Beyond the Sea

Rachel - 1962

Rachel stretched her left hand out and inspected her nails. The silver shone back at her. She nodded, satisfied, then began painting the other hand. It had been three days since they had left DYAD. Three days since she had left Rachel. But that was - fine. Rachel was fine by herself. She didn’t need Helena. She didn’t need anyone . She was fine .

She swiped polish on the last nail of her right hand, then held out both hands and admired the gleam of silver reflecting the lights around the mirror. She flicked a wrist and sparks flew as she let the power build up in her hand, keeping her eyes on her reflection as her eyes took on a silvery cast. Then she flicked her other wrist, both hands crackling with electricity now, and her steady gaze now reflected solid silver. Rachel held out both hands, and saw with satisfaction that the polish matched her eyes exactly. She shook both hands and cut off the plasmids. Her eyes returned to their normal colour.

She let her gaze sweep around the room. She’d made her way to Olympus Heights, and into the Artemis Suites, one of the most palatial of the apartment buildings in Rapture. Or, at least it had been. Like the rest of the city, there were broken windows and blood on the walls, some of the lower apartments had flooded, and a tram had crashed into the front entrance at some point...but the very top penthouse was still untouched. It was like it had been waiting for her. The building rose straight up into the ocean. Ceiling to floor windows lined two walls of the living room, schools of fish shining like jewels as they passed, luminous blue jellyfish floating upwards. Rachel liked to stand there, watching the rest of the city through her own faint reflection.

The dressing room just off the bedroom was walled with mirrors. Her heart had given a loud thump the first time she had walked in there. All those reiterations of her face and form, all hers. The only set of eyes watching her were hers . She had spent hours in here, pulling clothes on and off, walking back and forth in her heels, experimenting with the piles of cosmetics and jewellry and frippery, shelves and shelves of finery for her to play with, examining herself from every possible angle.

That first night, Rachel had celebrated her new-found independence by getting drunk. There was a fully stocked bar in a charming alcove between the living room and the kitchen, and a book of cocktail recipes which she had dived into. She had woken the next morning with a piercing headache and a vague but uncomfortable memory of weeping into her martini glass and telling Sarah she missed her. She hadn’t touched the liquor since, and had taken the copy of ‘Beyond the Sea’ from the record player and thrown it, as hard as she could, from the upper level down onto the floor of the foyer. She didn’t even know why she’d gone to the trouble of obtaining a copy; she’d gone into Rapture Records to delve into their classical collection, not look for cheesy big band tunes.

Otherwise she’d occupied her time with reading. Whomever had lived in this apartment had wide and varied tastes, and a bookshelf that covered one entire wall. They’d obviously been elite enough to not let Andrew Ryan’s rules apply to them either - Rachel spotted several titles that had been banned in Rapture, as well as copies of all the major religious texts. These had been in a small locked section, and she flicked through them curiously. Religion had no place in Rapture, and even less so in DYAD. But she had studied mythology, and saw that it was hardly any different. Rachel decided that she would be her own creator, her own saviour. She had laughed as flames danced along her fingers, and the holy books and religious trinkets had burned in the grand open fireplace.

The massive kitchen contained both a walk-in pantry, full of tinned goods and basic dry food, and a huge freezer, stocked high with pre-prepared gourmet meals, cuts of various meats, a variety of ice creams and other desserts, piles of frozen vegetables in plastic...it seemed to Rachel that the previous occupant had been prepared for a siege.

But there was absolutely no trace of their identity. No photos crowded the various glossy surfaces. The wardrobes were empty of clothing. No papers anywhere, nothing with handwriting on it, nothing at all. It didn’t matter anyway, Rachel had decided. This was her place now.

