First things first; if I owned Bioshock in any way shape or form other than a copy of the game(s), do you really think Delta would have died? Because I adore the big galute.

Second things second (on the off-chance people who already know me are reading this); YES I know I have other fics in dire need of finishing and any of you who have been pinged with an author activity alert will be staring in horror and demanding "Ebony! You have like ... THREE stories to finish up! Don't do this to us!" But I've been playing Bioshock 1+2, and then a friend made a comment that stuck in my brain and kept shrieking "NOTICE MEEEEE!" like a demented Big Sister on a sugar high, which was NOT helped when I more recently encountered a lovely little fic (two, actually) by Many A Mistake.

Third things third; this is an experiment, of sorts. The idea behind it is not quite the same as the aforementioned author's, but similar enough I can count them as helping to inspire it. And while I actually do have a roughly sketched out background for the story as it might stand ... I'm not. Not right now at least. Maybe not ever. We'll see.

And last but not least, this isn't the whole extract of the story that's been typed up over the last couple of weeks. It's an extract of an extract, if you will. And very little story has been written at all beyond random notes that make no sense to most people. Like I said, it's an experiment. I blame quarantine.

Enjoy my little brain teaser; hopefully it'll stop infecting my actual dreams now that it's on 'paper'.

Stay safe people! Ebony x

The most striking thing, he would later think, was the silence.

There was this terrible, powerful, irresistible rushing that wasn't quite noise but wasn't quite not either. The sensation of being pulled and stretched and shoved somewhere but not quite knowing where that somewhere was, or which way was up, or what was light or dark.

And then the sound. A persistent buzz like someone had left an exposed wire live. But the sound came in fits and spurts, little bursts of white noise that he felt more than heard.

There was a stray thought that he shouldn't be experiencing any of this. Not sound, not feeling. Certainly not sight.

But there it was. And as the buzzing feeling turned more into little hot wire prickles under what he assumed was his skin, like every cell in his body had fallen asleep only to wake up at the exact same moment, so were little flashes of colour. Tinged blue and white but mostly blue. Hazy as seen through water or thick glass.

Something . . . wating. In the blue. Or just beyond it. Circular and bright. Whatever it was turned away briefly to fiddle with something and then turned back, watching and waiting. A little bounce up that might imply impatience. A twitch like it was listening.

The buzzing grew. Something hissed. Another thing released and slid, and the world wasn't so blue any more.

He fell. And something caught him.

Steady breaths, not quite calm but long and deep and echoing strangely, as cautious hands turned him over so that he could blink stupidly at a ceiling instead of a floor. Careful fingers ran over him from face to neck to shoulders to fingertips, examining without probing over his chest and down to his stomach and then skimming along his legs.

Absurdly, his mind supplied that in some situations that might be indecent.

'At least buy me dinner first, stranger.'

The admonishing tap to his nose that was delivered moments later told him that there was no filter currently in place between his brain and his mouth, and that yes, he had just slurred that at the person who was checking he was still in one piece.

Why wouldn't he be?

When his head lolled to one side he got to see what he had fallen out of, and what was currently the only source of light other than the circular thing above him that a distant part of him felt he should be more wary of than he currently was.

'Damn, an' he makes climbin' outta the bleedin' things look feckin' easy. 'Restoring vigour and spirit' my lily-white arse. Feels worse'n a hangover!'

It took a moment for any part of that thought to hit any kind of alarm.

By the time it did ring some kind of bell in his addled mind (several, actually) the being had finished checking him for possible defects and had lifted a hand to their . . . helmet? Odd, because it didn't feel like a Protector. Too small, for one thing. Even with the slight blurring at the edges of his vision, he could make out a metal plate on the back of the gloved hand etched with a design.

'The letter 'E'? What the hell?'

Voices, one more muffled than the other. Then the glowing porthole was staring at him again.

A moment of deliberation, then he felt arms slide under his knees and his shoulders and the being hefted him up.

He blinked.

And then he was staring at a completely different ceiling, tiled, off-white and stained with stuff, and he was being settled on something cold and hard and solid.

"It was . . . vita . . . down . . . dental . . . -tivat-"

Comprehending language was apparently beyond his current skillset. But there was no denying that the air was thick with tension of some sort.

Then the pain hit, and he all but levitated off the cold metal in a vain attempt at easing it. Sharp, stunning bursts at several places stabbing over and over. Hands firmly held him down and there was a pinch.

"-for it . . . just have to . . . Herr Del-"

Glowing amber hovered over him.

Silence and shadow overcame him swiftly then.