Green: Malcolm, Taleth and possibly Hood present.

The Bouncer eyed the technician through his side portholes, as the tech disappeared behind him. He was still paralysed in pain, and unnerved that an unknown figure now flanked him. He groaned once, trying to force his limbs to move... to no avail.

And then suddenly, a new pain overtook the old, more intense than before. But this was different; his entire book now shook with energy, and he was already on his feet before he knew it. His left hand spasmed with the new energy and pain, and his drill spun sporadically – as if spasming as well. His porthole lights grew into a dangerous, bloody red.

Something needed to die. Badly.

The Spider had collapsed to the ground, after being struck by Malcolm's bolt, a few metres away from the two. He struggled to his feet, cursing Malcolm with a series of insults as he raised his hooks threateningly.

But the nefarious glee that was on the Spider's face evaporated into sheer horror, as the Bouncer's red lights loomed directly upon the splicer. Green tensed his left hand, releasing the tension that was in his blood, and his entire body began to glow a faint blue. The Spider barely sucked in a breath, before Green dashed forward using both feet, his drill already boring a gaping hole in the splicer's body. The Spider belatedly realised his fate, trying to disbelieve what had happened – he barely saw the Big Daddy move.

Green roared horribly, his voice shaking the very foundations of Rapture, as he brutally swung the still screaming Spider aside. The strap snapped under the force of the swing, sending both Spider and surgical table to the wall, both becoming one. Sickly red blood oozed from the table, which was apparently stuck to the wall.

His breathing was heavy. More things needed to die. They were harming... what were they harming...? No, that is not important now. Things needed to die.

His eyes then focused on Taleth, the closest thing to him right now. But the sight of the Thuggishs charging wildly, scraping their weapons on the ground creating sparks, seemed more... urgent.

He bellowed another bloody roar, as he tensed his left hand again, causing him to glow a faint blue. Launching himself forward with both legs, the Bouncer travelled at incredible speeds at the two Thuggish splicers. As he did so, he caught sight of a limp figure through his side portholes, which lay near a ventilation shaft. That did not seem important right now.
[This is where Green notices Hood, but in his 'Rampage' mode, he can't do anything besides kill.]

Things needed to die.

ENCOUNTER:
Spider Splicer dead.
Still 2 Thuggish Splicers.
3 Leadheads, taking cover.

As James walked through The Pavilion he noticed the coprses and blood on the wall "good ole Rapture" he thought, James kept walking he noticed a lone female splicer with a crobar searching a body she Noticed James, turned around and charged at him. James pointed his gun at her shooting one bullet into her head an there was an explosion of blood everywhere.

James was searching the dead splicer that he just killed he found a little bit of loot like: 15 rounds for his Tommy gun, and some potted meat. James ate the can of potted meat, grabbed his supplies and started out to The Bathysphere to Apollo Square James heard the faint gunshots and people screaming in the background he tried to ignore but it bothered him to much.

Malcolm: Green, Taleth and possibly Hood present

"Ha ha! Suck on that one, you splice-happy twits!"

Malcolm swung his shotgun down from the shoulder sling and into his hands. Chambering a round with an ominous chik-chak, he ran around behind one of the heavy operating tables and took stock of the situation. As he settled behind cover, one of the leadheads stood up from behind his own cover and pulled back the bolt of his freshly-loaded machine gun. Ooh. This could still be bad.

A blast of buckshot forced the leadhead to duck again. The splicer held his gun over the top of the heavy steel case he hid behind, blindly spraying bullets at Malcolm, making him duck as well. One of the rounds tore into the piston supporting the operating table. As it slowly sank back to the floor, dribbling greenish hydraulic fluid, Malcolm began to quietly panic as his cover shrank. He pulled a metal canister off his belt, and twisted it. The two halves rotated a quarter turn. Beep. Poking his head up, Malcolm shouted. "Hey! Ass-face!"

The splicer stood up, slightly confused.

Malcolm pegged him square in the chest with a proximity mine.

The magnet inside it held onto the scrap-metal plate tied to the splicer in some attempt at creating armor. A split second of panic crossed the splicer's face just before the mine beeped again and detonated. Body parts flew, and what looked like a foot bounced off another leadhead's ear. She went down, hand instinctively tightening and spraying random bullets across the room.

Green: Malcolm, Taleth and Hood present.

