He braces himself for the prickle of stingers jamming into the skin of his arms as he tears the door open, but the insects whine into non-existence pretty much immediately. Great. Good. This is going well. And god, where the hell are they. Have either of them been to this part of Rapture?

Tim spins on his heel as the splicer seizes Jay, his fingers curved and clawlike as they fist into the material at the front of his shirt. It doesn't take a genius to know what the splicer wants from him, and as frustrated as Tim is with the man he's really not eager to see him drained dry.

There's a wrench on the ground, crusted thickly with red and brown, probably discarded after the splicer used it to brain its last unfortunate victim. Tim doesn't care. He seizes it and, unthinking, slams the heavy end into the splicer's midriff.