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Rapture oh Rapture

By Sina Furutan

Drama / Mystery

Prologue

Rapture Oh Rapture

Prologue

1958

No God or Kings, Only Man, a saying of mine that I have repeatedly told myself over and over again. It was the epitome of what I had believed in, what I wanted to believe. It just could not be.

My office was cold and dark, the lights were dimmed and the room as quiet as a predator stalking his prey. The time seemed appropriate, so I pulled out a cigar. I lit it and puffed out large visible patterns of smoke that slowly faded in the distance, wondering if there was some sort of symbolic residue behind all that smoke.

At one point I greatly opposed the usage of smoking, not because of some ignorant parasite showing us the ridiculous health risks of doing so, but because of where the tobacco came from. My nemesis, the scum of the Earth, the parasite that attempted to destroy everything I hold dear. Even in death his presence still lurks the halls of my city, stirring doubt and discontent amongst the masses, staining my image and my beliefs. He was a hoodlum no doubt, but the most dangerous type of hoodlum, the type with vision.

What this has taught is simply how dangerous an idea can be. You can kill the man; he is simply flesh and bones that can be penetrated by a bullet. But the idea is one that is ever lasting and divine. It spreads like a plague with no cure, there is no stopping it, all you can do is delay the inevitable. But I will prevail! This city will prevail! It has shown time and again its ability to persevere and this is no exception. We will move on, but first there are a few loose ends that must be taken care of; a few that I will personally oversee.

 I started to hear the thumping of feet and loud moans that were drawing closer to my office. The moaning became more apparent to the point where I could not hear myself think anymore. Two men entered my office dragging a bloodied man with a bag over his head. He was struggling, using every ounce of energy to agitate me.

“You can continue this pestilent moaning”, I said. “Of course by doing so you only prolong the suffering, maybe you can be part of Sander Cohen’s muse, I hear he is in need of extra bodies”.

The moaning stopped and the room once again fell into silence.

“Take it off”, I told one of my guards.

What I saw under that bloodied piece of cloth was not a man but a punching bag. His face was swollen and was bleeding in a few areas. There is only so much that the human body can take when receiving a beating, but we certainly did not break him.

He looked at me and his eyes widened. They glistened with hatred and envy towards me.

“You know who I am”, I said

“Yes”, he said in an English accent giving off a smirk, “Andrew Ryan, the bloody king of Rapture.”

He was trying to make me elicit an emotional reaction; I will not satisfy his need.

“Is it your majesty or your highness? Cuzz I personally can’t tell the difference anymore with you. ‘Oh free market this, free market that’ it was all a bunch of gibberish wasn’t it”, he started saying in a more serious tone.

I ignored these belligerent statements and went on with my case, “You were a known associate of Frank Fontaine’s and have been trying to rejuvenate his smuggling ring in these past few months, you and other parasites whose names we do not have at this instance, if you cooperate, I can see to it that all charges against you will be dropped, of course you will be exiled, it’s all up to-“

He began to laugh hysterically, “Dear lord it’s true what they say about you isn’t it, the founder and advocate of excessive freedom becomes a godless monarch. How he now extends his hand throughout the entire bloody kingdom. Well to sum up those terms you so kindly presented to me I will have to say no you miserable twat”.

The room fell into an eerie silence and then he began to speak again.

“What happened to you, a man all about humanity having the freedom to go after their passions without societal jibber jabber. Then what, Frank Fontaine expands his market and because you feel a bit threatened because his “empire” was fairly even to yours, you put him down. You’re not a man of the people, hell you’re no better than those you say are parasites. So would you kindly go fuck yourself”.

Another stern silence precipitated across the room, only this time my anger was apparent and he saw it. I dropped the cigar, took a few steps and went behind him so I can face his back. I put my hand on his shoulder, leaned forward and said, “See if you were a resident here, then it would be apparent to you that there is no God down here, no miracles, no pleas answered through prayer. There are only your actions and the consequences of those actions. Unfortunately for you, the magnitude of your choices is far too great to ignore.”

I came closer to him and whispered in his ear, “You come to my city, start uproar amongst my people, and rekindle a crime ring in the name of my greatest adversary? You’re not a hero, you’re not even a parasite, you’re just a rube.”

I walked to my desk, opened the drawer and pulled out my revolver. The rube’s eyes widened for a split second but he was calm once again and smiled, “A beheading would be more appropriate, don’t’ ya-“

Bang Bang Bang

One shot entered his forehead and he collapsed on the floor, the other two were fired aimlessly. Blood was gushing out of his head and dripping right on my marble floor.

“Get him out of here”, I told my two pawns

“Should we send him to the Department Store? You know, to show how wrong it is to go against you?” One of the guards asked.

I looked at him in disbelief and frustration, “Who do you think I am, some authoritarian figure that exerts his rule through terror? Do you think I have forgotten the very principles I founded this city on?”

“Of course not I just-“

“Get out”, I sternly said

They both left the room, dragging the body and leaving a trail of blood in the hallway. I am surrounded by ignorant buffoons who cannot think for themselves. I bring the greatest artists and scientists in the world here in my city and surround myself with ruthless idiots. They are good at what they do, but they make for terrible conversation partners.

And here I am in my office alone once again. I light another cigar and stare at the pile of blood in my office. I puff out more clouds of smoke that just fade away into the distance. Welcome to my Utopia. Welcome to Rapture.


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