk to more and more people now. Maybe that was better?
    Eleanor had asked her mother about ‘the sky’ once. She told her it was just what was over the Earth, that it wasn’t important. She asked Gracie too and she said it was a big blue blanket over the world. Eleanor wondered what it was like for Miss Elizabeth.
            “Er.. well..” she started, “It’s… it’s like an ocean. Just like the one we’re in now, blue and so big and floating over everything. It’s got clouds, big fluffy white things, like cotton, floating in it like the dust you can see outside. But it’s not dark like the water here. It’s bright and beautiful, Eleanor. You’ll see it one day, I’m sure.”
    The girl closed my eyes and tried to imagine it. A bright blue sea over the world. Cotton clouds floating with people laying in them like pillows or beds. It seemed like it was wonderful, “I hope so,” she said back.
            The pair sat in silence again; Eleanor could almost hear Elizabeth humming a little tune, it sounded almost like a song on Gracie’s Day by Night album. She finished the braid and tied it with a band.
            “There we are,” she said, that same smile still over her face. I smiled back.
            “Thanks. Momma never braided my hair or anything before she left.”
            “Why’s that?”
            “She said it was silly. She said a lot of things were silly”
    Elizabeth chuckled, “A lot of things can be. That’s why they’re fun,” she tugged on Eleanor’s hair and the little girl giggled. In the time she started coming by, Eleanor had started to think of Elizabeth as a big sister to her, “What about your father?”
    I hesitated before answering, “I… I don’t know my father…”
            Elizabeth’s smile disappeared after that. She put her arms around me in a hug and said she was sorry, “It’s okay” was all she said back. Sometimes I think I have dreams about him, but I can never see his face, “What’s your father like, Elizabeth?”
            “My father?” Eleanor nodded at the older woman and saw her cheeks flush ever so slightly, “Well, he’s... well, he’s tall. And uh, broody?” she made a scowling face and Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh, “He’s kind, in his own way, but he doesn’t like people knowing. He’s not very smart either, and he’s stubborn. He makes bad choices and he’s not very good at fixing the things he breaks. But he tries.”
            They weren’t very nice things to say about someone. Eleanor saw that while she said it, Elizabeth smiled, so they must have been good things about him.
            “Now go on back to Grace, she’ll be worried if you’re out for too long” Elizabeth pats the girl and gets her running off. Eleanor turns and waves a good-bye, yelling as she runs, almost bumping into a man that Elizabeth recognized as Mister Flanagan. He nodded to her as he walked by.

            Rock Flanagan nodded to the woman, and she tipped her own head back to him.
    It was strange. She’d been coming down to The Drop so often, but he never got her name. She was the only well dressed person anyone ever seemed to talk to. Even Booker in his grubby thrice stitched up clothes got ignored more often than not. But not that girl. She was pretty too. Maybe he should ask after her.
            Rock smiled at that. He was a handsome enough man, if he said so himself, but most people in Pauper’s kept to their own. It might be his chance to get a bird from the higher up’s or Rapture. That’d be a thing.
            One thing he couldn’t shake was the look on the girls face. She looked like a mother. Or maybe a woman wondering about having a daughter.
            He turned around to go back and ask her for a name, maybe a number, but when he looked back to the bench by the flower shop, she was gone.

    ----

    Two Steps Back by Realmzjetter

            I didn’t even know where I was. People sat at tables. Some of them talked, most kept to themselves. ‘M sitting at a long wooden table, man behind it. Must be a bar.
    I should get a drink.
            I empty my glass.
            I should get another drink.
    In the swirling vortex of my waterlogged mind the events of the past night floundered past.
            My glass was filled with more whiskey, or scotch? Whatever it was. I did my best to drown the memories.
            What the hell is wrong with you Booker? You barely know her.
            Well, that’s not new, you barely knew that girl a few months ago.
            But you were also drunk. You’re drunk now
            But not enough.
            And in God damned Arcadia? You don’t it’s just…
            And why is it such a problem?!
    There was something there, something that I couldn’t get hold of. Swimming through my mind like an eel and every time I thought I had it, it slips away. It was more than the girl, it was more than the park.
            Something about her.
            Something about us.
            Had I met her before? My memory wasn’t that bad was it? Sure after I got back from Europe I tried to drink everything away, but I could remember most of it anyway. Things like that stay with you, rear their head. Keep you up at night. Eventually you have to drink.

            I sat in my little hole in the woods. There were many holes like it, but this one was mine.
    Out in the woods, across an open field, krauts sat in their own holes. There was no wind, no sound at all, save for the odd drop of a leaf, each one exploding in the silence as it hit the ground.
            We’d been in France for a month. We’d spent most of the time just behind the frontlines, but they stalled in their push. Our company was rotated up to hold the line. We were the line now.
            I hadn’t even seen a German until that night.
            I hadn’t killed anyone until that night.
    Hours and hours of waiting, and then it all happened. Everything all at once. The world exploded and people ran, shouting. It felt like half of their damn army had already run past me before I knew what was happening.
            I aimed my rifle and fired. A shadow in the fog fell.
            After that it became automatic. Aim. Squeeze the trigger. Pull back the breech. Aim.
            More and more shadows fell. It wasn’t just me firing anymore.
    Then the shadows came closer. They weren’t shadows anymore they were people. And I fired and fired. The more I fired the closer they got.
            What did you do when they were that close?
            Knives. Bayonets. I put mine onto the end of my rifle, and look downrange again.
            More men, more shadows. More fall. One was right in front of me.
            The call for a retreat went out. Fall back, regroup, better positions. The krauts just kept on coming. The one in front of me saw me and fired.
            The ground exploded around me. Two, three, four shots. I fired back.
    CLICK.
            Nothing.
            And then he was on me, screaming something in that awful language of theirs.
            Until I brought up my rifle, and heard the knife stab through his coat and shirt and into his chest.
            Sandie wasn’t home when I came back to the states. Gideon died in some other company. Hank took to airplanes easy. Flew over Dresden and hung himself when he got back.

            Another glass of whiskey.
            I drank it down.
    But that wasn’t why I was drinking. I was here because of a whole other hole in the woods.
            And then Abigail after that.
    It had been so easy to forget about her, hadn’t it? Was that really it? She came around and I tried to explain it but she just said she was sorry.
            What did she have to feel sorry about?
    And then she spent the night. Elizabeth had scratched up my back and Abigail found them. She thought she did it and she said sorry again.
            And the whole time she was with me I just tried to forget what I’d done, but the more she squealed and groaned the more it came back.
            I should get something other than just whiskey.
            Just one more whiske-
            “Do you think you could keep it down?”
            I looked up into the barman’s face. Did I know him? Had I been here before?
            “What?”
            “You’ve been shouting, buddy.”
            “Wha’ kinna of stuff?”
            “Just the usual kind I get in here” he said with a grin.
            Oh God.
            “It’s alright, I doubt anyone else cares. What else can I get you, Charmer?”
    I stared into my glass, the ice toppled as I moved it. I never tossed the coin, but it felt like it was spinning in the air. I couldn’t see which side was which. Maybe I’d dropped it.
            Maybe I had to just wait and see which side landed up.
            “Gimme a Devil’s Kiss”

    ----

    Rapture Noir: Undertow (By Lewdist)
    http://pastebin.com/XbfyUu5x

    ----

    Who We Are in the Park by Realmzjetter

            We wandered through the trees and bushes, the sentinels of a shameful and treasured memory. The rustle of leaves in the fake wind of fans pulling the air from the park echoed in my mind as I held her hand, winding and wandering searching for that spot before. Before the freshness of it, the smell of the deep browns of the earth, the sharp greens, the specks of red and pink and blue, were calming. Now it only brought back memories, kisses and whispers and smiles. I squeezed her hand tighter as we walked.
            “Booker, this place really is beautiful,” she said.
            It had been a few days since the arson case and Flanagan’s request had brought me to Arcadia, one of which I had spent getting to better know the bottom of several bottles. The other days I’d spent doing my best not to see Abigail. But I was back again. I’d brought Abigail with me, to make it up to her I said. She smiled and her eyes lit up as we walked.
            I’d found the Glens. But someone might remember me there. It took some time but the path Elizabeth had taken me on was still there. Not everything was as ephemeral as the girl seemed to be.
    We stepped out into the small clearing, cut off almost from the rest of the world, surrounded by softly moving walls of green. I’d stood right here when he walked away.
            “Booker this is-“ Abby began.
            “Hold on. Stay right here…”
            I left her there, I stepped though some low shrubbery and I was back to those scant few days ago.  She’d laid down right there. Lounged? Languished? It was a beautiful sight to remember and for a moment I reveled in the memory before I heard Abigail rustling grass or leaves in the clearing.
             A guilty man always returns to the scene of the crime.
            Here’s the scene, so why have I come back? Maybe to prove to myself that it had happened.
            Maybe to prove that it hadn’t.
            I had dreamed about her, God how I did, mostly just after sleeping with Abigail. Those were always sweet dreams. But others weren’t, she was crying, or yelling. In one she was covered in blood and had longer hair. In another we stood side by side as a doctor said she’d never had children. In another I read a story to a child, and she was there holding the little girl. In another she laid dead at my feet, blood oozing through her shirt.
            I cast about in the little niche in the woods for something, anything that might assuage the mad train in my own head. But there was nothing. No mark to say we’d been there, and nothing to say we hadn’t. It was just like another dream. Each one felt real enough at the time but seemed to escape me as I tried to remember it.
            As I knelt there, I wondered. Did she have the same dreams? When I would dream of the war, or jobs gone bad, I always felt alone in it, an emptiness in my soul so to speak. But when she was in them it was almost like, someone was there. That hole in my soul was filled for just a little bit. Maybe, in the end for her what had happened here meant nothing.
            I smiled ruefully at the thought.
            ‘I’ll find you first.’
            It was a classic line. Hell, I’d used it once or twice. It would be like her wouldn’t it? Showing up without notice and disappearing again without a trace. I wasn’t sure which thought I was more scared of, never seeing her again, or having to continue with this… whatever it was.
            Content that there was nothing to be found I stepped back through the vegetation to find Abigail sitting in the middle of the clearing, leaning back and just enjoying being here. She’d undone her shirt a bit. It was warmer here than in the rest of Rapture, must be the lamps or something. She sat there, her legs to her side, leaning back on her arms, the slightest bit of sheen to her skin. Her black hair tumbled down from her face, like she was staring into a fierce wind.
            I’d almost forgotten it used to be brown.
            She must have heard me, her eyes opened and she glanced over before looking back up into the tree’s, “I’m going to have such a good story from this,” she laughed. It was a small weak infectious little laugh. I couldn’t help but join it.
            I’d brought her here to make it up to her, let her see Arcadia, but I also meant to tell her what had happened. It was not something I was looking forward to, but I owed it to her, didn’t I? It wasn’t her fault that this had happened. Was it anyone’s fault, other than mine? I should have told Elizabeth no. I should have walked away. But I didn’t, I couldn’t.
            Abigail wasn’t the same as Elizabeth. It was like the dreams. Abigail was a pretty young thing. I liked her well enough. I might even love her. But she wasn’t like Elizabeth. I had no way to describe it. When I looked at her, there wasn’t that same spark. That intense desire. There wasn’t a feeling of history.
            ‘There's more to me than meets the eye.’
            I had to know what it was. I had to know why and how she could get into my head.
    I walked over to her and held out my hand to help her up. Instead she pulled me down to the ground in a riot of laughter. She lay back with me, staring into the dark water overhead between the sun lamps. Her hand flittered down to mine and I took it, our fingers entwining.
            “I’m glad we came here, Booker.”
            “Yeah… yeah, me too.”
            “I uh, I know that you came here without me”
    Of course she did.  She’s young but she is a reporter, “That’s… why I wanted to bring you back” I got up and leaned on my knees. Abigail sat up as well.
            I could feel my hands shake.
            Get a grip Booker. You’re acting like you’re about to ask Sadie Lingdin to the school dance. You’re nearly forty damn it. You’re not in God damned High school anymore. She’s even younger then Sadie was.
            But that was part of it wasn’t it? You know what’s wrong with her, how she was treated. Used up and thrown away by men like Jeff and Gregory. Were you going to do the same to her? Even after everything she said that night? You ‘took her from her tower,’ she said.
            Was that the kind of man I was?
    I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. But… I knew, whatever it was that brought me to Elizabeth, I couldn’t let go of that either. You’re really in the shit now DeWitt.
            In my head I could see the coin spinning in the air.
            So what do I tell her?

    ----

    Rapture Noir: Blue Eyed Woman (By Lewdist)
    http://pastebin.com/wxx1UMpL

    ----
    RAPTURE NOIR: IN REVOLT (By Lewdist)
    http://pastebin.com/ZSNYhbf4

    ----

    Blazer by Realmzjetter

            Abigail swaddled herself in her bed. She’d twisted and turned all night and now at five in the morning she wasn’t going to get any more sleep out of it. She thought back to what Booker had said to her in Arcadia a week ago.
            It wasn’t bad. While they talked she felt warm, it was like before when he’d first take her out to diners and restaurants. They’d even seen a movie once. He’d said such nice things about her, things she could almost believe about herself. She was better then she thought, better than what people said. Now, in the loneliness of an empty bed they seemed so hollow, rehearsed. She seemed to realize his tone was sad, far away, elsewhere.
            She rolled over and the sheets came with her, cocooning her even more in the depths of her mind.
            They weren’t broken up, or separated, or whatever they called it. She’d never had much time to learn what people called relationships. She never thought she’d be in one.
            But she didn’t see him as much as she thought she would. Once in the past week was all. It wasn’t that out of the ordinary, but she just thought it would be… more.
            Abigail pulled herself together, tighter. Booker was right, wasn’t he? She was better than before. Before she would have probably gotten together with some other man, and Booker would find out, and that would be the end of it. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to. Booker made her not want to. But now he felt so so far away.
            It was her, she knew it. It had to be. Elizabeth. What did she have that Abigail didn’t? My hair is black now, I’ve got a bigger bust. We even have the same color eyes. I bet she sleeps with lots of men. I don’t.
            I’m better than her.
    Some of Abigail’s friends had heard from their men that Elizabeth sang. She was a right out bombshell at Kashmir, they said. She could sing like an angel and make you wish for the devil all in one breath.
            Abigail wondered if there was a singing tonic she could get.
    She’d go to Kashmir, they said she always performed on a Friday night. Never late, always on time. Never missed a show. She’d be there, and Abigail could prove that she was better than her.
            It was a cold night in Rapture, but wrapped in her sheets Abigail’s arm burned. She scratched at her wrist, at an itch that wasn’t really there. A large callous had formed where she took her EVE injections.

            It was a cold night in Rapture, and not far away from Abigail’s home in the further blocks of Apollo’s Square, in Hestia, a man wandered the streets. The walk ways in Hestia were in more disrepair than anywhere else, even Pauper’s Drop. The Drop was built for workmen, and workmen lived there, if there was a leak they could fix it. Hestia was full of those poor that had too much pride to admit they were poor. They didn’t know any trades, just down on their luck middle class people.
            But the middle class didn’t exist in Ryan’s Rapture.
    The man was cold, so cold. Freezing. Even under his two coats and three shirts. The people he’d taken the clothes from didn’t need them anymore. Now they were as cold as he was.
    He was young, if you could believe it. Were anyone to dare to get close enough to him, you’d see under his dark, heavy and bushy brows eyes of a dead man’s blue. A scraggly unkempt beard hid most of his face. The thick coats about him hung like thick loose skin over brittle bones. He hobbled more then walked; a slow and staggered fall from place to place.
    He needed someone, he needed something. He was so cold.

            I’d been up for more than an hour when I finally heard the paper flop through the slot.
    It was late again; they’d probably laid off some delivery men. Times were getting tougher in Rapture, and I’m sure for a lot of people the headline wouldn’t help much at all.
            ‘Frank Fontaine Killed in Shootout!’
    Well good riddance to him. I unfolded the Rapture Tribune and returned to my desk.
            The Tribune was a smaller paper in the news atmosphere in Rapture. Just large enough to warrant a staff, but not big enough to put the larger papers in mind to muscle them out. They mostly services Apollo Square, Hestia and maybe a few places of a mind in Olympus heights.
            I’d started getting it a few weeks after meeting Abigail.
            I looked up from the paper at her photo. Since Arcadia I’d thought about putting it away, or taking it out of the frame, but when I tried I simply couldn’t do it. I shook my head and buried myself in the paper.
            Seems with Fontaine out of the way Ryan was taking over Fontaine Futuristics, and all new Plasmids made by them would be by Ryan Industries. There was also a Letter to the Editor from Ryan, probably one sent to all the news outlets, urging people to not hinder the girls and their protectors that were about.
            They didn’t sit right with me. The girls were… wrong, strange, otherworldly. I could never abide harming children and girls least of all, though I could never place why. So whatever they had done to those girls to make them into… whatever they were, I knew I wouldn’t like it.
            I skimmed over the letter, the girls helped to supply Rapture with ADAM so the math was simple, hurt the girls meant less ADAM, and less ADAM meant less EVE. In my experience only the incredibly desperate or incredibly deranged would attack a little girl. So a Splicer had to be real down on his luck to try it.
            I caught myself scratching at my wrist.
    Dammit. I never should have gotten into the whole gene fad. It always get’s scotched in the end.
            A few more people were found dead again. Paper said they froze to death. The heating must be on the fritz in Paupers Drop. No wait. It was in Hestia this time. Sure some had it bad off there, but the Square was practically right around the corner. Steam was running through the pipes all around my block, it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to find a warm place to sleep. The Police were calling it an ‘accidental death due to environmental conditions.’ More like they didn’t know what happened to those poor devils.
            I scanned the few remaining stories of interest; none of them were by Abby. She hadn’t written anything in the past few days. It was probably nothing.
            I dropped the paper and stared again into the sad eyes of Mavis Orden.
            She was still missing. I really had no hope in me of finding her alive, but like I had told Elizabeth, it was something I had to do. I had to know, because if I was her father I’d want to know. Next to her were the pictures of Angela Hayes and James Meyer. I’d found the little stink hole in Arcadia, but there was still nothing new to go on. Security was ready to roll it all up and call it done.
    Well nuts to that. I’d find something. Some clue, some errant gossip. Something to find out what had happened.
            I can’t help but sigh, the little feeling of righteous indignation passing. I look down at the paper again. I can’t help it. I grabbed my coat and hat.
            I know some people in Hestia. I should make sure they’re okay.

