White Rose
When Booker brought Elizabeth back with him to New York, it was not as simple as that. Columbia was a world in motion and New York static, the only thing changing the streets and lights, and the rushes of sound and fury. When the two of them reemerged in New York, they were in a back alley. Not even Booker knew where they were. The alley part was apparent: it was dark and dank, smelling of garbage and old water, like Shantytown had smelled. It wouldn’t be until Booker found a landmark that he would find home.
His body hurt, but he had pushed himself past the point of exhaustion. Now it was just buzzing with painful, agonizing numbness as if he would collapse at any moment though he could still move forward.
“It’s... somewhere... home,” he said quietly, still on guard as if a guard from Columbia could be around the corner. Soldiers always brought demons back from the field; it took a while to readjust.


















