Tumgik
#Rapture Metro
almalvo · 9 months
Note
How does it feel having possibly the BEST Miguel angst art
haHAA - I dont even know if that's TRUE???
lmao idk what is going on in the deeper coves of spiderverse fandom, specifically in the Nueva region, but our son's misery-ridden miserable ass aint ignored, at least not by me haha
I know he's tortured by not being like the other girls.
So time to make him eat his pain and grow from it.
52 notes · View notes
lunarsilkscreen · 4 months
Text
How Half-Life *could* be interconnected with other franchises
Death stranding:
Death stranding explicitly told us that Arpeture facility's were on the map with some bonus DLC. What is not clear is if this is a friendly nod and advertisement, *or* of the death stranding verse and half-life verse are actually connected.
Preliminary observations would suggest: no they are not. Due to some of the jarring features and distinct differences of both games. However, it *is* possible that the death stranding itself was actually a zombie outbreak, and the time fall we see in game was actually a defensive measure to take out the zombified people's.
We see that other, similar cities, like Arpeture's underground city exist, and that individual fallout shelters also exist. We also see dark teleportation (something that combine forces have access to) but what we do not see is any of those enemies left over.
We do see a connection to inner-beaches, inner-hells, and the Dead by Daylight world could in fact be a representation of "Bill's" personal beach. This would be how he was able to escape death by zombie consumption.
Fallout:
This should be self-explanatory; Portal is actually referenced in one of the shelter logs as a "testing facility who does cruel and unusual experiments on its inhabitants.
Several nukes would have been used to stave off combine forces, and zombified people's--and, of course, Black Mesa.
The Fallout peoples, having no access to historical information, would have to invent their own based on third and fourth party recreations, they would also have a lot of lore and conspiracy theory instead of actual fact to go on.
BioShock:
Turns out, the city of rapture could simply be another form of fallout shelter. Virtually Safe from being nuked by world powers, or militaries, we even see similar technologies to those used in rapture during the events of Half-Life: Alyx.
However, during the events of Bioshock, we see a city overrun by zombies and mutants. And, a person with the literal ability to control people's free will simply by asking them to do something politely.
This seems reminiscent of the Nihilanth's seeming complete control over the Vortigaunts that inhabit its domain in Xen.
Simultaneously, unlike The portal simulator; it seems that Rapture exists in at least 4 dimensions. It is unclear how this came to be.
Control over these 'Nihilanth' powers seems to be the core driver of the plot, seeing as how every major character in the game gets access to this power in some facet.
They also seem to be unaware of any actual society left outside of rapture, indicating that they don't believe there are any left.
Resident Evil:
It is possible that the events of Resident Evil are happening pre-combine invasion, and are exacerbated by the events of Half-Life. It's a distinct possibility that a bioweapon initiative was developed with the sole purpose of combatting the combine forces.
Evil Dead:
It's also possible that a Nihilanth eacaped to this plane and controls the dead from evil dead. It would have to have no other affiliations, and be purposefully trying to absorb as many humans as it can into its collective.
Walking Dead
Self-explanatory, these are events occuring simultaneously to L4D
F.E.A.R.:
This could be a simulated environment run by Adrian Sheppard. A program run alongside the Counter-Strike simulation. These would be what-if scenarios run in order to determine ways to combat combine forces.
Time-Splitters:
Could be the technology used by G-Man in order to change historical events.
S.T.A.L.K.E.R.:
References a Nihilanth-like entity that must be destroyed.
Metro 2033
Could be simultaneous to the events of STALKER
Splinter-Cell
Could be a simulation run alongside the FEAR and CounterStrile simulations based on historical events.
DeadSpace
Humanity's attempt to escape the planet from Portal storms and combine forces. They eventually encounter a form Nihilanth mind control and flesh reconfiguration artifact.
12 notes · View notes
omegaremix · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media
Winter 2013 Mixtape:
Killing Joke “Rapture”
Melvins, The “In The Freaktose The Bugs Are Dying”
Unsane “No Chance”
Dead Banana Ladies “1234”
Excepter “Kill People”
Death Grips “Guillotine”
Crystal Castles “Alice Practice”
Joy Division “Interzone”
How To Destroy Angels “The Loop Closes”
Z’ev “Shake, Rattle, And Roll”
Mika Miko “Capricoronations”
IAMX “I Am Terrified” (Alec Empire RMX)
Cold Cave “Confetti”
CX Kidtronik “Sky Is My Roof”
My Bloody Valentine “Who Sees You”
Killing Joke “Mass”
Captain Sensible & The Softies “Jet Boy Jet Girl”
Siouxie Sioux & The Banshees “Dear Prudence”
No Age “Every Artist Needs A Tragedy”
Ice “Flood”
Donny McCaslin “Alpha & Omega”
Death Grips “Takyon”
Fall, The “Mollusc In Tyrol” (live)
CX Kidtronik “Let’s Go Krazy” (Atari Teenage Riot RMX)
Sonic Youth “Tuck N’ Dar”
Slowdive “Catch The Breeze”
IO Echo “Carnation”
Prurient “There Are Still Secrets”
Tying Tiffany “Slow Motion” (Nic Endo RMX)
Head Of David “Newly Shaven Saint”
James Chance & The Contortionists “Bedroom Athelete”
Terawrizt “Don’t Forget”
Cut Hands “Black Mamba”
Alec Empire “New Man”
Mogwai “Letters To The Metro” (Zombi RMX)
Killing Joke Extremities, Dirt, And Various Repressed Emotions
Nujabes “Latitude” (RMX)
Laura Nyro “Buy And Sell”
Cut Hands “Stabbers Conspiracy”
Guitar Wolf “Jet Virus”
NxFxTxEx “Tanz Der Idioten”
Smiths, The “How Soon Is Now”
Damned, The “1 Of The 2”
Killing Joke “Jana” (Youth RMX)
Glass Candy “Warm In The Winter”
Bug, The “Catch A Fire”
Shonen Knife “When You Sleep”
Dot Allison “I Think I Love You”
Dead Boys, The “Sonic Reducer”
Christoph De Babalon “Traumspiel”
Consumer Electronics “Hand To Mouth (Barely Visible)”
Ramleh “Gibbering Wreck”
Les Ralizes Denudes “Dream” (live)
Skullflower “Diamond Bullet”
Tre Lux “Lever Let Me Down Again”
Ash Pool “Sin Of Life”
Laughing Hyenas “I Want You Right Now” (live)
Dead Banana Ladies “Girls Gone Wild”
Urbie Green “Mertensia”
This Will Destroy You “Little Smoke”
Prince Rama “Welcome To The Now Age”
Bug, The “Skeng”
NxFxTxEx “Some Stuff”
Killing Joke “Democracy”
Raveonettes, The “Ali Walk With Me” (Nic Endo RMX)
Bomb Squad “Riot Riot”
Sonic Youth “Santa Doesn’t Cop Out On Dope”
Merzbow “Silent Night”
Some Girls “He’s On Drugs Again”
Silver Daggers “Real Neat Flag”
Crystal Castles “Pap Smear”
Jesu “Christmas”
Atari Teenage Riot “Collapse Of History”
7 notes · View notes
Text
BioFluff Week 2022 Fic #6
Title: One True Purpose
Prompt: Pre-Canon/Post-Canon
Summary: The one where Delta is invited to teatime.
Characters: Subject Delta, Eleanor Lamb, Masha Lutz, Gil Alexander, Julie Langford, Augustus Sinclair; mentions of Mariska Lutz, Andrew Ryan, Splicers, Grace Holloway.
Pairing: No romantic pairings, just some father/daughter fluff between Delta and Eleanor.
Warnings: blood consumption (Little Sister stuff y’know); mentions of death and violence.
Notes: Sixth submission for BioFluff Week, with an answer to the specific prompt ‘Pre-Canon’! I put a stupid amount of time and effort into researching what Arcadia looks like for this lmao.
All material belongs to Irrational Games.
Fic also available on AO3.
His footsteps making the ground shake, Delta heads towards the vent up ahead, a single-mindedness in his mission to get to it, as there is a pinging sensation in the back of his head that tells him he needs to go and collect his child. It gets stronger and stronger the closer he gets, so he knows this is the one she’s waiting at.
Once he reaches the vent, Delta wastes no time in slamming his fist against it.
Thump. Thump.
He drops his hand and waits.
There’s the tiniest moment where nothing happens, then comes the sound of something moving around inside the vent, the brief clattering of something metallic, then he sees little hands and brown hair and glowing eyes and the syringe waiting for ADAM.
“Good morning, Daddy!” Eleanor exclaims as she pops up, crawling closer until she dangles out of the vent.
Delta doesn’t reply, just slots his hands under her armpits and lifts her out of the circular opening, turning around to deposit her on the cobblestone beside him.
“Why, thank you, Daddy,” Eleanor says with a giggle, curtsying to him once he lets her go. Her yellow-glowing eyes seem to shine all the brighter as she grins and gestures for him to follow. “Let’s go find some friends together, Daddy!”
Delta, as always, obediently follows.
Eleanor starts to lead him through this area of Rapture, hopping down the three steps behind him, onto the grass.
This place is so green and so lively compared to all the other places they’ve been. He has no idea where he is - he recognises areas of the city, but never remembers names - but he’s fairly certain they’ve never been here before.
Eleanor seems fascinated too; as she walks, she looks left and right, at the trees, the shrubs, the vines and the clumps of long grass, letting out a fascinated “Ooooh…” as she goes. She even stops to lift her foot and run her fingers through the blades of grass that had been beneath her, to observe how they try to stand again after she’s just stepped on them, turning back to Delta to point down and exclaim, “Look!”
He’s looking, sweetheart. Fascinating, isn’t it?
“Mama! Mama!”
Delta whips around at the sound of a child shouting; she’s obviously not Eleanor and she’s obviously not calling for him - he is ‘Daddy’ - but something about the fear in the child’s voice makes him look.
There’s a little girl standing in front of the Securis door that has RAPTURE METRO above it, holding the hand of a woman that looks a lot like her and trying to hide behind her skirt. She’s pointing up at the trees.
“What is that?! What is that?!”
Delta watches them as the woman tries to settle the girl; clearly, not everybody finds this place as pretty and fascinating as he and Eleanor do. Accordingly, he turns back to where Eleanor is standing, and watches as she approaches a tree without fear and taps at it with one of her tiny hands, letting out a little awed coo at the feeling of its bark.
That’s his girl - Eleanor’s not afraid of anything, besides when strangers approach her. Heights? Nope. Trees? Nope. Just strangers. His girl is brave like that.
A surge of affection goes through him, and he watches as Eleanor sniffs at the air, then gasps and stops to excitedly gesture to him.
“This way, this way! Hurry!”
She goes scarpering off, Delta watches her go, then he continues to follow, as he’s supposed to.
(“She is yours…to protect, Delta,” the man had said to him, the one that’s been there since he first woke up as he is now. Delta sees him whenever he has to go back to the place where they’d let him meet Eleanor; he has a moustache and he speaks much like Eleanor does. “That is your one, true purpose now: protect her. Keep her safe from…the dangers out there.” He’d smiled. “I’m sure you can…manage that, can’t you? You are, after all…the best we have to offer.”)
Protect her. Keep her safe. He knows his job - and he’s good at it.
Eleanor leads him up some stairs and into another grassy, tree-dotted area, and though Eleanor is less distracted now that she’s finally sniffed out an angel, Delta is still observing the area around him.
There’re people everywhere, usually paired up, chatting and smiling. They get out of Eleanor’s way as soon as they spot her, and they especially scramble to get away when he walks by; he looks at a couple as he passes them, turns at the waist to stare as they watch him with frightened eyes, holding each other like he’ll snatch them if they don’t.
They’re dressed in nice clothes - the man in a blue, pinstriped suit, with a white hat that has a blue band, and the lady in a long pink dress that’s all poofy at the short sleeves, her blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail - and he looks them up and down, wonders if he might be allowed to dress in a suit like the man has. He’s never worn anything that isn’t this thing he has on now, which might as well be his skin.
His attention goes back to Eleanor and he makes sure he is close behind the entire time that Eleanor goes on her merry way, leading him uphill to a door that’s labelled ARCADIA GLENS.
They pass through the flower-patterned screen doors and walk - and then, up ahead, on a wooden walkway, comes the sight of a fresh corpse. Bludgeoned, by the looks of it, but Delta’s never really paid much mind to where the ‘angels’ come from.
Eleanor runs over and points down at it, looking back at Delta with a wide smile.
“Look, Daddy! It’s the angel!”
Eleanor kneels and there comes the squelching sounds of a needle stabbing into flesh, as Delta walks over and stands behind her, keeping guard, on the lookout for any danger to Eleanor’s safety.
Fortunately for everybody involved, nobody comes by, so Eleanor is left unbothered as she collects and drinks down the ADAM.
“Mmm!” She giggles as she rubs her tummy, bouncing on the balls of her feet happily. She takes another sniff at the air, only to look disappointed. “Don’t any angels want to come and play with us?” She sighs sadly, then reaches up to tug on his finger. “Let’s look over this way, Daddy! The angel might be hiding from us after all!”
Sounds good to him; he follows, as he should.
Eleanor escorts him down the walkway, back onto grass as they pass a Gatherer’s Garden; they walk by another clump of people that Delta observes - a group of friends, they seem like, judging by the animated conversation and the laughter and the booze - and only two of them nervously watch Delta as he passes, while the rest ignore him.
