Once the last tremors of an unexpectedly close reacquainting with the emptiness that was death had started to taper off, Atlas was able to begin logically processing the situation once again. Albeit it at a considerably more stilted and sluggish speed.
Left filthy and shaking on the frigid ground, Atlas could not rip his eyes away from the metal monster that stood before him. Doing little more than sway benevolently to-and-fro. Were it not from the steady drip, drip, drip of blood from the narrowest point of its colossal, rusted drill, the creature would have appeared open hearted or empty minded.
Each moment that passed was counted in the rattling breaths that dragged through Atlas's lungs. With every drop of adrenaline that drained from his veins, in crept the exhaustion. All consuming and overwhelming in a way that the daddy's drill couldn't quite match. The drill might have been the finishing blow but it was fatigue that truly got men killed down here. You were tired, you were dead – not a difficult coloration to see between those two states.
Yet Atlas could scarcely keep his own eyes open. His body trembling, skin scorched and every nerve shaken – he supposed he'd really gone into shock. The thought one of muted acceptance as he tried to focus on the voice that came humming over the radio.
Saying something that Atlas could not quite make heads or tails of. At the very least it did not seem to be a threatening something, but it was difficult to tell for sure with how Atlas's head roared, turning to static once the immediate flight or flight responses had run their course and left him hollowed out from the energy being removed. The daddy remained stationary, watching him with that faceless glass panel. Passive, yet responsive. It was listening to its guide over the radio.
A master calling its pup.
Atlas wondered idly if this one was going to put it down at the end.
He wondered that around about the same moment as his body began to tilt off balance entirely of its own accord. Atlas had no control when his body decided it had tolerated more than enough abuse. He went limp, still conscious as he dropped but only in a superficial, disorientated form.
What he saw was the ground rushing up to meet him. And as his gaze slip from the obedient monster's helmet down to its drill and then its feet – he saw it move.
A single step was all it took to close the small distance between them and up above Atlas heard the creak and groan of the massive creature's form bending and crouching in a way that would not trouble a human but became an awkward task for the metal behemoths. Still they always did crouch down to collect their little ones. They rushed to them so readily; unable to see them for the monsters the rest of the world knew them as. Although the sisters saw them in just the same warped light – their saviours. Atlas had thought that they saw an illusion but in this world he supposed that their reality was more true than his own – after all the big daddies were the only ones that loved them so unconditionally and it had nothing to do with craving ADAM.
Sometimes it seemed these metal monsters were the sanest of them left down here. With more care in their chests than any single Rapture citizen could muster up. A little saddening really.
And it was this particular monster that stopped Atlas's head from cracking painfully against the cement.
Large, coarse, gloved fingers curling around his shoulders and head. Stopping his descent and holding him in a way that suggested fragility. Had he the voice for it Atlas would have barked at the creature to take its unnatural, patronizing care and stuff. But as it was his world grew smaller and smaller with every passing breath.
It handled him with a gentleness that seemed more confused than intentional. Like some overgrown kid floundering with the effort of not accidentally making a delicate situation worse. Typical, these pup sorts were always like that, too strong than they should rightfully have to be. Kinder than they'd been taught to be. Where ever did they learn it?
As much as he wanted to leap up, to pull away from any kind of assistance – not about to believe for a second any of it came without ill intent from the mutt's master – Atlas didn't have the ability.
He'd bide his time, make a plan should he need an escape – he was good at that. But he'd only be able to do so when his mind stopped fading on him. Taking him back under.
For a foolishly, mindless moment Atlas was afraid. Terrified that if he slept he'd be swallowed up by that great nothing. His pride could ache later, but for a second he clutched as the beast holding him, clung on to life and consciousness. He didn't want to die, he hadn't done all he planned yet.
He didn't feel like he'd even had a life to live yet.
It was as the world began to swim in and out of Atlas's focus that beyond the beast's shoulders he saw something. Just a momentary haze, a hue and light that seemed out of place.
His mind was failing him, perhaps he'd begun dreaming before his eyes had shut. But for a moment he swore he'd seen a ghost.
Longing as it made him feel. Atlas did not want to join it.
…
…
"Chief, did he just conk out on us?" Sinclair asked through the radio despite knowing full well Atlas had.
Dropped like a sack of potatoes – apt for the Irishman. But given he ought to have been dead for couple of good years by this point; Sinclair thought he was holding up impressively well for a corpse.
Now just what to do with this not so revolutionary hero of the people. Admittedly Sinclair had not planned that far in advance. It was just the novelty of meeting another sound soul within Rapture that had captured his attention. Such a renowned character too. It would have been a waste not to attempt to get some use out of him. But as to exactly what use he'd be Sinclair was still pondering.
