Ray: Alright, the combatants are set. Let’s settle this debate once and for all.
Steel: It’s time for a DEATH BATTLE!!!
The city in the sky was in ruins. Just a few weeks ago, it had been bright as the sunny sky that was common and regular. Now it was bleak and gray as the storm clouds all around. The town square had been bustling with people, businesses open and booming. Now all had fled, leaving buildings and business stands long abandoned. What had once been a beautiful town that one would deem “painting worthy” was now a ruined, burning, and torn landscape.
And yet two people dared to brave the harsh elements in spite of the environmental hazards and the threat of the people responsible: the Vox Populi.
One was a tall man who had obviously seen better days judging by his untidy hair and beard stubble. He was dressed in a button-up shirt, sleeveless jacket, pinstripe trousers, and a tie that looked very hastily-thrown-on. On his belt were a few gun holsters and an odd contraption that looked like a cross between a buzz-saw and a grappling hook.
The other person couldn’t have been more different: a young woman with chocolate-brown, neck-length hair, a blue dress and white corset, and looked like she had been through Hell and gone back from it. One could see it in her eyes.
“Booker?” she asked, warranting a turn of his head, “Where do you think everyone will go?”
Booker could only shrug and answer, “Anyplace the Vox Populi ain’t. It’d be wise if we did the same thing.”
They continued down the ruined street, eyes and ears ever alert in case some Vox soldier decided they were worthy target practice. It only made Booker’s grip on his handgun tighten.
Then something interesting happened.
The two came across a slit of fluctuating energy. If one gazed at it long enough, they could see a sort of monochrome world of sorts in its depths. It was almost like a hole that had been torn in reality.
“This the tear we’re looking for?” Booker asked.
“I don’t know. It feels different, but familiar at the same time, as though it’s somehow connected to us.” Elizabeth answered, “It feels deep and dank where everything else...didn’t.”
“Well, only one way to find out. Let’s take a look.” Booker said.
Elizabeth, hesitantly, nodded. She then put her arms forward, as though imagining putting her fingertips into the tear in reality, hooking them in, and then, with a sign of strain, pulled with all her might.
In a flash of white light and a whirling vortex of energy, the hole widened and the monochrome world was no longer monochrome. What was inside was a dark room from which came sounds of dripping water and groaning metal that seemed on the verge of falling apart.
Booker and Elizabeth tilted their heads in confusion as a completely different sound came through: a roar that was simultaneously inhuman and yet too human for comfort. Alongside that roar was a voice: a human one that seemed to belong to a little girl. Yet it was shouting orders and doing so with bloodlust beyond its age.
“Kill him! Kill him, Mr. B!”
Then something came through the portal: a person. In particular, a young man with a white hand-knitted sweater stained with the obvious crimson dye of blood, denim work pants, and a shotgun in his hand. He must have come through in the hopes of escape or tactical retreat.
What he was retreating from quickly followed him and elicited a shriek from Elizabeth as it thundered through the tear with a roar.
The creature didn’t appear human, was taller than most men, and wore what appeared to be a diving suit of sorts. Its limbs and structure were twisted and disproportionate, and on its right hand was a giant drill coated in dried blood. Illuminating from the helmet’s sights were blood-red lights, indicating fury and bloodlust.
Just when Booker had whipped out his pistol and readied to fire, something else followed the beast. It was fortunate the beast was focusing on the newcomer, for what came next...didn’t frighten either Booker or Elizabeth that much. It DID make them raise a brow and feel uneasy.
It was a girl no older than six years old and wearing a pink dress, but looked very, VERY inhuman. Its skin was pale, its eyes empty and glowing in the gloom of the night, and it carried a strange syrringe-like device in its hand.
Booker kept his pistol close, but couldn’t help but ask, in a low and quiet voice, “What the hell is this?”
The monster, known as a Big Daddy, rumbled after the newcomer, who sprinted a good distance away, then turned and pointed his shotgun at the beast. Just as it reared back its drill, now spinning and emitting the sound of fast-moving, grinding metal, the man fired at its deformed-looking head.
The creature reared back, clutching the wound, then fell over on its back. When Booker took a closer look at the beast, he realized that it appeared to have sustained serious injury before coming through the tear. Parts of its suit were charred and chunks of its flesh appeared torn off, dyeing some parts of its diving suit red with blood.
