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To Belong	By : BringtheHawt Category: +A through F > Bioshock Views: 20677 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the bioshock franchise or any of its characters. I am not attempting to make any money off of writing/sharing this.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Author's Note: This may be my longest chapter of any fanfic I've written. I hope you all enjoy.
Please check out the character list if it's been a while since you've read or you're having trouble with the characters:
tobelongfic . livejournal . com
Take out the spaces.
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Tension permeated the air; it seemed each time one of the nine women breathed in, the feeling of dread pooled within their lungs.
They were all lined in a row, enduring the uneasy situation silently. Sergio Belini was murdered. The Bianchis wanted answers.
"At least one of you has to know something," Angelo, the mid-ranked Bianchi mafioso, announced simply. Angelo was an average-sized man, perhaps even thin. He was olive-skinned, clean-shaven and wore a large mole on his neck.
Angelo was a stark contrast from the women's ex-pimp, Sergio. He had none of the dead pimp's aggressions ... the man never raised his voice, never showed anger. Yet, the whores were keenly aware this man was just as dangerous as Sergio.
"You girls know what we can offer you all. Drugs, drink, money ... freedom," Angelo reasoned, "I just need whichever one of you that knows something to be brave. We'll protect you, we'll reward you. We just want answers."
The two whores that witnessed the murder, Lillian and Maria, stood together at the far end of the line. They were currently on the opposite side of the room from their interrogator, which gave Lillian the confidence required to lean over to whisper into Maria's ear: "I've sliced two throats since that night, Maria. And should you dare betray the man who saved me, yours will be the third ... "
Maria huffed, frustrated, before whispering back: "I'm not going to reveal your 'hero,' but only because I do not want him to ever come after me. I prefer my eyes within my skull where they belong."
"Are any of the whispers you two lades just shared worthy of the rest of us?" Angelo questioned the two women from afar, curious about the hushed sounds which occurred at the end of his line of whores.
Both females went silent.
Angelo stalked toward Maria and Lillian. He stopped before Maria first, observing the female's fearful, timid expression.
"What's the matter, Maria? Come on, talk to me," the mafioso insisted in a deceptively gentle voice, "what troubles you, beautiful?"
"You ... frighten me, sir," the dark-haired whore responded quietly, unable to look at the man. Sergio, as violent and brutish as he was, managed to be predictable and easily manipulated ... Maria had no idea how to handle Angelo and his kind facade.
"You don't need to be afraid, Maria," the criminal sighed, reaching a hand out to cup Maria's pale face, forcing the female to look at him, "I only hurt people when I have to, you understand?"
The dark-haired whore nodded against his touch.
"Do you understand?" Angelo repeated, expecting verbal acknowledgement.
"Yes, sir," Maria whispered.
The mafioso stepped away from her, turning his attention to Lillian. The blonde-haired whore returned his sharp gaze with a calm, stoic expression. Angelo spent an extra moment observing the diminishing evidence of physical abuse on her face.
"I hear you gave Sergio a lot of trouble, Lily. Perhaps you had a greater reason than the rest of these ladies to want to see the man's throat slashed ... "
Lillian considered her following words carefully.
"Have you been appointed as our new manager, sir?"
"Yes," Angelo answered simply.
"Then I submit to you, sir. I'll do all that I can to fill your pockets with money, and I'll pleasure you as often as you wish," Lillian offered with a submissive bow of her head, "I only regret that I do not possess the information you seek."
The mafioso stared at the pretty female for a long moment before sighing loudly and turning his attention back toward the entire line of whores.
"There's no doubt in my mind: one of you knows who killed Sergio Belini ... and I'll get my answers. This is your last chance to confess while I'm being pleasant about it ... "
No one spoke.
"Strip, all of you," Angelo commanded in a silky tone, "take off all your clothes. Now."
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It had been an exhausting night.
After solemnly bearing witness to Booker's tragic crimes, Elizabeth, with a nearly fervent degree of obsession, began to maneuver through the past to investigate Noah Reed's syndicate. It was time to research her enemies and gauge the amount of intervention required to protect her foolish lover. It wasn't necessarily an easy task. Elizabeth couldn't simply flex her fingers and summon all the past events that interested her. In a reality involving parallel universes, existence was infinite and subsequently difficult to sift through. She could only pluck from time the specific information and memories of the people she was bonded with. Because of this limitation to her power, she had to start with the man she was most familiar with: Ernest Jacoby ... the man responsible for collecting Booker's money.
Elizabeth walked through Ernest's recent past, starting with last night's collection from Booker. She watched the debt-collector scare off four mafiosos in a frustrated fit.
Is everyone after you, Booker? She wondered silently. She'd focus on this new threat on another day.
The dark-haired beauty continued to watch. She found herself smiling sadly at Jacoby's attempts to motivate Booker after she had ran off from the two men. Truly, Ernest had been rooting for them.
Elizabeth's venture through time and space eventually found her way to Ernest's home. The man was a father of three happy children: two sons and a daughter. Jacoby was also an affectionate husband to his plump, merry wife. Elizabeth caught the sight of Ernest kissing his partner's bare belly on a night she was verbally lamenting her increased weight. The blue-eyed enigma developed an increasing fondness for Ernest with every moment she spent watching the man in his home.
The professional side of Jacoby's life was an entirely different story. It took only a few minutes of glancing through Ernest's professional life that she realized the painful duality of his existence. The debt-collector, after a long history of dirty and occasionally violent work, was becoming an extremely bitter and glum employee. The vast majority of Ernest's time was spent researching on behalf of Noah ... often with Noah. Ernest was always the Negotiator's preferred partner for the seemingly endless amounts of research the men performed together. Violent interrogations, bribery, questioning men or their wives, contacting spies ... Ernest and Reed literally spent hours and hours each work day simply gathering information. Jacoby, surprisingly, was a fairly impressive artist ... and could draw men's faces based on verbal description alone. The Negotiator considered this skill the greatest tool possessed by any man in his syndicate, as the man keenly understood that both his survival and success were intrinsically dependent on knowledge.