Over the next week, she worked her way through the library; worked on perfecting her new image; worked towards forgetting about Sarah altogether. There was no point wishing for anything different than what was . She made a few more trips to the boutiques for bits and pieces - stockings, underwear, toiletries - all of the highest quality. There were fewer splicers every time she went out. Bad news spread, even amongst monsters, and Rachel was very bad news. Even through their ADAM-starved insanity, the splicers could sense that. They moved into other sections of Rapture and fought ever more bitterly among themselves.

Two weeks after leaving DYAD, Rachel woke in the middle of the night, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. She kicked the covers off, but the air on her skin felt like blades of ice. Sharp pains stabbed her in the stomach, then she squeezed her eyes shut as her vision blurred and became tinged with purple. She fumbled her way out of bed, staggering to the bathroom, falling to her knees just in time. She felt slightly better after vomiting, but the pain still wracked her body and she felt lightheaded.

What is           wrong with me

Grasping the edge of the marble counter, she pulled herself to a standing position. She ran the tap and splashed water on her face, rinsing out her mouth thoroughly. The water was cold and refreshing and her head cleared a little, but the pain - the pain in her body stubbornly refused to ease. Rachel tried to think clearly. It couldn’t be food poisoning - that would have come on sooner. But what else -

Rachel lifted her head and looked at her eyes. They were bloodshot and the pupils were tiny. Pressing her fingers down on her throat, she felt her pulse throb in an irregular pattern. Pain shot through her again and her knees buckled, but she gripped the counter and didn’t fall. There was a faint whispering at the edge of hearing. She tilted her head, trying to make it out, but it was just wordless susurration. Familiar, somehow. She breathed, deliberately, in and out. In. Out. Lifting one hand up, she saw it was trembling. In. Out. In. Out.

it must be. In. Out. the ADAM   In. Out. they must have been. In.  keeping me dosed up   Out.     in the food

Why didn’t mother   tell me   why    keep it  secret   I  don’t      understand

She slowly realized she’d slipped down to the floor. The tiles were lovely and cool against her burning skin, and she bent forward and pressed her forehead against them. She moved one hand, feebly attempting to flick her wrist, to no avail. There was a sputtering of sparks, then, nothing. Her last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was how dare she

Rachel woke several hours later, clearheaded enough to remember what had happened, but still in pain. Her bones ached . She sat up slowly, but still too fast, and she was sick again - a bright chartreuse colour splattered across the white tiles. Groaning, she lifted herself up again, washed her face again, brushed her teeth, bathed as best she could. A tiny white flame of anger burned deep in her and so she managed to dress and make up her face and hair. She would have to return to DYAD to find out exactly what was happening to her. She would have to walk back in there, and ask her mother for help . Susan would be thrilled. Rachel remembered the look on her mother's face when she had frozen that horrible wrinkly man. Hmm. Maybe not thrilled .

Her journey back to DYAD was uneventful. It was a small comfort, that the rampaging monsters of Rapture dared not try her again. Rachel was relieved, in a quiet corner of her mind. With her plasmid power cut off, unable to walk more than a few steps without without leaning on a wall, or lamp post, she would be an easy mark.

She never noticed the figure keeping pace high above her, with watchful golden eyes, or heard the cut-off screams of the few stragglers that had ventured into this section and were picked off the streets blocks away.

Entering by the side door she used to sneak out of so often, Rachel found the place almost as it used to be. Brightly lit labs in use, the distant thrumming of various equipment, the subdued murmuring of scientists. She steadied herself with a hand on the wall, then stood, straight-backed and head held high. The heels clicked as she made her way to her mother’s office.

Susan Duncan was preoccupied with a pile of papers, her eyes shining with the fervor of scientific discovery, and so had entered her office oblivious to the figure sitting behind the desk. Papers flew into the air as Rachel said evenly,

“Hello, mother.”

Susan’s hand briefly fluttered to her throat and her eyes darted back to the door, before she set her mouth.

“Rachel.” She paused and looked at Rachel closely. “How are you feeling?”

Rachel lifted an eyebrow.

