Hey there, readers!

Switch is back! Jeez, I haven't written anything here in ages. I suppose life after graduation will do that to you. XD

Welcome to my comeback story, Bioshock: The Novel!

A little bit of explanation here: I replayed Bioshock recently for nostalgia's sake, and realized just how awesome of a game it was. I fell in love with everything from the story to the characters, and my imagination just took off. While writing a Bioshock novel might be fun to write (and read hopefully), reading a page by page transcript of the game could predictably get tedious. So what you are about to read is Bioshock . . .with a twist. There are some new OC's joining the cast and some events taking place that didn't take place in the original game.

I do not own any Bioshock; only my OC's. Hopefully I can do it justice. My understanding of the universe comes from research via the Bioshock Wiki.

"Have you got everything you need?"

"Mum. Mum, look. I'm nineteen, I've got it." I pick up my sack (the only carry-on I have), slinging it over my shoulder.

"Emma, the boy can take care of himself." Dad laughs unconvincingly, wrapping an arm around Mum's shoulder.

"Oh, hush, Jim, I know that. It's just . . .my little boy's all grown up! Going away from home for the first time!" Mum looks up at me, and I smile back, trying to convince her to calm down. I never was a short kid, but I had grown at a surprising rate, making me now a fair height taller than her. Time has worn her face, but not unflatteringly; A short woman with a sweet face, an upturned nose, and green eyes that are always smiling. My Dad is about my height, but he's a hearty man with a stern face. Not to say he doesn't smile, but he's one of manual labor and a good work ethic. As such, he's trained me to be a good, down-to-Earth man by this point.

The few of the Wynand clan that are actually within reach are seeing me off at the San Francisco airport. Yeah, I guess I'm a little nervous since I've never flown before, but I'm not about to tell her that. I look at the crinkled little piece of paper in my hand again.

Apollo Airlines, Seat 43 B; A one way flight San Francisco to London for August 19, 1960. I'll admit I've read the ticket over a thousand times, convinced that somehow I wouldn't know the information and maybe get on the wrong flight or something, that anything might go wrong; seeing as I'm standing at the gate, though, about to walk onto the plane, I finally force myself to breath out. All I have to do is endure the flight to England. Mum and Dad organized a visit with his cousins as a surprise for graduating school with honors, paid for and everything. For someone who's never been beyond his doorstep, predictably it's an undeniable offer. My aunt and uncle apparently paid for the ticket back, so I'm only responsible for my wallet full of spending money and getting myself there.

"Last boarding call for Flight 301 to London!" A stewardess calls from behind the counter, and my heart slides to my throat slightly. Out of nowhere, I give my parents a tight hug, readjusting my bag. It's not like I won't see them again, but there's something in my throat that's rooting me to the spot.

"I'll send you guys a postcard, eh?" I try to chuckle in spite of my nerves. My parents merely bite their lips and smile. Before I regret anything, I turn, heading for the door, but someone pulls me back.

"Oh, before I forget!" Dad pulls a small box out of his jacket, a nicely wrapped package with a bow and a tag. "A graduation present for you; for being such a good kid. Try to resist opening it till you get on the plane, hm?" Dad winks, and I grin.

"I'll do my best."

"Now go on before you miss the plane!"

I must turn and look over my shoulder at least five or six times as I walk down the jetway, watching until I turn the corner to climb through the hatch into the plane. I absentmindedly hand the ticket to the stewardess on duty, and she smiles at me congenially.

"Coach, middle row, Mister Wynand."

Still a little shaky, I lug my things with me through the first class to the more crowded part of the plane. It's certainly not first-class, but I'm not going to complain. I'm not much for luxury.

After managing to shove my sack into the overhead compartment, I slip past the older woman who's reading a copy of National Geographic and sink into my seat.

