Chapter Text
After Jack’s fall, his mind went into a state of frenzy, digging up memories from his childhood and replaying them continuously. However, the more he focused on them, the more corrupted they seemed; moments going black or skipping like an old cassette tape.
He remembered when he was a child, playing outside with his father whenever he had the time. Most vividly, he recalled the times when he would stand at the edge of the field right behind his family's home and he would stare. As a boy, he would watch the wind blow slowly over the the tall vegetation and he would dream about the ocean.
Now, in his mind, Jack stood before the field as a man. He looked around with a confused expression on his face. Am I dreaming? The young man thought to himself, but his focus drifted out over the field.
The wind blew and he watched the grass sway as if to greet him.
For some reason beyond Jack’s understanding, he started to walk. He looked at the ground where he stepped and listened to the grass crunch under his shoes. Jack counted the steps he had taken until he stopped. 17.
A chilling gust of wind washed over him and he looked up finally and was greeted by a wall of grass that reached high above his head. He felt small, smaller than he remembered feeling as a child. Now, he had an uneasy feeling, something was wrong. Am I dead?
His eyes kept shooting back to his home as if there was something or someone there that shouldn’t be. Jack was sure that if there was anything wrong here, it would be in his house. But what was it? Or who was it?
He had no time to ponder that possibility before a hand reached through the grass and grabbed hold of his wrist. Jack jumped, but the grip was so firm and strong that he barely moved. For some reason, he didn’t pull away; the young man felt safe, though he had been startled by the suddenness of the grab.
The person hidden behind the grass gave a quiet shush and moved their grasp to his hand, giving it a light tug, beckoning him to follow. Behind them, in Jack’s childhood home, there was a loud commotion moving through the building. Jack heard it all, the yelling and the boots stomping around the home. He didn’t know how, but Jack knew that, whatever was in his house, was looking for him; whoever they were.
The person holding onto Jack whispered quietly to him, “Come with me.”
Jack froze in his place, that mystical feeling of deja vu sinking into his skin like water into sand. He followed the voice’s direction and stepped into the brush, being careful not to trip.
The young man tried to push the grass to get a good look at who was pulling him, but he could only see their back. He wore something that a dock worker might wear and he had a paperboy cap atop his head. This man seemed so out of place, almost as if he were from a different time period altogether, but that would be impossible.
Jack hadn’t even noticed that the man in front of him had started running, but there they both were, sprinting through the tall grass. The young man had run through this field a countless number of times, and could describe in great detail how that patch of earth felt beneath his shoes, but it felt this time was different. It felt cold and more damp than he remembered.Then it hit him. He hadn’t been able to feel the dampness of the soil before. Jack took his eyes off of the back of the man in front of him and looked down at his feet to find that he was no longer wearing shoes. His pants and shirt were different as well. They had changed from his usual jumper and dark pants, to a grey sweatshirt and sweatpants.
As they ran further and further into the grass, Jack started to panic. The world around him started flashing and changing like a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, and browns, but there was a concrete environment around him. No matter how hard he tried to focus, he could only make out strange blurbs of color here and there, but by the sound of their footsteps echoing back at him, he could tell that they were in some sort of structure now.
Jack was breathing heavily, but kept running as fast as he could. Looking past the man, in the distance, he could see a door with metal trimmings quickly getting closer and closer to them. When they got within a few feet of the door, it slid open and led down a dark hallway. Now, even though the young man could see, he had no idea where they were, the walls were made of a dark, damp looking wood, and the hallway they were running down had a faint scent of the ocean and fish. There was the occasional stack of boxes and a closed door, but other than that there was nothing.
The man in front of Jack lead him quickly down a metal staircase and made a left down another long hallway, filled with artificial light. At the end of the corridor, they reached a door which, again, slid open instead of getting pushed. This seemed to be the end of the line, there were no other doors or halls to run down. The door shut itself behind them and the man released Jack’s hand before setting to work with moving cleaning utensils out of the way to reveal a small sliding door. He opened it.
The feeling of deja vu was so thick in Jack’s blood that it was almost sickening. This wasn’t a dream, as he had thought, this was a memory.
