I own nothing except my OCs. Frank Fontaine, Andrew Ryan, Rapture, etc. etc. are not mine. Enjoy the story, and please read and review.

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Chapter 1: It Started Long Ago

December, 1957

Somewhere in the dark, shoes crunched across the dirty floor, and the woman's heart leapt in response. Her terrified eyes widened as she crouched behind the metal cargo box and held her breath. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't supposed to happen. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that she made it out of this alive, but the chances of that were slim. Why was it so hard to pray here, in the darkened corridors of a maintenance room? Bitterly, she reopened and eyes and sighed. That's right, she thought. This is Rapture, and Andrew Ryan has outlawed God.

She could have cried, and she certainly wanted to, but the tears wouldn't come. Perhaps she had shed so many that none were left. It was a possibility, but why dwell on possibilities? Once she had only seen the opportunities laid out before her in life, and her parents had always said that anything was possible in this city, this monument to man's greatness, but it was all gone. She didn't understand what had happened to that greatness as she moved onto her hands and knees to peer around the box. She couldn't see anything, but she heard something moving out there.

"Miss Weathers!" a voice called. "The backup generator's going to kick on any moment now, and then where are you going to hide? I'll make this easier on you if you come out willingly." She recognized that voice. It was Sullivan. Shit. Her hand gripped the hem of her dress until her knuckles turned white. How had he found her? She was sure that she'd run fast enough when she'd exited the train car.

"Come on," Sullivan encouraged. "Just tell us what we want to know and you'll be alright. Fontaine doesn't give a shit about you and never has." She looked at her soiled dress, once white with red polka dots, now brown and dirty, and she frowned. Something wet ran down her cheek. A tear? She brushed it away and rubbed her wet fingers in wonder. She could still cry. She was still human, and she definitely still felt something that she was sure should have evaporated by now. How had she gotten here again? Oh, that's right.

It had started long ago…

*************

May, 1948

I wish he would hurry. The docks were hardly what would be termed an appealing place. The scent of fish permeated the air of the underwater facility, and without the advantages of a sea breeze or sunny sky, the dark hues of metal rooms and walkways were completely uninviting. Workers stood chatting and smoking near their workstations, aprons smeared with residue and blood from the latest catch, and booted feet scurrying to breakup the meeting whenever the boss approached. Today the conversation was accompanied by furtive glances and crude smiles toward the edge of the room. Their eyes were far too free with the rare sight before them, which happened to be Catherine Weathers.

Oh, of all the places that father could leave me! She was standing beside a large window that looked out across the ocean's sandy and rocky bottom. She thought that the watery scene was beautiful in its own way as she leaned against the glass and softly smiled. Her mother had warned her that real ladies didn't lean, especially when people were watching, but these weren't exactly gentleman that were lingering over her long legs. Her best course would have been to ignore them, but she had never been to the docks, and so her eyes perpetually scanned the surroundings.

From her corner vantage point, she could see the men at their separate tables with their tools, and the conveyor belt shooting alongside of them where fish entered and exited after being gutted. It was an assembly line of muscled arms, flashing blades, and aquatic body parts—gruesome to someone who wasn't used to the sight, but riveting for its novelty. She doubted that mother would allow her to come here again, and so she tried to memorize every detail, even the wink that she received from one of the workers. There was a stairwell across the room from where she stood, and it slanted upward toward a window-lined office. That was where her father was—talking with Mr. Something-or-other about the shipments of fish that he was getting at the restaurant.

Catherine's eyes traveled to a fish outside of the window. It darted too and fro, making her lift a hand to the glass and playfully scaring it away. The window caught the reflection of a young woman in her later teens, 18 to be exact, with bright emerald eyes and wavy, blond hair that cascading over her shoulders. A slender neck flowed into shoulders and a curvy body fittingly attired in a black, taffeta coatdress. She had topped off the look with a pearl necklace that had been her parents' gift to her last Christmas, but now she was unsure if dressing so nicely had been a wise idea. She could still feel eyes on her back, and it made her self-consciously shift her weight.

