Eleanor Lamb Bioshock Novels & Stories

The static in me claws toward it, desperate to merge. Ravel grabs my arm. "Blow it up. Now." "It's a power source. If we destroy it-" "That's *her* in there. Can't you feel it?" I press my palm to the orb. Visions erupt: Eleanor's memories. Not my mother, but a construct-a patchwork of stolen moments, designed to mimic love. The Architects wove her from my grief, my guilt, my *weakness*. The real Eleanor Thompson died years ago, screaming as the Arbor Prime's roots devoured her.

It looked so delicate, like it would snap with the faintest touch, and it shimmered like glass. One look and Rhiannon knew it was insanely sharp. Elijah's eyes found hers. He looked pale, bloodied and barely holding on. Her fingers twitched by her sides, the storm inside her raging to be released, but she could not. This was the trap. If she did anything, anything at all, that thread would snap. And Elijah would be impaled. He would not survive. One of Eleanor's hands was lifted, like a puppeteer controlling the thread. Her other hand trembled at her side, while blood ran down her nose. Sweat covered her face, but there was a smug look on her face.

Eleanor threw her head back and let out a piercing, triumphant laugh that cut through the roar of the storm outside. “Did you really think I was so foolish?” she sneered. “The genuine case was taken aboard Marcus’s ship long before you disabled its systems. He boarded a motor launch and is already heading toward the rendezvous coordinates to meet The Architect. You have wasted your time chasing me! The game is already lost!” It was a moment of apparent victory for the villainess but Liora quickly turned the tables. “You think you’ve won, Eleanor?” Liora raised her waterproof mobile phone high in the air.

Eleanor said keeping a straight face. " What are you insinuating?" " That you are not fit to be called a mother. Besides your hands are filled with people's innocent blood so I won't like your baby to contaminate it from you" Eleanor said, keeping an eye contact with me. The doctor whispers to Eleanor and she nods her head. As the doctor left my mind went to what Eleanor said, my hand began to shiver. I have killed people all because of the position of a Luna. I allow my tears to flow without minding that Eleanor was present then I raised my head only to see the deaf and dumb lady.

I managed to rasp, my vision swimming. She didn't answer immediately. The air in the cell felt like it was ionising, charged with a toxic mixture of ancient grief and fresh blood. Eleanor’s movements were sickeningly methodical. She peeled off her leather gloves finger by finger, then shed her jacket to reveal a black dress that clung to her like a second skin. In any other life, she would have looked breathtaking. Here, she looked like a high priestess of slaughter. "Eleanor," I managed to rasp, the metallic taste of blood thick on my tongue. "What about Aria? How is she? Where is...?"

She looked back and saw that when the fire burned out and the puff of smoke disappeared, a smaller figure emerged. It looked.. human. Ellaine was surprised. It was a woman, descending directly to their ship with a accelerating speed. She flipped on suspended air before finally landing on their ship. “You called for me, Finrod the elf Prince?” She was a tall woman, with a long, royal blue hair, and big eyes of the same color. Ellaine whispered against Finrod’s ear, “Where did the dragon go?” “There, right in front of us.” Ellaine followed the direction of his eyes and ended up looking at the female stranger. “This world doesn’t fail to surprise me.” She remarked.

Eleanor’s POV Freedom is not a plateau; it is a cliff. When I turned the Master Key and initiated the Seed Protocol, I expected the world to wobble, but I didn't expect it to shatter into a million jagged pieces of self-interest. For the first time in my life, I am not "CEO Richard." I am Eleanor, a woman living in the Coastal Hub of Cornwall, three hundred miles away from the empty, hollowed-out spire of the Richard Tower. We chose a cottage by the sea, a place where the air smells of brine and gorse, far from the "Resonance" that nearly consumed us.

In the hallway, Eleanor sat in a leather armchair, her phone pressed to her ear. "Yes," she said into the receiver. "I want a private investigator on Marie. I want to know every person she’s spoken to in the last seven years. And I want the medical records for a 'Jameson' girl born at this hospital. There’s a scent in the air, and it smells like my son’s misplaced guilt." She hung up, her face a mask of cold, calculating perfection. The sterilized war had begun, and Eleanor Vance didn't plan on taking any prisoners.

"I know you're fighting to reach me. Just hold on a little longer." The memory blooms occupied a special section at the heart of the greenhouse, their crystalline petals now dulled to the color of old bones. According to Sarah's research, these were Eleanor's greatest achievement: living repositories that had stored sixty years of Damien's humanity, preserving every moment of compassion, every choice to protect rather than prey. Now they looked as lifeless as everything else in the dying garden.

she howled, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shielded her face with her palm. My gaze went to Eleanor. She looked worried and softly asked, "Darling, are you all right?" Her voice was honeyed and smooth. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I couldn't possibly tell them what I saw in the bathroom. "Eleanor, can I speak with you in private?" Mother, still reeling, turned her furious gaze on Eleanor.