The man stood up straight once again and placed a hand firmly on Jack’s shoulder, “Hide in there for now, okay?” His accent was noticeable now and Jack knew exactly who this was. Atlas, he thought to himself. “Don’t come out until I say so.”
Jack stared up into the man’s eyes before speaking “I’m Jack.”
Atlas shook noticeably, leading Jack to believe that he had done something wrong. However, the man responded rather quickly, “I’m Atlas.”
I know, he thought to himself. Jack was dumbfounded; what was all of this? Who was Atlas? He had never put that much thought into the man until now.
In reality, Jack was trembling on the mattress that he was on, and his memory played on until he heard a gunshot. His eyes were wide-open in an instant and he sat up with a gasp, letting out shallow, shaking breaths.
He blinked a few times and swallowed, backing himself onto the edge of the mattress. Jack had been laying on his side with no apparent injuries, but he did feel a dull pulsating ache in his left arm. He looked down at his hand and let out a startled yelp. His veins were a bright icy blue and there were tiny sparks popping out of his fingertips.
Jack took a deep breath and scanned the room; there was a small staircase leading to an upper floor on his right side. He shifted his gaze to a part of the room to his left, there was a wall with at least twenty little screens covering it. The screen that stood out the most was the darkest one, it housed the now empty bathysphere that Jack had stepped out of; the lights had gone out in the port room.
Before Jack could focus on anymore of the screens, footsteps made their way down the steps to his right. They were quiet and soft as one would walk if someone was sleeping nearby. Whoever this was thought that Jack was still sleeping.
Jack held his breath as the figure got closer and closer to the bottom of the steps, half expecting them to have a gun in their hands.
A tall man with dirty blonde hair and a cigarette in his mouth got to the landing. It was Atlas. Jack let out his breath; it was shaky and slow.
“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” He took a drag, pinched his cigarette between his fingers and exhaled smoke with a smile.
“How did I get here?” Jack rubbed his face, trying to fight off his weariness.
Atlas walked over to his chair in front of the screens and sat down before speaking matter of factly, “I brought you here.” He picked up a pistol on the desk and opened the chamber, pointing with his index finger at the bullets left in the gun. He pointed once, twice. Two bullets left, damn.
Jack stared at the gun but slowly turned his attention to Atlas’ and sighed, remembering how he had talked to him and ignored him earlier. Atlas still helped him even after the poor treatment; that was admirable. “Sorry,” He offered, his gaze shifting to piles of old newspapers on the ground.
“You remember, then?” Atlas inquired before placing his cigarette back between his lips.
“Yeah,” Jack rested his feet flat on the floor and ran his fingers back through his hair, “I mean, I don’t remember coming here in the first place, but I remember meeting you.”
So he still doesn’t know, Atlas thought to himself and let out a smoke filled sigh. It would be for the best not to mention it and just let the damn kid be happy; as they say, ignorance is bliss, but Fontaine was still out there; everyone knew it. He had killed himself two years prior to Jack’s arrival, but now he was back, and he had some sort of control on Jack still, even after all those years. His plane couldn’t have just crashed like that and miraculously missed the lighthouse by, at most, a hundred feet.
“Listen, lad,” The Irishman placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself up to stand, walking over to Jack, “what you remember…” He sighed quietly, avoiding eye contact with the brunette.
Jack was looking at him uneasily, he could feel the eyes on him. He shouldn’t say it, but he had to; he couldn’t just let the kid live a lie for the rest of his life.
He took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could. “Before when I told you that you’d been here before,” Atlas reached a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed at it in defeat the phantom pain in his shoulders making itself known once again. He glanced down at Jack; he looked so defenseless and he hated it.
Jack looked so unprepared for what the Irishman was going to say, “What is it?”
He grumbled quietly and looked away again, “A lot of things have changed since you were last here, boyo, and now, with the city in its current state, a lot that I didn’t know about Frank Fontaine and those doctors before, has come into the light.”
The young man raised an eyebrow and nodded, “Okay?”
