You don't know. [ She shakes her head quickly, trying not to let the frustrated grief enter her voice. ] You don't know what I'm doing here, what I''ve--
[ What she'd done. She thinks of Comstock, of the man who'd pretended to be Booker DeWitt again. Who'd fallen into old habits, who'd tried to escape from his past. In her ears is the shriek of the Big Daddy's drill. She feels, for less than a second, the pain of a piece of jagged iron driven through her body.
Accompanied by a sharp headache, her nose begins to bleed. Calmly, she wipes it away. ]
A lot of things have happened to me. [ Finally she looks away, emotions in check, working very hard to convince herself that this isn't, in fact, real. That he's in no danger. I can't allow myself to break now, not... not now. ] I know for sure that more will happen in the future.
[ Or, she did know. Still, somewhere, she suspects this will be her last quest.
Something occurs to her, suddenly, and her brows come together as she glances sideways at him, displeased. ]
[ He wouldn't do anything else, not now. He'd left her safe and cared for, and with a promise to return to her.
Booker pushes his chair back, standing and walking forward to look Elizabeth in the eye. She's right. He doesn't know what she's done, what she's here for. What had happened to her since they'd last parted. But he doesn't need to know, does he? She's in danger, and she needs him, just as she had in Columbia. Whether she admits that or not.
He reaches into his pocket and digs out a handkerchief, offering it to her. ]
[ She should have found a different name, Elizabeth thinks. Booker had named her Anna and Comstock had named her Elizabeth; the former didn't belong to her anymore (had never belonged to her) and the later still makes her think of the fate she'd inherited in some universes, of the tower, of Songbird. Hearing Comstock himself say it had made her blood boil, had made her completely assured in her murderous mission. When he'd been killed, she hadn't even flinched.
When Booker says it, holding out a handkerchief, she doesn't think it sounds quite so poisonous.
Elizabeth accepts the cloth, turning away to the side. She's glad he didn't ask about her nose, but likely, he knows about her death. It wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't come back to this exact universe, but here she is. She sets it down again next to the ashtray and glances again at him, strangely flighty in manner and almost guilty, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. ]
This isn't your crusade. [ She says quietly. ] What did they send you to do?
[ Because, at the end of the day, who else is there? Songbird is gone. The Luteces, while they had been concerned enough to reach out to Booker, aren't the type to get directly involved themselves. And...that's it. It's not as though she'd had a chance to make other friends in Columbia. No one from there knows where she is, or would care enough to go after her. If he abandons her now, Elizabeth will have no one.
He won't claim to precisely understand everything the twin scientists had told him. But he knows enough. He knows that she's vulnerable, that her tears are gone. She needs him. ]
[ Of course. She'd known, somehow, that it would come to this. She couldn't know for sure, now, not seeing all the doors, but... that confirms it.
Her heart beats a little harder in defiance, but she tries valiantly not to let any of the fear show. ]
Booker, [ she begins wearily ] I sent myself here for a reason. I'm not leaving until I do what I came here to do.
[ Even if she saves Sally, Elizabeth is stuck in Rapture forever. And... ]
Do you think those two are going to come spirit us both away? Do you know for sure that they're going to bring you back to Anna? Because, unless they decide to reappear, we're both going to be here for a very long time.
[ His throat closes up and his chest goes tight at what she's implying. Anna. He can't stay here forever; he has to get back to her, he can't abandon her again.
But he sets his jaw, shaking his head stubbornly. No. He may not have much love for the Luteces, but they seem to have at least some interest in doing the right thing - or at least putting other people in the right place to do so. They wouldn't just leave him here, cut off from Anna. They wouldn't. ]
I'm sure.
[ Even if he wasn't - even if he let himself be anything other than certain - there's not much to do about it right now. He needs to focus on the problem at hand. Everything else will work itself out somehow. He steps forward, closing his hands over hers. ]
[ His hands close over ten perfectly normal fingers. She wonders if he's noticed, if he's wondered. If he knows. She certainly feels less herself and more than once has reached for the thimble only to find an intact pinkie. Strangely, perhaps, this is more disturbing to her than the loss of her practical omniscience. ]
... I'm looking for a girl named Sally. [ As she had with Comstock, back then, she slips a hand from his to retrieve the picture of the girl: Sally with Sarah 1957. ] She was an orphan. Got taken by some men more interested in her value than her well-being.
