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An assistant put his hand up in front of Elizabeth’s path, leveling a steady look at her. “I’m sorry, ma’am–”
“Dr. DeWitt,” she corrected, pulling her badge from her lanyard tucked beneath her shirt. “Please step aside.”
A curt nod and the man stepped aside, scanning the people past her skeptically. He was built for a nurse, but with the kind of lab work done in Rapture, they always needed at least one of those types on hand.
She slid past, shouts behind her. “Hey, why’s she let in? Hey!”
The groaning and screaming only got worse inside, and she fell right into rhythm. Patients on beds, large tables, even the floor, doctors and nurses whirring around her like a hive.
Elizabeth went unnoticed in the chaos, reaching the supplies without trouble. “Alright,” she said to the glass cabinets lined with pills, bandages, everything Booker would need. Maybe others.
Definitely those people outside.
We haven’t saved all the girls yet. They come first.
Elizabeth wiped her hands on her skirt, grabbing a satchel tucked beside the shelves and packing it with supplies. And as she did, one scream cut through the rest as familiar.
“Where–” A sob cut her off, and Elizabeth slowed as she zipped up the satchel. “Where am I? Andrew?” Her voice was thick, sedated, but unmistakable. Sliding the bag over her shoulder, Elizabeth walked towards her crying.
“No, oh no, no no, no,” Diane continued as Elizabeth turned the corner, watching from a distance. Steinman stood over her, humming absently as a nurse counted down to Diane falling unconscious…
I am sorry, Diane. So very sorry.
What do you want to do, Elizabeth?
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