Robert Cadwell - Trapped in Columbia

A man called Robert Cadwell. Scientist, inventor, responsible for the fiber the balloons are made of that keep Columbia in the air. He was a very reclusive man. Even when Columbia was still an attraction, and he was called out to meet the masses that were curious to meet him, he wouldn't come out of his office. With good reason. Cadwell was not like the the other scientist, hell, he wasn't like most people that visited Columbia. He was a negro. A class of person that would be spit on by the people. So that's why he remained cloistered in his office. Surrounded by towering piles of paper, beakers, and ingredients spanning from the most generic to the one of a kind.

His superiors didn't mind his "skin condition" as long as he cranked out the big ideas and wasn't too eager to meet the press. He contributed a few failed vigors and even tried one to rid himself of his darkened pigmentation. He did get one right, called it Bad Mojo, which was a type of powder that was blown from the hand and induced hallucinogenic effects on people. The effects were temporary but an effective way to draw attention away from yourself.

When the Vox Populi revolted and gained power, Cadwell feared tremendously for his life. He tried contacting his superiors but they were busy saving their own necks. No time for a lowly negro like him. He barricaded himself in his building which luckily produced guns as well, and concocted ways to defend himself against anyone who wanted to do him harm. If word got out that he was a negro, the entire Vox would fall down on him, hard. Even if he did have extensive knowledge, it didn't matter to the Vox. Their motive was clear cut, and no amount of fancy words or scientific breakthroughs would stop them.

He needs to find a way off Columbia, since he knows it's only a matter of time before the Vox find him and tear him apart. He could take a few down but not an army. He knows this and he prays every night when the sun goes down, and the taunting laughter and horrified screams fill the air of Columbia, that if he is to die tonight, to let it be quick.

Audio Diary : Anne Culpepper - Mockingbird

Ryan dragged me down here because he told me how, grandiose my talents were and how I would, entertain the masses with my wit and charm but, so far it's been empty promises. No one in Rapture wants to hear my babbling. They're too preoccupied with test tubes and not drowning. I knew that Rapture was meant to be a utopia but, what's a utopia without a little class?!

Audio Diary : James Walker - Melting Tunnels

Dammit I knew this would happen! Work started on the Hephaestus tunnels today but instantly stopped when the nearby vent decided to, well, vent. Melted the support beams like ice. Luckily no one was melted along with the pipes, but we need a way to bypass these burst, or else Rapture is going to look like a damn Dali painting.

Audio Diary : James Walker - Back From Work

Back from Hephaestus after drawing up plans for a tunnel, connecting it to Neptune's Bounty. I told Ryan that, the volcanic activity would make it too risky. He just said "The chain should always move, but it should never rattle." whatever the hell that means. I don't know what time it is, Lori is still sleeping and so is  Tommy. Sometimes I wonder why brought them down here....~*

Audio Diary : James Walker - Lunch In Arcadia

Today on my day off I took Lori and Tommy to Arcadia. The trees were still abit small but growing nicely. That botanist Langford is a real whiz at growing plants 'round Rapture. I watched Tommy play with the other kids; smiling, laughing, I haven't seen him that happy since those sunny Sunday afternoons we spent in Central Park. I think to myself, maybe Rapture isn't such a bad place after all...~*

James Walker - Sundays In Rapture

The Sundays in Rapture are like holidays,everyone's out and enjoying themselves whether it be at Fort Frolic watching a performance or at Dionysus Park shoppin'. At least Ryan isn't too tight belt about Sundays being for resting. Still with all the setting up and building to do, I'm afraid my Sundays are numbered..~*