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aliypop · 10 months ago

Text

Stranger In The Crowd: Chapter 1

Chapter:2

Word Count: 2,133

Writers Note: An AU Series that I thought of when I was visiting Tupelo

Warning: Historic language

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: The summer of 1946 in Tupelo Mississippi, where barely much happens for anyone including the Presleys but that all changes on a stormy summer night when the infamous Valmos duo Denise and Alfonso and their daughter Cecelia need a place to stay, will they be brought back to the reality that fame and fortune ain't always what it's cracked up to be, and will Elvis and Cecelia discover a thing called puppy love?

Taglist

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@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

Mississippi June of 1946

The night sky was as dark as the roads, not a star in sight. The moon jaded by fog from the hot summer nights in the delta. Cicadas and crickets played their melodies, and in the still of the night was a 1946 Cadillac convertible cruising down the highway. The radio played some jazz tunes, then blues, then back to jazz, the couple in the front seat arguing just by their glares at each other. "Stop changing the station..." Denise said, letting out an exhausting sigh of disgust. She was looking out the window. Her victory red lips turned into a snarl, green eyes as piercing as a snake, "Don't you go pinning the blame on me." Alfonso said, eyes focused on the road, "Seems that's all you ever do now." He mumbled under his breath. His foot tapping in anger, "Seems all you ever do is cheat..." Denise spat back her venom at him,

"Just ain't gone let that go!" his southern accent as poisonous as her northern accent, "least I ain't creeping round with Sinatra!" Alfonso threw that at her as she was fuming hot.

"At least he knows a good thing when he sees it." She mumbled,

"Just like Cab, right..." Alfonso kept driving, "Exposin our daughter to all these menfolk, an not her pa." He kept laughing. He could see his wife getting madder by the minute. "I should've never married a country bumkin like you," Denise said. He felt his heart shatter, "Hate the country anyways. It's got nothing but grass and trees and cows." she spat. All Alfonso could do was laugh, "You know our daughters a country bumpkin too," turning to look back at their eleven-year-old daughter who was wearing a pink belted dress and a ribbon in her hair to match.

"Not if I can help it." Denise rolled her eyes,

"Right." He sighed, "Cause you city women gotta have it your way or no way." He nodded as Denise nodded in agreement,

"Are you all fighting again..." Cecelia asked,

"No, little pumpkin, we're just talkin." Alfonso said as Cecelia sighed, "Sounds like fighting to me." she mumbled, turning over and trying to get comfortable.

"Sounds like you need to go to sleep, princess," Denise added as Cecelia smiled and drifted off.

"God, how did we end up like this..." Denise whispered, a tear down her face, now matching the rain on her window.

The strong gust of wind nearly shook the white shotgun house as the rain began to pour down harder. There was a word in town that a nasty storm was brewing in the delta, but that didn't stop the Presley family. Sitting around the table were Vernon and Elvis. They didn't have much when it came to dinner, but it was enough for them, and that enough was a blessing, "You excited for summer?" Vernon asked Elvis as he was reading a comic book at the table. "Elvis, what have I told you about readin' at the table," Gladys asked as he blushed. Elvis didn't mean any harm. He was excited to get his hands on his favorite superhero. "Sorry, mama." Elvis said, "I can finally ride my bike a bit!" He smiled. Until the lightning struck, which seemed to dampen the plan of any fun for tomorrow.

"Maybe when the storm lets up booby." Gladys winked, sitting at the table. With dinner, it had been vegetables, but food was food. The family had taken each other's hands as they began to pray over their dinner, another peaceful night at the Presley household.

KNOCK!

"Who could that be at this hour." Vernon groaned, looking at the car parked at their front door. It was a shining red Cadillac and a man dressed in an expensive suit was knocking on the door. Alfonso stood, getting drenched, as he waited for someone to answer. He didn't care whose door he knocked on. He prayed that they wouldn't kill him regardless. "Can I help you..." Vernon opened the door, his mouth nearly opened. Alfonso Reed was at their quaint home. The infamous blues player with a godsent guitar rhythm was here,

"Vernon, is everything okay?"Gladys asked. Alfonso gulped, knowing that he may have knocked on the wrong door, but he didn't care,

"Sorry to bother you all, but my family and I got caught in the rain and..."

"We need a place to stay," Denise said, standing beside Alfonso as Gladys was shocked,

"Well, Vernon, don't just stand there, let 'em in." Gladys ushered Denise in as Alfonso went to pick up Cecelia.

"Where are we..."

"In shelter, little pumpkin," Alfonso said, carrying her through the rain,

"A porch swing..." Cecelia mumbled. There wasn't much room, but the love inside made it feel like a mansion. Standing in awe at the pair was Elivs, his blue eyes in awe that the greatest musicians would be staying the night and possibly going tomorrow before he could even ask him questions about how to play the guitar he had gotten.

"We've got a double if you want, it ain't much, but-"

"More than what I had growin up," Alfonso said to Vernon as both men laughed,

"Would you like anything to eat?" Gladys asked, "We hadn't finished dinner yet."

"I think we'll head off to bed. Our little pumpkin here is drifting like a rock."Denise smiled. Pretty blue eyes followed the frame of the other child. She had to be the same age as Elvis, but he'd figure all that out in the morning.

"Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Valmos!" Vernon waved off as Gladys nudged him, "Sorry, we're fans."

"Nice to meet a fan," Alfonso said as Denise tried not to shutter at the labels given, "We'll see you lovely folks in the morning. Mr. and Mrs. uh?"

"Presley, I'm Gladys, and this is Vernon, my husband, and our son Elvis."Gladys smiled as Denise nodded. Were they such an odd couple?

"Don't expect me to be here in the morning," Denise said, undressing herself. "And where are you going," Alfonso asked. Denise gave him the cold shoulder, "Out." she rolled her eyes, placing her hat in her suitcase as she groaned. Denise never wanted to be back in a place like this, but here Denise was, and Denise felt disappointed for the family. They deserved more, and Denise wanted to help for as long as they'd be here. The sounds of rain soothed the morning sun as the front door closed slowly. Denise had walked to the grocery store and brought breakfast. It was the least she could do to say thank you to the family, as this would be their last day in the small town, or so she thought. "Need any help?"Elvis asked. He'd been trying to play his guitar as Denise giggled a little,

"No, I've got it, but you get washed up for breakfast." Denise had begun making sausage patties and many other fine breakfast treats as Gladys walked in,

"You didn't have to do that!"

"I wanted to say thank you." Denise smiled.

"You know, I thought famous people had cooks," Gladys said as Denise chuckled, "They do, but I get joy out of cooking for my family, "Denise mentioned, and Gladys pitched in to help make biscuits.

