06-16-2018, 12:39 PM
She entered, and almost immediately the contents of her stomach bubbled up into her throat.
The girl clasped a hand to her mouth, steadying herself against a nearby wall. Don’t throw up, she thought, but the churning of Lieutenant Atreya’s chicken legs and mashed potatoes almost overcame her strongest convictions.
Rapture, her home before this Omniverse, had also played host to many unspeakable atrocities. The people there had become twisted shadows of their former selves, marred by relentless experimentation in their quests to become the types of gods normal society would never allow them to be. That’s why they had descended to the underwater utopia in the first place -- for the shot at greatness they believed the outside world had denied them.
Eleanor herself had been a subject of these brutal tests. The crucibles her own mother put her through desensitized her to the death throes of humanity the other citizens of Rapture put themselves through willingly. Now, in the face of what stood before her, inside this hidden underground chamber beneath her would-be benefactor’s apartment, all of that seemed especially tame.
Humanoid creatures of all different shapes and shades hung by their wrists or ankles from chains, splattered with their own blood and guts and shit. Young men and women, ripped to shreds by something terrible, swayed back and forth, stripped of their clothes and of their lives. By Eleanor’s count, at least eight or nine such specimen dangled from the ceiling of this cramped chamber, strung up so close together that their naked bodies bounced off one another as hints of air conditioning blew into the room.
The man in the red velvet coat was nowhere to be found. At the other side of the room, another metallic door lay open. He must not be far away. Did more of these destroyed bodies lie in wait beyond that threshold, too?
Eleanor crept through the maze of hanging corpses, making her way across the room and trying her best not to disturb the cadavers’ eternal sleep. In death, she hoped the people of the world around her would leave her be; she didn’t know these people’s struggles, but she knew now they rested, and she would not be the one to interrupt their newfound peace.
But not all slept.
As Eleanor moved closer to the door, a low groan escaped the lips of a girl a few meters behind her. She spun on her heel, watching as the eyes of a young, beautiful woman, scarred with rips and tears all across her abdomen and arms, slowly flickered open. The girl hung by her ankles from the ceiling, her fingers scraping the floor as she began to take in her surroundings.
“Fuck,” the sister muttered. She watched helplessly as awareness slowly flooded into the living girl’s eyes, and fear dripped into her face.
“Ohhhhh,” she let out another groan, her breath beginning to quicken. Through the door to the next room, Eleanor heard shuffling.
No, she thought, he can hear her.
Eleanor Lamb darted toward the dangling girl, whose eyes trained on the sudden noise. She let out a scream as the armored sister rushed at her, and from the other room, the shuffling turned into full on clatter.
“Shhhhh,” the sister whispered, “I’m here to help you.”
“Stay away,” the broken girl shouted, pushing Eleanor away with her arm.
The former experiment scowled. This girl may not have wanted her help, but she would save her, nonetheless. She swung her syringe up toward the chains, smashing it into them. They buckled under the hit and the torn apart victim crumpled to the ground with a grunt. Eleanor knelt down to scoop her up when the high-pitched whirr of an energy pistol sounded behind her.
Sharp, searing pain erupted from a spot in her back, and she collapsed in a heap on top of the girl she’d been attempting to save. She tried to let out a scream, but in its place, the vomit she’d been holding in erupted from her mouth and filled the inside of her spherical helmet. Choking on her own puke, she scrambled with one hand for the clasps, and accompanied by the sound of an airlock releasing itself, the helmet unattached from her armor, rolling down the mysterious girl’s body and clanging against the floor.
It rolled through the first doorway back into the entryway of the small chamber, and Eleanor felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder, jerking her around till she was face to face with the man in the red velvet coat. A single tear struck a path down her vomit-covered face.
“Got ya, bitch,” the man lisped. He stomped a patent leather boot into her face and she quickly abandoned consciousness.
The girl clasped a hand to her mouth, steadying herself against a nearby wall. Don’t throw up, she thought, but the churning of Lieutenant Atreya’s chicken legs and mashed potatoes almost overcame her strongest convictions.
Rapture, her home before this Omniverse, had also played host to many unspeakable atrocities. The people there had become twisted shadows of their former selves, marred by relentless experimentation in their quests to become the types of gods normal society would never allow them to be. That’s why they had descended to the underwater utopia in the first place -- for the shot at greatness they believed the outside world had denied them.
Eleanor herself had been a subject of these brutal tests. The crucibles her own mother put her through desensitized her to the death throes of humanity the other citizens of Rapture put themselves through willingly. Now, in the face of what stood before her, inside this hidden underground chamber beneath her would-be benefactor’s apartment, all of that seemed especially tame.
Humanoid creatures of all different shapes and shades hung by their wrists or ankles from chains, splattered with their own blood and guts and shit. Young men and women, ripped to shreds by something terrible, swayed back and forth, stripped of their clothes and of their lives. By Eleanor’s count, at least eight or nine such specimen dangled from the ceiling of this cramped chamber, strung up so close together that their naked bodies bounced off one another as hints of air conditioning blew into the room.
The man in the red velvet coat was nowhere to be found. At the other side of the room, another metallic door lay open. He must not be far away. Did more of these destroyed bodies lie in wait beyond that threshold, too?
Eleanor crept through the maze of hanging corpses, making her way across the room and trying her best not to disturb the cadavers’ eternal sleep. In death, she hoped the people of the world around her would leave her be; she didn’t know these people’s struggles, but she knew now they rested, and she would not be the one to interrupt their newfound peace.
But not all slept.
As Eleanor moved closer to the door, a low groan escaped the lips of a girl a few meters behind her. She spun on her heel, watching as the eyes of a young, beautiful woman, scarred with rips and tears all across her abdomen and arms, slowly flickered open. The girl hung by her ankles from the ceiling, her fingers scraping the floor as she began to take in her surroundings.
“Fuck,” the sister muttered. She watched helplessly as awareness slowly flooded into the living girl’s eyes, and fear dripped into her face.
“Ohhhhh,” she let out another groan, her breath beginning to quicken. Through the door to the next room, Eleanor heard shuffling.
No, she thought, he can hear her.
Eleanor Lamb darted toward the dangling girl, whose eyes trained on the sudden noise. She let out a scream as the armored sister rushed at her, and from the other room, the shuffling turned into full on clatter.
“Shhhhh,” the sister whispered, “I’m here to help you.”
“Stay away,” the broken girl shouted, pushing Eleanor away with her arm.
The former experiment scowled. This girl may not have wanted her help, but she would save her, nonetheless. She swung her syringe up toward the chains, smashing it into them. They buckled under the hit and the torn apart victim crumpled to the ground with a grunt. Eleanor knelt down to scoop her up when the high-pitched whirr of an energy pistol sounded behind her.
Sharp, searing pain erupted from a spot in her back, and she collapsed in a heap on top of the girl she’d been attempting to save. She tried to let out a scream, but in its place, the vomit she’d been holding in erupted from her mouth and filled the inside of her spherical helmet. Choking on her own puke, she scrambled with one hand for the clasps, and accompanied by the sound of an airlock releasing itself, the helmet unattached from her armor, rolling down the mysterious girl’s body and clanging against the floor.
It rolled through the first doorway back into the entryway of the small chamber, and Eleanor felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder, jerking her around till she was face to face with the man in the red velvet coat. A single tear struck a path down her vomit-covered face.
“Got ya, bitch,” the man lisped. He stomped a patent leather boot into her face and she quickly abandoned consciousness.