Blue's heels were digging into his chest as she clung tightly with all of her limbs, but Ben didn't take her off of his shoulders.
They all appeared to have fared the poison gas better than Dr. Langford. He closed his eyes against the flash of her slack face and empty gaze. Blue was still coughing a bit and wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. His own still stung a bit, his chest a bit tight, so he figured taking it easy for a while was their best bet. Despite the logical side of his brain knowing this, he was starting to feel Armitage’s impatience to get this fucking show on the road. Every move they made, every corner they turned, revealed another road block. Another distraction, a detour. Meanwhile it felt as if eyes were on them always, and Ben was starting to think maybe he wasn't just paranoid, because Armitage was wary of the cameras, too.
Did he think Ben didn't notice how shifty he was, how his eyes darted to every dark corner and lingered as if searching for something? More importantly, what ,or who, the hell could scare Armitage so badly?
"We'll take the bathysphere outside Fort Frolic," said Armitage, startling Ben a bit as his voice cut into the silence. "Ride it to Ryan's and get this shit over with."
Ben glanced at the back of his head, then traced the tense lines of his shoulders, arms, and fists.
"Okay," he replied. "Armitage, about Langford, I-"
"Don't start, Ben."
"But it's okay to be sad. I know you felt the same about that doctor when he-"
Armitage whirled on him, Ben almost colliding with him as Armitage gave him with a dark glare.
"I said don't," he spat angrily.
Ben frowned back at him, not backing down but not pushing any farther for the moment, either. "I'm sorry. I just want to help."
"You can't," Armitage muttered. "Should've just let this whole goddamn place burn itself to the ground years ago. Nothin' can fuckin' live down here."
"So be angry about it," Ben retorted. "Don't pretend you're this stoic jackass, because I know you're not."
"Ben-"
"I'm just trying to help," Ben interrupted, before nodding up ahead. An imposing neon sign for Fort Frolic buzzed overhead, bathing the hallway in a pink glow. "I think we're here."
Armitage ground his teeth for a moment, before turning away. "Aye. Through this door, and the bathysphere will be straight ahead."
They emerged into the lobby of Fort Frolic, somehow the most rundown section of Rapture that Ben had encountered, yet. It had been quite grand, once, the tile beneath their feet intricately patterned and vibrant but obscured by muck. Lovingly crafted, Grecian-inspired pillars had toppled over in the years of neglect, crumbling to pieces and forcing the three of them to climb over the remains.
"We need to get in and out of this area as quick as we can," said Armitage tensely. "Ryan put one of his goons in charge, here. One Moff Tarkin. He's fuckin' mental."
"Isn't everyone?" Ben snorted, turning and reaching out a hand to help Blue clamber over the rubble in their way.
"True. But trust me. We don't want a run-in with this guy."
They crossed the lobby carefully, stepping over debris and puddles and corpses, avoiding exposed, sparking wires overhead, and finally came to a pause in front of a bulkhead door. Overhead, a sign labeled it the entrance to the bathysphere station, and Armitage led the way inside, brushing past the door before it was fully open.
"Down this way."
Ben nodded, reaching out a hand behind him. "Come on, Blue," he said, holding on when she took his hand and picking up their pace as he hurried after Armitage. The man seemed even more anxious than Ben.
They walked past an abandoned ticket station, a sign flickering beside it showing all of the different stations throughout Rapture. Bright red letters shouted CANCELLED beside each of them. They followed the length of a walkway, lined with railing and littered with trash and abandoned luggage, remnants of the escape attempts of Rapture's citizens. At the end lay a platform, overlooking a pool of water with a surface unnaturally calm. Armitage swiftly approached the control panel at the forefront, hitting the release button with a closed fist, and Blue let go of Ben's hand to run and watch as a bathysphere emerged from beneath the pool. The sound of water sliding off of the vehicle crashed and echoed in the high ceilings, making them both grimace. Every sound seemed to be a death sentence in Rapture.
"Let me check the inside," Armitage said. "Stay here."
He pulled his shotgun, holding it at the ready as he carefully approached the bathysphere. He swung open the door, aiming quickly in anticipation, but there was nothing inside. He sighed in relief, stepping in and propping up his weapon on the wall. "Alright, we're clear. C'mere, and let's-"
The door to the bathysphere nearly slammed on Ben's hand as he retracted it at the last second. He tried to pull it back open, swearing under his breath when it wouldn't budge and backing away as it began to sink back below the surface of the water. Ben put his radio to his mouth, his heart racing. "Armitage! Armitage, can you hear me?"