"I heard that!" Gladys smiled, "Been kinda tough, though, between picking up jobs an our eleven-year-old son getting sick from time to time," She huffed, "It's rough."

"I understand. I've got an Eleven-year-old girl who likes climbing trees. And gets pneumonia every winter." Denise chuckled,

"The joys of motherhood huh," Gladys chuckled,

Outside, Vernon and Alfonso were packing up the little he took out until Alfonso noticed a hole in the tire of his car, by hole a rip,

"Seems you drove over a screw..."

"You don't say." He glared, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and handing one to Vernon, "Mechanic ain't in town til Monday..." he took a drag as Alfonso groaned, "Think we can fix it ourselves?"

"We can try Fons. Can I call you Fons?"

"Sure, Pres." Vernon had begun to pat him on the back, the two becoming good friends already.

Cecelia took a deep breath as she was finally up. Dressed in overalls and a white blouse shirt, she tied her saddle shoes and kept walking into she bumped into someone,

"Ouch!"

"You okay?" Cecelia looked up as she saw a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes bending over to help her up,

"Yeah, I'm okay." taking his hand as she blushed a little, "Thanks."

"I-I-I'm Elvis." a blush crept on his face as he rubbed the back of his pretty blonde hair,

"Cecelia Shanel Valmos, nice to meet ya!" shaking his hand, his heart began to beat like he was running around with his friends, "Y-You too, uh, say you like comics?" He asked as she turned around,

"Probably not cause you're a girl, an girls don't like comics an-"

"I love comics. My favorite is the Flash." Cecelia grinned, running around as he laughed. She had energy, and she seemed fun. She'd make a good friend, was what he thought. "Oh, do you like music!" she asked as his face beamed,

"I love music. What about you?" What about you... He thought to himself. She was the daughter of two singers and a guitar player. Of course, she loved music.

"I like blues, anything with a guitar," Cecelia said,

"So...do you play guitar?" He asked as Cecelia saw the one in the corner,

"May I?"

"Sure, I'm kinda bad at it anyway."

Cecelia began to strum the guitar as she played a song that was her favorite, Milkcow Blues Boogie. She had sung a little, and Elvis thought it was neat.

"Can you teach me?"

"Guitar?"

"Yeah..."

"Of course!" Cecelia grinned,

"Kids breakfast!" Denise shouted as Cecelia and Elvis looked at each other and ran off to the smell of a home-cooked meal.

"Seems someone made a friend," Denise mumbled as Gladys agreed,

"You know, I have some friends, an we run down to the creek sometimes an play around. Wanna come if the rain stops!"

"Mother, may I!" Cecelia asked, her southern accent that he had just heard had disappeared almost,

"Cece... you'll get hurt, and besides we'll be leaving soon and-"

"Turns out we're staying..." Alfonso smiled, "There's a rip in the tire, and the mechanic shop ain't open til Monday." He shrugged,

"We tried fixing it but made it worse," Vernon added as the two sat down, covered in oil and debris. Gladys and Denise rolled their eyes.

"Can I play with my new friend?" Cecelia asked,

"Cece..."Denise said, making her plate.

"Oh hell, Denise, let her have a childhood. She ain't got but too many friends back home."

"I don't like that Rosa girl..." Denise huffed, "And don't start now! Fine, go play!" Denise sighed, looking at Cecelia as she finished eating and took Elvis by the hand. It was sunny outside, a bit hot, but she didn't mind. It felt like her true home, North Carolina, and not Georgia, which felt stuffy and weird. Running down toward the creek were a few other boys, who she assumed were his friends.

"EP!" They shouted at him, waving.

"Awe, man, you brought a girl with you. They have cooties!" one boy said as Cecelia growled,

"Nu-Uh, she's different. She likes comics and playin' guitar!" Elvis smirked, defending his new friend,

"You like climbin' trees?" another boy asked,

"I'm a tree climbin' champion!" Cecelia smirked, her hands on her hips,

"Prove it!"

"Watch this!" Cecelia ran up to the nearest tree and she began to climb, leaving all the boys to watch her climb. They were truly impressed as she kept going, though Elvis was a bit worried. What if she fell or worse?

"See told ya!" hanging upside down from the branch as she giggled,

"Whose next, or are all you boys chicken?"

"She's brave."

"She still got cooties..."

"Does not!" Elvis shouted as he went up to climb next to her. When he did, he tagged her on the shoulder and said,

"You're it!" Running around the creek the kids had all begun to run away from Cecelia as they now were playing tag. Denise and Gladys watched from the windows. They both were wondering what exactly God had in store and why this family.

"Tag, you're it, El!" Cecelia giggled, running. Elvis began to run as he started getting a bit out of breath, he was trying his best to keep up, but one of his many illnesses was catching up to him, Cecelia stopped and ran over to him,

"El! Are you okay!" he was breathing harder as if he were having an attack. "MAMA!!!!" Cecelia shouted, "SOMETHINGS WRONG!"

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wander-over-the-words · 3 years ago

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A Train Car Fit for Two (Chapter 5)

Summary: The journey between stations is ample time for communication and upkeep, and a train car beneath the ocean is somehow the ideal place for it - at least, Subject Delta and Augustus Sinclair make it work.

Characters: Augustus Sinclair, Splicers, Subject Delta, Gilbert Alexander, Sofia Lamb; mentions of Eleanor Lamb, Big Daddies, Andrew Ryan, Stanley Poole, Grace Holloway, Little Sisters, Big Sisters, Frank Fontaine.

Warnings: firearm usage, murder; mentions of human experimentation, human euthanasia, death, claustrophobia, drowning.

Notes: Basically a little series of scenes that could take place between each level of the game. I absolutely refuse to believe they never interacted in some kind of way on the train cause there is no fucking way Augustus Sinclair managed to stay quiet for a whole damn train ride (love you, Augustus).

Chapter notes: Ah, the chapter we were all dreading, including me. Anyways - thank you so much for readin’, everyone! I hope to see you all in Part 3 c;

All material belongs to Irrational Games.

Part 2 of 3 of my BioShock 2 fic series, Wherever Life Takes You.

Link to fic on AO3.

Chapter 5 of 5: Persephone.

…

“Your signal’s breakin’ up...I can’t see or hear a thing - something about that room is blocking me!” Sinclair calls over the radio, unsure if Delta’s even receiving the message as the view on the screen in front of him turns to zigzagging static.

He reaches out to deliver a couple of smacks to the side of the screen, a vain attempt at getting the connection back, but the static just jumps with each smack, never clears up and never again shows the image of Eleanor laying in her cage. His link to Delta is gone, for now.

Sinclair grits his teeth and sits back, watching the fuzzing screen anxiously, his gut twisting.

