#thegunmaker

the-gunmaker

  Heels clacked against cement, hurriedly rushing through compounds and weaving through the gaunt populace with purpose. Operations had boomed in the past few months, with eager hands reaching for the good book which had then been passed down through the city like a steady river, finding the faithful and travelling the path of least resistance as new pages were reverently studied by men, women, and children alike within the city that had banned the word of Lord. It was a risky business, with death being one of the more unfavourable outcomes within the mixed bag of delights. Runs had become risky, drop-offs and delivery riddled with woes. Ryan's men were closing the gap, slowly but surely; and defences were needed. With plasmids disapproved of, guns seemed to be the answer.   Money burned against hand as she balled it into fist, finding the Gunmaker's shop with ease midst the glow of neon lights and bustles of citizens who lingered in doorways so they might light up cigarettes and engage in meaningless conversation that would not be remembered within the hour. Ah, but she had greater work to do. While it might have been immoral to simply sell bibles to the poor, what else was there to do? Profit came, profit went; but it had to be made.

--"I think this one promises to be     especially intriguing. Cohen     certainly has a knack for finding     the least expected possible     subject matter for his works."

She had been fixated, jolting almost guiltily as spoken words tore through her preoccupied mind. Eyes tear uneasily from the grotesque scene mounted crucifixes looming above the city’s streets, a gruesome warning to the stirring rebels. Purple-faced, the bodies hung with shamefully bowed heads, Rapture’s parasites in their extermination. 

She’s revolted —— this sort of visual propaganda isn’t an extreme she’s unfamiliar with. Fear is a powerful weapon, moulding masses into strict compliance. Up above stood the consequence of a broken “Great Chain”, the hardly subtle message from Rapture’s founder : traitors will not be tolerated. Unrest grew with the body count, execution assuming a certain regularity within the city. This underwater “paradise” had slowly become a sunken cemetary, and Brigid Tenenbaum grew more and more claustrophobic as days passed. To have left one prison and found herself trapped, once more and electively, in another struck the geneticist as wretched misfortune. This city and its inhabitants were doomed from the very start.

"As good as any other day."

There’s a rough quality to her voice, the mingled effects of cigarettes and rising anxiety, gaze dropping down to the patterned street. Humour might be a coping mechanism for some, but to the doctor, in such a scenario she finds it to be entirely distasteful. Scratching at her right forearm —- a nervous tic —- green eyes passing briefly towards the other, never quite resting on his figure before dancing elsewhere with the peculiar distance so characteristic of the woman.