"Hey!" someone called in a thick accent. Catherine vaguely recognized the man's voice as belonging to the Bronx, and she turned to see who was talking. "That's you I'm talking to, doll." The man stood several feet away, hands in the pockets of his second-hand suit as he strolled closer. He was tall with a cleanly shaved head, which was a look that Catherine didn't usually find attractive, but somehow this man pulled it off. Perhaps it was the way that his eyelids casually drooped over his dark, brown eyes with their probing intensity. She wasn't sure, but the manner in which he carried himself certainly caught her attention. His gait was so smooth and relaxed, like nothing could touch him, and his deep voice resonated with command.

"Are you talking to me, sir?" she politely asked. The man smiled, and she suddenly realized that he had a very thin, brown mustache tracing his upper lip.

"Well, I don't see anyone else 'round here who could possibly be referred to as 'doll'," the man stated. Catherine faintly blushed.

"Of course, sir," she quickly agreed. "How can I help you?"

"You're Miss Weathers, right?" he asked, and Catherine felt like his sharp eyes were dissecting her as she met his steady gaze. She sensed an intent purpose behind his words, but she couldn't imagine why he emitted such a vibe. The man, quite frankly, made her nervous, but maybe it was because she had never really encounter someone with a presence quite like his. He was smiling at her, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes.

"Yes, I'm Catherine Weathers," she told him.

"Frank Fontaine of Fontaine Fisheries," the man drawled in his thick voice. He extended a hand and Catherine placed her much smaller palm in his grasp.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," she automatically said, although she wasn't quite sure how she actually felt. He was at least wearing a suit and not a bloody apron.

"Likewise, Miss Weathers. It's not often we get a fresh face down here, if you haven't already guessed." She briefly glanced at the workers who she imagined were mentally undressing her. The very idea embarrassed her. "I hear your father's not satisfied with the quality of fish that old Blumings sending him."

"He's in a meeting with Mr. Bluming right now, sir," Catherine replied.

"Oh, is he now?" Fontaine contemplated. "Tell your old man that he should hop on over to Fontaine's Fisheries if he's interested in a real good bargain. I think I have exactly what the man's looking for."

"I'll let him know, sir," Catherine promised.

"I bet you will," Fontaine said with a slippery smile. "Thanks, doll." Catherine tossed her head to remove hair from her face and one of the workers let loose with a long whistle. She felt her face growing warm and turned her face away, trying to ignore the leer of the man who had made the gesture. "Hey, nosebleed!" Fontaine harshly yelled. Catherine's head snapped around and she found Fontaine facing the man. "Keep your eyes in your sockets and show the lady some respect." She gently smiled as Fontaine returned his attention to her.

"Thank you, sir. That was very kind of you."

"No problem," Fontaine shrugged. "Not everyone down here is a gentleman, if you know what I mean, and you can drop this whole 'sir' thing. You're making me feel like an old man, Miss Weathers." She couldn't help but smile, and decided that Frank Fontaine wasn't so bad. It had been a long time since she'd met anyone even remotely interesting or charming. "Perhaps I'll see you around." Fontaine turned to leave. "And don't forget to pass my message along."

"I won't. Goodbye, Mr. Fontaine." She watched him stroll away as coolly as he had arrived and wondered why she had never heard her father mention him before. She didn't think that Fontaine was the type of businessman to be forgotten, not with a presence like his. He looked so young to be running a business already, but after talking with him, Catherine decided that he probably had the leadership abilities to do so. Then again, maybe his father or a relative owned the fishery and he just worked there. She kept her eyes on the back of his suit. He was rather handsome, and he had defended her. She'd need to tell her father about the man's offer.

"Are you ready to go, Catherine?" a stern voice asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Yes, father," she obediently answered. He was briskly walking toward her from the office with a sour expression twisting his face. He was a shorter man, with a thin beard and grey speckling his auburn hair, and he was currently dressed in his business finest. "I take it that the negotiating didn't go well," Catherine guessed. Considering how shrewd but compromising Henry Weathers was, the deal had to have been very untenable to put him in such a nasty mood.