Splicer after splicer died before he could reach them, some were hit by a strange gas, another by an explosive... and it all made him angry. Only one thing had died by his hand, and as satisfying as it was, more simply needed to die. There was... something he needed to protect, but he couldn't fathom what it was. All he knew, that all these... things needed to be smashed, drilled, squashed and splatted at the same time. There was only one more splicer left; a Leadhead desperately spraying her bullets blindly, in hopes of killing one of the four.

A few bullets pinged off the Bouncer's metallic armour, and some bit into the softer parts of his body. He let out a dangerous growl. That... stung. His porthole lights darked into a deeper, horrible red, as he turned to the direction of the gunfire. He could not see the splicer; there were rubble, tables, low walls and other assorted junk all over the place, but he knew she was somewhere in that general direction. And thus the Big Daddy concluded a mathematical basic on that day – the shortest path between two points is a straight line.

He roared an awful warning, as his body began to glow a faint blue... and charged through all the obstacles in his way, the drill spinning madly.

:: CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! ::

He plowed through all the obstacles with some difficulty, but his lust for the kill was too great. He heard a feminine gasp somewhere, and instantly jabbed his drill at the direction, the power-tool of death finding home in soft, succulent flesh. A horrendous shriek followed, as the splicer gaped her eyes wide open, her mutated face twisted into a mask of horror. How could this happen?
But the Bouncer was not done yet. He savagely pulled the still shrieking body from his drill by the face, and slammed it hard into the ground; the sheer force sending vibrations throughout the hull. He slammed it twice, three times, until there was nothing solid left for him to hold.

And yet, it did not satisfy him. More things needed to die.

His spun around, his laboured breathing could be easily heard from outside his suit. His eyes then locked on three figures; one who seemed dead, with an armoured man jabbing a needle into him, and another man that was hiding behind a broken table. There was something very... comforting about seeing the armoured man jabbing a needle into the seemingly dead man, but the thought was almost immediately wiped away from his blood-rage. The technician, hiding behind a broken table, seemed nearest to the Big Daddy.

He roared again, stomping the ground while under the effects of his plasmid, sending shockwaves in the direction of the three people. His body was screaming from the overuse of his plasmid, but the Bouncer could not ignore that sheer rage that ran through him. He must kill. He must... protect. But protect what? The thought again was instantly erased as he gazed on the three people, every fibre of his being demanded that he kill them.

His body still glowed a faint blue, as he launched himself at the technician, batting away the crumpled table that was in the way. He raised his drill, roaring again, before something clicked in his suit... and suddenly fatigue washed over him. His drill abruptly felt impossibly heavy, as the Bouncer staggered and stumbled backwards... before falling clumsily onto his own back, the weight of his own drill seemingly too much for him to handle.

Between the pain wrought from his 'barrier' shattering, the stinging awakening brought by the artificially induced rage, and the sheer overuse of his plasmid... his body simply cried 'No more'. His porthole lights slowly brightened into a neutral yellow as he lay on his back... utterly unable to move a finger. He looked to his side, catching the sight of the seemingly dead man and the armoured man, and then shifted his gaze to the technician. Who were all these people? The tech seemed to be familiar with him... but he held no memory of the tech.

He groaned tiredly as he watched them, utterly disabled... utterly at their mercy as well.

James tried to get away from the big daddy slowly backing away from the behemoth right in front of him, the big daddy dashed at James, he jumped out of the way and the big daddy hit a wall "don't let them get me mr.B." The little sister on the hulking creature said.

James turned around and tried to run as the big daddy was trying to kill him. James shot five rounds into the big daddy but it had no effect other than making him even more angry. James ran through another door trying to escape to the bathysphere as he was runing he tripped and fell to the ground with a big daddy looming over him the big daddy lifted it's drill and was going to crush him, James closed his eyes hoping for a quick death then not looking James heard three loud explosions. "Am I dead?" James asked. James looked up to see a figure standing in front of him and a little sister mourning the death of her mister bubbles.

Malcolm stood, dusting himself off. "Well, that was messy." He walked over to the leadhead who'd been hit by the exlosively-propelled foot and studied her momentarily. "Hmmm. I'm not a doctor, but you're probably dead. Better to err on the side of caution, I suppose." Picking up the woman's submachine gun, he turned it over in his hands. It looked like someone had built it themselves, and put a lot of work into it. He clicked the switch on the side to single shot and put a round through the splicer's head. Taking the spare ammo clips from her belt, he counted the remaining bullets in the magazine as he walked calmly to where Green lay exhausted.