"This is your Captain Harry Smicket speaking. We're looking at roughly a thirteen hour flight, folks. Weathers lookin' all clear ahead for the time being, low turbulence, so we're gonna be takin' off in the next couple minutes. If you could secure your belongings, make sure your seats are in the upright position, and we'll be out of here in no time. Thank you again for flying with Apollo Air, smoothest ride in the skies!"

Leaning back in my seat, I stare out the window, trying to push my stomach nerves somewhere else. It's drizzly and cloudy outside, drips on the window sparkling with the lights from the airport terminal.

As the ground sinks away from my vision, so does my stress. I . . .I might actually be excited for this! Well, that's stupid, I guess I should be. It's not every day I get to leave the country or see extended family. From the pictures my parents had shown me, England's a beautiful place, not too unlike the states except in cuisine and accent, of course.

As I drift into a nap, my mind starts to slip from topic to foggy topic. Fish and chips with new friends, maybe even a boat trip to France, if I'm lucky, on the new ferry my aunt said they had got running . . .

SMACK.

My dream of ferries and fish are interrupted by a sudden jolt. I fall out of my sleep, gripping the arm of my chair uncomfortably. How long was that? Ten minutes? An hour? A quick check out the window shows it was dark. No lights anywhere . . .I guess we're over the ocean by now. My seatmate's snoring softly, her National Geographic opened on the ground.

Bored, I reach slowly for the magazine. She probably won't mind if I pass the time. The dim cabin light permits me to read a paragraph or so on an article about a new type of sea-slug that had been discovered off the coast of Iceland whose slime's being collected for research.

Sea slime; I try not to roll my eyes. They'll do anything for an article. I've never been a huge fan of biology in school; science at all, really. Math had been more up my ally. I've dabbled in music, decent with a guitar but unfortunately unblessed in the vocal area. Placing the magazine back at my companion's side, I sigh. For some reason I'm feeling restless. My long day of travel is physically wearing on me, I can feel it; but out of nowhere my mind has started to race, heart pounding like someone's given me a shot of adrenaline. I've eaten dinner, had a cup of coffee the hostess had offered . . .Dad had said something about the plane ride. What was it . . .right. The present. I suppose that couldn't hurt. Maybe it'll be a book or something to satiate me.

I stand, attempting to dodge the splayed legs of my companion in the cramped space, but accidentally wake her up, causing her to grumble unpleasantly.

"Would you kindly get back to your seat?" she sniffs tiredly, scratching her dark curls moodily. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Sorry ma'am." I apologize so quietly she can't hear my sarcastic tone, and I pull my package out of the compartment. I fall back to my seat again, the woman drifting back to sleep and accidentally smearing lipstick on her hand.

Stifling a bitter chuckle, I refocus my attention on the present. The blue foiled wrapping twinkles in the light like ocean waves, the red bow like a silky island in the middle of sea we're flying over. I pull the bow which slides out like silk, and out falls a tag with handwriting on it.

To Jack

With love from Mum & Dad,

Would you kindly not open until the flight?

X O X O

I smile, biting my lip, eyes burning slightly. I'm gonna miss them, to say the least. I go to open the package, but the woman next to me reaches up and turns out the light moodily, blinding me for a second as my vision adjusts.

The package is then only illuminated by the moonlight, casting shadows on the penned note. Moonbeams dance off the shining paper, teasing the edge of the silken ribbon on the top. Something about the whole sight is dreamlike, and minute by minute I suddenly find myself unexplainably tired, like all of the day's stress has just hit me at once. A solid yawn tells me I'm not staying awake, even for another two minutes. I'll open it when the suns out, it'll be easier and I won't be struggling to read it.

What could one nap hurt?

I thought it best to start from the very beginning, so I gave a bit of a prologue to where the game starts off.

Reviews and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism are very appreciated. Please no hate comments, there is a difference. :) Please and thank you.

SPOILERS FOR THE GAME AND EXPLANATION:

I am aware of Jack's actual last name, but this was the "programmed" last name listed on his passport before the crash. I assume that his real name came to light as the game's events progressed, so I started there for full effect. :3