The daddy-daughter pair ascend a small flight of stairs onto another wooden walkway, where Eleanor stops to sniff the air. She must not detect another angel because she frowns sadly, looks at the options in which way to go, then chooses to go right, leading Delta down another small flight of stairs and through the doors marked TEA GARDEN.
There’s more lush greenery around them, and Delta becomes distracted by noise coming from his right; he turns at the waist to investigate.
There’re people nearby - in the area with a low ceiling, where there’s no grass and no stone, just dirt, and people are milling around with bags of soil and wheelbarrows and pots. They must work here because unlike the people before, they’re not happily chatting and sharing kisses, but talking animatedly about this going there and that going here, and none of them are wearing nice clothes, just white lab coats over basic shirts and trousers. Uniforms.
Delta watches a blonde-haired woman in a white and green dress appear from around the corner, her voice carrying over the others’s as she barks an order at one of the coat-wearing people about how much a flower needs to grow before they can take it to be planted over in the Rolling Hills, so it doesn’t get trampled on when it’s still just a seedling. She must be in charge around here, because they do as she says without question.
“I shouldn’t have to explain this…” she mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose, then she lifts her head and does a double-take as she spots Delta watching her. She huffs and adds, “Ugh, what is one of those things doing down here? Nobody’s keeping its Little Sister from it, are they? That’d be just what I need right now…”
(They’d better not be.)
She really must be in charge around here, then. Beneath the work-oriented part of his brain - buried deep, deep down, so far that it’s a blip on Delta’s radar - Delta would like to ask her some questions about this place, about the plants.
“Strangers!!”
Delta whips around, then goes charging across the grass, through the archway and under the wooden, bridged walkway, sights set on the screen doors on his right; the doors don’t open quickly enough for his liking and Delta crosses an arm across his chest as he barrels through them.
Pieces of the doors go flying - he hears water splashing, a woman screams nearby, and behind him, the lady in charge shouts an expletive and there’re thuds of footsteps as she and her team come out of their workplace and check what he’s done. The lady starts angrily lamenting that she now has to call Mr. Ryan to send someone to come and fix the doors, but Delta doesn’t pay the damages nor her meaning any mind as he immediately turns to where Eleanor is.
She’s scrambling back as soon as Delta’s made his entrance, away from the couple, who in turn are hurrying to their feet from the pink blanket laid out on the grass, jostling the tea set and the tray of biscuits and scrunching up the fabric. They’re so quick to stumble away from him, they nearly lose their footing, dangerously close to falling down the hill they’re situated on, and instead end up knocking into the table and pair of chairs behind them, and the woman nearly crushes the man’s fedora, which lays on the blanket beside the teapot.
Eleanor hurries behind him to hide as Delta stares down the couple; the man throws his hands up in the air and the lady grasps the man’s bicep as she cowers behind him.
Both look terrified, and the man works through a dry mouth to shout, “We weren’t touchin’ her! She came over to us, okay?! We swear!”
Delta keeps staring; he’s not sure he believes them, but it doesn’t matter. They were near Eleanor, and that simply won’t do.
He holds out a hand, showing them his palm, in a clear message: Stay back. Keep away from her.
The couple are sweating, and the woman shakes her head.
“Forget it, Eddie!” she exclaims. “I don’t wanna stick around with one of those things marching around here!”
She releases the man’s arm and holds up the skirt of her yellow, flower-dotted dress as she runs for it, crossing over the river via the wooden bridge.
“Wha - Cathy, baby, where ya goin’?! Come back!” the man calls as she runs.
They watch as the woman doesn’t even reply or look back, just continues racing along the offered path leading to a pair of more metallic doors that take her away from this scene she finds so terrifying.
The man splutters nonsense, flabbergasted at being abandoned, then he turns back to Delta with a scowl as he says, “Why you -”
Delta steadies his shoulders, sensing that the man might try to start a fight, and the scowl on the man’s face falters, betraying his fear.
“Oh - Just -” His confidence gone, the man turns and runs in the direction his lady love left in. “Cathy, wait! He’ll go away in a sec, just wait!”
The doors at the other end of the room shut behind the man, and the situation has been dealt with.
With that, Delta leans down to Eleanor, setting a hand on her head gently.
Safe now.
Eleanor peeks out at where the pair had been standing, checking for anymore danger, then grins up at Delta.
“You rescued me, Daddy!” she exclaims excitedly, then she hugs his leg, nuzzling her head against his knee.
Delta gives a couple of gentle pats to her head, then straightens up as Eleanor leaves his side.
He expects her to sniff at the air again or tell him they’re going to look for more angels, but instead, she looks toward the abandoned tea set the couple had left behind.
“Oooh!” Eleanor exclaims, padding toward the ceramic cups and saucers and teapot. “Look, Daddy, look!” She laughs happily. “It’s teatime!”
Delta feels a little puzzled. So what? This isn’t what they’re supposed to be doing.
Eleanor kneels down on the blanket, setting aside her syringe. She picks up one of the fallen cups, which drips tea as it’s lifted; evidently, it’d been full when one of the people knocked it over, as its contents has stained the blanket.
Eleanor holds the cup, turning it over to observe the delicately-painted picture of a purple flower. She holds it up to the light, letting out another soft, “Ooooh…” as she continues rotating it to get a good look. She turns around, then places the cup carefully down on its matching saucer, gently, as if the cup will shatter into thousands of pieces. She tilts her head, brushes her hand over the tray of biscuits, then grins and looks up at him.
“Let’s have a tea party, Daddy!” Eleanor says, and Delta is taken aback.
This isn’t what they did in training, back when the man and the other people in lab coats would send them out and speak to him through the radio in his helmet and review the footage they get from the camera on his head. They would just get the ADAM, and any time Eleanor would complain that she was tired or cold, Delta was encouraged to get her back on track.
Eleanor stands up and goes to him, taking hold of his finger and continuing to give him a toothy little grin.
“Will you be a guest at my tea party, Daddy?” she asks innocently. “Please?”
Delta stares down at her.
He’s supposed to say no. He’s supposed to tell her they’re on a job. She has to get ADAM for the man and the others, back at the place they first met in. They said he’s not supposed to allow her to play or to stop until she’s ready to return to her vent, when her belly is full of ADAM-infused blood. It’d been one thing to let her observe the nature around her, but to abandon her syringe entirely? He’s not supposed to allow that.
But even back then, during training, he’d wondered…why? Why isn’t she allowed to do all that? She’s a child, she’s…supposed to play. She’s supposed to take part in this…tea party. Why shouldn’t she?
(“That is your one, true purpose now: protect her. Keep her safe from…the dangers out there.”)
The work-oriented part of his mind fights back against the part of him that just wants Eleanor to smile, and he points toward the doors on the other side of the room, where the couple had left through.
“Nooo!” Eleanor whines, pulling at his finger as if she could drag him over to the tea set. “Daddy, please, I want to play here!”
Delta’s not sure what to do. The man would want him to pull Eleanor away from the tea cups, hand her her syringe and make her walk.
But…he doesn’t want to do that. That would upset her. She might…cry. And the thought of her crying, that hurts more than anything a Splicer has thrown at him. He doesn’t want her to cry, or be sad. And what is the harm in letting her play? He doesn’t get it, nobody would tell him why that was bad. They’d just made him pick her up or pull her away from what was distracting her, told him “Well done,” when he’d managed to get her to focus, but they’d never said…why that was good…
“Please, Daddy…?” Eleanor says.
Delta stares into her glowing eyes -
(“That is your one, true purpose now: protect her. Keep her safe from…the dangers out there.”)
- and he starts to walk toward the tea set, hearing her gasp happily as he lets her tug at his finger.
Because as far as he’s concerned, he is keeping her safe. Maybe not from Splicers, but from sadness, and that sounds like a pretty damn good job to him.
If the man or any of his colleagues are watching through his camera and have an issue with it, they can take it up with Delta when he gets back.
Eleanor releases him and goes running over to the blanket, bouncing excitedly as she watches him come over. She sits down on one corner, tilted slightly due to sitting on the curve of the hill, and crosses her tiny legs, and she’s so small compared to the slightly-crumpled square of pink fabric, he just knows how silly it’s going to look when she inevitably wants him - big as he is - to sit with her.
As if on cue, Eleanor pats the spot across from her. “Sit down with me, Daddy.”
Delta steps over obediently, then gets to one knee and gradually sits himself down, legs spread out before himself, one foot beside Eleanor and the other dangerously close to knocking over the teacup Eleanor had just placed on its saucer.
Eleanor grins so happily, another surge of affection rushes through Delta’s system.
She goes to pick up the teapot when she stops as she looks back to Delta, like she forgot something. She looks around, then spots the man’s abandoned hat - a blue fedora with a purple band - and she gasps and snatches it up from the ground. She stands up and holds it out to him.
“Here you are, Daddy! You have to dress pretty for the tea party!”
Delta takes the hat from her, looks it over, then reaches up and pops it on top of his helmet. It’s probably covering his camera, which will displease the man, but he doesn’t care.
Eleanor giggles, then looks around for something for her to wear. The lady had left nothing behind when she’d fled, so Eleanor is without pearls or any expensive makeup, and neither of them think those pieces of the demolished screen doors floating in the river will cut it as any sort of nice outfit, even if the material and pattern are pretty. Over Delta’s shoulder, however, she spots a vine-like plant growing on the wall and gives a small gasp at the sight of its flowers.
She runs over to snatch one from the vine, takes a moment to run a finger over its wide, pink petals, staring into the face of the flower where the petals become white and lead down to pale-coloured stamen. Once she’s satisfied, she tucks the flower into the collar of her dress and shows off to Delta.
“There,” she says, smiling, “now I look pretty too!”
She rejoins him on the blanket, going to her knees, and uses both hands to pick up the teapot.
She purses her lips and puts on a serious face as she asks, purposely thickening her accent, “Would you like some tea, Mr. Daddy?”
Delta looks down at the teacup near his foot; it’s tiny compared to his boot, and to his hands, and it’s delicate. But he’s got to do his best here, for Eleanor.
He reaches down and carefully takes hold of the cup, using one finger and his thumb to hold the cup around its edges rather than trying to take it by its handle. He lets out a whale-like sound as he holds the cup out to her.
Eleanor leans over and there comes a little clink as the spout of the teapot touches the edge of Delta’s teacup; she tips it and pours a small amount of tea into his cup.
“There you are, Mr. Daddy,” she says in her play-voice. “Enjoy.”
Eleanor pours herself some tea, then sets aside the pot before she picks up her cup - by its handle, since her hands are much better-suited for these little cups.
Delta watches her, then starts to bring his cup closer, enough that he can catch a peek of the hat’s reflection in the tea.
“No, Daddy…!” comes the urgent whisper from beside him.
Delta flinches and looks at her.
“You have to hold the cup like this.”
She thrusts her own cup at him, and he sees the way she holds it with two fingers and her thumb, with her littlest finger sticking up.
“It’s polite this way,” Eleanor says insistently, taking her cup back.
Delta doesn’t get it, but nevertheless he looks back down at his own cup. He’s not sure he can manage that pose, but he’ll try.
He sets the cup back on its saucer, then uses his finger and thumb to carefully take it by its handle. As per Eleanor’s instruction, he extends his pinky finger.
Eleanor giggles.
“Now, we put them together, so they go ‘clink’!” she says excitedly, thrusting her cup back out at him.
Delta carefully brings his cup closer to hers, offering it to her; he doesn’t trust himself to do the clinking, he’s too strong. He’ll probably end up breaking both cups.
Fortunately, Eleanor’s happy either way; she taps her cup against his, and despite the fact the ceramic makes the desired noise all on its own, Eleanor lets out a little “Clink!”
“Drink up now, Daddy,” Eleanor says happily as she brings her own cup closer. She takes a long sip from the cup, then makes a face as she pulls it back from her lips. She forces herself to swallow down the tea, then sticks out her tongue in disgust. “Yuck…”
Delta looks back down at his tea. Without his hand in the way, he now sees the reflection of his whole head, his own porthole staring back at him. He brings his cup closer and tries to sip from it.
The tea splashes down the bottom of his porthole, down the curved front of his helmet; he feels a wet patch develop between his pectorals as his suit absorbs the droplets. He holds the cup away from himself, giving a rumbling hum as though he’s giving an opinion on the drink.
Eleanor giggles again.
“Silly Daddy,” she says, then reaches for the tray of biscuits the couple had left behind. “Ooh, look at these! Mmmm - chocolate chip!” She plucks a cookie from the tray and holds it out for him. “Are you hungry, Daddy? Try it, they’re sooo good!”
He is not hungry (he never is), but nevertheless Delta takes that from her too - as carefully as he can, it’s even more fragile than the cup - and holds it up to look at it…and then he slams it against the bottom of his porthole, where his mouth should be, smushing the cookie against his helmet and reducing it to crumbs and the odd chunk of biscuit and chocolate.
The remains go falling down the front of his suit, pooling in the creases and plummeting to the blanket below.
Eleanor laughs, then fixes him with a loving smile.
“Silly Daddy…!”
Silly Daddy…!
The radio in his helmet whirrs to life.
“Kid?” Sinclair says in his ear. “You alright there?”
Delta flinches, coming out of his own memories.
