Atlas sighed, stretching slightly even though he had been awake for hours. Not doing much, in fact, not doing anything at all. Just lying on his battered couch, missing Jack.
He turned his head slightly so he was facing the closest thing he had to a window, a gaping hole in the crumbling wood and metal that made up the shack he called home.He could see nothing except for the darkness of the bottom of the ocean, but it didn't matter, there was nothing to see anyway.
He closed his eyes and silently hoped that, whatever Jack was doing on the surface, where he was sure he had gone;It was better than this.Better than watching the pile of Adam needles that littered the floor grow.
Not doing much,in fact,not doing anything at all.