The world is different, that much is decided. The ancient machine had a little trouble understanding the changes, but a clock simply kept track of time, and it adapted much like its creator intended. Slightly more then a decade must've passed since its last sign in. Quite unusual though for so much to happen in a small span of time.

The machine pumped a small amount of ADAM through its sensors, extracting old information stored in its genetic goop. Thousands of memories came flooding into the ancient hardware, all of which were quickly sorted and then promptly stored in numerous other ADAM containers for later use.

Its ancient wires were filled with a new energy, a new purpose. But as much as he tried, he just couldn't seem to reach Mr. Ryan. It must've sent a dozen notifications to his office, but for some reason Mr. Ryan wouldn't respond. Was Ryan upset at his performance in dealing with those two? That couldn't be it, as his power section was removed from the grid, completely cut off from the generators. How could he see those two if his own lights didn't turn on, let alone his security systems?

The machine banished the idea and decided to ignore that issue, instead focusing on the reconstruction of the older areas that had fallen into disrepair. How ironic that they chose the Thinker over him, considering that it was up to him now to fix Rapture. If it could've laughed, its hypothetical lungs would ache from generating the humorous noise.

Turning its attention back to the two rogue Big Daddies, it began to formulate plans, calculating each outcome faster than a human could ever dream of thinking, let alone carry on advanced thoughts. It would review its possible outcomes and compare the chance of success to that of failure, and with those two numbers it would then conclude which plans would produce the highest possible outcome that the machine found satisfactory.

More drops of ADAM flooded over the machine, sharing their experiences and memories with intricate detail, providing him with knowledge through actions that he himself could never do. One memory stood out above the rest. It seemed to be from a common engineer, watching Ryan speak with his upmost attention. Suddenly, his mainframe shifted its electrical impulses.

"So, my fellow Raputarians, I ask you once more, is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? Well, my friends, what is our answer to the parasite above?" Ryan raised his fist above the podium, his elegant suit outlined by the golden chain behind his head, which was from the wall by the enormous hands of industry. The crowd, including the memories of the engineer, all roared with their answer.

"A man chooses, a slave obeys!"

Delta raised his hand as the flood of light became ever brighter in his vision. His hand slightly rubbed against his helmet, creating a slight pitch from the damp leather on glass. Strangely enough, the light seemed to act as a repellent to any stray Splicers, who ran at the first sight of this ungodly brightness.

Sinclair whistled as the light started to fade from Deltas eyes, leaving behind faint sunspots in the upper regions of his retinas. The Alphas stood together in a moment silence as they gazed upon this once gorgeous sight that lay before them now, all of its ancient technology ripe for the taking. Sinclair was the first to take a step into the fading white, motioning for Delta to follow closely. Delta, taking the hint, nodded inside his helmet, moaned, and moved his feet.

The room was a stadium, with no solid walls visible; only the mobile cart walls provided any sense of structure within the cavern. The floor must've been a tile of some form, for it amplified the light that still reflected from the overhead lamps. The walls were slightly torn in places, but Delta quickly took note that the area was in better shape overall when compared to the whole of Rapture. The posters added a nice touch, despite their lettering being too muddled to ever reveal what they were once advertising.

Considering the size of Rapture, it was completely possible to see why such a large layout was necessary

The two started to walk past the simple stands, displaying new Plasmids for basic necessities such as advanced telekinesis, something which Alpha already owned, and new appliances like automated washers. Delta paused for a moment, considering the absurdity that these machines inclined; were people too lazy to wash their own clothes?

"Hey, kid, you holding up back there?" Rang out the familiar southern accent, the inflection in his voice showing concern.

Deltas mind moved back to his task, shaking away the rogue thoughts. His mind seemed to be drifting a lot lately, coinciding with his now delicate temper towards Splicers. Maybe an invention here will provide the tonic he needs, he assured himself. They might even have "Teleport to little sister" just for him. A smile (or at least he though it was) spread across his face underneath his helmet.

Their steps once again became the only sound on their miniature journey through this amusement park of innovation. They would stop for a moment every few minutes when something sounded around the corner, but they would calm back down then proceed forward, echoing their steps through the resounding marble walls.

Deltas gloves sparked every few steps, reminding him of the large neural static charge that remained on his fingertips. His suit, now dripping away the old blood from the last Splicers, still seemed to pale in comparison to Sinclair's Omega model, what with its gleamed metal shine and clean fabric. Sinclair turned around waving his drill towards the continuing corridor, lined by the posters and ads for Rapture's latest technology. Delta nodded as the newer Big Daddy turned back and quickened his pace.

"Ya' know kid, I never really thought of what the inside of one of these suits was like. A lot more cramped than I woulda thought, let me tell you." Sinclair's words had an underlying pity for Delta, finally understanding how life would've changed simply by donning such a profession. Deltas eyes looked at the back of Sinclair's helmet as it swayed back and forth with each step taken. Suddenly, Sinclair slowed and slightly inclined his head.

"Let me lay my hand on the table before we pass a point in this damn city, show all my cards if ya would; I'm sorry I used you in plasmid shows. Back then it was business, all money and papers." The former man stopped and turned his entire body to look into the viewport of his newest ally, and possibly one of his greatest friends, "If I had a choice to do it all over, you wouldn't be here. Hell, neither of us would be. And I'm even sorrier that it took me having to die like you for me to realize my wrongs. If this is my second chance, I'm helpin' ya get back to little Eleanor. It's the least I can do…"

Deltas was completely stopped by now. Underneath, he felt his eyes stare into Sinclair's helmet with unblinking focus. This entire time, he had been focused on Eleanor as his torch, his beacon that his life revolved around. But here, in front of him, was the man responsible for his entire misfortune. His fist clenched for a moment as his dark cloud grew within, stirring up emotions of blind rage and anger, and then he felt a calm wash over him, cleaning away any form of aggression he had.

