Chapter Text
Rapture, the city under the ocean, where it seemed anything was possible, was going through a time of political turmoil. Andrew Ryan, the founder and leader of Rapture, had his authority under question, and Frank Fontaine, who opposed the man, was having a field day over this. As the years went on, the power that Ryan had over the city began to shake and Fontaine gained momentum in his efforts to usurp the throne.
It had started a normal day in the life of a lonely Irishman who called Rapture his home. He had followed his routine to the letter, but still, something had gone horribly wrong.
Atlas, a tall, lean, worker at Fontaine Fisheries stood at the gutting station in one of the lower levels of the building, gutting fish for a living. It was honest work which the man liked, but it was horribly uneventful. This day in particular hadn’t felt any different than any other. He had woken up, taken a shower, brushed his teeth. Halfway out the door, he remembered that he had bread in the toaster. Don't burn the goddamn house down, Atlas. His brain thought faster than his feet could move, and after tripping back through the front doorway, he retrieved his breakfast. It was only a little burnt when he got to it. He ate it on his walk to work.
Everything was normal. He arrived at work on time, put on his rubber overalls and gloves, and set to work. He stood at his station, slicing and gutting one fish after another, letting out the occasional whistled tune. Nothing was out of the ordinary, until Atlas heard hurried bare-feet running down the steps to be on the same level as he was on. At the bottom of the steps, the older man noticed a brunette in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. He couldn’t be more than twenty years old, Atlas thought to himself as he took off his gloves. His eyes made their way up the younger man’s body and stopped at his face; he looked terrified. He was pale, shaking, and constantly looked up the stairs as if he were being chased.
Atlas had noticed him immediately, but no one else even did a double-take, why? After a minute of holding each other's gaze, Atlas took a step toward the young man and looked at him inquisitively. “Excuse me, young man? You looking for somethin’?” His voice was deep and strong, and even though he knew that the boy would hear him without it, he raised his voice a bit, just in case.
The young man stood there for a moment, motionless as if he were made out of stone, staring holes in Atlas with those frightened eyes. Something was wrong with this young man, the Irishman just didn’t know what. “You alright there, lad?” Atlas asked with a concerned expression, unsure of what exactly was happening.
The boy finally looked as though he would answer the older man’s question in words, but their rather one-sided conversation was cut short by a commotion on the floor above them. There was yelling and what sounded like boots pounding on the ground with each determined and powerful step they took. Atlas looked at the ceiling, the floorboards creaking above him as if they were going to snap at any moment. Atlas heard, from across the room, a tiny yelp that had come from the young man who was now sprinting towards him. This kid looked like he needed help, Atlas looked down into those scared green eyes and for a moment he could have sworn that he had heard the young man say his name. His eyes were pleading with the older man and finally, Atlas caved and grabbed the boy’s hand.
Atlas whispered quietly, “Come with me.” The young man didn’t protest at all, so the Irishman kept a firm grip on his hand as they ran one slightly behind the other. To the curious figure beside him, the building seemed to be endless, but Atlas knew it like the back of his hand. He lead the boy into an old storage closet filled with brooms, mops and other cleaning supplies. He pushed some of the brooms and buckets aside and revealed a short sliding door which opened up to a small crawlspace.
Atlas placed his hand securely on the shorter man’s shoulder and practically forced their eye contact. He spoke as powerfully as he could while trying to stay quiet. “Hide in there for now, okay? Don’t come out until I say so.” Something about all of this just didn’t seem right, but Atlas knew one thing for sure, no one else was going to help this guy, so he was going to have to be the one to do it.
Jack looked up at the older man with a grateful look in his eyes before speaking softly. “I’m Jack.”
Atlas flinched at the voice since he had almost expected the young man to be a mute with how he hadn’t responded to anything Atlas had said earlier. “I’m Atlas.” He gestured toward the crawlspace, “Now, quickly, hide yourself until it’s all clear, boyo.” This was the right thing for him to do, wasn’t it? Help someone in need? It had to be, he told himself.
Jack nodded his head in one simple and efficient motion, down and then back to center. He dropped to his knees and hastily made his way into the crawlspace before Atlas slide the small door shut. Atlas covered up the door with the cleaning utensils as best as he could manage without making too much noise. Once he was finished, he walked nonchalantly back into the hallway again and was immediately met by a tall slender man in a lab coat; unmistakably Dr. Yi Suchong, one of Rapture’s Best and Brightest. He had dark hair and the eyes of a bespectacled shark, and it was immediately obvious that he knew exactly what Atlas had done. Suchong was accompanied by a bald man in a black suit and blue tie; this man he knew was Frank Fontaine himself. With his cigar pinched between his index finger and thumb, Fontaine stepped forward.
“Well, hello there, Atlas.” Fontaine would have spat out his name if it hadn’t been for him trying to look innocent.
Atlas was surprised by his presence, but didn’t show it. “Mr. Fontaine.” The Irishman spoke flatly, trying to hide his distaste for the man before him.
”So, did you see my son run down this way?” He tilted his head to the right, and then to the left of Atlas, trying to look behind the man.
The Fishery worker held his ground, refusing to move himself from the center of Fontaine’s view. “Your son?” Atlas knew for a fact that Fontaine didn’t have a son or at least any legitimate son.
