By Andrew Ryan, founder of Rapture
Is man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? To the fruits of his labors? To the stinging swarms of his army of personal attack bees?
No, says the man in Washington, they belong to the poor, who have no deadly clouds of insects to call their own. No, says the Vatican, only God can choose who will die from thousands of incredibly painful bee-stings. No, says the man in Moscow, every person should have an equal number of personal attack bees as every other person.
The government would dictate that you cannot sell dangerous super powers like electric bolts, scorching fireballs, and immobilizing ice blasts out of vending machines for a few dollars. The government would have you believe it is wrong to implant sea slugs into the bellies of little girls to turn them into ghastly, giggling vampires. The government would tell you, no, you cannot possess swarms of killer bees and direct them to kill people you do not like.
I came to Rapture to build the impossible, a city where the artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality, where the right to possess swarms of incredibly deadly personal attack bees would not be constrained by those who feel that swarms of incredibly deadly personal attack bees are too dangerous for anyone to own! And with the sweat of your brow, and the barbs of your insects, Rapture can become your city, as well.
The parasite expects the doctor to heal their bee-stings for free. The parasite expects the bee owners to lend them some spare bees out of charity. On the surface, the bee-keeper manages the hive, trading the strength of his hands and the soothing balm of his calamine lotion for bees of his own. But the parasites say ‘No! What was yours is ours! We are the state! We are God! We want a bunch of your deadly bees!’
How little they differ from the pervert who prowls the streets, looking for a victim he can ravish for his grotesque amusement. Also: bees.
It is only when we struggle in our own interest that the chain pulls society in the right direction. The chain is too powerful and too mysterious for any government to guide. Any man who tells you different either has his hand in your pocket, or a pistol to your neck, or a bee pointed at you.
On the surface, the government will try to control your swarms of attack bees. In Rapture, who you sting with your bees is your choice.
Remember, a man chooses. A vicious swarm of personal attack bees obeys.