BioShock: The Fall of Rapture

Chapter 5 War Beneath the Waves

Rapture, Olympus Heights, July, 1959

When Michael and his band of prisoners had escaped Persephone, he knew Rapture would have changed, but could not have guessed how much.
Andrew Ryan, it seemed, had grown fond of power, and when it began to pull away from him, he had pulled back.
This had started with clamping down on organised labour, leading to the arrest of hundreds of people and leaving Rapture's working class with a bitter hatred of Ryan and his elite. Later, Ryan ordered the public hanging of a number of people accused of smuggling, claiming that such actions threatened 'his' city.

This, combined with Ryan's takeover of Fontaine Futuristics, had led to growing unrest, riots and finally, a massive uprising on New Year's Eve. Since then, rebels, led by a man calling himself Atlas, and security forces commanded by Ryan, had fought a running battle across Rapture. Great swathes of the city now lay in ruins and its citizenry was in much the same way. Many had turned to using plasmids, genetically modifying their bodies into a weapon, able to burn, electrocute and smash their way through street battles. A side effect of this was that individuals who used them, known as splicers, became physically and mentally unstable, prone to lashing out if they did not get a plasmid fix.
It was during this time of chaos, that Michael found himself in the once grand Olympus Heights.

Keeping his shotgun raised, he slowly moved across the bottom level of the apartment complex, ears pricked for the smallest sound.
He had been part of a raid on a security checkpoint that had gone disastrously wrong. They had been getting ready to attack, when one of their splicers had gone after a Little Sister. This in turn had set a Big Daddy on the whole raiding party. In the confusion of rivet gun fire and fists, the group had scattered, leaving Michael behind Ryan's lines.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. If he survived this, he would have to confront Atlas about what had happened. The Irishman might wax lyrical about the fighting ability of Rapture's genetically modified citizens, but Micheal thought they were just plain dangerous.
More than once, they had attacked fighters on their own side, and if they saw a Little Sister, it was next to impossible to stop them trying to kidnap the girl.

He shuddered at the mere memory. Of all the monstrosities created in Rapture, the Little Sisters were perhaps the most horrifying. They were young girls, torn from their homes and turned into what could only be described as 'living factories' that produced ADAM, the genetic material needed for plasmids.

It was not uncommon to see them roaming the halls after a battle, using large hypodermic needles to drain ADAM from the corpses. At their side at all times were enormous figures in diving suits, known as Big Daddies, armed with rivet guns or drills, which made short work of anyone who got too close. To most, they were a mystery, but Micheal had worked out what they were when he had gotten close enough to get a whiff of its wet dog like smell. They were the Persephone prisoners that had gone missing over the years, twisted and indoctrinated into drones for Ryan's profits.

Bringing his mind back to the present, he scanned the atrium. The floor was littered with debris and bodies from the many battles that had been fought there over the last six months. He was making his way through the maze of rubble, when a familiar voice coming from one of the apartments caught his attention.

Thinking it could be another member of the raiding party, he slowly pushed the apartment's door open with the muzzle of his shotgun and stepped inside.
The entrance hall was little better than the atrium, with rubble and smashed furniture scattered over the carpet, while water leaked from the ceiling, leaving shallow puddles everywhere. Michael moved on, following the sound of the voice, eventually coming to what must have been the bedroom. It was there that he realised why the voice was familiar, but most certainly not welcome.

Sullivan, Ryan's chief of security, was sitting on the end of the bed, an audio diary in his hands. There was a quiet metallic click and the diary fell to the floor with a thud. Stepping forward, Michael pressed the shotgun into his shoulder, levelling it with Sullivan's head.
"Put ya' hands on ya head!" he spat.
Sullivan turned to face him. he looked as if he had not slept in weeks. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, while his face was unshaven and almost grey in colour.

"I remember you," he said, his voice dry and rasping, "You were one of them union guys that we banged up last year."
"Yeah, didn't do a very good job did ya," Michael remarked, a smile playing about his face, "Now put ya hands on ya head."
"I never liked doing what Mr. Ryan ordered me to do," Sullivan stated flatly.
"But you did it all the same," Michael countered, now getting impatient.
"I was just following orders."
"I've heard that before."

Sullivan did not answer at first, instead reaching into his top pocket and taking out a cigarette.
"I know," he said eventually.
Dropping the cigarette, he reached for his belt.
Reflexively Michael pulled the shotgun's trigger. Nothing. He had not reloaded it.
Sullivan drew a revolver from his belt, but did not point it at him.
"Didn't think it would end like this."
Suddenly he jammed the revolver against his head and fired.
For a second the body was still, then Sullivan slumped over, blood oozing over the bed covers.

"Jesus," Michael choked.
He backed away from the body, shocked by what had just happened. After a few steps, he broke into a run, pelting down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him. He reached the front door and was about to open it, when there was the horribly familiar sound of metal scraping on metal.
"Hold it," a female voice ordered from behind him.
Michael turned on the spot to face the source of the voice. Standing in the shadows was a woman, aiming a pistol at his head.
"Get your hands up, NOW!" she demanded.

"Forgive me Miss," Michael said coolly, "I didn't know I was trespassing in this, fine house."
"Don't fuck about," the woman said, jabbing the pistol at him, "Put the weapon down and get your hands up."
"Make me."
"Fine," she said, aiming the gun at his forehead.
"You make a good point," said Michael, "But I ain't going back to Persephone."
"Don't make this difficult..." the woman started as she moved out of the shadows, throwing her pale face and curly brown hair into the light.
"Hannah?" Michael said in amazement, taking a step forward.
"Michael?" she said, lowering the pistol, "What are you doing in Anna's apartment?"

