BioShock: The Fall of Rapture

Chapter 2 For Ryan's Amusement

Rapture, Ryan Amusements, June 1958

Like most weekends, Ryan Amusements was heaving with people. It had been built soon after the first residents had moved down to Rapture, functioning as a venue for entertainment and a place for Andrew Ryan to spread his propaganda. Displays showed how the city had been built, while vendors sold snacks and souvenirs to passing patrons. Happy couples walked arm in arm while children ran about, often chased by frantic parents.

Manoeuvring through this chaos, Michael crossed the atrium, toolbox in hand, and headed toward the Journey to the Surface ride. A line was trailing out the entrance, mostly children and a few youths, waiting to see what 'life on the surface was like'. Michael rolled his eyes as he passed them, disappointed that anyone could be fooled by such a cheap attempt at indoctrination.

He had just walked by the ride's gift shop, when a woman suddenly stepped out and almost collided with him.
"Sorry Miss," he said, stumbling to a halt and tipping his cap.
"No don't be, it was my fault...." she began before looking up at him, "Hey don't I know you?"
Michael instantly recognised the curly hair and dark brown eyes.
"Hannah?" he said, "Nice to see you again!"

"Hey, Michael isn't it?" she replied.
"So you remember me?"
"It's hard to forget someone who was nice to you, especially in a city like this. It's good to see you again."
"Likewise, but I've gotta dash. One of the displays in Journey to the Surface has broken down and I need to fix it."
"Okay, well, hopefully we can have a proper chat some other time."
"I hope so too."
Giving Hannah a smile, Michael stepped around her and carried on toward the ride entrance.

Heading down a flight of steps, he bypassed the queue for the ride and unlocked a door marked, STAFF ONLY, in red letters. With his faded oil-stained overalls, no one paid Michael much mind as he did this, even the bored-looking man at the ticket booth did not bother to check his identification card. To the upper classes of Rapture, maintenance workers like him were at best, invisible, at worst an annoyance, getting in the way of their dreams of profit.

At first it had been a source of frustration, but before long, the workers had found it extremely useful, as it meant they could move about the city with almost complete freedom. With this, he and others had been able to smuggle trade union literature and funds between districts, slowly building up a network of members in the process.

Locking the door behind him, Michael walked along a metal gantry that followed the path of the Journey to the Surface ride. Below the gantry ran a track, upon which two-person carriages shaped like bathyspheres travelled between the ride's automated displays. As the carriage passed each display, a recording of Andrew Ryan's voice boomed out, denouncing the 'evils' of life above the waves and how only Rapture gave people a real chance at being free.
"What nonsense," Michael thought to himself. Anyone who spent time down in Pauper's Drop or Apollo Square saw what Ryan's dream really was. A recreation of all the old injustices of low pay and long work hours, only now under thousands of metres of icy water.
"At least now we're recreating the means to fight back."

Coming to the end of the gantry, he reached another door and knocked three times. After a second or two, there was the sound of a key in a lock and the door opened enough for the annoyed-looking face of a blond-haired woman to appear.
"You're late," she snapped.
"Sorry Kate," he replied, "But there was trouble on the Atlantic Express and I got held up for a while. Anyone else late?"
"Just Carlson, I haven't a clue where he is."

"Odd, he's never late."
"Yeah well, that's his problem, now get in here. I wanna get this meeting over with sooner rather than later."
She opened the door fully and Michael stepped inside.
The room beyond was nothing special, mainly serving as a storage space for boxes of spare parts for the ride. However, due to its isolation, it was an ideal meeting place for the disparate members of the union's co-ordinating committee. In the middle was a foldable table, currently covered in notebooks and scraps of paper. Around it sat five other people, the core leadership of the Rapture General Workers Union.