            Hestia did it’s best to keep up the same veneer as the rest of Rapture, but it was always slipping just a little. Wall paper peeling there, a cracked tile here, it all ran together to make a picture that said the people needed help. Everyone just did their best to ignore it, even the people that lived in Hestia.
            Eddie was one of the lucky ones. He didn’t live in Hestia because he had to. He liked it here. Whenever I asked him about it he always said it reminded him of home.
            Near as I could tell he was born in D.C. but who knows if that was where he had called home, I could only place a handful of accents, and most of them were just directions. After I got through the big four I tended to get lost. Eddie himself was a bit of a fruit really. Slumming it up and acting like he did.
            But Eddie was a good guy. He still owed me for that trouble in Cameron Suites a few years back. He ran a small restaurant in the far end of Apollo, ‘Eddie’s’ he’d called it. He was never good with names. I didn’t drink there much. Maybe I wanted Ed to think well of me -- no one can think well of a drunk -- or maybe it’s because I’d run up enough of a tab that he’d forget about the little to do in Suite 512.
            I grinned at the memory of the night.
            Eddie’s little apartment in Hestia was just as drab and deplorable as the rest of the place, but you could get an idea on what was inside with a few hints. Ed always kept his doorknob and room numbers shiny. I could never tell why. When I asked he just said it was a matter of pride.
            I rapped on the door and waited. He wouldn’t be out to the bar yet, not this early.
            The door opened slightly, and peering through the half light of a shaded lamp Ed’s buttery face made a shadow into the street, “What do yo- Wait a bit. Booker?”
            “Hey Ed”
    He shut the door and I counted off as locks and chains rattled inside.
            He’d gotten two more since last I was here. Must have gone to another gallery. The door opened again.
            “Booker! You old dog, what are you doing here?”
            “Just checking up, Ed. I saw a bit of a to-do in the paper, wanted to see if you were okay,” I walked inside.
            “You know I don’t go wandering about at night, Booker,” Eddie said as he closed the door behind me.
            Eddie had been busy since I last called on him -- must be near on a year ago – He’d gotten another bust, and a painting. The inside of the apartment had more in common with an art gallery then a living space. Paintings and drawings crowded the walls, with more sitting against each other on the floor. Books in shelves separated the rooms from each other, and statues and busts filled in everything else.
            If I hadn’t seen Martin and his gaudy nude’s I’d say Eddie’s collection was a bit grotesque.
            “I see you’ve been keeping busy”
            “One does what one can, Booker”
    As I looked around I had a brief idea of showing this place to Elizabeth, or Abigail. Either of them might like it. I tore my eyes away from a painting of a woman laying nude amongst some sheets and pillows.
            “So about those people that died…”
            “Sorry state of affairs really, the heat going down in places like it is,” Ed said, standing by my side admiring his own collection, “No one I knew, I can tell you that much.”
            “I didn’t really notice anything broken down on my way here, Eddie. Everything was humming right along.”
            “I couldn’t really say, Book,” Ed smiled, “Say, I’ve just got a new batch of Whiskey down at the joint, why don’t you stop in tonight?”
    I took another look around the place. Have you ever gotten the feeling that you’ve been some place before? Not here. I’ve been in Ed’s place plenty of times. No, just in a spot, in a time, a space where you were sure you’ve done it all exactly the same way. I shook the feeling off and gave Eddie a grin, “I don’t think so, Ed. You know your place is too classy for me.”
            I said my good-byes and stepped out, stifling a laugh as the symphony of locks echoed out behind me.
            It was good that Ed was alright, I hadn’t seen him in months. Amy would be next. She was a more typical case in Hestia. She wouldn’t be too far.
            There were more and more leaks here, and the electricity was going out. The district was in a bad way for sure, but the pipes still hummed with steam, everything was still warm.
            It was a block away from Amy’s when he happened upon me.
            “Puh… pleassse,” he said. He looked like a raggedy dog. The kind of person you’d walk past on the street and not give a second thought to, except maybe to his smell. He smelled like death, the rotting corpses bloated in the sun kind of death, “huh…huh…”
            “Jesus… buddy you-“ I reached out to his shoulder. He kept on swaying, I nearly thought he’d fall over. Even with my recent issues with feeling temperature he was cold. Freezing. So very very cold. He took a step forward, another step closer to the exit of the shabby alley I’d walked into. I took a step back.
            “puh-puhleeeze,” he pleaded again. His voice was like paper, whisper thin, “suh… so cuh-cold. Hold muh muh me… Don’t… du-don’t want to hurt the… them…”
            As he came closer, I could see his eyes. An unnatural blue, pale and gray and dead. The stinking coats that hung off him covered his arms, but somehow I knew what would be underneath. Marks, holes in his arms, punctures for the ADAM and EVE to get in, anything to take whatever pain he felt away. He wasn’t a splicer, not a real one. Some plasmid or tonic didn’t sit right with him, and when it’s gene rewriting that doesn’t sit right, it all goes to hell.
            The poor bastard. I didn’t know if he was there yet, but he’d need more EVE, more ADAM to keep his body together, and if you couldn’t buy it… well… There’s always the Sisters and the Daddies.
            He was a dead man walking.
            “Hold you?” I asked. He made a sort of non-committal groan, “What’s your name?”
            “Nnnnn Nuh… Neil! Muh… Muh… McKean…”
            I always seem to be in the places for these things, that little robbery with Gallins. Maybe whatever puts me in these places also means I have a kind of responsibility about them. I held out my arms, “Hold you, huh… sure. Come here Neil”
            “So cuh… cold…” I feel the thick coats wrap around me. He is freezing. The only thing I felt colder was when I spliced up with that winter’s blast in Pharaoh’s. I wrapped my arms around his back and did my best not to breathe.
            He was a dead man walking; he just didn’t know it yet.
            You don’t need to snap your fingers, or do anything to get most plasmids to work. I just hold Neil and think of a warm place, he’d like a warm place, and the flames start.
            “Not... nuh… not cold… any… anymore,” he whispered as he let go, his coats catching and spreading the fire over his body.
            It caught his beard next, and it burnt away in a disgusting smoke. His eyebrows and matted hair too. The rest of him.
            I’d never seen someone burned before. I never held the torch in the war, but I smelled the acrid and fatty smoke when they did it. It was disgusting, but not half so much as the rolling your gut did when it smelled cooked meat when it was empty.
            Neil just smelled like filth as he burned. He just stood there and smiled and burned and burned and burned away. He never cried out. Never asked for help. He just said he was warm now. He just wanted someone to make the hurting stop.
            Maybe we all do.

            It was getting on noon by the time I left the alleyway. I had to stay to watch it all, make sure Neil was ‘on his way’ as people liked to say. He was a sorry man and I guess no one really cared for him in life. Maybe in those last moments as the fire clung to him he saw me as a friend. Friends don’t abandon each other.
            Christ, my heart felt cold.
    I’d just killed a man, for no reason. He may have wanted it, or he may not have, but I did it. I sent him off. I burned him.
            Did those cult psycho’s feel like this when they did it? Hands and skin burning, but a heart and guts and soul full of ice? I needed something to melt it. I needed…
    I saw Elizabeth ahead of me, leaning against a wall a cigarette in her hand. She was looking over at a line for one of those small little cinemas. Maybe she was waiting for someone to come out, or maybe just waiting for the next show to start. As I came closer she turned at the sound of my footsteps on the marble floor, and smiled. I’d wondered what would happen, if we met again. If Arcadia wasn’t a dream.
            “Hello there stranger”
            She could thaw out whatever Neil had put in me.
            I didn’t even answer her. I just took her hand and pulled her into a nook between the buildings. She tried to protest but her words became a moan in my mouth as my hand slid up her skirt, between her thighs.
            Before either of us knew it, I’d turned her around and we were joined. Her hands pushed her up from the wall as I assaulted her. She sucked at my fingers in her mouth as her other hand clutched mine at her waist. I kissed her neck and shoulder, I could taste her sweat. I pushed harder. I wanted the cold to stop; I wanted to hear her moan my name.
            “Booker!”
            I blinked the vision away. Elizabeth’s brows furrowed as she shook my shoulder.
            “Are you okay?”
            “Yeah… yeah…” I said back, running my hand through my hair, “I’m… uh… I’m fine…”
    She took another pull from the cigarette. I could tell she didn’t really believe me. Maybe she did know me as well as she said. Still she shrugged and agreed.
            “I’ve got some place to be, it was nice see-“
            “Wait! Wait… Elizabeth…” I had to at least try. I hadn’t seen her for two weeks now, “Do you... do you want to go out? Get something to eat, I mean? Tonight?”
            She smiled at that and maybe blushed a little, “What, Booker. You want to get to know me better? Why? Isn’t it a little late for that?”
            What could I say? That I had to? I had to find out why she knew so much? I had to learn why at times I couldn’t stop thinking about her, how I’d have dreams, over and over and the only thing piecing them together was her? More importantly, how could I say it without sounding like a Splicer that’d gone in the head?
            “It’s never too late” I said, I tried to muster a grin. She reached out and touched my arm, she was so warm and I felt so cold. She held it there, and gave me a look that said she knew exactly what I was thinking before.
            “Sure… Booker,” she said after a moment, “That would be nice. Tonight then.”
            She kissed my cheek, just like before, but now it was like a sun against my skin.
            “Meet me at ‘Eddie’s’ the owner helped a friend of mine out once. He’ll give us a good table,” and she walked away.
            As she turned the corner I couldn’t stop grinning.
            It’s a small world after all.

    ----

    Back Alley Business (By Lewdist)
    http://pastebin.com/CCJ9zwgR

    ----

    Storm Warning (By Lewdist)
    http://pastebin.com/ghGadTPt

    ----

    The Familiar Sting by Realmzjetter

    Two Weeks Ago:

            Rock Flanagan nibbled away at the thoughts in his head, trying to wiggle out a reason for a thief to break into the Sinclair Deluxe Apartments and steal seemingly useless items. The moody dimness of his office at odds with the quick ringing of Morse code from his pencil against the notepad before him.
            Jobs were drying up. His partnership with DeWitt wasn’t yielding much of anything anymore, and besides he hadn’t seen him for near on three weeks now, not since the fracas over in Ryan Amusements. It used to all be so simple, just follow some spliced up dame’s wandering husband and watch the money come flowing in. Sinclair was raising rents too. Pretty soon he might have to hock his camera.
            He looked over at it.
            Last a lifetime, yeah sure.
            A knock at the door finally pulled him away from the list he was making of the stolen items, blankets, stuffed animals, ribbons, things like that. He looked up to a silhouette in the frosted glass.
            “It’s open,” he called, putting away the bottle of gin he’d had out.
            The door opened to reveal a girl with hair black as night in a dress to match, legs that seemed they needed a reminder that they had to end, and a pair of brilliant sky blue eyes.
            “Ah…” Rock said, straightening his tie and getting up, “What can I do for you miss…?”
            “I hear you’re someone who can help fix problems, Mister Flanagan,” she said.
            “If there’s a husband to follow or jewelry to be found, I’m your man. Here has a seat,” Rock offered the chair but the woman didn’t take it, instead she walked over and sat on the corner of his desk, crossing her legs. Such legs.
            “Well there’s no husband, but I would like someone found.”
            “Of course, of course.” Rock said, going back to his seat again. The girl turned her head, half her face was covered by her hair now, and Rock finally noticed that the dress was backless,
            “And who’s missing if I might ask?”
            “My sister.” She said plainly.
            “Well she shouldn’t be too hard to find if she looks like you,” he said with a smile, she smiled back.
            “We’ve been called twins, sometimes.”
            “Well, my fee’s are going up, but seeing as how you’ve had to come all the way here, I’m sure I can drop the pri-“
            The girl leaned over and took off his hat. The neckline of her dress was low, Rock would have had to of been blind not to notice, and she leaned over far.
            “I’m not sure I could be able to pay but… I sure there’s some… other arrangements we could make.”
            “Of… course…” Rock shifted in his seat, “If I… uh, could have your name?”
            She leaned back and smiled, ruby red lips making a sinfully sweet smirk, “Elizabeth.”

            I lit a cigarette coming out of the small offices of the Rapture Tribune.
    Truth be told, I had wanted work. Since Arcadia, since Eddies, fewer things came my way.
    But I didn’t want it like this.
    Some of Abby’s co-workers had known about us, and me walking in with Elizabeth… well… There were smarter men then me and they figured invading Russia in the winter was a good idea. But she insisted. Something about how she might be able to help. Probably like back at the casino, but in the end it didn’t do any good.
            I could still see the people’s sneers and glares, coming to my old girls office with a new one? Smart, very smart.
            Jameson, the editor, didn’t have much else outside of what was in the letter. She hadn’t come in for some time, and no one had seen her at her apartment. Now that I think about it, I don’t recall ever going to Abigail’s apartment. She’d always come back to mine. A lot like Elizabeth.
            I looked at her as we walked. I wasn’t sure how she felt about this whole thing, me trying to find Abigail. She seemed fine about it all but with her insisting that she come with me, well it could give someone ideas about making it clear who I’m with now. After she started coming around more I’d even put Abby’s picture away. It wasn’t even as if had I wanted to really end things with Abigail. I needed to figure some things out it… it just all sort of happened.
            I rummaged around in my coat pocket and found Abby’s address, near enough Hestia, and pretty close to the paper’s offices. Elizabeth didn’t say anything on the walk there, and that was a blessing. Before I knew her, when I was with Abby, I’d had dreams and thoughts that I couldn’t understand. I still had them but it was less now. They didn’t seem to fill up my head. Now with this news of Abby, well, I never stopped caring for the girl.
            It was only once we reached Abby’s door that she finally spoke up.
            “Are you sure about all of this, Booker? I mean, you might not like what you find”
            What might I find? A range of things went through my mind, chief of which was her body sprawled out on the floor, blood from her wrists or throat. What would I do then, I wondered. Out of all the conversations we’d had, hell even the fights, Abby never came up. I still wasn’t even sure how much Elizabeth knew, she didn’t even ask about my eye. I just nodded, and knocked at the door.
            After there was no reaction I knocked harder, eventually hammering on it. I called Abby’s name, told her it was me, “Just open the door, Abby! I want to talk. Abby!” I tried the knob and it was locked, “Well, if she’s home she doesn’t want visitors.”
            “Here, let me try”
            Elizabeth nudged me over and knelt down, a pair of metal tools appearing in her hand. Lock picks. She went to work.
            I remembered I always liked the way she looked when she picked a lock, how she bit her lip, or her brown hair slipping from behind her ear. I chuckled to myself as I looked away.
            What was Abby doing this for? Did she really just lock herself up in her home? I’d barely seen her since I went to Eddies with Elizabeth, and not at all since she’d started really hanging around my home. It really was because of me, wasn’t it? Of course it was, just going off and never talking to her, what else could she think?
            “Got it” I heard Elizabeth chime as she got up and pushed it open.
    The light from the hallway spilled into the room, filling it like wine in a glass. I let out a sigh after seeing that the floor was clear. One less thing on my conscience at least, but hey, It was still early.
            Elizabeth stepped inside and I followed after her. Being inside Abigail’s apartment felt strange, this was a private place for her even from me. It made me wonder about how many people knew about her past, and how many people had ever even seen inside this place. I found a light switch and flipped it. In the few seconds of flickering I nearly thought I saw the girl lying on the bed, but no, just some rumbled sheets and a pillow all twisted up.
            I looked around. Abigail’s apartment was very much like mine, two room apartment, bed in the main room. She lacked the desk, but a table and a typewriter sitting on a small writing desk filled the space it would have left. Wardrobe, cabinets, the whole deal. I took a few steps around the table to the bed, always good to make sure a place is empty. As I took a step a crunch like biting into a carrot echoed in the dead silence of the room and I froze, looking down.
            Before the bed were strewn maybe ten, fifteen hypos.
    I knelt down and picked one up, the needle was smeared with blood, carelessly injected, “Abby what are you doing?” the entire walk here, I’d had a feeling. The same one I’d had when I took the Orden kidnapping. Even as her father told me of the case I knew I wasn’t going to find Mavis, not maybe Abby too had been swallowed up by Rapture. I set the hypo down with a sigh.
            More of them were knocked aside and I looked up to Elizabeth walking over and sitting down on the bed, “Let me see…” she closed her eyes, and sat still.
            She’d tried explaining this to me once. She’d done it back in the casino when she told me where Heath Hayes was heading to. She said it was like ‘remembering something that hasn’t happened here yet, but maybe somewhere else’ in the end she said it was like the tears. I got up and did my best to quietly walk to the writing desk. A note, maybe she left a note.
            The typewriter was empty, but next to it was a stack of papers, and on top a few photo’s and paper clippings. On top of all of them was a photo I’d barely remembered. It showed Abigail, Elizabeth and I. They’d taken it after Hayes was rounded up in Pharaoh’s Fortune. I remembered when Elizabeth noticed the cameras she tried to turn away. Her face was a little blurry in the picture, but it was definitely her. Abigail must have paid for the original.
            Under it was a clipping with the same picture; Elizabeth’s face was circled this time. And below that another photo of a group of people, with a dark haired woman circled. It… almost looked like Elizabeth. Another clipping with another circle, and another, and another.
            I slipped the top photo into my coat pocket and set the clippings back down, I guess I wasn’t the only one with Elizabeth on my mind.
            “There’s… too much” Elizabeth said behind me.
            “Huh?”
            “It’s like… there’s too many places. It’s all pulling in different directions.”
            “Well… uh, what can you make out?”
            “There’s the Medical Pavilion, and… and Arcadia. The docks, and Point Prometheus, Fort Frolic, there’s people on a stage… I can’t see where she’s gone. Or maybe she’s gone to all of them. In the end I…” she said, eyes downcast, “I’m so sorry Booker.”
            “That’s uhh.. it’s okay,” she was sorry? She’d just given me five leads and she was sorry? Best not to mention the photo’s, but I think I’d finally found the reason for Abigail’s change in appearance. I never should have left that damn file sitting around.
            “I doubt we’ll get much else here. Let’s get going.”
            We left as well as we could, trying not to touch anything else. I’d gotten my first look, but I couldn’t do this all on my own, I’d have to call it in to the security boys. Hopefully it wouldn’t be Mast. I could never stand Tom and the feeling was clearly mutual. I locked the door from the inside and pulled it close.
    And ended up just staring at the door.
            This really was just all my damn fault, wasn’t it? If I could have just gotten around to using my damn desk drawers for something other than booze, or if I’d found a better way to deal with, with whatever it was that was wrong with my head back then Abby might still be here.
            At that thought it occurred to me. I’d never gotten an answer from Elizabeth that night, and I’d never bothered to ask again. Why did I have those dreams and thoughts? That drive to find her? When I turned to look at her she was rubbing the side of her neck.
            “I’ve… I’ve got something I need to do, Booker.”
    Another little disappearance. She did this, usually just for a day or so.
            “This about,” I looked over to the other end of the hallway before Abby’s apartment, a security camera panned left and right. Did they have audio pickups? “That thing you told me about?”
            She didn’t nod her head, but she didn’t shake it either. It was more of a shrug, she started to walk away.
            “Wait, when uh... when will you be back?”
            “Oh, the usual. Tomorrow. I’ll wake you up if you’re asleep.” She said, a kind smile across her face. She gave me a little wave and began to walk off. I watched until she was out of sight.
            I don’t know if she saw a look on my face, or what, but I got the feeling she wasn’t leaving because of what she said about Rapture. I ran my fingers through my hair and looked back to the door.
            Got to make sure the boy’s know where to look, and gotta keep any squatters or anyone else out. Rapture had a big rule on theft, or at least not getting caught, and taking from a crime scene was a whole league over that. I pulled a small bit of chalk out of my pocket and started writing on the door.
            I’ve done you wrong, Abby, and I’m sorry. But I’m going to do my damndest to make it right.
            I left the door and headed back home; I needed to write some things out. Behind me in the light of the apartment’s hallways Abigail’s door stood out with the words ‘Crime Scene’ scribbled on it.

            I’d like to say that Abby’s disappearance sent shockwaves through Rapture, but that would be a more boldfaced like than I’m used to. The next morning the paper came, the penumo brought me whatever new mail I had and the rest of Rapture went about the day like it was any other Monday. I felt more than a little insulted.
            Yesterday I’d been up and down the docks are Neptune’s, and no one there’d seen hide nor hair of Abby. It was the same over at Arcadia save for the teller remembering us.
            So that left Prometheus, the Pavilion and Fort Frolic.
            Point Prometheus was closer, I’ll start there.

