Author: Jon Berkley PM
A short story about Bioshock. rated T for violence and coarse languageRated: Fiction T - English - Crime - Words: 823 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 06-02-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8175053
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Just a short fic about Bioshock
Aiden lit the cigarette. He put the cigarette in his mouth and rested his hands on the table. He was man in his early twenties of Irish descent. His parents had moved to Rapture just after it was built and he was one of the first kids ever born in Rapture.
He had a good childhood. More children came to Rapture so he had enough friends to play with.
The civil war of Rapture didn't bother at first, until the the New Year's Eve party of 1959, when he was 21 years old. He had sung at the party and people had danced as if nothing would happen.
In the blink of an eye, the dance floor was littered with corpses suddenly, people had taken cover behind dining tables and were shooting each other. Bullets, fire, electricity and other various objects were flying around everywhere. Aiden could see his parents ,who had been dancing together, being gunned down by a man with a machine pistol. He just raised his gun and had pulled the trigger.
His parents had fallen in a strange way, as to puppet's whose strings were cut.
The man who had gunned Aiden's parents down had aimed his gun at Aiden and moved his finger to the trigger, when a revolver bullet splat his face open and ended his life.
Aiden swore that he could feel bits of the man's brain splatter on his face.
Aiden had fled the stage, dodging bullets and plasmids alike.
He had retreated to his expensive apartment in Fort Frolic and had locked and barricaded the door.
He didn't leave the house for five days, living of the food in his refrigerator.
When he opened the door of his apartment, Fort Frolic had changed from a place full of entertainment to a mass grave. Bodies were littered everywhere. People who were shot, stabbed, bludgeoned or killed by plasmids.
Aiden spent the first day outside his apartment searching all bodies for money and weapons. At the end of the day he had acquired almost five hundred dollars and a revolver. He had bought as much food and ammunition as he could carry and went back home. This was how it went for Aiden since the New Year's Eve of 1959.
Aiden didn't notice that his cigarette was burned up until he burned his lips. ''Dammit'' he said as he felt the burning pain.
The held the small rest of cigarette out of his mouth and threw it away. He held his hands through his long, brown hair. He sat there like that for half an hour. He wore a white shirt, sweat spots under his arms. He wore a loosened tie, a small souvenir to his life before the civil war and everything, when he had everything as a professional singer. Now, he had to scavenge and, not seldom, fight for food and water and risked getting killed every minute of the day.
He had a pair of black trousers on, held up by a belt. His black shoes that once had shined in the spotlight in Fort Frolic were dirty now.
Aiden stood up. He still had to find food for today.
He picked up the shotgun he had found a while ago. It had come in really handy and had saved his life multiple times now. He checked if the gun was loaded or not. It wasn't. He reloaded the gun, clumsily dropping his shells on the ground. He cussed and picked them up again.
A few minutes later he left his apartment. He held the shotgun in his hands tightly, ready to cock it, aim and fire. He walked through Fort Frolic. He ravaged through a few stores and bars, finding little food and drink.
He walked past a bar, when he heard a scream. ''Damn splicer'' a voice said, followed by the crack of a gunshot. He hurried himself towards the sounds of struggling. ''Get off me'' the voice said again, followed by a second gunshot.
He ran towards a door where the gunshots came from.
He kicked the door open and ran inside.
A gunshot cracked through the room and hit Aiden in his chest.
He fell backwards onto the ground, his glassy eyes staring at the wall. He couldn't see much, because the edges of his eyes were coloured black. He was dying.
Two feet walked beside him. It seemed to go in slow motion. ''Oh fuck'' he heard, also sounding like it was in slow motion. A face appeared in front of him. A man of his age looked at him, holding a smoking revolver in his right hands. The man's lips moved, but Aiden didn't hear anything.
Before he closed his eyes and died he understood what the man said. He said: ''I'm sorry.''
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