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A New Home; Bioshock short
Topic Started: Jul 1 2011, 12:56 AM (42 Views)
Matron
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The lumbering footsteps echoed throughout the derelict halls of the underwater tunnel. It feared nothing. It did not feel such emotions. They had been bred out of it. It was part of its transformation. To protect its charge it needed to lose it humanity. It was worth it. The armored monster looked down to its massive paw that held the tiniest of hands. The small child, who could not have been more than seven or eight, looked up at him, her wide, all white saucer eyes looking up at him with a wide grin. The dirt and disfigured skin that covered her face and plastered her grimy hair to her face seemed to not be noticed by her massive protector. All it saw was its sole love in life. It’s little sister.
The Big Daddy turned back to the path ahead of him as the little girl’s otherworldly voice began to squeal in excitement. She had found a body. The dead splicer, as disfigured and dilapidated as the rest of the broken utopia, lay very still in an increasing large puddle of its own blood. The little sister ran to it, raising its menacing needle. Without hesitation it forced the pointed end into the dead flesh. The small fingers squeezed the handle and the red liquid; the lifeblood of Rapture, Adam soared into the needle. As the little girl continued her grisly task, her protector looked outward. It knew that they would come. They always did. They hungered for her. But he would not let them have her. He would never let them have her.

It turned its massive, helmeted head to the left just as a blast of intense heat smashed into its side. The Big Daddy stumbled slightly and turned to face its attacker, just as it turned another blast exploded into its left shoulder. Whatever attacker had been to his right had disappeared. Before he could turn again a more fireballs smashed into its back. The Big Daddy growled loudly, not being able to bring its imposing rivet gun to bear. By this time the little sister had ceased and the Big Daddy caught a quick glimpse of fear spread over her small face. No! It would not let them take her away. The hulking monster turned quick enough to catch a glimpse in the darkened halls where they now stood. It was quick, a blink and smoke filled the place where a man had stood, both his hands wreathed in flames. The Big Daddy heard a pop to his left and brought its massive weapon to bear. Hot nails spewed from its barrel as one, then two, and finally three fireballs flew into its face. The pain seared its vision. it roared in anger and pain. He heard the screams of his ward, the little girl’s voice echoing in his head, Mr. Bubbles! Get him! It would not let them take her away! It could not! Yet already it could feel its arms slowing, the power in his grip growing lax. More fireballs roared into him and he stumbled forward and then back. Its vision dimmed as it groan in pain. Everything was becoming blurry. He couldn’t feel his giant fingers grasp on the hard metal of its gun.

Suddenly it buckled to its knees. The Big Daddy groaned loudly again, its already dimming vision turned to regard the little sister just as his gun crashed to the ground, his hands burned and useless. Tears streamed down her face, the needle was barely held in her tiny hands. She knew her fate; she knew what happened when a Big Daddy died. If it could speak it would have told the little girl how much it had tried to save her. How much, in its own way, it had loved her. It tried to raise his hand to touch the girl one last time but instead it felt, once again, the heavy sting of the fireball in the back of its head and then falling into the sweet nothingness of death.
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The little sister’s agonizing cries echoed throughout the destroyed halls of Fort Frolic. Mr. Bubbles it cried, over and over again, sobs and whimpers punctuating every syllable. The needle had fallen into the murky, dirty water pulling from one of the many leaks above as her hands went to hold her face. She had lost everything.

A few minutes of silence, broken only by the little girl’s agony, stretched outward. Then the footsteps, loud, clanking, and evenly spaced out. Then a sharp whistle broke the silence. A tune that had long played in the same halls what seemed ages ago. A memory from another time. A man appeared, dressed in a weathered and beaten tuxedo with a massive red flower on the lapel. The Little Sister didn’t notice, she had lost her only friend in this world. The figure walked toward her, the whistling grew louder. Its shadow loomed above her. She did not dare look up. The only acknowledgement of her fate was the loud sobs turning into soft whimpers. Mr. Bubbles she muttered over and over again as the figure bent down. The whistling stopped. She pushed her hands to her eyes. She did not want to see what had burned her Big Daddy.

The figure stretched out an oddly manicured, if dirty hand and gently lowered her hands away from her face. The little sister, her disturbing white eyes slowly opening, looked up. Her vision was encompassed by a white powdered face. The white was shocking and bright as if had just been applied. A slim, black mustache poked from under the man’s hooked nose. Bright red lipstick was perfectly applied around the man’s mouth. His eyes, saturnine and dark, were framed by sloping eyelashes that glittered in the failing light of the hallway. She whimpered loudly again, returning to her cry.

The man shook his head, tisk tisk she heard as one hand went to move a strand of greasy hair from the small child’s face. “Shhhhhhhhhh” he crooned loudly. The lips parted to reveal teeth stained yellow with age and years of wine.

She struggled with the words in her watery voice, “But Mr. Bubbles…”

The same hand that had moved her hair quickly pressed a singer digit to her lips. She quieted down, fear taking over her. The man just continued his smile.

“There, there, no need to worry. I’m your Mr. Bubbles now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

The dark gleam in Sander Cohen's eyes, begged to differ.


Edited by Matron, Jul 1 2011, 01:01 AM.
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