            Prometheus was a little different from the last time I’d been there, but I just couldn’t place it. Maybe it was all of the Fontaine signs being replaced by Ryan Industries’. The little amusement ride was being retrofitted for a more Ryanesque feel as I stepped off the bathysphere.
            I walked about, it’d been a month since I was last here – looking for Mavis – I need to get a better idea of things. The library was still open, presumably still holding all the various books that frankly I’d never have any interest to read. I also couldn’t see Ryan shutting down Fontaine’s plasmid businesses either. Really it was the Little Wonder’s school that would always surprise me the most.
            Fontaine had gotten girls, little girls, and turned them into those these. Little Sisters. IT really was enough to put you off of ADAM. The thought that it was all processed by those little girls. I turned from the would-be school and came face to face with a Big Daddy. He was tall, damn near inhumanly so, and as he looked down at me all I could see in the face mask of his dive helmet was my own face staring back at me. The mountain of a brute just stared me down. I don’t know what kind of thoughts these metal men have, but I got the feeling that he was debating how easy it would be to kill me. I can tell you I damn near expected to just be a smear on the floorboards.
            “Come on Daddy! Plenty of places to go still!”
    The Little Sister’s voice broke whatever spell had come over the both of us; she reached up and grabbed the monsters hand, and started to pull him away. As she pulled him away the little girl twisted around and waved an eerie and grotesque smile over her bulbous face. It was all very familiar.
            She pulled him to a maintenance door, the same one I’d used to come up from Paupers Drop, and they disappeared in the gloom beyond it.
            You heard stories, of Big Daddies. Stories like they’d kill a man for just looking at a Little Sister, or kicking vending machines to try and get a free double. Or that if you were caught damaging a window or bulkhead; they’d rivet your fingers to the outside. Seeing one so close in person it’s easy to see how the rumors spread.
            With a shaking hand I pulled out a cigarette and snapped my fingers and as the flame came to life I stared at it and saw Abby sitting in her bed, tears along her face as she injected more and more EVE into her veins. I rubbed out the flame and shoved the cigarette back in my pocket. If I see Abby or a Little Sister every time I try to light up or use a plasmid, I’ll be going cold turkey in now time.
            Cramming my hands in my pockets I continued my rounds. I gave out Abby’s description to anyone that looked like they’d been there for longer than a month but to no luck. If Elizabeth was right and Abby did come this way, she kept her head down. Maybe Elizabeth just picked up the time she came here for those plasmid demonstrations. She did say it was hard sometimes getting the right time for it, sometimes what she’d see wouldn’t even happen, or never had happened.
            I sat down at a bench and watched the workmen at their jobs, tearing down and rebuilding Fontaine’s Eugenics Entertainments ride. The damn thing half reminded me of a love tunnel, though I couldn’t imagine where the thought came from, I’d never been to one before.
            Abby wasn’t here. I doubted she even came this way. Other than for a story or for the library there was nothing here for her, or most of Rapture and I doubted she cared to learn about gene therapy or inheritance.
            Fort Frolic might be better. Abigail was a good looking girl, and the sorts that visited the Fort often could appreciate that. Someone there should remember her.

            And remember her they did. Abigail had been around Fort Frolic a fair amount, though not in the past week. She’d been looking at dresses in the shops, and had even stepped into the tobacconists too. One shop keeper even said she was thinking of getting a flask ‘for her old man’ that one stung.
            Here at least, Elizabeth was right on the money. The last time anyone could recall seeing Abby she went to the theatre. She’d seen a showing of Cohen’s ‘Patrick and Moira’ its last showing, in fact. But no one could give me any sort of info on where she’d gone, or why.
            At the end of the day I decided to head up to Pharaoh’s Fortune. After bringing down Heath Hayes they always had a free drink for me at the bar. With Elizabeth out I didn’t really want to be sober, all those dreams came back if I was.

            I was expecting a wakeup call from Elizabeth but no luck there; she was still out doing whatever it was she did.
            I pulled myself from my lonely bed and got dressed.
            I’d had another dream again in spite of the booze. We were on the run from people maybe? We’d had a fight, I’d gotten shot and she patched me up. The only thing I could really remember of it was at the end, I felt like maybe I didn’t have to leave.
            It wasn’t the worst of them at least. Always seemed like half of them ended with me dying.

            Unlike Point Prometheus the Medical Pavilion never seemed to change, except maybe the posters. White tiles gleamed in the sterile light, the only real color coming from the stains on the orderly and nurse gowns and smocks.
            It took some working, but a few hours after arriving Steinman called me into his office.
            “What can I do for you, Mister DeWitt? It has been so long since you’ve called on us. No chance of fixing that scar is there?”
    The man’s manic grin was far more off putting then before, “Er, no, Doctor. Actually I was hoping you could tell me if you’ve seen someone, do you remember when I last saw you, there was a girl with me.”
    “Ahh yes, Miss Abigail.”
            “Yes, I was wondering if you’ve seen her recently.”
            “She has been coming around rather often for the past few months. Hair tonics, surgeries…”
            I figured, “When was the last time she was in?”
            “A few days ago,” the doctor said, ruffling some papers, “Why, is she in some sort of trouble? Did the love birds have a fight?”
            I wish I could smack that grin off his face, “Doctor, Abigail has been missing from work for a week. You may be the only person in the past week that’s seen her.”
            “Oh…”finally the grin was gone.
            “I need to know exactly when she was here last, what she was doing and if she’d said anything.”
            “We-ll, she was here maybe” he looked through the papers, “Tuesday, in fact. A little bit of facial restructuring, the young thing wanted to look a little more mature, not really what I’d suggest but well the customer is always right.”
            “Did she say anything? Was there anything off about how she was acting?”
            “She didn’t say anything out of the ordinary, except that she insisted on paying under the name ‘Elizabeth’” he looked up from the papers. My mind was blank, “I’m sorry, is something wrong?”

            I up turned the bottle the last few drops of whiskey slowly dripping down into my mouth. Second bottle was gone, and I wondered if I had a third. I was pretty sure there was one in the cabinet. Getting up from the chair I stumbled and caught myself on the desk.
    On a hunch I’d shown Steinman the picture of Elizabeth from the paper. Abigail had shown him the same picture, he’d said. She wanted to look like that, he said.
            What makes someone want to just to become someone else?
    Well, I had an idea, really. Plenty of times in the war I’d wished I was someone else. Anyone else. Anyone that wasn’t in God damned Europe. But hell… still.
            Right, cabinet, scotch, or whiskey.
    I pushed myself off of the desk and shuffled over to the wall and opened the cabinet. Rummaging inside glasses fell over, or shattered on the floor. I moved to a new one and did the same. The fourth cabinet had a small bottle of scotch. I ripped open the top and sucked down the liquid. It burned as I gulped it down but I didn’t care.
            A knock at the door startled me and I stumbled back.
            “W-Who?”
            “Booker? It’s me.”
            “Elizabeth?”
            “Sorry, I’m late, things got held up.”
    I yanked at the door, fumbling with the knob. Was it her, or Abigail? The voice it was different wasn’t it? Or was I just too much in the bottle?
            “Are you alright? Book-“
    The door finally pulled open. It was Elizabeth. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
            “Oh my God, Booker what happened?”
            I told her what I’d found out, Abigail’s surgeries and tonics, taking her name, all of it. I told her about how Abigail and I met, how even when I was with Abby I’d searched out for her. I told her about the dreams again but again I got no answers to my questions. Just more of how there were some things she was sure I didn’t want to know. She looked sad, like it hurt her to say such things.
            I clinged to Elizabeth like the drowning man I was. She took away the scotch and with nothing else to drown out the thoughts in my head, I kissed her.

            I opened my eyes. It was another dream, a happy one; they always were when she was here. I’d had a little girl, and Elizabeth walked with us in the street.
            It’d only been a few days and it was like I was back before I even knew her name.
    I wasn’t like this with Abby. Maybe that’s why I had to find Elizabeth before. That need to see her again, or talk to her. At times it was an almost consuming feeling, hah, like drowning or choking. Like when you couldn’t get a cigarette for a long time, getting the shakes.
            Splicers were like that too, couldn’t get some EVE or another shot of ADAM, got less and less lucid, scatterbrained, obsessive. I could relate.
            I looked down at Elizabeth sleeping soundly against me. It was her, something about meeting her did all this to me, screwed up my head, and now she was the only thing that could make it go away. And I wasn’t even sure if I wanted that to end.

    ----

    Rapture Noir: String Theory (By Lewdist)
    http://pastebin.com/9sqHNtNX

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    A DIFFERENCE OF VISION by Realmzjetter

            A few things can really make you feel a bit like a dirty old man. One of them is watching a girl half your age get dressed, and only all the better it be in the same thing she wore the night before.
            Now it’s not like I was sitting there leering at her. I’m just sitting reading the paper when Elizabeth woke up. I just turn around to see her slipping back into her dress is all. But I just can’t help but smile as her curves slip back from reality into tantalizing imagination. Elizabeth caught me watching her and she flashes a shy smile before looking away and zipping up the side of the dress.
            Since my little drunk episode a night ago I’d been trying to stay a little more upbeat, even with the thoughts of what Elizabeth really represented for me. It was easier than I thought it would be. She opened the door and looked back at me, sitting at my desk, paper spread out, I probably had a stupid grin on my face. She gave me one of those few genuine smiles.
            “You going anywhere today?”
            “Not really, maybe checking around Farmer’s Market,” It was a pretty pointless thing to say, Elizabeth always knew where I was.
    “I guess I’ll see you for dinner then,” she just kept on smiling, “Love you, Booker”
            And the door closed.
    It was a little strange; I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone I loved them, maybe not since Sandie. But Elizabeth said it a lot and never seemed distressed that I didn’t return in. Maybe after the first few times it she figures if she says it enough it’ll be true for both of us.
            Truth is I don’t even know. I thought I might have loved Abby, but Elizabeth was different. I’m not even sure how I feel about her, even now.
            I shook my head and went back to the paper. Always best to drown out your thoughts in the news.
            There’s another Editorial on Atlas. I guess the Tribune has started to get more and more into politics. Nothing good would come from that. What was the editor thinking in putting this shit into his paper? He’ll only attract attention, and only the wrong kind of attention at that.
            And Ryan has an announcement that he’s outfitting his cronies with more advanced plasmids. You can damn well bet those will be on the market in no time. Just what I’d need, people that can create cyclones out of nowhere.
            It made sense, didn’t it? Given how things were going it seemed like the only real logical way things could go.
            In six weeks Rapture would erupt in civil war. Hell if you knew how it ended, it all made sense, that was a bit of the problem, wasn’t it?
            Still, Elizabeth and I knew about it. She seemed to think we could stop it, save the city.
    It was at that thought that I turned the page to find another large article on page five.
            Big Daddy Kill’s Married Couple.
            In all the time since they’ve been around, even with all the rumors, I’d never seen any story of a Big Daddy actually hurting anyone. Oh everyone assumed they did, but it was Splicers, or ‘people no one cares about’
            But this one was done out in, for lack of a better term, broad daylight.

            ‘Yesterday in Dionysus Park, a married couple appeared to accost a Little Sister and was then subsequently attacked and killed by its protecting Big Daddy. The couple, a Joshua and Matilda Orden allegedly said that the Little Sister was their daughter, Mavis, missing since August. They hugged the Little Sister and then attempted to take it back home with them.
            When the Little Sister cried out, its Big Daddy, a few meters away, charged the couple, slamming into them and killing Matilda on impact. When Joshua Orden screamed and attempted to, as witnesses said, protect the Little Sister from the Big Daddy, the large mechanical man drove its drill into his face. The Little Sister then reportedly, took blood from both victims and the pair continued on its way.
            Security forces are saying that the altercation was probably brought on by delusions in the Orden’s to see their daughter again. No charges have been brought up against Ryan Industries, however the company is seeking to sue the Orden estate for damage of company property, citing damage to the Big Daddy and the Little Sister’s clothing.’

            I threw the paper against the wall.
    That was just it, wasn’t it? First Abigail goes off the deep end and goes missing, and now the Ordens are dead.
            Since the Little Sister’s were finally shown in public, I had an inkling about Mavis, that she’d been turned into one of those things. It had to of been her. Orden had wiped his hands of the girl, believed her dead, just wanted to get on with his life. But then he and his wife both see their dead little girl walking the streets? What were they going to do?
            And Ryan.
    God damned fucking Andrew Ryan sues their family over it? The very next day?!
            It really was plain as day what would happen to Rapture, it should have been clear the moment Fontaine started speaking out against Ryan but none of us wanted to see it. Whatever dream Rapture was supposed to be it was coming to a close and we were all going to have to wake up.
            I got up and pulled on my coat, the self tailored garment slipping over my clothes like a warm embrace. I needed a walk.
            Elizabeth figured we could stay here, we could save the city.
            But you know what? From where I’m standing the city’s too far gone. I had a better idea. I’ll find Abigail, talk some sense into her and then we leave. All three of us.
            I wasn’t going to be buried at sea, that’s for damn sure.

    ----

    Rapture Noir, One Month Stories by Realmzjetter
    http://pastebin.com/YAWai9FL

    ----

    A DAY AT THE RACES by Realmzjetter

            In Rapture I’m sure you’ve noticed the gap between the haves and the have nots. You’d never be able to mistake Pauper’s Drop for Mercury Suites. But, and I’ve always felt this I think, there’s one place where the proper and the poor are all on even footing and that’s when there’s a game of chance.
            Oh sure, you can try buying off a dealer in Pharaoh’s, or using a telekinesis plasmid on a slot machine, but the camera’s are everywhere and the next day you’ll get a visit from someone like me or Rock. No, in the casino, at the tables, and on the track a poor man’s got as much of a single chance to win as a rich man. It’s just the rich get more bets, and they own the horse, and probably the track too.
            So my road for the day has lead me to Upson Downs, one of Rapture’s leading Race tracks, and mostly for dog racing. Pets were heavily controlled in Rapture, stay animals were like the working ‘parasites’ to Ryan. Getting fat off the lively hood of others, rather than say, scraping by in the streets and getting kicked every day, you had to get a license, prove you could take care of it, and so on. Most families just brought their children to the track, after the races you could pet the dogs and such. Pretty good for the kids, actually.
            I’d never actually been down here before. Upson Downs was way out of my way, far past Adonis Resorts on the other side of Rapture. I mostly went to the Stockyards by the old Atlantic Express offices, horse races were the main draw there, but dog’s are back in popularity, so my job brought me here.
            Upson Down’s was actually rather modestly built, the main ticket and betting room had simple wood paneled walls and rather plain flooring, lines drifted from the tellers out to the stands. I muscled my way through the wispy crowd doing my best not to hit anyone with my case and went outside to the track. If you were to open my small leather suitcase you’d find a pile of papers of my old cases, and a few stacks of money, hopefully just what you’d expect from a detective out for a day at the races, but I’d just hope no one would check too closely.
            If this was a real track up top, it would have been a beautiful day. Grass shown in the lights and if you closed your eyes you could almost imagine the sun shining down upon you, until you opened them and looked up into the glass dome of the Downs as a whale swimming circles overhead.
            The throngs of people crowding the aisles and seats of the bleachers made my going a little slower, and I was held up by the lists, taking in the names of the dogs. I couldn’t help but wonder how many people would actually bet on a dog named ‘Tripod.’ The custom of giving horses funny names was starting to become popular for the dogs too. Aside from the, presumably, three legged fair, there was ‘Walk of Shame’, ‘Bootstraps’, ‘Topsides’, and Ryan’s dog ‘No Gods or Kings’ he was just called ‘Kings’ funnily enough, and was pretty much treated as such. I wondered if Ryan even cared about the races, probably not.
            The big race of the day was an hour away, Kings was going to be up against one of the newer dogs, ‘Vox Populi’ everyone assumed she was one of Altas’ bitches but nothing ever pointed back to the man. A horn sounded and the hounds were off, chasing their little mechanical rabbit around the track.
    I pushed through the cheering crowd around the track and to the kennels on the far side, there was already a group of families there waiting to see some of the dogs that had just finished a race, I waved over at the man guarding the building. A simple guard, the real kennlemaster would be over at the track in case any of the animals hurt themselves, this man was here to make sure no one got in.
            “Can I help you sir?” he said, doing his best to avoid the children running about him.
            “I hope so,” I said, “I’m here to make sure the beasts are all ready for the race”
            “The kennlema-“
            “Is on the track,” I rummaged through my coat pocket. I didn’t need to, I knew where my wallet was but certain things need a bit of the theatrics, “Where is the damn thin- Here it is” I opened my wallet and showed him a card. It proclaimed I was a Vet, officially licensed and paid up, working mostly in the Medical Pavilion on the rich and to-do’s pets, “Mister Ryan wants to make sure Kings get’s the best care, and that no one’s doing any kind of funny business. You understand.”
            The mention of Ryan’s name smartened the man up something fierce; it was hard to hide my smile.
            “Er, sorry, sorry,” he handed the card back and I picked up my leather case again, “Sorry to hold you up Mister Damien.”
            I pushed past the kids and into the kennel, closing the door behind me. The man was going to lose his job after this, that was for sure. Hell, it might even anger him enough that he’d throw his lot in with Altas. I snorted and walked further in, until I was surrounded by barking, whimpering, snarling dogs in cages.
    The animals of poorer owners were in the smaller cages, with maybe only two or three square feet of space to move around in. The better off your owner was, the better off you were, in here. Kings damn near had a suite as big as my apartment. The dog had his own little walled off area, complete with carpet and grass and feeding area, even a pole with various toys attached to it. The greyhound took a look at me and started to snarl.
            “Yeah, let’s not have any of that,” I squeezed my hand, hearing my knuckles crack in the brightly lit place and suddenly I couldn’t hear the dogs barking behind me. It was as if the whole world filled with just the low, violence promising growl of Ryan’s mutt. I opened my hand and the skin over my palm began to slough off, revealing a lump that grew larger as each thing layer slid off and off. The skin crackled apart and turned to dust before it hit the ground and soon I held a fleshy goo filled ball in my hand.
            Hypnotize was one of Ryan’s newer plasmids, and it had a whole range of uses, its strength being tweaked for various uses. As of right now only the weaker varieties were being sold, but it was still enough to confuse or sedate a human for a few seconds.
            I looked at the soft glow coming from the ball, it all worked on pheromones, smells and such. You’d make the ball and toss it at whatever, it would explode and whatever you were thinking about would transfer that emotion to whatever was in the cloud, for as long as it could. Most prominent in my thoughts what was it would be like to be torn at by Kings, and the globe glowed a violent red. When I thought of what it would be like to have a dog of my own when I was younger, well, the globe became an emerald green. I smiled and tossed it into the enclosure. The dog ran for it on instinct and caught it in the air, bursting the flesh ball easily and then hitting the ground with a slight whimper.
            I opened the door and instantly the dog bolted up, ears perked and let out a tremendous bark. It spun around and dashed towards me like a bullet. My mind raced, it was a bad plasmid, I hadn’t thought of the right thing, maybe the dog was just too damn smart for it. But before I could retreat out of the cage the animal was on me, mouth open teeth gleaming in the light and long pink tongue licking at my face.
            “Get off ya mutt! Dammit!” I pushed the dog off me as he yelped and barked and dances around, “Hey hey, alright, stop. Stop. Sit!”
            Kings immediately shut his mouth and sat on his haunches, though he was clearly ready to jump and bark and play, the quivering in his legs and tail betrayed as much.
            “Alright, lay down. Down” I motioned my hand down until the flat of my palm nearly reached the ground; the dog followed it and laid out for me, “Good boy.”
            I set down my case and opened it and pushed the papers and money aside, and unhooked a false side, revealing a small syringe and bottle. I pulled them both out and inspected them. Nothing looked broken, that’s good, last thing I needed was having to do this whole thing over, “Alright boy, this won’t hurt a bit I promise.”
            I stuck the needle into the bottle pulling out the plunger to the amount my contact had said. It wasn’t going to harm the dog, he assured me, just make sure he’s a little drowsy was all, a sleepy puppy. Just enough to make sure Kings doesn’t win, and presumably, so that Altas’ mutt does.
            That was the whole point really, make sure Altas wins his bet, gets his money and can keep on paying for his revolution. Elizabeth figures Altas is the one to bet on to make sure Rapture keeps on spinning, and would become a better place for everyone involved. I wasn’t so convinced but the girl seemed to know what was what, and if it did go pear shaped, I could still try and get us out. I just hope I can find Abby again before we have to.
            I injected the meds into the dog as he whimpered softly. I pulled the needle out and scratched at his neck, “There’s a good boy. There he is,” having a dog might not have been such a bad thing, “You’ll just want to take a nap in a little bit that’s all, nothing wrong with a nap.”
            I packed up my case and got up, telling the dog to stay until I was outside again and closed the gate. A good thing too, when I called him over for one last little head scratched he nearly took my hand off, “Jesus ya damn mutt!”
            Alright so I’m not a big fan of dogs.
    I searched along in the kennel and found myself another door out. I took the longer route to the other side of the track and headed out. I didn’t want to be around when people started asking about a vet come to see Ryan’s hound.