[ "This world values children, not childhood." ]
She's-- [ What is Sally to her? She'd been Comstock's charge, had become a Little Sister. Elizabeth had almost burned her alive in the name of the truth, of her own vengeance. ]
[ He's noticed. It's hard not to, not so much because he's used to seeing the thimble as because he knows now exactly how it had gone missing in the first place. Whose fault it had been.
He'd spent hours counting Anna's ten perfect fingers, letting her wrap them around his larger one, marveling at her tiny half-moon nails. But Elizabeth...Elizabeth shouldn't look that way. He's not sure exactly why she has her pinky back now - the Luteces hadn't deigned to explain what had happened - but he knows that they wouldn't have sent him here if Elizabeth didn't truly need his help.
We're both going to be here for a very long time.
He doesn't need to ask to know that her abilities are gone.
He takes the picture from her and looks at it, expression darkening at she speaks. The story - as she would know - is all too familiar, sending a spike of guilt through his heart. It doesn't matter if Comstock had never existed, if Booker had never even had the opportunity to hand his daughter over to a stranger. He still remembers doing it. ]
How did you find out about her?
[ He looks at her, handing the picture back. ]
Why are you here?
[ Of all places. There are thousands, billions, of lost children on billions of different worlds. Elizabeth could have gone after any one of them. Why this one? Why this place? ]
[ She could lie. She lies easily these days, does it without blinking an eye. She can convince whoever she wants of whatever she wants. She'd certainly fooled Comstock, the man passing as Booker DeWitt. Him and dozens of others.
Could I really do that to him, now? Doesn't he deserve the truth?
There's a silence, eerie and tense. In the distance, a Splicer (assumedly) breaks a glass and the shattering sound echoes off the high ceilings. ]
There were still some Comstocks that existed, even after. [ After I--we--drowned you. ] One escaped to this place, to Rapture.
[ He must know what that means, but she feels compelled to spell it out, to show him that she isn't the Elizabeth he knew, to maybe repulse him into returning to Anna. To safety. ]
I killed him. [ Not expressly true, but it is for all intents and purposes. ] Sally almost died, too. Because of that... I needed to come back. To make amends.
[ To her, only to her. Not to Comstock. ]
He passed himself off as you. [ The words escape before she wants them to and she feels out of control in a way she hadn't in a long time. She's telling him too much, she knows, but... ] Told me to call him Booker, he said--
He knows what she's hinting towards even before she says it out loud, but that doesn't make the shock any less. It's not the first time Elizabeth has killed. But Daisy had been different. Elizabeth had stabbed her to save a child, because she'd had no other choice.
Looking at her now, he knows that the same thing hadn't happened here. This Elizabeth is cold and calculating. She'd come here with the express purpose of killing Comstock, and from the looks of her, she'd done it without flinching. ]
You should have called me.
[ His voice is rough. He thinks of the Prophet using his name, thinks of Elizabeth interacting with him, spending who knows how much time with him. Plotting his death the whole time.
His stomach turns, both at the thought of Comstock being here, living his life as if he had any right to, and at the thought of Elizabeth ending it, cool as a cucumber. ]
I would never have done that. [ The frustration and grief threatens to spill into her voice and she looks back at him, sharply, withdrawing her hands. For a mad second, she almost says "You don't know what he did to Anna," almost explains the man's murderous secret as justification, but doesn't. He doesn't deserve that pain no matter how upset she is. ] This isn't your world anymore, Booker. Comstock and I--
[ "We aren't meant for any world, not for much longer." There were no more Zachary Comstocks in existence anywhere, by that name or otherwise. The only loose end is Sally, or... really, Elizabeth herself. ]
... They brought you here, and they had no right. [ She's exhausted and the city has worn her down; it shows in her eyes, her shaking fists, her strained voice. ] I did everything I could to prevent this from happening so that you wouldn't be involved or remember me, so that you can live the life you both deserved.
[ Booker and Anna. Anna, the girl she never was. ]
It's nearly over. [ In an instant, she feels very old again, begins trying to wrap herself up and pull away. She withdraws another cigarette and lights it, eyes down and away from him. ] It's almost done.
