The further into Frolic Teddy travels, the more he realizes that what he heard earlier were either ghosts or the echoes of old recordings, because Rapture is deserted. The only people in sight have been plaster statues of rabbit-masked dancers in grotesque poses, and it twists Teddy's stomach to know that most of them were alive when those white shells were hardening, cutting off their breath and freezing them in that pose forever.
It's creepy and cool in the game. In real life, it's awful.
He finds his way to the grand stairway with a ruined stage at the foot of it, empty frames where four photographs of murdered men should go, and everything's so surreal for a minute that he stops.
It's a mistake.
"I don't miss them, you know," a highly affected, cultured voice says, floating down from the ceiling, fuzzy in the way old radio plays tend to sound, and Teddy's blood runs cold. He ducks out of the light and into the shadow of the stair, looking fervently around for any weapon he can find.
Not abandoned, not abandoned, not abandoned. Sander Cohen is still alive.
"Oh, don't do that, my boy, my boy. Don't hide from the spotlight. The spotlight is the only thing that matters!" Teddy's hand connects with a piece of metal and he pulled it out from under some debris. A wrench, long and at one point red, now mostly brown and silver from rust. He grips it with both hands and looks out at the room.
"I don't miss them because they had no vision, and worse, they'd all gotten so ugly. There was no meaning to their lives, anymore. I'm glad the surface dwellers came and exterminated them. They were pollution. Polluting Rapture. Polluting my art. Art must be pure, my boy, to be meaningful. It must be."
There's no Waltz of the Flowers playing, and Teddy hopes to hell that means he's safe for the time being, but he has to get out of there.
"You, however... you look very.... pure," the voice says wistfully. There's a crackle in the speakers, a quite moment.
"Get back into the light," Sander howls and Teddy jumps, foot catching on something mangled and broken and discarded, and he all but falls back into view, then whirls, holding the wrench up defensively.
"Yes," Sander's voice murmurs, "yes, I thought-." Another pause and then even the soft crackling buzz is gone, and Teddy's left with the sound of his heart thudding in his chest and the echo of water dripping onto metal, somewhere. He turns after a moment and starts to run the way he is almost, almost positive lies the exit.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2011-11-14 06:55 am (UTC)It's creepy and cool in the game. In real life, it's awful.
He finds his way to the grand stairway with a ruined stage at the foot of it, empty frames where four photographs of murdered men should go, and everything's so surreal for a minute that he stops.
It's a mistake.
"I don't miss them, you know," a highly affected, cultured voice says, floating down from the ceiling, fuzzy in the way old radio plays tend to sound, and Teddy's blood runs cold. He ducks out of the light and into the shadow of the stair, looking fervently around for any weapon he can find.
Not abandoned, not abandoned, not abandoned. Sander Cohen is still alive.
"Oh, don't do that, my boy, my boy. Don't hide from the spotlight. The spotlight is the only thing that matters!" Teddy's hand connects with a piece of metal and he pulled it out from under some debris. A wrench, long and at one point red, now mostly brown and silver from rust. He grips it with both hands and looks out at the room.
"I don't miss them because they had no vision, and worse, they'd all gotten so ugly. There was no meaning to their lives, anymore. I'm glad the surface dwellers came and exterminated them. They were pollution. Polluting Rapture. Polluting my art. Art must be pure, my boy, to be meaningful. It must be."
There's no Waltz of the Flowers playing, and Teddy hopes to hell that means he's safe for the time being, but he has to get out of there.
"You, however... you look very.... pure," the voice says wistfully. There's a crackle in the speakers, a quite moment.
"Get back into the light," Sander howls and Teddy jumps, foot catching on something mangled and broken and discarded, and he all but falls back into view, then whirls, holding the wrench up defensively.
"Yes," Sander's voice murmurs, "yes, I thought-." Another pause and then even the soft crackling buzz is gone, and Teddy's left with the sound of his heart thudding in his chest and the echo of water dripping onto metal, somewhere. He turns after a moment and starts to run the way he is almost, almost positive lies the exit.