The girl’s glowing eyes widened in shock as it scurried over to the Big Daddy. “Mr. B! Wake up! WAKE UP!” she bawled, falling to her knees and putting her face in her hands.
The man panted, then approached the two of them. Booker, though curious about what was to happen, lowered his gun slightly. As he watched, the man picked up the girl, who struggled in protest at his actions…
Then he plunged his hand into the girl’s guts, and the Little Sister’s screams in agony mixed with Elizabeth’s shriek in surprise. It had been one thing to see an armed adult killed, but a child…
The man retracted his hand, a blood-red...something writhing about in his grip. His work done, he let the husk of the girl fall to the ground, looked over at the tear and had just stepped towards it when someone spoke to him.
“Hold it right there!”
The man, Jack, turned in surprise to see Booker pointing what appeared to be a Mauser C96 pistol at him. The look on Booker’s face indicated that he, personally, would like nothing more than to put a 9mm bullet through this man’s face.
“What in hell did you just do?” Booker asked, face hard as stone, “And I would answer REALLY fast if I were you.”
Jack winced and had just thought of going back through the tear when the silvery portal between realities collapsed on itself. Now faced with no method of returning home and a guy with a gun pointed at his head, Jack turned. He swapped out his shotgun and took out a handgun of his own: a revolver with a strange contraption on its right side, feeding it more ammo than the standard six-bullet cylinder.
“What I’m doing is none of your business.” Jack answered, a British accent very noticeable in his voice, “Now open that...THING and get me the hell out of here.”
The barrel of Booker’s handgun never wavered, but he spoke from the corner of his mouth. “Elizabeth, things are going to get ugly REAL fast. Find a safe place and hide ‘til this is all over. I’ll find you when this is sorted out.”
Elizabeth hesitated, then ran back the way they came. When her footsteps died away, Booker said to Jack, “You’ve got until the count of three to start talking.”
Jack peered down the sights of his handgun. Booker mimicked him.
Jack pulled back the hammer of his revolver, readying for the inevitable firefight. Booker's frown deepened. Looked like things were going to get ugly after all.
Booker, being the more experienced gunfighter and former soldier, fired first. Three bullets flew from the barrel of his pistol, and all three were direct hits. One hit Jack in his left shoulder, another grazed the side of his face, and another still left a sizeable gash on his opposite arm.
Then, to Booker’s shock, Jack still remained on his feet in spite of his injuries. He had half-expected those three shots to end the fight there and then.
Clearly he was wrong.
Jack pointed his own handgun and fired three shots of his own. To his own shock, the bullets hit Booker, but on impact, there came three flashes of yellow instead of three bursts of blood.
After that exchange of fire, both took off for cover as they didn’t want to risk serious injury. While behind their respective covers, Booker merely took a quick breather and allowed his electromagnetic shield to regenerate, which it did in less than five seconds.
Around that same time, Jack had taken a medical kit from his hammerspace pockets and set to patching up his bullet wounds. Once they had been properly bandaged up and sterilized, he swapped out his handgun for his trusted Tommy Gun. Behind the cover a stone’s throw away, Booker had a similar idea, pulling out the standard machine gun of the Columbian Army.
Both emerged and rained bullets, ducking behind whatever cover they could to avoid bullets. When Booker’s gun clicked empty, he scrambled to replace the clip. By the time he did, though, he only had time to peer out from around his cover only to duck back behind it as Jack almost put a few bullets in his face. It nicked his electromagnetic shield, but he managed to escape serious injury.
Booker needed to change tactics a bit. He fired a few shots to shake Jack up, which worked, forcing him to hide behind a corner, then took off like a madman down the ruined streets. Jack fired after him, missing him until the gun clicked empty, then cursed and took off after him.
Booker turned and barrelled into a long-abandoned bar. It smelled of booze and had the incessant buzzing that was pocket-swarms of flies around uneaten food on plates sitting in front of corpses.
Years as a soldier getting him used to the horrific stench of gore and death kept him from losing his lunch altogether.
Knowing he had to find cover and fast, Booker hid behind the bar counter and spanned its length, looking for something that could help. It came when he spied a shotgun and a case of ammo stashed in a shelf along the counter’s inside.
Booker took the shotgun without a second’s hesitation and set to loading it with utmost haste. He had just shoved the last round in when he heard the telltale footsteps of shoes on the floorboards. And when Booker deemed the footsteps “too close for comfort”, he emerged and took a shot at Jack.