The teacup - cracked, with a chip missing from it - remains laying on its side on the murky floor of the Fishbowl Diner, probably knocked down there from his fight with the Splicers that had arrived as soon as he’d picked up that shotgun.
He lets out a wistful little sigh.
“There you are.” Sinclair lets out a soft titter. “Thought I’d gone an’ lost you to your own private musings. Shake it off, kid - like I said, Gracie doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about.”
That’s right - Grace had just been accusing him again of turning Eleanor into a Little Sister, and Augustus had been telling him she was wrong. He appreciates Augustus taking the time to reassure him, even if he’s wrong in thinking that was what had given Delta pause.
Delta returns fully to reality then; he’s still got to get to Grace’s place. Get the key, get out of here, get to Eleanor.
Not a little girl anymore, but still his girl - and his girl needs him.
(“That is your one, true purpose now: protect her. Keep her safe from…the dangers out there.”)
Stooping down, Delta gently plucks the cup from the floor by its handle, pinky finger extended, then carefully sets it down on the nearest table, rightside up, as it should be. Then he turns and starts making his way out.
“That’s it,” Sinclair says, even when he can’t possibly understand what’s just been on Delta’s mind, “back on the ol’ dusty trail. No time to stop an’ smell the roses when we’ve got young Eleanor ta get to, huh?”
That’s right. No time at all - he’s got to get to his girl, so he can protect her and keep her safe.
And hopefully, Eleanor won’t have decided she’s too old to have any more tea parties with Daddy.
46 notes · View notes
0rph3u5 · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
rapture on the metro
6 notes · View notes
Text
I’ve never had the opportunity to do one of these 😳 what an honor tho! Thank you @xitgivesyoupleasure
A selfie:
Tumblr media
Last song I listened to:
Last book I read: book I finished was bioshock: rapture. Book that I’m procrastinating on is metro 2033 😅
Current obsession: good lorde, uhh I’ve been stuck on grinding battle passes for games, but I’m really obsessed with trying to figure out paints for my house, home improvement stuff, and like furnishings and wall decor 🤔
I tag: well i don’t have many, but @chaotic-goodz @bratfacedbeauty @h2o-mel0n @txpeachykeen2 If you’d like 😁
17 notes · View notes
agapi-kalyptei · 6 months
Text
videogames as therapy: pt. 1
Persona 5 Royal infodump episode 1, since I finished the game yesterday and have 900GB of footage sitting on the disk mocking me
Persona 5 spoilers
Persona 5 Royal spoilers
Let's start right from the ending - I was not kidding about the spoilers - the theme of salvation, free will, wish fulfillment, garden of Eden's fruit of telling right from wrong.
While P5/P5R did not have overwhelmingly biblical themes, the rapture and bit-off-apple was right in your face, so let's start with that.
The whole P5 storyline was, somewhat clumsily, interspersed with the main characters (Phantom Thieves - PT) wondering about if what they're doing (changing hearts so that criminals confess to their wrongdoings) is right.
I think also somewhat clumsily, the prosecution jumps right into "oh that is illegal" even if there's no law for changing someone's heart. This of course could be explained at least as 1. corruption and 2. since the methods of changing hearts were unknown, the prosecution could assume it was some form of coercion, which is likely illegal, and 3. since the presumed link to the 'psychotic breakdown' incidents (crashed metro etc), the public could label PT as criminals.
So here you have the whole game of PT second-guessing their actions in what's basically a big Trolley Problem - is it right to change someone's heart if it leads to truthful confessions and justice for the victims? Versus the P5R boss who just went "actually yes, changing the world for the better in how I view 'better' is a good thing and I will go with it because suffering is bad so we have to avoid suffering which is Moral Good".
This is much more meaningful only through the dozens of main themes (physical+sexual abuse of minors, bullying, stigmatizing criminal record, mental health, grieving, standing on your own and steering your own life as a young adult) and hundred of micro-themes that P5R throws your way (alcoholism, relationship problems, more bullying, self-righteousness, jealousy, child neglect, self-esteem) and mostly, through what I'm guessing is a theme in all Persona games: resilience, determination, the power of friendship 🌈, and being very straight with a pile of homoerotic tension.
OK let's put the last two paragraphs together: The P5R storyline of choosing what's right and wrong for others to avoid suffering is made meaningful by the overarching themes of the Persona series which are about resilience, and overcoming challenges instead of running away from them.
This is why media like Persona counts as therapy - while the morality of most videogames is "shoot 1000 bad guys but then save meta-Hitler because he's just a complex person with bad childhood, so killing him would make YOU the bad guy! haha mind blown?????!!!!". The moral challenges in those games amount (at best) to "I guess killing people is bad" in games that are overwhelmingly about killing people.
Persona 5, on the other hand, gives you so much food, so many micro-stories, and even if many of them amount to about 30-50 sentences (find out about bad person, find their name, agree with the PT team that they're a bad person, challenge them to a fight, hear them with a different viewpoint after the fight), the reason why it works well is that it builds on the body of text of the game - it's not just an isolated story of "i beat my wife because she's annoying -> wow my wife is a real human I will not hurt her anymore", but instead a repetition and continuation of the main themes mentioned above.
Which is another reason why Persona 5 works - longform games, TV series, books, any serialized storytelling format really - the breadth of content allows for repetition, not just literally repeating some mantra, but viewing the same problem from many different angles, characters having doubts and coming back to a dilemma over and over again - allows your brain to process the themes again and again, instead of just dropping one mind-blowing truth on you and never coming back to it again.
Which, annoying and daunting as it might be, sitting in front of a game that you know will take 100-130 hours to finish - the fact is that therapy takes time. Whatever you do, whichever method works for you, I hope you get the time to do your therapy.
3 notes · View notes
ask-percyparker · 3 months
Text
Update: We are not dead, though that’s barely counting for much seeing that a massive onslaught of splicers were trying to kill me and Theo just now. An entire massacre just keep the air flowing right…
Good news, we won’t suffocate due to Osborn spreading a foliage-killing toxin in Arcadia, so that’s something. Get this—Rapture has a way to literally bring dead plants back to life down here. It’s called the Lazarus Vector. We even got the formula for it.
Liv wanted me to keep it with me for the next time she can see me.. But, if I had to guess why.. perhaps she sees an opportunity to bring it back to the surface? If so.. I suppose nobody down here can really stop her, can they? Heh, some won’t agree with that but I gotta hand it to her, I’m impressed. If nothing else, Dr. Octavius is the savvy sort, which might explain why she’s thriving down here in spite of everything. I like that about her, she’s always several steps ahead of the game.. And she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Anyway, we should be meeting M.J. At the Rapture Metro to head to the next location shortly. Rose tells us to head to Fort Frolic to get access to Osborn’s office… but M.J. told us he’s worried. Mostly because that is the domain of his old boss, Beck…
From what little he’s told me about him.. I don’t particularly blame him.
- 📸
4 notes · View notes
girlkaramazov · 3 months
Text
staring in rapture at this guy on the metro who looks uncannily like mike ehrmantraut….
2 notes · View notes
octo-spam · 7 months
Text
badda boom, random headcanon time
alright, so Ahato right? we know she got out of..................... wherever she was being held [Cod bless her heart] and presumably got to splatsvile considering her signature is in the window at hotlantis
[side note, I found Ded's SoundCloud]
Tumblr media
[signature seen here curtesy of @sanguinesquid for the render I cropped this from]
however, there is still something.... missing... where is she? what's she doing?? me personally? I have a rather unorthodox theory.
ever heard of Mirror's edge? that parkour game from the early 2000's, yeah. complete with the drop-kicking cops. also, just a side note Imagine this,
Nintendo direct begins, the metro in disrepair, sounds of something running, some vague shots of some octoling running, and other sounds of quick movement. A pair of broken hypno-shades falls into a puddle then suddenly, the camera cuts to a open room, our subject comes into view in a rapture-esque underwater area. Title card “Splatoon 3: post mortem”
just imagine, some jet-set radio ass Splatoon dlc where Ahato is fuckin wall running, double jumping, sliding, what have you. real Titanfall shite. can you fucking imagine that? also, side-note, imagine a parkour mini-game instead of table turf? not to be a negative Nancy, but table turf is a bit shit. but yeah, that's my Sploon hc for today, see y'all later. peace
2 notes · View notes
Text
Welcome to Rapture: Chapter 10
Silent Stage Count: 11684 TW/CW: Violence, blood, gore, death, related disturbing imagery
The shutters at every entrance to Fort Frolic, the ones that had kept Syrus trapped in the entertainment center for the last three days, were open. No Plasters guarded them and no Splicers were seen the entire time he and Atlas walked from Fleet Hall. Compared to the lively show out in the main square mere hours ago, the entire district was a ghost town.
Syrus was concerned about where so many insane people could hide, hoping Cohen was a man of his word and that there wasn’t an ambush waiting around a corner. It didn’t help that he was practically being led around by Atlas, who had offered to lead him out due to years of experience in Rapture that allowed the human to practically memorize the whole place supposedly. He had several questions for the human, but decided that they could wait until both of them had reached a safe place.
He had to make the conscious decision of keeping Atlas on his wounded side, still barely able to see or hear from the right side of his head. Hell, his left ear felt slightly muffled, a tinny constant whine faintly sounding. All healing had gone to a near stand-still now that his blood stomach was once more empty and he had to ignore the craving for something iron-enriched.
Something about Atlas still threw him off. He just wasn’t sure what. Maybe the human was an actual threat or maybe his instincts had gone haywire after so much time down in the halls. Still, he was less of a threat than other Splicers or Plasters for the time being, deciding that he’d rather allow Atlas on his injured side than risk either of them being jumped because of his inability to properly register anything from his right.
Eventually, Atlas ducked between an alleyway between two buildings and led Syrus out the other side where he recognized the large hall entrance to the Rapture Metro he’d come in with. Walking down for another minute, the sight of the flickering bathysphere station came into view as they walked in.
“Alright,” Atlas breathed a sigh of relief once both men had walked across the threshold into the Bathysphere Metro. After several minutes of silence between Fleet Hall and here, the human’s quiet remark felt loud to Syrus’ working ear. He turned towards Syrus and added, “I’m sure ya have a lot of questions, boyo, and they’ll all be answered in time. With Cohen’s deal still in effect and no Splicer wantin’ to tangle with him, this is probably the safest place to rest that we’ll find for a while. So, go ahead and ask a couple. Quick ones.”
Syrus watched the human walk over to one of the nearby benches against a broken pillar, resting his back against the degraded surface as he looked back with an expectant look for inevitable questions.
“Where do you plan to go,” Syrus asked, not beating around the bush. His depth perception was off, but he could see clearly that it was a question Atlas had been expecting given the lack of reaction. “Now that you’re not being held captive?”
“I’m gonna do the same thing I’ve been doing since the fall of Rapture, boyo. Try to survive until tomorrow,” Atlas replied tiredly, shifting so that he was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands relaxed and gaze still on Syrus. “That’s all ya can do down here.”
“Surely, there has to be some kind of way out of here,” Syrus frowned. After all the fighting he just went through, he could feel frustration begin to surface. Rabbit was here for a long time, and Atlas even longer. Hell, the guy had been the leader of some revolution. That had to require being able to know the layout of everything enough to get the fuck out of this metallic hell.
“Aye,” the response from Atlas surprised Syrus, summoning a glimmer of hope before immediately snuffing it out as he continued. “The way ya came down in the lighthouse. That, or you can test your luck with the water pressure by trying to swim out of one of the bathysphere stations or fisheries and brave the several miles to the surface.”
Atlas’ response was a fairly sensible one given all that was learned, but that didn’t stop the disappointment and frustration that hit Syrus and made him growl. The human was unfazed, merely giving him a glance as he glared at him, insistent on an escape. “There has to be another way in and out. There’s too many Splicers down here to not be coming from somewhere if all anyone does down here is kill each other.”
“Syrus, we had a whole Little Sister program,” Atlas replied, sitting up from his somewhat folded position to look Syrus more squarely in the face. “You know, those little girls you see running around? Granted, I don’t know how there’s still more. We age far slower than other people with the ADAM in our systems, but we still age. Children, it’s faster because of their metabolism. When the Sisters grew, Ryan sent them topside to kidnap more girls to manipulate and keep ADAM in production. I don’t think there’s been any Big Sisters in commission for decades, but who knows how many children he forced down here to crawl in the walls.
“Probably of age now, adding to the population. I’ve never seen a Little Brother, but I wouldn’t put it past Ryan to be indiscriminate with kidnapping,” the human scrubbed a tired hand over his face, taking care to place his hand on the less bruised side of his face, and leaned back to rest his head against the column while turning his gaze to the ceiling.
Syrus thought that didn’t quite make sense. Little Sisters that were still very much little wandered around the halls, something that wouldn’t be happening if, to his understanding, the Splicers were continuing to somehow follow the cycle. But, given that they all craved ADAM, maybe they understood the necessity of the Little Sister program to get their fix? Whatever the case, he decided to file the information for now, too tired from fighting to delve into Rapture mechanisms that he knew next to nothing about other than what he’d been told.
“And, what about Rabbit,” he asked tiredly, glancing towards the exit of Rapture Metro back towards Fort Frolic, trying to gauge Atlas’ reaction from his healthy peripheral.
“What about her, boyo,” Atlas frowned in confusion, glancing at Syrus from his leaned back position. “We lost her when we locked her from the Arcadia bathysphere station.”
