April Showers Prompt 4: Naughty Splicers Get What They Deserve (Bioshock)
Title: Naughty Splicers Get What They Deserve
Author: lunar47
Prompt: April Showers Prompt 4 (Spring is Sprung by Anon., Full Table)
Fandom: Bioshock
Character(s)/Pairing(s): unnamed leadhead splicer, Little Sister, Big Daddy, OC
Genre: horror
Rating & Warnings: R, violence, gore, coarse language
Word Count: 807
Summary: A leadhead splicer searches for what is most near and dear to his heart...ADAM. (A/N: I took a few liberties on where things were located in the Medical Pavilion. I haven’t played the game in a while and can’t remember exactly where places are in relation to one another. Also all the Little Sister dialogue is a direct lift from the game. If you want to see a Big Daddy in action here's a video. Be warned it is graphic. You can skip to 0:35. This song also gives you a great feel for the atmosphere of the game.)
Spring is sprung…
Click, click, click, click…the cylinder spins in the revolver, the buzzing sound bouncing off the glass walls and riveted metal arches. He makes his way through the maze of connecting tubes, a hop in his step and a wide, disfigured smile under his party mask.
“I’ll get that fixed, no worries. Dr. Steinman will fix me right up. The things that man can do with a scalpel. He’ll snip and he’ll slice and I’ll be looking better in no time. I just need ADAM and everything will be right as rain.” His voice edges on hysteria and he laughs a little to ease his nervous energy.
He exits the tubes through a thick watertight door and continues the little ditty he started earlier.
De grass is riz…
Money, he needs money. The good doctor’s prices have gone up since those little girls started hoarding all the goods.
“Bitches, all of them!” he cries to no one in particular and continues walking.
He knows where to go now, a place that might yield results. The floors switch from corrugated steel to the checkered pattern he knows so well. That damn clown sings eerily in the dark, smoky hallways, Welcome to the Circus of Values. From somewhere above, Andrew Ryan asks if we are slaves or men.
Eternal Flame Crematorium, Twilight Fields Funeral Homes, Dandy Dental, he passes them all and finds himself at a familiar door, his door.
“Let me in, Dora!” Bang! Bang! Bang! His fist echoes along the halls. Oh wait, he tries the door. It’s unlocked. The small, musty room is partially flooded with water and thick grime coats the walls. The lights flicker. Nothing works in this damn place anymore. He had money here, at one time, but where is it hiding now.
There’s a mattress in the corner of the room, old and worn with its springs partially revealed. A lump rests on top, partially concealed in the shadows. Hmm, there she is, good old Dora. Waiting for him to get home as usual.
“Dora,” he sing-songs to her but she isn’t stirring. He pushes her shoulder and she flops on to her back. Her eyes are wide open and milky white, a look of terror forever etched on her face.
“Ha ha ha, I forgot,” he howls as he sticks his fingers into the bloody hole between her breasts. “Killed you last Tuesday.”
But his mood quickly sours as he gets up to search for cash. He ransacks the place, upending the drawers of his wife’s armoire.
Clenching his teeth he mutters under his breath, “Fucking whore didn’t know when to stay quiet. Didn’t care what I needed. She didn’t listen. She had to die. I’m not sorry.”
“Now where the fuck is the money?” He screams at her lifeless corpse.
But no, there’s nothing here. He whimpers and spins the revolver’s cylinder to calm his shaking hands. There’s a flutter outside his door, a wisp of fabric made for little girls, made for little sisters. He smiles even wider, if that were possible, and his heart swells. He’ll just take the ADAM from the source, rip the itty-bitty girl to shreds to get at that slug inside of her. He spins the cylinder once more and quietly leaves his room.
I wonder where dem birdies is?
Her little feet pitter patter on the tile while he sticks to the darkness, silent as he can be. She’s sings as she looks for her friend.
“Mr. Bubbles, Mr. Bubbles, are you there? Are you there? Come and give me lollies, come and bring me toffees. Teddy bears... teddy bears."
De little birds is on de wing…
It has to be now. He has to kill her now before her Big Daddy comes to rescue her. He pounces, his arms wrap around her and she screams for all she’s worth. And he’s there in an instant. He’s horrifically fast when he needs to be. The floor vibrates with his every step. Shit.
"Help me Mr. B! It hurts! It hurts!" She squirms in his arms.
Her Big Daddy looms over him and knocks him back with a blow from his fist. For a moment his world goes black and he can’t breathe. His chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.
“"Unzip ’im, Mr. B! Unzip ‘im!” She’s hiding behind her monster protector. Her eyes glow and she gives a feral grin, “Tear him into little bits!”
The Big Daddy advances on him and he pleads uselessly, “No! No! I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
He sobs but it does him no good. He’s backed against the wall with Mr. B’s drill twisting into his gut. His last thoughts before his life drains out are of the little poem he put notes to.
