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She took the bottle from him, and it was light, but dense, it was… Elizabeth pouted at it, lost in thought, and turned it over in her hands. Booker let out a tense breath as he sat, rubbing his neck.
“Getting old, Booker?” She teased, and they both chuckled together.
“I’m still south of forty.” He rolled his shoulders, leaning back as the city passed behind him.
“And still north of me.” Elizabeth smiled, running a hand over the bottle. This would be the first step in freeing Jack. She wanted to scold him for such a reckless decision, but…
What other sorts of decisions did he make?
“Listen, Booker, tha–”
“Elizabeth!” The bottle slipped from her hands, she fumbled as it spiraled away.
Booker was on his feet, his hand under the bottle, but too late. The shatter filled the bathysphere for a few terrible seconds, and then…
Booker hissed a swear, cradling his bloody hand and pushed himself back onto the bench. Elizabeth glanced out the porthole window at the coming dock.
“Almost there, let me see,” she insisted, pulling his good hand off his injured one. The blood had shards of glass mixed in, embedded in his hand in places, but there was also a swirling, glowing quality.
“It’s just an accident, Elizabeth. I’ve been stabbed worse than this.” She stared up at him, studying his face. No symptoms yet, but how would she know? Would it take seconds? Days? Never?
“Forget it, there’s another dose in Rapture. And we’ll find it.” He took his hand back, wiping the blood on the bathysphere seat with a dry smirk. “Where’s Jack?”
What do you want to do, Elizabeth?
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