"I would suggest you save his breath, Little Moth. There is a limited air supply while a bathysphere is submerged, after all."
Ben frowned down at his radio, not recognizing the unsettling voice on the other end. It almost sounded as if it were dripping from the speaker.
"Who the hell are you?"
A soft laugh answered him.
"Not to worry. I've taken the liberty of blocking your signal from those two blowhards, Armitage and Ryan. Use to be you could get something decent on the radio."
"Shit," Ben murmured, peering over the edge of the railing.
"It is the duty of the artist to seduce the ear and delight the spirit," Tarkin continued in that same dreamy tone that sent a shiver down Ben's spine. "And this foolish civil war that your spevial friend insisted on igniting has dampened mine long enough. Come to me, little moth. Perhaps you can be of use. Sate my muse, and we may discuss releasing your dear Huxley."
"I don't want him hurt," Ben said firmly. "I'll come help you, if that's what it'll take. But I want your word he's okay in there."
"Armitage will be just fine. So long as he doesn't breathe too frequently."
Ben chewed the inside of his lip, glancing down at Blue as he considered it. "Fine. I'm coming in."
"Lovely. Straight through the entrance and into the Fleet Hall. Quickly, now."
Every instinct in him screamed at Ben not to take Blue into Fort Frolic, his protective urges taking over so completely that he nearly tucked her under his arm and took off at a run toward the exit. Leaving her behind with no one to look after her wasn't an option, though, and he had a strange feeling that this Moff man wasn't the type to just let them leave even if they wanted to. His stomach clenched as he glanced over the edge of the bathysphere station again, unable to see even a hint of the bathysphere in which Armitage was trapped. He swore softly under his breath again, before taking Blue's hand and heading toward the entrance to Fort Frolic.
The place was deathly quiet, so far, which only set Ben's nerves more on edge. He kept a tight hold on Blue's hand, although she was doing well with keeping quiet and close, still holding her syringe in her free hand but pointing it defensively outward. He realized suddenly that they had passed many corpses, and she hadn't tried to harvest ADAM from a single one. Every day, every hour even, she seemed to change. She became quieter, more alert, more present in the real world. Ben couldn't decide if that was good or bad, given the current circumstances. She was just a little girl.
Stepping into Fort Frolic, they were met with four slot machines sitting right in the entrance, the lights overhead dim and flickering. Navigating around puddles they passed through the archway and into the atrium, which lit up the moment they got close and nearly made Ben piss himself. He pulled Blue closer on instinct, lifting his pistol as several figures were illuminated. They didn't move, though, and he relaxed when he realized they were all frozen in some sort of... substance. Wax? Concrete? It was hard to tell at first glance, and he wasn't about to touch one to find out. He took a deep breath, still keeping Blue close to his hip as they crept past the frozen citizens of Rapture - how long had they been there? Before Rapture's fall?
"That's it, nearly there," came Tarkin's voice over the radio. "To the Fleet Hall, now. Hurry, I am not known for my patience."
His tone became more clipped toward the end, as if he were reigning in his temper. Ben set his jaw, pulling gently on Blue's hand as he picked up their pace.
"Ben," Blue whispered, peering warily up at the frozen citizens as they passed them by. "Mr. Tarkin is mean. We shouldn't go in his house."
Ben sighed quietly through his nose, his own eyes peeled as they traipsed through the nearly dark atrium, trying to find a sign or something to show them the way toward Tarkin. "I know. But we don't have a choice. We have to get Armitage back."
A beam of light shone from overhead, blinding him momentarily and forcing him to put a hand in front of his eyes, his other hand flying to his weapon. Once his vision cleared he found a circle of light surrounding them, a spotlight on the ceiling lighting himself and Blue up as if they were onstage. He remained tense for several moments, pistol pointed outward, but it appeared that nothing was coming to investigate the noise. He continued on in the direction the signs for the Fleet Hall pointed, and frowned as the spotlight followed.
Well. That was unsettling.
Through a set a double doors they came upon a theatre, FLEET HALL emblazoned in neon letters behind an empty concession stand. It was quiet, save for the eery melody of a piano somewhere in the distance. It was a strange tune, one that set Ben's teeth on edge and made his shoulders tense. It stopped and started abruptly several times, interrupted by shouting that he couldn't quite make out. He frowned, crossing the entrance to the Fleet Hall and trying to the door into the theatre itself. It wouldn't budge, and he yanked a couple of times before giving up, huffing in frustration.