“I’m certain Canary had been Rabbit,” Syrus stated, seeing Atlas’ frown deepen and paused to allow the human to respond if he wanted. Atlas did.
“Syrus, I’m pretty sure Canary wasn’t Rabbit,” the human shifted once more so that he was no longer leaning on the column. “We locked her in the Arcadia halls and the only other way to Fort Frolic is through the marketplace. Which, by the way, still has one of the densest Splicer populations in Rapture. Look, Rabbit doesn’t leave Arcadia much anyways, save for looking at new saps that get trapped by the buggy lighthouse bathyspheres. We caught her in a tantrum because she doesn’t like me, but I’m sure she’s crawled back into the vents or wherever she goes. ‘Sides, what even makes you think that it was Rabbit?”
Syrus opted to not say that he could taste the difference in blood, instead replying, “When the mask fell off, I got a look of their face. It looked like Rabbit, just in a different outfit.”
Atlas just stared at him for a second before letting out a long, drawn out sigh. The human pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was about to explain something to a child, opening them to look up at Syrus as the Chupacabra turned to face him with crossed arms.
“Alright, boyo, I’ll play Devil’s Advocate for you,” the human moved forward, once more leaning his elbows on his knees, hand moving while he spoke. “IF that was Rabbit, why the costume change? Why didn’t she use her electric abilities that she’s prone to use? Why work with one of the two nutcases down here that she hates, for good reason, in a near-suicidal play? Where did she get the telekinesis? With all these questions, why would you think it’s her? Was it because she didn’t sing for any ADAM when you fought? Cause Cohen’s other Houdini’s didn’t either. They sing when he tells 'em to sing.
“Syrus. You had three good, long, and intense fights. Hell, half of your face and an ear are still practically gone from an explosion,” Atlas exclaimed, gesturing to Syrus’ face. He hadn’t seen the way his face looked yet, but he imagined it looked somewhat similar to when people get third degree burns, particularly feeling the tightness of his skin around the jaw. The human glanced him over in concern. “I don’t know why you want it to have been Rabbit, boyo, but are you sure it’s not the blood loss talking, or the concussive blast messing with your head? Perhaps I’m not the only one in need of rest…”
Syrus was a bit taken aback by the human’s supposed concern, having not really thought about his state. It didn’t affect his taste much, save for the right side that got damaged, but now that it was brought to his attention the adrenaline from before was gone, leaving him with creeping exhaustion while his blood stomach craved being filled to heal the wounds he had. Without blood, it would take days to regain full use of his right eye and ear, and even longer for the muscle and skin to heal, though it’d leave scarring. Even with a full stomach of blood, the wounding was enough that he’d almost definitely still have scars, they’d just be lessened with accelerated healing.
If he had suffered concussive damage, it must have healed quickly. His body would have prioritized that first since the brain is a rather important organ. He was tired and probably did have some blood loss, but his mind was fairly clear and he knew on a visceral level that the blood he’d tasted had been from Rabbit. But, maybe he was just too used to the chemicals in most Splicers blood. Part of him wondered what Atlas’ blood tasted like.
“Atlas, I’m certain of what I saw,” Syrus frowned, mulling over Atlas’ questions and finding he didn’t have an answer to any of them. “I don’t know why Rabbit wouldn’t use electricity, but they looked mortified in Cohen’s arms.”
Granted, maybe they were more mortified at him since he’d nearly killed them. Again. But the sheer hatred in their eyes when they looked at Atlas felt out of place if this was a random Splicer under Cohen’s employ. After a couple seconds, he suggested, “Maybe Cohen is blackmailing them? Or threatening them somehow?”
“Threatening them with something worse than the play?”
Syrus didn’t have an answer. Both men stood in silence for a few heartbeats, Atlas looking less than amused while Syrus could feel his lack of knowledge agitating his frustration further.
Atlas let out a long exhale through his nose, grabbing Syrus’ attention as the human seemed to age at his insistent questioning.
“Even if that was Rabbit, even if they were-were somehow coerced or blackmailed into throwing herself into the wolves den of a play, how do you propose we help her,” Atlas asked, blue eyes glinting under the flickering lights briefly as he looked up at Syrus. “I don’t know if you quite remember, Syrus, but she kind of hates me. I’m fairly certain that she’ll try to kill me the first chance she gets. Unless you have a plan to stop her before that happens, I’m all ears for that.”
“If Rabbit tries to attack you, I’ll just paralyze them,” Syrus replied.
“I- You can paralyze people,” Atlas asked, face shifting to both concern and intrigue.
“I can. It minimizes risk from large prey,” Syrus stated matter-of-factly. There was no point beating around the bush, the human had already seen his more animal-like form. He saw the gears turning in the other man’s head, though he didn’t know if they were good or bad.
“Okay,” Atlas shook his head as though to clear it from whatever train of thought he’d been about to go on. “If it was Rabbit, if she was forced into it, and you paralyze her, how are we going to get her out in the first place? Why do you even care so much? We can’t just waltz back in, Cohen basically threatened us to stay outta his turf. And if we do sneak in, how are we getting out with a drugged person without being caught?”
Now Atlas was asking the right questions about moving forward. The biggest catch was that Syrus still didn’t have answers. If he wasn’t stuck underwater, he’d be tempted to cut his losses and simply work with Atlas. Then again, if he wasn’t underwater, he would have just slammed into one of the glass walls until it broke and escaped a long time ago. Out of the four not completely fucked up humans he’d interacted with, only two were viable allies. If he could get the two humans to work together, then not only would they all have an advantage in number compared to if they were on their own against the Splicers, maybe they’d have a better chance of figuring a way out of here.
Not to mention, he still had an odd feeling about Atlas. Another mostly sane human for insurance on getting out would help.
“I don’t know yet,” Syrus admitted, even if he loathed to do so. He hated the uncertainty that being in Rapture brought and the fact that he was becoming used to it. “But, if you don’t know an immediate way out of here, I don’t see any reason to not at least try to make sure it wasn’t Rabbit. Death seems to lurk around every corner in here, so we wouldn’t be expediting it much.”
“I- wha- are you suicidal, boyo,” Atlas exclaimed in alarm, rising to his feet. He gestured sharply to the direction of Fort Frolic. “We can’t just go charging back into there, with you on your high horse, so that you can just confirm or deny what sounds like a hunch! If we go back in there, Cohen will close the flood doors again and we might as well kiss our arses goodbye right now, ‘cause there’s no chance of making it out alive again, boyo!”
Syrus had to resist the urge to narrow his eyes at the panicked human. The human that was, arguably, making very valid points. After all, who in their right mind would go right back into the same place they’d just escaped death from? Maybe Rapture was already affecting his thinking. Either way, he decided to stand his ground.
“You’re free from Cohen, and you’re welcome to stay here or do what you want, but I’m going back,” he said, watching Atlas. “I’m certainly not going to make you go, as long as you don’t get in my way.”
Atlas gaped at him in surprise, frowning and closing his mouth as he seemed to mull over Syrus’ words. He let him. Part of him wanted the human to stay behind, not wanting to trust too easily and let his guard down much around either.
The human seemed to struggle with something internally, eventually grumbling and replying, “I... can’t, in good conscience, just let you go back alone.
“Understand,” Atlas shakily ran a hand through his raven locks, mussing his hair up further than it already was from his captivity. “I don’t want to go back. At all. But, you saved me, so I can’t not help you. Think of it as a favor for a favor, quid pro quo and all that.”
“Alright,” Syrus tried to ignore his disappointment at hearing the man wanted to go with him, thinking that maybe more time would give him insight to why Atlas gave him a bad feeling.
“Before you go jumping back into Fort Frolic, though,” Atlas quickly said before Syrus could say anything else, gazing turning stern. “We need rest. I wasn’t given much food or water under Cohen’s watch and earned some bruises, while you… well, boyo, not to be harsh, but if I saw you before all this time in Rapture, I’d think you were the Devil coming for our hubris. I don’t know the extent of your healing, but stretching yourself thin isn’t going to get Rabbit, if it is her, away any sooner.”
Syrus didn’t want to rest, but his body thought otherwise, able to feel exhaustion begin to weigh down his limbs. Reluctantly, he nodded and added, “We should find ourselves something to eat before we rest, but I can accept that.”
Atlas seemed satisfied with his answer and both men soon found themselves searching the large Rapture Metro for some form of nourishment. Like the entirety of his stay down here, it was found in the form of stale chips and old granola bars that they both shared between themselves. There wasn’t much conversation as they ate, Syrus ignoring the way his blood stomach felt like it twisted in his chest and the way his teeth felt like they’d extended ever so slightly in anticipation of fresh blood. But, he’d have to wait to slake his thirst.
After eating, both Atlas and Syrus picked a bench to sleep on. Again, there wasn’t much conversation, both beginning to feel the weight of the day. At least, Syrus was. He could only speak for himself after all, but he noticed that Atlas’ movements were becoming rather slow and sparse as time went on.
The human was the first one to fall asleep, leaving Syrus laying on his bench alone with his thoughts and looking at the ceiling. The bench was uncomfortable, but he was getting used to sleeping on rough surfaces at this point. What was keeping him up was the fact that he almost died today and still felt no closer to getting the hell out of here.
That and the fact that he was constantly risking his own life for humans in the hope it would lead him closer to that goal. He wasn’t sure if it’d work, but he supposed it was better to die trying to get out of this place than lay down and resign himself to the cold halls.
He inhaled tiredly and let out a long exhale, waving his hand in front of face to test his right eye. It wasn’t much clearer than before, if at all, needing to rely on movement and change of light when he closed his left eye, and his hand was simply a large indiscernible blob darker than the light from above. His right ear was unnervingly silent despite being able to easily hear the water lapping at metal from the bathysphere docks with his left despite the tinny whine. If he turned his head just right, he could barely hear Atlas’ breathing from the other bench.
Eventually, he was able to turn onto his right side, careful of the injuries, and managed to push aside the uncertainty and thoughts enough to fall asleep. It was dreamless, the kind of dark sleep that happens when the body’s too tired to dream or to remember them. Maybe there was a vague inkling of one or two dreams, but they vanished as quickly as they came.
Syrus woke when he registered a slight sound, feeling goosebumps at a presence far too close for his comfort, bolting upright and grabbing the wrist of the other person before they could touch him with their outstretched hand.
Atlas was caught off guard, his bruising distorting as his face contorted in surprise. He seemed to temper his concern, though he tried to twist his arm out of the other man’s grip, saying, “Relax, boyo, I was just moving to wake you. I heard something down the hall towards Fort Frolic and didn’t want either of us to be caught off guard – could you release my wrist, Syrus, you’re about to snap it!”
“Right. Sorry,” Syrus released his unintentional, almost bone-crushing hold on Atlas. To the human’s credit, he hadn’t panicked despite his obvious alarm at the Chupacabra’s reaction to the surprise awakening.
Syrus’ groggy mind quickly woke, though he still felt exhausted. Without any way to gauge time down here it could have been minutes or hours. Either way his body craved more sleep, but now that he was awake and told of some noise, his body already worked on trying to pinpoint whatever it was as he tilted the left side of his head towards the hall that Atlas had mentioned.
He didn’t know if it was the same noise, but he heard very faint crying in the direction of Fort Frolic when he did so. Too faint for Atlas to have heard, so whatever the human heard may have precluded the crying he heard now, informing Atlas, “I hear crying. What did you hear?”
“Not sure what I heard. Can ya tell if it’s a child or adult, boyo,” Atlas asked, brow furrowing in thought. His fingers twitched as though wanting to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there. “I’m game to help a Little Sister, but I’d rather not run into any other Splicers unless we have to.”
“No,” Syrus replied, standing up. Several vertebrae and joints popped from sleeping on the bench, and some soreness had set into his muscles. He walked over to a nearby pile of debris and easily moved the broken chunks of metal and concrete until he came across a bent metal rod. It wasn’t much, but it was sturdy and it’d have to do, so he stood up and walked to Atlas to offer it. “Crying is crying. But we should probably still investigate to make sure the danger doesn’t reach here.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Atlas frowned as he took the offered metal rod in his hands and tested the weight a bit. “You lead the way though, boyo, I can’t hear what you hear.”
Syrus nodded, tilting his head so that his left ear was pointed more toward the crying as he began to walk down the hall it came from. Fort Frolic’s hall. In his peripherals, he saw Atlas falter with an unreadable expression, but the human continued before he could question it. The hall to Fort Frolic was pretty straightforward with barely any branching points but both of them still kept an eye out. Atlas fell in step on Syrus’s left side, something he had to resist the urge to growl at since his right side still wasn’t healed, and it made him feel vulnerable to have that side ‘exposed’ in a way. Still, Atlas should be able to see if something happened on his right given the lack of hiding spots.
The closer they got to the crying, taking one of the few smaller halls to follow the noise, the louder it became. Not only that, but he heard a few other faint noises in the distance that he felt like weren’t there before when they had left. The crying led both of them to one of the brass vents embedded in the wall.
