Broken Butterfly would basically be bioshock infinite except for this stuff:
Also most of this is spoilers
-Comstock is in perfect health
-Elizabeth is the biological daughter of the Comstocks, and not particularly magical
-Songbird is put on the backburner, and the suit remains uninhabited and incomplete
-Daisy Fitzroy never forms the Vox, and continues working for Lady Comstock
-Cornelius Slate recognizes Comstock as Booker DeWitt, and acts as Fink's head of security
-Rosalind and Robert Lutece are never killed
-Vigors explode in popularity.
-The Sky-Hook is eventually outed as a horrifically dangerous and impractical method of transportation. Many arms are ripped from their sockets and many people fall to their deaths, their corpses becoming well-toasted in the lower stratosphere. These corpses eventually make international news after falling into fast food restaurants, elementary school classrooms, and private domiciles. After a falling Handyman disrupts the 1920 Summer Olympics, killing Charles Bugbee and Torsten Kumfeldt, Jeremiah Fink is forced to admit that Columbia being modular was a stupid idea and a permanent public transportation system is implemented. Sky-Hooks are recalled but the lack of regulation results in a black market for them.
-'Sky-Hooking' subsequently becomes an underground illegal extreme sport.
-In 1912, Andrei Rianofski absconds to Minsk with his Uncle to support the Belarusian nationals
-In 1919, Andrew Ryan immigrates to Columbia. He lands a job as an assistant at Lutece Labs.
-In 1920, The First Lady Airship embarks on a tour of the world. During a stop in New York, a passenger by the name of Frank Gorland is murdered. The murderer steals his identity and assumes his job as a barback at The Fellow Traveler.
Despite Comstock's relatively even-handed administration of Columbia and lack of desire to bomb America, the unregulated proliferation of PCP that gives people superpowers on the free market proves to be detrimental to society. It isn't long before the invincible flying superfortress helmed by the x-men except they are drug addicts crashes straight into California, replacing San Francisco.
Join Andrew Ryan and his friend Frank Gorland as they try to profit from this situation with the aid of the wretched Elizabeth
Here's some of the business:
__________________________
Gorland chucked. He observed Ryan out of the corner of his eye, his lips curled into an unabashedly sardonic smile.
"You know, I was wondering why a kid like you'd be putzing round here, playing gofer for the lady doctor. It’s all so obvious now."
"Shut up."
"Oh, that one was good. Could barely catch it there. Once more with feeling Pinko, something more involved. 'I am a god-fearing Christian and an American Patriot,' howabout that?"
Ryan slammed his wrench down on the workbench, all pretense of control abandoned, and regarded Gorland with a withering stare. "Ð’Ñ‹ ÐмериканÑкий проÑтака. Ðе удивительно, что Ñ‚Ñ‹ здеÑÑŒ трудитÑÑ, очиÑтка туалета Ñ Ð¾Ñ‚Ñ…Ð¾Ð´Ð°Ð¼Ð¸. Идиот! I was a Belarusian national. I am not a 'Pinko.'"
"Yeah, and I ain't a kid from the Bronx," Gorland coughed, and continued in a farcical Irish brogue. "I'm a leprechaun, boyo. Yer after me pot of gold!"
Ryan's frown deepened. Gorland inwardly felt a pang of disappointment. That bit got a rise out of most people. "I am Belarusian. Do not lump me in with those Communist swine. There is a difference."
Gorland shook his head. "Not here there ain't, kid. Belrusian, Parisian, Chinaman, Negro--either way you and yours are scrubbin' the pots. I look at a kid like you though, and when your mouth ain't flappin you ain't any different from the fops and dandies linin' Main Street. You're well-spoken enough. Shoulda gotten rid of the accent 'fore they rocketed you up here."
Ryan picked up his wrench and resumed repairing the Luteces' enormous microscope. "I'm working on it."
"If you're seekin' to reinvent yourself, kid, you shoulda stayed down on the ground. Ain't a crowd to lose yourself in up here. It's all one big backyard."
Ryan didn't look up from his work. "I have no desire to drape myself in barefaced lies. I am not ashamed of who I am, nor my history. Nor what I intend to make of myself. Illusionists, spinning tricks of the light, denying reality--I have no respect for such men."
Gorland smiled condescendingly. "Not a fan of theatre, huh?"
"No, I am quite fond of the arts. But Mr. Gorland...only a stage is a stage."
"Blasphemy."
"You'd do well not to mistake Shakespeare for gospel."
An uneasy silence fell between the two men. Ryan glanced askance at Gorland, who was looking at him, but not--he was staring past Ryan, as though there was an invisible man behind his shoulder, seemingly lost in smoldering contemplation.
