Splicers were everywhere in this building. They all listened to his Boss, Frank Fontaine, just to be supplied with hearty amounts of Adam and Eve. It only served to make him sick. Garrett stepped slowly out of his office, glaring off downstairs with narrowed eyes and a frown. The Little Sisters here went ignored by all but the Daddies and the Scientists. Garrett could see one walking hand-in-hand with a Rosie, singing a demented tune about an upside-down house. The new type of Big Daddies they were making wouldn’t be out for awhile-
“Pretty, pretty boy!” A Spider Splicer sang from the ceiling, and Garrett growled dangerously beneath his breath. “Where’s your boss, little boy? Is he gone? Is he busy? Is he-” Garrett, in a swift motion, drew his pistol and fired two shots upwards at the ceiling. The Splicer shut up then, plummeting to the ground with a wet splat. One shot had went through her throat and the other through her eye, oozing a sickly red.
Garrett hurried down the remaining steps just as a Sister showed up with her Daddy. A glance behind him. She was trying to scoop up the fallen ooze into her syringe. Garrett’s nose wrinkled. This whole Adam business broke his heart. The Little Sisters got on the wrong side of the tracks. And it was a real devastating heartache to see them roaming the streets for corpses. Running a hand through his hair, the young man moved towards his personal bathysphere, trusting that Reggie could offer Fontaine company while he was gone. Perhaps some coffee could help his sour mood?
He took a seat in the Bathysphere, pulling the crank down to Arcadia. The Tea Garden seemed to be the best place to go and relax during and after a rough day of work. Scratching slowly across his short ginger hair, Garrett sighed and glanced upwards. The gentle hum of the Bathysphere and the quiet advertisements of Ryan Industries played throughout the sphere. Lips pressed together, he wondered if he’d be able to run into Donovan while he was there. The man always had such a calming air about him.
Rapture was going to hell. He knew this the moment Frank Fontaine had appeared in town. He had known it would happen eventually if Fontaine never even came. People needed religion; they needed a higher power to look to when all else was gone. He himself was a nonbeliever, but Garrett had came to Rapture to make an honest living. To rebuild what had been taken from his father. Instead, he was hired as a bodyguard and was experimented on enough to become a less-than-perfect soldier. Honesty in Fontaine’s business was poor and relied purely on addiction. He himself had been spliced up with a single plasmid, Winter Blast, and was every day fighting the addiction of ‘just one more Eve’.
Garrett didn’t use his plasmid often. At all. Rarely did he have to replenish it. But with the Splicers growing more and more bold with every passing day, he was kept on his toes. His head rested in his palm; his green eyes lowered to glare out the small window. People were going poor, people were dying. And Garrett didn’t know what to do to be able to stop it. Nobody was really trying to help them out; more so, people who had been fired from their jobs were found on the streets, either barely living or dead. They holed themselves up in vents and alleys just to have a place to sleep.
It was either that, or committing a crime to be sent off to Persephone. The poor citizens of Rapture would rather have a roof over their heads than deal with addiction and death. Garrett bared his teeth. What Fontaine was doing was even worse than death. Taking in the poor, splicing them up, and adding them to his army. He had plans to take over Rapture, and Garrett didn’t like it one bit. The hum and the noise slowly began to turn into one big sound. It was crawling across the back of his skull, irritating his brain. And then, the advertisements playing inside his Bathysphere were interrupted by a voice. A voice he knew all too well.
“Garrett!” Reggie’s voice snapped. “Where ya goin’? Fontaine’s got a meetin’ soon and he wants both’a us there!” Garrett groaned quietly, pinching his brow and cursing Reggie’s good intuition. That man always knew when he was trying to slip away. Always knew. Or he just looked at the cameras. He did look at the cameras, there was no doubting that. The cheater.
“Yer more than capable’a taking care of him.” Garrett replied tiredly. “I’m going to the Tea Garden to get a coffee. I won’t be gone long.” He could hear Reggie snort. Almost in annoyance? But his tone seemed to change to a thoughtful hum the more he thought about it. “Besides...we’re bodyguards fer Frank Fontaine. Do ya really think he needs us to protect him?” That got a bark of laughter from the older man.