[ She doesn't belong here, goddammit. But then...if not here, where does she belong? Not Columbia. She may have grown up there, but she was never meant to be a part of Comstock's world. He'd stolen her away, and now...
This was never meant to be her life. ]
I remembered you anyway, Elizabeth.
[ His voice is quiet, and he pulls out her chair and reaches out a hand, silently urging her to sit. She looks dead on her feet, the cigarette shaking slightly in her hand. ]
I never forgot you.
And I'm here, whether you like it or not. So you might as well let me help you, hm?
[ She doesn't like it. Elizabeth is angry, angry that the Luteces brought him back, angry that she couldn't convince him that she isn't worth the effort. Angry at him, for... for nothing, really, but frustration and stubbornness creep into her features and her voice.
I don't have a world of my own like you do. I don't belong anywhere. ]
... I'm looking for a few things to repair something. [ Should she even tell him about the outcome, the intention to return to Columbia? ] A cathode tube, CO2 scrubber... [ She sighs, not sitting despite the proffered chair. ] And you'll need to be ready for the Splicers, they're-- Christ, there's so much you don't know.
[ Vigors, Plasmids, constants, variables. She exhales and smoke twists into the air. ]
[ He can tell she's upset, and that in itself is unnerving. She hadn't strayed more than a few yards from his side since Finkton, back when they were in Columbia. Even after Daisy, she'd only shut herself away in the back room of the airship for a few minutes before rejoining him.
She's like an entirely different person now, and as difficult as it is to see her that way and navigate whatever their relationship is now, Booker isn't about to let her less than warm welcome scare him off. She needs his help, whether she wants it or not. ]
Splicers? [ His brows draw together and he frowns, shaking his head. ] What are those?
[ She loathes that she's going to tell him, hates herself for each new bit of information that pulls him farther into this twisted world. Rapture, like Columbia, is a dream gone wrong, a soured vision that warped its citizens and ruined the lives of thousands. He should be as far from here as possible.
But she explains. ]
In this city--Rapture--there are a variation of Vigors. [ Fink and Suchong working together had seen to that. ] They're called Plasmids, but instead of drinking them, you... inject them.
[ As with the impending trip to Columbia, she doesn't offer all the finer details just yet. Hadn't lit up with Incinerate for a reason. It may be unavoidable, once she finds Old Man Winter, but, for now, he doesn't need to know about her use of the abilities he'd once kept her from. ]
The effect is a much more concentrated dose. Luckily, our ingestibles never had any effect on you. But, here, the people of the city who splice their genes too often with these Plasmids suffer physical deformity, their... minds are warped, often to a point of absolute dehumanization.
[ He breathes out the curse, staring at her. He hadn't hesitated before downing one Vigor after another, had never thought twice about what the side effects might be. Now, he wonders how he could have been so reckless. ]
Lucky for us, then.
[ An understatement. He frowns. Naturally, none of the Vigors he'd consumed in Columbia are in his system anymore - or, more precisely, the Booker who'd gone to Columbia and acquired them would now never exist. He shakes his head, dismissing the paradox and the headache that would go with it. ]
It won't be easy to fight them, if they've got weapons it's not safe to use.
[ And if they're out of their right minds, as well. Already, he's considering what they may have to do to get through this. ]
You said...if they splice their genes too often.
[ Which implies that there's a point before that happens. ]
They're powerful and unstable. [ She takes a long drag and considers it all, exhaling smoke and looking out into the Lounge. ] You're right that it isn't easy.
[ She's had to sneak around until he arrived, since losing her powers. It isn't something she's enjoyed having to figure out. ]
I did. [ And she looks at him, dark-lined eyes trained carefully on his features. ] But you won't be using them. Your weapons are enough.
[ Elizabeth will be dammed if she allows this shiny, new Booker to upset the apple cart of his life with Plasmids and their addictive, destructive properties. ]
[ Booker frowns, not convinced. He doesn't bother pointing out that he doesn't have any weapons at all; if this place is anything like Columbia, he's sure he'll find some soon enough. ]
We'll see.