He has a well-practiced fourth wall, Ryan thought absently.
He didn't linger on the thought.
Gorland was still standing there. It began to unnerve Ryan, who had taken to pointlessly fiddling with his wrench, twisting the bronze adjustment widget to-and-fro in no particular rhythm.
"Alright then kid," Gorland clapped him roughly about the shoulder, spinning the younger man to face him. Ryan fumbled with the wrench and it fell to the ground, followed quickly by a massive portion of the assembly he'd been tuning. "I'll leave you to it. Gotta sign for a few shipments before noon. Business don't run itself."
"Пошел на хуй, хуеÑоÑ!"
Gorland nodded at the camera above the steel door, which slid open for him with a nasty thunk. "Better oil that, greasemonkey." He stepped through, and was gone.
Ryan hefted the fallen piece experimentally in one hand, wondering idly if the Lutece twins would even notice the dented heatsink. He decided it probably didn't matter, and slotted the assembly back into the frame with a steady hand, reaching with the other to the far corner of the table where he kept the wire and silver solder.
The fine details always took the longest. When he and Dmetri had traipsed off to Minsk along with the other Belrusian nationals, the task had always fallen to him to jury rig the various electric knick-knacks littering his Uncle’s moronically organized trunk.
“Lingerie? But we haven’t visited Aunt Vasilisa in years…â€
Dmetri grinned at him with wolfish impertinence.
Big, simple circuitry…So robust, so rugged. A tumble in the river and a tussle with a knife, but with a bit of sweat and ingenuity a radio was right as rain.
Ryan smiled, an absent expression crossing his face. It quickly occurred to his powerful brain that he was effectively holding a five-hundred-degree Celsius fire in his hand, and the thought ripped him away from his reverie.
He turned his attention back to the microscope. The microprocessor beneath the heatsink was just barely visible beneath the sheer glass-and-metal amalgam, the convoluted design laughing at his paltry engineering skills.
Columbian science is beyond you, the inanimate object mocked. You won’t be getting praises and a cup of tea for fixing your little toys and baubles. Not here.
__________________________
I do not speak Russian, or Belarusian. I don't think Belarusian google translator exists so all the non-english dialogue here is doubly inauthentic, like a spader-man action figure
this probably isn't happening but it felt like a good use of this morning
Also most of this is spoilers
-Comstock is in perfect health
-Elizabeth is the biological daughter of the Comstocks, and not particularly magical
-Songbird is put on the backburner, and the suit remains uninhabited and incomplete
-Daisy Fitzroy never forms the Vox, and continues working for Lady Comstock
-Cornelius Slate recognizes Comstock as Booker DeWitt, and acts as Fink's head of security
-Rosalind and Robert Lutece are never killed
-Vigors explode in popularity.
-The Sky-Hook is eventually outed as a horrifically dangerous and impractical method of transportation. Many arms are ripped from their sockets and many people fall to their deaths, their corpses becoming well-toasted in the lower stratosphere. These corpses eventually make international news after falling into fast food restaurants, elementary school classrooms, and private domiciles. After a falling Handyman disrupts the 1920 Summer Olympics, killing Charles Bugbee and Torsten Kumfeldt, Jeremiah Fink is forced to admit that Columbia being modular was a stupid idea and a permanent public transportation system is implemented. Sky-Hooks are recalled but the lack of regulation results in a black market for them.
-'Sky-Hooking' subsequently becomes an underground illegal extreme sport.
-In 1912, Andrei Rianofski absconds to Minsk with his Uncle to support the Belarusian nationals
-In 1919, Andrew Ryan immigrates to Columbia. He lands a job as an assistant at Lutece Labs.
-In 1920, The First Lady Airship embarks on a tour of the world. During a stop in New York, a passenger by the name of Frank Gorland is murdered. The murderer steals his identity and assumes his job as a barback at The Fellow Traveler.
Despite Comstock's relatively even-handed administration of Columbia and lack of desire to bomb America, the unregulated proliferation of PCP that gives people superpowers on the free market proves to be detrimental to society. It isn't long before the invincible flying superfortress helmed by the x-men except they are drug addicts crashes straight into California, replacing San Francisco.
Join Andrew Ryan and his friend Frank Gorland as they try to profit from this situation with the aid of the wretched Elizabeth
Here's some of the business:
__________________________
Gorland chucked. He observed Ryan out of the corner of his eye, his lips curled into an unabashedly sardonic smile.
"You know, I was wondering why a kid like you'd be putzing round here, playing gofer for the lady doctor. It’s all so obvious now."
