A/N: Well, its official! I've played Bioshock Infinite! Just finished the game today, and for me-at first-the ending as a total mindfuck, but then, after witnessing the credits and thinking about it, I can actually say I quite enjoyed the ending. Going to Rapture toward the end was fun, too. Such a shame that they...well, ya know. Anywho I promised myself I would write at least onecrossover once I finished the game, and something about this scene when I first played it simply...struck me. God, I find inspiration in the strangest of places, don't I? I plan to focus mainly on this fic and my latest masterpiece, Die Another Day, alongside Beyond the Shadows. Those two are each a pure Naruto fic, whilst this is a simple-and probably the first-Bioshock Infinite crossover.
With that being said...
...I hope you enjoy it! Also, may you have a Happy Easter!
Booker Dewitt bit back a silent snarl as he pushed past the gate, only to find himself confronted by a stately young man and woman; so alike they might've been twins, were it not for their opposing gender. The former wore a chalkboard around his chest, tallying the number of heads and tails, with the former being in the clear majority, whilst the latter offered a simple platter. Had they made everyone who'd passed through the gate flip a coin to gain entry? It certainly seemed so.
"Come on," he sighed, "Let me through."
"Heads?" the man asked again, flipping a coin towards him, "Or tails?" his companion repeated, the slightest of smiles tugging at her full lips. Booker caught the coin in his right hand with ease, realizing he wouldn't be able to pass without indulging in their little game. Briefly, he weighed his decision. Heads? Or Tails?
"Heads-no wait." Something made Booker change his mind at the last instance. "Tails." He tossed the coin toward the platter before he could change his mind a second time, half-expecting it to turn up as heads merely out of spite for him. Imagine his surprise when instead it turned up as the very same eventuality he'd predicted.
"My," the man seemed genuinely suprised by this outcome. "This is unexpected."
"Hmm." the woman murmurred to herself marking off the result as a single tally on the opposite side of the board. "I didn't find that as satisfying as I'd imagined."
"Find what satisfying?"
"Its not winning if you're the one losing." her companion pointed out with a sour face.
"Chin up." the woman replied, taking the man's arm and tugging him aside. "The outcome should prove more interesting this time."
"I suppose it will."
Booker brushed past the pair as they continued to prattle on; honestly, what did it matter if he'd landed tails instead of heads? It wasn't as if his entire fate hinged on the turn of a coin, right? He could hear a chorus in the far distance, singing "Goodnight Irene, goodnight", a cacophony of lilting voices growing louder with each passing second. He had to make his way to Monument Island, which, if this singing was any indication, was drawing nearer with each and every step. He couldn't afford any delays; despite this, it was impossible to ignore the
That was when he received quite the nasty shock. No sooner had he begun to lower his guard, no sooner had he slowed to take in the majesty and marvel that was this city in the sky, than he found himself face to face with the hand of the devil itself; or at least, Columbia's depiction of it. Barring his path a sign depicting a hellish hand, fingers crooked into claws. Above and below it read:
"You shall know the False Shepard by his mark!"
"What the?" Booker balked at the sign; because his right hand bore those very same initials "AD" burned upon the back of his palm for all the world to see. That couldn't be right, could it? He subconcsiously covered his right hand with his left and hurried on, careful What was all this False Shepard business about? And what did it have to do with him? Struggling to stifle his own gorge, and a rising sense of dread, Dewitt pressed on; his wonder withering to ash in his mouth.
'I'm getting a bad feeling aout this...
"Splendid!" He heard Fink's laughter just beyond the courtyard. Supposedly the man was responsible for many of Columbia's marvels; including Possession the very same vigor he'd used to secure entry to the raffle. He seemed a pleasant enough sort, but as he knew, appearances often proved deceiving. A sly smile oft hid a dagger in the back, or so the saying went.
Dweitt lingered at the staircase a little moment longer before taking the plunge; descending slowly so as not to draw undue attention to himself. Such a thing was impossible given all those gathered below, but he could dream, couldn't he? Remaining inconspicuous soon proved to be the least of his worries, however.
"And noooow the nineteen-twelve raffle, has officially begun!"
Booker cringed slightly at the exuberance in Fink's voice as he drew nearer; did the man have to be so insufferably loud? His singing had been exuberant enough from a distance but here, this close to the stage, it was nigh unbearable. A loud roar when up from the crowd nevertheless; apparently they couldn't get enough of the man's incessant prattling.