[ For the moment, at least, they can try getting by with just guns. As for the Plasmids...well, as far as Booker's concerned, they're still an option for later. If they need them. ]
[ What else? There's so much else, so many things she's keeping from him. Elizabeth feels a familiar, uncomfortable tingle in her complete pinkie, a sensation that comes about when she might have opened a tear. If she could, she'd send him back right away, would never let him risk this for any reason, least of all for the sake of her own life. I sent myself here to be a martyr for my own damned cause. She'd known when she chose to return. ]
I suppose it'll be an exercise in learning on the job. [ She takes a final inhale, exhale of smoke, then stamps it out under her heel. ] But you'll feel right at home.
[ After Columbia, the morally ambiguous and religious-deprived Rapture might seem like a breath of fresh air... if you could forget the water pressing in from all sides. Elizabeth sighs, steeling herself for something she'd never prepared for, and then looks back to Booker, expression one of total composure. ]
Most of Rapture is a functional society, for now. This is the part that Andrew Ryan sank to the bottom of the ocean. The first of many, I think. [ A small weapon--a crossbow--appears in her hands and she looks out to the lounge. ]
[ She's right, of course. Booker has a million questions, but no more than when he'd seen Columbia for the first time, a city floating in the sky. He'd managed then, and he can do the same here.
He looks at the crossbow in her hands, surprised at the weapon - and then not surprised at all, once he thinks about it. She's here on her own, with these Splicers and who knows what else. She needs a way to defend herself.
And she'd killed Comstock, of course. Couldn't forget that.
Still, it feels wrong to see Elizabeth with a weapon in her hands. She may have changed, grown up in ways he wishes she hadn't, but she's still Elizabeth, still the girl from the tower, and he holds out a hand, nodding to the crossbow. ]
[ Elizabeth casts a sideways glance at him and then withdraws one of the bolts, holding it out for him to see. ]
They're only sleep darts. [ He can take it and examine it to prove what she's saying, else she'll return it to its place, reloading. ] I haven't killed anyone unless it was necessary.
[ Like Comstock. Child, I'm so sorry. The hairs on the back of her neck bristle and she walks, avoiding plates of glass or other debris that might draw attention.
Peeping Tom would be helpful, but she won't use Plasmids for now. Elizabeth holds up a hand, though he'll likely have heard it; a man mutters to himself behind a bar up ahead, oblivious to them. ]
[ He studies the dart, but doesn't take it. Even so, he doesn't like the way she efficiently reloads the crossbow - as if she's done this a million times - nor her easy reference to killing. Unless it was necessary. Booker knows better than most just how loose a definition that can be.
But he doesn't insist. Already, their relationship's changed from what it had been in Columbia. Where once she'd followed his every order, letting him do everything from defending them both to opening doors and pushing elevator buttons, he's well aware that they're in her territory now. Elizabeth's the expert. Would she hand over the weapon now, if he demanded it?
He doesn't know, and he's not too eager to find out.
Instead, he follows her through the lounge, stepping carefully over broken glass - what the hell happened here? - until he hears a voice up ahead and they both stop. He takes a breath, leaning close to murmur in her ear. ]
If he finds us, he'll make enough of a scene to draw the others. [ She knows there are others, heard them even before Booker arrived. There are way more addled Splicers than otherwise down here, and even if they came across someone not yet far gone, they'd likely be just as dangerous.
Elizabeth, crossbow already loaded, lines up the shot. The Splicer, whose disfigurement comes into view as he gets closer, doesn't make more than a noise of surprise when a dart shoots into his torso. Stunned, the man sways on the spot and tumbles over.
She reloads. ]
We need to get out of this room. [ She indicates the location on a map she'd drawn herself on a discolored handkerchief which she produces from her pocket. ] There should be doors here and here. There may also be security, I don't really--
[ She cuts off, frowning, then shakes her head. It's bizarre, being here with Booker, with the real Booker. Elizabeth still half-expects him to be gone when she looks in his direction, so used to talking to herself and being truly alone.
Elizabeth speaks suddenly, moving again. ]
You were right about Paris. [ Had he ever really said it, or had she just imagined it might be what he would say? ] It wasn't the paradise I'd pictured.