“An hour. That’s all I’m gonna give ya. All right?” Reggie tells him, and Garrett is pleased. An hour would give him enough time to settle down. Enough to calm his jittery nerves and keep those cravings for more Eve at bay for the time being. Reggie wished him a good time, and once again, Garrett found himself surrounded by the irritating and nerve racking sounds of Ryan Amusements. Settling into his cushioned seat, Garrett looked miserably out the window.
He just wanted to actually HELP people. That didn’t make him a defect to Fontaine and Suchong and Tenenbaum, right? Right. They always claimed that what they were doing was for the better good. This was just Garrett putting in his two cents. An add for private bathyspheres popped up over the speakers, but that didn’t help Garrett all too much. He needed to think of an idea that’d actually help. He needed to see Donovan. The florist always had some good ideas. And even if he didn’t, the man was so calming. It’d help him out. Maybe he’d get to hear more from Donovan’s book. What was it called again?
The thought slips into his head, and Garrett taps his chin, thinking long and hard about the idea that began to grow. Robin Hood was a book about a thief who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. Stole from the rich, eh? The rich folks in Rapture were just as snooty as the prince in Donovan’s book. They held themselves higher than others less fortunate and refused to intermingle with anyone they deemed inferior. Once or twice, people would turn his nose up at him before they discovered he worked for Fontaine. That got them to change their tune.
But that was beside the point.
With this new thought in his head, more began to form. If he were to become the Robin Hood of the Rapture Dream, he’d need as much help as he could get. People who were good at what they did. People he trusted with more than his own life! He needed his boys. Standing up in his personal bathysphere, Garrett paced to and fro, scratching his chin and formulating a plan.
It was Donovan who came into his mind first. The man could slip in and out through crowds of people and vanish, despite his build and vitiligo skin. He was a man with good plans, useful insight and a dazzling grin that could make anyone’s heart melt. He kept every secret told to him, and Donovan had such a delicate touch. The only problem was that he didn’t get along so well with his next choice: Nigel.
The blond worked down in Fort Frolic and happened to be another person Garrett had grown up with. Met in college, and both had clicked immediately, despite the differences in dreams. Now he was a backdrop painter for Sander Cohen’s plays. Possibly one of the more favorited of the bunch of them too. While grumpy a good majority of the time, Nigel was dependable and tired of all the rich folks that would try to get on his good side. He always preferred to stick close to people he knew.
Lastly, he figured both Eugene and Emma would be helpful for this task as well. Eugene helped BUILD Rapture all together. He knew every access tunnel, every hidden nook and cranny, and shortcuts locked in his brain were always helpful. The man was big, in his mid-thirties and as quiet as the mice he'd brought along with him to Rapture. Emma was apart of the Rapture Tribune, which happened to be the biggest newspaper printing press down here. Garrett would need someone to cover their tracks, should there be anyone spotting them. Emma would be perfect for the job. Her skills went unmatched, and she was more than a bit sneaky when it came to getting her scoop.
Garrett turned towards the entrance to his Bathysphere just as it docked in the Metro Station of Arcadia. The people waiting for their own stopped and smiled at him as he stepped out. These were the few nice ones. Rapture didn't have many nice folks down here. Refreshing it was. Heading up the stairs and through the gate, Garrett made his way off in the direction of the Tea Garden. If Donovan was anywhere, it’d be either there or the Farmer’s Market. Rarely was he anywhere else. When he had been in the Metro Station, he had seen some large men moving new furniture out of some transportation pods. Maybe Donovan was helping out somewhere..?
The thought indeed turned out to be true. Among the crowds of the more...rude people, he spotted a familiar man crouched down, fixing up the leg of a chair with dedicated, yet large hands. Garrett waited until he was done, bouncing back and forth on his feet slowly. When Donovan stood up to full height, towering over the genetically conditioned bodyguard, Garrett reached a hand out to tap his good friend oh-so-lightly on his shoulder. Donovan turned in confusion, lips parted only a smidge and paper boy hat shadowing his eyes in a way that had Garrett's heart beat; a wide familiar grin broke out across Donovan's face when he spotted the shorter man, and his joy showed immeasurably.
“Garrett! Long time, no see! How’ve ya been?”
“I’ve been fair. Busy schedules keep me on my toes.” Garrett found himself going silent, and Donovan’s confusion showed with an arch of a brow and a worried expression. He decided to break that silence before the florist questioned it. “And I’ve also been thinking. Is there anywhere we can go that’s quiet? Without anyone else...? I’ve got some important news to share with you.”