He’ll never claim to have gotten attached at the hip with Delta along the way, but not knowing what’s going on with the big guy - especially when he’s there, in the lion’s den, a den that had previously belonged to Sinclair himself - sets him on edge. Not even when Sinclair had been slowly perishing in the old train car had he been separated from Delta like he is now, and the time spent getting them a new one had only been a brief pause from being able to see through Delta’s camera, the radio had still been available to him.

Now, he’s completely cut off.

He grips the radio tightly in his hands, swallowing the lump in his throat.

It’ll be alright. Delta’s better than this. Lamb’s probably just got some security doodad that’s cancelling Sinclair’s connection to him and any other frequencies, probably got Delta locked in there, but Delta’s smart and Delta’s resourceful, so Sinclair bets he’s already waking Eleanor up to get her out of there. And Eleanor’s a smart girl - Sinclair knows that, given some of the things she’s said on her tapes and the books and the chalkboard full of equations Delta had found in her childhood room in The Sinclair Deluxe - so she’s probably helping Delta find a way out, right now.

And then they’ll come back to the train to pick Sinclair up, or he could meet them halfway. There’d been an airlock that Delta had had to go through to get to Fontaine Futuristics and Rosie-style diving suits nearby that people had once used; Sinclair could gear up in one of those and go and meet them at Persephone’s entrance.

Admittedly, he prefers the method that doesn’t involve cramming himself into a Big Daddy-looking suit and walking out into the ocean that’s been his personal hellhole for the last twenty-or-so years of his life. He could’ve opened the train station to Persephone itself if he’d had a genetic key handy - there’s a hidden slot in the booth to open the gates, for back when they’d needed to transport prisoners. Unfortunately, he hasn’t had his own genetic key for years now, so the train station is out of the question.

So either Eleanor and Delta will have to come get him themselves - which he’d prefer, given it’s safer for him - or he’ll have to go to them, which they might prefer, since Eleanor will be vulnerable, given she’ll be freshly awoken and without armour or weapons.

Well, once Delta’s gotten them both out of that room, Sinclair will be able to get back in contact and they’ll sort out the plan from there. Honestly, he probably should’ve communicated their options beforehand, but...well. The less he’d spoken about Persephone, the better.

Sinclair swallows another lump in his throat, feeling himself sweat.

There’s the other critter nibbling away at his brain, the other reason it’s difficult to relax: Delta knows now. He knows what Sinclair did.

He’d found Ryan’s old tapes, which had informed him that Sinclair had once had the power to make people disappear, as he had once done so to Lamb. He’d heard the story of Johnny Topside from Stanley and had had Alex the Great confirm to him that he had once been a criminal and had taken part in the Plasmid Trials, eventually becoming an Alpha Series Big Daddy. He’d gone on to find Gil’s tape about Sinclair providing ‘volunteers’ for the Plasmid Trials and Sinclair’s old tape about Persephone being the secret home for Sinclair Solutions. He knows what Sinclair had done to him. He knows everything - except how sorry Sinclair is.

Sinclair had tried to treat it as he had done any situation back in the day when things went awry between himself and his fellow Rapture citizens: ignore it and pretend it isn’t there. One might’ve advised him to just come clean and tell Delta what he’d done and apologise and tell him how ashamed he feels when he thinks back on his actions now, but when he imagines such a scenario, he pictures Delta standing before him, staring at him with none of the warmth and fondness Sinclair can usually feel in his presence, but with anger and betrayal.

Their communication has always been...limited...and somewhat strained, but...it’s not what Delta might do that shakes him up. It’s what he might say. What he might think.

It all makes Sinclair feel so sick and...heavy. He doesn’t want to feel that way. It’s why he’d wanted to ignore it all, so the feelings would go away.

But he’d had to keep Delta’s eye on the prize. Whatever Delta might’ve been thinking, he had to focus on why they’d come all this way.

“No matter what you might be feelin’ right now,” he’d said when Delta had approached Eleanor’s cage, “this is business.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so...callous about it, but he’d needed Delta to consider the bigger picture here. They need to get Delta to Eleanor so he can survive, they need to get Eleanor out of Rapture, Sinclair needs to get out of Rapture with its wonderments, and they can all go to the surface together. Sinclair can show Delta his house then and they’ll keep Delta hidden and safe from the public and then they’ll remove Delta from that suit and sell those wonderments and get rich and - and...and…

...Will Delta come back for him? Will he...leave Sinclair behind?

Sinclair’s fulfilled his duty, he’s gotten Delta to Eleanor, so what’s stopping Delta from just...leaving? Granted, Sinclair hadn’t told him about the lifeboat waiting for them in Persephone, but, well, Delta’s smart and Delta’s been explorative from the beginning. He’d gone into Sinclair’s old bunker in Ryan Amusements for no reason whatsoever other than curiosity, and Sinclair has watched him explore every nook and cranny of every place they’ve been to on their journey, sometimes out of an obvious desire for supplies and sometimes simply just because he could. Delta would be able to find the lifeboat no problem, Sinclair thinks, even by accident.

So, then...what would be stopping him from taking his daughter and going to the surface?

He’s quite sure by now that Delta won’t kill him - call it a solid eighty-five percent sure - since he’d spared the lives of Grace Holloway and Stanley Poole, who had had next to no connection to Delta compared to the companionship Sinclair has offered him during their ride on the rails of Hell. But Sinclair doesn’t see either of them on this train, so...so maybe Delta does have his limits.

His mind flicks back to watching Delta hit that button on the console outside of Alex the Great’s tank, to the blood filling the water and to Alex’s screams as he was electrocuted to death. Sinclair’s subconscious is trying to scare him, and it won’t work because - well, because Gil (the real Gil, the one Sinclair had been content to once call a friend) had wanted that. It hadn’t been murder, it’d been euthanasia and so Delta had only been performing a mercy kill, that’s all it’d been. If Delta had thought otherwise, then he hadn’t let it get in the way of what Gil had wanted.

Personally, Sinclair is on the fence regarding the whole situation, but it’d been Delta’s choice in the end, and Sinclair’s never taken the freedom of choice away from him.

Now...as for his own case…

It’s like before, his mind is forcing him to picture it: his lifeboat taking off, rocketing upwards towards the surface, with only Delta and Eleanor on board, perhaps even watching him through one of the windows as he sprints over to the gangway, an arm extended at them as if that would stop their exit from Rapture and screaming at the top of his lungs, “NO, NO, NO - PLEASE, KID, DON’T LEAVE ME IN THIS CESSPIT!! I’M SORRY FOR WHAT I DID - JUST DON’T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!! TAKE ME WITH YOU - PLEASE!!”