“I think you know.” she answered drily. “I seem to be experiencing some kind of...withdrawal. My plasmids have stalled. And I am in a great deal of pain.”

Susan nodded. She doesn’t even have the grace to try to look ashamed thought Rachel, as she inwardly struggled to keep from slumping in her chair.

“Yes. The process we undertook with you was quite complex and layered.” Susan shifted into doctor mode as she spoke, examining Rachel’s eyes and taking her vitals. “We hoped to find a way around the addiction problem, and the other effects that ADAM can have. Mutation, insanity, death...the wretched splicers out there,” she shook her head, “They could never obtain enough ADAM to quench their cravings now. The more you use, the more you need. But with you, Rachel,” her tone took on the fervent quality Rachel had always associated with Dr Suchong, “we finally had found a way of splicing the genetic code without a need for increased dosage. Just a small dose once every ten days.”

Rachel’s voice cut through her mother's.

“Why would you hide this from me?” She placed her hands on the desk, palms down, to steady herself. “I assume you were putting the...medication...in my food. Why not just inject it?”

“Hm. That would have been my preference. No need to protect you from the realities of your condition.” Susan gave an exasperated sigh. “But your father…”

Rachel’s hands gave an involuntary jerk. Susan wrapped her fingers around one, keeping her thumb on Rachel’s pulse, frowning at the heat of the girls skin. Rachel’s eyelids fluttered and she tried to keep her voice steady as she asked, “Where is father?” Her voice took on a sardonic tone. “Have you locked him up as well?”

Susan rolled her eyes. “That was for your own protection. And for the protection of the Project.”

Rachel scoffed. “You’ve lost your project.”

“Have we?” Susan asked vaguely. “Rachel, we need to get you to the medical wing. Your symptoms are extremely severe.”

Rachel waved a hand dismissively. Or she tried to, but to her dismay her arms didn’t have the strength to even lift a finger. The headache had returned, pressing into her skull like a vice, and she realised she was trembling. Her mother’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away, echoing, like she was at the other end of a tunnel. She felt hot, and cold, and suddenly very, very tired. As she slipped into unconsciousness, she heard her mother’s distant voice say,

“Yes, we got one of them back, at least. No, unfortunately. The other- “

                                                        ⇌   ⇌   ⇌

Rachel’s eyes blinked open to see a plain white ceiling. The vestiges of her fevered dreams scattered across her mind - she’d dreamt of Sarah, tugging on her hand, leading her to a small dark room, and shoving her inside.  Helena staring down at her from the ceiling, huge wings spread out behind her. Rachel had been outside the walls, drowning, while Sarah and Helena skipped along inside, laughing.  A blonde woman standing at a huge glass window, overlooking a burning city. Her brow creased slightly. Dreams. They didn’t mean anything.

She tried flexing her fingers, and moving her limbs. The pain was gone, although she still had a mild headache, and she could move. Taking a deep breath, she pushed, and with deep satisfaction saw the flames roll along her fingers. She quickly clenched her fist as the door rattled open, and a slightly scruffy man with glasses peered into the room.

“Father?” Rachel pushed herself to a sitting position, acting weaker than she felt. He moved to the bedside to help her. His hands were steady, but he looked markedly older than the last time Rachel had seen him...whenever that had been.

“My dear Rachel,’ he said, brushing some stray hairs off her forehead. “How are you feeling now, hmm?” He took her pulse, nodding and giving her a worried smile.

“Better, thank you.” she answered softly. “I...I was scared that I was going to die.” Looking up at her father through her eyelashes, she saw guilt flash over his face, and felt a mixture of satisfaction and remorse.

“Yes, well…” he cleared his throat, “We never planned on you running away for so long.” He sighed. “It was my decision to keep the nature of the dosage from you. I thought - well. I wanted you to have some semblance of a normal childhood.” He pulled a small jar from the pocket of his lab coat and shook it. It rattled. The pills were the sickly yellow-green of ADAM on one side, the vibrant blue of EVE on the other. “You’re old enough now to take responsibility for your...condition. One every ten days, and no more ‘plasmid blues’.” He hesitated, then pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down. “You’ve been a major part of this project for your entire life, Rachel. But you’re not a child any longer -” He gave her a certain look and Rachel realised he was tip-toeing around what she’d done to Ferdinand. “- so it’s time you were let in.”