Only a mad duck to his right kept Jack’s head firmly upon his shoulders and he raised his left hand. Booker only had a passing glance at it, but saw all he needed to: that Jack’s hand was glowing like open flame.
The instant Booker’s head was under the cover of the bar table, the sound of snapping fingers was heard and the cabinet behind Booker burst into flame for a brief moment. It was as though it had been hit by a fireball.
Not wanting to risk getting caught between a fiery wall and a hard place, Booker swapped out his shotgun for his machine gun, ditching his handgun in the process, then ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He turned occasionally to give Jack a volley fire, hearing the bullets from Jack’s own machine gun whistling past him, then thanked whatever God was listening when he found a back exit.
Booker ran from the bar and further into the ruins of the town. His eyes were scanning the area around him, looking for anything that would prove useful to him. His search proved fruitful for he trod upon the body of a Vox Populi soldier. In the corpse’s cold grip was a carbine-like gun, but with a differently-shaped barrel and red tape strapped to it; a means of identifying just what group that gun belonged to.
His machine gun low on ammo, Booker took the gun. Still pretty heavy, so odds were that it had ammo to spare.
Jack had just turned a corner when three bullets peppered him from the side. Caught off guard, but not badly injured, Jack turned and returned fire with his Tommy Gun, forcing Booker back behind the cover in the form of a crashed Comstock Airship.
Taking quick cover inside the wreckage of a building, Jack decided that if bullets wouldn’t work, then something else would have to do. He put up his left hand and aimed it at the place where he saw Booker…
Booker was about to peer out and check to see if his opponent made the fatal blunder of coming back out when he heard something. It sounded like the buzzing of an entire swarm of insects. But these were not the scattered sounds of a small group of flies. It sounded a lot more organized, indicated a more bugs in the swarm by the volume, and it was getting closer.
His eyes widened. They weren’t flies...they were BEES.
The horde of buzzing insects swarmed around Booker’s cover and, in seconds, he found himself getting pricked and stung by the swarm. He flailed his arms wildly, trying to swat a few away, but his sounds of struggle and pain, so far, alerted Jack to the fact that his plan had worked.
Jack moved quickly to find a good firing spot, then shouldered his machine gun and fired at Booker. The bullets bounced off the shield surrounding his body...until the shield itself shattered like some kind of energy-based golden glass.
Booker definitely felt that and some of Jack’s bullets riddled his body, drawing blood. After finding more sufficient cover and inspecting the many bee stings and bullet wounds, Booker knew he had to retreat and replan fast. And he decided that the best way to do that was to introduce the Legend of Rapture to a few of his own little buddies. Booker flexed his left hand, mentioned hand momentarily growing long, talon-like claws and black feathers from the wrist up. Then he put his hand forward and a strange splotch appeared on the ground in front of him; one that had black feathers floating around it.
The trap set, Booker took off, making very sure that Jack spotted him. Yet before Jack could get him down his sights, Booker was already turning a corner and gone before Jack could so much as get a bullet downwind. Jack took off after him and, in doing so...trod on the patch of ground with feathers on it.
It happened so suddenly. One minute, Jack felt he had Booker on the ropes and was hunting him down, the next, he was being mobbed by several flapping, cawing, pecking, and scratching blackbirds. That piece of ground he stepped on was a Vigor Trap, this one in particular being called “Murder of Crows”.
If Jack had known the name of this Vigor, he would definitely understand the “murder” part. The crows were tearing away at his flesh with beak and talon alike and were flying away so fast that, when he reacted, he only exposed himself more and more.
Eventually, the crows tired of Jack. Whether or not this was the result of the Vigor wearing off or the crows eating their fill of his flesh was still a mystery. Jack growled in disdain as he used another medical kit to patch himself up. This was no death trap, it was a decoy to distance Booker from him. Needless to say that it worked and Jack was paying the consequence for it.
Elsewhere in the city, Booker darted through the streets looking for anything that could help him. It came in the form of a police carriage fueled by what were once lifelike mechanical horses fueled by the electrical Shock Jockey. A cop’s corpse lay on the ground with a bleeding stump where its head should have been, but Booker’s attention flew too quickly to the gun in his hand: a revolver.
In this more open part of the city, a shotgun was of little use. The Hand Cannon would fare a lot better with similar stopping power and better distance.
Booker snatched the gun and left the shotgun, then went to the back of the carriage to inspect it. Crates lined the inside of it and, after prying one open, he thanked whatever God in heaven was smiling down on him; a medical kit lay waiting for him.