    ----

    Rapture Noir: Doppelganger Monologue (By Daily Reminder)
    http://pastebin.com/Xnen3ND8

    ----

    CONJOB by Realmzjetter

            Marble floors, tiled marble walls, and gold leaf everywhere. The Bank of Rapture certainly didn’t do anything half assed. Not the main office anyway. A dark mahogany counter top stretched the width of the foyer, inviting customers to ‘Please wait their turn’ and  ‘A teller will be ready in just a moment’, the bars over the countertop shone with gold, but were probably steel, or brass. Marble columns lined the walls of the room with dark wood ribbing between them, portraits of wealthy customers, including Ryan, Sinclair, and Cohen lined the walls, with one space conspicuously empty.
            I’d never had enough money to ever need to visit a bank before but this was something else. The Patton’s were anxious to get their son back, they’d heard stories of children being taken and never coming back. They were scared their son would become one of those “Little People” I tried to tell them that only girls could be little sisters but they wouldn’t have any of it.
            I got Rock on the case to, and we found little Gorey in no time, He’d been tired of his parents overbearing and ran away from home for a while, he was riding the carousel at Dionysus. We let him go around a few more times before he got hungry and wanted to go home.
            It was the easiest two grand we’d ever made, I’d bet.
    Rock said he’d love to be here to cash it in, but he had a date, some bird he was all about these days.  He seemed to be head over heels for her. That was good at least; from his office you could tell he could use a woman in his life. Like I was one to talk, with my own apartment a mess like it was. It would have been nice to see who was able to take away my on again off again partner away from the job though.
            But I shouldn’t throw stones, I guess the same happened to me for a month, and the news I’d gotten before wasn’t much help either.
            But with my half of this check well, I wouldn’t need any jobs for rent, not for another month anyway. If Elizabeth was right that’s all Rapture had left before the shit hit the fan, one month.  Or near enough, at least. The more I thought about it the more I knew she’d be right, and the more and more I knew we couldn’t do anything about it.
            I’d been thinking about it, how to get out of Rapture. Most Bathysphere’s didn’t have the tether to get to the surface, I’d bet. And the self contained ones were far too expensive, and probably didn’t have enough space or power to get anywhere. We’d reach the surface just in time to die of starvation, thirst, and exposure.
            Now one of the fishing trawlers that would be the best bet. Three people could get one of those moving right?
            Another teller had opened up. The moment of truth, I don’t think I’d ever held two thousand dollars in my hands before. I bet it feels good.
            “How can I help you, sir?” the woman was blonde, pretty good looking too, a bit like Abigail, now that I think about it, narrow shoulders and chest, ample hips, a bit pear shaped.
            “Yeah, I’ve got this check here I’d like cashed”
            “I’ll take that then” she said with a smile. She looked it over and handed it back, “You need to sign it here, Mister DeWitt,” she flipped it over and pointed to a side on the back, and handed me a pen.
            With my signature on the back I handed the check over and she gave it a once over again, “Would you like to open an account and deposit this, Mister DeWitt?”
            Put my money in a place that’ll burn down in a month? “No, thank you. Cash, please.”
    She disappeared into the back and I turned around to take the bank’s foyer in more. Stairs lead up along the side, probably to offices for the bigwigs upstairs, I half wondered if any of them were in.
            The place was a God damned temple. A temple to people and the money they put in it. Banks never interested me much, other than the not having money for them problem. I never liked the idea behind it. You gave people money and they promised they’d give it back to you any time you asked, provided you never, ever asked them to give it back.
            I wondered who the empty space was for. Enough prominent citizens had gone off recently, Fontaine, Lamb. Even Cohen seemed was locked up in his rooms these days. I’d heard some stories of some doc being found dead in his labs too. And yet people still think that this business between Atlas and Ryan will just blow over.
            “Here you are, Mister DeWitt”
            She handed over two little stacks of fifties. I’d expected it to be, well, more. Heavier. You shouldn’t be able to carry this much money without people noticing.
            “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
            “Uhm… No. No, thank you.” I gathered up the money and stuffed it into the pocket on the inside of my coat.
            “Your receipt sir”
    Right right.
     Shoving the slip of paper into my pocket I head back up the line. If there was a lunch rush in banks I’d come in just after it, the line was short, only six people all told except for the staff. As I walked past the gauntlet of paintings, I noticed that all the pictures on the walls had an honor guard of busts flanking them. Cohen’s busts were exact copies of his own face, both of them different from each other and the portrait. Ryan’s busts were the same, except there was something off about one. Something I just couldn’t place.
            As I thought about it the doors opened, though I didn’t give it much thought. It was only after the first shout that I’d turned.
            “Everybody stay where you are!”
            Three men entered the bank, two of them sporting pistols, the third brandished a Thompson ahead of him. A big black beast of a gun with a squatter barrel then I remembered them having and one of those drum magazines.
            Everyone stood there and gazed at them, as if wondering ‘what are they doing here?’ it wasn’t until they were halfway through the hall that someone screamed and the confusing spell was broken.
            “Everyone shut up and don’t move, or we’ll fucking shoot!”
            Oh hell, who would be dumb enough to rob the only bank in Rapture?

            It hadn’t taken long for the police to come around.
    Not long at all. Too short a time really.
            Reilly was having trouble with that, but he was having trouble with a lot of things, like why he and his mates from the dock were at the bank.
            They’d planned to rob the fisheries, everyone knew that they were loaded with cash from Fontaine’s ‘side job’ so why were they here?
            He could remember them getting the guns, and piling into the bathysphere to head down to Neptune’s, but before the doors closed everything got muddled. He could remember being angry, and running. There was shouting too, but he didn’t know from who.
            And then they were here with, let’s see, twenty armed security men outside the doors waiting for them. They’d held off for now since they had hostages, but Reilly knew they’d come in soon, innocent people or no.
            “This is so fucked up, Cor.”
            “Shut up, I’m trying to think,” Cornelius said back to him. James was the shortest of the three of them by a hair, but he’d also gotten his hands on the machine gun, so he’d become the defacto leader.
            “We should shoot one of them, and toss ‘em outside,” that was Joey P. He was usually the calmest man Reilly had ever seen but whatever had gotten into them, well it still made Joey angry. Which was strange because all Reilly could think of was what it would feel like to have red hot iron shooting through your belly.
            “I said shut up!”
            The worst part of the whole thing was when they’d started rounding people up, whatever brought them to the bank was starting to clear in his head, and Reilly tried getting the people inside rounded up. One of them was over by the paintings when they came in, in a long coat and with angry green eyes. When Reilly had gotten close to him, gun on him, telling him to get to the other wall with the others.
            He had glared at him with those eyes of his, and his face started to twist up into a look Reilly never wanted to see again.
            ‘I don’t like your beard’ he’d said, ‘I knew a man with a beard like that.’
            Reilly’s stomach still pulsed with the force of the man’s fist. It was the arrival of the police that’d stopped James from cutting him down.
            “W-we should give ourselves up!”
            “Like hell, Ryan’ll do to us what he does to everyone. Probably make us into his little tin men!” Cor’d yelled back, “There’s gotta be a way out of this.”
            “Yeah, I know one,”  Joey piped up, “We tell them to back off or we start painting the place red.”
            “We do that and they’ll come charging in!” Reilly said back.
            “And we’ll take them with us, fucking Fuzz.”
            Joey got up and started to walk towards the people sitting at the counter.
            “You do that and I’ll shoot you Joey,” Reilly wondered who’d said it before he’d even realized it was his own voice, “ I don’t want to know what Ryan’s got going on, and I don’t want to die. I don’t even want the fucking money!”
            “Then why’d you even come with us?!”
            “Y-you’re my mates, ain’t ya?”
            “Fuck you, Rye,” Joey started walking towards the hostages again, and raised his gun, “Alright, who’s going first? Eh? Maybe you little miss?” he grabbed the teller woman by her blouse and yanked her up, the shirt ripped, “Pretty girl like you, probably not in the face right?”
            It was all Reilly could do to not break down in tears as he heard the gunshot ring out, the woman was splattered in blood, Joey was too, and so were the other people. He looked down at his own gun as Joey’s body slumped to the ground.
            “Y-y-you’re my mates… ennit what yer supposed ta.. ta..”
            “Fucking hell, Rye! What the fuck!”
            In a daze Reilly turned to see Cor bringing the machine gun up, without feeling his fingers move he pulled the trigger over and over again. He could hear screaming, people scrambling, but he couldn’t hear the gunshots anymore.
            But he felt the needles of pain as they punched through the daze in his head and his body, one two three four ratatatatatat. Cor’s head jerked back and the rest of him fell with it. Reilly’s body felt like it was on fire, but it was going away. Already he felt nice and cool. One of his last thoughts was that he shouldn’t have tried splicing for the first time yesterday.

            The police guys questioned me, asked me what’d gone down in there. I told them the truth; three guys came in, and made asses of themselves. Some doctors wanted to know if I was alright, I told them the blood wasn’t mine. They gave me a towel and I wiped myself off.
            That was a hell of a show, and no mistake. I guess the kind of people that would rob the Bank of Rapture were the same time to go out shooting themselves. Hell it was a damn miracle that no one else was hurt.
    What was I even thinking, socking that guy like I had?
    He just came over to me and something fuzzed up my head. His damn brown beard made me so damn mad. Since when did I hate beards? And what the hell had me even thinking laying into him was a good idea?
    Good thing the police came when they did, otherwise Elizabeth’d be hearing about me in the paper tomorrow, might have had to head down to the pavilion to ID me.  I wonder how she’d react? I’ve had to give bad news to plenty of people over the years. The ones that cry, they’re the easiest to understand, even if I was never good at giving someone a shoulder to do it on. There’s others that just shut down and stare at you while you talk, and you look into their eyes and you know that they’ve got nothing left in them.
            Would Elizabeth cry for me, I wonder? Or would she turn into the cold hearted girl she’d tried to pretend to be?
            The police, that’s what nagged at me all the way home.
    How’d they get there so fast? I’d over heard the teller girl saying to the officer that she’d never even gotten the chance to press the alarm, she was so scared.
            Sure someone might have seen them, there’s plenty of phone boxes outside the bank, but would these guys have been that stupid to try to rob a place in full view of snitches?
            Probably not. At the end of the day I guess it’s just my luck. I keep getting into these situations and I keep getting out of them.
            Ever since those guys busted through the doors the money in my pocket had turned to lead. Maybe things wouldn’t be simpler.

            Elizabeth watched Booker as he left the gaggle of officers and slowly made his way back to his own home, or maybe her home, she wasn’t sure.
            It was nice seeing him again, even this far away, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. She couldn’t get the money now, and she’d need that if she wanted everything to work out. Things needed buying. Booker turned the corner and disappeared from her view, and her heart sank.
            He was covered in blood too. Had he been hurt? She hoped not, she didn’t want to see him hurt. But her mind jumped form that thought to another, and the weight of the pistol in her back came to the forefront of her head. If Booker wasn’t around anymore, things would be easier. A lot easier. They could go back to how they were before. It was easy before. She didn’t have to remember what it was like to be held by him.
            She shook her head, and the girl that was not herself glared down at the accusing bag. Abigail snorted to herself. Every time she looked in the mirror she saw more and more of her and less of herself. Maybe another bank would be open.
            She needed a new dress. She had to look her best.

    ----

    Rapture Noir: Rock and a Hard Place (By Lewdist)
    http://pastebin.com/tQzBUwM2

    ----

    Rapture Noir: A Friend in Need (By Lewdist)
    http://pastebin.com/3WBJjxNS

    ----

    Rapture Noir: Plasmid Blues (by Daily Reminder)
    http://pastebin.com/mzXHiknW

    ----

    SIMPLER TIMES by Realmzjetter

            The boy and girl stood together huddled and scared of the man before them. He’d seen the boy had a gun, and he’d raised his own to stop the two of them.
            “Wer sind sie?”
            The man didn’t understand a thing the boy had said. He just kept going on and on in German. Why the hell hadn’t they taught them some German? A simple,  ‘Hello, how are you? Put down the gun or I will shoot you in the head.’
            “Put the gun down, kid”
            “Wer sind sie? Sind sie Amerikaner?”
            He knew that one.
    “Yes. Yes, American” the man patted his chest. The boy smiled and he and his sister took a step forward, “Stop! Don’t move! Put the gun down!”
            The man had been separated from his squad. He’d gone off for a piss and they’d been attacked. He didn’t know where his mates were, or even if they were still alive. And then this kid shows up?
            The boy stopped again, and started jabbering on in German, “Bitte helfen Sie uns. Wir haben nichts zu essen, wir versuchen laufen”
            “I don’t understand you kid.”
            “Bitte halfen sie uns”
    The man heard rattling in the distance. The distinct ratatat of a Thompson and one of those MP’s the German’s are always holding. Shit, there’s people fighting going on.
            “I don’t know what you want. J-just put the gun down”
    The boy raised his hand, the one holding the gun, and a flesh leapt from the man’s hands. His own pistol jerked back, and a puff of red shot out from the boy neck.
            The girl screamed at her brother fell to the ground, and when she knelt beside him, the man saw for the first time a star sewn onto the arm of the boy’s jacket.

            The flower shop was closed, which seemed strange, but not why I was here.
    Another family was so sure that their child had been taken to be a Little Sister, and they wanted me to find her. Given how easy we’d found the last one, I figured I’d cut Rock in on the deal, but he was nowhere to be seen.
            His office was a mess though, so I guess whoever he was seeing wasn’t helping him there. Hell, I was pretty sure some women’s clothes were in that horror show of an apartment.
            The letter’d been rather specific. Their little girl had been taken, and they wanted to meet with me to get on the track to find her. They lived in the worker’s slums in Maintenance Junction 15 and the easiest way I could find to get there was passing through Pauper’s. I thought it was strange that they hadn’t just asked after Rock, but maybe his disappearance today wasn’t the first time.
            Why’d I even take the job? Couldn’t be the money, still had plenty of cash from the Patton’s job. The girl? The soft spot of mine’s gotten me in more trouble than I’m worth.
            Maybe I’m just restless. Maybe I really doo feel those four walls of mine crushing in on me.
            I took out a cigarette but stared at my hand before lighting it. I hadn’t even thought of it and already my fingers were ready to just snap and light it. I remembered lying on the ground, the itch in my hands and fire in my body. I couldn’t feel temperatures in my hands anymore. I remembered the hypos strewn over Abby’s floor.
            I stared at my fingers pressed against each other, and they said, ‘you’ve got demons in you, Mister DeWitt’ I squeezed them into a fist to silence them and tossed the cig away. I really needed it, but just sucking on the end wouldn’t give me anything.
            I’d do almost anything for a light.
    Maybe just to get my mind off of things.
    It didn’t help that Elizabeth was gone again, or at least not talking to me, maybe I’d done something wrong. But I had a surprise for her. She was going to be singing this year on Christmas Eve at Kashmir and I was going to surprise her, flowers, dinner, the whole thing. I’d get one of those genuine blushing smiles of hers. Even if I’d felt it, I couldn’t have stopped my own grin at the thought.
            I turned the corner to find the entrance to one of the passages between the Junctions. The tunnels, by ways, and otherwise unseen and unused walkways of the lower areas of Rapture wound there way over and through bedrock. Each junction had a line, used or unused leading back to Hephaestus at the center of the city, and then spread to other parts and junctions. Ryan’s perfect city for the best of the world was snared to the ocean floor by a spider web of the “Lower Masses” I wondered if he saw it that way.
    I started through the tunnel that would take me to Junction 15, blearily lit by fading lights; the tunnel was creepy to say the least. This wasn’t made any better when a Big Daddy lumbered out from a side passage a huge rivet gun in its hands. I stopped and watched as it ignored everything around it, and just began walking into the tunnel, of its Little Sister, I couldn’t see anything. Well why not, it probably wouldn’t be the strangest company I’d keep, and the eerie light the helmet gave off helped with the view, in a sort of way.
            The thing moved like a tide, or a landslide. Slow, powerful, and inevitable. It was shorter, squatter then the last one I’d seen this close, back in Persephone. It seemed heavier too, more ponderous, each step it took seemed to shake the entire world around it. A world it seemed to be almost blissfully ignorant of, if the things were capable of feeling anything anymore.
            I almost wondered how it felt, going through life no longer knowing your greatest mistakes. Maybe for some people being a Big Daddy was just a simpler thing.
            How much to Big Daddies even remember from when they were people? I guess they still understood people talking; they seemed to understand Little Sisters anyway.
    We walked for minutes, ahead of us, the plink plink of water dripping, and behind us only the echo of our foot falls. In the dreary tunnel it felt like as good a time as anyway to see if they could be talked to.
            “Lot of work to do, huh?”
            The thing just kept plodding along, bulbous diving helmeted head still looking straight ahead, though with the portholes all around it, it was impossible to tell where the thing was really looking.
            “You guys just always seem to be moving around is all… Working all the time”
            This time a mechanical groan that tasted of nickel emanated from the Big Daddy, though there was no other sign of understanding. It stopped and opened another portal from the tunnel, and walked through; another tinny groan followed it as it closed.
            I’d like to think he said ‘I need a break’
            Don’t we all, buddy. Don’t we all.

            The streets were slick wet, and glowed in the lights above. It was raining in Junction 15, and that’s never a good thing. I guess that’s what my new friend was headed down here to do. Other than a few lights in the windows the place looked nearly abandoned.
            I’d always been more of a city body, but I’d seen some places like this before, over in France.
    Us doughboys weren’t always welcomed with open arms into towns we pushed through, towns we ‘liberated’. A few of them had so few people left that those that were still around wouldn’t even come out of their houses.
    That was Junction 15, a mostly abandoned and forgotten town anchoring Rapture to the sea floor. A would-be ghost town limping along its final leg.
            How could anyone that lives here even afford a P.I.?
            Hell, I’d probably end up giving them the job gratis.
            Well there’s worse things to do, I suppose.
            I hiked up the collar on my coat and shrunk my shoulders into it; water was starting to run down my neck. Wrenching out the directions I took a look.
            Down Hiker’s street, take a left on Mason, house is the third one after Miner’s.
    Right.

            It was a house, not an apartment like most places. It wasn’t much, but it must have felt good to have your own place, not being stuck inside a building, hallways, and stairs to lead your way. Nice and open, even in this leaky bleaky place. With a knock the front door creaked open, like you imagine when you read a horror novel. The damn thing felt so fake.
            “Mister and Misses Harden?” at no answer I let myself in, “Hello? Anyone home?” Why even bother asking, none of the lights were on. Nearly none of the places had their lights on. Just like in France.
            I flipped on the lights and took a look around. The letter was strange enough, and seeing this place like it was, well that just made it worse. The house was decorated not unlike my own apartment, sparse, probably not for lack of trying. Four rooms it looked like, the door opened into a welcoming room, a few chairs, a musty rug and a crummy table greeted me. I pushed past them and into the next room, a kitchen. I called out for the owners again, and no answer.
            I decided to rummage, if they were coming back they shouldn’t mind, after all I was going to find their daughter. Icebox was empty, and barely cool, and nothing much to speak of in any of the drawers or cabinets until a particularly heavy drawer was lurched open by my hands.
            Inside was a nearly brass colored pistol, a revolver, the whole thing was covered with intricate and delicate carvings of wings and fish, flowers and leaves. It was made like a Colt navy revolver, the kind you’d see in those old west paintings, cavalry men shooting them and waving their horse sabers over their heads. I had a brief flash of what I’d look like in one of those old uniforms.
            Hah, must have been good, taking a fight to Indians.
            I lifted the pistol up, it was far heavier then it looked. After a moment I found the release for the breach and opened it. Old percussion caps filled the back of the magazine, damn thing must be loaded.
            Ah hell, why not. They can pay me with this. I’d always wanted to be a cavalryman. I pulled out my own pistol from my shoulder holster and tried stuffing the revolver into it. Too long for it you could probably see the barrel poking my coat from the back. If I wanted this I’d need a hip-
            Glass crashed and tinkled in the front room, followed by a FWOOM. By the time I’d turned around the hold wood walls and furniture, along with that dusty carpet was ablaze.
    Another crash and I watched as a bottle with a flaming cloth stuffed into it flung through the growing haze of smoke, and landed at my feet, spreading licking flame all around the kitchen.
    “Shit!”
            I jumped back and batted out the flames at my pants. If my hands were burned I didn’t feel it, it didn’t matter if I didn’t get out of this place I’d be a crisp anyway.
            There wasn’t another way out of the kitchen. God dammit. I had to get out the front door.
    In my younger days, in the war, by the time the first firebomb had hit the floor I’d have been out of the house. By the time the fire had caught I’d have been halfway down the street.
            I didn’t even think of using my plasmids, I just wrapped my coat around me and ran into the acrid and stinging smoke. I couldn’t see the flames, but I could feel the heat, it was the only damn thing I could feel. Months of hardly feeling anything in my hands and now this? Electricity had put on its tap shoes and was dancing along my spine and on every nerve in my brain, it wasn’t just that I could feel the heat on my skin; it felt like my bones were on fire.
            I crashed through the door and tumbled out; I could still feel the fire on my coat and whipped it off tossing it to the ground. I was alive. Oh God I was alive. That giddy feeling of beating the odds washed over me and I could feel the grin over my face as I panted.
             “Shit!”
            But I really didn’t have time for that did I? I didn’t start that fire, and I wasn’t the one that just yelled out. Whoever said it caught a look at my manic grin and ran for it.
    Innocent people don’t run.
    That bastard just tried to kill me.