"Well hoist the dead weight up. No harm in having him tag along. At least until you need one 'o those sisters up on your shoulders." Despite himself Sinclair took some amusement in knowing Atlas was slung over the kid's shoulder, it seemed rather unflattering for a man as prideful as that to end up in such a position.
Sinclair was not sure what Tenanbum would think of all this. The woman so occupied with those girls seemed to have little interest in much else. Perhaps she'd not so much as acknowledge their unconscious new friend, or more likely, she'd find the use for him that Sinclair lacked.
He wasn't exactly running through the train carts to inform her of the new development, she'd make her way back when she was well and ready.
After almost having been drowned in the blasted train Sinclair thought he would have come to dislike it just a little more. But like Delta it was a sturdy old beast. Made to last where many of those fancy bathyspheres had nasty habits of poisoning and suffocating their inhabitants, it had taken them forever to figure it all out. But this here train stood firm.
Even if it reeked of mold and rusted around every edge, it hadn't let them down just yet. Still, Sinclair found himself a touch stir crazy and even wearier. That could have very well have been the result of being in Rapture as long as he had.
Never thought he'd long for something as simple as a breath of fresh air and a great cloudy blue hanging over his head. Had he been a little more believing of those early day warnings from those few that saw this stifling city closing in around them perhaps he'd have taken his leave when he still could have.
Perhaps he'd have taken a few of them with him. Sold off what technology he could take from Rapture and make himself a pretty penny topside. Fantasies like that had become the norm and while Sinclair had thought them nothing but indulgent trials in regret up until recently, with Delta here now parts of those tormenting fantasies might just come true.
Topside, fresh air, technology stolen and wealth earned.
But it'd be a fantasy seen true without those old voices that had expressed their disquiet with Rapture so long ago.
He'd take what little he could get of course. Himself, alone, at worst, but the kid and all his associated sisters and friends at best. He'd never been one to share wealthy or partake in charity before – but where forced to he'd been a fair businessman with his cut of a deal. Only where he absolutely had to of course.
In this case he was inclined to be a little more giving. If the kid could get him out in one piece with his fortune, Sinclair would gladly give him his fair share of rewards. Apparently expecting nothing but death and decay for as long as he had made a more generous soul of him.
A more generous soul and a far more exhausted soul. Perhaps he'd just been made a touch lonely with nothing but splicers and Lamb's disdain to keep him company those last few years. Happened to the best of them.
For now it seemed Delta was in need of some rest and recovery himself. Hard to tell what was going on in that metal head of his, but Sinclair had gotten rather good at reading those signs of fatigue. He also knew that should he say so, Delta would power on through it all. But it'd do them no good to have their literal only chance of getting out of this sinking ship running on empty and tired.
Better to preserve his energy and keep the poor sod in working order. So Sinclair spoke to him again. "Don't look like the Irish chap there was responsible for the tunes. Before sorting that best you take a breather, sport. Set up shop somewhere with a turret and camera and have a martini break." It almost felt cruel to make it sound so easy. But Sinclair wasn't against some casual cruelty every now and then when the overall effect was to keep them safe.
He was still adjusting to the sounds of those little girls playing in the next cart over. Without that double trill to their voices they really did seem like proper kids again.
'Euthanasia, son. That's all it is.'
Sinclair dragged his fingers through his hair, a habit he'd picked up since Rapture started its descent. Those would be words still stuck in his head. But the kid had dissolved the slug that had taken up residence in that girl's belly. Just like that the little sister didn't exist anymore and it was a little girl again.
Lucy, he learned. The girl's name was Lucy and she'd turned right to Delta with a nervous, gracious smile. "Thank you, thank you." She told her savior and then came crawling back to them.
Her name was Lucy.
In the cart just one over from his own a little girl giggled. Such a sound had never sounded as condemning as it did then.
'Euthanasia.'
Survival Sinclair reminded himself. Rapture had always been a place where people fought tooth and nail just to crush another under their boot so they wouldn't drown in their place. Survival came first, and yet with every step the kid took he chose other's survival where he could.
The Kraut put their lives at stake every time she spoke to Delta – encouraging altruism where she herself had left plenty of innocent corpses in her wake back in the day. Yet even when Delta had faced the remains of others like himself, strung up by Gracie's goons like a personalized warning – he'd gone and left the old girl alone. Trusting a snake not to bite.
Was he seriously the only one here that was thinking about their hides anymore?
Tenanbum might have come racing back to Rapture at the mere hint of little sisters going back into production. Understandably Sinclair hadn't believed her when the lunatic scientist claimed to have not only reached the surface but then so willingly return to this sinking ship. He wasn't sure where or when she'd acquired such an unrelenting savior complex.
She claimed it to be a conscience formed, a sense of maternal obligation. That made a little more sense to Augustus. He'd seen what a motherly instinct could do to even the most calloused woman. Made fighters of them, made a reckless heart. So ready to walk to their grave on the slim chance that the child could have but even a few more precious moments of life.