[ She can't remember the last time she saw something in that same, rosy way. Nothing really had a luster for her anymore. ]
[ He can't help his exclamation of disbelief as the Splicer comes near and he gets a good look at his face, but Booker at least manages to keep it to a barely-audible murmur. It hardly matters, at any rate; Elizabeth fires her crossbow almost immediately, the dart bringing its target to the floor with hardly a sound.
Where did she learn to shoot like that? He's not sure what to react to first: the masklike, terrifying expression of the man now lying stunned at their feet, or the passionless efficiency with which Elizabeth had dispatched him. He stares at them both, momentarily taken aback, but the fact of the matter is that there's no time to dwell on either right now. Elizabeth is already moving on, and rightly so.
He glances down at the hand-drawn map, nodding in understanding, but it's not long before she throws him for a loop again. Paris? He frowns, shaking his head. He'd never said anything about Paris. ]
I did. [ She doesn't elaborate much; she's been a a few different Parises. Paris during the Revolution, during the Renaissance, in the future when things are vastly different and difficult to understand. She's seen it all, and maybe that's why it hadn't resounded in her heart the way she'd dreamed.
I was only a child. But there were bad people in Paris, selfish people, people who would gladly sell their children for food or other things. There were still murderers, racists, kidnappers, smugglers. It was hardly perfect.
Not even close.
Elizabeth makes her way around the body, not glancing at the man who'd fallen. ]
The man who sent me, who has Sally, [ She begins, looking at him, ] he's looking for--
[ But Elizabeth cuts off suddenly, stiffening. Not too far off is an angry droning sound and her hair stands on end as she realizes: buzzing. Sure enough, staring them down and swaying slightly, another Splicer stands nearby, bees crawling up, down, and through his arm. ]
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[ What she'd done. She thinks of Comstock, of the man who'd pretended to be Booker DeWitt again. Who'd fallen into old habits, who'd tried to escape from his past. In her ears is the shriek of the Big Daddy's drill. She feels, for less than a second, the pain of a piece of jagged iron driven through her body.
Accompanied by a sharp headache, her nose begins to bleed. Calmly, she wipes it away. ]
A lot of things have happened to me. [ Finally she looks away, emotions in check, working very hard to convince herself that this isn't, in fact, real. That he's in no danger. I can't allow myself to break now, not... not now. ] I know for sure that more will happen in the future.
[ Or, she did know. Still, somewhere, she suspects this will be her last quest.
Something occurs to her, suddenly, and her brows come together as she glances sideways at him, displeased. ]
... You left Anna behind.
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[ He wouldn't do anything else, not now. He'd left her safe and cared for, and with a promise to return to her.
Booker pushes his chair back, standing and walking forward to look Elizabeth in the eye. She's right. He doesn't know what she's done, what she's here for. What had happened to her since they'd last parted. But he doesn't need to know, does he? She's in danger, and she needs him, just as she had in Columbia. Whether she admits that or not.
He reaches into his pocket and digs out a handkerchief, offering it to her. ]
Anna is fine. I'm here for you, Elizabeth.
Let me help.
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When Booker says it, holding out a handkerchief, she doesn't think it sounds quite so poisonous.
Elizabeth accepts the cloth, turning away to the side. She's glad he didn't ask about her nose, but likely, he knows about her death. It wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't come back to this exact universe, but here she is. She sets it down again next to the ashtray and glances again at him, strangely flighty in manner and almost guilty, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. ]
This isn't your crusade. [ She says quietly. ] What did they send you to do?
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[ Because, at the end of the day, who else is there? Songbird is gone. The Luteces, while they had been concerned enough to reach out to Booker, aren't the type to get directly involved themselves. And...that's it. It's not as though she'd had a chance to make other friends in Columbia. No one from there knows where she is, or would care enough to go after her. If he abandons her now, Elizabeth will have no one.
He won't claim to precisely understand everything the twin scientists had told him. But he knows enough. He knows that she's vulnerable, that her tears are gone. She needs him. ]
They sent me to save your life.
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[ Of course. She'd known, somehow, that it would come to this. She couldn't know for sure, now, not seeing all the doors, but... that confirms it.
