Day had turned to night, though the citizens of Rapture would never know it if it weren’t for the varying lights of the city. The glow changed depending on the time, as if to tell it’s occupants that another day was ending and on the surface a sun would set to give way to the moon. It was something that Lucas really did miss, and he longed to see again sometime. Not just in movies, but with his own two eyes. That was one of his regrets about moving to Rapture, and there were plenty more where that came from. His opinion was kept quiet however, not wanting to sound ungrateful for the success that he’d gotten living under the water. He got quite a lot of work as a composer down here, and it seemed that with everyone in a bit of a dip they liked to look at darker films. You’d think it’d be the other way around, that they would want to view perfect families on a silver screen than a horror movie but it was not.

Sometimes Lucas wondered where the movie started and ended. If you listened to the radio or read the newspaper all you heard about was crime. Yet propaganda seemed to flood the city, as if it were some prosperous place where no harm could ever come to it’s inhabitants. What a crock of shit. Loneliness had led him here and he’d yet to feel any different on that particular subject. There were the whores, the easy lays but it was something that left him feeling hollow and dirty. To use someone else just to get sexual satisfaction rather than be in love with a person, to feel that connection to them.

Christ he should have been born a girl, all of those sappy emotions. No one would think that the heart of one such as himself would be easy to latch onto and just as easy to break, but it was. Lucas was still unsure if his heart was at all repaired from the last time it was shattered, a betrayal so deep it had made him leave the city he was born in and promised a successful career because of tabloids and gossip.

It was nearly eleven p.m. on a Friday evening, a night spent more often in Rapture going out to a club or the rip joint than sitting in Sinclair Spirits by one’s self at a corner of the bar, staring into a glass with rye. He’d been drinking since eight p.m., and although he was often times worried about becoming an alcoholic because of his family’s history with abusing substances sometimes he needed a little self-pity, self-medication. In the corner he could hear the tv muttering something about a score between two teams, whatever they were, but his mind was elsewhere. Sad, lonely, and with money to burn. Amazing he hadn’t gone on a completely self-destructive rampage. That might come later.

Flagging down the bartender he ordered another drink, having stared at what was left in his glass long enough. Downing the rest Lucas sighed deeply, posture poor and seemingly defeated. If nobody knew him you’d think his best friend had just died that day. But the truth was Rapture was taking away his ability to cope with emotion, taking away his zest for life. No one would think it with his ability to crank out hit after hit, score after score for the film companies. But they were dark, moody, eerie and disturbed like they were often requested to be, and it was beginning to weigh on him. Much of his sadness, if people really listened, could be heard in the music he wrote. But because they didn’t have lyrics more often than not, it was forgotten. Thought to simply reflect the mood of a certain scene or add to the emotional investment of it’s watcher. But every note, every minor chord played was a little piece of glass to him, of his seemingly endless misery.

”To Rapture.” Lucas muttered to himself when the new drink came along, raising it to no one in particular, if anyone was even there at all, and drank. To Rapture indeed.