BioQuest: Call

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Staring at the crossbow and radio in the Bathysphere with her, Elizabeth knew she had a decision to make… Whatever happened at the docks, violence was bound to involved with Sullivan and Booker on one side, Fontaine’s men on the other.

She stood sharply, leaving the crossbow behind and stepping out to dank air and gunfire with just the radio. She’d have no part in killing the wrong man.

Crouched for cover, Elizabeth followed the sounds of screams and bullets, weaving through the wreckage their fighting left.

The vending machine she passed was lopsided and still calling out with tinny laughter, a camera hung limply from the socket on the wall as it sparked, and debris and casings littered the floor. Her heels did her no favors there…

At last, she reached a door to the main area of the docks where she presumed Jack was first rescued… Where Booker stayed behind. She tightened her grip on the radio, approaching the door decorated with bronzed rays reaching out towards the frame.

Only to see it half open, the firefight going on just beyond reach. If they killed the man they believed to be Fontaine before she got there, they’d not only kill an innocent man, but give Fontaine freedom to search for Jack.

“Booker,” she called through the door. The lights had already dimmed to simulate nighttime, and the damage to the area kicked up dust, making it even harder to see where he might be. “Booker, I’m stuck!”

“Stay–” A blast of fire roared by here and she ducked, taking a sharp breath in and feeling her heart thrum in her chest. “Stay there, Elizabeth! Don’t move!” He finished, still out of sight.

“Booker, get back here! This instant!” She huffed, but he was gone. Clipping the radio to her skirt, she propped her hands on her hips and examined the door. It was wedged open by some mechanical error, the gap slightly wider than her shoulders.

“I can fit,” she decided and reassured herself. Elizabeth tucked a curl of hair behind her ear again, reminding herself to get a clip for that soon, and smoothed her blouse.

“Nothing to be nervous about.” …but should she do this? Maybe it was possible to stop them from killing Fontaine’s fake if she could only get a hold of someone with the authority to stop them. “Ryan,” she whispered to herself.

– – –

What do you want to do, Elizabeth?

Read the next chapter.

– – –

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Christmas Cosplays!

Jasmine Jolene (Closet Cosplay)

Jasmine Jolene closet cosplay

As part of a community challenge on the BioShock Amino, I put together a closet cosplay for Jasmine Jolene from the first game.

Controversial her character may be, but this was a delight to do and I hope to do more challenges like this in the future!

BioQuest: Maneuver

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September 10, 1958

The familiar ridges and bumps of the metal stump of her finger comforted her to an extent… Booker climbed the stairs with the theater lights on his shoulders, reflecting off his gun. Her first steps after him were more sure than she felt, but Elizabeth followed and sat beside him in the Bathysphere to the docks.

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“You sure the little miss should be coming?” Sullivan looked to Booker as if she wasn’t even there as they rushed through the ocean, bubbles whirling past them.

“You’re welcome to try stopping her. I’m not about to,” Booker replied flatly, eyeing the radio that had been returned to its place in the Bathysphere. It reminded silent but perhaps that’s what worried him… But she couldn’t resist a soft chuckle after their exchange.

“I can defend myself, Mr. Sullivan.” True, she spent most of her time with Booker outside the tower just hiding during fights, but once the rebellion began… Daisy and Slate insisted she learned to fight as well. Crossing her legs, Elizabeth flashed a knowing smile at Sullivan and he grimaced in response.

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“Should’ve known… All the dames here are razor sharp, one way or another.” He shifted in his seat, his casual suit (if one could call it that) straining against his movement even with the first button of his shirt undone.

Though Sullivan was not much to look at, he was a man built like a brick. Booker was athletic, but Sullivan… He looked like the sort of man who wouldn’t flinch if you punched him directly in the jaw. She could see how he became the head of Rapture’s security and so close to Ryan.

They travelled in silence, but the moment the Bathysphere door opened to the docks, shouts and gunfire and a mechanical laugh from the vending machine rang through the air and straight through her nerves. It was easy to forget how combat just took you over…

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Booker and Sullivan moved out down the dark hall toward the ports, hunched for cover. Other men were already waiting for them at the turn of the hall, welcoming the two of them as new cogs in their war machine.

One such man turned his gun to the rafters and a woman with… Were those hook in her hands…? She fell from the ceiling with a few bursts from the barrel of the soldier’s weapon.

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And somewhere out there would be tears for her to use, no doubt, but not with all those people present. They had to face down Fontaine without her abilities, but from what Tenenbaum said…

The real Fontaine wasn’t here. This death was fake and with it, he’d be free to maneuver the city and find Jack again. This was ahead of schedule but he’d also just lost a critical piece of his plan.

Beside Elizabeth was the crossbow from when she first came to get Booker… Or the radio still resting against the wall where she’d first found it.

– – –

What do you want to do, Elizabeth?