"I heard Sullivan talking," he said, "The guy just topped himself in the bedroom."
"What? Sullivan?" stammered Hannah, looking stunned, "I don't believe it."
"Believe it," Michael said darkly, "He's upstairs dyeing the bed sheets red."
"No, not that," she said, 'I heard from the guards at the checkpoint that Ryan was going to have Anna Culpepper, she's the woman who owns this place, killed for... displeasing him... Oh my god."

Hannah darted passed him and up the stairs. Michael did not follow, knowing what was waiting up there. The minutes seemed to take forever to pass as Michael listened to Hannah searching upstairs. Eventually, she reappeared, holding what looked like Sullivan's audio diary, and collapsed onto a heap of rubble, her head in her hands.
"She's dead," Hannah whispered, dropping the diary, "Ryan had her killed... just for a few songs..."
The rest of her words were lost in sobs. Michael had never been good with comforting people, but he sat next to her on the rubble and put an arm around her shoulders. She leant against him, wiping tears from her eyes.

"How did it come to this?" she said, staring at the ruined carpet.
"Many small things," Michael replied, "Which became one big thing."
Hannah wiped her eyes again, still looking at the sodden carpet.
"You'd better go," she said, "If they find you, they'll kill you."
"I can't leave you here."
"Don't worry, 'I'll be alright."
"Hannah, Rapture's going to hell, how can you say you'll be alright?"
"Trust me," she said, defiance in her eyes.
"I do," Michael replied, "The problem is I don't trust this city."
"You got that right."

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the sound of dripping water, before an explosion shook the room.
"It's Atlas!" Michael exclaimed, scrambling to his feet, "He must be trying to punch through the lines again."
He cracked open the apartment's front door. No one was out in the atrium yet, but he knew it would be flooded with splicers soon. If he was fast however, he should be able to rejoin the rebels.
"Stay here," he said to Hannah, "Don't leave until the coast is clear."
Before she could reply, he fully opened the door and hurried out.

The sounds of battle were very close as Michael dashed across the atrium, dodging bodies and rubble before rounding a corner and running into a splicer.
The splicer's face had been twisted and deformed by their use of plasmids, and his once fine clothes were covered in grime and dark blood stains.
"ATLAS SCUM!" he screeched, raising a wrench high in the air.
Without a second thought, Michael fired. The shotgun shell tore a hole in the splicer's chest, sending it crashing to the floor. There were yells from the upper levels and three more splicers came charging out, weapons drawn.

Michael took off down a corridor and came out into a ruined tram station, where he ducked behind a ticket booth. Seconds later, there was the sound of running footsteps that came to a halt close by.
"Where'd he go?" One of the male splicers snapped.
"He musta taken off down the tram line," a female voice replied.
"Well get after him!" another male voice yelled.
"Right boss," said the other two.
"And don't come back without his head on a fuckin' platter!"

Michael pressed himself against the ticket booth and dug into his pockets, searching for more shells. With the footfalls growing louder, he managed to load four rounds and waited.
The first splicer came into view, a woman wearing a green dress, covered in rips and stains. Michael raised his shotgun, still waiting. The second splicer came into view, a Thompson submachine gun in hand.

Michael aimed at the second splicer and fired. the shotgun roared, sending a spray of lead pellets into their back. They yelled, twisting and flailing before falling into a puddle of cold salty water.
The second splicer spun round to face him.
"YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT!" she yelled, blue sparks flying from her hand.
Michael fired before she could shock him, sending her flying into a wrecked tram. He turned to face the last splicer who threw a stream of fire at him. He ducked, just missing the scorching mass as it sailed through the air, leaving a scorch mark on the wall. Michael jumped up, aiming the shotgun at the splicer, only to find empty space.

WHAM!
The splicer collided with his side, driving him to the floor and knocking the shotgun clean out of reach.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" he screamed, laying into Michael with all its strength, it's deformed face twisted with rage.
Michael grabbed a chunk of debris and tried to smack the splicer round the head, only managing to bash its side and shoulder. With a cry, the splicer slapped away the lump of rubble and clumsily grabbed at his throat. Michael threw punch after punch at the splicer, trying to throw him off.

Suddenly the splicer wrapped their fingers around his neck, crushing his windpipe. Michael began to choke as he desperately tried to free himself.
"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL-"
There was the crack of a pistol shot and the splicer fell back with a grunt. Coughing and spluttering, Michael pushed away the body and got up. Standing in the entrance to Olympus Heights was Hannah, holding a pistol at arm's length.

"I thought I told you to stay in the apartment," he wheezed with a hint of sarcasm.
"Some thanks," she said, a slim smile crossing her face, "Next time I won't bother."
The sound of automatic weapons fire from the far end of the station cut her short.
"Shit," Michael muttered, picking up his shotgun, "Hannah, please get back to the apartment and stay there. If something happened to you..."

He tried to finish, but the words failed him.
"Okay," Hannah said grudgingly, "Just do one thing. Keep an eye on Atlas, he's not to be trusted."
She hurried back into Olympus Heights, pistol still drawn.
"Don't worry, I will," Michael whispered.
He turned away from the ruined apartments and ran toward the sounds of battle.