When this undersea utopia fell apart, he’d be there, with a whole society to feast on. But a “utopia” was pure opportunity for a man like him. Look at the Soviets-all those fine words about the proletariat had turned into gulags and breadlines. Talking to the men who picked up the fish for Rapture’s food supply, Fontaine had confirmed that Ryan had indeed built some gigantic underwater habitat, a kind of free-market utopia-and Fontaine knew what happened with utopias. Just being on this damn tub was too much like work. Fontaine looked up at the streaming charcoal-colored clouds, wondered if it was going to storm again. Was it worth giving up Gorland-becoming Fontaine? A city under the sea. Made a witch’s tit seem like a hot toddy. “Standing at the prow of the pitching deck of the trawler, unscrewing the top of his flask, Frank Fontaine asked himself: Am I after fish-or a wild goose? Sure, he always dreamed about a big-paying long con, but this one was threatening to go on indefinitely-and though it was afternoon and supposedly summer, it was cold as a son of a bitch out here.
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