“A Little Sister,” Atlas frowned for an unknown reason until he elaborated a moment after, “They usually don’t cry ‘cause of the cotton-candy way they perceive things unless their Big Daddy is dead. But, if that’s the case… they also usually mourn beside the body until an unattached Big Daddy lumbers around or…”
“Well, either way, I don’t see or hear it anywhere in the hall nearby,” Syrus commented. He definitely would have heard if there was a Big Daddy around, the lumbering steps enough to rattle the metal of entire hallways if they were short enough. He’d also only seen the normal carnage and debris that littered Rapture, nothing that seemed fresh or large enough to have been caused by a Big Daddy.
“Yes… it’s not normal,” the human looked perturbed before raising a hand. He rapped a knuckle on the brass edge loudly, startling Syrus.
“What are you doing,” the Chupacabra practically hissed, thinking that the human was very lucky that there didn’t seem to be Splicers nearby, otherwise they would have seen it as a dinner bell.
“If the Little Sister pokes her head out, maybe she’ll answer what happened to her Big Daddy and any other questions.”
Syrus scowled, but it was too late to stop the human from causing the noise. Besides, there were sounds in the vent of something moving to focus on now, the noise amplified and echoed by the metal walls of the vent. They escalated until a little girl with the familiarly glowing yellow eyes popped out and looked out hopefully, only to almost immediately look upset and duck back down.
“You’re not Sunflower,” the child wailed, distorted voice echoing on the brass and solidifying how lucky it was that Splicers weren’t nearby to hear it.
“No, but we’re still here to help,” Atlas replied softly, giving the girl a small smile to try and be reassuring. “We can try to find Sunflower, if you’d like.”
There was a second or two of silence before the girl poked her head back up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, “You’ll help? Usually only Bunny helps…”
“Yes, we can try. But, you need to tell us what happened, okay,” Atlas coaxed gently.
Syrus watched the Little Sister regard them both. Not with suspicion, he had a feeling that something had been done to make them complacent with the underwater hell they resided in, but rather with thought as she seemed to try and think of where to start.
“Okay,” the girl sniffed again, looking satisfied at whatever she was thinking of. “S-Sunflower and I wanted to see if there were any-any Angels in the fun district, but it’s been closed for a few days. But! I-It opened up earlier, and we went to go look for Angels. I didn’t see any in the streets or stores, and the shoppers don’t usually bother us. There weren’t any shoppers, but I've seen them go in and out of the theatre and wanted to see if there were any plays happening… Wh-When we walked in though, some statues fell on Sunflower and hurt him. I wanted to stay and help Sunflower, but I ran away because more statues started falling and I was blocked off from Sunflower. One of the statues almost fell on me.”
Syrus frowned in confusion, but Atlas just listened intently, nodding along to what the girl was saying. He couldn’t help but still be unnerved by the glowing eyes of the girl, realizing after a second that she actually did have pupils, they were just a shade or two lighter than the all-encompassing iris and looked blurred.
“We’ll go check on Sunflower for you, okay lass,” Atlas said questioningly, giving the Little Sister a reassuring smile that seemed to help relax her.
“Thank you, poster man,” the girl perked up and smiled back. “A-And tell Sunflower to come to our favorite place so he can find me.”
The interaction ended with an assuring “Will do” and farewell wave from Atlas that was reciprocated before he walked off. Towards Fort Frolic.
Syrus didn’t hesitate to follow after, though now he had several questions swirling in his head. But, before he could even think about figuring out which one to say aloud first, he heard Atlas murmur to himself.
“Cohen doesn’t usually touch the Little Sisters or the Big Daddies…”
“What about the Big Daddies in the performance,” Syrus asked, grimacing at the memory. He could see why someone wouldn’t want to mess with them, given their strength and capability, but he wouldn’t be surprised if someone did given the general mental state down here. And, thinking on it, there had been a freshly killed Big Daddy near Rabbit when he’d found them injured among the floor of corpses that might have caused at least a couple of them.
“Key word is ‘usually’, boyo,” Atlas stopped, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he turned to Syrus. “He had mentioned that he just wanted them for the latest performance in his mutterings and monologues. He knows Little Sisters are what collect the ADAM from decaying bodies that eventually trickles to him somehow.”
“How does it even get to him?” Syrus stopped beside the human.
“I tend to think of it as a weird beehive, though without a Queen,” Atlas sighed thoughtfully. “The Little Sisters are the workers that collect ADAM from dead bodies and whatever else they’re supposed to, but they also make it with the slugs in their stomachs. I don’t quite know what happens with the collected ADAM, Ryan kept the inner machinations of his system under lock and key to the grave, but I know that the girls had to have the ADAM collected otherwise the ADAM would become too much even for them. All I know is that Cohen gets enough to have the entirety of Fort Frolic wrapped around his finger. He doesn’t attack Little Sisters on the reg, Syrus.” Atlas huffed, confused, and turned to continue walking in the same direction as before.
Syrus trailed just behind, keeping the human on his right side so that he could keep his good eye looking for danger and commented, “I thought you didn’t want to go back to Fort Frolic.”
Atlas was quiet for a few seconds, pace slowing as he seemed to think before he eventually glanced at him and replied, “Trust me, boyo, I’m loath to do it. But… something feels off. And that concerns me.”
“More off than the other homicidal humans,” Syrus asked rhetorically, though the human’s words stuck with him. If Cohen seemed to have a pattern of behavior and disposition, he wasn’t sure what the cause would be to change that. “Maybe it was my presence? Or someone else new came down?”
“Cohen doesn’t care about newcomers unless they manage to stumble all the way into his district. Sees them as a waste of time otherwise, and an excellent performance opportunity if they make it to his doors. You’re one of the few to make it this far, and one of the first to survive one of his ‘auditions’,” Atlas said.
“Has Rabbit ever been caught by Cohen?”
“Unless your Canary ends up somehow being Rabbit, she’d never been subjected to Cohen’s stage plays. And, until the other day, I’d never been caught either.”
“What about the bathyspheres,” Syrus tilted his head in confusion, trying to read the other man’s expression from his left eye. Difficult when he was keeping the human on his right. “Why does the lighthouse apparently just get a bathysphere occasionally? Is it just the same one each time, because then you could just… wait long enough, right?”
He watched Atlas falter at his line of questioning, turning his head to look at the man when he looked towards Syrus.
“I’ve… never really thought about it that much, boyo,” Atlas replied, shrugging with a perturbed expression before continuing to walk down the hall. “I just know that however the lighthouse system works, it’s not the same bathysphere. It’s dangerous to linger around the lighthouse area with Spiders and Splicers ready to tear into any newcomers, and they’ve torn into the metal casings with the help of ADAM and EVE to get to whoever thinks hiding in a bathysphere is a good idea. I used to occasionally risk going to the lighthouse bathysphere dock whenever the Splicers got riled up about a newcomer… sometimes it looked like the bathysphere was torn apart like a tin can.”
An uncomfortable silence fell, and Syrus did nothing to break it. He didn’t think he’d been here more than a few weeks and already felt stir-crazy, his mind starting to go in circles of frustration from both Rabbit and Atlas being near dead-end avenues for escape. He didn’t know how Atlas seemed to be so unphased while also maintaining his sanity.
Several minutes passed as the duo walked back the worn halls towards Fort Frolic again. It was relatively like when they’d left, but Syrus could hear things faintly echo from the district, indiscernible to him and likely nonexistent to his human companion. The shutters were still open as they approached with no sign of Plasters, but there was something just within the threshold that wasn’t there before, something that didn’t move and caused nothing more than caution until they were close enough for him to see what it was.
A mangled Splicer corpse was sprawled in a pool of blood, bloodied footprints on the floor and debris around the body.
“What the hell,” Atlas’s voice came out in a shocked whisper, sounding gruff after the minutes of silence.
Both men stopped to take in the gory sight, Atlas surprisingly more affected by the sight than Syrus, something that surprised the Chupacabra. After a few seconds, he moved a few feet closer cautiously to get a better look, almost snarling at Atlas when the human grabbed his right elbow with his blurry vision. His head whipped to face the other man, eyes narrowing.
“Be careful, boyo,” Atlas hissed, seeming to bite back a comment as he glanced at the body before continuing, “This is abnormal to Hell and back. Cohen forbids his Splicers to attack or fight off show unless they want to be one of his Butterflies, and everyone else in Rapture knows they’ll be captured for an unforgiving spotlight if they wander in. No one’s just killed in the streets without Cohen knowing, and not without him punishing them. Something is wrong.”
The urgency in Atlas’ voice surprised Syrus, but he nodded as he pulled his arm from the other man’s grasp, quietly replying, “We need to know as much of what happened if we can.”
Technically, they could both go the rest of their lives without knowing what happened to this Splicer, turn tail and continue hiding for the rest of their lives like Atlas probably has to survive. But, any knowledge on the change of behavior in the Splicers nearby could be a deciding factor on how long the rest of their lives were. This could either be affecting a portion of the Splicers, or every single one in the vicinity.
Atlas nodded though, reluctantly trailing behind Syrus as he got closer to investigate the murder scene.
The body of the Splicer was difficult to discern past the coating of blood soaking it and the floor, sticking to the soles of his shoes. With fancy attire torn and stained, accessories disheveled similarly, it looked like one of Cohen’s performance Splicers. Or one similar given that Syrus had killed the ones pitted against him. Several wounds littered the body that could have been the cause of its demise, but its chest in particular was riddled with multiple thin stab wounds from something cylindrical.
Broken and discarded beside the corpse was one of the specialized syringes that Little Sisters would walk around with, the glass vial broken and needle bent sharply in several places.
“Jesus Christ,” Atlas murmured, catching Syrus’s attention. The human’s blue eyes shifted as he looked the body over, brow furrowed. “I’ve seen things down here, but this is grislier than some…”
“What do you think caused the attack then,” Syrus asked, trying to discern any scents in the area. He only smelled more blood. He kept his good eye on the lookout for any movement nearby and strained to hear shuffling close by. There were ambient noises that had him tilting his head, but nothing more.
“Probably same thing as always down here,” Atlas glanced around to check for danger as well before crouching beside the body for a closer look. “Looks like a Splicer, or a group of them, got ahold of a Little Sister’s syringe and decided to try and collect the ADAM themselves. My question is why? Cohen supplies his Splicers with ADAM, that’s how he keeps them in line…”
“Do you think he cut them off for some reason,” Syrus asked, seeing the answer in the man’s face after interrupting his aloud thinking.
“No.”
Another tense silence fell between them, worse than before with the uncertainty that came from the presence of the Splicer corpse. Surprisingly, when Syrus moved to continue deeper into the streets of Fort Frolic, Atlas didn’t voice disapproval or try to ask him why he’d still risk going further in. He didn’t know why he was continuing himself, but what else was he going to do?
Both Syrus and Atlas walked cautiously, staying near store walls. Syrus sensed a change within the district, and as they slowly got closer to the center, the ambient noise that he was hearing earlier became clearer and he was able to realize what it was.
Splicers talked and murmured to themselves, none close enough to distinguish what they were saying, and any too close were carefully moved away from by the duo. The sounds were familiar and something he was used to in the normal sprawling halls of Rapture, but Fort Frolic had lacked it entirely during his entire ‘stay’ there. He didn’t know if it was discipline or bribery that had brought the silence beforehand, but it was broken either way and it only became louder, more frequent, as Syrus and Atlas got closer to Fleet Hall.
Syrus was barely able to register the sound of running footsteps from his right in front of them a moment before a Splicer ran out of an alley just ahead of them. He saw Atlas jolt and brace for a fight, doing the same, but it quickly became obvious that it hadn’t seen either of them. In fact, it looked more like it was running from something.
“C’mere with yer pretty ADAM,” a fancily dressed Splicer, one of the Houdini’s, simply popped into existence in front of the other Splicer in a flourish of glowing petals that manifested from and faded to nothing as it grinned sadistically at the running Splicer.
Atlas grabbed Syrus’ arm and pulled him into the nearest side alley, causing him to bare his teeth and jolt in surprise, but he made no noise at the sudden action. Instead, he joined Atlas in cautiously looking out from the alley shadows as the running Splicer barely managed to avoid crashing into the Houdini.
The Splicer reeled back, spitting out, “F-Fuck off, it’s mine!”
Before it could take a step in any direction to continue running or either Atlas or Syrus could blink, a burst of blood erupted from the Splicer’s chest and misted the air. It was speared through by a large shard of ice that had sprouted from the floor.
The Houdini approached the gurgling Splicer, the blue glow in its hand fading as it reached up and tapped the point of the bloodied ice shard, stating in a sing-song voice, “Got you and yer ADAM.”
Syrus tore his gaze from the Houdini as it hummed and began to rummage through the other Splicer’s pockets in its dying moments, nudging Atlas and interrupting his thoughts. The human didn’t make any noise, thankfully, looking at him from his staring at the Houdini with an unreadable expression. He jerked his head a bit to the side to indicate that they should get away from the scene before the Houdini moved its attention from the Splicer’s corpse.
Atlas nodded and turned away from the alley exit, starting to lead Syrus through the even more labyrinthian side alleys. It was obvious neither wanted to remain in the open.
“Let me guess,” Syrus whispered a bit bitterly, “That’s abnormal too?”
“Very,” Atlas hissed back worriedly. “If Cohen’s Houdini’s and Splicers are running amok this much in his Fort Frolic, then he either withheld their payday of ADAM, or something happened to him.”
“If something happened to him, at least we don’t have to worry about being locked in, hopefully,” Syrus mused quietly, thinking that maybe, maybe, Rabbit took the playwright out.