Elizabeth mused over Ernest's situation. Was Jacoby always emotionally strained over his illegal activities, or had fatherhood and marriage softened his heart? Was it the violence that was getting to him? Was it the criminal intrigue that made him wary - the betrayals and unseen threats? Was it Noah? She silently wished her powers allowed her to read men's thoughts.
Satisfied with her understanding of Ernest's past, she decided it was time to move on to one of Noah's other lackeys. On some level, the fifteen years of familiarity Jacoby had with the Negotiator that enabled him to tolerate the sadist's quirks and taunts ... but Ernest was simply incapable of properly associating with Reed's other criminal employees. There was one man in particular, Vincenzo, that Ernest openly despised and mocked.
Vincenzo Abruzzo. The brute was a difficult man to look at. He was missing several teeth and possessed a long, crooked nose.
Continuing her trend of viewing the recent past first before diving deeper within the depths of time, Elizabeth found herself horrified by a violent sin Vincenzo had committed only three evenings ago. The sadistic bastard had spent hours happily cutting a homeless woman into pieces; she was not dead when he first initiated the task.
Disgusting savage ... She accused silently.
Elizabeth couldn't dwell on the man for long ... his life was littered with acts of depravity and torture. Some of which were tasks were given to him by the Negotiator, others which he apparently hid from Noah. She did find a particular scene that was extremely enlightening regarding Reed's syndicate and New York City's criminal underworld.
It was the day the Negotiator hired Vincenzo.
Noah was leaning against the wall, smiling as usual, as he watched Vincenzo slice off various patches of skin from a restrained, screaming man - a petty criminal who attempted to steal money from one of the Galucci mafia's prostitutes.
"You're marvelously violent, Mr. Abruzzo," Noah complimented with a laugh, " I approve."
"Thank yeh, sir," Vincenzo responded with a wicked grin as he continued his work.
"I'll grant you employ within my organization," Reed offered, "there are, however, rules. I expect unconditional adherence."
Vincenzo's act of torture was momentarily paused. He looked at Noah.
"I'm technically no longer affiliated Galucci mafia," Reed explained, "but I have enough of an association and reputation with them that I must continue to follow the code of this city's mafia families. They impose cannibalism upon their members, and this policy is emphatically enforced."
" ... uh, I don' understan' yer meaning," Vincenzo admitted.
"We only devour our own kind," the Negotiator reiterated.
" ... we eat people?"
"You're a bit simple, aren't you?" Noah chuckled, "we, exclusively, target people with established criminal connections or activities. We do not kill civilians. If I, or any member of my organization, are accused of harming innocent cityfolk, every member of the Galucci and Bianchi family will be ordered to murder us on sight."
"Oh," Vincenzo responded, a little disappointed, "why?"
"Currently, the people of this city turn a blind eye to the mafia's illicit practices. Still, the minute the mafia becomes known for spilling the blood of women and children ... the public will lose their sense of complacency and start pointing their trembling fingers. There are approximately four-hundred and sixty mafiosos in this city ... and, no matter how well-equipped or clever they are, they cannot survive the fear and ire of over four million civilians."
"So ... don't kill innocents," Vincenzo repeated, unwilling to admit he stopped listening to Noah about half way through his spiel.
"I suppose this is the only part I require you to understand," the Negotiator declared with a smile, "if you kill anyone without my explicit consent, I'll slow-roast you in my backyard and feed you piece by piece to my mutt. Understood?"
"Oh Booker," Elizabeth whispered to herself after watching the scene, "Anna and I were never in danger ... "
The extraordinary female continued her research. She looked into more of Noah's men. There was Karl Voheim: a muscular man with bold, masculine facial features. The German's constant state of silent vigilance reminded her of one of New York City's gargoyle sculptures. He and his mentally challenged sister, Dorothy, were both estranged from the rest of the Voheim family ... their parents wanted to permanently place Karl's slow-witted sister into an insane asylum and Karl, without a word, abandoned his family's home with Dorothy to prevent the deed from ever happening. It was a surprisingly touching story.
Elizabeth also sifted through the past of the Negotiator's most skilled marksman as well: Piero Pelosi. She found the man to be unremarkable. He had just reached his twenties and possessed three major appetites: women, adventure and fiction novels involving cowboys or detectives.
The blue-eyed girl sighed, wondering if this research was to her own detriment. Other than Vincenzo and Noah, these men weren't particularly vicious or cruel. What if Booker encountered Ernest, the soft-hearted family man in a gunfight? What if DeWitt had to kill Karl, the diligent guardian of a simple female the civilized world would have eagerly abandoned?
Why am I so sympathetic to murderers? All these men have murdered ... She reminded herself. Elizabeth wondered how she would have felt over DeWitt shooting dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people in Columbia if she had looked into each victim's past. She stubbornly wished every member of Noah's syndicate was as dumb and violent as Vincenzo.
Enough of this. I have to focus on the puppeteer.
With the intention of being extremely thorough, Elizabeth opened a tear and stepped into the past of Noah Reed.
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Thick, sagging clouds hung in the sky.
The Negotiator, about to leave his home, was fetching his umbrella before the shrill cry of his telephone caught his attention.
"Noah," he answered swiftly.
"Eighteen teats for breakfast courtesy of New York City's greatest culinary genius Noah fuckin' Reed," the voice on the other end of the phone barked.
The Negotiator smirked. Conversations with Stefano Galucci never failed to entertain him. The Galucci mafia's mob boss often showed remarkable creativity ...
"Good morning, Stefano. So glad to hear from you," Reed responded in a mockingly casual tone, momentarily ignoring Stefano's bizarre statement, "how's the wife? Still critically unsatisfied with her life, I imagine ... "
"I am fucking tired of -" there was a small pause as Stefano's brain officially interpreted the last part of Noah' greeting as an insult, "What utterance did you make concerning my fucking wife? Have you been conversing with her?"
"Actually, I-"
"-Keep yourself from my fucking wife, Romeo," Stefano growled, "or ll have you tied to the largest statue in central park and pay every pigeon in the city to defecate on you."