            I don’t know how long I ran, afterwards I’d remember it lasting for hours but at the time it seemed to be over in minutes.
            I ran after the man, and soon enough I couldn’t see the buildings anymore, just the man I was chasing, our feet slapping the pavement the only sounds I could hear, around him the world was a monochrome blur. A few times I got within arm's reach but he’d turn a corner and I’d fall behind again. Turn after turn I chased him down.
    He finally came to a dead end. We must have come into a more populated part of the junction, here lights in windows still burned, like people huddled together to get what warmth they could in the night. The alley was lined with buildings, shops and store fronts threw back the gloom and shone over the man I’d followed. He panted staring at a wall with the words “Rapture Family” scrawled over it.
            “End of the line pal”
            “Stuff it DeWitt.”
    As he turned, I already knew the voice and though his face had changed, I could still tell it was him, Marvin Gallins.
            “Gallins? What the he-“
            “I said shove it!”
    God it was painful to even look at the wretch, “What happened to your face?”
            “What do you think DeWitt? The people I worked for didn’t like me talking. So they gave me a ‘parting gift’ and kicked me to the curb.”
            He wasn’t joking. Gallins’ face was a mess, and I couldn’t be sure how much of it I had done those months ago, or how much his former friends were really responsible for. The broken nose, sagging brow, misshapen jaw might be mine but I knew the missing ear wasn’t, and his mouth. They’d carved up his face, took a razor to his cheeks and slit them open to make a freakish smile. Looked like it’d been done some time ago, and it had already tried to heal, but hadn’t right. His cheeks were puffy and yellow, though that might have been from the lights. Boils or pimples dotted the man’s face and well, and colonized his ruined lips and jowls.
            “The hell are you doing here, Gallins?”
            “Fuck you, Booker”
            His hand flashed out from his hip and I dived to the side. I guess some of the old reflexes were still around, hah just like back in Pharaohs’ Fortune. A knife sprinted past my head, and I pulled at my pistol, little realizing I’d jammed the revolver into my holster. My gun was probably half melted in that damn fire. Wrenching it free, I looked up to a crash of glass and a scream. Gallins was gone, the window that had lit his Ungodly features smashed in. There was a girl in there from the sound of it.
            I kicked open the door, just in time to see Gallins spin around, another knife in his hand and a girl 20 or so in front of him. I couldn’t shake the feeling of God damned déjà vu.
            “Easy Gallins, you know it doesn’t have to end badly like this”
            “Oh yeah, like last time, right DeWitt?”He spat at me, “That worked out well for everyone didn’t it? You ever find that girl?” his knife pressed against the girl’s neck and she whimpered he shook his head “Was it worth it, for what you did to me?”
            I bit back the rancor at the stab for Mavis, “You did that to yourself, Gallins”
            “Fuck you Booker.”
            “Why’d you do it, Gallins? Burn down a home? What’s the point?”
            “Seemed obvious to me.”
            “You’re not that smart or brave Gallins, who put you up to it?” I took a step forward.
            “Don’t move DeWitt!” The knife moved and my eyes locked onto the bright red of the girl’s blood slipping down her creamy skin. I stepped back.
            “What’s it all about Gallins?”
            “You’ll have to ask the dame about it.”
    “What’d you mean?“
            “Someone doesn’t like you too much, DeWitt. Paid me good to keep you busy. Getting rid of you was my idea.”
            “Who dammit?”
            “Fuck you DeWitt” He pulled the knife away from the girl, and on instinct I fired. The revolver jumped up and back and I nearly thought it would wheel around and smack me in the face. The damn thing had kick; I’d be surprised if my hand wasn’t black and blue in the morning.
            Gallins’ neck exploded into a puff of pink and red and white. He fell back into a heap and the girl screamed again, dropped to the side, clutching at her neck.
            A sick, sticky wet gurgle emanated from Marvin, he was missing half his neck, his fingers clawed and pocked at the gap in his body, before slowly falling still.
            This thing wasn’t a pistol, it was a God damned hand cannon.
            I tended to the girl, got her something to patch up her neck, the cut was shallow enough, at most she’d have a scar, nothing more. My problems probably wouldn't be so easy. Some woman wanted me busy but not dead, not yet at least. I really hoped I didn’t have an idea of who it was.

            The man sat apart from his squad. He’d been like this for the past week. He didn’t join them for meals, he hardly said anything. He just sat by himself, or stared off into space, giving vague or far away answered whenever asked or pressed for information.
            In the lamp light he stared and saw two pairs of eyes looking at him pleading, until one of them was snuffed out.
            It played in his head over and over again. He didn’t do it then. He knew German then. Sometimes they stuck around with the company, like so many hangers on always did. They smiled at him.
            “Hey?”
            “Yeah”
            “You okay?”
            “Huh?”
            He looked up at his sergeant, the same age as him; they’d all joined up together. It was just a field promotion after their old Sarge had been hit in the neck, but he’d always gotten them out of the fire before. Sarge was the guy that found him after those kids. The man’s eyes had bags under them, and were raw red, like he’d been crying his eyes out for hours.
            “You’re not okay,” he said.
            “I’m fine Sarge”
            “You haven’t eaten in two days man. You barely talk. The guys are starting to worry you’re gonna desert, or cut their throats in the night. You look like shit.”
            “It’s… it’s nothing”
            “What happened?”
            They sat in silence for a while, his sergeant’s hand at his shoulder. Finally the man spoke.
            “I killed them”
            “Tell me about it”
            “They were kids…”
            Booker DeWitt sat down next to the man, and listened to his story. A week later the man they’d all known as ‘Marv’would be dead, a bayonet in his chest. He couldn’t have known the kid that was crying in front of him was a Hitler Youth.

    ----

    RAPTURE NOIR: Goodnight Irene (By Daily Reminder)
    http://pastebin.com/YafLwptg

    ----

    NOEL by Realmzjetter

            The café tables and chairs outside Kashmir were swarmed. Violets, purples, tangerine oranges and ruby strawberries glowed in the neon lights of Raptures most famous, most upscale restaurant. Between the vibrant colors black and white penguins sallied to and fro, bringing drinks, taking glasses, checking coats and lighting cigars. It was Christmas Eve in Rapture and everyone wanted an excuse to see and be seen.

            I watched all of it from the entrance to the plaza that Kashmir dominated. Christ. I had flowers, I had chocolates. I felt like a God damned fool. It was Sadie Lingdin all over again. She’d turned me down then.
            Hell I wasn’t even sure if she was in there.
            Rock hadn’t been able to find anything about Elizabeth. He never even saw her. He’d thrown a fit when I showed him the photo, fool wouldn’t tell me what about.
            The most he’d been able to get was exactly what I’d gotten.
    ‘Elizabeth is fine’
            ‘She comes to the club every night she performs’
            ‘Always comes in at her usual time, always a fresh box of strawberries’
            ‘She’ll be there Christmas. You know they say Ryan will be there.’

            So my stupid little plan stayed the same. Make up with a great big gesture. Show her I’m sorry.
            It would be easier if I could feel anything in my damn hands; they felt like lead, like ice. At least when I could feel anything. The view didn’t help. How these people could stand the lights and colors like this, I’d never know. The entrance to Kashmir could give a blind man a migraine.

    I pushed past the throngs as best I could. I could almost feel the splotches of glimmering seas and wafting leaves staining my best suit. It still wasn’t good enough for these people. But that’s the thing about having the headline as your main squeeze. Even if you’re the worst dressed guy at the ball, you get in anyway. I shook the man’s hand.
            “Hey Barton”
            “Evening, Booker”
            “Nice turn out this year”
            The door man grinned, “It’s a little thin. I hear tell the manager’s having a fit about it.”
            “Don’t they always?” He must have seen me shiver, a massive paw of a hand landed on my shoulder. Barton was a big man, a brute, but nice enough.
            “You alright Booker?”
            “Just ah... a little cold… you know?” I didn’t know what I meant, but Barton seemed to know. A wry grin came over his face.
            “Your girl’s on in fifteen,” he said, opening the door, “I’m sure any admirers would be clamoring at her dressing room right now.”
            I couldn’t help but chuckle, “Thanks Barton”

            Seeing Kashmir at Christmas was a different experience from what I’d seen before. Red lights scorched their way to the ceiling, while green tapestries and curtains hung to the floor, fringed in soft white fuzz. The fuzz was nearly everywhere, it reminded me of the snowfalls in New York, the ones you could play in at least. I half expected to see a snowman. Or a fuzzman. Inside the patrons were no less gaudy for their dress. Red heads mingled with brunettes, men with pink locks danced with women whose hair stood on electric blue ends. In each and every one of them light glinted and gleamed in the reds, greens, of the season, every now and then when a dancer turned just right they filled the floor with constellations that would take an astronomer years to decipher.
            You’d never have felt so underdressed, or so glad that you were, in your life.

            A pale girl with a short brown bob took my coat, and smiled at the flowers, “Coming to woo a sweet heart?”
            “Er.. more like patch things up”
             “On Christmas? How romantic. You sure I’m not your sweetheart?”
            If she expected an answer she didn’t get one, I was already on my way to the back.
    Elizabeth had snuck me in once, seems after one of Sander’s little minions watcher her perform she got a lot more clout in the place. Bouncers had some kind of standing order to let me on through. If Elizabeth was expecting me, of course. She wasn’t today but I hoped they didn’t know that.
            If Barton was a brute, this guy was a wall. Tall, black, and the kind of face and build that told you if you tried to push by all you’d find were elbows. If you were lucky, some of them would still be yours.
            “Hey… Burton, right?”
            “Max”
            “Right. Max, could I get by?”
            “Why?”
            A man of few words. I could grow to like him. I held up the flowers, the chocolates.
            “I uh… have a date?”
            A pair of steel ball bearings glared down at me, doing their best to bore into me. Even with the freezing in my arms and a wracking vice in my head I knew how to stare down.
            If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was Christmas morning by the time the man piped up again, “DeWitt?”
            “That’s right”
            With a sneer he stepped aside and opened the door. With a snort of satisfaction I took my prize.

            The halls and dance floor of Kashmir might be glam’d up, but the backs were as they always were. Taupe walls lined a plain wooden floor that wriggled around to doors, like legs on some giant upturned insect. The colors outside a façade for the people that wanted to needed it.
            If I remembered right, most of the doors opened to studios for makeup, or closest for costumes. One even held props for the more extravagant shows. Elizabeth had given me a bit of a tour once. Most of the girls shared a room, Elizabeth amongst them, but on big nights, she’d said, the headliners get their own room. ‘Alone time’ she’d said ‘To help calm us down, hah!’ it was a sour laugh when she’d said it, some cruel little joke for her, I suppose.
            It’d be right by the stage, I think…
    It took more searching than I’d thought. After I’d walked in on a waiter and waitress ‘predisposed’ in my second door, I started knocking. It’d still be a surprise, even if I didn’t just walk in. After the fourth door the inkling I’d had out in the plaza came back. She could just not be here. I hadn’t seen her for weeks. She’d never been gone this long. I’d really scotched it all up, hadn’t I? Maybe she’d even found a way out of Rapture; decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.
            Decided none of us were worth the trouble.
            She did seem to know how things would go before, and after she’d shown me her, what were they? Tears? Well I knew how she knew. How she moved around so fast. Maybe that’s how she got into my head at the start. Could you open a window into a person’s head?
            I knocked at another door before twisting the knob.

            Whatever thoughts I’d had before about her were gone. Inside, surrounded by dresses strewn here and there was Elizabeth, black curls delicately curved to just above her shoulders, her body wrapped in a backless white gown, a slit for the leg going scandalously close to her waist, and her face painted in confusion and shock. She glowed.
            Women could get tonics and plasmids, they could splice themselves up six ways to Sunday, and they wouldn’t get close to how she looked here. It’d been weeks since I’d seen her but it felt like years. Like half my life had drained away.
            Before she even said anything I walked in and kissed her.
            And that was all it took for the ice that froze her in place to be broken.
    God it felt good to see her again, smell her again. Touch her again. Her arms wrapped around my neck and mine about her waist. Her lips tasted like honey and her breath like mints.
            She still had ten minutes left, I figure. Even so she was the star, they’d stall for her. My hand slid up the slit in the gown, her skin was as supple as ever.

            I must have closed the door, because soon enough my back was against it. Her skin burned my hands, it felt so good and her kiss yearned for more. My hand slid along her back, under the gown, pushing down the zipper there, moving lower and lower as my hand at her leg moved higher. Elizabeth’s hands wandered over my own clothes, uncharacteristically pulling and clutching at them.
            All the other times we’d been apart, when she’d finally come calling we’d go through the same dance. She’d play just the right balance of coquettish and coy, but when push came to shove, as it were, well she’d let me make the pace. Elizabeth wasn’t a cold fish, to be sure. But she was never a bird that was this hungry. The gown was nearly coming off her shoulders now and she kissed at my cheek, at my neck, I pulled her closer felt her hand grab at my hair. I could feel her breath on my ear, and as she said my name my hands went numb again.
            This wasn’t right. Elizabeth didn’t have that many fingers on that hand…
            Elizabeth was… she wasn’t like that. The smell was wrong the… the feeling. My hands were cold.
            Kissing Elizabeth was like kissing an ashtray, but in a good way. Grenadine and cinnamon with a smokey flavor. And her voice, it was almost dusky enough, but not there…
            I pushed her away.
            Elizabeth’s face stared at me, confusion again covering it, “Booker what’s wrong?”
            I had no words. It was her, I could see her, and I could touch her.
    But it wasn’t. She tried to kiss me again but I held her away.
            Her eyes. I knew those eyes. And honey.
            “Abigail?“ the name tasted like ash, and once I’d said it, I knew it was her. She looked just like Elizabeth, but it was her.
            I expected tears, or a scream. Instead her face broke out in a grin, “Booker”
            I stared at her until I found the only words I could, “What happened?”
            “Do you like it?” she said waving her hair back and forth, “It’s what you like, right?”
            “What did you do?”
            “I did it for you, Booker” she tried to come close again, I slipped away.
            “You… you’re”
            “You didn’t like Abigail… But I’m Elizabeth now,” her smile never changed, I’d seen it on other people before. That man at the train station, Steinman.
            “Abigail yo-“
            “Do you like it?”
            “No!”
            The smile cracked, “But, I’m better now, aren’t I? Better than her. She was a whore. But now I’m not”
            “Abigail, you were fine you we-”
            “No I wasn’t!” the smile returned just was quickly as the outburst had happened. She grabbed at my hand and put it to her chest, “Let me show you how much better I am, Booker”
            I wrenched my hand away, “What did you do to her?”
             “To who?”
            “To Elizabeth”
            “Why should you care? I’m  Elizabeth now,” again she tried to pull me close and again I pulled away, through the grin could she even feel the tears running down her face? “Why do you love her and not me, Booker? Why?”
            My numb hands gripped at a phantom coin I’d never had the courage to look at, “I always did,” I said, “It’s my fault, Abby. Mine. I shouldn’t have done it all to you. I should have given it to you straight, it’s all m-“
            “No!” A tide had changed in her; whatever had buoyed her up to those heights brought her down. The smile was gone and in its place was something I couldn’t even describe. “It was always her, always her…” she panted and glared at me, I never even saw the fireball coming.
            I was blasted through the air, tearing the door from its hinges and sent careening into the hallway.
            I’d never been hit with a plasmid before. Not that close. I could barely breathe. She was standing over me then, horror and sadness and anger and love all mixed into something else, tears rolled down her cheeks. I gasped for breath as I stared into the blue oceans of her eyes. She hadn’t changed them.
            She ran.
    I couldn’t say why but she ran. She didn’t want me dead.
            Oh God Abigail, I’m sorry.

            Elizabeth ran. Her dress was nearly falling off of her but she didn’t care.
    Her eyes stung, she could barely see, but she pushed through crowds and ran all the same. Booker wasn’t supposed to show up. Not yet. She was supposed to come to him. She always did. She always had.
            The walls that she ran by blurred, even when she stopped they seemed to race past her. She crumbled down in a corner. It was like this when he first told her.
            It was just like before, when she’d get sick of herself for how she acted. She’d see women’s glances and glares, the judging looks in their eyes. She could never help it, it seemed right but then later sour guilt would filly her mouth and throat and she could nearly vomit.
            But Booker, he made those feelings go away. He smiled at her for who she was. He talked to her when no one else would, he didn’t care about how she was and it made her feel less worthless in those hopeless times.
            And then she was his girl. They’d have a tiff now and then, they’d make up. But it was never so bad as before. She was sure women still glared at her, but she had Booker. She didn’t feel like she was burning up inside anymore when she was happy, or drowning when she wasn’t. She felt normal. She wasn’t empty anymore.
            But she was.
            The moment he told her, that ‘separation’
            It was so hard; she had wanted to cry then, to fall into his arms. But he wasn’t there. Even if it was his fault, she wouldn’t care. She knew she’d find a way as sure as her to her as her heartbeat.
    No, it wasn’t his fault, it was her fault.
            Abigail pushed herself off of the wall, catching herself as she tipped towards it.
    It was her fault, but she’d taken care of her. She was her now, and Booker would love her again.
            But he loved her how she was. He’d told her.
            He’d never told her he loved her before…
            She didn’t want to hear that. She wasn’t good enough before, she was now. She wasn’t her before, so he left her, but he didn’t want to.
            No nononono no.
            It wasn’t her fault.
    It was her fault.

            The girl in the white dress clambered on, searching for an apartment she’d left not long ago. In her wake, scorched and sooty handprints spread across the walls she touched. Elizabeth was sure it was Abigail’s fault, so she’d find Abigail.
            She was exhausted by the time she got back to the apartment. It was just how she left it, everything so nicely in place, exactly how she liked it.
            In the center of the floor a small pool of blood slowly stained the floorboards, and nothing else. The pretty girl was gone.


    Dean Domino tapped his foot in the wings of the stage. He hated these prima donnas, thinking they could keep someone like HIM waiting like this.
            He was the greatest singer the United States had ever had, he’d sang at the Sierra Madre’s grand opening but here he was in Rapture playing second fiddle to some girl. She was going to have a record deal soon, they said. His agent assured him it wouldn’t even make a splash, but Dean felt his slice of ocean shrinking by the minute
            And not she was keeping him waiting.
            They were supposed to sing a duet, one of her own songs, everyone said, but she told him she learned it from someone else.
            “Mister Domino?”
            “What?”
            It was one of the stage hands, a rat faced little monkey, “It’s Miss Elizabeth she well…”
            “Come on, spit it out!”
            “She’s missing sir.”
            “What?!” Stood up! Stood up! Him!
            “The manager says you have to go on alone… the er… the restaurant is willing to pay your full show price… uhm…”
            “Get away from me, you little twat”
            The man scurried away. Dean wanted to giggle, to laugh, but there was something more important to do.
            He had a show to save, and a reputation to remind everyone of.
            Now what would be the perfect song?
            Oh yes...