But that boat doesn’t turn around, they don’t come back for him, and Sinclair drops to his knees and wails with despair and continues to reach for them and plead as he watches the boat disappear into the distance -

Turning slightly in his seat, Sinclair feels his hands tremble and he raises one to clamp down over his mouth as he stares into space, brow furrowing worriedly, feeling like he might throw up.

Will Delta be able to forgive Sinclair? Had he forgiven anybody or just shown them mercy? There’s a difference between the two, after all, and Delta might be all out of mercy to give. Has Sinclair earned Delta’s forgiveness or his mercy? He’d lied by omission to him, he could’ve told him himself what he’d done but - but when?! How?!

“Oh, by the way, chief, it is just the darndest thing: y’see, I once sold you out to become the one-ton sack o’ sucker you are now! But that’s all water under the bridge now, ain’t it?!” - NO! That wouldn’t have worked at all! He’d be in an even worse situation than he is now: waiting for a response from Delta’s camera and worrying over the big guy’s condition and the prospect that Sinclair may be left behind or (goddamn it all, he’d been so sure, but that little piece in the back of his mind is nibbling at him) even die very soon, by Delta’s hand.

Naw, he...he wouldn’t do that, Sinclair thinks to himself. Me an’ him, we’re not just in it for the business anymore. We’re...We’re friends...

(At least...Sinclair hopes they still are…)

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when the static stops buzzing and the screen clears, and Sinclair lifts his head to look and drops his hand from his mouth, relief flooding him.

“Kid!” Sinclair exclaims through the breath he’d been holding, a bright chuckle bouncing his words, even though he hasn’t pressed the button to connect to Delta’s radio. “Ohh, thank goodness, you’re -”

He’s cut off by his own frightened yelp as the view of the camera is blocked by the grinning, bunny-masked face of a Splicer, who stares down at the camera - at Delta - with bloodshot, crazed eyes. They’re giggling to themselves and over their shoulders, more Splicers come to crowd around the evidently fallen figure of Delta.

Sinclair’s eyes widen, mouth falling open.

No, no, no, Delta can’t be - he isn’t - What happened?!

“Lookit the poor Metal Daddy,” says the Splicer leaning over Delta in something of a Cockney accent, and Sinclair freezes up, listening intently, hoping for an explanation. “Not toeing it with no one now, are ya, Metal Daddy?” He leans in. “Little girl ain’t yours anymore...”

He spits on Delta’s helmet, Sinclair sees the glob of saliva on the screen, and the other Splicers giggle - except one, who talks over them.

“He’s heavy!” she exclaims haughtily. “It’s bad enough that I’m expected to roughhouse it with the rest of you, now I’m expected to do that heavy-lifting? I broke a nail while we were getting him out of that cage!”

“Keep yer knickers on!” the first Splicer snaps. “We’re gettin’ one of the Brutes to do it! Put them muscles to good use…” He looks back down at Delta to sneer, hitting a finger over his porthole like he’s trying to wake Delta up or tap his nose, “Or maybe we should get one of your brothers to do it, eh? Big guy…?”

Sinclair might as well be trapped in that leaking train car again; his breath has left him, there’s ice in his veins and sweat making his clothes stick to his skin and he’s shivering in the suddenly-freezing air. He can’t take his gaze away from the screen.

What...What’s happened? Why isn’t Delta doing anything? He’s supposed to be fighting back, why isn’t he fighting back?! Where are they going to take him if he doesn’t get up and fight?!

There comes the sound of heavy footsteps - not as heavy as Delta’s, but more so than the average Splicer’s - that Sinclair recognises as a Brute Splicer’s, and speak of the Devil, for the Brute appears on the footage, looming over Delta’s head so he’s upside-down to Sinclair.

“Doc Lamb wants ‘im out of ‘ere,” the first Splicer says to the Brute. “Get a move on!”

The Brute grumbles something Sinclair can’t make out, and then the camera starts to shift; the Brute’s got Delta propped up slightly, and the angle lets Sinclair get half a view of Eleanor’s cage, blocked somewhat by the pair of Splicers standing by Delta’s heels.

There’s someone standing by her bed; it takes him a moment to recognise Lamb’s skirt and shoes.

There comes the scraping of fabric and metal on tiled flooring and the footage shakes, his view of Eleanor’s cage getting further away as the Brute drags Delta across the room.

Delta’s still not moving, he’s still not fighting back, he still isn’t -

“Is it done?” comes Lamb’s voice softly, so soft that Sinclair has to strain to hear it over the sound of Delta’s body sliding across the floor. “Is she back with us?”

Back? Sinclair wonders.

“She sure is,” somebody - a Splicer, has to be, who else could it be - replies. “Her heart’s beatin’ again, nice and steady.”

A...Again…?

“Good…I’m sorry, Eleanor...but as with everything I have done so far, it was for the greater good. Understand that you have a destiny, and it is one that he cannot be a part of...One day, you will understand...and you will thank me for this.”

Sinclair’s hands are trembling in his lap again as his mind picks apart everything he’s heard and comes to one conclusion, but it can’t be, it just can’t, Delta’s better than that, he’s survived everything thrown at him so far, Sinclair refuses to -

“C’mon, then, Metal Daddy,” the first Splicer says, somewhere over Delta’s shoulder. “We’ll pick ya someplace comfy to die on.”

It’s like somebody’s taken a knife to Sinclair’s heart.

“No...no…” he mutters, then shakes his head back and forth and grabs his own scalp in both hands. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

He can’t breathe, he can’t think. They’d said Eleanor isn’t Delta’s anymore and Delta’s gone limp and Eleanor isn’t responding and Delta isn’t responding and if Eleanor had been killed - murdered by her own mother - then that means...that means the bond has been severed, Eleanor isn’t his life source anymore, which means -

Sinclair slaps his hand over his mouth again, the fear gripping him so tightly he feels he could really be sick this time, heart beginning to pound in his chest, eyes so wide they hurt.

Delta is…

...He’s dying...

This isn’t like before, this isn’t Delta feeling woozy due to being away from Eleanor for too long, this is Delta dying. He’s...He’s dying. They’d killed Eleanor, their precious messiah, so that Delta would begin to die. He’s dying by the minute, by the second, all while Sinclair is sitting here, watching the Splicers follow after the Brute.

If Delta dies, then...how will Sinclair show him Georgia…?

He wills his mind to slow, to try and sort through his options rationally. It’s a struggle, but he gets a coherent string of thought going: Delta is dying, Eleanor is incapacitated still, so the only one left who can do anything is...himself.

Another shot of ice is sent through Sinclair’s veins as he comes to the conclusion and his body moves on autopilot: he throws himself off of the bench, onto his feet, and goes running out of the train, only to catch himself and freeze as he stands on the platform, facing the gate to the station’s lobby.