"Fourteen rounds, and two extra clips. Not bad. Now then, Green, let's see if this helps you any." He placed the newly acquired gun and ammo on the ground and rummaged through the leather bag that held his tools and other knick-knacks. "There it is." He pulled an audio log out, and plugged the long audio cable into the jack in the back of Green's helmet.

"I know, it's no Ode to Joy, but we thought this would come in handy. Never thought about how I'd get it plugged in. Couldn't give it any external speakers, you see, because you didn't want anyone else hearing the audio commands. You were very worried about other people using them against you. Didn't even let me listen when you made it a few weeks ago. That hurt a bit, but given the sad state Rapture is in, a bit of caution is understandable, even with people you trust. Ah, there we go. I guess we'll know whether the implanted commands we snuck in work in a few minutes or so."

From anyone's perspective except Green's, the only sound was a faint, tinny voice inside the armored helmet. From the inside, a calm voice spoke, the careful articulation bringing to mind the mental image of a man in a lab coat. Possibly with a pipe and an Einstein hairstyle.

"If you are listening to this, then Malcolm Darrow has had difficulty with you since you awoke. You are me. Our name is Doctor Green. We are now a Big Daddy. We convinced Malcolm to add a chemical we created to the creation process that should allow you to think for yourself. In addition, he altered the hypnotic programming with a backup plan. We couldn't change very much in the hypnosis, because they would have noticed, but a few commands were enough. Listen carefully. I am going to give you an order that will allow you to unlock more brainpower than Big Daddies are usually left with."

The voice echoed slightly in the helmet as words and phrases that would never come up in normal conversation came over the internal speakers of the suit. Normally, they were only hooked up to the microphones outside the suit. They'd been intended to prevent the heavy metal helmet from rendering the Big Daddies deaf, but they worked just fine for sending secret messages to yourself.

Green, with Malcolm, Taleth and Hood.

The Bouncer mentally reeled as the tech approached, urging his limbs to move, to fight back, to do something... with no avail.

“I know, it's no Ode to Joy...” The Bouncer heard a very faint click from behind his helmet. Again, he grew uncomfortable with this unfamiliar splicer going out of view.
“... but we thought this would come in handy.” The tech said a few more things, but the Bouncer wasn't concentrating on that.

“If you're listening to this, then Malcolm Darrow has had difficulty with you since you awoke,” his internal speakers blared, and nothing he could do to shut it out. Malcolm Darrow? It must be the man who did... something at the back of his head.

“Listen carefully.”

And the words came to be; they were utterly nonsensical, at least, within Green's range of vocabulary. He fought against the voice, trying to shut them out, but it was impossible as the recording continued to play mercilessly in his helmet.

His vision began to swim, and he partially blacked out at some points, his arms twitching uncontrollably occasionally, which also caused his drill to spin at random. Flashes of faint imagery began to assault his eyes, all seemingly unfamiliar to the Bouncer. He realised, belatedly, that not only strange commands were being spoken – data was also being downloaded into his brain/system.

To the Bouncer, it felt like an eternity, to the outsider, it barely lasted 10 minutes, with the Big Daddy twitching almost comically at some points.

And then the voice became coherent, “That must have been unpleasant, although I can only presume so. Tenenbaum's notes on Project W.Y.K proved most useful in this. Now, do not fear what is to come – electricity is the final catalyst for the concoction to fully activate, so it will only be momentary. Also... trust Malcolm. You... we... owe him that much for our liberation.

He paused, faint static filling in the silence.

“And welcome to the world. It's your birthday.”

And then his body surged with pain, yet again.

*******

It was one bodily pain too many, he decided, when the electrical shock subsided – it had only lasted 30 seconds. He found control of his limbs again, pushing himself up, and turned to face Malcolm. His former self said to trust him... so should he?

But what if this Malcolm had hacked into his suit, and forced him into thinking the tech as a friend?

He startled himself; the new thought, and doubt, felt completely alien to him. New waves of uncertainty, confusion, and frustration began to wash over him, and unknown the the Bouncer, his porthole lights began to fluctuate colours, before ending with all three colours of red, yellow and green. And he found himself at a loss.