    Max was none too accommodating when I tried to burst out of the backroom, asking his monosyllabic questions. I couldn’t think right. Abigail was Elizabeth, and for how long I couldn’t even tell.
    She’d done something too, I could feel it. I had to find her, I had to find Elizabeth. Abby. Whatever hopeful plan I had was unraveling before my eyes.

     ‘I'd know you anywhere, I'd know that grin
    I'd know you anywhere when you walked in
    I would tingle with a single glance in your eye’

    The crowd cheered as a man in a sharp suit with a pencil thin mustache took the stage singing a song I’d learn to hate.

    ‘Watching the starlight dance in your eye
    You saw my vacant stare, you understood
    I'd love you anywhere, honest I would’

    I shoved past Max, shouldering through the standing enraptured guests. Abigail couldn’t have gotten too far ahead. If I was her, I’d make sure I couldn’t find Elizabeth. Maybe she’d already had. I had to catch her.

    ‘I was certain this would happen, strange as it seems
    I'd know you anywhere from my dreams.’

    ----

    DAYDREAMING by Realmzjetter

            Light thundered into her head.
    She couldn’t remember being scared of lightning before, something told her she might now.
            That’s not important. Get your bearings.
            Who… who are you? A name. Name name name.
    Abigail? Annabell?
            No. No. Elizabeth. That’s right. Remember who you are. The girl from the tower.
    That’s not right. Writer… School teacher… Singer. That’s right singer.
            The part. Play the part. Don’t let it down. People will notice. People will ask questions. If anyone finds out…
            Why was she on the floor?
            As she propped herself up her hand slid on wet floorboards and her thoughts were once again crashed about.
    Why was the floor wet…
            She tried again, and looking down met with a pool of dark red.
            Oh God there’s blood. Am I bleeding?
    It stained her shirt, and skirt. She could feel it on her face and her hair. Slick and sticky. It felt like it would never come off.
            It was hard to think. What had happened? She felt her head, her skin was smooth and slick with blood, until she came to her temple. Ragged meat touched her fingers, and something hard, boney.
    And that’s when the pain came back.
            She clapped her hand to her head, barely catching herself as she nearly fell to the floor again. It throbbed and pulsed, her eye felt like it was going to explode.
            Oh God oh God. What happened? Oh God. There was… there was a light, and bang, a a a woman and. Oh God she’d been shot.
            Frantically her head whipped around. Was she still here? Abigail, that was it. She’d shot her. Crawling over to the table she looked around the room as best she could. Except for her, the apartment was empty. Abigail hadn’t even taken anything. Elizabeth needed to stop the bleeding, find a doctor. She was sure she felt her skull when she realized she’d been shot.
            Clutching at some hand towels she pulled the knot of cloth to her head. It didn’t help the pain but maybe it would stop whatever blood still oozed out of the wound.
            It wasn’t safe here… she had to leave, get away. A doctor, right. Find a doctor, think of what to do next. The doctor would be easy, the medical pavilion, plenty of doctors.
            She did her best; she concentrated on the thought of the hospital district. What it looked like, the gleaming white tile floors, doctors and nurses, rows of doors with patients behind them, beds for the sick and the weary. She felt so tired.
            The tear started to open, a small rush of air pulling her unsodden clothing forward to fill the gap in space, before it collapsed on itself, and Elizabeth nearly with it. The more she tried to think, to make the tear the more her head throbbed. She tried again and again and each time the image became fuzzy.
            It was like having a part of you ripped away. She could almost laugh. Like having your finger cut off. She’d always had the tears. Always.
            Elizabeth shook her head again, a small spray of blood raining around her. She’d feel better after the doctor. Just needed to find a doctor.
            Slowly she stumbled out of her apartment and into the young night.

            Her eye sight wobbled as she walked. She was sure she was going the right way.
    Abigail. She’d looked just like her. Elizabeth hadn’t seen her since… what, the fight in Pharaoh’s Fortune?
            She was rambling, talking about her using some plasmid on Booker. Booker, it was all about him for her. She’d latched on to him. She’d made everything about him. Abigail was sick.
            Elizabeth wrestled with an airlock door. It was so hard to move. Where was everyone? Why was no one helping her? Rapture’s streets were never so empty as they were now.
            She was supposed to be somewhere… the bar, restaurant. Kashmir. Her job. She was a singer. Had to remember.
            That could wait. Doctor, Medical Pavilion. Wrenching the metal wheel over finally unlocked the door and she stepped into the cooler water tube. Around her Rapture rose to the skies, or the surface, illuminated by the spot lights and neon signs. Between the buildings the life of the ocean swam about, whales and turtles, and a myriad of fish. It all really was breathtaking, but it was a poor callous over what she’d finally realized, thanks to Abigail.
            It wasn’t just her. All of Rapture was sick. It was the only answer she could see. The civil war was just another symptom of it. Frank Fontaine… she knew now he was just as much a monster as anyone else, maybe even more so than Ryan. And Atlas? In the end he’d probably be the same way, like Daisy before him. She was supposed to be so strong, helping the people that couldn’t help themselves. How did it end for her?
            She stopped, her hand sliding on the glass of the tube. Through the smear of blood she saw a Big Daddy propping up a support for another air locked cosway tube.
            What group of people would make the Little Sisters? Torture girls in such a way. There was small benevolence in giving them protectors, but does that count for anything after stealing their innocence? Would they even be able to grow up to regret it, to resent it like she had?
            How many good people were even left in Rapture?
    Her head throbbed and she pushed on. The next airlock was easier, but she still felt like all of her strength was needed to move it.
            She followed the streets and behind every corner, after every turn she knew she’d find a sign to the Pavilion. Every time she was met with another street, or another wall. She didn’t want to be here anymore.
    Elizabeth remembered seeing Rapture for the first time. It seemed the perfect place for them. The technology they had, it seemed like they’d solved the problems of society. But no, she’d found that they’d simply done what every other city had, and just covered them up.
            It was supposed to be like a dream for them. No one would know them here, no one would ask questions. She didn’t know about the poor before, she didn’t know about the war either, not until they were already here. Or the people. Some of the people were the worst. They should be recognized for what they’ve done, but they did nearly everything at the expense of others. If you were great you should help others. She’d always tried to help the people in Pauper’s Drop. She’d always play with Eleanor when she could, but she wasn’t around the last few times Elizabeth visited. Grace’s only answer to her questions were glares of contempt and curses.
            Even the good ones were going bad.
            Now Booker... If there was anyone in Rapture she’d like to save it was him. He didn’t believe it, he never believed it, but he was a good person. Abigail, in all of her problems, was proof of that. Who could believe in someone so much and think they’re bad?
            He’d be kind when he could. She remembered him taking her on a carousel, and the tunnel. There were times when he played songs for her; she remembered the look in his eyes when he gave her away. She stopped and dropped her head, it throbbed like mad.
            Some of those things she knew because she was there. Others she knew had happened, but not yet.
    It seemed more and more that the place they were defined their relationship more than what either of them might want. In truth she just wanted to be with him, it didn’t matter too much how. The embrace of a father, or something more, it just had to be him.
            Elizabeth dropped the knotted cloth, turned red from the blood. She was pretty sure she wasn’t bleeding anymore. She wasn’t woozy, just… just tired. Far harder than she meant to she fell against a wall, slowly sliding down it until she was sitting.
            She told herself she shouldn’t go to sleep. The hospital was close, she knew it. Just one more corner and she’d be there.
            But she was so tired.
            She’d just rest here for a second or two that would be fine.

            In the haze of her head she heard metal on metal, clicks and clacks. She tried to turn her head, but Elizabeth wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a memory.
            “Well look at this, a little bird flits about and winds up on my door step”
    It was a man…
            “Good Lord, look at you, let’s get you inside”
            Hands wrapped around her arms and lifted her up and took her weight. Still unsure, Elizabeth looked about, “Booker?”
            “If only, my dear, if only”
            Eddie carried Elizabeth over to his door. He didn’t know how she’d gotten to his home, but she was in a bad way for sure.

    ----

    WAIST DEEP IN THE RIVER by Realmzjetter

            Sooty hand prints and smeared scorches lead the way through the streets, meandering through alleyways and making straight shots through main streets. The trail was easy enough to follow, though it was hard to make sense of where Abigail was headed the further I got from Kashmir.
            People near the restaurant had more or less the same story. One woman in particular though…
    ‘Some crazy woman came out of nowhere and pushed us around! And look at what she did to my dress! It’s all burnt up. God damned splicer’s, can’t control their own plasmids’
            I’m not much of one for hitting women, but it was almost all I could to keep from decking the lady. Her man echoed the same sentiment but at least he had the sense to phrase it better, there was some pity in his voice.
            And if anything could describe Abby right now, it was pitiful. She wasn’t a splicer, not like it had come to mean. She was just confused… and I was to blame for that.
    The events in the dressing room ran through my mind as I followed her tracks through the airlocks and bulkheads connecting Kashmir and the upscale shops to the rest of Rapture. How long was Abby pretending to be Elizabeth? It made the most sense that she’d started when Elizabeth recently disappeared but I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe it was before that. You’d think a missing picky would be hard to miss, but I hadn’t even noticed it until the last moment. Maybe I’d become so used to how Elizabeth looked that I didn’t notice anything else.
            She did it all because she thought I didn’t care, that I threw her away for Elizabeth. I couldn’t say she was wrong, but maybe not entirely right.
            How do you explain something like this to someone? A woman that you’d have memories about without hardly ever meeting? None of it was right, but just like with Abigail, I also couldn’t say it was wrong either. I knew Elizabeth knew more than she’d said. The tears were important, it seemed she could control them, see through them, maybe even move through them. If I found her. When I found her, made sure she was safe, I was going to get the truth, sink or swim.
            Abigail was certainly sinking. Everyone had seen a woman in a white dress, mascara running down her face running from the restaurant, and if the walls were any indication she was having trouble with incinerate.
            Either she didn’t know where she was going, or she was doing her best to make sure anyone following her would get lost. In her state I doubted she’d be thinking that much about it. I had to find her before she got into any more trouble. I had the feeling that if I found her, I’d find Elizabeth close by.
            I patted the revolver at my hip. I’d kept it from that old house in the Junctions. I hated the thought, but when push came to shove I might not be able to help both of them.
            A sooty handprint covered an old poster for Cohen’s ‘ Patrick and Moira’ the newer poster with the two of them separated by a third, the bottom of the flier denoting it as a ‘Tale of Lovers’ was burned and scorched. Beyond the corner was an open door, a few more hand prints were set along the wall, and on the door frame.
            The apartment was furnished rather lavishly, or it would be if the place hadn’t been wrecked. I couldn’t see any photos or frames in the apartment, but my gut told me this was Elizabeth’s little hide away.  The table was overturned, and lamps toppled over cushions thrown off of chairs and the chairs kicked aside. In the center of it all a dark and smeared out pool of blood congealed and stained the floor, and close by a small trail of blood hobbled around the room to the doorway.
            Someone was wandering the streets of Rapture, and was bleeding all the way.


            Abigail stared at the room, exactly how she’d left it, save for the older girl lying on the floor. She was gone, the pool of blood she’d left her in smeared over the floor, and slipped around the floor. Droplets drifted along the floor to the table and onto it. Blood stained the table and a blood print sat where a roll of cloth had been.
            And the girl was gone.
    She’d shot her, she had to be dead. Was there a plasmid that could revive you like that? A tonic? She’d done something to Booker, someone that could do that, they wouldn’t think twice about doing it to herself. She stole him, made him not love her anymore.
            But he’d said he still did. That he’d liked her how she was. She’d looked in his eyes. Booker never said how he felt. He was sad when he told her he was sorry, that he’d loved her. Maybe she’d done what she did for no reason…
            Abigail wretched, but nothing came out. As she huffed and gagged at the floor she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. She dry heaved again as the thought hit her again. She gripped the side of the table, at the hand print there. Delicate fingers stared at her, HER hand. Abigail placed her own hand over it, wood scorched and crackled, and her nose filled with a mingling scents of bubbling blood and cooking timber.
            No. No no. It was the right thing to do, it had to have been.
    She shoved the table away, toppling it over. It was right. Elizabeth wasn’t supposed to be his girl. She knew that. She kicked the chairs away, screamed and threw them against the wall, her breath escaping in pants and returning in gasps. But she was his girl. She glared at the blood on the floor.
    Booker’d left her for the older girl, but she was Elizabeth now. It was just like before, she had to make sure she was the only one. Whatever she’d done to Booker would be gone when she was. Abigail smiled again.
            Booker came to her, not Elizabeth, her. She’d help fix Booker. She could fix everything.
    She stepped out of the apartment. She felt hot. Like her insides were burning. She felt good, like just after sleeping with Booker. She’d have him back; she wouldn’t have to deal with those men that looked at her like she was meat. Soon she’d only have Booker looking at her.

            Rock stared at the photo and Elizabeth stared back. It wasn’t Booker’s girl. It was his.
    She’d played him. Teased him along. Invited him to dinners. Everything but sealing the deal. She’d gotten him to drop most of his other jobs. He’d lost leads on good money. For the last few weeks he’d been living on the money Booker’d given him for the Patton’s job, but that’d dried up soon enough.
            He’d even had to sell his camera. He didn’t much care at the time but now? Work wasn’t going so well. People were staying close to home and less people had money to go around.
            He was going to lose his place soon, he knew it. The thought of having to scrap it on the streets again sent a dark thread wandering through Flannigan’s mind. Maybe the girl was Booker’s. Maybe she was working with him. Maybe he’d tried to muscle him out.
            He thumbed the hammer to his pistol and stared at the girl he knew as Elizabeth.

    ----

    A FATHER'S TALE by Realmzjetter

            The lights of Rapture showed that life flourished amongst the crags and rocks of the sea floor, gave testament to the ‘great chain’ that Andrew Ryan so earnestly believed in. That a man could do anything if he set his mind to it, and had no one to censer him, to hold him back.
            But even if its halls flooded, its lights dimmed and all it was that Ryan worked so hard and spent so much for died, life wouldn’t leave the undersea metropolis. One only had to look up to see that the sea was already filled with more life than could ever be supported by Ryan’s city. Fish would swarm the spires of Rapture’s buildings. Dolphins would play amongst its air locked cosways, bobbing and weaving between the tubes. Sharks would hunt amongst the trash and detritus of the great valleys between the cities districts. Crabs, lobsters, eels, and rays would turn the streets and homes of the city into a new undersea paradise, unfit for people.
            All of these things were lost on the Big Daddy as it sent rivet after rivet into the warped steel and iron before it. A bulkhead had become loose, and with its Little Sister back at the facility the Big Daddy was sent out to fix the outer shell of Rapture’s main non-airlock passageway from Apollo Square leading to Hestia and the major entrance to the lower reaches of Rapture.
            That isn’t to say that the Big Daddy was stupid. It was far smarter than the citizens of Rapture believed, or the men and women of Ryan’s labs had given it credit for. It simply became…. Confused, if it tried to remember certain things.
            This particular Big Daddy, if it concentrated as hard as it could, and didn’t have to do anything for about an hour, could remember the smiling face of a little girl named Mavis. She’d had a pretty smile, it’d remember. The more it tried to remember the less distinct the face became.
            Unknown to the Big Daddy, the conditioning placed upon them to link them to their Little Sister’s latched on to memories of loved ones and twisted them into thoughts of the little sisters they would protect. This same conditioning would make it harder and harder for the subjects to remember things from before the conditioning had taken place.
            Now that the Big Daddy thought about it, it should return to the facility, surely its Little Sister was ready to go back out and about.
            Previous incarnations, the first batches of Alpha Series Units to try and be bonded with little sisters had attempted to kill the children, or beat themselves to death. The doctors had attempted to try and find why, but to no luck. In truth, the subjects found it difficult to deal with the loss of these things that fundamentally made them who and what they were. As the conditioning improved, fewer and fewer subjects died but even now the survival rate of subjects was still only two out of three. Ryan was pushing his scientists for better and better results. The Big Daddies, he reasoned, could be a powerful force against Atlas and his parasites.
            These things didn’t concern the Big Daddy either, though it had begun to wonder about one of the side effects of its surgeries and conditioning. Subjects would begin to lose any concept of time. This wasn’t much of a reason for anyone to worry, given the menial jobs Big Daddies did most of the time. But an idea of how many hours it worked would have allowed it to understand the images it saw through the glass.
            A man stumbled past the glass, a bottle in his hand. He collapsed against the glass and stared at the Big Daddy. Later it’d seen the same man with a woman, shorter than him, with short brown hair. They laughed and the Big Daddy was reminded of Mavis. It saw another woman, older with black hair, and then later she and the man were together, kissing.
            Now the woman was returning, but she wasn’t nearly as on top of things as she was the first time. She clutched at her head and nearly fell over twice in the few steps that the Big Daddy watched. It would follow the woman until she stepped into an airlock; through the door it watched the girl drop something. The woman passed by again, from the same direction she had come before. But this time she wasn’t wearing the white and black and red as before. It was a dress, and she glared at the ground and the red on the glass.
    In a faint corner in the Big Daddy’s mind it wondered if these people knew how damaged the metal and glass was in this area. They wouldn’t keep walking through if they had.
            The man came again. It was strange to see him alone, after all the times seeing him with the woman before.
            The Big Daddy wondered if it should head back and pick up Mavis. The Little Sister must be worried by now.
            The Big Daddy had seen other people too. It remembered a bald man leading groups of people through the street. They all had these things… guns. They all had guns, and they yelled and cheered and shoved the weapons into the air and into the hands of anyone that joined them. The Big Daddy was sure it’d seen the man before. A long time ago… before the… before he…
            Women had walked by as well, pushing carriages and holding books.
    Three other women walked by as well. The black haired woman was with them.
            It remembered the men coming back, there wasn’t nearly as many as had gone through the first time, the bald man wasn’t with them. Some of them shot some bullets at it, but the glass merely cracked. It was far too thick for such small thing as bullets to break it. The Big Daddy wondered if these people wanted to die. More and more people did that. The kicked at the glass, some of the stranger ones would throw fire at him, or lightning. It never remembered anyone doing such things when it walked around with its Little Sister. If they had it would have nailed them to a wall.
            It watched as another group of men went by, carrying guns, and following another man. He looked familiar to the Big Daddy, but it didn’t know how. It had never seen him before.
            A man who was once known as Ronald Gartlet might have recognized the man, but not likely. There weren’t many people who’d known the man before he came to Rapture but Ron ‘Garter’ Gartlet was one of them. He’d followed ‘Frank Fontaine’ down to Rapture. He’d started up the fishery with the man. One day he’d been caught with a crate of Bibles, delivering them to that father down in the slums. The Police had said something about ‘the dick being right’ the next few weeks he’d seen no one, and had metal walls for company.
            That was until the men in white coats came and took him away. In those times he’d wished he’d been back in his little cell. He’s told them what he knew. About Fontaine’s operation, about the smuggling. About the girls he’d taken. And the little smile he’d see in his sleep. The doctor had only grinned at him.
            ‘Who do you think Suchong works for, Mistah Garter?’
            For some time, he’d walked with his Mavis. It had followed her wherever she went, following angels. Then she had to go back to the school, so he worked on the city.
    It saw another Big Daddy with a Little Sister walk by, and it thought of Mavis. It wondered if it missed her smile. In a little part of its mind it was sure it did.
            The Big Daddy looked up at the fish and whales and dolphins and jelly fish that swarmed the city’s buildings. A bathysphere floated past a few dozen feet above. A normal person might have been filled with awe at the raw nature around them, the thought that the pressure of the water could kill them in fractions of a second.
            Or they might have looked at the world and seen it as something to be conquered, something to be tamed, its will bent and broken, its riches plundered.
            The Big Daddy looked at the world of water that surrounded it, and the vision of it all washed through it, like water through a sieve. Nothing left behind and nothing altered.
            It punched another rivet into the metal and watched the man as he came closer. He looked at the blood on the glass, and then at the Big Daddy itself. The man looked more the worse for wear. Worse than the Big Daddy had ever seen him even when he held the bottle. The man knocked on the glass and smirked.
            It had certainly been a strange day.
    At least that’s what the Big Daddy would have thought if it had a concept of an inner monologue anymore. Now it was just another thing slowly peeled down and beaten into a corner of its mind.
            The man-without-the-bottle’s smile ran away and he turned away from the glass. He walked slowly to the airlock, still open after the woman walked through it twice before. He was following the red drops and smears along the floor and glass and walls. Inside the tube he picked up what the woman had dropped the first time. He stopped there for a while before turning around again.
            The Big Daddy didn’t understand things like holidays. All it knew was that there weren’t many people out right now. It would have liked to know that it was Christmas, if it could remember such a thing. There was no one to throw things at it.
            The man came back through the tube, the thing in his hand, that the woman had dropped, was blood blackened. That was a color the Big Daddy knew. It had defended Mavis a number of times from men and women that tried to take her. The man shoved the thing into a trouser pocket and sat at the bench by the glass, his head in his hands. It seemed to the Big Daddy that he was looking for something, and hadn’t found it.
            Next to the man was a bundle of papers. Month ago the Big Daddy would have known it was a news paper. It also would have known exactly what the headline meant. ‘Kashmir Star Loses Mind’ and the sub header ‘Blazes through the streets’ the man grabbed the bundle and read through it. After a moment it threw the papers away.
            It was clearly not a good holiday for the man.
            All these things happened over the span of minutes, to the big Daddy, but seemed to take hours for it all to happen. It would have liked to think more about these things, but the more it tried, the more its head hurt. Or at least it thought it hurt. Pain was another thing that seemed to have gone away. IT got confused and looked back at the rivets. Rust covered the metal plates, the Big Daddy put its gun against the metal and rammed a rivet home.
            The little people were lucky it was here. Rapture would be falling apart if it wasn’t for its rivets.