Noah released a small chuckle. It's a shame he had plans for the morning, otherwise he would gladly spend hours taunting Stefano just to invoke additional insanities from the mob boss' mouth. Reed, being an ex-member of the Galucci Mafia, had a long history with Stefano ... and the Galucci's mob boss was the only man who dared to speak to the Negotiator in such an insulting, vulgar fashion.
The sadistic murderer would be to first to admit that, sometimes, it's fun to banter with men who weren't entirely terrified or apprehensively respectful toward him.
"As much as I'd love to continue this conversation involving financially-motivated pigeons and multiple 'teats,' I really must encourage you to explain the purpose of this phonecall. I have a date with an exceptionally beautiful woman - "
"- Well, Romeo, expect to be delayed until we clean up your fucking mess."
"Explain your colorful accusation from earlier," Reed insisted, otherwise Stefano may never get to the point, "the one involving women's breasts."
"Gouge out any eyeballs recently, Noah?" Stefano hissed the question.
Reed smirked, recalling the delectable fun he had a few nights ago with Sergio Belini and his two prostitutes ...
"Oh, maybe one or two," the Negotiator admitted facetiously.
"You know, Noah, I wouldn't have thought anything about a Bianchi's throat getting slashed. Nor would I care. Frankly, every Bianchi I've met is a prick. But when it was revealed to me that someone slashed the Bianchi's throat then gouged out the Bianchi's fucking eyes in the middle of a fucking alley, I instantly recognized there's only one sadistic loon in this city - "
"-I must correct you; I only successfully gouged out one eye," Noah interrupted, grinning smugly.
"God fucking dammit Noah!"
There was the sound of something being smashed on the other side of the phone. Reed managed to stifle inappropriate laughter.
"Listen, father valued you, and father incited many of your insane whims. But good old dad is dead now, and I've been given charge of the Galucci family. And, I fucking swear this, should the Bianchis accuse you, should the Bianchis decide to hunt you down, not a single member of this family will rise to defend you-"
"-I do not require your protection nor your approval for my deeds, Stefano," the Negotiator stated smoothly, "and you now have a single minute to complete this conversation, so attempt to be succinct about it."
On the other end of the phone, Stefano could swear the blood within his brain was beginning to boil.
"I haven't even had my fucking coffee yet and Sergio's nine whores are on exhibit at Lexington Avenue and 45th. I'm going to take a gamble and guess they're being publicly humiliated over his mysterious murder."
This information birthed a moment of silence. Noah thought of the two Bianchi whores that witnessed the murder: Lillian and Maria. He imagined them, naked, among seven other women ... standing at the street corner and enduring the leers and jeers of various cityfolk.
"I see," Noah responded thoughtfully, "let's be serious for a moment, no interruptions, no fantastical metaphors, no asinine threats ... "
"No cocky taunts," Stefano added with a mutter.
"Why are you concerned with how the Bianchis choose to discipline their whores?" Noah questioned, "you truly care to provoke them over such a trivial matter?"
"They're provoking me," Stefano argued.
"Do consider that the Immigrant Mafia, bringing approximately one-hundred and sixty new criminals into this city, is desperately grasping for allies ... "
"The Bianchis are parading around naked fucking cunts in Galucci territory, Noah."
" ... You stated the display was on Lexington and 45th street," the Negotiator reminded.
"Yes," the mob boss confirmed, "cause that's where this fucking ludicrous display is taking place."
"Stefano, that isn't Galucci territory."
"Yes, Noah, it's fucking Galucci territory. I thought you knew everything about this fucking city."
"The Bianchis have been actively operating within that area for the past seven years. You've done an abysmal job contesting your supposed territory thus far ... "
"Listen, you big blonde prick," Stefano roared, "I'm taking eleven men with me to fucking fix this ridiculous spectacle, and you should feel personally fucking obligated to join me."
Noah sighed with a smirk, again glancing out the window toward the thick gray clouds sagging within the sky. He thought of Lillian.
"I'll join you for two reasons. One, I enjoy watching you embarrass yourself and two, I suspect it'll rain ... and I find the prospect of nine wet, naked women to be very inspiring."
"Aren't you a fucking aristocrat, Noah," Galucci huffed.
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Elizabeth's investigation lasted until the late morning. The Negotiator proved to be rather peculiar. Despite all the past information the powerful female had so merticulously collected, she still found him to be a puzzling individual.
Elizabeth had even found herself researching versions of Noah from alternate parallels with mixed results and emotions. In a few realities, Reed was a complete manifestation of sadism ... killing men, women and children without discrimination. In other versions he was surprisingly normal ... with a proper home and family.
Booker, in comparison, had a more concentrated set of destinies. He was never as unapologetically cruel as the worst version of Noah Reed, but it was also an extreme rarity to find a Booker DeWitt capable of a peaceful, normal life.
In this version of reality, the Negotiator was an extremely selective sadist. His victims were all tied to the mafia or crime in one way or another ... and Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder if Reed was simply adhering to the rules of New York City's world of organized crime or if he had an unspoken set of principles when he chose his targets.
The tired female returned to the present, thoughts turning toward Booker. She didn't want to go home. Not yet, anyway. Her heart was still bleeding for Mrs. Emerson.
... I wonder if she's all right.
Elizabeth used her preternatural abilities to peer through space to gaze upon the heartbroken woman. She gasped when she saw Mrs. Emerson crying over the corpse of her lover, holding a knife against her own wrist.
Without hesitation, Elizabeth opened a tear and stepped through it.
"Please don't ... think of your children ... "
Please ... I'll never forgive him if you take your own life ...
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Much to Ernest's disgust, Reed was over an hour late. The four members of the Negotiator's syndicate were currently waiting in a safehouse that happened to be two blocks from DeWitt's apartment.
This had given Noah's four thugs, Vincenzo, Piero, Karl and Ernest, an opportunity to ... interact. Though Vincenzo and Piero were the only two chatting. They covered several tasteless subjects: guns, female genitalia, torture, violence ...The sound of their voices, particularly Vincenzo's thick accent, was grating on Jacoby's ears.
Karl was the least offensive out of all of them, Ernest decided. And that was probably because Karl averaged about sixteen spoken words a day.
