Jack- Telekinetic Splicer

“From the look of the puddle it’s been here awhile. Wish I could climb walls like those spider-splicer bastards, get a closer look. Well, I think we’ll have a team go out in the diving suits, apply some sealant, then we’ll see if—” He broke off, staring, as a wrench floated up from his tool kit, as if weightless, and bobbed in the air in front of him. “What the bloody hell is that?”

  The floating wrench suddenly darted at his head, and only good reflexes and a quick duck saved Bill from being struck down. The tool flashed by him, and he turned to see it spinning along, stopping in midair, turning to swish viciously at him again.

  “What the blue blazes!” Bill grabbed the wrench with his left hand, bruising his palm. It seemed to jump about in his hand like a live but rigid metal fish before it simply stopped. “Who’s chucking tools at me?”

  “There’s your tool chucker,” Greavy said, grimly amused, pointing at a woman about ten yards away, standing by the doorway into Artemis Suites. She was a petite, smirking, waiflike woman in black pedal pushers and a ragged, blood-spattered blouse, the left sleeve ripped entirely away, her left arm scratched and bloody. She wore kohl smeared around her eyes, so they looked like a panda’s, and her bleached hair was teased up over her head, almost writhing around like Medusa’s snakes. Bill supposed a side effect of the telekinetic plasmid she was using was affecting her hair. One side of her face was striped with red welts. Her eyes had the demented glimmer of the hard-core plasmid user. She was crazily stoned.

  She raised a grimy hand and pointed it at his tool kit—which jerked from his hand and spun away from him, scattering its contents across the room. People dodged out of the way of flying tools, now under the control of her telekinetic powers.

  “Hey you, stop throwing your tools!” shouted a glaring, bald-headed constable in a checked suit, stalking toward Bill. A star-shaped badge was pinned on his chest.

  “Isn’t me!” he yelled back. “It’s ’er, Constable, the splicer over at Artemis!”

  The constable turned to look, reaching into his coat pocket for a gun. But as soon as he did his badge tore itself off his coat, spun around his head, and then buried itself between his eyes.

  The constable screamed in agony and fell to his knees, clutching at his blood-spurting forehead.

  “That’ll show you pricks!” the little female splicer screeched, pointing a finger at Bill and Greavy. “I saw you, poking around here, you official types! Ryan’s little puppets! Well, we don’t want you ’round Artemis! Or your bald-headed cops neither!”

  She made a sudden gesture, and his tools, scattered across the intervening floor, leapt into the air and came spinning at him. Bill threw himself flat as they flashed over him. Greavy shrieked, and Bill turned to see a screwdriver driven through Greavy’s chest—the screwdriver blade dripping crimson. Greavy wobbled …

  “Jay-sus, Greavy!”

  Bill got to his feet just in time to catch Greavy as he fell, lowering the man’s quivering body to the floor. Greavy was sputtering, dribbling blood, his eyes glazing. Dying.

  Maybe if they could get some ADAM to him in time they could heal him …

  But there was no time. In moments, Greavy was dead.

  Bill looked in shock over at Artemis Suites—but the telekinetic splicer was gone.

- Bioshock: Rapture, chapter 12