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smolcinnamonchipmunk · 1 year

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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. ___________________________________________ << | < | | >

#cinnwrites #welcome to rapture #syrus #rabbit #non vore

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