I do not own neither Bioshock, nor Codename Kids Next Door.

I had this Idea sulking round mah head for so long it was beginning to be rather distracting, so I'll use it to relieve my writer's block every now and then. So don't expect frequent updates.

Enjoy.



Loading Codename: Kids Next Door Operation: B.I.O.S.H.O.C.K.

Biologicaly

Ingineered

Operative

Survivors

Have

Occasionally

Caused

Kaos

Initiating transmission...

Timeline: one year ago


Somewhere, not beyond but quite near the middle of the northern Atlantic ocean, there was a lighthouse of an elegant, modern design, rising suddenly and unexpectedly from the deep. It's location, far away from any coast worth mentioning or any hazard that a ship might encounter, was quite odd, and one couldn't help wonder what it's purpose was.

The people who were standing on the conveniently-built pier alongside the lighthouse had no doubt about its purpose. They were mostly employees of one or another of many enterprises owned by the greatest millionaire of the century, Andrew Ryan. If not, then they were either friends of Ryan or family of someone on his payroll.

Another privately owned boat docked on the pier, released a small amount of passengers, and serenely puttered off. Amongst the passengers, a mustachioed, balding middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows spotted a friend of his in the small crowd. Smiling, he called out his name and soon he was having a pleasant conversation. After a minute, they spotted another friend of theirs and, after but a short while there was a small group of middle aged adults pleasantly conversing about how the trip went, the weather and, after a quick check of each others tickets, how odd it was that they would all be going to Rapture on the same trip.

Some distance from them, another small group, this one of children, was having a completely different conversation.

One of them, a short, blonde boy in baggy blue jeans and an orange hoodie, scanned the horizon with green eyes, frowned and announced, his voice heavy in a thick Australian accent:

"Oy still don't see no cruddy city!"

One of his companions, a dark-skinned girl in blue with braided brown hair responded by slapping him on the head with a red cap. Putting the accessory back on her head, she said, in a tired voice that sounded like it had had repeated the same thing over and over again:

"Numbah five told you that dah city's underwater!"

"But if it unduhwatuh, 'ow ar we suhposed teh breathe?!" the short blond demanded, throwing his hands up in the air for an extra amount of emphasis.

The girl gave a pleading look to a fat boy dressed in a blue shirt and brown pants, an aviator's cap and goggles covering his head and eyes. The boy sighed and said in a tiring voice:

"Just wait Numbuh four, you'll see."

The Australian was about to insist, when he was interrupted by a fourth member of their group.

"Numbuh four! This is no time to be getting on other's nerves!" commanded a curiously bald boy, dressed in a red long-sleeved shirt and brown shorts, a sharp British accent adding authority to his voice and stern eyes looking though a pair of sunglasses and. He crossed his arms and continued "Remember, this is a very important mission. Command barely managed to learn that this place even existed! This might just be the most important mission of our childhood, understand?" the others nodded in appreciation. "We are to establish a Kids Next Door headquarters in this "Rapture". Numbuh two, do you have the plans ready?"

The fat kid grinned and gave a smart salute, "Ready as they'll ever be boss!" he bragged.

The leader gave a satisfied smile "Good, this should be no problem at --"

"Ooh, this is going to be so fun!"

The bald leader glared at the source of this statement, something which went unnoticed by the raven-haired Asian girl, who was too busy talking to a smiling monkey-like doll, dressed like a Ship's Captain.

"Don't you think, Captain Intrepid Rainbow Monkey?" she asked the doll, who said nothing, and giggled. The bad kid ran his hand down his face, rest of the children simply shrugged.

At that moment, a man dressed in a red suit, not unlike a bellboy at a hotel, emerged from the lighthouse's heavy gates and starting calling out ticket numbers

"Numbah five's got a bad feelin' about this..." the girl blue couldn't help but say as their tickets were called.

The rotund young aviator gave her a playful punch on the shoulder, "Come on Numbuh five!" he grinned, eyes gleaming behind his goggles, "What's the worst that could happen?"


Methinks Numbuh two invoked thy Law of Murphy.

Antone familiar with Bioshock would probably know what "the worst that could happen" is.

Goodbye and goodnight!