Sinclair swallows thickly, almost embarrassed at his brash and uncharacteristic behaviour even though no one’s here to see it, and turns at the waist to stare at the train. He’s close enough to the automatic doors that they haven’t shut behind him, giving him an out, inviting him back in.

He stares for a moment, then looks ahead of him, at Fontaine Futuristics.

There’s only him left, no Delta to break through Lamb’s defences, no Eleanor to do anything from inside enemy territory, only Sinclair is conscious and armed. There’s only him.

He looks back to the train.

But what can he do? There’s an army within the walls of Persephone and he’s just one man, with no armour or Plasmids or assortment of weapons - just one gun and his wits - and no way of rising from the dead because the Vita-Chambers aren’t linked to his genetic signature.

He looks back to the gates.

But there is only him. There’s nobody else to help. A part of him prays that Grace Holloway might make another sudden appearance, like she had done when Delta had received that care package from her in Siren Alley. Maybe she’ll swoop in and tell Lamb off, get her to let go of the man who had spared her and changed her views, if even a little.

But as he looks back at the train to watch the footage of Delta being dragged further and further away from Eleanor’s cage, there is no message from Grace, there is no sudden appearance from any unexpected allies. There’s nothing and nobody to save Delta now - except him.

Sinclair swallows thickly and stares down at the platform’s floor. He’s just got to think, he’s just got to think, just one moment -

(Sinclair feels a surge of excitement pass through him as he locks eyes with Subject Delta and says, “I like to look a man in the eye when I give him my word. You and me, kid - we’re goin’ places!”)

Just - Just one second - he’s got to think -

(“There we are, son,” Sinclair says with a grin, he and Delta shaking hands as they stand in the train car - together. “Official partners now.”)

He’s got to get down to Persephone, but - but he can’t, he can’t do that, surely. He’s just a man, he’s not even spliced, he has no desire to splice, what can he do -

(Sinclair flinches at the warbling noise Delta is making, only to catch the way Delta’s shoulders and chest shake and he realises - disbelieving but utterly, utterly delighted - that he’s made a Big Daddy laugh, and a grin stretches across his face, partially hidden behind his cigarette holder.)

But he’ll know the way. Wherever they’re taking Delta, he’ll know where that is and he’ll know a way out. He knows Persephone like the back of his hand, even after all this time, he can picture it, so he could sneak around, he could hide, he could get to Delta -

(“Aw. Why, are they for me, chief?” Sinclair says as Delta gives to him a trio of crème-filled cakes, and the fuzzy feeling in his chest only grows as Delta refuses to take any for himself. “Well...bless you, kid.”)

He’s not sure what he could do for Delta once he gets there, though. He has no health kits left - maybe he could pick one up on the way, he might find one, Delta’s been finding them left and right, all over - and he’s not strong enough to support Delta if Delta can’t stand by himself -

(Delta’s warbling laughter echoes through the cabin as Sinclair jokingly accuses him of cheating after Delta beats him at Go Fish yet again, and Sinclair can hardly help the smile on his face at the sight of him, livelier now that he’s distracted from the effect his bond with Eleanor has on him by the ball he’s having playing cards with Sinclair.)

It’s such a huge risk, going in there. There will be Splicers everywhere, all of them direct links to Lamb. Security will be hers, the henchmen will be hers, it will be him against everybody -

(Delta pats him on the head, which is a gesture Sinclair wouldn’t mind all that much if it weren’t for the state Delta leaves his hair in, but the part Sinclair chooses to focus on (once he figures it out, that is) is that Delta has used this gesture to apologise for frightening him - a Big Daddy, actually showing remorse for its actions, and to him, of all people.)

Sinclair doesn’t have a genetic key with him, so he still can’t open the train station in Persephone, which means the only way to Persephone he has now is to take the same route as Delta, and that will involve going out into the ocean.

He doesn’t know if he can do that; he’s been surrounded by the water for so long and has seen the corpses of Splicers and the people Fontaine and Ryan had disapproved of floating out in the depths. Hell, he’d even put a few out there himself, back in the era of field-testing kits for experimental Plasmids, the promised ‘Sinclair Solutions Mystery Vacation’ - it’d been where the early Splicers had ended up. He can only associate the depths with a claustrophobic death no coffin will ever be able to replicate -

(Sinclair looks back at the screen, only to find Delta making his way toward Dionysus Park’s airlock instead of Siren Alley’s. He can’t know for sure - given the distance between them right now - but he thinks Delta’s frazzled mind had only caught the part about Sinclair being in trouble, and that had been Delta’s attempt at getting to him. That, or Delta had tried to take the initiative and open the airlock with his muscles alone. Either way, it’s almost...sweet.)

But there are diving suits - Sinclair saw them when Delta had heard the first of Gil’s messages: Rosie-style diving suits once used by maintenance workers that will protect him from the depths. If they’re really built like Big Daddy suits, then the ocean will have no hold on him; Delta had been perfectly fine in his, after all.

(“I don’t have much air left, but I’ll hang in there - you make sure you’re ready before you throw that switch,” Sinclair says through gasps, and proceeds to watch as Delta goes against his orders and only hurries to the pump control room, at the cost of his own safety, because he prioritises Sinclair’s.)

But the Splicers -

(Delta is in the Triton Cinema, and Sinclair watches through his camera as he approaches the shelves of snacks and drinks and picks up a bottle of Hop-Up cola. Delta turns it over in his hand, inspecting it, and doesn’t give it to the Little Sister on his shoulders, but instead places it on his person so he can deliver it to Sinclair later, which brings a relieving pause to Sinclair’s anxiety by reminding him that Delta cares. He really, really cares.)

The Splicers won’t be a problem, not until Persephone. Delta cleared a lot of them out when he’d made his trek through Fontaine Futuristics, and the airlock leading to Persephone’s entrance will be right there, an easy walk away.

(Sinclair chuckles when he works out that Delta’s gesture - holding his fingertip against Sinclair’s chest, against his lungs - is to ask him if he’s okay after his near death experience, and he gives his answer accordingly: “Oh. I’m alright, chief. You got down to that pumpin’ station with time ta spare. Could even afford myself a sigh of relief.”)