"You have no idea," he growled.

"Don't be moody," Catherine joked with a smile, trying to cheer him. "Mother will worry herself into a tizzy, and that's before she finds you that you brought me here." Her father's face melted into a gentle smile as he patted her shoulder.

"There's no reason that she needs to find out that you were here," he stated. "Your mother can be quite unreasonable sometimes, but you were okay out here, right? I didn't want you to see me arguing with those buffoons in there." He stood protectively near her as he cast the workers a questioning glance, but they were all focused on their separate tasks.

"I'm fine, so stop worrying." They walked side-by-side as they exited the room and entered a long, glass walkway that led back toward the bathosphere. "You know, father, I would be far better at dealing with places like this if I were allowed to leave home more often, and unescorted," she stressed. Her parents kept a close watch over their only daughter, and sometimes it made Catherine want to scream. She knew that she was sheltered, and today only reminded her of how ill equipped she was to handle certain situations comfortably.

"Catherine, my dear, it's not my choice," Henry sighed. "You know that I slip you out when I can, but your mother is a hard woman to convince. I'm not even sure I should have brought you today…"

"Father!"

"No, the docks aren't a place for a young woman, but there are things that you need to learn…we'll see. Doesn't your mother always take you out with her?" Catherine rolled her eyes and tried not to cringe.

"Yes, but I always have to stay with her. There's so much more to Rapture than I've seen, and people my age are out there exploring it. Here I am, stuck accompanying mom to market so that I can carry the groceries." Henry chuckled. "It's not funny."

"And what do you want to see, Catherine?" he asked. "The world isn't safe, and there are many places that you don't need to go. We're just trying to make sure that you stay on the right track and with the right people—that's all. We care very deeply about you, but maybe I can take you to more places with me, if you want to that is."

"Thanks!" Catherine beamed, and her father shook his head at her enthusiasm.

"Were the docks really that interesting?" he joked. Catherine didn't answer as she ran a hand over the glass wall beside her. The city surrounding the hallway stood out against the dark, ocean backdrop in a beautiful display of neon lights, towering structures, and statues. There was an entire city out there and ways of life that she had no knowledge of. It scared her because she knew that there was danger. She had heard rumors of women being drug off and raped, but she couldn't imagine that happening to her, and the danger was somewhat attractive. Her experience today had made her uncomfortable, even nervous and fidgety. She'd never been in such a close vicinity to men like that before, and she hadn't known what to expect. The thought of what they had probably been thinking about her still made her want to blush, and that was why she wanted to go back. She had to get over this infernal ignorance of hers.

************

"Nice one, Frank," a man sarcastically commented. Fontaine was leaning against the wall, cigarette between his lips and eyes fixed on the door through which Weathers and his daughter were leaving.

"Excuse me?" he asked, one eyebrow arched.

"That whole 'show the lady some respect' bit," the man mocked. Fontaine cruelly smiled.

"Yeah, well look how happily she ate up that one," he commented. "You ought to take some lessons and learn how to impress the ladies. Now get back to work." The man grumbled but did as expected. Fontaine was still smirking as he took a puff of his cigarette and strode away. He'd be in his office, waiting to be contacted by Henry Weathers. If the man was smart, he'd realize that Frank Fontaine was his best bet in this whole fish business.

"Get out of town, Fontaine," a passerby sneered. The speaker was probably working for Bluming, and so Fontaine didn't bother responding. Sure, he was the new guy on the block, but it didn't matter. He hadn't gotten where he was in life by being stupid, and he'd be as successful here as on the surface. He just had to get his foot in the door, and that's where Weathers came in. He'd be his first big client, if everything went according to plan, and he was sure that the girl would mention him to her father.

The girl. Fontaine took an appreciative drag. Man, did she have a shapely rear, but her blush spoke volumes about her innocence. She was merely another naïve girl accompanying daddy on an outing—how sad for her. Fontaine wouldn't have left his daughter on the docks alone, but hell if he'd ever bother getting himself settled. Catherine Weathers was quickly forgotten as he continued working.