Dr. Brigid Tenenbaum, older now, stands hunched over a microscope, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusts the lens. Her once-dark hair is streaked with gray, tied back in a low, tired ponytail. A long coat hangs loosely on her thin frame, sleeves pushed to her elbows.
Behind her, a Little Sister sleeps curled up on a cot, murmuring softly in her dreams. The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic tick of the metronome she uses to calm the girls during detox.
Brigid doesn't look up as she speaks into a worn tape recorder on the desk.
"Subject 004–Delta has survived contact with the Vita-Chamber. Remarkable. But it is not just survival—it is connection. Bonded not only to Eleanor... but to all of them. Like... a mirror for their pain."
She stops. Her fingers hover midair, frozen above a slide.
Her voice lowers
"They need someone to fight for them. Someone cleaner than I ever was."
She clicks the recorder off. Her hand lingers near a syringe, filled with a silvery, churning liquid—an experimental version of the reversion serum. She doesn’t touch it.
Instead, she walks to the cot. Kneels slowly, her joints stiff. Brushes a strand of hair from the Little Sister’s cheek.
"I will not let them continuing my sins...."
A distant explosion rumbles through the sea. Tenenbaum looks up, toward the sound. Her jaw sets.
"Rapture is dying again. And I am still here… cleaning up the blood."
She stands. Grabs her coat. And begins preparing another syringe.