Tale of Rapture's Orpheus
Augustine's eyes rolled back into his head as his blood-curdling screeches became nothing more than choked gurgles. Cohen squeezed his throat harder, causing the charred flesh to crack and bleed, making it harder for the singer to breathe. Finally, his pupil's desperate grasp loosened and his hands fell to his side, his head lolling in his grasp as his body sagged beneath his grip. A satisfied smirk crossed the artist's face as the flames on his hands flickered out. He let go, watching the body as it fell to the floor in a lifeless heap, the charred and blistered neck of his former pupil still oozing with crimson blood.
"Hmm, and he had so much promise," Cohen remarked, his tone as icy as his gaze, "but at least he won't be a total loss."
He snapped his fingers, a small number of Houdini Splicers vanishing from their perches to reappear beside their beloved master.
"Bring him to the gallery," he said sharply, "I'm sure he'll make a good addition to my collection."
Obediently, the splicers stepped forward and took hold of the singer's body, hoisting him up as they dragged him to the gallery above. It wasn't long before Cohen had chosen his place in the Gallery and had him placed on a chair for "sculpting". Blood trickled down his front as the artist lifted his hands and head, trying to decide his position while his limbs were still pliable. His muse flittered here and there, her thoughts unusually divided on this project. The man's sculpted features seemed to call for a more romantic setting, however his treacherous words and actions against Rapture filled the artist with anger and spite. Perhaps he would make this piece a romance? A tragic romance in which the hero dies an unruly death. He ruminated on the idea of a tragic romance when the fact that August had been a singer pricked his mind. As minuscule as it was, his muse seemed to grasp at th memory. Suddenly, music drifted onto the scene of his imagination, shaping the thoughts into a familiar story.
An ugly smile stretched Cohen's painted features as he re-examined the body. He had once read the Greek Tragedy of Orpheus, a minstrel with the skill to charm even Hades, the God of the Underworld, who lost his love when he impatiently looked back too soon and perished at the hands of Dionysus's women servants who dismembered him. Once again, Cohen felt the thrill of his muse as she accepted and forwarded this idea. Yes, Augustine would be his Orpheus and the tale of his treachery would ring forth as a warning to all who defied or insulted him.
Grinning to himself, the artists turned and looked down to examine his cans of plaster. Not enough. Gritting his teeth in an angry scowl, Cohen contemplated having his minions fetch more. However, he doubted whether they had enough brains left to do even that. Unwilling to trust them with even the slightest piece of his new project, the dark haired man disappeared in a puff of red ash, leaving his subject alone in the gallery. After a minute of silence, the subject began to stir. First one eye opened and then the second. In moments, the man had pushed himself upright, his hand pressing his scarf against his charred neck. It was a miracle he'd survived, but that miracle wouldn't last long if he didn't get out before Cohen came back.
Trying to stifle his rasping breaths, Augustine struggled to his feet and hobbled feebly away from the gallery. The short journey was agonizing and his vision blurred periodically, forcing him to brace himself against the wall just to keep standing. That was when he heard them - footsteps coming towards him. His mind panicked as he tried to think of what to do. Was it Cohen? No, his footsteps had a different sound to them. Then who was it?
"August?" hissed a familiar voice in surprise, "What happened to you?"
'Silas?'
Augustine almost collapsed with relief as Cobb's voice reached his ears. He barely heard the businessman's words as he slung the singer's arm over his shoulders and helped him to a health station. The searing pain in his neck ebbed as the machine's healing nectar repaired his damaged throat, allowing him to breathe without worry of choking on his own gore. That was as far as it got before the world became a blur of color. Dazed, the singer gasped when he felt a knee press down on his chest. The splicer cocked his mask-covered head, his words drowned out by the intense ringing in the singer's ears. Baring his teeth, the man pulled back his fist, a ball of fire in his hand, when the singer grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down. The splicer gave a startled shriek, and gasped as the dull blade of a 9 inch long letter opener pierced his abdomen.
Pulling back his weapon, Augustine stabbed him again, this time just below the ribs and into his diaphragm. The splicer gasped and rasped, clutching at his belly as he struggled to breathe. Gritting his teeth, the singer pushed him off, sending the Houdini rolling onto his side. Using the splicer as leverage, August rolled onto his knees, lifting his bloodied letter opener and plunging it into his adversary's head before he could vanish. Despite its lack of a sharpened edge, the letter opener went in with a sickening squelch. Augustine felt his stomach turn and wretched. He gasped, tasting blood in his mouth and wretched again.
Swallowing, the singer put a hand on the splicers head and pulled, yanking his weapon free. Trembling, he pushed himself to his feet, his knees almost buckling under his weight. He looked around, wondering how many had seen this display and what would happen if he were caught. Cohen would kill him for sure if his followers didn't beat him to the punch. After all he was supposed to be dead already. But as he glanced down at bloodied corpse, a idea struck him. Everyone would be looking for him, but no one would be looking for a fellow houdini. He knelt down, slipping off the spicer's mask before carefully placing it on himself. It was poor disguise at best, but when in Rome do as the Romans do, and in here, the Roman's wore masks.
Licking his lips, the young man made his way to the wall, leaning on it for support as he traveled towards the station. It wasn't long before he heard Cohen's angry bellows or the shrieks of his swarming minions. Glancing back, Augustine hurried his pace, clinging to the shadows as Fort Frolic became a hive of angry wasps. Quickly he climbed onto the docking bay and was just about enter the bathysphere when a fireball exploded over head.
"There he is Cohen!" his attacker screeched as she lobbed another fireball. "Come back here, you doubter!"
But it was too late, the bathysphere was open and in no time at all, the singer was inside, wrestling to get the door closed. Soon the latch locked and the bathysphere sank beneath the waves. Once out of Fort Frolic's reach, Augustine sighed and slumped against the submersibles wall. He did it, he escaped. Closing his eyes, the injured man almost allowed himself a moment of peace when the bathysphere radio rattled to life.
"You may have escaped me this time, little moth," the voice crackled, "but you cannot hide from me forever. News of your deeds will spread, and when it does, not even the Great Chain will help you. You... are a dead man standing in the crowd of the living."
As Cohen's last words hissed through the radio, Augustine sat, his breath rasping in his throat. He'd been betrayed, chased out of Fort Frolic, attacked by splicers and actually killed in order to survive. What tortured him most, however, was the fact that his mentor, a man whom he had put so much of his trust in, had discarded him. No, not discarded, destroyed him. Even now, he struggled just to breathe, let alone speak. What would he do if the Rapture's medical technologies couldn't save his voice? What could he do?
'We'll figure it out when we get there,' he thought to himself as he rested his head on the wall of the bathysphere. He felt so tired. Perhaps now that he was out of Cohen's grasp, he could rest and recover his energy. Then he'd be rested enough to find a health station, fix his neck and find Sandy, after which they would escape this devil's pit in the depths of the sea.