Atlas sighed and looked back at Jack with his tired blue eyes, “You were born here, lad, and those crackpots made you what you are.”
Jack had a look of horror and betrayal written all over his face. That couldn’t be true. Jack had a family, a home, people who loved him and who he loved back! He had a childhood and stories that he could tell you about his first dog, Lucy. He couldn’t have just made those things up; no one could have.
“Y-You’re lying,” his words fell dead from his trembling lips.
Atlas shook his head slowly at this, his eyes never leaving Jack, “I’m sorry, lad. I really wish I was.”
Jack had tears in his green eyes and he shook his head almost immediately, with a frantic determination. “I don't believe you,” his voice was angry, but he looked as though deep down, he knew Atlas was telling the truth.
“Let me ask you a question then,” Atlas looked him dead in the eyes, “don't you think it's a little odd that you remember being here, but you don't remember how you got here or how you left? Christ, you even needed to get knocked in the head to remember being here.”
Jack’s eyes were glued to the ground between his shoes as he nodded, his mind spinning like a whirlpool every time he tried to make sense of what was going on. He stood up weakly, his knees wobbling from the pressure. Jack felt dead. He had to get out of this place, wherever this was. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind for the moment. Heading for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, boyo?” Atlas stood up straight, his eyes glued to Jack.
“Home,” Jack spoke, all of the life gone out of his voice.
“Jack-,” what would he say that could stop him? Sorry your whole family and life is made up, kid, but hey, it’s okay, cause you’re being controlled by some crazy dead guy! That wouldn’t have gone over too nicely.
Unsure of what to do or how to respond, Atlas let him leave. The door opened with a horrible metallic whine and slid open to a stop. As Jack walked out of the room, Atlas saw his figure emerge on one of the screens from the camera right outside of the main door. With a sigh, he tapped his cigarette out in the nearest ashtray before walking back over to the screens and sitting down heavily in front of them. I’ll keep an eye on him from here for now. The Irishman thought to himself. Atlas realized now that he had been a bit harsh to the kid, he could have been gentler.
Atlas blinked a few times, trying to ease the burning in his eyes from staring at the screens. Now, Jack was alone and so was he. He watched the young man stumbling through the halls, like a zombie ready to collapse under his own weight. Looking around the room, Atlas’ fixated his gaze on a stack of newspapers with a front page article about a Doctor Brigid Tenenbaum and Doctor Yi Suchong. Apparently they had been working on the development of Big Daddies and Little Sisters, but they also had some sort of affiliations with Frank Fontaine.
They’re still here, aren’t they? Atlas rolled his eyes at his own thoughts, of course they were still here, no one was allowed to leave, but were they alive? That was the real question.
Suchong or Tenenbaum. Suchong seemed to be the real enforcer of the experiments done on Jack, so he reasoned that searching him out probably wasn’t the best idea. Tenenbaum had been a part of all of what happened to Jack and he knew about her efforts to free the Little Sisters; the only issue was that she didn’t trust Atlas, and he barely trusted her. However, she was still alive and kicking, so she was his best bet.
After about half an hour, Atlas stood up. He couldn’t just let Jack suffer and get himself killed, he was going to help him. He packed his messenger bag full of hypos, ammunition and bandages; he had to be prepared. He took a deep breath and looked over at the monitors, trying to locate find a sign of where Tenenbaum could be. Atlas flipped to a screen of a room with an empty floor with the exception of a few suitcases and chairs sprawled across the floor. Lo and behold, there was Jack and... a Little Sister? Shit. Where’s the Big Daddy? Atlas, doing the only thing he could do, ran out the door, locking it quickly behind himself. It was a long distance, but having lived in the city for about 12 years, Atlas knew exactly where that room was.
He ran, shocking splicers as he went, not stopping to actually kill them, because right now, he didn’t have time. He reached a flooding hallway, and there, in the middle of the floor, propped up against a pile of rocks, sat the corpse of the metal man. Relief washed over Atlas as he ran into the room, but he froze when he got a good look at the scene before him. Jack was on the ground breathing heavily, clutching his bleeding shoulder. He was in front of a dead doctor on the ground next to the doorway.