Her heart beats a little harder in defiance, but she tries valiantly not to let any of the fear show. ]
Booker, [ she begins wearily ] I sent myself here for a reason. I'm not leaving until I do what I came here to do.
[ Even if she saves Sally, Elizabeth is stuck in Rapture forever. And... ]
Do you think those two are going to come spirit us both away? Do you know for sure that they're going to bring you back to Anna? Because, unless they decide to reappear, we're both going to be here for a very long time.
[ Well, assuming they aren't killed imminently. ]
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But he sets his jaw, shaking his head stubbornly. No. He may not have much love for the Luteces, but they seem to have at least some interest in doing the right thing - or at least putting other people in the right place to do so. They wouldn't just leave him here, cut off from Anna. They wouldn't. ]
I'm sure.
[ Even if he wasn't - even if he let himself be anything other than certain - there's not much to do about it right now. He needs to focus on the problem at hand. Everything else will work itself out somehow. He steps forward, closing his hands over hers. ]
Tell me why you're here.
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... I'm looking for a girl named Sally. [ As she had with Comstock, back then, she slips a hand from his to retrieve the picture of the girl: Sally with Sarah 1957. ] She was an orphan. Got taken by some men more interested in her value than her well-being.
[ "This world values children, not childhood." ]
She's-- [ What is Sally to her? She'd been Comstock's charge, had become a Little Sister. Elizabeth had almost burned her alive in the name of the truth, of her own vengeance. ]
I need to get her back safely.
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He'd spent hours counting Anna's ten perfect fingers, letting her wrap them around his larger one, marveling at her tiny half-moon nails. But Elizabeth...Elizabeth shouldn't look that way. He's not sure exactly why she has her pinky back now - the Luteces hadn't deigned to explain what had happened - but he knows that they wouldn't have sent him here if Elizabeth didn't truly need his help.
We're both going to be here for a very long time.
He doesn't need to ask to know that her abilities are gone.
He takes the picture from her and looks at it, expression darkening at she speaks. The story - as she would know - is all too familiar, sending a spike of guilt through his heart. It doesn't matter if Comstock had never existed, if Booker had never even had the opportunity to hand his daughter over to a stranger. He still remembers doing it. ]
How did you find out about her?
[ He looks at her, handing the picture back. ]
Why are you here?
[ Of all places. There are thousands, billions, of lost children on billions of different worlds. Elizabeth could have gone after any one of them. Why this one? Why this place? ]
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Could I really do that to him, now? Doesn't he deserve the truth?
There's a silence, eerie and tense. In the distance, a Splicer (assumedly) breaks a glass and the shattering sound echoes off the high ceilings. ]
There were still some Comstocks that existed, even after. [ After I--we--drowned you. ] One escaped to this place, to Rapture.
[ He must know what that means, but she feels compelled to spell it out, to show him that she isn't the Elizabeth he knew, to maybe repulse him into returning to Anna. To safety. ]
I killed him. [ Not expressly true, but it is for all intents and purposes. ] Sally almost died, too. Because of that... I needed to come back. To make amends.
[ To her, only to her. Not to Comstock. ]
He passed himself off as you. [ The words escape before she wants them to and she feels out of control in a way she hadn't in a long time. She's telling him too much, she knows, but... ] Told me to call him Booker, he said--
[ Let's leave it at Mr. DeWitt. ]
But he's gone.
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He knows what she's hinting towards even before she says it out loud, but that doesn't make the shock any less. It's not the first time Elizabeth has killed. But Daisy had been different. Elizabeth had stabbed her to save a child, because she'd had no other choice.
Looking at her now, he knows that the same thing hadn't happened here. This Elizabeth is cold and calculating. She'd come here with the express purpose of killing Comstock, and from the looks of her, she'd done it without flinching. ]
You should have called me.
[ His voice is rough. He thinks of the Prophet using his name, thinks of Elizabeth interacting with him, spending who knows how much time with him. Plotting his death the whole time.
His stomach turns, both at the thought of Comstock being here, living his life as if he had any right to, and at the thought of Elizabeth ending it, cool as a cucumber. ]
You should have let me do it.