"Ben. There's an elevator," said Blue, pointing over her shoulder. "Back there."
Ben peered in the direction she'd indicated, nodding when he saw a glass elevator tucked into a corner near the door they'd come through. "Nice job, little one. Come on."
He pressed the recall button, wincing when the elevator groaned noisily as it came to life. It clearly was rarely used, these days. It screeched into view, settling with a shudder before the glass door slid open to accept them. Ben stepped in first, shuffling back against the wall to make room for Blue and holding out his hand for her.
"Come on."
Blue gave his hand a wary look. "Ben. We shouldn't go in."
"We have no choice," Ben repeated. "Tarkin won't give us Armitage back if we don't go talk to him."
Blue sighed quietly, then took the hand and stepped inside. "Do we want Armitage back?"
Ben snorted, giving her a look as the door slid closed.
The piano grew louder as they ascended, the shouting more audible until it was recognizable as Tarkin himself, along with a mystery man's voice.
"No, no, you fumbling fool!"
"I'm trying!"
"That's enough blubbering, Fitzpatrick. Once again, now."
The melody began again, harsh and anxious and picking up barely detectable speed after a few seconds. Tarkin shouted his disappointment over the din, but it didn't stop, growing louder as if to drown him out. Ben and Blue emerged onto the balcony level of the Fleet Hall theatre, approaching the edge and looking down upon a grand stage. In it's center sat a young man at a piano, surrounded by explosives and chained to his seat. His fingers flew on the keys, practically slamming down onto them as his entire body shook. Tarkin was nowhere to be seen, though he continued to berate him from somewhere above. Ben grit his teeth, pulling Blue closer and hiding her face as best he could.
Fitzpatrick slammed his fists down on the keys, the sharp cry of broken notes echoing in the high ceilings. "Moff Tarkin, let me out of this you SICK FUCK!"
Ben turned his face away from the blast, the stage erupting into flame and noise and debris and spraying bits of wood in all directions. Luckily they were high up enough that the only thing that reached them was the powerful gust and deafening noise, the latter made even worse by the echo and causing Ben's ears to pop and ring. He grimaced, working his jaw trying to clear them and looking down at Blue.
"You okay? Can you hear me?"
She nodded, the corners of her mouth turned down and her tiny hands clapped over her ears. "My ears are ringing."
"That'll stop."
"Let's no dawdle, little moth," came Tarkin's voice. "Down to the stage."
Ben swallowed, hesitating as he tried to think if he could risk leaving Blue up on the balcony. It was too likely that a Splicer would find her there, or Tarkin himself, though, so he took her hand and nodded toward the door.
"Come on."
The main entrace into the theatre was now unlocked when they tried it again on the lower level, and Ben pushed through it despite all of his instincts telling him not to. They approached the scorched stage, the ruined piano still standing in it's center. Fitzpatrick's charred corpse lay haphazard on it's floor, and Ben grit his teeth as he put a hand on Blue's shoulder.
"Stay back," he said lowly. "Don't look."
"I've seen a dead person before, Ben."
Ben swallowed thickly. "I... I know. I just... it would make me feel better. Please."
Blue gave him a curious look, but nodded slowly. "Okay," she said, before planting her feet and not moving another inch.
Satisfied, Ben continued up the few steps onto the stage, nearly gagging at the smell of burnt flesh and hair.
"Life, death... the burden of the artist is to capture."
Ben nearly leapt out of his skin as a hand closed over his shoulder, fingers bony and firm in their grip. He turned to find a man, tall with oiled hair and makeup smeared on his face, clearly days old or more and making him near clownish in appearance. He held a boxy camera in his other hand, offering it to Ben.
"Capture him, would you kindly" said Moff Tarkin. "As he is, now. So that I may remember him."
Ben found himself reaching for the camera with halting movements, taking it in a clumsy grip as he hardly dared to break Tarkin's gaze. "Capture him?" he asked, nodding when Tarkin gestured impatiently toward the camera. "I... alright."
He turned to face Fitzpatrick's corpse, mangled and charred and bloody, and held up the camera with shaky hands. He took a picture, offering the camera back to Tarkin when he made a pleased noise. The man shook his head, walking past him instead and down the steps.
"This way. Quickly, now."