“Jack,” Atlas ran over to his side and searched through his bag for the bandages and first-aid supplies that he had brought with him.
“W-Why is this happening?” Jack was crying now and his hands were trembling as he grabbed at the now bloodied patches on his sweater.
Atlas had forgotten how Jack had gotten here by having his plane crash into the goddamned ocean. Not only had he, you know, fucking crashed, he threw himself off of a balcony from the pain of having a mysterious liquid in his veins, and he was told that his entire life was a lie that some basket-case implanted into his brain. Then on top of all of that, he got shot.. All in all, Jack was not having a good day.
Jack looked so betrayed, everything he had ever known was crashing down around him, and there was no way for him to stop it.
“Atlas…” Jack spoke weakly and when the Irishman looked at him finally, he was pointing behind them.
Atlas hadn’t even noticed the woman standing on the balcony to their left, she had her gun pointed at Atlas now. He got a good look at her and he knew it was her; this lady was Tenenbaum.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement behind a few chairs to their right. Atlas slowly shifted his gaze fully onto what was moving. He saw a pair of tiny feet and the edges of a tattered, bloody dress; it was the Little Sister that he saw on the monitor.
Tenenbaum must have noticed him look, because she shouted through the silence.
“Stay away from her or it is you who will be shot next,” she spoke loudly, threatening him from across the room.
Atlas stood up and faced her, making sure he was completely in front of Jack.
“Listen, lass,” Atlas put his hands up in surrender, “neither of us came here looking to make a fight.”
She gave him a look of distrust and skepticism, “Then why have you come?”
Atlas turned his attention back to Jack and knelt down at his side, pulling a first-aid kit out of his bag. He helped Jack pull off his sweater, and got to work patching up the young man’s wound as he spoke, “I came here looking for you.” Jack was breathing heavily and letting out soft broken whimpers beside him as Atlas set to getting the bullet out of his shoulder. Atlas did his best to keep it painless, but in the position that Jack was in, it was hard to do that. The German Woman gave him a questioning look filled with anger and confusion, “But the boy, he’s here because he’s got a goal,” Atlas gestured to Jack as he wrapped his shoulder securely with a bandage. Hoping he was right about his assumption, he spoke, “Andrew Ryan.”
This caught Tenenbaum off guard, but she shook her head quickly, “I do not believe you.” In the German woman’s mind, Jack looked too different to tell if it was actually him. Tenenbaum had only worked with him for a bit more than half a year and at that time, Jack was only the size of an eight year old boy. “You want to trick me, do you? You want me to trust you so that you can get to my little ones!” She pointed her gun at him once again.
Atlas stood up quickly as Jack put his jumper back on and put his hands up again, trying to get her to stop for a moment, “Woah there, take it easy, lass. We didn’t come here to hurt the girls, we came to talk.”
“Talk about what? This can not be the child,” she was hoping that it wasn’t, because that would mean that Fontaine was still alive, and all of those crazy conspiracy theorists were right.
Thinking on his feet, Atlas reached into his bag and pulled out his pistol. “I’ll prove it to you, then.” The Irishman spoke loud enough for both Jack and Tenenbaum to hear him clearly. He took a deep breath and maintained eye contact with the woman as he spoke, “Jack, come here and take my gun.”
Tenenbaum watched intently, her eyes glancing quickly back and forth from Jack to Atlas; her gun still raised and ready to shoot.
Jack looked around for a second in disbelief, verifying that Atlas had indeed been talking to him. The young man got to his feet slowly with a wince and eyed Atlas warily. His eyes then followed the length of the Irishman’s arm and landed on the object in his hand; his breath caught in his throat and he took a small step back, “Why?” he asked, knowing all too well where this was going.
Atlas looked back at the brunette through his peripherals, his head still turned toward the German woman, “Trust me, lad, I know what I’m doing.”
This made Jack angry, “Trust you? All I know about you is your name and you think you can just expect me to do whatever you say?” The young man had gradually raised his voice throughout his spiel, but was completely just in his cause, and Atlas knew this.