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[ "We aren't meant for any world, not for much longer." There were no more Zachary Comstocks in existence anywhere, by that name or otherwise. The only loose end is Sally, or... really, Elizabeth herself. ]
... They brought you here, and they had no right. [ She's exhausted and the city has worn her down; it shows in her eyes, her shaking fists, her strained voice. ] I did everything I could to prevent this from happening so that you wouldn't be involved or remember me, so that you can live the life you both deserved.
[ Booker and Anna. Anna, the girl she never was. ]
It's nearly over. [ In an instant, she feels very old again, begins trying to wrap herself up and pull away. She withdraws another cigarette and lights it, eyes down and away from him. ] It's almost done.
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[ She doesn't belong here, goddammit. But then...if not here, where does she belong? Not Columbia. She may have grown up there, but she was never meant to be a part of Comstock's world. He'd stolen her away, and now...
This was never meant to be her life. ]
I remembered you anyway, Elizabeth.
[ His voice is quiet, and he pulls out her chair and reaches out a hand, silently urging her to sit. She looks dead on her feet, the cigarette shaking slightly in her hand. ]
I never forgot you.
And I'm here, whether you like it or not. So you might as well let me help you, hm?
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I don't have a world of my own like you do. I don't belong anywhere. ]
... I'm looking for a few things to repair something. [ Should she even tell him about the outcome, the intention to return to Columbia? ] A cathode tube, CO2 scrubber... [ She sighs, not sitting despite the proffered chair. ] And you'll need to be ready for the Splicers, they're-- Christ, there's so much you don't know.
[ Vigors, Plasmids, constants, variables. She exhales and smoke twists into the air. ]
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She's like an entirely different person now, and as difficult as it is to see her that way and navigate whatever their relationship is now, Booker isn't about to let her less than warm welcome scare him off. She needs his help, whether she wants it or not. ]
Splicers? [ His brows draw together and he frowns, shaking his head. ] What are those?
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But she explains. ]
In this city--Rapture--there are a variation of Vigors. [ Fink and Suchong working together had seen to that. ] They're called Plasmids, but instead of drinking them, you... inject them.
[ As with the impending trip to Columbia, she doesn't offer all the finer details just yet. Hadn't lit up with Incinerate for a reason. It may be unavoidable, once she finds Old Man Winter, but, for now, he doesn't need to know about her use of the abilities he'd once kept her from. ]
The effect is a much more concentrated dose. Luckily, our ingestibles never had any effect on you. But, here, the people of the city who splice their genes too often with these Plasmids suffer physical deformity, their... minds are warped, often to a point of absolute dehumanization.
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[ He breathes out the curse, staring at her. He hadn't hesitated before downing one Vigor after another, had never thought twice about what the side effects might be. Now, he wonders how he could have been so reckless. ]
Lucky for us, then.
[ An understatement. He frowns. Naturally, none of the Vigors he'd consumed in Columbia are in his system anymore - or, more precisely, the Booker who'd gone to Columbia and acquired them would now never exist. He shakes his head, dismissing the paradox and the headache that would go with it. ]
It won't be easy to fight them, if they've got weapons it's not safe to use.
[ And if they're out of their right minds, as well. Already, he's considering what they may have to do to get through this. ]
You said...if they splice their genes too often.
[ Which implies that there's a point before that happens. ]
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[ She's had to sneak around until he arrived, since losing her powers. It isn't something she's enjoyed having to figure out. ]
I did. [ And she looks at him, dark-lined eyes trained carefully on his features. ] But you won't be using them. Your weapons are enough.
[ Elizabeth will be dammed if she allows this shiny, new Booker to upset the apple cart of his life with Plasmids and their addictive, destructive properties. ]
We'll be just fine without them.
[ Until such a time as she'll use them herself. ]
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We'll see.
[ For the moment, at least, they can try getting by with just guns. As for the Plasmids...well, as far as Booker's concerned, they're still an option for later. If they need them. ]
What else do I need to know?
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I suppose it'll be an exercise in learning on the job. [ She takes a final inhale, exhale of smoke, then stamps it out under her heel. ] But you'll feel right at home.