"Shut up."
"Oh, that one was good. Could barely catch it there. Once more with feeling Pinko, something more involved. 'I am a god-fearing Christian and an American Patriot,' howabout that?"
Ryan slammed his wrench down on the workbench, all pretense of control abandoned, and regarded Gorland with a withering stare. "Ð’Ñ‹ ÐмериканÑкий проÑтака. Ðе удивительно, что Ñ‚Ñ‹ здеÑÑŒ трудитÑÑ, очиÑтка туалета Ñ Ð¾Ñ‚Ñ…Ð¾Ð´Ð°Ð¼Ð¸. Идиот! I was a Belarusian national. I am not a 'Pinko.'"
"Yeah, and I ain't a kid from the Bronx," Gorland coughed, and continued in a farcical Irish brogue. "I'm a leprechaun, boyo. Yer after me pot of gold!"
Ryan's frown deepened. Gorland inwardly felt a pang of disappointment. That bit got a rise out of most people. "I am Belarusian. Do not lump me in with those Communist swine. There is a difference."
Gorland shook his head. "Not here there ain't, kid. Belrusian, Parisian, Chinaman, Negro--either way you and yours are scrubbin' the pots. I look at a kid like you though, and when your mouth ain't flappin you ain't any different from the fops and dandies linin' Main Street. You're well-spoken enough. Shoulda gotten rid of the accent 'fore they rocketed you up here."
Ryan picked up his wrench and resumed repairing the Luteces' enormous microscope. "I'm working on it."
"If you're seekin' to reinvent yourself, kid, you shoulda stayed down on the ground. Ain't a crowd to lose yourself in up here. It's all one big backyard."
Ryan didn't look up from his work. "I have no desire to drape myself in barefaced lies. I am not ashamed of who I am, nor my history. Nor what I intend to make of myself. Illusionists, spinning tricks of the light, denying reality--I have no respect for such men."
Gorland smiled condescendingly. "Not a fan of theatre, huh?"
"No, I am quite fond of the arts. But Mr. Gorland...only a stage is a stage."
"Blasphemy."
"You'd do well not to mistake Shakespeare for gospel."
An uneasy silence fell between the two men. Ryan glanced askance at Gorland, who was looking at him, but not--he was staring past Ryan, as though there was an invisible man behind his shoulder, seemingly lost in smoldering contemplation.
He has a well-practiced fourth wall, Ryan thought absently.
He didn't linger on the thought.
Gorland was still standing there. It began to unnerve Ryan, who had taken to pointlessly fiddling with his wrench, twisting the bronze adjustment widget to-and-fro in no particular rhythm.
"Alright then kid," Gorland clapped him roughly about the shoulder, spinning the younger man to face him. Ryan fumbled with the wrench and it fell to the ground, followed quickly by a massive portion of the assembly he'd been tuning. "I'll leave you to it. Gotta sign for a few shipments before noon. Business don't run itself."
"Пошел на хуй, хуеÑоÑ!"
Gorland nodded at the camera above the steel door, which slid open for him with a nasty thunk. "Better oil that, greasemonkey." He stepped through, and was gone.
Ryan hefted the fallen piece experimentally in one hand, wondering idly if the Lutece twins would even notice the dented heatsink. He decided it probably didn't matter, and slotted the assembly back into the frame with a steady hand, reaching with the other to the far corner of the table where he kept the wire and silver solder.
The fine details always took the longest. When he and Dmetri had traipsed off to Minsk along with the other Belrusian nationals, the task had always fallen to him to jury rig the various electric knick-knacks littering his Uncle’s moronically organized trunk.
“Lingerie? But we haven’t visited Aunt Vasilisa in years…â€
Dmetri grinned at him with wolfish impertinence.
Big, simple circuitry…So robust, so rugged. A tumble in the river and a tussle with a knife, but with a bit of sweat and ingenuity a radio was right as rain.
Ryan smiled, an absent expression crossing his face. It quickly occurred to his powerful brain that he was effectively holding a five-hundred-degree Celsius fire in his hand, and the thought ripped him away from his reverie.
He turned his attention back to the microscope. The microprocessor beneath the heatsink was just barely visible beneath the sheer glass-and-metal amalgam, the convoluted design laughing at his paltry engineering skills.
Columbian science is beyond you, the inanimate object mocked. You won’t be getting praises and a cup of tea for fixing your little toys and baubles. Not here.
__________________________
I do not speak Russian, or Belarusian. I don't think Belarusian google translator exists so all the non-english dialogue here is doubly inauthentic, like a spader-man action figure
this probably isn't happening but it felt like a good use of this morning