Booker set to repairing his wounds and felt a more invigorating energy as he felt his shield finish rebuilding itself. He had just gotten past the worst of the pain when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Jack. The man was still missing a few pieces of skin and was bloodied from the surprise of flesh-eating birds he had left him.
A split-second later, Booker made a mad dive for cover. He had just landed on his stomach when the carriage went up in an explosion of splintering wood, shards of metal, and a ball of fire.
Judging by the fact that he thought to himself, “How deep are this guy’s pockets?” Booker knew he was still alive. Recollecting his senses, he looked out from under the rubble to see his opponent now had a grenade launcher.
If his opponent thought him dead, then perhaps this was the time to hit him with a few explosive tricks of his own.
Booker focused his mind and his left hand turned the color of fire. He flung out his arm and a ball of flame flew through the air like a fastball. It exploded like a grenade, catching Jack completely by surprise. Yet even as he jumped away from it, smaller fireballs burst from the explosion and went up like fireworks.
In all the commotion, Booker got to his feet and sprinted away just as Jack had avoided the explosions. He saw the Pinkerton Agent running and gave chase, grenade launcher in tow.
Booker found a dock and, for a brief second, thought that he was trapped. That is, until he saw a series of railways that wound their way around the town square he occupied. He reached for his belt with his left hand, the other keeping a firm grip on his hand cannon, and pulled out the go-to gadget when it came to traveling these sky rails: a device that had a grip like that of a gun, but had three backward-curving hooks that spun like a wheel.
Jack had just gotten Booker back in his sights when he saw him actually jump in the air, much higher than any regular human could, then latch onto one of the rails with the Sky-Hook. The minute he landed, he took off like a rollercoaster and in seconds, was out of Jack’s sight again.
Jack growled in disdain, then ran in the direction he had seen Booker go. He was going to catch him sooner or later.
Suddenly, a series of gunshots rained down from the sky and Jack only just managed to avoid them. He so narrowly avoided them that, had he taken another step, he would have gotten a three-round burst in his foot. He looked up to see Booker riding on the sky-rails and using his Burstgun to rain bullets down on him. In response, Jack swapped out for his machine gun and returned fire until his gun clicked empty.
Taking cover, Jack set to reloading his gun. He would need a bit more bite, it seemed, so he set to reloading it with a drum filled with special ammo: anti-personnel bullets.
Booker sailed along the rails until he spotted a ledge on a high building. With a flex of his body, he flung himself off it and, despite falling from at least fifty feet, landed without driving his femurs into his spleen. Looking around, he spotted a barrel of sniper rifles and swapped out his near-empty burstgun for it. Eye lined up with the scope, he searched high and low for his opponent.
If Jack were to find himself in Booker’s sights, he would be a dead man even if he was at full health.
Jack continued down the streets of Columbia, searching high and low for his enemy. That was when he noticed something peculiar.
It was quiet…TOO quiet. Nothing had tried to kill him for minutes now.
Jack almost turned a corner when a few thoughts occurred to him. First was that the area he was about to turn into was a wide and open space. Second was that, maybe Booker wanted him to let his guard down and that this space would be ideal to kill him there and then. Last but not least was that, if he were to do it, a good height would be ideal.
Jack focused his mind on a new plasmid that he thought would do a good job of helping find Booker’s location, then swapped out his machine gun for his grenade launcher. Instead of grenades, though, he shoved a rocket in the now-open ammo container.
With Target Dummy now fresh in his mind, Jack put a hand forward and a grayish figure appeared before him.
Booker fired, aiming right at the head. Nothing happened and the figure stayed the same as though it hadn’t even been fired upon. Confused as to what the heck was going on, Booker fired again. Direct hit…nothing.
Then it hit him. That was a decoy and Booker knew that he had just given away his location. He made a running jump towards the ledge just as a rocket collided with the building he had just settled on. The blast wave still hit him hard enough to send him tumbling across the ground with an audible “oof”.
Just as Booker got up, he saw that Jack had him in his sights again and had just thought about firing the grenade launcher when Booker, on pure instinct, whipped out his hand cannon and fired.
Jack fell flat out on his back, clutching a bullet wound that hurt like HELL. How could a gun that looked no different from his revolver do that much damage?