To the Splicers, he’ll be a Big Daddy without a Little Sister - which, in Rapture, is about as interesting as a houseplant. A big, lumbering, whale-noise-making houseplant, but a houseplant nonetheless. They won’t care about him, only idiots fight Big Daddies that have no ADAM-collecting companion to leech off of once the Daddy is dead -

(Something has definitely changed here; at the start of their journey, Sinclair hadn’t wanted to tell Delta anything more personal than his favourite flavour of pie and how he liked his coffee. As of now, he’s told Delta about how he used to collect bottle caps when he’d been a child - and how many people know that? Only people long-since dead or as good as in Sinclair’s life: his mama, papa, granddaddy, some of the folks back in Panama - and shown him the key to his old house, which nobody has ever seen nor heard about, not even Ryan. Not only that, but he’s made a rather personal but very sincere promise to him: to take him back to Georgia and let him live in his house. Nobody in Sinclair’s life has ever lived in that house besides Sinclair himself.)

But once he reaches Persephone, the suit will have to come off, it’ll be too conspicuous, a Rosie just walking around like that, especially one with no Little Sister to deliver ADAM to Lamb with, so he’ll only have the clothes on his back and he’ll be vulnerable -

(Delta tries to mend his glasses for him by attempting to snap the temple back into place at the hinge and perks up when he thinks he’s done it, only for the glasses to unceremoniously break apart again, and Delta shows frustration and goes to try again, but Sinclair - endeared by Delta’s care - laughs and assures him it’s fine, he can get new ones, and a fresh eye test to boot.)

And anyway - what’s the plan then? If Delta isn’t fully conscious or is too weak to stand for himself, how will Sinclair get him out of there, short of splicing to hell and back like one of those Brutes? He can’t drag him, he can’t pick him up -

(Sinclair chuckles at Delta’s offered hand, says, “Don’t start sayin’ your fare-thee-wells just yet, kid. Our partnership’s not quite done, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere until you come back with Eleanor. But, well,” he chuckles, “it’s been a real pleasure doin’ business with you too,” and he takes the hand, and they shake on it, just like in the beginning.)

And what about Eleanor? If Delta isn’t well enough to save her, how will Sinclair do it? How will he get into that cage she’s in undetected? Delta had had to fight two Big Sisters before he could even walk through the door - Sinclair can’t even put a single bullet into one of those she-beasts!

(Sinclair removes the third cake from his pouch and holds it out to Delta, smiling -)

Say Sinclair manages it. Say he reaches Delta and manages to get him to safety. Say they rescue Eleanor together and make it to Sinclair’s lifeboat and get the hell out of Rapture...what then? It won’t stop Delta from dying. It won’t bring he and Eleanor’s bond back. It won’t make Sinclair any less of the slimy bastard he’d been to who he now proudly calls a friend. So...what then?

(- and Delta responds by tearing the cake in half so they can share it.)

God - it doesn’t matter. That will just - just have to come to him when the time for it arrives, they’ll have to cross that bridge when they get to it! He’s sure there’s some kind of way, he’s sure of it, they’ll have three brains working together to think of a solution! Fuck it all - Sinclair will reinvent the Vita-Chamber topside if he has to! He remembers how they work, he remembers how to build one, Eleanor can help if she’d like - he’ll fucking do it, even if it won’t cancel Delta’s failing health, even if it will only serve to give them a bit of extra time to work out how to comfortably remove Delta from his suit and take away every last bit of his Big Daddy conditioning!

It doesn’t matter what they will do in the future if they don’t have a future to do anything in! What matters is the now! Delta is dying now, with nobody to help him but Sinclair, who is standing here and wasting precious time instead of - for once in his goddamn life - doing something to help.

And if he doesn’t do anything, Delta will die. For God’s sake, Delta will die, alone and scared!

(Delta immediately listens as Sinclair takes over from Tenenbaum, polite and engaging even when he has no idea who Sinclair is.)

(The Splicer outside his window is set alight and suddenly thrown up against the train car, and then the poor bastard’s blended alive by Delta, who has come to Sinclair’s rescue.)

(Delta could have wanted nothing to do with him, but he shows otherwise by coming into the cabin when Sinclair calls for him through the radio - what’s more, he shakes Sinclair’s hand and sits beside him.)

(After Sinclair tells Delta about his accomplishments with the Vita-Chambers, Delta stares, then lets out an awed crooning noise - which Sinclair could swear sounds like “Wooow!” - to show Sinclair how impressed he is.)

(Delta stops Sinclair from checking out the noise in Pauper’s Drop’s train station, motioning to stay so he’ll be safe.)

(Delta offers a handshake and chooses to put his trust in Sinclair, even though his trip into Pauper’s Drop has just shown him why he might not be able to do that.)

(He watches anxiously while Sinclair takes that first bite into the cake, like he’s worried Sinclair won’t like it; Sinclair’s comfort - to Delta - is just as important as his health.)

(When Sinclair reports that somebody is in the security booth, Delta bolts forward, prepared to run, and stops only when Stanley Poole’s voice comes over the radio and reveals that person to be himself.)

(Delta breaks off the cola bottle’s cap with those metal rings on his glove, making Sinclair laugh. He even offers it to him after Sinclair tells him he collected bottle caps in his youth, and lets out that awed crooning when Sinclair flicks the cap into the air and catches it like a pro.)

(Delta holds the rose delicately in his hand, so incredibly gentle despite being what he is, softly caressing the petals even though he can’t feel their texture. He’s a monster enjoying the beauty of nature, lost in his own little world, thinking about something Sinclair would’ve thrown a penny in to discover.)

(When he sits this time and Sinclair is jostled, Delta is quick to hold out a hand in preparation to catch him should he fall. Only when he’s sure Sinclair is balanced does he take his hand back, giving a soft sigh of relief.)

(Delta croons, excited, when Sinclair tells him about how he’ll take Delta back to Georgia when they get out of Rapture, and he listens, enraptured, as Sinclair tells him about his house. He’s even more excited at the prospect of owning a private island together, and what really hammers home is how thrilled he is in general - be it in Georgia or on a private island - that he and Sinclair will live together.)

(Delta prods him with two fingers and leans towards him, silently asking if he’s okay because Sinclair’s gone quiet, and if Sinclair’s gone quiet then that must mean something is wrong. And he’s asking because...because Delta cares. He really, really does care…)

No. No.

NO!

Sinclair lifts his head, a determined frown on his face and a renewed confidence in his heart...and turns to go back into the train car.

Seconds later, he bursts out again, radio strapped to his hip, the screen connecting to Delta’s camera turned off and left behind after Sinclair had checked it to get some idea of Delta’s current location. He’d recognised it: one of the examination rooms, which is perfect because it’ll be right there, Sinclair will barely need to dip his toe into Persephone’s waters.

He checks his pouches and pockets to make sure he’s got all of his belongings: his cigarette holder is awkwardly sticking out of the gap at the top corner of one of his pouches, he’s got his cigarette case and matches in one pocket, his handkerchief in the other, and tucked into his pouches are his crumpled reading glasses, his ammo, the pack of cards, the engineering manual, the spare dollars he’d saved from his bunker, the key for his house back in Georgia, and the bottle cap Delta had given him.

