The Chronicles of Supremacy Prologue: I'm Andrew Ryan and I'm here to ask you a question: Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his own brow? No, says the man in Washington. It belongs to the poor. No says the man in the Vatican. It belongs to God. No, says the man in Moscow. It belongs to everyone. I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose… RAPTURE. A city where the artist would fear no censor. Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small. And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well. These words once uttered by Andrew Ryan, died like his dream, Rapture lies in ruins beneath the sea. And the sea keeps it. But every good man has a backup plan. About eighty miles north of Rapture, Andrew Ryan had a 2nd city constructed, after he found the first to be a success. The new city was named Supremacy, and was smaller than Rapture, but just as productive. Between scientific advancements, artistic revelations, and commercial business, it was a thriving organism. But the same fate befell it as its predecessor. All the inhabitants of the city became addicted to the plasmids of Ryan Industries, and soon later were mutated by them. The city fell apart from the inside, but the few people that refrained from taking the plasmids in the first place went into hiding, hoping for a chance to someday escape. Scattered throughout the city are small groups of armed civilians, planning for an escape, for salvation, for hope. Of course, hope comes in many forms, some of which are unexpected. For the first time in years, Will opened his eyes. He was suspended in a tank, and bubbles rose through the liquid. Will was breathing through a tube, and didn't have any clothes. He could see outside the tube, the room was lit, but it had been ransacked. Will pushed on the tube's hatch in front of him, but it didn't give way. So he braced his back on the other side of the tube and kicked. This time, the hatch busted open. The tube's liquid poured out, and Will fell to the concrete floor. Getting up was a task for Will, but eventually he stood. He stumbled over to a table and found a pair of pants and shirt to put on. They were probably his, but he couldn't remember, he wasn't really sure of anything. He forgot his friends, his family, and his past. All he knew was his name, William Davi. Wanting to find someone to speak with, Will walked over to the metal door marked Securis, and watched it slide upward. The room in front of him was desolate, except for an overturned table and some storage cabinets that had already been plundered. Not sure of what had happened, Will stepped over to one of the cabinets. Inside, he found some tools and an empty hypodermic needle. Suddenly, a voice came from outside the room. It was muffled, but it sure didn't sound friendly. Will ducked behind the overturned table and picked up the wrench he found in the cabinet. Clutching it hard, the door slid up and open. In the breech stood a stooped figure, with torn clothes and features deformed. He wielded a rusty crowbar and stepped forward. The door closed behind him, and he said, "Come out, I'm hungry for Adam."