Rapture was a Paradise Ch.3

Present:
Crossbow check, extra bolts check, first aid kits check, mask check, candle stick check.  Time to go.  I've made this trip from Athena's Glory to Fort Frolic a few times, and it never gets any easier.  The Splicers are always wondering around scrounging for even a tiny drop of ADAM, and those little girls and their monster protectors are here too.  
I put on my mask, took a deep breath and unlocked the front door.  I wear this welder's mask for some protection for my face and also so that if I am spotted, the creature thinks I'm one of them.  It works a lot, but sometimes they can just tell that I'm normal.  Then things get messy.
I can still see the brass inlay in the sidewalk, the fancy still blinking neon signs over smashed storefront windows, and the skeletal remains of upscale restaurants that have long since been lost to fire.  This was the swankiest place in Rapture to live before things fell apart.  Back then having this huge place with restaurants, stores, and parks was wonderful.  Now it just means more walking and more danger for me.  I've been squatting in Julie Langford's place, old gal's stuck in her own forest, and Andrew Ryan's house is across Pan's Park from here.  That's the quickest way, but a lot of the "locals" favor the place.
The street lights are busted so it's nearly pitch black in here.  I try to keep off the main path, but still this isn't safe. Should be coming up to the fountain in the park's center soon, and there's the first one.  He's got a led pipe.  Oh well, at least it isn't a shotgun, or worse meat hooks.  Crap, he's right in the way; I'll have to take him out.  But it looks like he's completely absorbed in digging though that trash can, and he's talking to himself.  No need to waste a bolt on this one.
"It's just a bad quarter. Naw, that's all. Just got to wait out the down cycle. Just a bad quar-"
*BAM!*
This is the sturdiest candle stick I've ever seen.

Past:
"Ooo! Are they brass or real silver?"
"Of course it's real silver.  Do you think Mr. Cohen would give anything less?"
Today was Hector's birthday, and his boss had remembered.  I've been working a lot lately, the Rapture Standard hired me to do a comic for them as well so now I'm working two jobs.  I'm finally pulling down some real money, but I haven't had a lot of free time.  It's ok though, Hec has gotten a lot more stage time, he's even going to star in "Patrick and Moira".  With this new role he's been having to spend a lot of nights rehearsing, so he and Sander have gotten to know each other really well.  We're both on our way.
"So what do you want to do tonight for you big day?  I think if we call right away we can still get a table at Kashmir."  I watched as he put the silver sticks on the mantle, they catch the glow from the window and look like they don't even need candles to light up the room.
"Actually my buddy Martin, Martin Finegan he's doing the set design for the play, offered to take me out for some drinks.  We're going to the Seahorse with Sander," he looked like he was finished but when he saw my slightly hurt expression he quickly added "but you're more than welcome to come too."
"Nah that's ok, I'll stay in tonight.  Whenever I'm around Cohen he offers to get me a dancing job at Eve's Garden even though I keep declining.  It's getting harder and harder to explain that I don't need to strip when I have a real job."
"Well if your sure.  I'll see you later."  He put on his jacket, gave me a friendly wave which I returned (halfheartedly) and walked out the door.
I sighed and went to the fridge.  Inside was a bottle of Tate Merlot which I was going to surprise Hector with, it's his favorite.  I popped the cork, poured myself a glass, and sat down at the breakfast table staring out the window into the sea.  I saw a funny little fish swimming around, nearly aimlessly. Took another sip.  Drinking alone at the bottom of the ocean; I never thought that'd happen.  I looked out the window again, now there's a shark out there.  And the funny fish is gone.

Present:

I hated to do that, but she was too dangerous to live.  I barely dodged that damn hook she threw at me, monster.  I think I recognize her from somewhere, where is it?  Oh!  It's Jane White, she was the woman at the Standard who answered the phone.  Now look at her.
I stepped over the woman's body and continued on my way to Ryan's.  They're getting weirder and weirder every day.  Who had the bright idea to make people be able to crawl on the cycling?  Probably Fontaine, that sick bastard; glad Ryan took him down.  Although things haven't really improved all that much.  At least I'm out of the park.
You would think that with the limited space in Rapture that Ryan wouldn't be able to get an elevator all to himself, but there it is.  I suppose as the city's founder he's entitled to a larger flat.  Quick look around, no splicers…good.  Now enter the door code 1-9-4-6, and I'm in.
There's dust everywhere, this place hasn't been touched since Ryan took up hermitage in Hephaestus.  He stays in his office all day brooding about his war with Atlas while the rest of us are killed in the streets.  I think I'll steal some more of his booze on the way back.  Anyway, the passage is through the bathroom.
The wall in the shower shifted with a creek, it's been a while since my last trip.  The gas light fixtures in the passage are some of the last in Rapture to still work.  Ryan's house will probably be the last to fall.  This walk along the wood paneled corridor is long one.  There must be a leak somewhere, the once plush crimson carpet is now squishy under my feet and the scent of mildew fills my nostrils.  After an hour or so of tedious walking I finally came to the end, the very end.  I could hear the music still playing in Eve's Garden from behind the wall that shouldn't be there.  I didn't understand it at first, where did this come from?  But then I saw the note, flamboyantly curvy written on a pink slip of paper:

Dear Mr. Mendez,
So sorry, but one cannot have people waltzing into one's home uninvited.  If you had agreed to become my disciple long ago, then you would be welcome with open arms, but alas!  It is not so.  So now, little moth, I'm afraid that the Fort is closed.

Au revoir,
                              
Sander Cohen