Trigger Warning: Torture
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Booker… Stayed behind to ensure their safety. Air felt thick, and her feet carried her to the doors out towards the sewers. The voices of Tenenbaum and Jack were audible but indistinguishable from the pulse pounding in her head and the reverberation of each step she took.
“Always leaving,” she breathed to herself, resting her forehead and a hand against the cool doors. She didn’t know how to reach the docks or where he may have been taken.
Or if the worst had happened. This city was dangerous and she had little research on it, but Elizabeth…
Her hand tightened into a fist at her side. “Well. I won’t let you leave me this time.” The energy of a tear surged from her core to her hands, and she opened one right before the door. Shimmering and deep blue, it cast a light back at her and she heard a man.
‘So you don’t work for Fontaine, huh?’ A heavy voice, an accent from New York, and the tone of a man who knew his orders well. He wasn’t where she could see him, the tear was behind something… A waterfall?
Another man was tied by the wrists to the pipes, his head hanging down. And yet she recognized him instantly. “Booker,” she whispered.
‘Not a day in my life. I’m a guard to the doctor–‘ She took a careful, deep breath. This was not her Booker, only one option of many. If she could just get a map, Elizabeth could begin her search.
Tentatively, she tried to seek the map she knew had to be in there. If she could pull through a turret from another reality, she could get a piece of paper.
‘Yeah, yeah, and you ain’t ever been to her place. We heard the story.’ The other man circled around, standing beside a device strapped to Booker. ‘Now we wanna hear the truth.’
A dry laugh, barely a breath, and he answered. ‘The truth hasn’t got anything to do with me. You want Fontaine, Sullivan. Get him under the docks.’
‘Have it your way.’ Sullivan walked away again, his voice still ringing clear. ‘I’ve got all night.’
She wasn’t ready for the shock, Booker’s convulsions, the screaming– but the tear finally closed, a folded, damp piece of paper in its place. Elizabeth knelt to retrieve it and unfolded it delicately, trying not to damage it further. It was Rapture, all of it, and uneven red lines pointed her to the docks where Fontaine worked.
“Miss Elizabeth…?” Turning, she saw Jack standing in the hall leading back to the safehouse. He looked to her with a furrowed brow and slipped his hands into his sleeves. “What was that window?”
– – –
What do you want to do, Elizabeth?
– – –
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Quillful 
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