"There's gotta be a mistake."

"I can assure you, sir, that there is no mistake. Next."

Dan stuck his arm out, blocking the man who was attempting to move by him to the front of the line. He had come too far, with too much hope and expectation, to have it all end like this. His kept rereading what the paper in front of him said, assured that it couldn't be right, simply praying that it wasn't right.

"I am telling you, it's a mistake." Gritted teeth, lowered voice; it was taking everything he had not to grab and beat the arrogant little Aussie who was so indifferently casting him off to his fate as if he were nothing. He would not be a nobody again, he was not going back to that life.

"Sir, I have told you already. There is no mistake. Now, I need to ask you to move aside. Next."

"Look, I'm tellin' you it's a—"

"Next."

"But you gotta understand that—"

"Next."

"If you say that one more—"

"Next!"

The man behind him, a long nosed Bulgarian, pushed him to the side. The other people in line simply glared. Dan glared back, grabbed his single suitcase from the floor and stormed out of the room. Some fucking reception.

He thought he had made it. I mean he was in Rapture. Bloody. Fucking. Rapture. And then like sand through his fingertips, it was gone, yet another hope burnt to ashes and thrown to the wind.

He looked down at the sheet of paper the Aussie had handed to him. It had his name, height, eye color, every quantifier possible to describe him. The sheet listed his new apartment at Cromwell Suites, rules and regulations he would be expected to follow, and emergency contact numbers, all in an orderly fashion with cold black typeface. And then lastly there it was, staring back at him. His heart had dropped so low that he couldn't even breathe.

Occupation: Custodian

He crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor.

"Hurry up, Dan," Hank called over his shoulder.

Dan had let his mind wander, a rare moment for him: Rapture did not allow much time for daydreaming. He picked up his pace.

The ladder had led them into a medium-sized corridor; it was accommodating enough so that they could stand at full height, but so narrow that they were forced to proceed in a single file. The walls were dry, but the air was damp and humid. Dan could feel his face moisten with sweat. Lights strung from the ceiling provided dull, yellow light. Hank had found a control panel when they had finally reached the end of the ladder and were met solid ground. Even in the complete darkness, Hank had found it right away. It wasn't difficult for Dan to connect the pieces as to why.

"This doesn't seem very convenient for splicers," he mused out loud.

Hank scoffed. "This tunnel was never built to help splicers."

"Yeah, well what was it built for, huh? You got the answers, don't you Hanky?"

Hank didn't provide an answer, but he did smile back at him. Dan shivered involuntarily, but kept his silence. Hank scared him, although he wouldn't allow himself to admit. He had seen a lot of crazies, killed a lot too. But Hank, he was something else.

The air was making it hard for him to breathe, his hands were trembling. Dan confronted himself with thoughts of ADAM and licked his lips.

Dan noticed with curiosity that the further they traveled through the tunnel, the clearer he could see. A brighter, white light was beginning to mesh with the faint yellow glow of the tunnel. Hank stood still. Dan instinctively followed his lead. Silence. And then they both heard it. There was music.

At first Dan entertained the idea that it was a recording, but the sound was clear and surreal and haunting and he knew what it was: a violin.

The music was schizophrenic and deranged. It swelled in volume, wild sixteenth notes bounding off the walls, manic tremolos. And then it was soft and lyrical and beautiful. And then it was morose and deep. And then it was gone.

There was nothing.

And then there was laughter.