"An' then I told him, 'Shut yer mouth, ya squinty-eyed bastard, or I'll slice ya up an' feed ya to the central park sheeps,' " Vincenzo announced before he and Piero erupted into loud laughter.
"Jesus christ! Cease your fucking rambling Vincenzo!" Ernest yelled with a shocking ferocity.
The laughter immediately stopped. Vincenzo shot a nasty look toward Ernest. Piero was holding back a snicker. Karl, who had been looking out the window of their safehouse, smirked silently.
"What the fuck is yer problem?" Vincenzo growled, taking a step toward Ernest.
"Sheep are herbivore, you god-forsaken imbecile!"
" ... herb-of-what?"
"Herbivore," Ernest repeated angrily, "they have flat. Fucking. Teeth!"
"What the fuck do their teets have to do wit' anythin'?" Vincenzo asked, bemused and irritated.
"Lord!" Ernest shouted, thinking steam was accumulating within his brain to the point where it was literally about to pop, "you can't serve human meat, 'squinty-eyed bastard' or otherwise, to a creature with an appetite for plants, simpleton."
"That's enough," Vincenzo snarled, walking directly in front of Ernest and tugging his blade from the sheath at his belt, "I tire of yer disrespectin,' Ernest. Yer always disrespectin.' "
Jacoby folded his arms about his chest, glaring at Vincenzo with a defiant level of confidence.
"Uh, Vinny," Piero spoke, watching them, "you know Reed will flay you alive if you hurt him, ya?" At this point, even Karl had turned from the window to eye the pair of frustrated men.
Vincenzo grunted, pressing the flat-side of his blade into Ernest's neck threateningly.
"I'll tell 'im my fingers slipped," the violent criminal muttered.
"Oh. Oh! Of course Reed will believe that," Ernest berated the man further, "you may as well make your slice before I simply snatch the blade and personally end the misery I endure listening to you speak, fool!"
"You fuckin' prick."
The only door to the room opened, revealing the smiling-but-secretly-impatient Negotiator.
"Pardon my delay, gentlemen. It's been an interesting morning," Noah admitted. He noticed Vincenzo's and Ernest's compromised situation but decided, for the sake of time, not to comment on it. Instead, he focused on resolving the situation using only two utterances: "Vincenzo, heel." The Negotiator even added a playful whistle to emphasize the fact that he was treating Vincenzo like a hound.
Ernest produced a mocking smile for Vincenzo. The insulted criminal frowned but wisely decided to sheath his blade and obey Reed's order. In fact, all men moved to follow the Negotiator out of the safehouse so they could begin their trek toward Booker's apartment.
"Ernest is bein' a prick, sir," Vincenzo tattled miserably.
"Oh, good," Reed responded with a smirk, "I had hoped this operation would promote bonding between the pair of you."
"Why the delay, sir?" Jacoby asked Noah, wishing to change the subject.
"I was Stefano Galucci's unwitting pawn for an act of propaganda that required the rescue of nine Bianchi whores from public humiliation."
"Oh," Ernest responded - it truly wasn't an answer anyone could have anticipated.
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Mr. Emerson was walking home, wondering if the brute he had hired earlier delivered on each of the job's requirements. Truly, he hoped his wife was bleeding from her nose or her lips ... with the sort of wounds that would sting whenever she ate or drank. His wife would suspect he had a hand in the murder of her lover, but she'd never be able to prove it.
Perhaps his pretty wife would learn proper obedience and fidelity, and Mr. Emerson wouldn't have to resort to this sort of act again.
Stepping toward the porch of his home during this late morning hour brought the old man the queerest surprise of his life. A flash of light and a hole opened beneath his feet, replacing the stone path that had supported him.
Emerson fell through the tear through space and landed roughly on a hard, rounded green surface. After a full minute of disorientation, he glanced about ... a statue, a torch, a crown ... He was on the shoulder of the statue of Liberty. Jolted, he stared at the landscape of New York City. For a brief second of insanity he imagined the city's towering gray buildings were tombstones.
What happened? How did I get up here?! He cringed when he realized he had no means of climbing to safety ... the Liberty statue's neck concaved inward and there were no footholds. Additionally the morning rain had slickened the patina's surface and the wind howled in his ear as though protesting his presence. The dark-hearted man wisely chose to remain on his hands and knees.
"Aren't the French incredible? This is truly a magnificent statue," a female's voice called from above.
Mr. Emerson looked upward to see a dark-haired, blue-eyed woman peeking from the room within lady liberty's crown. She was maybe only twenty-five feet from Emerson's position.
The panicked man ignored the strange female's comments.
"I require assistance!" he called to her, "I've no understanding of how I got here ... "
"Don't worry, good sir," the young lady responded evenly, "I'll help you down. Let's converse, first ... "
"Miss, this is hardly an appropriate time to exchange pleasantries ... Please, go fetch some men to assist me .. "
The mysterious woman disappeared wordlessly within the room of Liberty's crown.
Emerson swallowed.
"Miss? Miss!"
"Right here, sir," the woman's voice emerged from behind him. The old man turned to face the female, stunned. She was quite a sight. The wind tossed her hair and tugged at her skirts like some sort of desperate lover. The female endured the elements with an impassive confidence that disturbed him.
"How did you get down here ... "
"Men are a funny bunch," Elizabeth declared, glancing at the dark, churning waters that surrounded Liberty Island, "I swear they only exist to claim. Whether it be money, women, lives, land ... they claim and claim, then claim again. My own father treated me as a claim, not a daughter, and sold me to another - "
"- Miss ... I apologize for your personal misfortunes, but ... - "
"-My new owner sought to claim my very destiny. He locked me in a tower for nearly two decades, planning to use me for his rather pretentious scheme. Without intervention, my captor would have done anything to maintain his claim on me ... torture, drugs, surgeries, machines that could smother my powers -"
"-The ... the statue should be opened to the public soon," the frightened man interrupted, realizing his heart was quickly approaching a frantic rate, "people will see us and send for help-"
"- No one is going to help you, sir," the pretty female promised gravely, turning her gaze back to the wretched man, "do you understand why I'm so sympathetic to your pretty little wife, Mr. Emerson?"