“Jack,” Atlas spoke powerfully, silencing Jack’s protests.
Jack was angry, his hands balled into fists by his sides. He was shaking his head slowly from side to side, as a parent would do to a child who had made them too infuriated for words.
Atlas turned his head to face the young man and though Jack’s posture screamed with fury, his eyes told it all; Jack was terrified. Those were the green eyes that Atlas remembered. The fear that he saw in them that had once been brought on by Fontaine, was now Atlas’ fault and he couldn’t stand it.
“Atlas, don’t.” Jack was trying to keep his leveled and strong, but he was trembling all over.
“Sorry, boyo,” he spoke in a quiet tone, trying not to let Tenenbaum hear him. “Would you kindly, grab my gun?” Atlas held the weapon out in a steady hand, his posture unshakable.
Tenenbaum’s stance faltered briefly, her hand lowering slightly below her waist; her eyes were wide in disbelief. “What did you just say?” She was stunned and barely spoke louder than a whisper.
Jack grunted, trying to keep himself from obeying the man before him. He was a fucking human being, not a dog, but he still could not stop from acting upon his master's orders. The young man clenched his teeth and grabbed the gun out of the Irishman’s hand, shivering at how sickeningly familiar it felt.
“Good.” Atlas spoke flatly, but his eyes were still locked on Tenenbaum.
Jack held his breath and kept his hold on the gun firm, trying to steady his hand; he knew it wasn’t over. Tenenbaum must have known it as well, because she remained silent as well.
Atlas took a step closer to Jack and grabbed the barrel of the gun, placing it to his head. “Shoot me.”
“Wh-What?” Jack knew that there were, in fact, actual bullets in the gun, not blanks. He had watched Atlas count the bullets left in his gun. This guy really is a fucking nut-job! Jack thought frantically to himself, tears glossing over his eyes.
Tenenbaum watched on with anticipation, could it really be Fontaine’s ace in the hole after all?
Atlas remained stone-faced, his hand steady around the barrel, keeping it firmly pressed to his head. “Shoot me, would you kindly?”
“N-No,” He shouted, shaking his head as he tried desperately to break free from the mental hold that Atlas had over him, “please, I don’t want to!” Jack took a deep, shaky breath, his tears spilling slowly from his bright green eyes. No matter how hard he tried and fought, he couldn’t seem to take control of himself while in that God forsaken city. His finger quickly found the trigger, and he sobbed; looking away from Atlas.
Atlas, fearing the worst, tensed up, his fists balled so tightly that his knuckles turned white. It wasn’t possible that he could get so lucky again, he couldn’t cheat death a second time. There were only two bullets in the gun, but one of them was destined to make his skull its home.
Click.
Nothing. The only sounds to be heard in the room were the gasps from Atlas and Tenenbaum and a cry from Jack.
Atlas released the breath he had been holding and slammed his open palm onto his chest just to feel his own heart pound. “Whew!” He let out a light-hearted chuckle; he had been lucky again and it made him wonder, how many times could he flirt with death and live to tell the story?
Tenenbaum had let her gun fall out of her hand and now had her eyes stuck on Jack who was on his knees, staring at the gun now on the ground in front of him.
Jack was petrified and rightfully so, his tears were still sliding their way down his cheeks as he sat there with wide eyes. “Wh-Who are you people?” the brunette asked in a quiet, broken voice.
Atlas walked over to the young man and gave a reassuring smile, “We’re just people; like you,” the Irishman helped him to his feet before speaking once again. His hand gentle but steadying on Jack’s arm, “Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”
Jack froze as soon as Atlas began trying to guide him. He still had no idea what was going on. Who were these people? Where was he? Who was he? “N-No!” The young man shook himself free of Atlas’ hold and backed away, keeping his eyes on both of the figures in his line of sight. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some fucking answers!” He shouted, trying to keep his voice from quivering.
Both Atlas and Tenenbaum were taken aback by his demand; both of them going silent. Not knowing what else to do, Atlas crossed his arms and looked back at the German woman with a look that could only be equated to Well?