----

Rapture Noir: Intertwined (By Daily Reminder)
http://pastebin.com/zEFznY3L

----

It Hurts at First by Realmzjetter

        Elizabeth’s trail had run cold almost as quickly as I’d found it. The blood trail, the cloth. The dead end in the airlock. Whatever was bleeding must have started to clot. I suppose it was a blessing but I was cursing it all the same. Without the trail I had nothing. Where was she going? The Pavilion wasn’t anywhere near Hestia and that sure as hell would be where I’d head if I was bleeding out.
        Oh hell, I wasn’t even sure if the trail was Elizabeth, it could have been Abigail, or just some squatter or someone else I’d never heard of.
        So I’d come back home. Christmas had come and gone and the dawn of December 26th was just as murky as the days before.
        I dreamed of both of them last night. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d dreamed of Abby, and it wasn’t the usual kind of dream that swamped my mind when I dreamed about Elizabeth.
        They simply went around, doing their chores, their errands. Abby looked like she did before, and Elizabeth looked strange too, the same hair cut and color as Abigail. It looked nice. The further I went into the waking world the harder it was to remember the dream. I thought they met each other at one point, like old friends.
        No info on Abby, and even less on Elizabeth and too much damn city to cover for one man. Going it alone might not be the best idea. Security forces wouldn’t be helping me now; they still looked at me with the arrest in their eyes. Everyone was sure I was working for the other side. Seemed no one was on my side.
        Well, maybe one person. No telling how he’d feel after our last few meetings, I did put him into a wall and stood against a shouting match the last two times.
        Burnt up coat was gone, but the hat was still fine. I shoved the thing on my head and yanked open the door.
        And then the phone rings.

        Abigail’s eyes glanced warily at the people around her. Back in Olympus Heights, she shouldn’t look too out of place. She hadn’t had the chance to change but even disheveled as she was, she was still more in place amongst this society rather than in Apollo Square or in Mason’s.
        And a place like Hestia was out of the question. She could practically feel the eyes on her, watching her, undressing her. Hestia would be better off underwater.
        She needed help. She wasn’t a detective. She wasn’t even a particularly good reporter. She’d wandered around Rapture looking for her since she left the apartment. She didn’t even remember sleeping. She’d gone to the hospital, and to any friends of Booker’s she could remember meeting. Nothing came up. The police nearly threw her out when she asked questions. Sometimes she forgot who she was and sometimes she forgot who she was trying to be.
        She lifted the receiver for the phone. Rock hadn’t answered a few days ago. Maybe he would now. She punched in the numbers and waited for the ringing to stop.
        “Hello?” Rock voice creaked like a mountain.
        She could see the look in his eyes as he stared at her.
        “Rock? I-it’s Elizabeth. S-something… something happened,” she did her best to keep the wavering in her voice. It wasn’t all an act. She’d thought about what she’d done before and tried to vomit again and again nothing came. But she wasn’t hungry, she had something to do and that fire burned in her well enough.
        “Do you want me to come and get you?” he waited a while to say that.
        “N-no.. Can… can I come to your place?”
Another lull, “Of course”

        Eddie hadn’t said much, ‘Booker, it’s Eddie. Elizabeth is here and she’s… she’s not doing very good. You should get over here’
        Even after I thanked him and said good bye and he hung up I still stood there, phone in my hand. My knuckles must have turned white; I was squeezing it so hard.
        Hestia was just on the other side of Apollo, maybe twenty minutes walk away. Could probably make it in fifteen if I hurried, ten if I ran.
        Hat one head, old waistcoat on shoulders.
        Had I ever introduced Abigail to Eddie? Did she even know him?
        Pistol on my hip.
Outside my door, I started to run.

        Eddie stepped back through the door, he smiled at Elizabeth. And she knew, after a day of phone calls Booker had finally picked up.
        Her head still throbbed, but the knowledge that Booker knew she was alright, that he was coming for her seemed to lessen the pain. She leaned back against the sofa. It was a lunging chair. She remembered laying on one once; she’d made Booker blush when she languished.
        She didn’t like it like this. Making Booker come to the rescue. Well, part of her liked it. But still, she shouldn’t have to have him come after her.
But she wasn’t so prideful as to try to leave and find him on her own again. Eddie had had to pick her back up and take her back to bed. She’d only gotten four steps out the door.
        But Booker knew she was alright.
        “Eddie?”
        “Yes, my dear?”
        “Why do you collect all of this? “  She said, waving at the paintings still standing, the suit of armor in the corner, the marble busts, the metal sculptures, and all manner of packaged artifacts.
He gave a chuckle, “We-ell, people should remember where they come from,” he picked up a stone head, all mouth and angry eyes, “Nothing that’s been done should be forgotten”
        Elizabeth looked around, amongst the art of the world surrounding her were less cereberal things. A few swords, a rifle with bayonet hung to the wall. Eddie said he was packing things away, usually his apartment was even more filled with his collection, he’d said. He’d been thinking about it since Fontaine's Riot. He could read the winds well enough. He was going to move but he couldn’t leave his collection behind.
        Elizabeth wanted to make sure the man would be alright. She closed her eyes and just as the mirrors of her mind began to come out of the haze, her head throbbed and they cracked. Elizabeth leaned back and sighed. Her brains had certainly been scrambled.
        “You keep doing that, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “Do you want some water? Why do you keep doing that? Closing your eyes and sighing I mean. It seems to pain you so.”
        “Just… just thinking”
        He handed her another glass of water, and some more pills, “Here, drink that up.”
She took the pills and downed the water.
        Elizabeth had done a lot, seen even more. She was always a little amazed at people like Eddie. He did everything he could to remember everything everyone else did. She had no relics for her life, nothing that said she had been there, she’d done this, she’d learned that. Nothing but Booker, but did any of it really happen if he didn’t remember it? Sometimes with things she’d remember, things that didn’t happen yet, or things that had, but not to her… when she was alone at night sometimes she wondered if she imagined it or not. If things changed when you measured them, did they even exist if you didn’t?
        She was about to ask Eddie more about the works around his home, when a knock came to the door and her voice caught in her throat. After another round of knocking a voice rang out through the apartment, a voice she’d know anywhere, “Eddie! It’s Booker open up! Eddie!”
        Eddie caught her as she tried to get up from the sofa. Too fast, she figured. Her head was still doing a number on her. Once she was stead on her feet, she felt better, “Hold on, girl. Stay here, I’ll get the door.”
        Eddie left her there, leaning against the wall, a bust of some Caesar to keep her company. She could hear the door opening. Gripping the busts pedestal she stepped out of the room and into the small hallway the lead off of Eddie’s main room. A few more tantalizing steps, walking past paintings of nature, one, a small white house overlooking a river. There was a priest standing in it. Elizabeth could barely look at it.
        She entered the room just as Booker did.
Elizabeth had read about moments like this in some of her books. Eyes across a crowded room. And Eddie's home was crowded. At first she’d felt cold, but when Booker came closer, maybe it was like with knowing he was coming. I felt better then.

        She was leaning against the wall like her life depended on it. She looked exactly like Elizabeth, except for one thing.
        The side of her face, from her eye back to just before her ear. A small groove cut into the skin, red and glowing and painful to look at. Sad sky lit globes looked back out at me.
        But Abigail had looked like Elizabeth before.
Maybe she could read my mind, or maybe she understood my hesitation. Her hand reached out and took mine, sliding her fingers between mine, all except her pinky, it ended at the first knuckle, and a thimble sat atop it. A little bit of gold, with those French flowers all over it.
        Even then I was scared that I might have hurt her when I pulled her from that wall. She’d been gone for more than a month; I’d thought she was dead. But here she was. She still had a smell of blood, but the smoke was there, the cinnamon, the faint smells of grenadine.
        Eddie you’re an angel. A saint. I owe you ten Cameron Suits after this. Twenty. As many as you want.
        “Booker, it’s Abigail she-“
        “I know… I know…”
        We said our Goodbyes to Eddie and headed out. My arm around Elizabeth, just as much to help her as to make sure she was really her. The last thing I wanted to do was send her away but Elizabeth needed Looking after. Eddie couldn’t help her with her head.
        “I’m headed for Rock’s, Elizabeth. He should help me find Abigail. But first, let’s get you to the Pavilion,” I don’t even know if she really heard me, she just gave a vague agreement. A few steps further Elizabeth tried to pull away from me, to stop.
        “Elizabeth what are y-“
        “No.. No Booker,” she said. Her voice seemed so much smaller than before, she was tired, and every now and then she would wince.
        “Elizabeth, you’re in no condition to-“
        “No!” She pulled away and wobbled before catching herself, “This is my fault, I’m… I’m going with you.”
        “How is it your fault? Elizabeth, we have to get your head looked at,” she just stared at me with defiant sad eyes. I shook my head “Aarh, damn it girl…”

        The fastest way to Pauper’s Drop from Eddies was a bathysphere, but more and more Ryan was shutting down their stations. I didn’t even know if the single one in Pauper’s was even working. Keeping the people down in the slums there would be right up Ryan’s alley. The station was the closest and fastest after that. I’d paid our way and now we waited as the tram rambled its way through the water.
        Rock would be a great help in finding Abigail, though it would be a hell of a thing to explain what was going on to him. He had sources that wouldn’t talk to me, people that no one really noticed, and people that certainly wouldn’t talk to me. But there was something that’d be faster. I didn’t even want her to be doing this but now that she was here…
        “Elizabeth?”
        “Hm?”
        “Could you find Abigail?”
        “What?”
        “I know you can do it. Just like in Pharaoh’s Fortune or at the Satyr.” She’d never told me how she did it, but at times she seemed to know exactly where people were, where they were going.
        “I… I could try…” I watched her baby blues close, and she sat there calmly, almost like she’d fallen asleep. That is until her eyes knotted up and she dipped forward, a sharp gasp stabbing through the air.
        “Elizabeth!”
        “No no, it’s fine” she said through her panting, gently pushing my hands away, “I can. I think I can do it…” she closed her eyes again, screwed them up and dipped her head. I could almost hear her chanting something.
        She’d stopped after she’d completely fallen forward. A thin line of blood trickled down to her lips, coloring them. A small drop stained the shirt Eddie had given her.
        “Jesus Elizabeth”
        “I’m sorry, Booker”
I put my arm around her shoulder and held her close, “It’s okay, it’s okay”

        It was surprising how much better Elizabeth was doing, even with what happened on the train. Walking better already, barely needed me to hold her.
I still had my arm around her though.
        The people of the Drop were always a little askew for my tastes. Their taste in art especially. More and more walls were covered with graffiti; from things like ‘Down with Ryan’ to ‘The Family loves you’ I’d seen some of the later before, but now it seemed to be everywhere. Mentions of whatever this Family was were everywhere, like they’d ward off danger. In my experience words could do a lot, but if someone was in a fighting mood, you ought to be ready to receive them in kind. The war that Elizabeth told me about, it would burn these people down to cinders if it ever came down here.
        There wasn’t anyone in the Fishbowl, looked like no one had been in a while. Rock’s place was just on the other side of the square.
        We hadn’t seen anyone our entire time here, though the doors and windows closing betrayed the people that lived here. Not a single soul, until we’d rounded the diner.
        A woman in white. She must’ve heard us, and when she turned I was staring right back into Elizabeth’s face.
        “Abby!”
        She bolted the moment I opened my mouth, right into Rock’s place.
        “Damn. Elizabeth stay here” I helped her over to a bench on the back side of the diner. Abby’d saved me the trouble of having to find her. Rock and I could handle her I’m sure. Just had to make sure Rock knew the score.
        But it seemed like Rock knew a bit more about things than I did. Or at least a different story. By the time I’d gotten into his office Abby was already there, and he had a gun on her.
        “Rock what the hell are you doing?!”
The pistol swung over to me, and I got a look at Rock’s face. Stone set and unyielding. The man had something in mind, and had no intention of being led astray, “Oh it’s you DeWitt. Come to get her back, have you?”
        Abigail turned to me, “Booker, I-“
        “Shut up whore!”
Rock’d never used language like that before. Sure he’d joked about loose women before, but I’d never heard him said something close to that.
        “Rock what’s going on, what’re you d-“
        “You shut up too, you damn bastard”
        “Rock just-“
The gun waved from me to Abby and back again, “Both of you. Running me around, taking my jobs. No wonder there’s no more work down here. You came down here to grab it all for yourself. Gonna run me onto the street. That’s what..” Rocks desk was covered with bottles, damn fool, “ You,” the gun came my way, “Buddy me up, get me to send some stuff your way, then you”  the gun swung towards Abby, all the steel that Elizabeth had lost seemed to be in her, she stared Rock down, “You give me the run around, muzzy up my head. I… I thought you were…”
        “You were a stupid man”
        “Shut up!”
        “Abby, stop yo-“
        “You too Booker!”
        It made some sense now… Rock’s girl, his fit when I showed him the picture of Elizabeth. It was Abby. She was fixing him up the whole time.
        “Why’d he call you Abby?”
        “It’s her name, Rock”
        “No it isn’t”
        “Abby, Rock, what the hell happened?”
        “She made me lose everything Booker. Everything. Lost my jobs, going to lose my place. I even had to sell my God-damned camera! All because of you and your girl”
        “Rock it’s not”
        “There’s no one coming out anymore, Booker! Everyone shuts themselves up! I can’t get any damn work down here, and you know they don’t talk to me up top. I’m ruined, Booker. You ruined me.”
        “I didn’t do, shit, Rock”
        “Like hell”
        “Booker?”
It was a stupid mistake. In a standoff, a man with murder and hate in his eyes and I look away? But I couldn’t help it. Elizabeth’s voice rang out behind me and all I could do was turn to look at her. She was up against the door frame, holding herself there. I watched her eyes go wide as she figured out what was happening.
        “Christ there’s two of them!”
And then the door frame exploded and Elizabeth screamed.
        “I didn’t even look to see if she was alright. The revolver was in my hand as I saw Abigail had her own gun. Of course, she’d shot Elizabeth. She raised it up and fired, a flash from her hand was answered by a small plum of red from Rocks shoulder, but the gun was in the other hand. She fired again and again, before Rock had turned to her. I was moving so slowly, everything was. I could see the bullets leap from Abigail’s gun, and watched as Rock sent his own towards her.
        I saw his finger pull back on the trigger, and I let loose with my own. Too slow. Too damn slow. Rock spun around, a hole in his chest. Abigail lay on the ground.

        It was over by the time she’d looked back, the thundering bangs of the gunshots dying out far faster than she’d ever thought. She’d crouched down when the doorframe exploded, and getting up was more difficult than she’d liked. The large man, Rock, was nowhere to be seen, but Booker was crouched over the ground. Crouched over the woman in white. The girl. Abigail. The lights of the apartment shown crimson over his face there was so much blood.
        She got closer, hobbling as she went. Booker was saying something to her, to Abigail. Elizabeth could just make it out.
        “Abby, Abby I’m here.”
        He smoothed out her hair. His voice didn’t waiver, it didn’t crack. Booker was always pretty good about keeping a level head. Except when he got angry.
        Abigail coughed and Booker got a spray of blood. She’d been shot in the stomach. The dress, Elizabeth realized, it was her dress. Red now, not white.
        “It hurts Booker…”
        “I know… it’ll be alright. You’ll be alright,” he lied. Elizabeth wasn’t a doctor but she knew where some bad places to be shot were. Stomachs were bad, blood got into places it shouldn’t be and all manner of other things got into places they shouldn’t be. She needed a doctor. The Pavilion was on the other side of Rapture.
        I’m sorry Abigail.
        “I’m sorry Booker”
        “Don’t, Abby.”
        “You were just always so nice to me…”
        “No I wasn’t”
        “I…I did.. I’m sorry,” she coughed again, gasping. Elizabeth closed her eyes. She shouldn’t be listening to this. This wasn’t for her, “Booker, I love you…”
She shouldn’t be listening to this. This wasn’t for her.
        “Abby… me too”
In all the time, she’d only heard Booker say the words a handful of times. It had never crossed her mind that he would ever say it to someone else.
        She knew Booker loved her. Sometimes lifetimes of memories told her he loved her, and in more and difficult to understand ways than she’d have time for. He’d always love her.
        But he also loved Abigail. And she didn’t need memories of times long past. Half remember dreams and feelings he couldn’t explain. Abigail may have never had a chance, not against what Elizabeth had found. But still Booker loved her. And Abigail did that all on her own.
        Maybe she was jealous of her.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. From the sound of Abigail’s gasps it might not be long now. It shouldn’t be that quickly for a stomach shot, maybe the bullet had bounced, maybe it got into her lung too.
        She wondered if there were other Raptures. One where she didn’t arrive, one where the people took a different turn, where Ryan listened to the smaller people. Maybe even on where Abigail and Booker were together.
        The gasping stopped, and Booker stopped talking.
        Elizabeth hoped there was another Rapture. A better Rapture.

----
But it Gets Better by Realmzjetter

        Elizabeth opened her eyes, a few drops of blood glowed at her from her hands, and a few more over her shirt. Booker was standing up, walking over to her. His green eyes might as well have been black. He took her hand, and pulled her away from Rock Flannigan’s office. Abigail’s eyes were closed.

        Abigail’s eyes opened. She wasn’t in that booze ridden smoke stinking office anymore.
Well not the same one anyway. It was Booker’s office, his apartment. But things were different. The bed was larger… usually you could barely fit two people on the thing, but she had plenty of room. Booker’s desk was moved to the side, a table sat in the center of the room, chairs surrounded it.
        Booker looked down at her.
        “Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said with a grin.
Was that right?
        “Momma!” a girl jumped onto the bed and hugged her. A lively one, all brown locks and blue eyes.
        “Anna let your mother get up first; she had a long night at work”
She looked down bashfully, “Sorry Daddy”
        Booker lifted the girl up. They made a nice sight together.
        “Come on and get up, Abby. We’ve got that New Year’s Day lunch today at your paper. We're going to be late as it is.”

