Part 2: Prologue
The Devil’s Lair
Sullivan oh Sullivan, a conniving viper you are, but an oath breaker you are not. The answer to all my teething troubles lie in the palm of my hand; the chip, otherwise known as my compeer John Buchanan. And to think, my miracle will be performed at the very place a heinous crime took place, one that I perpetrated. Dr. Turner’s blood still lies on the ground, staining a once stainless floor. In the middle of the room was the surgical table that the ‘criminal’ Sullivan once lied on. Now a new subject rests on it, one that will take up Sullivan’s mantle and take the role of John Buchanan, my disciple Kyle Fitzpatrick.
“Oh this is grand Steinman, simply grand. To think that two of Rapture’s Best and Brightest will take on the role of Victor Frankenstein and bring back that which was once dead; it’s all very poetic, don’t you think?” I said with absolute exuberance.
“Simmer down Sander, I could have finished this hours ago, if you told me you wanted to talk to him before I wouldn’t have given him a sedative. Precious time is being taken away from my work.” Steinman said with a speck of frustration.
“And for a few hours of your time, you will be handsomely rewarded and bear witness to the creation of perfection, something you have longed to see since your arrival here.”
“Our visions of perfection have nothing alike.” Steinman said defensively.
“And so it is . . . oh look, he’s waking up!”
Fitzpatrick began to open his eyes, but he then began to panic and was trying to get out of his straps. He gave it his all but was not able to change a thing. Then he glanced at me and stopped struggling, he just looked at me and gave an expression of disbelief.
“Sander . . . w-what’s going on? Y-you called me to Fleet Hall but then someone g-grabbed me and then . . . this?” Fitzpatrick said nervously, I suppose being chained up and seeing nothing but a ceiling fan will instigate some degree of fright. Though of all my disciples, Fitzpatrick was by far the most dismal. He needed this more than any of the others.
“Young Fitzpatrick, my dear friend Steinman is going to treat you of a terrible affliction that has plagued you from the day in which you were born, your ineptitude to perform a single task with the slightest degree of perfection. Once he is finished, you will be a god amongst men, a champion of the arts, a hero amongst the avant-garde. Dr. Steinman, proceed with the procedure.”
“Wait, WAIT!” Fitzpatrick yelled as Steinman was about to give him yet another sedative. “W-what do you mean by that? What are you going to do?”
“You will sacrifice Kyle Fitzpatrick and become an entirely new person. All your previous memories will cease to exist.” I said to him
“And who will I become Sander? Who?” Fitzpatrick said almost desperately
“John Buchanan,” I said, giving off a large grin
Fitzpatrick eyes widened in fright and he began to fight his chains once more. “You can’t do this, YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME, AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR YOU!”
“And you are about to do much more for me young Fitzpatrick. Much . . . much more.”
“No, NO, MY NAME IS KYLE FITZPATRICK AND I’M A HUMAN BEING WITH RIGHTS, YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!” He said, tears rushing down his eyes. Though I grew tired of his pestilent moaning and weeping, I give this feeble mouse the chance to blossom into a white swan yet he prefers the barren holes his kind is commonly coupled with. What a shame.
“Fitzpatrick, I’m not sure whether or not this is apparent to you but . . . you’re in Rapture, whatever assurances you were given in the United States carry no weight here.” I told him. Fitzpatrick stopped moaning and once more looked at me in bewilderment, shocked at how I could do such a thing. As if he ever knew me.
“Dr. Steinman, you may proceed,” I said, Steinman took out his sedative and walked next to him.
“DAMN YOU SANDER! DAMN YOU, YOU SICK FU-“
Steinman put the needle through his arm and Fitzpatrick slowly began to lose consciousness. The ordeal has ended, now begins the pleasurable part of this gathering, the implementation of the chip.
“Sander, if you don’t mind me asking, why wait all that time just to tell him that? It did not exactly comfort him and I did wait a few good hours so you could talk.” Steinman said
“I sincerely enjoy rattling the cage of men, they are so quick to react with emotion. It fills my heart with the utmost joy and glee. If only I had a palette of paint and a canvas to capture the pain and sincerity of young Fitzpatrick, then this would be a moment I can truly treasure. Is that a sufficient answer to your question?”
“. . . No, in fact I have more questions than answers now. I suppose that’s all just part of your job title; obscurity over the definitive. As a man of science, I only have a desire for univocal answers.” Steinman said, “This makes me see the necessity for districting in The Kashmir.”
I laughed, amused by his statement “Very good Dr. Steinman, very good. Now if you don’t mind I would greatly appreciate it if you would begin the procedure. I always wanted to see what was inside the head of a dim wit.