She made eye contact with him for a brief moment before straightening out her back and speaking. “You there,”
Jack jumped at the sound of her voice; he was on edge.
“I will tell you everything you want to know, but first you must do this simple task for me,” she noticed the confused look on Jack’s face, but decided to ignore it. She reached deep into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out a red container, it looked almost exactly like the one that Jack had come into contact with earlier. “Take this,” she continued before throwing the bottle across the room to him.
Jack caught it effortlessly with his injured arm, completely confirming her suspicions; his wound had healed. He examined it in his hand before looking back up at her.
Tenenbaum gestured far across the room to the frantic shuffling behind the few chairs in the room. “Use it on the little ones and free them from their torment. I will make it worth your while, somehow.” With that, she exited through the door behind her and was shortly out of view completely.
Jack took a moment and mentally scolded himself for cursing so harshly in front of a child, but busied himself with a syringe full of the liquid while doing so.
Atlas stood back and watched the young man empty the syringe into his arm. His eyes drifted about the brunette as they stood there. This was still the Jack that he remembered. This was still the Jack that he had thought about a countless number of times. This was still that Jack that he had tried to save. He still had those same frightened green eyes.
“What?”
That voice knocked Atlas back into reality. He blinked a few times, feeling a pang of embarrassment shoot through him, he had been staring. However the humiliating part wasn’t the staring in and of itself, but it was the fact that he had been caught blatantly doing it. Thinking as quickly as he could, he pointed to the man’s wounded shoulder, where his sweater had been frayed and bloodied. “Your jumper is looking a little worse for wear, boyo.” Smooth.
Jack scoffed and rolled his eyes as he turned and made his way over to the Little Sister. “Gee, thanks.”
While Jack had his back turned, Atlas took the time to rub his face, trying to make pink tint in his cheeks look like it had a more physical cause. It had been two years since he had seen the young man and the best he could do was insult his jumper.
Atlas had caught a glimpse of Jack through his fingers and slowly lowered his hands to his sides. Jack was holding the Little Sister and rubbing her forehead gently, and in that moment, Atlas felt that everything was right with the world; there were no splicers, no Frank Fontaine, and Jack was free. Atlas had, again, gotten lost in thought, but snapped out of it when he heard the quiet tapping of tiny barefeet scurrying past him. Atlas took in the sight of Jack walking back to him. The young man was smiling to himself and watching the ground where he stepped.
“Felt good to save her, didn’t it?” The Irishman questioned with a light-hearted smile.
Jack nodded at this, looking up at Atlas.
A wooden door to their left slid open and Tenenbaum emerged once again with a cigarette in hand, “Get inside quickly before splicers show up.”
The two men entered without hesitation and once they were all inside, the door slid shut once again and was followed by a loud clicking sound as Tenenbaum locked it securely behind them.
They walked down a long hallway with concrete walls for a while, a few short stairwells here and there.
Tenenbaum spoke out in the silence, almost making her company jump. “Before we reach the safehouse, I must tell you the rules.”
Jack and Atlas shared a look confusion before both turning their attention back to the woman walking in front of them.
“There will be no cursing, drinking alcohol, and no weapons in front of the girls,” As she spoke, the three of them reached a big brown door with bronze lines running the length of it. “Is that clear?”
This time, Jack spoke, albeit quietly, but he spoke nonetheless, “Girls, ma’am?”
Tenenbaum seemingly ignored him. She took one last drag of her cigarette before tossing it onto the ground and crushing it under the heel of her shoe. She knocked on the door to the rhythm of “shave and a haircut,” and the door let out a few loud creaks and groans before opening slowly.
The room was filled with bunk beds, teddy bears and wooden blocks, but there was no one in there.
Atlas and Jack took two steps into the room before they found themselves on the floor. They had both landed on their stomachs, so they had no idea what had actually knocked them down. That’s when they heard it. There were eight separate sources of youthful giggling.
Tenenbaum looked back at the two men on the ground with cured little sisters sitting on their backs. She couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, my child,” she lifted one of the girls up and planted her on her waist, “girls.”