[ After Columbia, the morally ambiguous and religious-deprived Rapture might seem like a breath of fresh air... if you could forget the water pressing in from all sides. Elizabeth sighs, steeling herself for something she'd never prepared for, and then looks back to Booker, expression one of total composure. ]
Most of Rapture is a functional society, for now. This is the part that Andrew Ryan sank to the bottom of the ocean. The first of many, I think. [ A small weapon--a crossbow--appears in her hands and she looks out to the lounge. ]
Follow me.
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He looks at the crossbow in her hands, surprised at the weapon - and then not surprised at all, once he thinks about it. She's here on her own, with these Splicers and who knows what else. She needs a way to defend herself.
And she'd killed Comstock, of course. Couldn't forget that.
Still, it feels wrong to see Elizabeth with a weapon in her hands. She may have changed, grown up in ways he wishes she hadn't, but she's still Elizabeth, still the girl from the tower, and he holds out a hand, nodding to the crossbow. ]
Why don't you let me carry that?
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They're only sleep darts. [ He can take it and examine it to prove what she's saying, else she'll return it to its place, reloading. ] I haven't killed anyone unless it was necessary.
[ Like Comstock. Child, I'm so sorry. The hairs on the back of her neck bristle and she walks, avoiding plates of glass or other debris that might draw attention.
Peeping Tom would be helpful, but she won't use Plasmids for now. Elizabeth holds up a hand, though he'll likely have heard it; a man mutters to himself behind a bar up ahead, oblivious to them. ]
Splicer.
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But he doesn't insist. Already, their relationship's changed from what it had been in Columbia. Where once she'd followed his every order, letting him do everything from defending them both to opening doors and pushing elevator buttons, he's well aware that they're in her territory now. Elizabeth's the expert. Would she hand over the weapon now, if he demanded it?
He doesn't know, and he's not too eager to find out.
Instead, he follows her through the lounge, stepping carefully over broken glass - what the hell happened here? - until he hears a voice up ahead and they both stop. He takes a breath, leaning close to murmur in her ear. ]
What's the plan?
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Elizabeth, crossbow already loaded, lines up the shot. The Splicer, whose disfigurement comes into view as he gets closer, doesn't make more than a noise of surprise when a dart shoots into his torso. Stunned, the man sways on the spot and tumbles over.
She reloads. ]
We need to get out of this room. [ She indicates the location on a map she'd drawn herself on a discolored handkerchief which she produces from her pocket. ] There should be doors here and here. There may also be security, I don't really--
[ She cuts off, frowning, then shakes her head. It's bizarre, being here with Booker, with the real Booker. Elizabeth still half-expects him to be gone when she looks in his direction, so used to talking to herself and being truly alone.
Elizabeth speaks suddenly, moving again. ]
You were right about Paris. [ Had he ever really said it, or had she just imagined it might be what he would say? ] It wasn't the paradise I'd pictured.
[ She can't remember the last time she saw something in that same, rosy way. Nothing really had a luster for her anymore. ]
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[ He can't help his exclamation of disbelief as the Splicer comes near and he gets a good look at his face, but Booker at least manages to keep it to a barely-audible murmur. It hardly matters, at any rate; Elizabeth fires her crossbow almost immediately, the dart bringing its target to the floor with hardly a sound.
Where did she learn to shoot like that? He's not sure what to react to first: the masklike, terrifying expression of the man now lying stunned at their feet, or the passionless efficiency with which Elizabeth had dispatched him. He stares at them both, momentarily taken aback, but the fact of the matter is that there's no time to dwell on either right now. Elizabeth is already moving on, and rightly so.
He glances down at the hand-drawn map, nodding in understanding, but it's not long before she throws him for a loop again. Paris? He frowns, shaking his head. He'd never said anything about Paris. ]
You went to Paris?
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I was only a child. But there were bad people in Paris, selfish people, people who would gladly sell their children for food or other things. There were still murderers, racists, kidnappers, smugglers. It was hardly perfect.
Not even close.
Elizabeth makes her way around the body, not glancing at the man who'd fallen. ]
The man who sent me, who has Sally, [ She begins, looking at him, ] he's looking for--
[ But Elizabeth cuts off suddenly, stiffening. Not too far off is an angry droning sound and her hair stands on end as she realizes: buzzing. Sure enough, staring them down and swaying slightly, another Splicer stands nearby, bees crawling up, down, and through his arm. ]
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