She frowned. Her entire life? She’d only been undergoing treatment and testing for the last few years…

Her face froze into a mask.

“How old was I when you started giving me ADAM, father?”

He looked shamefaced. “Shortly after your second birthday. The previous subjects hadn’t...they weren't as resilient as you.”

Rachel felt slightly sick, but not from the withdrawal she’d gone through. She’d been barely more than a toddler and they’d used her as some kind of lab rat? Ethan kept talking, like a valve had been released.

“The doses were very small, at first, too small for you to develop any of the negative side effects, but enough to see the benefits. You were never ill. Your intelligence was advanced beyond your age. If you’d been the type to scrape knees, it would have healed quicker than normal. You were a special little girl. And then, as time went on, your mother, and Dr Suchong, wanted to step up the treatment. Increase the dosage, give you plasmids, see how far they could push your evolution - they liked to call it ‘neolution’. I hoped we would find a cure for the ADAM sickness.” His eyes looked haunted for a moment. “It was all for the good of the city. Rapture needed a savior. I hoped that it would be you, Rachel.”

Rachel pointedly stared at the wall, her head turned away from her father. My entire life she thought, and I had no idea. A cold, calm fury had settled over her.

Ethan leaned closer. “I was very sorry to hear about your friends. I know it must have been hard -”

Rachel laughed.

“I would have left with Dr Tenenbaum, you know,” she said, still staring at the wall. “Sarah was… she was the only friend I’d ever had. You and mother and Dr Suchong - you all ruined it. And. And then you left . You left me just like Sarah did. You left me here with them. ” She turned and looked her father in the eyes. “You don’t deserve me any more.” He drew back, a slightly horrified look on his face. She dimly realised he’d never seen her eyes in this state before. Lifting a finger, she gathered her strength and sent an electrical stream at the camera up in the corner of the room. It exploded in a shower of sparks. Yanking the covers off the bed, she got up and stretched, then looked down at her father, who now cowered in his chair.

“Rachel! Please, I understand you’re...upset. I always tried to protect you from the worst of it.” His voice was desperate. “Rachel, do you remember how I used to read to you? You picked up all the words so quickly...I was so proud of you…”

She stared at him, then tilted her head slightly to the side.

“No. I don’t remember at all.” she said flatly, and raising her hands, she shot a double stream of electricity surging towards Ethan. He jittered and spasmed for what seemed like hours, but in reality was less than a minute, until his lifeless, smoking corpse fell in a heap on the floor.

Rachel had to step over it to get to the cabinet in the corner.

She pulled out a bag containing the clothes she’d arrived in, along with a new pink pinafore dress. “Really?” she murmured, and calmly ripped the fabric to shreds.

Once she was dressed, she picked up the pill bottle from the floor and slid it into her skirt pocket.

Your turn, mother she murmured to herself.

She garnered a few strange looks from some of the white-coats walking the halls, but there was no outcry, no panic. Word must have spread throughout DYAD that the prodigal daughter had returned, thought Rachel wryly. Once they managed to get through that door, and find her father’s body, that would change.

Susan Duncan was in her lab with several of her staff when Rachel strode in, heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor. Heads turned towards her.

“Rachel.” said Susan cagily, “Feeling better, I take it?”
“Oh, yes, mother. Much better, thank you.” Rachel replied with exaggerated politeness. She clasped her hands in front of her. “What are we working on today?”
Susan continued to eye her with suspicion, but answered the question anyway.