"I ... don't understand ... How did you know my name? Have we ... met before ... "
"You essentially purchased your wife from her family. Why not? She's beautiful, you're a man of substantial wealth and that's what men do - they claim," the strange woman accused, voice saturated with venom.
The words caused the man's heart to flutter thrice within his chest. It was an odd sensation - one he had never felt before. It felt like an internal betrayal of his body.
"She was too young for you sir. Too sweet and beautiful. And when she found a gentle man of a more appropriate age, you reasserted your claim on her and had the man killed."
Mr. Emerson attempted to calm his heart. This woman knew of his crime ... knew of his history.
"You ... it was adultery," the old man protested, slowly attempting to climb onto his feet "there are noble cultures that would have ... stoned her for such a crime ... "
Anger flashed within those pale blue eyes. She thought of the scene she witnessed earlier ... the moment when Mrs. Emerson attempted to marry a blade to her own wrist.
"It took me two hours this morning to convince her not to kill herself," Elizabeth informed as a potent sadness claimed her eyes, " it took two hours to convince her that her children need her, to convince her that her beloved died shielding her because he wanted her to love again."
" ... she's a whore," the man rasped, deciding one little push would rid the world of this irksome woman, "she had no business being with that man ... "
"Good bye, Mr. Emerson. You'll make no more claims," the deceptively dangerous female promised.
Another flash of light emerged and, yet again, the ground beneath Mr. Emerson vanished. Space twisted, and the terrified man screamed as his body fell through the conjured portal.
Elizabeth had placed him high in the sky, again, but this time Lady Liberty would not catch his fall. The blue-eyed girl watched the cruel man plummet downward, twisting wildly in the air. She hoped the last moments of the despicable man's life were filled with exceptional misery and fear.
Predictably, the fall led to a gruesome outcome: Mr. Emerson's corpse was broken and splattered across the shattered shackles of Lady Liberty's feet.
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The sound of knocking woke up Booker. He had been slumped against the dining table in a dreamless, drunken state of unconsciousness.
A painful throb emerged in his head. He opened his eyes and counted seven empty bottles of beer on the table. Perhaps he had drank too much throughout the night ...
Again, there was knocking. The knocking was exacerbating the ache in his head. He really wished it would stop.
Wait ... is it Elizabeth? She had never returned home. Why would she knock? He must have locked the door last night ... perhaps out of fear of debt-collectors and the Immigrant Mafia Ernest had warned him about.
The ex-Pinkerton stood upward slowly, but quickened his pace to unlock the door. The opening of it revealed Noah Reed.
Booker's stomach twisted within him and his heart rate doubled. The two men stared at each other for a few seconds before the Negotiator bursted out into a sharp chuckle, shaking his head.
DeWitt's sensation of fear was quickly replaced by incredible anger. He decided, at that moment, that every aspect of Noah was loathsome. Reed's pale eyes ... his blonde hair, his glasses, his height, his suit ... Each bit of Reed offended him.
"Honestly, Mr. DeWitt," Noah began, still laughing, "I have extremely low expectations of you yet here I am: unduly baffled by the stench of liquour -"
"- What the hell are you doing here," Booker interrupted, "I made my damn payment -"
"- I'm willing to temporarily overlook all your offenses if you would kindly-"
"-I've been keeping my end of the deal, Reed," Booker snarled, stepping forward to stubbornly jam his pointer finger into the center of Noah's chest, "and I'm in no mood ... "
This was the point that DeWitt realized there had been four additional men hiding in the hallway. There was a broad-shouldered man with a chiseled face and a stoic expression ... a stout, ugly man with a crooked nose and a wicked grin ... a thin man who seemed genuinely excited and, behind them, a very dispirited Ernest. The ex-soldier spent a second observing them, estimating his chances of winning a physical fight against Noah's lackeys. Only two of men looked like effective brawlers, Ernest didn't seem to be a particularly apt fighter and the final man was almost scrawny ... Perhaps ... perhaps he could take on the four of them.
Unfortunately ... the massive, formidable Noah Reed was present ... and Booker wasn't even sure if he could outfight the undoubtedly powerful man in a fair match, much less with the assistance of four additional men.
"So ... " the ex-soldier started as a sense of dread welled up inside him, "you brought friends."
"Indeed I have," Noah confirmed with a mocking smile as he lifted a gloved hand to tightly grip onto Booker's extended pointer finger, "and you've now committed one too many offenses for me to simply ignore. - Gentlemen."
"Hey! Wait!" DeWitt protested. He vainly attempted to pull his hand away from Noah's grip as the three brutes he couldn't identify rushed toward him. Chiseled-face roughly grabbed at Booker's free arm while Crooked-nose moved to grab the other. Thin-and-happy drew his pistol.
"Have a seat, Mr. DeWitt," Noah instructed, releasing his hold on that pointer finger. The ex-Soldier struggled, nearly jerking himself free of Chiseled-face's and Crooked-nose's hold on him.
"Oh good," Crooked-nose hissed, barely able to sustain his grip on Booker, "I like it when they put up a fight."
"Stop! Stop this! I made my payment!"
The Negotiator observed DeWitt's desperate efforts with both intrigue and amusement. He couldn't help but wonder how a melancholy alcoholic like Booker managed to maintain fairly impressive physical strength. Both Karl and Vincenzo, the men DeWitt had mentally named Chiseled-face and Crooked-nose, were strong men ... and they were having a difficult time subduing the Ex-Pinkerton's powerful struggling.
He was the White Injun, at a time ... Noah mused, perhaps a few remnants of that beast remain within him ... Reed would be tempted to test the theory if he hadn't more sensual aspirations for the afternoon.
Thin-and-happy aimed his pistol toward the ex-Pinkerton's skull. The unspoken threat put an end to DeWitt's valiant resistance and the brutes started to drag the apprehensive debtor toward his own dining table and shoved him into one of its chairs. They readjusted their hold on Booker, using the ex-soldier's shoulders to keep him seated.
Ernest was still in the hallway, silently praying his presence would be forgotten. The prayer must have been unheard because it was this exact moment Noah turned to him to make a quiet command: "Find her."
Jacoby nodded and entered the apartment.