“I… don’t know. He’s been in control of so many Splicers,” Atlas peered around the corner to see if there was anything there. Satisfied by nothing, he continued to walk carefully and Syrus continued to follow. “If something’s happened to him, his Splicers are just going to run loose around Rapture now. Like a spider keeping the fly population down, he’s dangerous, but necessary. Probably the only reason we didn’t see more is because they would have dispersed to the Marketplace to the rest of Rapture.”
So, a free-for-all, Syrus supposed. But he frowned at Atlas’ words, asking, “Is there nothing beyond Fort Frolic?”
“Not directly, no… Not after Hephaestus was blown to bits by Jack. That way’s blocked off by one of the flood doors. There’s an entire other section of Rapture filled with the residential district for workers, a library, laboratories, and some other stuff I’m forgettin’. Maybe the vents.”
“Is there any way out on that side,” Syrus asked. His blood stomach twisted a bit to remind him of its presence painfully, causing him to grimace. Part of him wanted a Splicer to attack, if only because it would get his body to leave him alone.
“Not that I’m aware of, boyo,” Atlas sighed, “Again, it was mostly for the workers, and those on this side of Rapture didn’t care if any of us lived or died. It’s the whole reason I was starting the revolution.”
Syrus made a noise of acknowledgement, realizing he didn’t really know where Atlas was leading him. “Are you heading towards the Fleet Hall?”
The human stopped, glancing towards him before taking a breath and reluctantly answering, “Yes, Syrus, I am… We need to find out what happened to Cohen. I doubt he had a change of heart or profession, but I can’t imagine him being killed by one of his Splicers, there’s a reason he’s lasted this long.”
He looked like he had an idea in mind, but he wasn’t saying it.
“Could have been Rabbit,” Syrus suggested, seeing how Atlas looked exasperated and conflicted at the comment.
“I-,” Atlas’ voice held a tinge of frustration, “Yes, yes, I suppose it could have been, but that doesn’t really make it better for us.”
“Why not? The whole reason I even wanted to risk coming back was to see if they were Canary.”
“Because, Syrus, if Rabbit was Canary and all the Splicer’s start acting like this, then she’s either managed to wound him in escaping or backstabbed him in whatever deal was made,” Atlas whisper-yelled, looking back and pausing to answer Syrus. “Either way, she’ll be on edge and want to hunker back down in Arcadia. Hell, it’s been hours, she’s probably there now.”
“If you think she’s so dangerous and that she might not even be there, why are you going back to Fleet Hall with me? Why are you helping me,” Syrus asked, frowning a bit. Both Rabbit and Atlas were confusing in their own ways and he found himself increasingly frustrated. Watching the human prepare to respond, he heard something faintly with his left ear, a cackle.
He quickly grabbed Atlas’ upper arm, the arm holding the bent metal rod, placed a hand against the man’s mouth as he opened his mouth to respond and pressed both of them against the alley wall to be in the darkest sections of shadow. Ignoring the surprised grunt of surprise that was muffled by his hand or the human’s squirming, he turned his gaze upwards where he could hear faint humming and the tink-tink of tapping metal above getting closer with his good ear. Thankfully, Atlas seemed to realize that he was listening for something and stopped his muffled protests.
A Splicer, face half-covered by a damaged cat mask, peered into the alley from the opening above and looked back and forth. Its humming was actually singing, but it was so faint that Syrus wasn’t sure it knew it was singing aloud.
“Fishies in the allies, fishies in the streets. Make them squeal, collect the meats,” it sang as its gaze searched.
Syrus waited with bated breath as it repeated its morbid and musical mantra to itself, muscles tensed to either run or fight if it saw them below. A few times it paused and made him think that it had seen them or somehow heard them, but it always continued after a second or two.
Eventually, it turned its half-hidden gaze back up and carefully stretched its arms and torso across the gap above, sharpened and twisted metal embedded in its hands glinting as it did so. A Spider Splicer. The gap was, of course, too wide for its reach, but that didn’t deter it in the slightest. It let itself fall forward, lazily kicking the lip of the building behind it as it dropped. Dropping a few feet, its self-made claws raked against the other side until they dug into the surface and stopped the Spider from falling into the alley.
He grimaced at the scraping sound before it caught itself, the Spider pulling itself up from its new wall with a giggle and crawling away as it began to sing again. Slowly, it faded with the sound of its metallic claws, overshadowed by the newfound background din of Fort Frolic.
It was several seconds before Syrus or Atlas moved, half-expecting the Spider to crawl back or for there to be more. But, when there were no other nearby sounds, Syrus relaxed slightly and dropped his hand from Atlas’ face. To the human’s credit, he didn’t seem as bothered about being pulled aside as he seemed to be with not finishing his earlier explanation.
“Look, boyo,” Atlas’ voice was quieter than before as he scrubbed a hand across his face tiredly despite the bruising. Looking Syrus in the eyes, he asked, “You said earlier that death was around every corner, so what’s the harm in risks, right?”
Syrus frowned. The conversation after leaving Fort Frolic the first time felt like a lifetime ago, the adrenaline-filled fight even more distant. Curious, he slowly replied, “Something along those lines…”
Atlas gave him an almost studying look as though trying to gauge Syrus’ reaction as he continued, “In any case, I’ve been down here a long time. Since well before Jack and Rabbit got down here when I was headin’ a revolution. I’ve stayed alive because of caution and stealth, something I tried to pass on to those who looked up to me, who I was in charge of. But, I’ve no doubt that more than just Jack and Rabbit saw it as cowardice. Probably why they turned on me…
“Maybe it’s time for me to steel my nerves and do a bit more than just hide in the shadows and wait for the next day,” the human gave a lengthy sigh. “At least see if what’s between Rabbit and I is… mendable. And, I suppose, that starts with seeing if Rabbit was Canary and if Cohen bit it.”
Syrus wasn’t sure how to feel. Hungry still, mostly, his chest aching. So, he wasn’t sure if his feelings of misgivings were entirely founded or fueled by naturally feeling defensive with his wounds and need for blood. He told himself that if Atlas did try anything, he’d easily be able to overpower the human even while injured. And it’d make his life a lot easier, hopefully, to have both Rabbit and Atlas helping. Maybe all three of them could figure a way out to get out of this place.
“Lead on, then,” he gestured for Atlas to continue walking.
Atlas blinked at his response but gave a determined smile and nod. It took a couple seconds for him to remember which direction was towards Fleet Hall, but they were off in no time.
It took about an hour to reach Fleet Hall through the alleyways. Despite Atlas’ words about steeling his nerves and doing more than hiding in the shadows, both had an unspoken agreement that it was best to not draw attention to themselves and that caution was a must to continue forward. It was slow, and the closer they got to the theatre, the more fresh devastation they saw from the more active Splicers. Glimpses of corpses and the occasional body in the alleyways with blood lining the streets here and there as they crept from one alley to the next. Hysteric cackles and one-sided conversations let both men know how close most of the threats were.
At least Syrus was able to drink from the bodies they came across in the alleys. He felt Atlas’ eyes watch him after several seconds of drinking greedily from the first body, forcing himself to stop before getting his fill and only drank a few seconds from the rest since it made him uncomfortable to be under the humans’ stare. He also, very reluctantly, kept himself from finding the livers of the bodies and eating those as well. Still, his body appreciated the blood he did manage to drink, feeling his aches and pains from the fight dissipate a little.
His hearing improved enough that he wasn’t as deaf on his right side anymore, though he likely wouldn’t hear much unless it was a pistol going off or something banged on something else. His eyesight… was still very movement based. Maybe it was more saturated and the smallest degree clearer, but he wasn’t sure. A blob was still a blob.
It put him on edge how little these important senses were healing, but he’d also never gotten injured as severely as he had during the fight, never lost an eye or an ear before. At this rate, even if he had a steady supply of blood and iron-rich organs, it’d still take a couple days for his hearing to improve enough to be useful and his eye even longer. But at least the whine in his left ear was gone now.
After what felt like another eternity, Atlas managed to lead Syrus to the West side of Fleet Hall to a side entrance using another side alley. Given the huge entrance staircase in the front, they were about to enter the ‘basement’ of the building.
It was probably the quietest it’d been in their trek, the background noises of Splicers and such nowhere near. And, after both of them had been silent almost the entire time, the sound of the door opening as Atlas tried the handle felt unnervingly loud. Apparently locks meant nothing to Cohen. For this door, at least.
“Well, boyo,” Atlas said quietly, peering inside for a second to make sure it was safe before opening the door all the way and gesturing inside. “Let’s go in and see if Cohen grew a heart, or if his twisted substitute’s stopped beatin’.”
Syrus reluctantly walked inside, foot nudging a discarded coil of rope on the floor as he stepped into the somewhat small hall. Debris and scattered equipment lined the floor almost haphazardly, the lights above shining warmly on the dusty interior. The hall led down and branched in several places, obviously some labyrinthian storage for the theatre.
“We’re gonna have to be real quiet” Atlas whispered, carefully closing the door behind him. With it closed, Syrus could smell the dust and even faint lingering cologne and perfume. “Regardless if Cohen’s alive, there’s gonna be a few Splicers down here. Right now, we’re in the lowest level and have to find the stairs up.”
“Why didn’t we go in the front then,” Syrus asked quietly. There was the creak of a floorboard somewhere in the distance, but it was brief.
“Cause, Syrus, the Little Sister might see things differently, but it sounded to me like the lass and her Big Daddy got ambushed by Plasters. I’d rather not get clobbered over the head again if I can help it,” the human began to cautiously move inward down the hall.
Syrus made an acknowledging noise, thinking that was a fair thought. He’d have questioned how Atlas knew his way around, but the smallest glance around showed an abundance of signs in the hallway. Each room was marked with a plaque beside the door labeling its intended purpose with varying degrees of wear, signs to inform where the nearest exit was, and ones at each branching hall labeling what the sections had.
He followed Atlas as he crept forward with the bent rod in a white-knuckled grip, down one of the halls where the section sign included ‘Backstage Stairs’ in worn letters.
Both tried to stay alert for any Splicers hiding in the claustrophobic maze of halls and doors. If the door to a room was closed, neither worried much about it, walking past rooms labeled things like ‘Cable Storage 12’ and ‘Prop Room 3’, even if there was noise inside. Best to slip by as quick as they could to avoid alerting any lingering Splicers or increase the chances of the door being opened by whoever was inside.
Open rooms and branching hallways were cautiously peered into by Atlas since he was the one in the lead, stopped beside whatever entryway was in question briefly to ensure it was safe before both men continued carefully past.
Once more, minutes stretched painfully with their silent stop and go pace.
Syrus didn’t even bother trying to remember each turn or where they led, grateful for the extensive organization and labeling system in the halls that Cohen created down here. He just followed Atlas until he picked up a sound he couldn’t quite recognize from the next open room, grabbing the human’s arm just before he could look inside. Atlas gave him a confused look.
“Careful,” Syrus’ whisper was barely audible to himself, but Atlas got the message and went from confused to curious. “I can hear something inside.”
Atlas glanced back at the doorway before looking back at Syrus. So far, they’d been lucky enough to not come across any Splicers within the halls, and any Splicers in open rooms were preoccupied with their own insanity or searching the room for some unknown item. After a few seconds of contemplation, the human shifted so that he was pressed against the wall and nodded towards the open doorway to gesture that Syrus could look inside.
The Chupacabra glanced at the entryway and nodded, letting go of Atlas’ arm as he carefully moved around him to look inside. The odd faint sound he heard that he stopped them for continued as he peeked around the doorframe, his good eye finding the source easily.
A Splicer held a knife lightly in its hand and crouched over the body of another, dark red staining it and the floor around the corpse. It was fresh.
Unaware of its audience, the Splicer moved, leaning forward and used its free hand to steady the body as it finished cutting into it. The sound of flesh being cut was what Syrus had heard, as well as it being bitten into as the Splicer plucked its cut of flesh from the corpse and ate it. It shifted to cut another piece from the body and Syrus turned back to Atlas.
As long as the Splicer was content busying itself eating, he didn’t really care.
He gestured to Atlas that it was safe enough, letting the human take the lead again. He kept the Splicer inside in his peripherals as Atlas moved around him, seeing the other man look into the room as he passed with an indifferent look. With how long he’d been here, it likely wasn’t the first instance of cannibalism Atlas had witnessed.
A few more minutes and a detour around a blocked hallway, they finally reached the stairway up to backstage as the hall widened significantly.
The staircase was twice the width of the storage halls, another hall of similar size branching next to it with the sign ‘Large Props’ and the words ‘and Art Gallery’ added to the wall beside it in cursive with blood or paint. The lights from upstairs were noticeably brighter and not a sound was heard.
“It feels too quiet,” Syrus stated quietly, frowning a bit at the silence.
“I doubt there’s gonna be anyone backstage anymore, boyo,” Atlas replied, starting to walk up the steps. “Most everyone’s likely wreaking havoc outside. If you spent potentially decades working for drugs by a maniacal psychopath while being one yourself, I doubt you’d stick around longer than needed to ransack the place for any ADAM and desecrate the corpse.”
“I suppose,” Syrus trailed behind the human cautiously, still straining to hear anything. But he only heard him and Atlas’ footsteps. Though he noticed some blood as they reached the top and saw the aftermath of a bloodbath in the backstage section.
