You were warned.
Andrew Ryan is dead. Dead by my hand. BioShock is actually running in the background as I type this with Ryan, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, the putter I used to kill him still protruding from his forehead.
Meeting him was a revelation. I thought I'd come to Rapture, his undewater city, by accident, a plane crash. I did not. I thought I'd stumbled into a world of monsters and had become one to survive. I had not.
I was already a monster. I don't know who made me. I don't know why. But Ryan's words triggered memories of a laboratory where I was created and removed all reasonable doubt that I was a puppet. With the simple phrase, "would you kindly", he took complete control of my actions. He had already set Rapture to self destruct. And as one final act of will, he ordered me to kill him. I was compelled to obey.
But now Atlas, my handler, has given me another order, an order to stop the countdown, to save the squabbling rabble and their monsters. And now, I have a choice. Ryan lies dead, the ground shakes violently, and I have no idea how long it will take for the geothermal reactor to explode.
Ryan chose death. For him it was a choice made out of madness, belied by the calm and deliberate way he made it. But he was mad, believing that the pursuit of power was the only true purpose of man. But power breeds avarice. And avarice breeds rivals. I've heard on tape recordings I've found that one of his rivals is Fontaine. Fontaine built himself an army, they said. If Atlas is a serious contender, he's got one too and the ability to field absurdly powerful operatives like myself.
The floor shakes again. As Ryan died he kept repeating, "A man chooses. A slave obeys." As I look at the corpse in front of me, as I think of all the monsters down here and the possibility that they might ever get out, only one choice makes sense to me. I'm turning off the game. I'm letting Rapture sink. I only hope the explosion is powerful enough to truly destroy this place. Humanity was never ready for this kind of power. It likely never will be.
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