Jack had little time to think about it because Booker had used this moment of pause to raid a dead Columbian soldier’s corpse and swap out his sniper rifle for a much more practical carbine.
Jack focused his energy, then put his hand forward. A blast of wind sent Booker flying through the air as the Sonic Boom Plasmid worked its magic. Bad news? Booker had lost sight of Jack and had all the wind blasted from his lungs on impact. Good news? This did give him the opportunity to find more weapons and items.
Jack crawled away towards the cover of a building and immediately set to work. First, he patched up his wound as best he could. That little sucker had one serious kick and, even when he used his best medicinal techniques, he still felt the sting of the hand cannon. After that, he reached into his hammerspace pockets and dug out what looked like an oversized hypodermic needle filled with a fluorescent blue liquid. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, he jammed the needle into his opposite arm and pumped its contents into his bloodstream, restoring his EVE. It hurt, but it was necessary if he wanted any hope of surviving this battle.
Elsewhere, Booker was scouring the area for anything that could prove useful. It came in the form of a phial filled with bright-blue liquid that had an unnatural glow to it. Salts…YES! He had been overusing it a bit and needed all the aid he could get. Seizing the bottle, he uncorked it, and consumed its contents. After draining the bottle in seconds, he felt a newfound strength return to him: an itch to get his vigors working again. For a little more precaution, he patched up what wounds he had received.
Booker fixed the butt of his carbine to his shoulder and slowly emerged from the alleyway he landed in. His eyes landed on the trail of blood. Guy was stupid enough to not cover his tracks?
Booker kept the barrel of his carbine forward and his finger on the trigger as he made his way toward the building.
Jack sprang and Booker fired. The carbine bullet missed as Jack jumped past it and utilized another Plasmid. Just as he touched down and Booker had readjusted his aim, a metal panel that had once been used to lock parts of the floating city together sailed through the air and halted to hover just in front of Jack. The bullets ricocheted off the surface and, with another flex of his mind, Jack hurled the panel at Booker, who dove to the side to evade it.
Then Jack opened fire with his machine gun. At first, the bullets harmlessly bounced off Booker’s shield, but the spray eventually broke through and one hit Booker dead in his right side. The pain was so intense that Booker almost passed out and staggered back in agony. As only a few more bullets were put through his body, he realized he had to do something fast.
Booker tapped into another vigor and put his hand forward, a yellowish-orange energy sphere collecting in his palm.
Jack had this. So long as he pumped this guy with anti-personnel bullets, he would have a fast victory.
So, after almost emptying an entire magazine on him, why the heck was Booker still standing? It hit him when he looked closer. Any bullets fired at Booker were collecting in a strange energy sphere in his palm.
Jack stopped firing and the minute he did, Booker lobbed the sphere at him. On contact, it exploded like a grenade and sent Jack flying backward to land with a dull “thud”.
Now it was Jack’s turn to retreat down an alleyway as Booker gave chase. While on the run, Jack took out a different weapon: a crossbow. Loading it with special bolts, he fired on the run.
Not at Booker, mind you. He fired at the walls. This should throw him off for a while.
Booker had just turned a corner that Jack went down and immediately screeched to a halt. In front of him were about half a dozen tripwires that sparked with electricity. While he would have woven around them, they were at such varying angles and distances apart that it would be impossible to get around them without getting electrocuted.
Booker looked around, then spotted a shortcut: a freight hook. He backed up, then took a running jump and, completely screwing physics over yet again, sailed through the air and latched the sky-hook onto it. He hung for a brief moment, gun at the ready, then he spotted something down on the ground.
Jack. But in his current state, Booker was in no position to do anything to him. The bullets in his body were due testament of that.
Or maybe he just might have to play dirty…
Jack set to reloading his machine gun and was about to ram the drum magazine in when something hit him. So hard did it hit that he actually flew backward, the machine gun slipping free of his grip. He had just gotten back on his feet and pulled a shotgun when Booker, now covered in what appeared to be a whirling wind, charged forward and shoulder-tackled him, knocking him back further. Just as Jack regained his senses, Booker was on him yet again and wrenched the shotgun from his grip, throwing it over a ledge so that it fell to the ocean below.
Jack acted fast and the veins in his left hand glowed an unnatural electric blue. Booker, seeing a similarity between this and other Vigors darted away just as a spear of lightning sailed past his face.