Try as he might, he couldn't find a way through the crowd. For a moment he considered forcing his way through; but at what cost? He didn't want to draw any undue attention to himself, at least not until he was forced to. But what now? He'd never be able to find the girl, not at this rate. Time was of the essence; for every second he wasted in this wondrous world, it was another he drew further away from his objective. Unbidden, the words rang in his mind once more:
Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt.
He had to, no, he must clear that accursed debt. Idly, he wondered what could be so special about this girl, that he had to bring her to New York. What indeed-
"Hey!" A sharp cry dragged Dewitt from his reverier, bringing him back to the present.
"Hey mister!" Someone called to him within the throng, "Mister! Wouldn't you like a ball?" Booker finally caught sight of her in the crowd; a young girl of roughly twenty years of age, clad in a festive blue blouse baring her shoulders to the sunny sky. He almost arched an eyebrow at her red-and-white striped skirt, but refrained at the last instant as he saw the basket of baseballs slung around her neck. Closer inspection revealed that nearly everyone in the crowd had one, likely the reason she'd called out to him in the first place.
"Hey handsome!" She waved, beckoning him closer, "Here!"
Booker contemplated her a moment longer, weighing his options. It wasn't as if he had anything to lose by trying.
'Heh, who knows?' he mused. 'Maybe I'll win passage to Monument Island...
A thought ocurred to him. He hadn't any money! How was he to participate in the raffle without cash? Simple. He wasn't.
"Sorry," he rebuffed her gently, "No sale."
"Silly," she giggled, bobbing her shoulders at him, "There's never a charge for the raffle! You been sleeping under a rock?"
Reluctantly, Booker plunged his right hand into the basket, fingers wrapping around the first baseball he could find, silently hoping he'd picked a winner. He removed it from the basket and showed it to the girl, startled as much by the number itself as well as his sudden stroke of luck. "Seventy-seven." he murmurred as much to himself as the girl. Strange. He couldn't remember the last timbme that had happened. He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, however...
"Seventy-seven?" the woman purred, delightedly. "Well now, that is a lucky number." She turned away from him-doubtless to pass out more balls-but not before breathing one last farwell in Dewitt's ear, "I'll be rooting for you, handsome." Booker let his gaze linger on her hips a little longer than it should have, and likely would've kept there
"Seventy-seven, eh?" A young voice chuckled as soon as she was out of earshot. "Poor bastard."
Dewitt turned, half-expecting the voice to melt back into the crowd. Instead he found himself face to face with a young man of oriental origin: a mop of sandy blond hair obscuring most of his face, but not his keen blue eyes; they were fixated intently upon the baseball clutched within his hand. He was dressed as most of the menfolk were, and yet, there something off about him. Nothing about the youth suggested he was any sort of threat, not the way he held himself, nor his attire, not even the keenness of his gaze made him suspect. His words, however, were another matter.
"It's always seventy-seven, isn't it?" the man chortled softly as he proffered up a baseball of his own...another seventy-seven. "Well, would you look at that?" He smiled and for a moment, just a moment, those serene sapphire orbs weren't sapphire anymore; they were a sinister shade of vile vermillion. "I've got your number, Dewitt." Without another word the blond pocketed the baseball and began to turn away; silent as the grave, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.
Something about that smile, sent a shiver shooting up Dewitt's spine. Wait. How the hell did this whelp know his name? Before he knew what he was doing his arm reached out, grabbing the young man by the shoulder before he could vanish and spinning him around to face him. To his surprise, the blond didn't even so much as struggle. If anything, he seemed...surprised?
"Hey, kid." he began-
Like an iron trap, the blonde's gaze locked onto Dewitt's own. The sheer intensity of its stare, the sudden ice in its expression, was enough to silence Booker. Nothing moved. Nothing at all. And then he spoke, his voice black as pitch, eyes cold as the coldest winter.
"My name," the blond bit out, "Is not kid. It's Naruto."
"Look, Naruto," He ammended at the blonde's cross expression, "How do you know my name?"