He snatches his gun from its holster and loads it until it’s full, then he snaps the gun shut with a flick of the wrist and continues his march into Fontaine Futuristics’s train station.

Behind him, the train car’s doors slide shut.

As he crosses the threshold, he hears voices and a chill passes over his skin, but he lifts his gun, holds it securely, and, while keeping himself pressed to the wall, he makes his way down the stairs, one at a time. When he reaches the landing, he lifts his back from the wall just slightly, surveying the situation while remaining out of immediate sight.

There are two Splicers in the foyer, one armed with a revolver like his own, the other with a pipe. The decision is easy, given that one has a short-range weapon and the other could take him out where he stands.

He silently descends the rest of the stairs, then - with a steady hand and a steady aim - Sinclair stares over the top of his gun, lines up the lip to the Splicer’s back, right between the shoulders, and fires a single bullet into their flesh.

It’s an anti-personnel round, for Sinclair’s learned a few things in Rapture and he knows those do best against Splicers, and so this one goes down no problem. The shot alerts the other Splicer to his position and prompts them to turn and yell out, then they raise the pipe above their head and begin their sprint over to him.

Sinclair panics briefly so his next shot is off and he hits them in the leg instead of the head or chest, but this does slow them down, which gives him ample time to fire the third shot of the lot into their forehead, finishing them off.

Panting softly, adrenaline rushing through him, Sinclair peeks around the corner at the sitting area, looking for any sign of any silent Splicers, but finds nobody around. Nodding to himself, he approaches the corpses and kneels to check for supplies, takes the ammo the Leadhead Splicer had had and shoves that into one of his pouches, then snatches the roll of bandages on the Thuggish Splicer’s person and pushes those into the same pocket as his handkerchief.

Satisfied, he makes his way for the double doors leading to the airlock, where Delta had passed through before him.

When he gets inside, Sinclair sees the wagon that had been left for Delta, now devoid of presents since Delta had taken the Tonic gifted to him, and he swallows thickly as he looks over the railing at the diving suits.

God, he...he really doesn’t want to go out there. Sitting in the train car and watching the ocean go by is one thing and sitting in the car as it’s leaking air is another, but actually stepping out there, walking through the water, upon the sand, among the fish and plantlife, with only the oxygen tanks on his back keeping him breathing and the suit keeping him from getting crushed by the ocean’s pressure - that’s an entirely different experience, one that Sinclair isn’t sure he’s ready for.

But he has no choice, it’s out there or nothing. He has no genetic key - the only way to get one would be to pop by Gil’s lab and print it where Delta had gotten one from Alex the Great, and that would still require him to walk through the ocean. What’s more, it’d be a huge waste of time, since he’d have to come back to even use it to open the train station, and he’s wasted enough time, he needs to get to Delta now.

Taking a deep breath, Sinclair approaches the steps, the railing cold against his hand. As he goes, he’s giving himself a mumbled pep talk.

“It’ll be alright, the kid does it all the time. It’s...sort of like a Halloween costume of sorts: just gotta put it on an’ play the part. All that’s gonna happen out there is...a stroll. Just put on the costume an’ go for a walk, that’s all. Put on the costume an’ go for a wall...Put on the costume an’ go for a walk.” He lowers his volume to a whisper. “Put on the costume an’ go for a walk -”

After he walks down only two steps, a light shines on him, there comes a click and a high-pitched noise, and Sinclair nearly falls down the rest of the staircase. He scrambles to take back his balance, grabbing tightly at the railing and wildly waving his gun in the direction of the sounds, then looks over at the screen on the wall in bewilderment.

It fuzzes until it flicks on, and the portrait of the real Gil Alexander stares at him as the automated message repeats from earlier.

“October 9th, 1967. Hello. (Ahem.) My name is Gilbert Alexander, and by the time you hear this, I will be clinically insane. I-I am recording these diaries in advance, as a...last-ditch effort to assist anyone I might...threaten...in dealing with me.”

Sinclair sighs softly, lowering his firearm, as Gil’s message continues.

“Ah, Gil...I don’t blame you for bein’ so desperate...I saw ya in that tank.”

He takes his eyes off of the screen to walk down the rest of the stairs, then looks back up at it to look Gil’s picture in the eye just before the screen goes blank, remembering distantly when he used to have the real man standing before him, looking at him with those same eyes as he handed Sinclair a mug of coffee or suggested something to add or take away from the Vita-Chamber’s design.

“Wherever ya are now, Gil...I hope it’s better’n here. I honestly do.”

He turns his back on the screen, holstering his gun, and jumps when he hears a rumbling hum, and then water rushing and dripping. The sound gives no comfort to his nerves; Sinclair looks over as the door to the airlock descends into the floor beside him, revealing to him the damp but empty chamber, then he directs a thoughtful look over his shoulder at the screen Gil’s picture had been on.

Gil must’ve set up an automated system, he reckons: once the scanner picked up somebody’s presence, the airlock would empty itself if it was full, so the potential saviour Gil had been hoping for would have a less tedious time getting to him. Delta had been lucky enough to get there when the airlock had already been empty, but Sinclair had been given his leftovers. Still, it’d been smart of Gil to think of that; makes Sinclair’s job easier.

The timing, however, feels like Rapture is intentionally trying to frighten him by rubbing his nose in what’s about to happen, and Sinclair’s knees suddenly feel a little weak.

Sinclair nods once - perhaps as a thanks to his old friend for the posthumous assistance - and turns back to the Rosie-style suits. He immediately pauses, opening and closing his fists as another lump develops in his throat. A freezing layer of sweat wets his skin, making his clothes stick and his body shiver. He chooses to blame it on how bloody cold it is in this locker room.

“C’mon, now. Just…” he mutters, pauses to swallow hard again, then goes on, “put on the costume...an’ go for a walk...Easy.”

Hands trembling, Sinclair picks up the body suit. He puts it on over his clothes, starting by sliding his legs into place, then his arms, and he has to swallow another lump before he can zip it up over his chest, up to his neck. Immediately, he’s assaulted with the feeling of being smothered and it overwhelms him enough that he has to take another pause.

Big Daddies are large beings - of course they are, it’s in the name - but he hadn’t ever really pondered what it’d be like to wear one’s skin like this. Is this what Delta feels like, being the way he is? All this...fabric and heat and weight on his body, twenty-four-seven?

Suddenly, that horrible niggling erupts in his tummy at the thought that this - this mass of thick material he currently wears - is what Delta has to put up with every second, only he has no option to take it off like Sinclair does. Maybe the fact that Delta doesn’t remember anything prior to being a Big Daddy can finally be a comfort to him: the feeling of the suit can’t be as strange as Sinclair finds it if Delta knows no difference.