Booker closed the distance yet again, then took the Sky-Hook and smacked Jack across the face with it, leaving a deep wound across his cheek. Jack’s response was simple: take his trusted monkey wrench and swing back at Booker to nail him across the face. Booker spat out a few molars knocked loose, then quickly raised the Sky-Claw to intercept another swing from the wrench. After a brief struggle, both separated and Jack went on the assault again, not wanting Booker to get an upper hand.
From hammerspace, he pulled an odd contraption: a large, bottle-shaped machine with a series of pumps, tanks, and hoses attached to it. Booker didn’t like the looks of it and was wise to bolt away. A moment later and a stream of fire burst from the nozzle of the chemical thrower.
Booker looked back and saw just how short a range this thing had, but had to keep moving back to avoid Jack, who was advancing on him with the stream of fire still flowing. Booker occasionally fired with the carbine, but they were more meant to slow Jack down than to wound/kill him.
The thrower eventually emitted a strange hissing noise and the flames died away. Jack ditched the device altogether. Attempting to reload that monster would be WORSE than disastrous with Booker still packing that hand cannon.
Booker was about to turn around when a blast of cold hit the trashcan to his right. In less than a second, the can was completely engulfed in solid ice. Another burst, this one hot, and an apple stand burst into flame.
By this time, Booker simply had enough playing around with this guy and decided to end it here and now. And he had just the Vigor to do it.
Booker turned and, just as he suspected, Jack was right behind him and was currently reloading his revolver with anti-personnel bullets. He only managed to get one round off when Booker put his hand forward and a shockwave burst from his palm.
Jack found himself jerked into the air and suspended like a marionette. He thrashed around wildly, firing his gun wildly, but only succeeded in tumbling around aimlessly.
Meanwhile, Booker peered down the sight of his hand cannon and fired. One bullet hit Jack in the gut and sent him hovering back a bit. Another hit him and he was backed into a wall.
The last bullet hit him and he fell back to the ground with a lifeless flop, blood slowly pooling around him. Weakly, he looked up to see Booker looking down on him and the look Jack gave him said to him, “what are you waiting for?”
Booker put the barrel of his hand cannon to Jack’s temple, then pulled the trigger. In a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter, it was over.
Booker stepped back, then slowly walked away. He had to find Elizabeth now and had no plans of keeping her waiting.K.O.!!!
Steel: BOOM! Headshot…a point-blank headshot, but still…
Ray: At first glance, it would seem they were evenly matched. Jack’s hammerspace and Booker’s luck matched each other very well, as did their arsenal of plasmids and vigors. However, there are a few defining factors.
Steel: First off, Booker is the more maneuverable and adaptable of the two. He has fought more diverse adversaries and can deal with more types of battlefields. Jack was pretty much limited to the much more enclosed spaces of Rapture, while Booker has done that and open areas at the same time.
Ray: Second is that between Plasmids and Vigors, Vigors are the superior ability to have, having charge abilities and the option to set up traps. Plasmids are practically one-trick ponies compared to them with only about one or two functions each.
Steel: Booker also boasts impressive defenses that Jack would be hard-pressed to counter. Add in a broader arsenal compared to Jack’s much more limited one and enough luck for Booker to find what he’s looking for, and Jack is toast.
Ray: Third is that Booker actually had many ways to easily win the fight. That instance with Bucking Bronco was just one way. Other ways include Undertow to restrain Jack while Booker pumped him with lead…
Steel: Or just use Possession to have Jack end his own life.
Ray: Last but not least is that many of Jack's enemies were either driven to insanity or mindless monsters or machines. Booker, on the other hand, has fought cleverer and trained soldiers combined with enemies that are just as hard to kill as Big Daddies like Firemen, Patriots, and Handy Men.
Steel: In the end, Jack fell deeper than Rapture ever could sink.
Ray: The winner is Booker DeWitt.JACK…
+Hammerspace pockets help
+Arsenal somewhat small, but versatile with different ammo
+Can carry medical supplies and EVE Hypos
-Fewer weapons and battle-useful plasmids
-Less maneuverable and versatile
-Plasmids are one-trick ponies compared to Vigors
-More susceptible to damage and will use up medical kits to patch it up
-More used to fighting insane or mentally-sick monstrosities
+Can access all his vigors
+Very lucky and skilled scrounger
+Greater maneuverability via the Sky-Hook
+Vigors have more than one use
+Uses practical ways of protecting himself
+Fought skilled, trained, and cunning adversaries
+Actual track record of proper training