The sight of Ernest, the only man in the room who had ever shown him an ounce of sympathy, stirred DeWitt's quickly dwindling sense of hope.
"Ernest! Ernest," Booker called out with an increasing sense of panic, "tell them I made my payment!"
"It's ... not about the money, Mr. DeWitt," Jacoby replied dismally. Without once looking toward Booker, he began to search the tiny apartment for the blue-eyed beauty that had summoned the Negotiator.
"Then what do you want?" Booker growled loudly, turning toward Noah.
Reed's only response was a smirk. He was actively resisting the temptation to say 'your woman.'
Even though Ernest couldn't imagine the firey female hiding from this situation, he performed a thorough search ... checking beneath the bed, in the closet, in the bathroom, the nursery ... Jacoby cringed when he realized the Negotiator's 'prize' was no where to be found. He returned to Noah's spot within the doorway of Booker's apartment, caught the large man's steel gaze and shook his head ... confirming the mysterious woman's absence.
Much to Jacoby's surprise, Reed chuckled. There was still an excellent opportunity for the Negotiator to have some fun, and he had no plans of wasting it.
"Mr. DeWitt," Noah called out, folding his arms across his large chest, "let's review your list of offenses."
The two men locked eyes. Booker, still pinned by the two brutes in his dining room chair, bit his tongue to avoid spitting out an insult.
"First offense: you gambled away a substantial amount of my money at McFarlane's two evenings ago."
"Would this still be considered an offense if I had won money that night?" Booker snarled.
"Hm. I can't even entertain the possibility of you being financially successful," Reed responded dryly, "I must lack your level of imagination. - Second offense: it's the midafternoon and you're holed up in this miserable little apartment of yours, stinking of liquor. How terribly embarrassing and, well, pathetic ... Were you planning on showing up for your little escort job to Buffalo completely inebriated? That always impresses a client - "
" - I had a rough fucking night, ok?-"
"- your third offense: there seems to be an utter lack of motivation. I've collected from men who had enough decency, enough of a sense of self-preservation ... to work every second of their waking-"
"- I made my fucking payment, Reed. Save your lectures for when I actually miss one.-"
"-You keep interrupting me.-"
"-That's because you never stop talking! - "
"-Let's return to the subject of motivation," Noah suggested, smirking at DeWitt's rapidly mounting frustration, "have you given up? Perhaps we should make posthumous arrangements for little Anna - "
"-Fuck you, Noah!" Booker roared as the sounds of Mrs. Emerson's cries that resonated within his mind, "you have no fucking idea what I've done to try to pay off this debt!"
Ernest grimaced at Booker's bold display. Crooked-nose's brows were raised. Thin-and-happy was wide-eyed. Karl blinked in awe. Every man in the room seemed shocked by DeWitt's blatant disrespect ... everyone except Noah.
Noah was smiling.
"Oh? Then enlighten me," Reed challenged smugly.
DeWitt's gaze fell to the floor as the complete memory of last night's crime emerged in his mind. He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed to pass by his lips. Suddenly all he could see was Mrs. Emerson's tear-filled eyes. There was an intense minute of silence. Booker couldn't produce the willpower to confess his crime to his audience of sinners.
Finally, a mirthful snort escaped the Negotiator. A dastardly smile enveloped his face as he reached into interior sheath of his suit jacket, pulling out his curved knife before asking: "tell me, Mr. DeWitt, is there a body part of yours that you're not particularly fond of? You're due for a lesson."
Booker's eyes widened as Reed's two lackeys gripped onto his arms and shoved him against the small but sturdy dining table.
"Get the hell off me!" DeWitt snarled as he began to struggle widely. It took all three men, Crooked-nose, Chiseled-face and Thin-and-happy, to hold him down.
"Stop yer squirmin," Crooked-nose scolded, "yer only gonna make this worse for yerself."
Chiseled-face put his large hand on the back of DeWitt's head, keeping the ex-Pinkerton's cheek pressed into the table.
"Well, Mr. DeWitt," Noah taunted, "since you haven't offered any suggestions, I'll choose the body part for you. We need you able to work ... so we'll keep your hands and fingers. We need you mobile so removal of your foot or toes aren't an option ... "
" ... Sir ... " Ernest murmured , attempting to find the words that would help Booker, "this is bad business ... he made his payment."
Reed ignored the comment.
"Mm. I could knock out your teeth ... that's always a bloody fun time," Noah flipped his knife up into the air playfully and caught the handle with practiced ease, "maybe slice off an ear? You certainly don't need two of them ... "
"- I've kept my end of the agreement, Noah!" Booker rasped desperately, straining against the three men's hold on him.
"Oh!" Reed laughed loudly, "we could scalp you! What marvelous irony. We'll consider it an homage to your heroic efforts at Wounded Knee ... "
The taunt produced a crippling, sickening twist in Booker's gut. All the energy seemed to leave his body as several horrific memories of slaughter seized him.
I ... deserve this ... The ex-soldier realized as the sound of nearly one-hundred screams filled his mind.
"Yes, I'll have your scalp, Mr. DeWitt. That is my decision. Except, oh ... I am now fretfully recalling the words you spoke to me last time I dared enter your apartment ...you eloquently stated: 'if I catch you in my home again, I'll shoot you' ... "
Booker, though he wasn't capable of much movement, managed to shift his eyes toward the Negotiator. Reed had never even stepped across the threshold to enter his apartment, and DeWitt recognized instantly that Noah had planned to make a game out of this all along ...
.The tall man smirked when he discovered the ex-Pinkerton's spiritless green eyes were focused on him.
"I haven't slept a moment since that day," Noah continued teasingly, "your words cruelly torture me during New York City's darkest hours. Even now I find myself ... trembling in fear. I am unable to come claim your scalp."
Ernest, familiar with Reed's twisted version of fun, felt a potent sense of dread swell inside his heart. Jacoby's dire emotions were magnified when the Negotiator turned to look at him.
"Mr. Jacoby ... " Reed flipped his knife into the air again, but this time he caught it by the blade so the handle was pointed in Ernest's direction, "remove Mr. DeWitt's scalp for me."
Ernest's eyes widened; he stared at the knife Reed devilishly presented to him.