The same can’t be said for Sinclair, who can very much tell the difference; he grits his teeth, uncomfortable, but does his best to ignore it as he makes sure everything’s in place and in order before he moves on to grab the boots.

They’re heavy and he grunts as he lifts them, but he manages to take them over to the stairs so he can take a seat and put them on, fighting against and adjusting the body suit as he does so as it threatens to swallow him when he sits. The boots are big enough that he can put them on over his wingtips, which is a relief because a Big Daddy carrying a pair of fancy shoes makes no sense and he doesn’t want to go running around Persephone in his socks.

Once he gets them both on, sealing the tops of them to the ankles of the suit and ensuring there’re no gaps, he stands and takes a cautionary step, grunting uncomfortably at the weight of them and trying not to compare them to having cinderblocks tied to his legs, lest he frighten himself even more. After a couple of test walks in a circle, he gets a little more used to the feeling and goes back to the racks to get the gloves, which he pulls over his hands, grimacing at the additional heat.

He hopes none of the Splicers notice he’s a...slightly smaller Big Daddy than Rosies should be. Hell - smaller or not, he still won’t have a Little Sister with him, so he’s not worth it.

Last is the helmet, and Sinclair swallows thickly again as he looks over at the only available one. It’s undamaged and pristine, just a little dirty, and Sinclair rubs his fist in a circle across the porthole to clean it the best he can before he lifts it. It’s so heavy; he’s already anticipating the pain in his shoulders from carrying the helmet on them.

Wobbling as he turns back to the open door, he sets the helmet down before himself - between his feet and the airlock - with a clang from it and a grunt from him and stares down at it.

“Put on the costume…Easy,” he mutters, then looks to the airlock - the wet-but-empty airlock.

Now he only needs to put on the helmet. Sinclair is given pause, staring down at the dome.

Once he puts this on, once he goes out there, there’s no going back. He can’t just run and hide in the train car, he won’t let himself, he won’t dangle a thread of chance in front of Delta’s face and then snatch it away like that. If it were him in trouble, Delta wouldn’t hesitate - he hadn’t hesitated, back in Siren Alley, he’d gone quicker to that pump control room when Sinclair had shared his worsening situation.

So, what’s stopping Sinclair from doing the same?

Just put on the costume an’ go for a walk.

Sinclair frowns.

He’ll be heading right into the thick of it, right into the heart of Lamb’s operations, his own correctional facility. He knows the place well, he’d had a large hand in its design, he remembers the nooks and crannies and he remembers its layout, but the place will be crawling with Splicers. Splicers of all kinds - Leadhead, Houdini, Brute - and maybe Big Sisters, too. Maybe even some Alpha Series Big Daddies. And that’s not even taking into account that he’s got to travel through Fontaine Futuristics first.

Sinclair stares hard at the helmet, thinks back to having Delta at his side in that train car, what a gentleman and a companion and a friend Delta has been. He’s so selfless...Sinclair’s not even sure anymore that Delta is even trying to get to Eleanor to save his own skin at all, but rather hers. He’d disregarded his own safety for Sinclair’s and Eleanor’s - he’d done everything for others. It’s like Sinclair had said back in the train car, when Delta had shared that last cake with him: Delta can’t think only about himself for just once.

Sinclair feels a surge of protectiveness go through him as he looks back down at the helmet.

Personally, he’s never been good at that whole ‘selflessness’ thing, per se, hasn’t given it a try in years, hasn’t known anybody who had made him even consider it...but to be selfless, for Delta’s sake?

Yes. He can manage that just fine - because if Delta won’t think of himself, then Sinclair will do it for him.

Sinclair’s expression hardens into a steely frown.

Lamb and her followers have taken everything from him thus far. Persephone, The Sinclair Deluxe, his employees, the original train car he and Delta had ridden in, his reputation, his power, his safety, his freedom, an easy escape out of Rapture. She’s taken everything - she will not take Delta too.

She will do so only over Sinclair’s dead body. Sinclair is getting to Delta, they’re getting Eleanor out of that cage, they’ll be going to that lifeboat Sinclair has waiting for them...and then Sinclair will take Delta to his house in Georgia, where he’ll be safe and happy, just like Sinclair had promised, just like he owes Delta. Even if Delta doesn’t forgive him, Sinclair will get him to Georgia.

Sinclair raises his gaze to look at the airlock, his frown now more determined than ever - and he reaches down, hoists the helmet off of the floor with a grunt and slides it over his head, locking it in place, completing the look of a Big Daddy.

The weight of it takes Sinclair’s balance and guides him forwards thanks to his tilting his head to accept the helmet’s placement, and he stumbles and wobbles and catches himself, hunched over, with his hands on the edge of the airlock’s doorway, one as an open palm and the other as a loose fist.

He takes a few deep breaths to prepare himself, to ease the pounding of his heart at the feeling of this cage on his head and the attached tanks on his back, the glass of his new porthole fogging up in a neat circle in front of his mouth, his shoulders and neck already beginning to ache, then he slowly straightens himself out until he can stand upright at an angle that won’t make him tilt forwards nor backwards, his new dome and oxygen supply perfectly balanced on him.

Carefully, Sinclair walks into the airlock, his breathing sounding hollow all around him, the suit thick and heavy around him, his hands unrecognisable in those gloves, most of his view blocked by the helmet, his boots thump-thump-thumping as he walks. The feeling of it all makes him feel ill and trapped, he has to remind himself for the thousandth time that it’s necessary if he’s going to get to Delta, and he is going to get to Delta.

He reaches up, grabs the lever to flood the airlock, and takes a few more deep breathes before he manages to pull it to let the water in.

The alarm bell rings, the water begins to rush, and Sinclair instinctively holds his breath and shuts his eyes as the water level rises above his head. After a few seconds, he opens his eyes and releases that breath, feeling a spark of hope when the suit does its job and protects him from both drowning and the pressure of the deep ocean. Taking another calming breath - in and out - he steadies himself.

“Now...you just hang in there, kid,” he says aloud softly, his voice sending vibrations through the helmet around him, giving an uncomfortable dig to his eardrums. It makes him wonder, briefly, if this is how Delta had experienced listening to him while out on the field. “I’m on my way now...Just hold on for me, ‘til I get there.”

And then, for Delta, Augustus follows his route and walks out into the ocean.

…

“Attention! Augustus Sinclair has been sighted within the facility. He will attempt to reach Subject Delta. All Family duties are hereby suspended until he is found!”

#BioShock #BioShock 2 #Augustus Sinclair #Subject Delta #Sofia Lamb #Splicers #Wherever Life Takes You series #My writing

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