Ben stared after him, before sighing quietly through his nose and beginning to follow, the camera still in his hand. He reached out with the other as he passed Blue, placing it on her back and guiding her along beside him. She followed closely, though her eyes were trained on the back of Tarkin's head like a hawk as he led them out of the theatre and back into the Atrium.
As they stepped back inside, the place was illuminated once more, revealing a gallery wall that had previously been obscured by shadow. Upon it hung four picture frames, banged up and a bit lopsided, that Tarkin gestured to with a grand sweep of his arms.
"Behold!" he said. "My quadtych!"
Ben looked at the frames for several moments, wondering if he was missing something. "They're empty."
"Not empty! Full!" Tarkin declared, his voice echoing in the high ceiling. "Full of promise! Of inspiration!"
"Is... this what you need help with?" Ben asked, watching Tarkin carefully. The man began to circle them slowly, like a painted up predator in a dirty tuxedo.
"I know why you've come, little moth," Tarkin sang, close to his ear and making him shiver. "You have your own canvas to paint, and you will do so with the blood of a man I once loved."
Ben kept his face impassive. "Not sure what you mean."
"Let's not play games," Tarkin said more sharply, his eyes flashing. After a moment he calmed again, reaching out and squeezed Ben's jaw with a cold palm. "I'll release your dear Armitage, and I'll send you to Ryan. But first, you must become part of my masterpiece."
Ben grit his teeth, forcing himself not to pull away from the touch even when his skin crawled in response. "What do you want me to do?"
"You have already completed the first task," Tarkin said, turning back to the gallery wall of empty, crooked frames. "I once had four disciples, each beautiful and talented, but headstrong to the last. Stubborn. They have betrayed me and, as their final act of love, they will pay."
"The first of the four was dear Fitzpatrick, captured forever in his moment of glory," he continued, smiling when Ben glanced down at the camera in his hand. "Yes! You understand. Three more must be delivered to their apex, and captured, so that I may display them here."
"And why do you want me to capture them?" Ben asked, choosing his words carefully. "It...seems as if you should get the honor."
Tarkim smiled again, brushing Ben's hair away from his eyes and making him flinch backwards. "A precious thought. But this is a test, little moth, as I test all of my disciples. I see beauty in you, a spark, a promise that none other can see. Not Armitage, not Ryan, not even you."
Ben swallowed, taking a breath. "So... so you kill them, and I take the-I capture them?"
"Certainly not! You must provide the deliverance with your own hand," Tarkin told him. "This is a collaboration, after all. Now, then - the first is Adam Ackbar , who you can find in the record store. The next is Jin Quinn, a drunk who can likely be found in Eve's Garden. Darin Maul I have not seen for quite some time, but I know he still lurks these halls. I can feel him."
"And if I do this, you'll let Armitage out? And we can go?" Ben asked warily.
"You have my word."
Ben nodded, slinging the camera over his neck. "Okay." He paused, frowning as he noticed Tarkin looking at Blue with far more interest than he was comfortable.
"What a lovely little girl," he murmured. "Freed, and yet she stays at your side. Why?"
"I'm taking her home," Ben told him stiffly. "She's safer this way, so we stick together."
"Mm. Yes." There was an odd pause, and Tarkin's eyes flashed again. "Why are you still standing here? Hurry off, now. My muse is a fickle bitch with a very short attention span!"
Ben took Blue's hand and hurried out, before Tarkin could lose his patience and decide to kill them after all.
"Ben," said Blue, a bit breathless and Ben pulled her along and as far from Tarkin as he could manage. "Ben, we're going to kill people for Mr. Tarkin?"
"I am. You're just going to stay close and stay safe."
"Ben, he's bad. We shouldn't help him."
"We don't have a choice. Come here, up here."
He held out a hand, boosting Blue up onto his shoulders when she stepped into his palm. It was faster to travel this way, without having to pull her along on her little legs or keep a hold of her hand. As he ascended the spiral staircase in the center of the Atrium, following signs for the record store, he tried to squash the feeling that he was biting off more than he could chew, doing the tango with the likes of Tarkin.
"Blue," he said quietly. "If something happens, promise you'll go through the nearest vent and go straight home."
Blue's knees tightened up their hold on him, and he could see her knuckles go white where they held her syringe. "Are you gonna die, Ben?"
"No. I don't think so. But I just need you to promise, okay? Stick to the vents, don't come out unless you have to, and get home."
Blue was silent for several moments, and Ben almost repeated himself before her quiet sigh ruffled his hair.
"Okay," she murmured softly. "I promise."
"Thank you."