bioshock · rapture · 1940s · horror · survival · plasmids · dystopia · art deco · underwater
Saltwater mist beads on fractured viewports as the neon glow of Rapture gutters and flares. Splicers slink through the ankle-deep flood, their hunts for Guardians and Survivors a fevered, whispered promise in the damp air. The atmosphere is clotted with a dread you can taste. Will you become the predator, or remain the prey? The splicers are hollowed out by plasmid addiction. The Guardians are walking fortresses, their heavy guns a final argument. Survivors are ghosts clutching at life. Your choice carves your fate from the city's steel and coral, but the sole truth here is survival.