With the stairs at the back of the backstage room, the same size as the impressive stage itself, there were a few meters of relatively clean flooring until the nearest corpse, one that looked like it had been clawing to get to the stairs before it died.
Past that, it looked like dozens of bodies littered the room amongst knocked over and broken props, the floor stained and smeared with blood only hours old. There were even Plasters, broken bodies of flesh and plaster coating scattered around. A few pillars from the third act of the earlier fight were tipped over and broken on several bodies.
“Christ,” Atlas murmured, glancing over the scene and shifting his grip on his metal rod. He began to pick his way over the nearest corpses, steps muffled by semi-dried blood. “This explains why there weren’t as many Splicers downstairs and outside as I would have expected if Cohen’s control of Fort Frolic was gone.”
“Not as many,” Syrus asked incredulously, looking around as he also began to make his way across the room. He figured they’d seen plenty outside, more than he would have thought lived here given that the entire district was a dead zone for the three days he’d spent wandering around. He stopped beside Atlas as the human paused, searching for something among the corpses.
“He’s probably gotten thousands of Splicers over the years – oh, don’t look so surprised, boyo, this place was built to be an entirely functional city under the waves, remember,” Atlas chuckled in amused exasperation when Syrus jolted at the sound of thousands of Splicers, continuing whatever search. “I’m sure he’s never had more than a couple hundred at a time. They’re rather expendable to him. Any Splicer that wanders in has the unfortunate chance of being roped into his service or his art.
“Most wised up to it, of course. Eventually. You’d think that in all this carnage, there’d be one bloody – Oh! Perfect,” Atlas exclaimed, pleased. He tossed his twisted metal rod aside and pried a shotgun from a pile of bodies.
Syrus watched him check it over, seemingly satisfied with the firearm and even finding some intact shells in the pile. He was surprised when the human rummaged around some more, picking something up before tossing him what ended up being a rather bloody revolver. He caught it, being mindful of the trigger, and looked back with a raised eyebrow.
“Do ya know how to shoot, boyo,” Atlas asked, exasperated by his questioning look.
“Can’t say I have any experience, no,” Syrus replied, carefully turning it in his hands. “I only know how to pull the trigger.”
“Right, right… You mostly rely on your physical attributes,” Atlas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. After a couple seconds, he reached his hand out for the gun back and, when Syrus gave it, emptied the bullets from the chamber. He pocketed them and handed the revolver back, saying, “Just point it as a threat, and use it to bludgeon someone if they get too close. You’ve got enough injuries without accidentally hurtin’ yourself with this.”
Syrus frowned, thinking that it was unnecessary, but it was probably to try and make Splicers second guess attacking the duo if they were both armed with guns. He doubted it would work, but there also wasn’t any harm in keeping it on him for now.
Though, speaking of injuries, it brought them back to the forefront of his mind and he glanced at the abundance of corpses around. After the brief feedings earlier, he could refrain himself from the urge to drink. But it would be ideal to try and keep his healing up as much as he could, and if both his stomachs were filled then it should last him a few hours until they could get to a safer space.
“Ah, you’re welcome to do what you gotta do, boyo, I’ll see what else I can scavenge from this mess,” Atlas said, drawing Syrus’ attention. He gestured to a different section of the backstage. “Just, uh, let me know when you’re finished.”
Atlas walked off and began to rummage around the other corpses a small distance away.
Syrus could only guess that the human had noticed or surmised his discomfort at being stared at while feeding and wasn’t going to complain about the other man trying to not make it awkward. He still gave Atlas a glance as he knelt beside one of the corpses and began to feed, drinking deeply of the cold, chemical-infused blood that was still in the body. Surprisingly, it didn’t taste as bad as usual, and he even felt a slight warmth after drinking his fill from two bodies. Perhaps it was because of his injuries, or maybe he was just getting way too used to it.
With another glance towards the human, who was still picking his way through corpses, and a brief internal debate, he shifted to his more feral form and nosed amongst the corpses. It was easier to just bite into abdomens and snap up most of the organs in a bite than it was to use claws to tear into the bodies in his human form to find the livers.
After tearing into a few corpses, he licked his lips of any remnant blood and gore before changing back. The feeling of his bones and muscles shifting and tearing a bit caused him discomfort like usual, but it was overshadowed by his body’s contentment with both stomachs being full.
“Ready whenever you are,” Syrus announced, walking up to Atlas.
The human stood up and turned around from whatever corpse he was looking at, pocketing a few more bullets as he turned to look at Syrus. He glanced him over, replying, “I’m ready to get the fuck back outta this district. You’ve got a little something on your face though, Syrus.”
Syrus reached up and wiped a thumb over the corner of his mouth to where Atlas pointed, pulling it away and seeing a smear of blood he seemed to have not taken care of. Atlas, seemingly satisfied with the action, nodded in approval and began to pick his way over to the double doors to the side of the backstage. As they both got closer, Syrus noticed that the curtain had slashes and a few bullet holes through it, and a small set of stairs back down into the floor with the sign ‘Orchestra Pit’ above it.
Atlas walked up to the double doors, cocking the shotgun in his hands and pressed his hip against the push bar of the right-side door, cautiously peering out into the hall. After several seconds of him glancing out with no sound, he pushed the door open all the way and said, “Right, hall’s clear, boyo.”
Syrus followed Atlas into the new hall and a cursory glance revealed only a couple bodies on the carpet floor of the hallway. Like the storage section, there was a plaque beside the double doors labeled ‘Backstage’ and a sign on the wall that pointed to the nearest restroom, exit, and said the number of dressing rooms and prop rooms on this floor. Stairs were situated across the hall from the double doors to allow ease of access for anyone coming down from the floors above with another sign with ‘DR 200-250, MR 200-205: DR 300-310, MR 300’.
“Where to now,” he asked, wishing there was a sign that just had ‘Cohen Here’ with an arrow that pointed in the direction of the maniac. He hoped they wouldn’t have to hunt around in here through each room to try and find the man.
“Cohen wouldn’t just use a normal dressing room,” Atlas walked over to the stairs and glanced over the directory with a hum for a couple of seconds. “I don’t see it on here, but he likes flourish. Probably on whatever top floor this place has.”
“More stairs then,” Syrus exhaled a bit through his nose, starting to walk up the steps. Atlas, who’d mostly been leading this entire time, didn’t protest and just trailed behind him up the stairwell that folded to circle back to the second floor.
Like the sign at the bottom of the stairs had implied, there were two other floors. The second looked about the same as the first floor from the brief glance they gave it, but the top floor looked more well kept and fancy-looking, probably for big name actors and actresses that worked at the theatre. The only thing ruining the more expensive interior design were the stains of blood and a few more bodies in the halls, the majority in one particular direction.
Atlas kicked the nearest corpse absentmindedly and glanced at Syrus, saying, “Well, I think we know what direction Cohen’s office is in if it’s up here. I doubt the Splicers have been kind to his corpse if he’s actually kicked the bucket… Are you ready to move ahead? There’s no guarantee that Rabbit did this, or if she’s even still here.”
“Not much use stalling if we want answers,” Syrus replied. He didn’t even know what he wanted out of this whole excursion. Was he expecting some kind of closure? A sense of accomplishment? Regardless of the outcome, he was still going to be trapped down here for the time being. He supposed the question was whether it would be with one human ally or two.
Atlas gave him a small nod of acknowledgement at his response, turning to walk down the hall and stepping over corpses in the way. “You want answers, Syrus. I’m here for… moral support, more or less.”
Both of them fell silent as they walked down the hall of scattered bodies. They reached the turn in the hall and there, at the end of the hallway, was a very open room with a broken in door. They each glanced at the other but continued towards it cautiously. It was presumed to be Cohen’s office and when they got close enough, there was a defaced and bent plaque on the wall beside it that wasn’t even properly legible, scratches and bullet holes only broken by ‘Co—ffi—‘.
Before even entering, it felt more posh than the rest of the floor. Or, at least, better taken care of before whatever caused the mess inside.
Scorched spots pockmarked the walls and claw marks tore through clean wallpaper that peeled at their edges, a torn canvas and broken easel on the blood and paint-soaked carpet. Debris and glass shined in the lights of the office from the floor along with several office items that looked like they’d been tossed around the room. And, as they entered the room, they saw that a fancy cabinet from behind the desk inside was tossed on its side with its doors broken and torn off its hinges.
And, they found Cohen. Or who they assumed was Cohen.
The man’s face was blown off, leaving him unrecognizable by facial features, but his suit jacket that he’d been wearing was torn and scattered beside his desk. Like a morbid display, his body was sat on a fainting couch against the wall, held up by a haphazard mess of strings and rope held in place by several items just stabbed into the wall's surface, from a few scissors to a section of metal rod. A pistol was tied to his left hand by a stained bandana, the wrist suspended so that it looked like he was pointing it at his own head.
His shirt was torn open at the chest, flesh marred to read ‘Bastard’ and his intestines were exposed across his lap. Several chunks of flesh seemed to be missing from the corpse, and the exposed intestines made Syrus think that some of the man had been eaten.
Words were painted in blood and paint and some gauged into the wall above the body, each varying in size, handwriting, and severity. Each was an insult or comment, ranging from ‘Fruit’ and ‘Hack’ to ‘man-fucker’, ‘pervert’, and a rather lewd miniature memoir someone scrawled in the wallpaper.
Syrus wasn’t sure whether or not this was the worst display of depravity he’d seen down here. It was certainly the most… creative, he supposed he could say. Probably the only reason he’d classify it as the most grotesque thing he’d seen was the intricate way the body was placed, posed to try and capture a fabricated moment of Cohen shooting himself while the body itself was torn into. The only other thing that came close was probably the displays of Steinman’s perfection attempts that were seen in the medical wing.
He glanced at Atlas, seeing that the man’s face was unreadable and whether this was considered a victory or not was hard to tell. He thought he saw Atlas’ hands shaking. ___________________________________________ << | < |  | >
5 notes · View notes
travelingue · 10 months
Text
Naples (6): Elevation
Tumblr media
The story so far: on the morning of our last full day in Naples we found the genteel part.  And we began to suspect that the nicest bits were on the hills, looking down on the grimy centre.
As we boarded a bus climbing up to Capodimonte, home to Naples' main art museum, I flashed Lesley's phone at the driver who waved us through before I could conjure up both e-passes.
This relaxed attitude provoked the ire of a woman sitting at the front.
Throughout our 20-minute journey she harangued the driver while glaring at us.  You didn't need to understand Italian to get her drift: fare dodgers were an insult to regular users and bleeding the transit system dry.
The driver occasionally responded with sighs of impotent sympathy: "Lo so, lo so..."  All the while, people were getting on and off freely.  For all we knew, the only fare-paying passengers on board were that bitching woman and us.
As we alighted at the top of the hill, she said in English: "For the return, make sure you buy a ticket at that shop over there."
The gardens of Capodimonte Palace confirmed our hypothesis about the correlation between elevation and refinement in this city.
Tumblr media
The museum cafeteria was located in the grand courtyard. Sparse attendance, swift service, tasty food: our lunch experience had everything the Museo archeologico had failed to provide a day earlier.
The gallery itself is fabulous.
The women in various states of rapture (such as Titian's Magdalene and Botticelli's Madonna below, left and centre) are so over the top that an atheist may wonder if the artist is taking the piss.
Tumblr media
I am certain, however, about the pout of scepticism Raphael put on God's face as He crowns His son (above right).
We were looking forward to admiring The Flagellation of Christ by Caravaggio – painted as he passed through Naples while running away from murder charges.  I asked the staff where I could see it. 
"At the Louvre," the man said.  "It's on loan until December." "Are you telling me," I thundered, "that I flew across Europe to see a painting that has been shipped to my native city?" "Le mie scuse signore."
I quickly checked the Louvre's website.  In "a dialogue between the masterpieces of the two museums", the French were getting their hand on not just on Capodimonte's Caravaggio, but also dozens of pieces by Michelangelo, Titian, etc.
Dialogue?  I call that a plunder of Napoleonic proportions which, from my point of view, was no less invidious for being temporary.
"Lo so, lo so," The man sighed in impotent sympathy.
Our afternoon to the museum, however, was far from wasted.  Among the marvels on display was the piece at the top of this post: Scuole diverse ("Different Schools", 1890) by one Augusto Moriani.
Another underrated local genius, Achille d'Orsi, crafted this 1877 sculpture of two men asleep on a park bench.  I find the title, Il Parassiti, refreshingly brutal.  Nowadays it might be marketed as "Helpless victims of neoliberalism".
Tumblr media
On our final evening we decided to explore another hill.  We made our way to the funicolare we had spotted that morning.
The ride itself was disappointing: you can't see anything as the carriage rattles through tunnels.
Once we got to the top, though, the Vomero district bore out my altitude theory of desirability.
Tumblr media
We wandered through opulent streets. A few tasteful streamers overhead quietly honoured the Napoli football club, which had just won the Serie A - nothing like the garish bunting and images of Saint Maradona that were ubiquitous downtown.
Tumblr media
From the medieval fortress of Sant'Elmo you had a clear view of Mount Vesuvius.
Tumblr media
We knew there must have been at least one area in Naples where people hung out, a place where you could dine on something else than good pizza and drink wine. We were happy to have found Vomero on our final night.
We returned to our hotel by metro. The escalator at Duomo station was down. We had memorised a complex succession of lifts that got you to the surface.