Read the next chapter.

– – –

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BioQuest: Rest

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Watching Cohen leave, she let out a breath and fidgeted with the metal end of where her pinky should have been. The familiar surface of the metal was soothing, especially in such tumultuous times…
She faced Booker, who stood alone. Sullivan waited out of sight in the Bathysphere, she presumed. “How long will this ‘favor’ take, Booker?”


He scoffed, answering, “Way this night’s been, I’ll be back in the morning. I traded a blind eye from Sullivan by agreeing to help when he needed it next.”
Booker had taken a few steps towards the Bathysphere, hesitating as she didn’t follow. “And this is Fontaine we’re dealing with. You want your rest before the big meetup the loon tomorrow? Go home.”
He didn’t wait any longer. Gun propped over his shoulder, he followed Sullivan’s path to the Bathysphere. “Anyway, our gracious host could probably use your help. I’ll be back.”

– – –

What do you want to do, Elizabeth?

Read the next chapter.

– – –

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BioQuest: Return the Favor

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Face to face, Cohen seemed the broken man even more so. Through his overdone makeup, sweat beaded on his skin.

He stood tall yet his clothes had clearly been worn for several days. Paint splatted the front of his white Oxford shirt, or at least she hoped it was paint, and his eyes were glassy as they flicked from her to Booker and back.

“Well, little song bird? Are you prepared to begin?” He presented his hand to her and somehow the piano started up again. Booker’s words disappeared in the notes, but she knew from his sour tone that it was for the best that Cohen did not hear him.

She afforded him an empty smile. “This is quite the honor, Mr. Cohen,” Elizabeth began, pointing to indicate Booker behind her rather than taking the artist’s hand.

“But Booker here is my inspiration. My muse,” she corrected, trying to get Cohen to accept him without question. “I will not perform without him close by.”

“Oh, I see, I see…” He paid in exaggerated thought, resting one hand on his chin and the other on his opposite elbow. “Very well, I will not mock your muse, song bird. You may bring along your man,” he chuckled, looking Booker over once again.

“Though of course he is not for the stage, no, no.” Cohen shook his head, making a grand sweeping gesture with both arms. “The music does not sing to him.”

“Thank you, you are a model for all artists.” Flattery worked with him well, but she needed to be careful… He would notice if she put it on to thickly. Her heart raced, and the music did seem to encompass her like electricity.

Tilting her head slightly, she held her delicate smile. “May I ask you another question?”
“Of course, my dear! As your mentor and an artist, I am here to answer all questions posed to me.” He bowed forward, splaying his arms out to the side but keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“What do you plan to do with me?” His face fell and he stood, arms stiff… Cohen’s grandeur evaporated and Booker’s boot steps drew closer, one, two steps.

“Where the hell is Ryan?” Sullivan muttered, a quiet shuffle suggesting he was adjusting his stance as well.

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“Were you not listening to me, little song bird? To the music?!” His face must have been red beneath the paint, his eyes like daggers, and as he closed his hands on her shoulders, she braced for him to be forceful.

…only he made gentle strokes along her arm, as if he were comforting a child. “Yes, wait, you cannot help it… So young, so new…” The music rose, swelling, but somehow faraway. His eyes, full of admiration and madness, kept her there. Absorbed her. “I will help you to see… See and show the others the beauty of my artistry!”

It was when Cohen turned, walking aways off with that dance to his step, that she stepped back and into Booker. The meet each other’s gaze for only a moment before the artist returned.

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“You will sing to my music, and your man may be the first to take in our splendor. So I will see you both tomorrow, song bird,” he announced, bowing again as he gave her two bunny masks. They were smooth in her hands. The raised ornate swirls were the only texture to them, and there was something ominous in its simplicity.

“Tomorrow, and don’t you forget! I’ll remember,” he threatened, a smile on his face and an edge to his voice.

He withdrew, humming and lights clicking on asking his path.

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And Sullivan’s radio crackled, the voice of Andrew Ryan rushing out.

“Sullivan, this is urgent! We can discuss Cohen’s infraction later.” Sullivan holstered his gun for his radio, but this voice was not the concise, practiced man she’d heard in announcements during the few hours she’d been in Rapture.

“Fontaine, that foul hoodlum, is making his move in the docks!  Get there immediately.” The radio fizzled out before Sullivan answered and that seemed to suffice. He looked at Booker, nodding up to the Bathysphere at the top of the stairs.

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“You screwed up your end o’ the deal, but I’m still collecting. Let’s go,” Sullivan said, moving up the stairs with surprising speed for a man of his build… But Slate was much the same.

“Listen, Elizabeth, I have to return a favor.” He propped the shotgun on his shoulder for the moment and continued. “You come with me, or go home.”

– – –

What do you want to do, Elizabeth?

Read the next chapter.

– – –

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