Reborn [BioShock]

7: Performance at Fleet Hall

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"Douglas?" I whispered, staring into his bloodshot eyes.

He groaned and clutched onto the hook, muttering, "Stay back." The man who was strangling him wore a plaster bunny mask with gold ornamentation decorating the button nose and the round eyeholes. His frosty, dark suit pants and vest were splattered with blood. His brow furrowed maliciously.

Suddenly, Douglas disappeared in a swirl of black haze and reappeared in front of me, crouched down. He touched the tips of his fingers to the floor. A surge of lightning erupted out and cracked across the stream of water that ran from the window, stunning the man.

The man shuddered uncontrollably, his feet pinned down to the floor as the electricity coursed through his limbs.

Douglas drew a pistol from his belt and fired twice into the man's chest. The lightning streaking across the floor tapered to static and Douglas leapt across the puddle and knocked the man down with the blunt of his fist, slamming him into the tiles. He then shot him once again, and in what seemed entirely like overkill, he threw the man at the wall and stunned him with lightning one last time.

Douglas stood up straight and flexed his hands, examining the collapsed body slouching against the wall. He glanced over at me and scoffed. "Well, he wasn't very nice, was he?"

My expression must have been one of shock, because he trodded over and sat down next to me. "Don't worry, kid. You'll get used to it." He sighed and strapped the pistol back onto his side. "Unfortunately."

I just couldn't respond, as if I was just now realising the ridiculousness of the situation. I woke up. Underwater. No parents. No memories. And now, relying on this man to get me somewhere, anywhere else, and he has to murder somebody every few minutes. Brutally, I might add. I couldn't even tell how long I had slept, but I prayed it was for awhile, because it seemed like the only rest I'd get.

Douglas rested his arms on his knees nonchalantly. He does this all the time, doesn't he? It's barely even anything to him. I'm just lucky I'm not the one who has to shoot.

"Hey," he said. "Chin up. After all, we do have a place to be, and it's just about on the other side of this city." He stood again and outstretched a hand to me. I took it, pulled myself up, and hung onto his sleeve. "We really need to fix that," he said.

"What?"

He looked down, so did I. "...Right," I mumbled, noticing that he was pointing out the fact that I had lost my crutch.

Douglas led me out into the hall through the grand arched doorway. "I know just what to do. Just haven't gotten the right pieces for it is all."

As we carefully made our way down the black and white chevron staircase, Douglas paused on a landing.

"God damn..." he grunted, frantically feeling around his belt and emptying his pockets. I let go of his sleeve and he ran back into the room, nearly knocking me over. "Sorry," he grumbled. After a moment where all I could hear was things being knocked over and several curses, Douglas ran back out into the hallway with wide eyes and disheveled clothes. Pulling out his hair frustratedly, he paced around in a circle. "Where is it?" he growled. "I just had it! Did I lose it? Did somebody take it? I need to get it back! I can't just replace it!"

I stepped away from him, alarmed. What is he talking about? Why is he getting so worked up about whatever it is?

"What an idiot I am! One job...and I can't even find my damn key! Idiot, idiot!" he chanted, shouting.

Suddenly he turned to look at me. "...idiot! A fucking idiot!"

I felt my face grow pale. Douglas's eyes were furious and his fists were clenched. When he noticed my expression, he blinked and his hands softened.

"Um..." he muttered, staring at the floor. "Just...excuse me."

He grabbed my arm and walked briskly down the staircase, muttering to himself furiously. "But who could've taken it? I just had it. Last time I checked, it was right here!" He sighed. "The only person who could've taken it was--" He paused, looking around.

"Oh, Jesus..." he sighed.

"What's wrong?" I asked quietly, risking being yelled at.

We continued down the stairs and found ourselves in another room. In the centre sat a short wraparound counter littered with open cash registers and spare change. Black and white triangular tiles decorated the floor. The bronze walls arched over wide doorways and curved up towards the maroon ceiling.

Arriving at a square glass door with the letter R emblazoned across it, Douglas said, "Good place to start." It slid open upwards, and he took my hand again to lead me through the doorway.

We walked down a gradual slope of steps into a dark theatre with a few rows of seats bolted down on either side. Metal beams that had collapsed in from the ceiling knelt up against the rows.

Across the theatre from us stretched a wide, squat stage with spotlights thrown across it. Dark pink curtains hung down from the ceiling. A loose gathering of people paced around the stage, one sitting upright at a grand piano draped with TNT, a couple scattered in the audience up front, a few slouching with folded arms in the shadows, and one hunched over a woman tied onto a chair. Walking closer to the stage, I saw that the woman, who was bound to the chair by chains, wore a straining purple dress, her auburn, pinned up hair falling in matted curls over her shoulder. The man who paced around her leaned in and whispered something into her ear. In response, she laughed incredulously, loudly. Her voice echoed around the theatre.

"Ha! Good luck getting me to say that bullshit!"

The man wore a white mask in the shape of a cat's face. He leaned in closer to the woman and twirled her hair, whispering more into her ear. Then, he stood back up and gallantly introduced her to the small audience.

"Introducing... Miss Roxanne Hart!" He turned to look at her, one gloved hand placed over his chest. She glared at him and groaned over-dramatically.

One of the men who sat in the audience removed his cigarette and shouted out. "Make her dance!"

"No," the other man responded. "Not until she says the line." He stepped closer to the woman and leaned down next to her. She winced as he swept her hair over her shoulder. "Say...the line."

She spat in his face and laughed. "Not in my grave."

"What are we doing?" I asked, looking up at Douglas.

He blinked, staring up at the stage. "That's her."

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A/N: Hey, it's me again! You know, that girl who's madly intent on your emotional and mental destruction. This chapter wasn't as long as I was going for, but there are still a few changes to make. I just had to publish it like this because I regret ever disappointing people not on purpose. Hope you had a semi-decent Easter! Goodnight.

-edit: Girl who apparently last published on Easter. Dear God. That's awful.