Noah, of course, smiled.
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Booker can't ever know about my powers.
Otherwise ... I'll never have a normal life.
Elizabeth had created a tear to enter the Surgoy family's temporarily vacant residence. She was in the master bedroom, examining her face in the expansive dresser mirror. Though she had forgiven Booker for his violent crime ... she still felt unwilling to confront him just yet. It was especially difficult given that she just killed the man that had assigned DeWitt the deplorable task of murdering an innocent and abusing a defenseless woman. The dark-haired girl hadn't even used her powers to peek on her lover from afar.
I just murdered a man ...
He deserved to die ...and his wife deserves a chance for happiness .. Though she accepted this as truth, Elizabeth still found herself focusing a single undeniable detail of the murder: Mr. Emerson had been defenseless ...
The female mused over her powers, recalling the terrible destiny Comstock had wanted to force upon her. A destiny where she was a mass-murderer. What wickedness could this city summon from her? A city with men like Noah Reed, Vincenzo, Emerson and, yes ... men like Booker DeWitt.
I can't abuse this. I'm not the judge, jury and executioner of men. I don't ever want to be capable of killing casually ...
The confliced woman miserably imagined the verdict Booker would receive for his crimes if he ever stood before a judge and jury ...
Booker was just the hand ... Emerson was both the thought and the word ... She told herself.
Elizabeth shivered at her reflection. The chilly, moist winds she endured on Lady Liberty's shoulder had wrecked havoc on her. Her hair was damp and unruly; her face colorless and moist; her dress was soaked through.
The look did not inspire confidence. And the one thing she wanted to be for her impending encounter with the Negotiator was confident.
There was only a brief moment of hesitation before Elizabeth opened up Mrs. Surgoy's dressing closet to borrow a dress. She knew the kind woman would have loaned one to her upon request, anyway ... and the blue-eyed girl mentally decided she'd make up for the sneaky act when the Surgoys returned from their family vacation. Perhaps she'd gift them some fresh pie or delectable candies from the local market.
The search for a new gown was a fast one; a gorgeous auburn dress with cream-laced trim had immediately caught her eye. She'd quickly bathe and freshen up before making up with Booker ... then she'd wait for Noah Reed.
Perhaps the girl should have kept a more diligent watch on her unfortunate lover; she was completely unaware the Negotiator and his thugs were already at DeWitt's apartment.
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"If removing DeWitt's scalp without killing him seems too ambitious of a task for you, you may slice off his ear as an alternative," Noah offered, still smiling, still holding out his knife for Ernest to take.
It was a game, Ernest knew. Or perhaps a test. The Negotiator never tasked Jacoby with acts of brutality - it wasn't his role. Such intimate violence was always reserved for either Vincenzo or Noah himself.
"Boss ... allow me the pleasure," Vincenzo requested, "I haven' had the chance to - "
Reed lifted a palm toward Vincenzo, which was a silent command for the violent criminal to stop speaking immediately.
Ernest's imagination entertained multiple possibilities for how this scenario could end as he stared at Noah's blade. He imagined taking the knife and tossing it onto the floor, which would likely prompt the Negotiator to kill him then and there. He imagined flat-out refusing and stepping outside ... but that option would likely end with an extended torture session at Noah's hands. He imagined making a desperate appeal on Booker's behalf ... but he couldn't think of words Reed wouldn't either ignore or laugh at.
I have to do this. Noah will kill me if I refuse. My wife and children need me ...
Ernest turned to look at Booker. It was a sad image: those green eyes looked dead, focusing on nothing ... the ex-soldier's struggles had curiously stopped at the mention of Wounded Knee.
Vincenzo, Piero and Karl were all staring at Jacoby expectantly.
The conflicted criminal's apprehension transformed into misery.
"Why toy with me, Noah?" Ernest asked softly, eyes turning moist as he thought of the softness of his wife's hair and the smiles of his three children.
At that very moment, before the Negotiator could even respond, the sound of a baby's cries filled the apartment.
Booker's eyes widened.
"Oh," Noah began, his smile deepening as he turned toward the ex-Pinkerton, "I had nearly forgotten about little Anna. Does she sense her father's distress, I wonder? How very ... precious.-"
"- you son of a bitch!" Booker growled loudly, squirming again.
"Jesus!" Piero hissed as the Negotiator's three thugs braced themselves to maintain their hold of the incredibly powerful ex-Pinkerton.
Ernest cringed at the situation's sudden twist.
"Shall I go fetch her?" Reed inquired heartlessly, flashing a quick wink toward Ernest before sheathing his blade. The Negotiator finally crossed the threshold of the apartment, stepping past the stunned Jacoby to make his way toward the nursery, whistling.
Booker had managed to wiggle off the table and stand upward despite the grip of the three men before he resoundingly roared: "Don't you fucking touch her you sick fucking bastard!" His voice had cracked half way through the desperate demand, and each man in the room was familiar with the tone of a man about to emotionally break.
Noah returned his attention back toward the ex-Pinkerton with a thoughtful look. The struggling paused. Finally, the Negotiator stepped toward the frantic debtor, and stopped within a foot of him. Calm gray eyes met dilated green ones.
Anna's cries continued to fill the apartment.
"Forgive me, Mr. DeWitt," Noah spoke with a smile, "I've been a tad cruel, especially considering that you have, indeed, kept up with your payments ... thus far."
" ... "
"Until your debt is paid, you won't spend a single penny on pokerchips, correct? You won't purchase or drink any more liquor, and you certainly won't be lazing about this pathetic little pit when you should be out seeking work, agreed?"
" ... "
Ernest silently thanked the heavenly father. Based on Noah's words and tone, he knew they were about to walk away without mutilating Booker.
"Do you have any intention of responding to me?" Reed inquired, tilting his head to the side as he observed the ex-Pinkerton.
" ... Fucking coward," the ex-soldier snarled.
"Booker!" Ernest gasped out as his dream for a peaceful ending to this encounter instantly evaporated. You god-damn imbecile ...
Amusement filled the Negotiator's eyes. The game suddenly became very interesting.
