Disclaimer Stuff: I do not own legal rights to Bioshock or Bioshock 2. They belongs to 2K games, Marin, Australia, China, Take-Two Interactive Software and (Gasp) Digital Extremes. The opening um... Poem also isn't my creation but was taken from an Audio Record found in Fort Frolic which happens to be my favorite area.

"The Wild Bunny"

By Sander Cohen

I want to take the ears off but I can't

I hop and when I hop I never get off the ground

It's my curse, my eternal curse

I want to take the ears off but I can't

It's my curse, it's my fucking curse

I want to take the ears off

Please, take them off, please

"Mr. Cohen, Mr. Cohen!"

"Shh honey, let the man finish his work," admonished the mother.

A small chuckle rose from the man's lips as he regarded the artwork he was creating. "No, no its quite alright. What do you want my dear little girl?"

The little girl squirmed in her chair with a pouting face. "How much longer do we have to-to…"

"Pose Elizabeth, pose," answered the father.

"How long do we have to pose? I'm tired and hungry."

Both parents began reprimanding their daughter but Sander Cohen put his hand up to stop them.

"My dear I shan't take much more of your time but while I finish I want you to realize something. While humans shine bright while they live, their lives eventually flicker and go out. It is only what they leave behind that truly tells the story of their magnificent but brief life. Decades from now people will look at my art piece and see your pretty little smile. That one simple everlasting smile will spark a flame inside them and they will better themselves all the more. So I will ask that you only hold still so I can recreate that perfect smile you possess."

The girl giggled with her hands covering her mouth. She then shook her head and smiled as she swung her feet under her chair.

The man continued to busy himself with the finishing touches. He stood back to take a look and found something missing. It needed a… twist, he thought. "um Mr. M, m."

"Marshal, Mr. Cohen. It's Marshal."

"Ah, yes. My apologize Mr. Marshal, we great artist excel at our work but fail in things involved in everyday life. You understand of course."

"It's no problem sir. We're privileged that you would pick us for one of your masterpieces. Please, continue."

"Ah yes, well would you kindly put this mask on?" Cohen promptly handed the mask with long ears over to the father who looked at it curiously.

"But why the mask sir? It seems a little odd."

"Do you doubt the great Sander Cohen? Do you question his artistic judgment? My creative superiority is being questioned?"

The entire family sitting around the table jumped at Cohen's sharp reply. The artist took note of this and his face melted.

"I-I apologize for the outburst my good man. You must forgive an artist of his demons. The mask is merely a sort of signature of mine. If you really feel uncomfortable with it then you needn't bother."

The wife looked over at her daughter whose eyes had already begun to water. "Dear you should give the mask a try. I think you would look adorable with the long ears… isn't that right Elizabeth?"

Receiving his queue the father quickly placed the mask on his face and grinned with all his might at his little girl. She in turn giggled again bringing life back into the atmosphere.

Mr. Cohen nodded his head and returned to his work. The mask seemed to complete his piece with a sense of continuity. With a sigh he once again stepped back to admire his handy work.

"It is finished," he pronounced to the family.

"Again, we can't thank you enough for this privilege Mr. Cohen. My wife and daughter are ever so grateful for your generosity."

"Oh don't thank me. Thank your daughter. I spotted her in the audience during one of my performances. The look of awe on her face inspired me beyond belief. And you needn't get up to thank me. I'll just… see myself out."

Sander Cohen admired his art work one last time. With a nod of approval, he strode out of the room and turned off the lights. Rapture's lights shining across the ocean floor shone across the room's cold, white, and ghoulish inhabitants sitting around the desolate table.