[center][b][u]Charlotte[/u][/b][/center]

The rioting wasn’t subtle. From the confines of her bedroom, surrounded only by a dim lamp and scattered remains of toys, Charlotte awoke, cold and alone. Of course, there was always Mr. Bubbles. Mr. Bubbles literally lives protect her. He was forced to feel a sense of protection with her. He was but a scientific puppet, programmed to keep her alive. Still, she no longer had to gather for others. No, she should be able to stop ingesting the ADAM-rich blood from recently deceased corpses, but she couldn’t. The ADAM kept her alive. Depriving her body of the hellish substance would instigate withdrawal and weaken her tired, overworked body. The rapid stem cell regeneration kept her healthy and in peak condition. If she were to ever cut herself off from ADAM ingestion then her body would react in such a way that she was mentally and physically unprepared to cope with. She would degenerate, the slug within her becoming restless. The regenerative properties the slug provided would react slower, perhaps stopping completely. But, it’s like a drug, ADAM. No matter how hard she tries to stop, no matter how much she’d like to stop, she had already become dependent on the substance. It’s difficult for her to get her hands on pure ADAM, so she’d have to settle for leftovers. With the conditioning gone, Charlotte could finally taste the blood. The angel juice no longer tasted of peaches and strawberries, no. It tasted of copper and salt, the most subtle hint of the ADAM forcing her to continue. Though, after a few months of extracting and ingesting, Charlotte found a way to enjoy it. Her mental condition was deteriorating from isolation and memories of her conditioning, as well as the daily consumption of ADAM. Though she regained her free-will, flashes of her conditioning haunted her. On occasion, she sees glimpses of the golden, classy interior of Rapture she was forced to see. Sometimes, she’d look up at her protector and see her father and she’d smile. She’d run over and embrace him, only to feel the cold touch of metal as she came to and realized she’d been hugging Mr. Bubbles’ leg.

In the distance, Charlotte could hear the low moans of Mr. Bubbles followed by deep and aggressive stomps. She threw her legs off the side of the bed and touched the cold, damp floor, walking wearily toward the doorway. She could hear some voices past the low moans.

“Is your girly up there, metal papa?” came the anxious voice of a woman. “We just wanna see her. Won’tcha let us go up there? Give her a little present?” Another [i]STOMP[/i] and the revving of the drill echoed through the walls. 

“H-hey now bi-big boy!” a man exclaimed, his voice clearly shaken. “W-we just want th-the girl, alright?—Ow! Hey!”

“Urgh, he ain’t got no mind of his own, Clarence! If we want da girl, he ain’t gonna just let us have ‘er!”

Curious, Charlotte walked near the stairway, peering her head over the railing enough to see the metal back of her protector. “Mr. B?” she called out.

“Oh!” the woman sounded surprised as her voice became higher, friendlier. “So you were up there all this time, sweetheart? Why don’t you come down here and tell your metal daddy we’re here to give you a present, yeah?”

“A present?” Charlotte started down the steps, staying close to the top. She should see the tattered faces of her new guest, though the woman was hiding before the cracked mask of a rabbit. “Oh! Are you angels then?” she asked, clear excitement in her voice. 

The woman assumed this as a sign of ignorance and cracked a smile behind her mask. “Yes! Yes, we’re angels sent here to take you somewhere beautiful!” Beside her, the man was visibly nervous, trying to avoid eye contact with the Big Daddy and Charlotte. 

“Did you hear that, Mr. B? The angels have a present for me!” exclaimed the little girl, feigning innocence.” [i]Bring me their gifts[/i].”

The Big Daddy responded with another, longer, low moan and revved his drill even loader, taking a step toward the two intruders. From the top of the stairs, Charlotte could hear their panicked pleas and cries as they began to realize what was going on. She could hear their screams over the mechanical spur of the drill until it faded into silence. The Big Daddy stepped away to allow Charlotte room to work, hovering over her as she filled her syringe with their blood. Once done, she got up and looked around the run down condo. Sitting neglected on an end-table was a framed photo of Charlotte and her parents. She grabbed the frame and carefully slid out the photo from the back. It was tatter around the edges and there were some signs of wear and tear from water damage. Charlotte scrunched up her nose, allowing the cold trickle of her tears slide down her chin. She folded the photo as best she could and stuffed it in the pocket of her dress. She grabbed a poorly hand-sewn stuffed bunny from the sofa nearby and held it to her chest. It was the last present made and given to her by her mother. She remembered playing with it before scary men burst into the residence and took her away, leaving the plush behind. She allowed the bunny to wipe the remaining tears from her face by grabbing hold of its arm and stroking it across her eyes. She looked back at her protector, putting on a smile. 

“Let’s get out of here, Mr. B. This place…makes me sad…” 

Mr. B did not protest and followed the young girl’s lead as she made her way to the bathysphere dock. Her father had bought a personal bathysphere, the best and most sturdy model out at the time. She remembered where her father had stashed the spare key and entered the sphere. She decided to go to the place she last remembered seeing her mother: The Medical Pavilion.