"You really do have no clue, don't you?" The lad-he couldn't have been more than twenty-swung around with a start, shrugging of Dewit's hand as though were naught but a feather. His whiskered face was twisted with scorn and derision, but his eyes held perhaps just a sliver of sympathy. "I'll let you in on a little secret." He drew closer, his words little more in a whsiper: "You've changed things. There's no going back. You chose tails instead of heads this time, didn't ya? Well, since ya chose tails, here I am; in other words we finally meet. Who knows, the circle might be broken this time." His gaze softened as he peeled away, patting him once upon the shoulder. "Remember Dewitt, ain't no such thing as luck. You make your own, ya know? Good or bad."
Booker couldn't make heads or tails of the man's words at all. Before he could ask what he meant by them however-
"Bring me the bowl!" Fink cried from atop the stage, soon enough, the ball bearer presented herself. "Is that not the prettiest young white girl in all of Columbia?" he laughed, drawing cheers from the crowd. Not from a certain blond.
"Pah!" Naruto spat in derision. "Pretty? He doesn't know the meaning of the word! Why, back in my village we had-
Fink's words drowned out whatever else he might've said.
"All right then...the winner is...number seventy-seven!"
Booker couldn't quite keep the smile from his face.
'Well whaddya know...
"Over here! Over here!" The baseball vendor cried, shouting to make herself heard above the din, "Him! He's the winner!"
"Number seventy-seven come and claim your prize!" Fink declared as the velvet curtain began to roll back from the stage, "First throw!"
"First throw!" the crowd chanted! "First throw! First throw! First throw!"
At fitst, Dewitt didn't understand. What did they mean by first throw? But then, as the curtain parted, his stomach sank to his toes. A young couple, a white man and a black woman, were forced onto stage, their hands bound as the crowd cheered him on. He would be the first to throw the baseball. The first stone. Begging and pleading, sobbing and weeping, they were forced to stand, and face their fate. And there was nothing Dweitt could do about it, nothing he could say to avert the tragedy about to befall them.
Or was there?
Beside him, Naruto hissed out a breath. Booker turned toward the blond, startled to find that the boy was already shoving his way toward the stage, obviously intent on freeing the poor couple. Booker didn't envy him a task like that; he was bound to attract more trouble than was worth. Still, he wished him luck all the same.
"C'mon are you gonna throw it?" Fink goaded him giddily. "Or are you taking your coffee black these days?" Booker didn't bother to weigh the options this time; staying concealed, wasn't worth letting these poor people be stoned to death by baseball. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Naruto storming toward the stairs, making strange gestures with his hands-and then he was gone. One minute the blond was there, the next, an indefatigable blur took its place, rippling with movement as it crept toward the couple.
'What in the hell?!'
Booker could barely believe his own eyes; if he hadn't seen the blond for himself he wouldn't have believed it. That same blur was unseen by the crowd, by Fink, by anyone, save Dewitt. They were far too focused on all the festivities; of watching him throw the ball. But he wouldn't be throwing it at the couple. Not today!
"Oh, I'll throw something, you son of a bitch-
The second before the baseball left his palm, an officer grabbed him by the hand.
"It's him!" he shouted, wresting Booker's wrist to the side, exposing his mark. There was a silence. The crowd fell still, all nervous anticipation and apprehension as Jeremiah stooped to look; first at Booker's hand, then square at the man himself. Naruto was no longer anywhere to be seen, nor was the couple; he'd probably freed them in the confusion and slipped out through the curtain. He hadn't long to ponder it however, as a hand wrenched his head back in Fink's direction.
"Now, where'd you get that brand, boy?" Fink sneered, his mustache rising, lips pulled back into a snarl. "Dont'cha know that makes you the back stabbin' snake in the grass 'False Shepard?'" Cries of horror and dismay rose from the audience, all eyes were now fixed on Dewitt and Dewitt alone. "And we ain't letting no False Shepard into our flock!" He flung up his arms in exultation, stirring up the crowd and the officers holding Dewitt down. "Show 'em what we got planned boys!"
One of the officers thrust a strange contraption before his face, its hooks circling menacingly. Oh shit. Booker bristled as time began to slow, as the deadly device drew ever closer. Without thinking he tossed the ball up into the air, catching attention of the unarmed man holding his right arm. Sure enough, his gaze drifting toward the baseball, his grip falling slack for a slim second. That was all he needed.
Dewitt didn't think; he acted.