“We’re going over the results from the latest round of tests from the Project Leda subjects. It’s extremely positive.”
“Mmm.” Rachel trailed a finger along the benchtop. “Are you going to explain what Project Leda is , mother? Some of us have been left out of the loop.”

“Oh, honestly, Rachel…” said Susan, exasperated, then gasped as Rachel spun, grabbed the nearest lab worker, and froze him solid. She smiled brightly and smoothed down her blouse.

“You were saying…?” She looked at the shocked faces and rolled her eyes. “Oh, he’ll thaw out. Unless someone knocks him over, so be careful now.”
Susan swallowed, and began to talk.

Rachel listened with narrowed eyes. Clones. They’d made clones. Of Helena. Dr Suchong had hoped to replicate whatever genetic advantages she had possessed to make a fresh batch of Little Sisters - ones that produced much more ADAM. Little girls with gold in their bellies. Rachel looked at photographs of the clones. They all had golden eyes, and they all had blonde hair. She twined a lock of her own hair around a finger speculatively. Even her hair colour wasn’t really her own.

Despite the clones being only a year or so old, they looked older. Rachel didn’t have to be told that they’d used the ADAM to speed up the growth process - the production line had been interrupted and the sooner these little ADAM factories were out in the streets collecting more, the better. Susan explained that they hoped to halt the aging process once the girls reached the physical status of a five year old.

They don’t want another Helena that they can’t control, thought Rachel. Keep them young, keep them productive, keep them compliant.

After Susan had told her everything, Rachel picked up the pile of folders, tucking all the loose papers back in. She tapped her nails on the top for a moment, then looked around the room.

“Who would be the second in charge here? Someone who can answer my questions if my mother,” her eyes didn’t leave Susan, “is...unavailable.”

A woman with dark hair and a nervous expression raised her hand.

Rachel nodded at her. “Good.” she said, “You come with me.” The woman glanced at Susan, then followed Rachel to the door. Rachel handed her the files and asked her to wait outside. She turned back to face her mother, smiling pleasantly. She could feel the heat inside, waiting for it’s chance.

“I think it’s time that I took over this project,” she stated.

Susan gave a short, disbelieving laugh, but Rachel silenced her with a withering look.

“I’m a child of neolution, who better to do this work?” She saw Susan flinch. “Yes, mother, I know. I know about everything. I was born into this. You made me into a weapon. And then you refused to aim me at anything. It’s my time now.” Rachel’s eyes, growing more silvery every second, swept around the lab. Large but enclosed, thick walls, no windows, no sprinkler system.

Susan spoke with determination but the tremor in her voice betrayed her fear.

“I will not allow you to - “

Rachel cut her off. “It’s not up to you anymore, mother.” She placed her palms together, as if offering up a prayer to herself, then held her hands out, fingers reaching toward the group of people in lab coats, who had all moved to the wall furthest away from her.

“Rachel!” Susan shouted desperately. But it was too late. Fire bloomed around the room and screams filled the air. Rachel’s face was expressionless but her eyes shone silver. Flames erupted from her hands in bursts, ensuring the desks and cabinets were all alight. Stepping back, Rachel opened the door behind her, then laid down a series of fire traps in front of the doorway. Anyone crossing them would be incinerated immediately.

She stepped out without looking back and the door clicked shut behind her. Placing a hand over the lock, sparks flew and the lock jammed.

The white-coat was still waiting for her, Rachel was pleased to see, even though she was plainly terrified. She took the top folder off the pile in the woman’s unresisting hands, and opened it to examine the photograph again. She could see traces of Sarah in the faces, but something would have to be done about the hair...

Rachel sighed and replaced the folder on the pile. The woman looked at her questioningly.

“Put those in my mother’s...in my office. And I need someone to go to the Artemis Suites and collect my belongings.”

“Yes, Miss Duncan! I’ll organize that right away, Miss Duncan.”

Rachel waved her hand in a shoo -ing gesture and the woman scurried off.

A small smile stole across her face. DYAD was hers now.

And she had work to do.