Ain’t dat absurd?
De little wing is on de bird!
Author: lunar47
Prompt: April Showers Prompt 4 (Spring is Sprung by Anon., Full Table)
Fandom: Bioshock
Character(s)/Pairing(s): unnamed leadhead splicer, Little Sister, Big Daddy, OC
Genre: horror
Rating & Warnings: R, violence, gore, coarse language
Word Count: 807
Summary: A leadhead splicer searches for what is most near and dear to his heart...ADAM. (A/N: I took a few liberties on where things were located in the Medical Pavilion. I haven’t played the game in a while and can’t remember exactly where places are in relation to one another. Also all the Little Sister dialogue is a direct lift from the game. If you want to see a Big Daddy in action here's a video. Be warned it is graphic. You can skip to 0:35. This song also gives you a great feel for the atmosphere of the game.)
Spring is sprung…
Click, click, click, click…the cylinder spins in the revolver, the buzzing sound bouncing off the glass walls and riveted metal arches. He makes his way through the maze of connecting tubes, a hop in his step and a wide, disfigured smile under his party mask.
“I’ll get that fixed, no worries. Dr. Steinman will fix me right up. The things that man can do with a scalpel. He’ll snip and he’ll slice and I’ll be looking better in no time. I just need ADAM and everything will be right as rain.” His voice edges on hysteria and he laughs a little to ease his nervous energy.
He exits the tubes through a thick watertight door and continues the little ditty he started earlier.
De grass is riz…
Money, he needs money. The good doctor’s prices have gone up since those little girls started hoarding all the goods.
“Bitches, all of them!” he cries to no one in particular and continues walking.
He knows where to go now, a place that might yield results. The floors switch from corrugated steel to the checkered pattern he knows so well. That damn clown sings eerily in the dark, smoky hallways, Welcome to the Circus of Values. From somewhere above, Andrew Ryan asks if we are slaves or men.
Eternal Flame Crematorium, Twilight Fields Funeral Homes, Dandy Dental, he passes them all and finds himself at a familiar door, his door.
“Let me in, Dora!” Bang! Bang! Bang! His fist echoes along the halls. Oh wait, he tries the door. It’s unlocked. The small, musty room is partially flooded with water and thick grime coats the walls. The lights flicker. Nothing works in this damn place anymore. He had money here, at one time, but where is it hiding now.
There’s a mattress in the corner of the room, old and worn with its springs partially revealed. A lump rests on top, partially concealed in the shadows. Hmm, there she is, good old Dora. Waiting for him to get home as usual.
“Dora,” he sing-songs to her but she isn’t stirring. He pushes her shoulder and she flops on to her back. Her eyes are wide open and milky white, a look of terror forever etched on her face.
“Ha ha ha, I forgot,” he howls as he sticks his fingers into the bloody hole between her breasts. “Killed you last Tuesday.”
But his mood quickly sours as he gets up to search for cash. He ransacks the place, upending the drawers of his wife’s armoire.
Clenching his teeth he mutters under his breath, “Fucking whore didn’t know when to stay quiet. Didn’t care what I needed. She didn’t listen. She had to die. I’m not sorry.”
“Now where the fuck is the money?” He screams at her lifeless corpse.
But no, there’s nothing here. He whimpers and spins the revolver’s cylinder to calm his shaking hands. There’s a flutter outside his door, a wisp of fabric made for little girls, made for little sisters. He smiles even wider, if that were possible, and his heart swells. He’ll just take the ADAM from the source, rip the itty-bitty girl to shreds to get at that slug inside of her. He spins the cylinder once more and quietly leaves his room.
I wonder where dem birdies is?
Her little feet pitter patter on the tile while he sticks to the darkness, silent as he can be. She’s sings as she looks for her friend.
“Mr. Bubbles, Mr. Bubbles, are you there? Are you there? Come and give me lollies, come and bring me toffees. Teddy bears... teddy bears."
De little birds is on de wing…
It has to be now. He has to kill her now before her Big Daddy comes to rescue her. He pounces, his arms wrap around her and she screams for all she’s worth. And he’s there in an instant. He’s horrifically fast when he needs to be. The floor vibrates with his every step. Shit.
"Help me Mr. B! It hurts! It hurts!" She squirms in his arms.
Her Big Daddy looms over him and knocks him back with a blow from his fist. For a moment his world goes black and he can’t breathe. His chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.
“"Unzip ’im, Mr. B! Unzip ‘im!” She’s hiding behind her monster protector. Her eyes glow and she gives a feral grin, “Tear him into little bits!”
The Big Daddy advances on him and he pleads uselessly, “No! No! I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
He sobs but it does him no good. He’s backed against the wall with Mr. B’s drill twisting into his gut. His last thoughts before his life drains out are of the little poem he put notes to.
Ain’t dat absurd?
De little wing is on de bird!