"Well now that most of us are here we may as well start," said a man sitting at the head of the table, "Kate, what can you tell us?"
"Only that we lost five members over the last week," she replied bitterly, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "They said they didn't want to risk their families."
The man scribbled down what she had said in a notebook.
"What about you Michael?" he muttered, "Lost anyone in Pauper's Drop?"
"Luckily I have good news for once," Michael began, taking his seat, "We've gained fifteen new members, putting our numbers down there-"

Suddenly there was a great bang as the whole left wall exploded into a mass of splintering wood and the room filled with smoke. Stunned, Michael tried to rise from his chair, when something heavy ploughed into his chest, knocking him to the floor.
"What the hell!" someone cried.
"Don't fucking move!" a thick voice bellowed through the chaos.

Blinking to clear his vision, Michael was confronted by the barrel of a shotgun inches from his face. The owner of the weapon was clad in the uniform of a police officer, not a run-of-the-mill beat cop, but one of Sullivan's special detachments.
"Shit."
"Deep shit," the officer hissed back.
There was a crunching of boots on broken wood as someone stepped through the remains of the wall. Michael turned his head to see the chief of security, Sullivan, stride into the room, looking very pleased with himself.
"How many are there?" he asked in a thick Brooklyn accent.
"Six boss," said the officer who had Kate pinned to the floor with his boot, "All committee members."

"Fan-fuckin'-tastic," said Sullivan, a cruel smile making its way across his face, "Get 'em out of here, I want the public to get a good look at 'em."
"Yes sir," the officers said in unison.
The officer standing over Michael grabbed him by the front of his overalls and dragged him upright.
"Get ya hands on ya head!" he snarled, jamming the shotgun into his ribcage.
"Alright, alright," Michael said, placing both hands on the back of his head.
"And no talkin'!" the officer spat, his face an ugly mask of hate
"Don't be so demanding," Michael remarked sarcastically.
His reward was a smack in the head with the shotgun's stock.

Michael clutched the side of his head, fighting not to cry out in pain.
"Say that again, I will break your nose!" the officer snapped, jabbing him with the barrel of his shotgun, "Now move it!"
With that the officer roughly shoved him towards the door.
The six committee members were led through the wrecked wall and down a series of corridors until they came out into the lower atrium of Ryan Amusements. More uniformed police officers were waiting, all keeping Thompson submachine guns trained on them. Behind the officers a crowd of onlookers had formed, many regarding the arrested trade unionists with disgust.

"We got 'em boss!" declared Sullivan.
"You have done well Sullivan," a voice sounded out from a nearby staircase.
Michael looked toward the source, already knowing who would be there.
Moving down the steps with deliberate slowness was Andrew Ryan himself, his footsteps echoing around the silent park.
"So we meet at last," he said on reaching the bottom step, "The leadership of the so-called Rapture General Workers Union."
He let out a cruel laugh which many of the onlookers joined.
"We got the whole leadership Mr. Ryan," Sullivan said, "Without them the rest of the organisation should fall apart before long."
"Impressive Sullivan, most impressive," said Ryan, "You and your men have my upmost thanks, and no doubt the thanks of all the people here today."

He turned to the crowd and addressed them in a loud booming voice.
"Take a good long look ladies and gentlemen. What you see here are the clearest examples of the parasites we spent our lives trying to escape from! They talk of fairness and equality, nothing more than pretty words to distract you as they pick your pocket! Even when we build a city beneath the ocean, they find places and ways to fester. This time we caught the Bolshevist menace in time, but I will remind each and every one of you to stay vigilant, for the sake of this great city."

The rest of the speech was lost on Michael, for in the front row of the crowd, Hannah had just appeared. She scanned the faces of the committee members and spotted him.
Her eyes went wide and for a second it looked as though she was going to push through the police line to him.
Michael shook his head very slightly. There was no sense in someone else getting arrested as well.

"Well Sullivan," stated Ryan as he finished his speech, "You know what to do."
"Yes Mr Ryan," answered Sullivan, his smile now wolfish.
He motioned to the officers, six of whom took black hoods from their coat pockets and forced over the committee members heads in a single swift movement.
Michael looked up at Hannah, but before he saw her reaction, the world disappeared into darkness as a hood was pulled over his face as well.