During the day, you had to dart from one to the next ahead of other passengers.  At 10 pm, there was little competition.
But the final lift was "not in exercise", and we reached the empty street via the stairs.
Tumblr media
Previous entries on Naples:
1. Ryanair 2. Neapolis or Nablus? 3. Daylight robbery 4. Sybaritic afternoon 5. The benefits of being bombed
2 notes · View notes
muznew · 3 months
Text
Top Streamed Tracks 2023: Melodic H&T Beatport
Tumblr media
- Artists: Beatport DATE CREATED: 2023-12-26 GENRES: Melodic House & Techno Tracklist : 1. Moderat, &ME, Rampa, Keinemusik - More Love(Rampa &ME Remix) 2. Argy, Omnya - Aria(Extended Mix) 3. Maori, Adam Ten - Spring Girl(Vintage Culture Remix (Extended)) 4. &ME, Black Coffee, Keinemusik - The Rapture Pt.III(Original Mix) 5. Sevenn, Silver Panda - Welcome The Night(Extended Mix) 6. WhoMadeWho, Adriatique, RÜFÜS DU SOL - Miracle - RÜFÜS DU SOL Remix(Original Mix) 7. Alex Wann - Milkshake(Original Mix) 8. Argy, Magnus, Anyma (ofc) - Higher Power(Extended Mix) 9. Kevin de Vries, Mau P - Metro(Extended Mix) 10. Ali Love, CamelPhat - Compute(Extended Mix) 11. Space Motion - Hera(Original Mix) 12. Future, Swedish House Mafia, Fred again.. - Turn On The Lights again.. (feat. Future & Fred again..)(Anyma Remix Extended) 13. Meduza - Friends(Extended) 14. ARTBAT - Remember(Original Mix) 15. Rebuke, Anyma (ofc) - Syren(Extended Mix) 16. Anyma, 070 Shake - Black Dress(Anyma Read the full article
0 notes
djmusicbest · 3 months
Text
Top Streamed Tracks 2023: Melodic H&T Beatport
Tumblr media
- Artists: Beatport DATE CREATED: 2023-12-26 GENRES: Melodic House & Techno Tracklist : 1. Moderat, &ME, Rampa, Keinemusik - More Love(Rampa &ME Remix) 2. Argy, Omnya - Aria(Extended Mix) 3. Maori, Adam Ten - Spring Girl(Vintage Culture Remix (Extended)) 4. &ME, Black Coffee, Keinemusik - The Rapture Pt.III(Original Mix) 5. Sevenn, Silver Panda - Welcome The Night(Extended Mix) 6. WhoMadeWho, Adriatique, RÜFÜS DU SOL - Miracle - RÜFÜS DU SOL Remix(Original Mix) 7. Alex Wann - Milkshake(Original Mix) 8. Argy, Magnus, Anyma (ofc) - Higher Power(Extended Mix) 9. Kevin de Vries, Mau P - Metro(Extended Mix) 10. Ali Love, CamelPhat - Compute(Extended Mix) 11. Space Motion - Hera(Original Mix) 12. Future, Swedish House Mafia, Fred again.. - Turn On The Lights again.. (feat. Future & Fred again..)(Anyma Remix Extended) 13. Meduza - Friends(Extended) 14. ARTBAT - Remember(Original Mix) 15. Rebuke, Anyma (ofc) - Syren(Extended Mix) 16. Anyma, 070 Shake - Black Dress(Anyma Read the full article
0 notes
beardedmrbean · 11 months
Text
International media have introduced the term "greedflation" in recent months, to describe the phenomenon where companies increase prices at a faster rate than wages, even though the cost of raw materials is not forcing them to.
These "greedflation" price rises, then, are not due to economic fundamentals or the war in Ukraine, but caused by the greed of companies who raise prices because they can.
Iltalehti explains (siirryt toiseen palveluun) the term on Tuesday for a Finnish audience.
Under the greedflation scenario, profit margins increase along with the increase in prices, indicating that the money is flowing from consumers towards shareholders and business owners.
Latvia is one country hit by such price rises, according to Iltalehti, but Finland has so far avoided it.
With consumer price rises nearing double digits in recent months it's a fair question to ask if the same is happening in Finland, but the paper concludes that no, profit margins remain lower than wage increases.
Vantaa tram timetabled
Helsingin Sanomat reports (siirryt toiseen palveluun) that the contentious project to build a tram line in Vantaa, the suburban municipality north of Helsinki, took a step forward on Monday night.
The city board voted to advance plans to a vote of the full city council. The 600 million euro project would link the airport to Mellunmäki in eastern Helsinki via Hakunila and Tikkurila.
It would connect Vantaa to Helsinki's metro line and provide economic benefits totalling some 800 million euros, according to the detailed plan put together by the municipality.
Opposition in the council has come from the Finns Party and the Centre Party, along with some National Coalition councillors. They say the tram is too expensive and unnecessary, as electric buses could be used to transport people instead.
In addition, it mainly serves the south-eastern corner of Vantaa, prompting scepticism from some politicians in the north and west of the sprawling municipality.
The full council is scheduled to vote on 22 May.
Pukki played out
Finnish football legend Teemu Pukki's illustrious career at Norwich City played out on Monday, with the final game of his spell with the Canaries.
He has had a remarkable career in England, securing two promotions and scoring 87 goals in nearly 200 games, and the emotional send-off was covered extensively in Finnish and British media.
Ilta-Sanomat's story (siirryt toiseen palveluun) included several tweets from a bitter-sweet day at Carrow Road.
Fans had unveiled a giant "Kiitos Teemu" banner before the game, and he was brought off with ten minutes to go to a rapturous and teary reception.
Back in 2018 he had arrived in Norfolk without any need to bounce back, having done well enough with Brondby in Denmark, but at the age of 28 and with no experience in English football, he was asked to prove himself.
Pukki, whose surname translates as 'goat', did better than anyone predicted. He said after the game that he was absolutely desperate to score in his final appearance for the club but unfortunately failed to do so as Norwich slipped to a 1-0 defeat.
0 notes
tellescope · 1 year
Text
YOU  HAVE  BEEN  DEFEATED
What items do you drop?
Part 1/?? Multiple muses under the cut:
Tumblr media
WALLET  (common):  Bare-bones. A typical ID card for a Rapture citizen, several Rapture Dollars with water stains, a membership card for The Fighting McDonagh's Boxing Club, a ticket stub for the Rapture Metro for a 5pm bathysphere ride, a business card for Sinclair Spirits, and a ripped half of one for ___ Fisheries.
SHOTGUN   (uncommon):  Equipped with every possible upgrade offered in Rapture. It's quite worn; scratches on the tubes, chips in the wood, rust on the metal. There's a dark stain on the grip you know isn't water. It seems this gun has been through a lot with its owner.
SHORTWAVE RADIO  (rare):   A wooden frame, small enough to hold with one hand, but still box-like and clunky. A clip has been added to the back so it can be attached to clothing. The antenna doesn't move smoothly anymore and the audio has a static tinge, but are those signs of age or damage? There seems to be a pattern of grooves lightly carved into one side resembling tally marks, and there are quite a few.
TOY FISH  (epic):  Small and plastic, it seems like it could have been a children's bath toy. It's in relatively good condition, so either fairly new or well-cared for.
AUDIO DIARY  (legendary):  The voice in the recording is a woman with a Scottish accent. It's not meant for you, the way she sadly asks Atlas if he remembers how they met. It's not meant for you, this wife's unsent message for her husband. It's not meant for you, but you'll keep it anyway. He clearly wanted her remembered.
WEDDING RING  (mythic):  It's nothing fancy, just a simple silver band, but the inside has grown quite shiny from constant wear.
Tumblr media
CIGARETTE PACK  (common):  A brand called Lucky Strikers. There's only one cigarette left in the box.
BANDANNA  (uncommon):  A navy blue color and soft, breathable fabric. The ends are somewhat tattered and the fabric is wearing thin. It must have been worn frequently.
COMBAT KNIFE  (rare): Including the handle it's almost a foot long. The brown leather sheath has straps through it so it can be attached to a limb. There are minor nicks along the blade.
FLIP-PHONE  (epic):  The bare basics. No extra tools on it, no games, no photos from the camera. It seems it was only used for calls. The contacts menu lists five people; Consuela Alvarez, Dalton, Dave Copeland, Roddy Louiz, Venus. The last contact has no number, just the name.
PASSPORT & I.D.  (legendary):  Documents detailing the basics. Each marks him as a United States citizen. The passport is empty of stamps. And yes, according to these documents his real name was Snake. What kind of parent does that?
STRANGE DEVICE  (mythic):  A seemingly home-made mechanical device about the size of a flip-phone. It's got a single large button on one side and the back has words etched into it; PUSH TO CONTACT. You're not sure you should try it.
Tumblr media
BLUE POWERADE  (common): An oddly-shaped plastic bottle of blue liquid designating itself as a 'sports drink' flavored 'Mountain Berry Blast', whatever the hell that's supposed to taste like. Half the bottle has been drunk.
GLASSES  (uncommon):  A basic pair of black-framed glasses. The lenses are rather scratched up. How the hell did he see through these?
CROWBAR  (rare):  You can only hope the rust along it is from age, and that its pattern resembling liquid splatter is an unfortunate coincidence.
BLACK MESA I.D.  (epic):  A plastic identification card for a workplace. It's bent and scratched enough it probably no longer works. Apparently the owner worked in the Anomalous Materials department as a Level 3 Research Associate.
PARTY HAT  (legendary): Conical, white, spiraling green stripes, it reminds you of something you'd see at a child's birthday party. It's been flattened, presumably for storage, and has some minor creases and tears.
PROSTHETIC HAND  (mythic):  At least it looks and feels like a prosthetic. But you can't see any joints for movement, and the part where it should attach to the arm looks disturbingly severed...
Tumblr media
GLASSES  (common):  A fashionable pair of blue glasses with a mesh design on the rims. The lenses are rather thick and seem to be for a far-sighted prescription.
DRIVING GLOVES  (uncommon):  A pair of black fingerless gloves with holes near the knuckles. Meant to be used for driving yet the owner had no car. The material feels a bit worn.
BRIDGES PIN  (rare): A golden, diamond-shaped enamel pin for a group of some kind. Beneath the name is imagery of a cobweb and above is some sort of artsy, angular design.
AED  (epic):  A boxy orange device with a light on the front, several straps for keeping it in place, and two wires with pads attached to the side. It seems to be an automatic defibrillator, although customized. There are options for changing the voice, the phrases it can say, usage interval times, and when reminders should trigger.
CUFFLINK  (legendary):  A holographic computer in the shape of a handcuff. Small crystals embedded within seem to help generate the projections, and it can be controlled with hand gestures when worn. There is a lot of data stored on the device but it's all locked behind passwords and biometrics.
FAMILY PHOTO  (mythic):  A trio of people on a beach on a bright, sunny day. One of them is the man you took the picture from. The others are a young woman and a girl who appears to have traits from both. His wife and daughter?
Tumblr media
GREEN HOODIE  (common):  The kind that zips up in the front. Basic with no image or pattern, just a flat shade of deep green. Given how worn the fabric is the hoodie is either cheaply made, quite old, or was acquired second-hand.
NOTEPAD & PEN  (uncommon):  A simple, tiny pad of paper with several pages torn off and a capped pen tucked into the rings. The next page has something written on it but unfortunately it's too illegible to read.
WATER BOTTLE & SNACK  (rare):  A hard-plastic bottle with a cloud pattern, filled almost full with water. Found with it was a small edible item, hardly touched.
PAINT SET  (epic): An acrylic paint set meant for children consisting of two connected rows of tiny, plastic tubs of paint in various colors, and two sizes of brushes. It seems the owner kept the set together by storing it all in a yellow pencil case.
LONG-FALL BOOTS  (legendary):  An interesting pair of tall, white-and-black heeled boots; the heels appear to be a sort of springy, metal brace meant to absorb and disperse kinetic impact.
PORTAL GUN  (mythic):  A white-and-black gun that feels right out of a science fiction movie. The claw-like prongs can hold an object in their grasp via energy beams, and the gun itself seems to fire connecting wormholes onto compatible surfaces. A circular logo you don't recognize is present on the side.
Tumblr media
WRENCH  (common):  An old, red pipe wrench branded as 'made in Rapture'. A lot of the rust on it seems to be in a splatter pattern...
CROSSBODY BAG  (uncommon):  Cylindrical, dark brown, and with faded blood and water stains scattered about. It's got many pockets inside for easy sorting.
FIRST-AID KIT  (rare):  A small, white tin with medical supplies inside. It's dented and some of the items are in low supply or entirely missing.
CANDY BARS  (epic): A stack of candy bars kept together by the poorly-tied wrapper of a presumably eaten one. Was he saving them for later or for someone else?
SHORTWAVE RADIO  (legendary):  A wooden frame, small enough to hold with one hand, but still box-like and clunky. A clip has been added to the back so it can be attached to clothing. It's got minor nicks and dents all over, even a few odd stains and an electrical scorch mark. Despite the damage it seems to function just fine, though audio has a slight static tinge.
WALLET  (mythic):  A basic foldable wallet made of dark brown leather that's rather worn. Inside are a few dollars of both the Rapture and American kind, a plane ticket, and a black-and-white family photo. The owner is not present in the picture but presumably some relatives are; a middle-aged straight couple and an older man.
0 notes