[ At first he thinks this is some kind of trick by Sander Cohen. But after being shuffled through rooms that don't creak with the weight of the ocean bearing down on them and having some metal contraption locked onto his hand he figured his isn't the sort of thing the man would go for. Not when Cohen's favorite form of art was dead men and women frozen into unsettling shapes. From there he does what comes naturally and explores his new surroundings.
He makes his way to the observation deck and stands there for a while, silent and disbelieving. This was the sort of thing that only happened in books, totally impossible. Sort of like cities built at the bottom of the ocean. Ridiculous.
To anyone watching, Jack presents an odd sight. His clothes have seen better days, his sweater is bearing some stains that look suspiciously like blood. It's also ripped in a few places. Not that Jack himself is in a much better state. He looks tired, and has more than a few visible injuries on him. It's probably a long shot, but Jack pulls the short-wave radio from his belt where it's been since he first arrived in Rapture and turns it on. ]
Atlas, you there? [ He waits a few moments, listening to the soft buzz of static and hoping for a minute before letting his hand drop. ] ...Didn't think so.
[ First Impressions Are Important; Nomo #022]
[ It's hard to be skeptical of anything after the time Jack has had over the last 48 hours. From airplane to bathysphere to underwater hellhole to goddamn space ship. And he's not exactly running on all cylinders considering he's barely slept. So when he gets handed a pile of clothes that aren't stiff with salt water and blood, and told he's got a room to sleep in he doesn't ask too many questions. The moment he finds the room and more importantly finds it empty he drops his stuff on the foot of one of the bunks and takes advantage of the opportunity to sleep for more than five minutes straight.
Of course the moment someone else actually opens the door, Jack's fear-honed instincts make him jerk awake and immediately go into defense mode, holding up a hand crackling with lightning at whoever dared to, you know, come into their own damn room. Of course the bloodstained sweater and the bags under his eyes are a good indicator this guy hasn't been having a great time recently. ]
...Who're you?
[ Lights Down Low; ]
[ There's something to be said for the uniforms. Mostly that they're better than nothing at all. The dim lighting does nothing to ease the knot in his gut that insists a splicer might pop out at any moment and try to kill him. It also doesn't help that his pistol went missing sometime between getting into the Bathysphere to Hephaestus and stepping out of the Ingress. So for now he's got a syringe of EVE tucked away where he can grab it alongside his pipe wrench. He can almost hear Atlas's voice, giving him that advice for dealing with the Splicers."Zap them and whack them, boyo."
His hand glows a little in the poorly lit hallways as he makes his way toward where he thinks the mess hall is. Because really, if he's going to be stuck in another weird place that he can't leave he at least wants to eat something that's not A) a candy bar or B) a bag of chips. A man has needs after all. ]
[ Wildcard ]
[ Want something else! Hit me up and we can make it happen. ]
Jack Wynand | Bioshock
[ At first he thinks this is some kind of trick by Sander Cohen. But after being shuffled through rooms that don't creak with the weight of the ocean bearing down on them and having some metal contraption locked onto his hand he figured his isn't the sort of thing the man would go for. Not when Cohen's favorite form of art was dead men and women frozen into unsettling shapes. From there he does what comes naturally and explores his new surroundings.
He makes his way to the observation deck and stands there for a while, silent and disbelieving. This was the sort of thing that only happened in books, totally impossible. Sort of like cities built at the bottom of the ocean. Ridiculous.
To anyone watching, Jack presents an odd sight. His clothes have seen better days, his sweater is bearing some stains that look suspiciously like blood. It's also ripped in a few places. Not that Jack himself is in a much better state. He looks tired, and has more than a few visible injuries on him. It's probably a long shot, but Jack pulls the short-wave radio from his belt where it's been since he first arrived in Rapture and turns it on. ]
Atlas, you there? [ He waits a few moments, listening to the soft buzz of static and hoping for a minute before letting his hand drop. ] ...Didn't think so.
[ First Impressions Are Important; Nomo #022]
[ It's hard to be skeptical of anything after the time Jack has had over the last 48 hours. From airplane to bathysphere to underwater hellhole to goddamn space ship. And he's not exactly running on all cylinders considering he's barely slept. So when he gets handed a pile of clothes that aren't stiff with salt water and blood, and told he's got a room to sleep in he doesn't ask too many questions. The moment he finds the room and more importantly finds it empty he drops his stuff on the foot of one of the bunks and takes advantage of the opportunity to sleep for more than five minutes straight.
Of course the moment someone else actually opens the door, Jack's fear-honed instincts make him jerk awake and immediately go into defense mode, holding up a hand crackling with lightning at whoever dared to, you know, come into their own damn room. Of course the bloodstained sweater and the bags under his eyes are a good indicator this guy hasn't been having a great time recently. ]
...Who're you?
[ Lights Down Low; ]
[ There's something to be said for the uniforms. Mostly that they're better than nothing at all. The dim lighting does nothing to ease the knot in his gut that insists a splicer might pop out at any moment and try to kill him. It also doesn't help that his pistol went missing sometime between getting into the Bathysphere to Hephaestus and stepping out of the Ingress. So for now he's got a syringe of EVE tucked away where he can grab it alongside his pipe wrench. He can almost hear Atlas's voice, giving him that advice for dealing with the Splicers."Zap them and whack them, boyo."
His hand glows a little in the poorly lit hallways as he makes his way toward where he thinks the mess hall is. Because really, if he's going to be stuck in another weird place that he can't leave he at least wants to eat something that's not A) a candy bar or B) a bag of chips. A man has needs after all. ]
[ Wildcard ]
[ Want something else! Hit me up and we can make it happen. ]