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September 10, 1958

The familiar ridges and bumps of the metal stump of her finger comforted her to an extent… Booker climbed the stairs with the theater lights on his shoulders, reflecting off his gun. Her first steps after him were more sure than she felt, but Elizabeth followed and sat beside him in the Bathysphere to the docks.

“You sure the little miss should be coming?” Sullivan looked to Booker as if she wasn’t even there as they rushed through the ocean, bubbles whirling past them.

“You’re welcome to try stopping her. I’m not about to,” Booker replied flatly, eyeing the radio that had been returned to its place in the Bathysphere. It reminded silent but perhaps that’s what worried him… But she couldn’t resist a soft chuckle after their exchange.

“I can defend myself, Mr. Sullivan.” True, she spent most of her time with Booker outside the tower just hiding during fights, but once the rebellion began… Daisy and Slate insisted she learned to fight as well. Crossing her legs, Elizabeth flashed a knowing smile at Sullivan and he grimaced in response.

“Should’ve known… All the dames here are razor sharp, one way or another.” He shifted in his seat, his casual suit (if one could call it that) straining against his movement even with the first button of his shirt undone.

Though Sullivan was not much to look at, he was a man built like a brick. Booker was athletic, but Sullivan… He looked like the sort of man who wouldn’t flinch if you punched him directly in the jaw. She could see how he became the head of Rapture’s security and so close to Ryan.

They travelled in silence, but the moment the Bathysphere door opened to the docks, shouts and gunfire and a mechanical laugh from the vending machine rang through the air and straight through her nerves. It was easy to forget how combat just took you over…

Booker and Sullivan moved out down the dark hall toward the ports, hunched for cover. Other men were already waiting for them at the turn of the hall, welcoming the two of them as new cogs in their war machine.

One such man turned his gun to the rafters and a woman with… Were those hook in her hands…? She fell from the ceiling with a few bursts from the barrel of the soldier’s weapon.

And somewhere out there would be tears for her to use, no doubt, but not with all those people present. They had to face down Fontaine without her abilities, but from what Tenenbaum said…

The real Fontaine wasn’t here. This death was fake and with it, he’d be free to maneuver the city and find Jack again. This was ahead of schedule but he’d also just lost a critical piece of his plan.

Beside Elizabeth was the crossbow from when she first came to get Booker… Or the radio still resting against the wall where she’d first found it.

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What do you want to do, Elizabeth?

Read the next chapter.

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