This made Fontaine angry,“Yeah, my son.” Fontaine snapped, obviously losing his patience. If not for the cigar in Fontaine’s hand, he would have thought that the potent smoke was coming from the man’s ears as if he were a kettle on a stove.
With a scoff Atlas retorted, “Mr. Fontaine, you don’t have any son that I know about, but maybe you should stop by Eve’s Garden. They might be able to help you.”
“You think you can fuckin’ play me?” Fontaine was neither amused nor pleased, he looked ready to shove the burning end of his cigar into the Irishman’s eye. “Think again.” With the slightest wave of his head, Fontaine’s men were on Atlas; they had him in a chokehold and held his arms firmly behind his back. Atlas struggled against their hold, but stopped when he focused once again on Fontaine. The man had a gun in his hand and it was pointing right at him; right between his eyes.
Atlas, still stunned, had trouble formulating his thoughts, how the hell had his day took this much of a horrible turn of events? Why did Fontaine want this kid so badly? He should just tell them where the kid is, just show them where the kid is and all of this will be over and done with.
The man lurking in the background, behind Fontaine had decided to make his move, and in an instant, he was at the conman’s side. “Mr. Fontaine. Perhaps now would be the perfect opportunity to try ‘WYK’.”
Fontaine let out a long hum in thought before a sinister smirk crept it’s way over his lips. “Jacky, would you kindly come out and come to papa?”
Atlas looked at the bald man as if he had three-heads. Jack wouldn’t come out just because he asked nicely, would he?
The room was still and silent, but in the storage room, a quiet rummaging could be heard, as if someone were trying their damndest to stay quiet, and then came the choked back crying. Jack was moving around in that little closet, and he was making it known that he was there. Then, slowly, the door creaked its way open, and the young man stood there, as white as a sheet. He was crying and was clearly unable to keep himself from moving and he was heading straight toward Fontaine.
“There he is.” Fontaine spoke in a sing-songy tone as if he were actually pleased that all of this was happening.
Jack spoke through his sobs and balled his fists so tightly that his knuckles were whiter than his already ghostly pale skin, “Please,” he paused to swallow back his cries, “please, let me go.” As hard as Jack seemed to fight it, he couldn’t stop until he was face to face with Fontaine.
Atlas felt his entire body tense up, “Jack, what are you-”
Fontaine looked past Jack to Atlas and placed his index finger over his lips and let out a quiet, “Shhh…” The con man turned his attention back to Jack who stood there motionless, and he put his cigar in between his teeth. “Here, Jacky, take my gun and shoot this bastard, would you kindly?” Fontaine placed the pistol in the young man’s open hands and turned away from everyone, starting to walk down the hallway and back to the stairs.
Jack, now hyperventilating and trying to hold in his cries, broke down and was sputtering out pleas and apologies. “So-Someone get this fuck-ing thing out of my hands-” Jack shook uncontrollably as he positioned the gun in his grip and aimed it at Atlas.
“Boyo, listen to me,” Atlas demanded, trying to calm the boy down, “everything’s going to be fine, just put the gun down.”
“I can’t, he won’t let me… I’m so s-orry, Atlas, oh my God, please,” the young man choked out as he placed his finger over the trigger, “somebody, please, help me!”
Jack fired the pistol and it shook the whole building. Even the men restraining Atlas had been disturbed by what they witnessed. In the distance, Fontaine laughed from the stairwell.
Jack fell to his knees, staring at Atlas with a petrified look in his eyes.
In Atlas’ left ear he heard a quiet, “That son of a bitch… filled the gun with blanks?”
Feeling slowly started sneaking its way back into Atlas’ body at that, and he let go of the breath he had been holding and opened his eyes to look at Jack. “Jack… Why didn’t you stay hidden?”
The young man looked mentally and physically exhausted, “I couldn’t stop-...”
Atlas looked at Suchong, whose eyes were fixed on Jack. The bastard looked disgusted with Jack, like Jack hadn’t done something right. Atlas was furious, not because of the almost tragedy that had befallen him, but of the torture that was being done to the young man on the ground before him. “Is that what Rapture’s best and brightest do?! Is that- What the hell even was that?!”
Suchong piped up at that and walked over to Jack, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of Atlas. “Just a test. You did well for the most part, Jack. However, will have to deal with the complaining and resisting.” The shark had finished circling and was now ready to take the prey, “Follow me, would you kindly?”
Jack was still crying, but since he knew there was no use in fighting it, he stood up silently, now avoiding eye contact with the Irishman who had tried to save him. “I’m sorry.” The young man spoke quietly and Atlas felt his heart sink when Jack turned around and followed Suchong like a well-trained dog.
Once Jack was gone, there were only Fontaine’s henchmen left. Atlas knew that they wouldn’t just let him go and that would be the end of it. They beat him to a pulp; gave him a black eye, bruised a few of his ribs, and left him bleeding and retching in the basement of Fontaine Fisheries.
Atlas walked home that day, didn’t even bother with the bathyspheres, even though that would shave off half of the time he was taking now. He was alone in his apartment, as he had been every night and followed his unwritten schedule once again, before waking up and doing it all again tomorrow. Leaving out the stranger bits, of course. Tomorrow, everything would go back to normal.