"Oh, DeWitts," Vincenzo snickered, keeping a secure grip on Booker's right arm even though thier captive wasn't moving, "yer a dead man."
"Go on, Mr. DeWitt," Reed prompted, pleased,"entertain me."
"It's real fucking easy to posture and toss threats to a guy who's being held down by three men," Booker accused, maintaining eye-contact with the sinister debt-collector, "isn't it, Noah?"
"Admittedly, yes," the Negotiator agreed with a teasing smile, "but you'd be surprised all that I can accomplish with ease and without assistance. Snapping a grown man's arm in half, for example-"
"-Then prove it, Mr. Reed," Booker sneered, "fight me. Man to man. You. And me."
Noah smirked, contemplating. Reed's response to DeWitt's challenge was an absolute, though currently unannounced, yes, but he had a curiosity that demanded attention ... and the answer would need to be coaxed properly out of Booker.
"You're a bold man, Mr. DeWitt," the Negotiator taunted, "but a lousy mathematician. I'm a full decade younger than you, several inches taller than you and at least forty-five pounds of muscle heavier than you. Knowing all this, you still desire a brawl with me?"
"Yah, Noah, for some reason, I still want to knock your teeth in," DeWitt answered with an intense glare. The ex-Pinkerton was surprising himself with his ability to bark out threats and insults while being restrained by three men. He briefly wondered if it had something to do with all the alcohol he ingested.
"But you're so ... pathetic, Mr. DeWitt," Reed argued mockingly, "a miserable, idle, drunken dog. Killing you would give me the same sense of achievement as striking a woman or kicking a pup ... - "
"-Sounds like the words of a coward that wants to run away." DeWitt contested cockily.
"There is someone I'm interested in fighting," Noah suggested slyly, "a beast that could bring some glory ... some dignity into our match. The White Injun."
Booker went silent; his expression turned dangerously stoic. Internally, he was recalling the metallic smell of blood ... the sight of death claiming a stranger's eyes.
"Where is he, Mr. DeWitt? All I see before me is a pitiful husk ... a nobody," Noah declared, stepping close so he could grab DeWitt's hair and tug it roughly upward, "tell me all that magnificent malice remains within you. Does the White Injun live? The savage of Wounded Knee? Where is the beast who claimed a confirmed nineteen scalps from the heads of dying men and women? I want to see this beast. I demand to see this beast."
Ernest winced at the excitement in Reed's voice. He remembered how fondly the Negotiator researched this particular aspect of Booker's life, extremely pleased at the luck that the man the Galuccis hired him to collect from was a mass-murderer ... There were plenty of murderers in this city, but was there a single other man in New York that could claim they killed dozens in a single night, and brutally mutilated at least nineteen of them?
Vincenzo and Piero were mesmerized by words that promised the man beneath their hands had been responsible for a slaughter worse than any of them had ever accomplished, even worse than anything the infamous Negotiator had accomplished.
Booker glared at Reed for a long moment before finally stating: "it was twenty-four scalps."
"Only nineteen confirmed scalps," the Negotiator repeated, releasing DeWitt's hair and setting his hands on his own hips. The pose made him look ... big.
"Believe me, Reed," Booker spoke with excessive spite, "I've relived that night over and over for the past twenty-one years. I claimed twenty-four scalps that day."
"Very well, then," Noah acquiesced, "twenty-four scalps. Now, where's the beast, Mr. DeWitt?"
"You know, Noah," DeWitt responded, with a darkness in his voice that beckoned violence, " ... I'm pretty sure a man like you can bring him out of me."
"Promise?" The Negotiator smirked.
"Call off your dogs, and let's find out."
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Author's Note: As always, I love/appreciate reviews and feedback and they really do encourage me to keep going and write more. Even ratings from adultfanfictionnet lurkers are very motivating!
Also, big thanks to SB for making the Statue of Liberty scene significantly better than it would have been.
Shoutouts for repeat reviewers!
Shtoops: Is it strange that I want to crawl in your head just to watch what goes on in there? Thank you for your ongoing support. You strike me as a genius and I loved your marvelous, brilliant review. Additionally, the fact that you reached out to me in PM over a semi-awkward situation to support me was so, so appreciated(not only did you reach out, you did research!). You also pushed me to go ahead with the mafia aspect of the plot, and ultimately I want to make this a bigger, better story thanks to you. You're definitely one of the major reasons this fic is becoming what it is - I may not have even got to chapter 2 without your support. Lastly, your new quote is equal parts awesome and poignant. God save the Twain.
Paul Perkins: PAUL. Thanks for being awesome man. I love that I can always count on your support. I think you made the same plot mistake I did, because I also thought there was more time travel in the story than there actually was. Bioshock Infinite takes place when Booker and Comstock are both thirty-eight, but Comstock aged prematurely because he constantly passed through dimensions and that "diminished" his body. As for the Reed/whores scene, I'm thinking about doing a 'spinoff' fic purely dedicated to sex scenes that don't fit in the story. It'd be my way of making up for sex-less chapters. The Reed/whores scene was interesting to write from an author's perspective because Noah is so different from Booker on a psychological level. Also, group-sex for the win!
Incidental Vegan Cannibal: Hey thanks for repeat support! Im gonna stay mum on what happens with the debt repayment, but as a general comment I do think exchanges between Noah/Eliz Would be incredibly sexy(regardless of whether she's being used or a willing participant). Feedback has been so interesting (and valued!) cause after chapter 3 there was little interest in anything besides Booker/Eli scenes but then after chapter 4 I started getting a few requests for Noah scenes. As far as Booker goes, I hope you like the upcoming evolution of his character. Thanks again!
Mr Brown: Your super kind reviews have been an ongoing source of inspiration and I thank you. Who needs muses when I got you! You're one of the reviewers in particular that made me feel bad that it took a while to churn out this chapter. You've also had a big effect on my story because I was not going to make Lillian a meaningful character until reading through your reviews(and honestly there's a LOT I can do with her). You got the wheels in my head turning! I'm glad the story has had an emotional impact and I hope future chapters continue to do so. The Reed/Dewitt confrontation has been a lot of fun to write so I hope the buildup I made in previous chapters paid off!
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