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Staring at the crossbow and radio in the Bathysphere with her, Elizabeth knew she had a decision to make… Whatever happened at the docks, violence was bound to involved with Sullivan and Booker on one side, Fontaine’s men on the other.
She stood sharply, leaving the crossbow behind and stepping out to dank air and gunfire with just the radio. She’d have no part in killing the wrong man.
Crouched for cover, Elizabeth followed the sounds of screams and bullets, weaving through the wreckage their fighting left.
The vending machine she passed was lopsided and still calling out with tinny laughter, a camera hung limply from the socket on the wall as it sparked, and debris and casings littered the floor. Her heels did her no favors there…
At last, she reached a door to the main area of the docks where she presumed Jack was first rescued… Where Booker stayed behind. She tightened her grip on the radio, approaching the door decorated with bronzed rays reaching out towards the frame.
Only to see it half open, the firefight going on just beyond reach. If they killed the man they believed to be Fontaine before she got there, they’d not only kill an innocent man, but give Fontaine freedom to search for Jack.
“Booker,” she called through the door. The lights had already dimmed to simulate nighttime, and the damage to the area kicked up dust, making it even harder to see where he might be. “Booker, I’m stuck!”
“Stay–” A blast of fire roared by here and she ducked, taking a sharp breath in and feeling her heart thrum in her chest. “Stay there, Elizabeth! Don’t move!” He finished, still out of sight.
“Booker, get back here! This instant!” She huffed, but he was gone. Clipping the radio to her skirt, she propped her hands on her hips and examined the door. It was wedged open by some mechanical error, the gap slightly wider than her shoulders.
“I can fit,” she decided and reassured herself. Elizabeth tucked a curl of hair behind her ear again, reminding herself to get a clip for that soon, and smoothed her blouse.
“Nothing to be nervous about.” …but should she do this? Maybe it was possible to stop them from killing Fontaine’s fake if she could only get a hold of someone with the authority to stop them. “Ryan,” she whispered to herself.
– – –
What do you want to do, Elizabeth?
– – –
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Quillful 
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