A cry of horrofied dismay rose from the crowd as Dewitt tore his arm free, grabbed the guard by the back of the head and shoved him forward; placing him directly in the path of the skyhook's circling claws. There was a sickening snap, crackle and pop as the whirling gears pulped the man's face, spurting gore in every direction. The resulting impact tore the skyhook free from his compatriot's arm, wedging itself against the bone and flesh of his visage amidst the . Booker didn't waste any time in snatching it up and donning-
But now that very same guard now had a pistol leveled before his face. Dewitt froze, knowing that even with his new weapon, he wouldn't be able to reach the man in time.
Shit shit shit-
"Would ya kindly stop cursing?"
Booker balked as the Naruto dropped down behind the officer like a wraith, seized his head from behind, and gave a vile twist; snapping his neck like so much timber. There was a moment of stunned silence as he slumped to the ground, a second of surreal calm whilst the "good people" of Columbia witnessed the act of cold-blooded murder. Then a woman screamed. Her cry was echoed by another, and another and still yet another, until everyone was screaming; running and tripping over one another as they ran for their lives.
The young man vaulted backward, somersaulting over the heads of the crowd to alight at the foot of the stairs. He saw Dewitt and waved.
"Are you going to stand there all day or what?"
Booker had just taken his first steps forward when he heard it:
"Stop them!" Fink cried! "Stop them! The False Shepards' have come to lead our lamb astraaaaaaaaargh!" His words ended in a choking gurgle as a hand locked around his throat, knocking the top hat from his head in a flourish of motion. Cruel crimson eyes lofted before his vision as he found himself hoisted high; lifted from his feet, as though he weighed no more than a cross child. He found his vision beginning to blur at the edges as his aggressor's grip tightened; an insecapable vice from which he could not wrest himself. And who was holding him?
"Hmph." the other Naruto snorted. "Looks like Dewitt really did break the circle this time." He tilted his head aside, a slow, sinister smile drawing the corners of his mouth into a cruel smile. "Ordinarily I've been shot to death by the police at this point. Fascinating how one little change can affect everything else. Wouldn't you agree?"
"No!" Fink gasped, his face beginning to purple around the edges. "Please! Don't! Don't kill me"
"Begging won't help." Naruto admonished. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time." His gaze slid across the stage toward Booker, standing gobsmacked at the stairs. "Would you care to watch, Mr. Dewitt? I'm sure you'll find his death just as satisfying as I will."
Dewitt did a double take; because Naruto was still standing there on the edge of the stairs, yet he also occupied the center of the stage. How was that possible? Did it have something to do with a vigor? He found those thoughs dispelled as blonde raised his free hand and opened his pam, exposing a spiraling sphere clenched against his fingers. It grew larger with each second, until it encompassed roughly half the size of Fink's face. A twitch of the rist brought the arm back, its keening cry rising over Fink's increasingly desperate pleas.
"I'll give you money! Wealth! Power! Anything!"
"Ja ne," Naruto flexed his fingers and brought the sphere barreling forward to end the life of Jeremiah Fink. What Booker heard next would be burned into his brain for the rest of his life. It was not so much the sight of Jeremiah's head disintegrating into bloody mist, nor was it the sight of the gore-soaked blond standing before him. It was a word. One word, a single series of syllables, uttered just before Naruto had driven that deadly sphere into Fink's face.
A/N: And there you have it! For those of you who wonder what Naruto's doing here, I have one thing to say: Tear. Clearly he wants out of this world just as much as a certain someone, but who is to say that'll happen? As you can see I am an adamant believer of the Butterfly Effect, one little change on Dewitt's part has already dramatically altered the events of the timeline. And to answer a question in advance: is Naruto with the Vox Populi? No, he is not. He hasn't even met them yet, being trapped in a recurring loop always ending in his death. Dewitt's little coin flip changed all of that, and now as Naruto put it "the circle is broken". He isn't his usual self in this fic, being in Columbia for so long has hardened him, somewhat. What does this mean for the story? What changes are in store for our characters?
One can only imagine.
I also imagine Elizabeth might be able to speak Japanese after being cooped up in her tower for so long; I mean if she can pick locks merely from reading than who's to say what else she might've learned? This'll be one hell of a crossover as the name suggests, infinite paths , infinite possibilities, infinite endings. Hence, the harem bit. I know we're not in Rapture at the moment, but I'll say in anway just for the hell of it:
In the immortal words of Altas...
...review, would you kindly? I'm also open to ideas for the pairing(s)!