“Your name” the man begins with an exhausted tone, “is Songbird. Song. Bird. Do you understand that?”
He steps closer to me, his heavy footsteps echoing in the large room. He walks a slow circle around my body. It is a large circle. Am I large? I realize I do not know.
“Are you listening to me?” he asks. Exhaustion has evidently turned to impatience. He taps on my eye rapidly. “Songbird. Songbird! That is your name. Do. You. Understand.”
I respond with a loud, high-pitched shriek. It shocks not only myself, but the man as well. He jumps back and begins to scribble on his clipboard.
“My, that was much louder than expected,” he continues to scribble. “Perhaps we should find some other way for you to communicate. Let’s see, let’s see . . . Can you blink?”
Blink? I can do that, I think.
“One for yes and two for no, if you will,” the man instructs.
I blink – once for yes. The man seems pleased. He scribbles more enthusiastically than before.
“I must say, you are already far more impressive than our previous attempts. This is wonderful news – wonderful indeed!” The man walks to the far corner of the room and grabs a chair. He rolls it to a spot in front of me and sits down, wiping his brow with a kerchief. “I suppose that with your identity having been established, you would like to know mine.”
I blink ‘yes.’
He chuckles. “Yes, it does seem only fair. My name is Jeremiah Fink, and this here is my factory.” He holds out his arms and spins once in his chair. “Well, one room in my factory, if I were to be more specific. Regardless, this is my building, and in my building, I like to build things. And you know something?” Mr. Fink stands up and walks behind me. I find that I cannot turn my head to watch. I wonder briefly if I should be concerned.
Fink returns before I can decide, and with him is a large piece of paper. “I built you!” he exclaims proudly and holds the paper up for me to see. It appears to be blueprints for a strange creature. Something akin to a bird, but also a man – and far too broad and hunched to appropriately be described as either.
Mr. Fink maneuvers himself so that he is standing next to my face while still keeping the schematics in full view. “That’s you, all right,” he says with a whistle. “Artwork courtesy of yours truly, of course. Although I must admit I did get some help with the initial concept.”
As I stare at the blueprints thrust before me, a dozen emotions run through my mind. But the strongest, by far, is anger. This should not be; I am sure of it. I should not be a . . . a hybrid behemoth. This is a sin – to God, for sure – but most of all to me. I struggle to move away from Mr. Fink, but I can barely move an inch in any direction. I am strapped down, I finally realize.
I being to flail about harder, hoping in vain that I can loosen at least one bond. Inhuman shrieks escape my mouth – my beak – as I flounder. “I wouldn’t bother with that nonsense,” Mr. Fink says as he pats my head. It could almost be mistaken as a compassionate gesture.
“You aren’t getting out of here until you learn the rules. And if you want to learn the rules then you have got to stop that horrendous racket.” He returns to his chair, still admiring his blasphemous schematics.
I continue my futile attempt to escape for a minute longer before finally accepting that he is right. The straps are too strong and too well bound for me to break. Fink stares at me cautiously, watching to see if I will reattempt my struggle. I don’t.
“Very good . . . very good. You truly are a remarkable creature. Far more intelligent than we initially supposed. I almost feel guilt over what happened to the creations before you. But no time to dwell on the past! What matters now is the future – your future to be exact.”
“You were created for one purpose. To protect the precious Lamb of Columbia. Now don’t be mistaken, this is no ordinary lamb to be sure. She is the savior of our city. The holy seed of our prophet. And she is one of the most important people of the city – second only to her magnificent father, Zachary Comstock. Although I do personally believe that I am a very close third . . .”
“The Lamb – Elizabeth is her given name – she is still very young. Just three years old if I am not mistaken. And as such she is especially susceptible to the evils of the world. So her father has deigned to keep her in a tower, safe and secluded. Just her and her guardian. And that guardian, as I am sure you can figure, is you.”
Mr. Fink pauses his story and wipes his brow once more. I use the small break to digest all he has said. I was made to watch over a little girl, to keep her safe. But safe from what, I wonder. Who would try to harm a child?
“Well, that’s the grand plan,” Fink resumes. “if you ask me, it sounds like an easy gig. There isn’t a single sole in Columbia who dislikes that sweet child. But you know how protective fathers can be.” He chuckles once more.
“Now, try as I might, I cannot make you cooperate. You have your own free will so the choice is 100% yours. But – and I suggest you pay close attention to this next part – if you do not choose to oblige, things will end quite poorly for you. Mr. Comstock has paid quite a hefty sum for a protector, and if it isn’t you then it can just as easily be the next creature. Personally, now, I think you have what it takes. I wasn’t being kind when I said you were the best of the bunch so far. It would be a shame to have to scrap you. But that does not mean I won’t do it.”
Fink stares hard at me for a moment. “So, what do you say? Will you do it? Will you guard Elizabeth with your life?”
I weigh my options. Protect the child or be destroyed? It takes me no time to decide.
Yes, I blink. I will be her Songbird.


Profile and Story by Calypso
Character based on Songbird from Bioshock Infinite
Background from Colourlovers