Chapter 3: I HAVE A WHAT NOW?!
Zaun was a graveyard with a pulse.
It wheezed and sputtered, barely clinging to life, the heartbeat of a dying beast drowned beneath the hum of machinery and the hiss of toxic steam.
Lukas walked through its veins, another forgotten body in the depths of the Undercity, his stomach growling, his mind racing.
He needed money.
Fast.
His fingers twitched at his sides as he passed through the crowded streets of the Subferia. The market was alive in the way a corpse is full of maggots—the people moved, bartered, and fought, but there was no real life here. Just survival.
Stalls lined the walkways, made from rusted scrap and old shipping containers. Vendors shouted out their wares—some legal, most not. Bottles of glowing chemicals, syringes filled with who-knew-what, rusted firearms barely held together with tape, and food that looked like it had been recycled one too many times.
Lukas clenched his fists.
Where the fuck was he supposed to get money?
He slowed his pace, his mind turning over the possibilities.
He could try stealing, but what was even worth stealing? Anything valuable enough to sell was either guarded or marked—and if you got caught? Best case, you lost a hand. Worst case? You became part of Zaun's next batch of experimental "medicine."
He could try working, but what job? The only things he saw people doing down here involved breaking their backs in factories for a few measly silvers, or selling themselves in ways he didn't even want to think about.
There was gambling, but he had no money to bet in the first place.
And then there were the chem-barons.
The only ones in Zaun who had any real power. Real money.
Lukas's body tensed at the thought.
Stealing from them? Might as well dig your own grave.
Working for them? Worse.
It wasn't a question of if they'd betray you—it was just a matter of when.
A sharp voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Hey, kid! You buyin' or wastin' space?"
Lukas blinked, realizing he had stopped in front of a stall selling something that smelled like it could burn a hole through steel. The vendor, a woman with half her face replaced by crude metal plating, scowled at him.
He muttered an apology and walked away, his thoughts churning.
There was no way out of this.
Not yet.
Not like this.
He needed something more than just luck to climb out of this hole.
He needed power.
But for now, all he could do was survive.
And that meant getting back to the only place he could call home.
Lukas's "home" was less of a home and more of a punchline.
A damp, rotting cardboard box, wedged into a narrow alleyway, hidden behind stacks of rusted pipes and old crates.
It smelled like piss. Because, well—it was covered in piss.
He crawled inside, curling up beneath a ragged cloth that barely counted as a blanket. His "possessions" were pathetic: a few scraps of stale bread, a dented tin cup, and—
His eyes landed on the twisted wire doll.
Lukas swallowed, his fingers brushing over its uneven shape.
It was nothing. Just some bent metal, vaguely shaped like a person.
And yet…
The boy who had owned this body before him had held onto it like it meant something.
Like it was the only thing left in the world that wasn't trying to kill him.
A lump formed in Lukas's throat.
He wasn't sentimental. He wasn't this kid.
But fuck…
He squeezed the doll in his palm.
And then—
Voices.
Low. Close.
His body went rigid.
"—Told you I saw some little shithead crawl in here."
Oh, fuck.
Lukas's breath caught in his throat.
"Kid like that?" Another voice, rough and mean. "Easy money."
His heart pounded.
"Barons always need fresh meat."
Lukas's mind went blank.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck.
They were here for him.
Lukas's body locked up as the words settled in his brain.
Barons always need fresh meat.
His skin went ice cold.
They were here to sell him.
His breath hitched. His fingers twitched against the wire doll in his palm. His instincts screamed at him to move, run, do something—
But his body refused to obey.
Fear.
A deep, suffocating fear that crawled up his spine and settled like ice in his gut.
He had played games with stakes like this before. He had watched movies where kids got taken. But this wasn't a fucking game.
If they caught him, there was no respawn.
No retries. No "load last save."
Just a needle in the neck, a cage, and a one-way trip to hell.
"—Should be right around here."
The footsteps got closer.
Lukas sucked in a sharp breath.
Move. NOW.
His body finally obeyed.
He scrambled out of the cardboard box, his hands hitting the cold, wet ground as he launched himself toward the opposite side of the alley—
"HEY!"
Fuck.
A shout rang through the air.
Lukas bolted.
He sprinted through the narrow alleyways, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs. His bare feet slapped against stone and grime, dodging broken glass and rusted pipes.
The voices behind him grew louder.
"Little shit's fast!"
"Split up! Cut him off!"
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Lukas's breath came in ragged gasps. His lungs burned. His muscles screamed.
He twisted through a side street, barely dodging a worker hauling a crate of old parts, then ducked under a rusted pipe dripping some kind of glowing green sludge.
His mind was racing.
Think. THINK. Where the fuck do I go?!
Zaun was a labyrinth, its streets twisting and turning, overlapping like a tangled web. And these guys? They weren't just some random thugs—they knew the streets.
Lukas was just running blind.
And it was only a matter of time before he hit—
Dead end.
FUCK.
Lukas skidded to a stop. A massive rusted wall of old machinery and scrap blocked his path, too high to climb, too dense to squeeze through.
He turned around, chest heaving.
Footsteps. Close. Too close.
They had boxed him in.
Lukas's stomach twisted.
His hands clenched into fists.
"Nowhere left to run, kid."
The tallest one stepped forward, grinning.
Lukas's heart pounded.
He scanned the ground, the walls, anything that could give him a way out.
Nothing.
He was trapped.
The thug cracked his knuckles. "Should've made this easy on yourself."
And then—
Pain.
A brutal punch slammed into the side of Lukas's head, sending him sprawling against the alley wall.
His vision blurred. His ears rang.
Before he could even process the hit, a hand grabbed his shirt and yanked him up.
"You got a lot of fight, huh?" The thug sneered. "That's good. Makes 'em pay more."
Punch.
His head snapped back. Blood filled his mouth.
Punch.
His ribs screamed.
The world spun.
The man shoved him to the ground, straddling him, pinning him down.
Lukas struggled.
He kicked. He twisted. He tried to claw at the guy's arms, but—
He was just a kid.
Weak. Starving. Fragile.
The thug grabbed his collar, lifting him up—
Lukas's mind raced.
I need to do something—
I need to—
Then, he saw it.
A glint of rusted metal.
His breath hitched.
Half-buried under a pile of trash, lying just a few feet away—
A crowbar.
For a single, bizarre moment, his brain short-circuited.
No fucking way.
But he didn't hesitate.
Lukas lunged.
His fingers wrapped around the crowbar's cold, rusted handle.
And with every ounce of strength left in his battered, broken body—
He swung.
CRACK.
The thug's head snapped back, his body going rigid.
For half a second, there was silence.
Then—
He crumpled.
Just… collapsed.
Like a fucking ragdoll.
Lukas stared. His breath ragged. His arms shaking.
The crowbar trembled in his grip.
He looked down at the motionless body beneath him.
Did I just…?
His stomach churned.
His hands felt… dirty.
He swallowed.
"…That was more effective than I expected."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
And in that moment, despite the sheer horror of what had just happened—
Lukas almost laughed.
"I just Gordon Freeman'd this guy."
Then—
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]
A blue screen flickered into existence before his eyes.
Lukas froze.
His mind went blank.
Then—
"No fucking way."
---
Part 3: Welcome to Rapture
[THE BIOSHOCK SYSTEM HAS BEEN ACTIVATED.]
[CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE RECEIVED 500 POINTS.]
Lukas's jaw dropped.
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"