He glanced at the tech directly, his neutral yellow lights shining directly upon the splicer, and regarded the man coolly. He felt no connection to his former self in the recording; nothing he felt now was familiar, and if Malcolm had been a friend, or even an acquaintance... he felt nothing. He couldn't even be sure if Doctor Green was once, actually himself.

But so far, everything fell in place... and trust Malcolm he will. It was either that, or face Rapture alone – and even as he remembered fragments of his past life, even some of Doctor Green's works... they weren't his memories; simply data that had been downloaded and forced upon him. He knew that he needed someone with a plan... and since Malcolm had 'awakened' him, his best bet was with the splicer.

Mentally, he flicked his lights into a brilliant green. He opened his mouth to say 'thank you', but only a pleasant groan was produced. It appears that his voice box had been physically altered, and not merely a mental conditioning.

His internal radio began to crackle... and as he listened to the message, he wondered if the tech had received a similar message. Then he turned to Taleth, and the unconcious figure of Hood nearby. He gestured at them while observing Malcolm, to see how the tech regarded them, before moving in closer to the two...

While Green's past rewrote his present state, Malcolm walked around the immediate area, looking for threats. Nothing seemed dangerous, but he noticed a trickle of blood coming from a vent.

"What the hell?" Looking inside, he saw a man who looked mostly dead. Carefully pulling the man out by his collar and lowering him to the floor as best he could, being skinny and lighter than the bleeding man, he looked the wounded man over. A couple bullets had gone through his gut. Malcolm rolled him over a bit and checked for exit wounds. Two. Good, because Malcolm really didn't know how to fish bullets out of someone.

"You know, I should probably just let you bleed out, but I'd feel like a jerk. Hope you're really unconscious, 'cause this is going to hurt." Removing a small leather case from his toolbag, he flipped it open, revealing an array of needles and a lot of heavy thread. "Lucky you, my boss was a dick. Made me learn to sew the canvas bits of the suits by hand before he let me just use the machines that did it. Same principle, I guess." Closing the wounds took a few minutes with a curved needle and thread. Bandages took another minute or two. By the time he was done, Green was getting up. Well, the lights aren't red... When Green groaned, Malcolm jumped a bit, but then the lights went green.

"Man, you had me worried there. I thought-" Noise over the radio in his bag cut him off. He listened. When the message cut off, he looked up at Green. "Well, sound like a good idea to you? We could just make a run for it and leave Rapture, but I don't really know what the hell a Big Daddy would do on the surface. So, what do you think? Apollo Square?"

“Man you had me worried there.”
Green wondered about that himself – he now felt more uncertain about himself than ever before. New thoughts, alien thoughts... and Rapture now seems much larger than how it used to be. The Big Daddy strangely felt... vulnerable.

He looked at the handiwork that the tech had performed on the unconscious figure. It was rather impressive, and the bandaging turned out to be neater than the Bouncer could have imagine. But what could the Bouncer possibly imagine in the first place? He wondered if the unconscious man would recover... perhaps it would be worth carrying the man, seeing that Malcolm had decided to help the man. It simply felt... right, backing up the tech in his endeavour.

"Well, sound like a good idea to you? We could just make a run for it and leave Rapture, but I don't really know what the hell a Big Daddy would do on the surface. So, what do you think? Apollo Square?"

Green groaned an agreement... before realising that the tech-splicer might not understand him. He flicked his lights green, to say yes.
And then he considered what they were actually doing. The surface? What would it be like? The memories of his past self were nearly completely absent, and if there was anything about the surface in his memory banks, it was severely lacking. As for what he would do? He hadn't the faintest clue. He doubted there would be much of a difference if he stayed in Rapture, or went to the surface; either could be a potentially bleak existence, or a liberating one.

The suit-grafted monstrosity slung the unconscious man over his shoulder, lumbering his way onwards. He traced his memories, the data forced upon him by his previous self – there was a bathysphere dock nearby. He paused to reconsider; Big Daddies weren't meant to use the bathyspheres, as none of the memories he traced ever revealed one. But it will be fine, he decided.

******

The bathysphere dock was clear of splicers, and as luck would have it, a functional bathysphere. The Bouncer turned around to see if anyone had followed; his over-sized hand would mean he couldn't operate the bathysphere, not without difficulty anyway. He set the unconscious man inside the bathysphere, and ushered Malcolm in with a gentle moan. He looked out to see if there any friendly people that would follow, leaving the door open for anyone that would join them.

The bathysphere awaits to being operated.