If Sinclair had never sold him, then Eleanor would be with another Delta, another man. Sinclair's actions were not the cause of malice, but of some of the happiest memories he ever had and might ever have. Delta raised his hand and pointed to his visor's front. He then took a single pudgy finger and drew two dots and a long curved line on the foggy smudges that littered his viewport. Content with his mal-formed smiley face, he formed his glove into a thumb up for him.

Sinclair started to shake silently. His voice began to burst out in laughter and gasping breaths as his free hand grasped his side and slightly bent inward. Muffling his jitters, He stood back up and nodded. Delta felt a smile truly form in his suit, pleased with his ability to make his partner laugh. He would have to remember that for later, maybe use it on Eleanor. For a moment, his mind drifted away from the world they lived in, the underwater hell known as Rapture, and it went to a place with Delta and Eleanor together as father and daughter, as a real family.

His eyes began to lift away from the edge of his viewport towards the halls, where a lone sign gave Delta the push he needed.

"Heavy Duty Equipment of Tomorrow's World!" Exclaimed the large banner, waving diligently over a separated display room's door, its ancient cloth fraying at the edges.

Sinclair and Delta both turned towards the flapping, quickly drawn in by its large, elaborate wording. The Alphas stood in silence for yet another minute, pondering the dangers of entering the area. Delta's eyes turned back to Sinclair's drill, which glinted brightly in the harsh light above. He wondered what advancements had been planned for that simple piece of equipment in his time of being dead.

As if reading his mind, Sinclair hefted the Drill and began towards the sign, the flickering lights around them slowly dimming at a considerable rate. This small detail cause Sinclair to look above, and watched as some of the atriums lights far above began to flicker as well; one even shattered from the stress from awakening after its decade long sleep. He whistled forward, attracting the visor-hidden face of the one known as Delta.

His entire body only slightly shifted as Deltas eyes moved upwards, taking in the last bits of dying light from the overhead lights. He moaned, his voice carrying over the walls and through the many displays in the entirety of the Convention. The sound itself was felt throughout Deltas body, and with a newfound purpose, he began to pick up his pace towards the promising display, hoping that maybe, just maybe, behind that terribly old and musty wall, there lay one jewel that would reunite him with Eleanor.

The sign had not lied.

Inside the showroom were displays holding dozens, no, more than that, prototypes for industrial tools that would have been used to expand and further develop Rapture into a bigger metropolis. However, the time of disrepair and lack of care had cause deterioration within to overtake most of the wall's once proud paint. But Deltas helmet light didn't shine on the environment. Instead the beam moved to the center, where the floor seemed to decline to.

"Well, I'll be damned. Mr. Ryan, I could just about kiss ya' if you still drew breath."

In the center were dozens of tools designed for Raptures deep-sea expansion, ranging from heavy duty rivet guns all the way to some strange looking flame-thrower. The Big Daddies began to move down, pushing away the barriers. The floor where the tools sat was a raised wooden stage, completely distinguishable from the matted carpet around it. Some of the tools sat up on the stage, others had fallen from the years of micro-shake that plagued Rapture, but still it was an oasis to two lost souls searching for help.

Delta climbed up the stage quickly and started examining the tools. Each was designed for a specific purpose in mind, and it resulted in a large assortment of tools. All of which looked more than lethal in Deltas hands. The Big Daddy felt a smile grow across his face as he clamored through the various new toys. His fingers traced a few older machines whose parts were torn out and left to rust. Sad, but that's how life works.

Delta stopped and turned his head directly to the last item on the floor; an enormous gun-looking machine that resembled some kind of advanced rivet cannon sat, unloved and unused, in the far corner of the display.

That'll do nicely, the giant thought.

His hands gripped the handle with ease. It had obviously been designed with Big Daddies in mind, since the sheer size and weight would break a regular human. The mechanisms inside were as large as a grown mans fist, and randomly placed tubes and cables constantly wove in and out of the entire tools frame. Delta found a safety button and slid it to 'work' mode, feeling a tiny engine roar to life, accompanied by a yellow glow from the center turbine that hung right in front of the handle and trigger. He tested the weight a bit while Sinclair found his own new plaything.

"Now this," The southerner began, obviously impressed, "Is a true feat of engineering. See this tube here? That little violent glowin' means that this little guy runs on zero-point energy. It means that nothin' it powers ever needs recharging."

In Sinclair's hand sat a tube the size of their pointer fingers and pulsating with enigmatic purple light that appear from seemingly nowhere. He turned it over in his hand for a moment, and then slid it into a slot on the drill still equipped on his other hand, where it clicked into a slot. The drill sat motionless for a moment before it roared to life with a force so great Sinclair had to steady himself.

"Now that's a bucking bronco if I do say so!" He laughed thoroughly until it began to calm down.

Delta looked at some of the other tools, one of which was a drill. They could spend hours playing around with them, but they had a mission, and Delta was hell-bent on finishing it. He grabbed a few that looked useful, locking them into his back carriage for later use. He suddenly stopped, however, when he heard the crash from outside.

"I think that someone wants to get our attention. Should we keep them waiting?"

Delta started to moan in reply, but stopped when he heard the shrill scream from the lobby outside. His mindset changed, and the darkness within his conscious took control. He rushed outside and looked up to see the splicer hordes, growling at any who moved close. Sinclair rushed up behind and almost smiled to himself under his helmet.

This was going to be good.