A (Bio)Shocking Turn of Events

43 years. I can’t believe it’s only been 43 years. Most people would agree I’ve lived a full life, but I’m not most people.

In fact, I doubt I could be considered “people” at all. After all the splicing i’ve gone through, I’m definitely far from human, but what counts as a person? Andrew Ryan would say that what makes a man is the ability to make choices, and that our choices make us who we are. But what about life? If you live a life shorter than anyone else’s, does that make you less important? The girls don’t think so.

And by girls I mean Mary, Nancy, Carol, Lisa, and Betty. The former Little Sisters who I saved, and who kept in touch with me ever since the day I showed them the sky. They loved me like the family I never had. I watched them grow up, and unfortunately, they watched me grow up too. Stupid Lot 111.

I guess I should probably explain myself before I continue. My name is Jack, Jack Ryan I guess. Never really did have a last name, but Andrew Ryan is technically my dad. Unlike most kids, I was born and raised in a lab. I was the backup plan of Frank Fontaine, should things go sour between him and Ryan. At infancy, I was given a regular dose of Lot 111, a plasmid that sped up my aging process. How fast did I age? I had the physique of a 19 year old man at age 1.

The affects wore off of course, since I would need a regular dosage of it to keep aging at the same rate. If I kept aging that fast without the stuff, I’d be dead long before now. Not that it matters, I look about age 80 now, so my aging only slowed down so much. But I could care less about my “age”. The only reason I know any of this confusing crap is because the girls insist on celebrating my “birth day”, or as I like to call it, the “I saved your lives, so you’re looking for an excuse to throw me a party” anniversary. It’s been 39 years since I saved them from Rapture, and they still think I deserve praise. I would object to this on the spot, if it weren’t for the fact I love them so much.

Well, that, and I’m bored as hell in this damn hospital bed. Apparently I had a heart attack a few days ago, and the doctors said I had about a month to live. The girls, or course, want to be there for me in my last hours. Sadly, visiting hours were already over, Betty and Nancy had already visited, and I was left here to be bored.

I bet you’re wondering why I’m writing about this boring bull crap when I could be writing about Rapture, and how I saved the girls. But, the media has had me tell and re-tell that story so many times, I just can’t stand talking about it. Besides, you could just look up some documentaries about it if you really gave a crap.

I’m writing about the story that nobody will ever hear about, and that the girls will think was the fantasy of a senile old man. This is the story of how I ended up in a world filled with ponies.

…

OK, so you’re still reading. That means you either want to see if I’m just screwing with you, or you want to know just how crazy I’ve become. Either way, you’re listening. Now then, the story starts 3 days before my 44th birth day.