----

RAPTURE NOIR: On the Rocks (By Lewdist)
http://pastebin.com/eYdSKF2a

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RAPTURE NOIR: Dissonance (By Lewdist)
http://pastebin.com/trJjLk8M

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RAPTURE NOIR: White Light (By Daily Reminder)
http://pastebin.com/tkX6P5Gs

----

ALL THE MONSTERS IN MY HEAD ARE ME by Realmzjetter

        Remember

        Katherine pointed up at the stars, “Remember what that one’s called?”
I followed her finger to a collection of stars, three of which lined up, a small blur of stars below it.
        “I don’t know Kathy”
        “Come on Booker, What is it?”
        “I don’t know, The Big Dipper?”
I clutched my head, Kathy could hit like a bear when she was annoyed.
        “It’s Orion, Booker, The Hunter.” She huffed and sat up, “Missus Elisabeth is going to be cross with you if you don’t study.” She crossed her arms, bundling herself up as a cold wind blew over the hill.
        Why were we even learning about the stars? It’s not like it was important, our teacher was just crazy.
        The stars sparked and shone over us. Little worlds that seemed so far away and yet so close, I almost felt like I could reach out and touch them, a little fizzing point of light stuck to my finger.
        “She won’t be cross,” I said, looking over at Kathy.
 Kathy was crazy too, but in a good way. Maybe that’s why I spent so much time with her. She always kept her long hair pulled into a loose pony tail, and when she smiled her freckles lined up in such a cute way.
        I sat up as well, wrapping my arms around myself and shivered a bit. Kathy’s coat was newer than mine. Dad and mom kept on fighting about not being able to afford things, so I’d been keeping the same coat for the past five years. It was too small and the holes were getting bigger.
        Kathy looked even cuter in the half light of the moon, rosy cheeked and in her large coat.
        I wanted to kiss her, so I did.

        You never really realize just how hot the sun could be on the sea. It blazed overhead as the ship rolled from side to side on our crossing to France.
        We were lucky. The first boys across had a hell of a time on the beaches. We’d be putting in to Calais, spending a few days there and then marching down to the front lines headed for Paris.
        I watched the shining white of Dover’s cliffs fade and fall below the horizon, and the low slopes of the French coast rising up from the south. The water had a green sheen, waves shining and undulating over the surface. It seemed more like I was riding over an ocean of grass, a great plain rather than water. Riding off to war. It seemed wrong to be doing it on my own two legs.
        When I was younger I always played Cowboys and Indians, read Red Ryder all the time. I supposed I always thought I’d be on a horse if I ever went off to fight. I pulled out my pistol.
        I always thought it’d be a six shooter.
I put the thing away and went back inside.
        Delmar, Jacky, Marv, Frank, John, and Sergeant Andy looked up as I stepped back inside.
I’d only known the few other men for a short time. None of us really knew each other, at least I didn’t. It’d taken me twice as long to get through training. ‘Lack is discipline’ they said. I just never wanted to be in the army, they made me join up.
        When they shipped us all off in those busses something itched in me. I knew I wouldn’t see Sandie again. That didn’t stop me from writing. I sent the letters home to my parents. I’d asked them to give them to Sandie. God I loved her, she was just the girl I knew I’d always love. Her hair, her eyes. Hah, she’d even had freckles, at 20!
        These men that I’d be fighting with, fighting for. It was strange to not feel anything about them. I wondered if that would change when we reached France. I’d always been one to get in fights, but well… guns were a different thing weren’t they?
        The training… I’d been good at the rifle and pistol ranges, it was the taking orders, that was the hard part. I wasn’t even sure if I could really do it, shoot at a man, end his life. I mentioned it to the sergeant, and he’d laid into me, well I shouted back and I got held back again.
        One of the guys, Gray, he’d said I should be a sergeant with how I acted.
        I just wanted to go home, see Sandie again.

        I groaned into the girl’s neck. She smelled like cherries. Does Paris even have cherries nearby? I could hear her moaning something in French. The boys never taught me anymore than ‘what I’d need.’ I didn’t even know what I’d said, but the girl, Rosa? Or was it Lulu? Well she’d taken her clothes off anyway and we were at the races.
        She seemed to know what she was doing, because I sure as hell didn’t. She had sweet pale skin, red hair in a bun that hung loose around her head and freckles on her shoulders, thin in the hips but she had some nice legs and she wrapped them around me.
        Near the end, she’d turned us over, sat on top of me. Kissed me and bounced on me. I didn’t have much of a choice in how things would end.
        Maybe she wanted a child. A baby that she could say “And his father helped save us all”
        I hadn’t even fired a gun in Europe yet.
The next morning we were shouted out of bed. We were supposed to stay in Paris for the next week, but plans change, we were heading out west right now to relive some troops. The boys asked me how it was but I kept mum on the girl.
        As the trucks drove off I looked for her, knowing I wouldn’t see her. Hah, maybe when I came back in a few months I’ll have a baby on the way.

        We’d been at the front for almost two years. I’d killed my first man almost a month after we’d arrived. Andy’d been shot and I’d been made acting Sergeant.
        It was snowing. White, grey black flakes wafted over the field was I meandered across. Pill boxes dotted the landscape, grey blocks of cement rising out of the dirt. Most of them were blackened, some blown open.
        The air had the acid stink of petroleum with a suffocating mixture of burnt wood scorched flesh and gunpowder. It’d been a hell of a fight. I could still see the men getting cut down by the fire from the pill boxes. We’d been held down until someone was able to get a grenade out, then the charge and more men dying.
        It was like that all the way to the tree line, as the line moved up, men with throwers made sure the pill boxes were empty, and if they weren’t that they were filled with screaming. Now most of the men had moved on. My squad had been given the ever so noble duty of checking for anyone left alive.
        It was like a dream, like when you just wake up and you’re not sure if you’re still asleep of not. Men lay on the ground, I stepped over one that was cut almost nearly in half, but most of them were whole. Most but not all. More and more you couldn’t even see the colors of their uniforms they were so covered in ash. Germans, Americans, English and everyone else laid out, brothers in grey uniforms.  One man lay apart from the others, and in spite of his uniform and the red sash over the arm, he didn’t look German. His brow was too heavy, his face wider, nose flatter. It was… strange, but familiar. I knelt down next to him. The man had feathers in his black hair. I couldn’t help myself; my hand stretched out and wiped the dead man’s face. His ruddy red skin almost looked like old bad blood against the ash covered skin.
        The body jerked up, mouth open, ash flying off in streams and clouds. He screamed as rammed my knife into his gut and twisted. Nailed him down to the grass and dirt below him.
        Around the both of us men whoops on horses, fired, women and children and cowards screamed and ran from fires. Pistols fired and arrows whizzed overhead, but we were in our own little world, this injun and I.
        I could feel myself grinning from ear to ear. These ‘people’ would all be better off if we killed them all. Reservations were pointless; they’d just do this again. They’d always come back to Wounded Knee. Unless we put them down, unless we smashed a hole into their heads that they wouldn’t soon forget.
I pulled out my knife and stabbed down again.

I held the little girl in my arms. She cried and cried and cried. We’d already stopped the bleeding of her finger, but still she cried. I couldn’t understand it. The woman had tried to take her from me but I shooed her away.
She was mine. Mine own little girl, my child.
I hadn’t expected to care about the girl, but I did. I wanted her to stop crying, not just for the noise. I wanted to see the girl smile, hear her laugh.
She deserved a better life than she would have gotten before. She should have a better one than I’d seen.
But God as roles for all of us.

I stepped over the bulkhead of the submarine and into the harbor. Natures’ Bounty, they’d called it. The place was more massive than I’d thought. The whole city, it was unreal. A place like this simply should not be able to exist at the bottom of the ocean and yet here I was.
        I’d been to Europe, I’d seen Paris and England and many towns and villages in Germany, and still the world is larger than I’d thought.
        This Ryan fella certainly had vision, maybe one day there’d be cities all over the ocean. Ha, maybe Ryan even thought of building a whole new nation under the sea. A real life Atlantis.
        ‘No Gods or Kings, Only Man’
Not completely sure how I felt about that. There were some men I’d know, smart men, good men. Most of them died in Europe.
Most of the other men I knew were certainly not good men, and not men that I’d want to lead anything.
So I arrived in Rapture, a suitcase of clothes and whatever money I could scrape together. It wasn’t much but it was enough to get me here, it was enough to get a company named Sinclair to lend me an apartment in Rapture. Hopefully it was enough to start a new life.
        Hah, maybe I’d even find a girl.

By the time I’d woken up I could already hear people moving about outside my door. It’d been a long night and I’d gone through it alone.
        A small part of me wanted Elizabeth there.
        But she shouldn’t be. She couldn’t be.
How much of what I remembered here was really real? Had I been brought here, or had I always been here? Or was that the wrong sort of question to ask?
        Was that how Elizabeth felt? Did my girl have moments of clarity and other moments of utter confusion with what she felt was real?
        I rubbed my numbed hands. The plasmids were still wreaking havoc on my genes. I suppose if it hadn’t died down now it was never going to, I’d just have to get used to the times of numbness.
        They never felt numb when I’d held her though.

----

HUMAN NATURE by Realmzjetter

Some time ago:

Elizabeth stepped over the bulkhead and into the lab. She still wore her usual outfit; it always seemed to be what she had on whenever they did this.
The lab was filled with all manner of jars, tubes, gears, and machines. Things Elizabeth had read about but was never so comfortable with to pretend she knew how they worked, and with these two who knew if they still even worked that way anyway?
Glass tubes stuck out of humming machines along one wall, throwing an incandescent blue light over the rest of the large room. Elizabeth was sure she could spy electricity snaking its way along the insides of the glass.
The twins, the reason for her visit, stood hunched over a machine bickering with each other. Elizabeth stood alone in the room’s portal, listening to their back and forth.
Stood and waited.
And waited.
“So how is everything?”
The twins both jerked and straightened up. Elizabeth smiled, mostly for herself. The twins came closer; she could see that they both wore their usual attire as well.
        “Is the new lab working out?”
        “Yes yes it’s working fine.”
        “Just fine.”
        “What were you working on?”  She asked, leaning to the side looking around the pair.
        “Just fine tuning some machinery”
        “Making sure it’s all in working order”
        “For the experiment”
        “Oh? What kind of experiment?”
        The twins looked her up and down.
        “A difficult one”
        “Ah huh…”
        “And why are you here?”
        “About her own little project, no doubt.”
        “Yes, actually,” Elizabeth walked around the couple, looking around the gloom of the lab. With the glow from the glass, it almost felt like she was underwater. Well, more underwater.
        “Last time we met you implied it was almost done”
        “It is do- he’s here,” Elizabeth corrected herself, “But I still need what we talked about”
        “Ahh yes”
        “That”
        The pair turned around and opened a drawer in an average desk. They held out a glass container.
        “We have mentioned this is a bad idea, haven’t we?”
        “I believe we have.”
        “And I didn’t listen before, did I?” Elizabeth took the bottle, “How does it work?”
        “It is ingested, just like a vigor,” they said.
        “And it will help him remember?”
        “No.”
        “It will make him remember”
        “He won’t have much of a choice in the matter”
        “He might not even survive”
        “But that’s always the case.”
        “Thank you, both” he said as she started to turn.
        “What you’re doing is dangerous.”
        “To both of you”
        “I don’t care…”
The twins couldn’t help but notice the bit nostalgia in the girl’s voice, a bit of wishfullness, the girl felt alone, especially after what had happened. They understood that at least. The woman put her hand over her brother’s.
        “You will need to give this to him as soon as possible.”
        “I know”
        “We don’t think you do.”
        “The longer he’s here, the more rooted in this place he will be. Already he’s made memories of his time here and with the nature of your….project”
        “The more real those memories will be”
        “This tonic should stop that from happening”
        “Should”
She looked from the glass back at the two in yellow, “A few memories can’t be a bad thing.”
        “Elizabeth”
She was taken aback; they almost never called her by name.
        “You two don’t belong here”
        “I… I know. That’s why it’s perfect”
        “That’s why it’s dangerous”
“What do you mean?”
The couple looked at each other again, and then sat down. Elizabeth hadn’t even noticed the chairs until then.
“This is a place where Booker DeWitt never existed”
“Where Comstock had never had his dream”
“A place where you will never have had been born”
“The man’s memories have already aligned themselves to the shape this place is giving it”
“Like water filling an empty glass”
“In other instances the glass was always the same shape”
“So to speak”
        “But here it can be whatever it wants.”
        “Here Mister DeWitt is a war hero”
        “He was one befo-“ they cut her off
        “Here he has no regrets about what he’s done”
        “Or very little anyway”
        “And not about whom he’d have killed”
        “This is a man that conforms to no constant we’ve measured, or any variable could be applied to.”
        “A clean slate”
Elizabeth stood up, “You make it sound like Booker that’s not wracked by guilt is a bad thing”
        “Maybe it is.”
        “Maybe it isn’t.”
        “Regardless you may find that if you do not give him the tonic”
        “That things don’t happen like you think they will”
The implication was there, plain as day. Elizabeth clutched the tonic to her breast, it would work. They were the smartest people she knew. It would all work out. The twins looked at her, up and down, and after a few moments broke the silence that had thundered between them.
        “There’s also the matter of how you dress”
        “Excuse me?”
        “We don’t mean it like that.”
        “There’s simply an expectation for a beautiful girl.”
        “One that should be upheld”
She blushed at that, “What do you mean?”
        “There’s a manner of dress one expects.”
        “A certain air about the person.”
        “In a place like this, with who you are, what you can do”
        “And what you’ve done”
        “It wouldn’t be wise to run counter to what is expected.”
They could see the girl didn’t fully understand. The woman sighed.
        “There is a school of thought, that a person’s world is simply the perception they have of it. That it can be changed by what they feel is happening.”
        “It’s poppycock, really”
        “But with you, such things as reality are more malleable.”
        “As evidenced by your pet project.”
        “Which also poses a problem.”
        “The end result is, should you feel like you do not belong, you will simply stop belonging.”
        “And that means what?” Elizabeth asked.
        “The thing that got us all into this in the first place was a little girl where she didn’t belong.”
        “The tears… it could start happening again?”
The two nodded.
        “Be sure to remind him of that.”
        “After he gets the tonic.”
        “Yes of course, after.”

Elizabeth thanked the pair, somewhat awkwardly, and left the lab. The twins were alone again, their yellow suits turning green in the light.
        “She would really go through so much for him, won’t she?”
        “More than she thinks, I’d say.”
        “To keep something she’d lost, dear brother?”
He squeezed her hand, “I thought we’d already been over that, sister”
She gave the opened bulkhead a sad smile.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten it, or forgiven you”

----

RAPTURE NOIR: Eye in the Darkness (By Daily Reminder)
http://pastebin.com/QU4wEk4G

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RAPTURE NOIR: Girls on Film (By Lewdist)
http://pastebin.com/ex6pRLks

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…. as for the properties of ADAM, and the plasmids made from it, much can be explained.
        The material itself, a thick green goo, is actually a mass of seemingly blank cells. These cells work like the cells of a recently formed zygote though for the purposes of not threatening the readers mind with thoughts of harvesting unborn children, one might be better thinking of them as a kind of spore.
        The ADAM is harvested and processed then through long experimentations on normal human, animal, and plant cells, are ‘impregnated’ with the desired genetic changes. As an example, several genetic samples of various shades of hair color can be implanted into an ADAM ‘egg cell’ allowing for anything from blonde hair that shimmers silver in the light, to a rainbow of hair.
        That is to say that such a mundane change is all that is possible with ADAM. Anything from hair color to being able to teleport is possible with ADAM. The impregnation of various animal DNA and chromosomes, from eels to boars, to porcupines also grants attributes from those animals. Lightning shooting from your hands, an intense and guided sense of smell, the possibilities are endless. Why is it possible? Because of just how ADAM works.
        ADAM cells, like the previously mentioned spores, can divide and change to make up any other cell in a body. It replicates itself; changing its mitochondrial and ribonucleic make up to match and then replace the existing required cells in the body. Eventually the cells that, to use the previous example, grow your hair will be completely replaced by the ADAM cells.
        There are of course issues with ADAM. The ADAM cells in your body will, just like any other cells, eventually degrade and die, needing to be replaced. Prolonged lack of these cells has been reported to have the minor detriments such has headaches or small and recoverable bouts of memory loss. Some subjects commented on remembering things that they did not believed happened, but these claims were later recanted.
Most other detriments found in subjects were most often the result of unsupervised injections of ADAM. Using two opposing plasmids can often result in the subject having some minor difficulty in the use of the senses those plasmids affect, for a short period of time. For all intents and purposes ADAM injections, and the plasmids made from it, are safe for any and all to use.

--‘The Wonders of Rapture’ Excerpt from an entry on the history of ADAM.
        R. Lutece

----


GOSSIP by Realmzjetter

        Two women huddled together around as many whiskeys and candles, a warm bastion against an ever changing world. A world that, in some small part, they felt responsible. They weren’t in the Kashmir tonight, too much commotion recently, they felt.
        “Do you think she’ll be coming?”
        “Did she come around last time, Clare?”
        “Well no… not after what happened.”
        “You didn’t even see it; you were in the back with that Craig from the bar.”
        “Uhh don’t talk to me about him. What do you mean I don’t know what happened? She ran right out didn’t she?”
        “In tears, but that’s not the real bit of juice.”
        “What do you mean?”
        “It was her man!”
        “No!”
        “Yes it was, it had to be.”
        “Elizabeth never told us much about him, how do yaknow it was him?”
Margette took another sip of her whiskey and sat back, the smoke of the room nearly hiding her face, “He came in, pleased as you could think, a burly vagabond like he was with all the high to-do going on that night? Had to have someone with some pull, don’t you think? He had flowers too, said he was going to make up with his sweetheart.”
        “That doesn’t mean anything; he could be there for anyone.”
        “Oh?” the pale girl said, “He walked right up to Max and got let into the back, I saw him.”
        “Er the back?”
        “Yes why?”
“Ahh… no reason… Go on what happened?”
        “Ten minutes later and Elizabeth is shoving her way out, in tears.”
        “The poor girl.”
        “Still that man. He certainly was a scruffy man.”
        “I never thought of Elizabeth as the kind of girl who’d want to fix her man”
        “Clarice, that's how every girl is.”
        “I don’t think so”
        “How’s Craig, Clare?”
        “Shut up” Clarice said, slapping at her friend. They sat in silence for a while, the barman watched them, the only thing he could really see was the glow of their cigarettes.
        “Do you… do you think the Boy’s will ask after her?”
Margette took a long drag, “I don’t know… she hadn’t shown up the last few times… She did say she’d try to get a friend of hers to help. Something tells me that lover of hers was the friend.”
        “Did he ever help out?”
        “He must have, weren’t you listening last week? Harold nearly had a fit when Bernon said he couldn’t find the man.”
        “With everything that’s happening maybe he’s just laying low?”
        “Harold thinks he’s shacked up with Ryan. Says he’d give the same to Elizabeth as he’d give to her friend.” The friends shook their heads.
        “Ryan’s rounding more and more people up, they say. Did you know he shut down another Bathysphere in Apollo today? We won’t have anyone at Kashmir for the New Year’s Party this year, mark me.”
        “Winston says that Ryan’s going to turn Apollo into a ghetto, keep all the people he doesn’t like there.”
        The two women sat in silence again. Their drinks hadn’t been touched in some time.
        “Do you work on New Year’s Clare?”
        “Of course, aren’t you?”
Margette rubbed out the ember of her cigarette into the table, “I think you and me might be coming down with a bit of a cold. Might have to stay home that night.”

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Rapture Noir: Best and Brightest (By Daily Reminder)
http://pastebin.com/Sf9srHv0
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Rapture Noir: Kiss Yesterday Goodbye
http://pastebin.com/Y0DxQ2F1
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