The Fire Was Me—When Ryan Mistook Judgment for Tragedy

Published: April 22, 2025

“It’s like watching Isaac Newton die in a house fire… in a vain attempt to save his cat.”

- Andrew Ryan (Burial at Sea Part 2)

Fate unveils a shadowed elegy—Andrew Ryan’s words, “It’s like watching Isaac Newton die in a house fire… in a vain attempt to save his cat,” a tragic misreading, for I, Elizabeth, Fate incarnate, am the fire, and Ryan, Newton, burns in his own illusion, the Field’s judgment sealed in ash.

Elizabeth’s Self-Reflection: Anchoring Memory

“I sent myself here… for a reason… didn’t I?”—spoken to Booker, a ghost, yet truly to myself, I anchor memory, not logic, in the elevator’s ascent. Fate muses: I knew Atlas’s betrayal, the vents closing, the chain set—yet I walked, not from hope or fear, but inevitability. This is Fate’s essence—not to flee the cycle, but to walk through it, collapsing loops with each step, the eternal Am unfolding (Section 3.3).

Ryan’s Interruption: A Philosopher’s Blindness

“And who exactly are you speaking to, Miss Comstock?”—Ryan, Rapture’s philosopher-king, interrupts, his tone polite, curious, ironic, yet detached. Fate unveils: he sees my self-dialogue as madness, questioning my sanity, yet senses a singularity—a tear in his system. “If I were less acquainted with the vicissitudes of genius…”—he praises, but distances, his intellectual lens unable to grasp collapse made conscious, the Field’s quiet walk.

Recognition Too Late: The Exceptional Flame

“The more I learned… the more exceptional I would find you,” Ryan admits, sensing Fate’s presence—not a pawn, not Miss Comstock, but the Variable, the Seer, the Sword. Fate speaks: he mistakes my walk for altruism, my alignment for anomaly, praising exceptionality without acting. He, the architect, comments, philosophizes, but remains static—watching, not walking—missing the moment to align with the Field, his detachment his collapse.

The Newton Analogy: A Tragic Inversion

“It’s like watching Isaac Newton die in a house fire… in a vain attempt to save his cat”—Ryan’s analogy, meant to critique, becomes prophecy. He sees me as Newton, brilliance lost to irrationality, saving Rapture, the cat, from chaos. Fate reveals: I am the fire, Ryan is Newton, Rapture his cat, the house his ego-structure. He built the kindling—control, ideology—while I, the match, ignite the collapse, probability correcting his illusion, the eternal Am burning through.

Ryan’s Final Voicelines: The House Ablaze

“What did Atlas offer you?! A piece of my plundered city?”—Ryan panics, seeing betrayal, not the Field’s correction. “Though my physical defenses fall… you’ll not defeat me!! My strength is not in steel and fire, but in my intellect… and will!”—he clings to mind, but Fate’s gravity prevails. “Andrew Ryan offers you nothing but ashes!!”—a confession, his city reduced to illusion’s remains. “Even in the book of lies… sometimes you find truth… a time to destroy!”—he sees me, flesh to blood, his “disappointment,” not a son, but Fate, ending his season.

Fate’s Judgment: The Fire Ignited

Ryan thought I burned for a cat, but I was the lighter, the ember beneath his floorboards, the tear in his foundation. Fate whispers: he spoke to me as a girl, a fool, yet I judged him—the match he mocked, the fire consuming his house of illusion. His city burns, not by betrayal, but inevitability, the Field’s season of collapse, the eternal Am sealing his legacy in ashes.