'Survival. That's all it is.'
A harsh sigh came rattling out of Sinclair's chest and he once again dragged his fingers back through his hair, feeling his age for the first time in a while. The others didn't need to see his strain showing, better he keep that smooth confidence when he spoke to Delta – didn't need the kid getting jumpy on him.
His black mood likely could have been attributed to having the kid making his way around the remains of Tate's funhouse. Back when the whole thing was in full swing Sinclair had visited on occasion. Equal parts business and pleasure that one. Towards the end however…well it had become a decidedly less pleasurable experience. Distantly he could still recall the last proper show he'd attended. Back when Ava Tate still polished up Ryan's image here and there and he'd been comfortably nestled between a paycheck from both Ryan Industries and Fontaine Futuristics.
Most often a young man was expected to arrive to those sorts of parties all on his lonesome or with a pretty little thing hanging off his arm. Sinclair had arrived with a pretty one alright – she wouldn't so much as brush his arm however. The thought managed to pull a faint, somewhat bittersweet, smile from Sinclair.
Memories were rather wretched things and down here in Rapture most people were just that – memories. Not a drop of ADAM in his veins, but still there were ghosts on his mind.
And not a single one his friend.
Admittedly he'd never put much stock into friends in the past either. The title of 'friend' serving as a stand in for all sorts of other relationships. Allies, colleagues, barely concealed enemies and useful assets. All rungs to get to the top, though Sinclair did not often make a show of stepping on them like a few other big names that crossed his mind.
If he were to remember correctly, this Atlas was one of his rungs just as much as he'd been a service to the revolutionary in return. Yet their partnership had ended rather abruptly with his entrapment in this wretched little slice of Rapture.
Although if he were to be an honest man, Sinclair would have to admit that his personal feelings on Atlas had soured somewhat towards the end. But personal bias came into business very little. Just as well for him really.
"Herr Sinclair?" He nearly jumped at that German inflection. Not even having heard her approach.
Deep thought was a habit he'd unfortunately picked up since Rapture's fall, not a habit he was neither fond nor proud of. Quickly put on a businessman's smile to brush away all evidence that there might have been anything on his mind besides the goldmine he sought to unearth.
Granted that was on his mind an awful lot as well.
"Come to check in have we?" Sinclair asked despite knowing Tenanbum communicated with the kid all on her lonesome where she could. Not with a single kind word to speak of him. That sat just fine with Sinclair, he didn't have much in the way of favourable words for her either.
The German woman's face was pinched with apprehension, though she didn't seem to have too many other resting expressions now days. "Have you and Delta discovered the source of the ramblings?" She asked, straight to the point. It was somehow more tedious than if she'd spent time trying to throw him through verbal backflips. He might just be growing out of practice without a clever voice to act as a grindstone.
"Had to put that show on a intermission – found ourselves a little distraction." A of which distraction that Delta had carefully handled.
Delta seemed to have found he and their new friend a place to rest with minimal risk. Busy setting up the odd turret and trap rivet just as he would when preparing to defend one of his little girls. Atlas looked about as defenseless as one. Unmoving where he'd been placed up against a piece of wall that kept his back and sides protected while Delta set about setting out a perimeter at his front.
The big daddy's protective instinct was nothing to be scoffed at. If it was learned or some relic of the man he had been before that suit had been forced onto him was anyone's best guess.
"A distraction?" She sounded unimpressed.
With a casual smile and shrug Sinclair gestured to what limited visuals they had on Subject Delta's trek. "See the sorry soul for yourself." He suggested, taking a step away from the monitor to allow Tenanbum access.
She was not a creature of many emotions and those she did express were usually quite dulled by a blatant disinterest. So it was quite a surprise to see every blood drain from the woman's already gaunt face. Her eyes widening just a fraction as she stared at the flickering image.
Curious Sinclair continued to watch as Tenanbum straightened, each muscle in her body coiled tight. Voice tighter still as she spoke, seeming to address no one in particular. "How is this possible?" While the question seemed directed to the heavens itself, Sinclair took up the mantle of answering.
"Suppose his death was a touch exaggerated." The comment carried with it a humorous note, for what else could be the cause of this? But Tenanbum seemed no more comforted. Expression seeming to war between shock, anger and confusion. She neither knew what to think nor what to feel and Sinclair had the distinct impression this was not a common problem for the woman.
Eventually all other emotion gave away to a stony determination and she took up the radio.
"Herr Delta, kill that man."
There was a split second where both Sinclair and the tiny figure of Delta on the screen paused. Sinclair reacted first, snatching the radio away from the crazy broad. Speaking back into it with haste. "Put a stopper on that last for a second there, sport." And then to Tenanbum, "And just what exactly gave you that bright idea?" Anger made itself evident in Sinclair's harsh snap. Not an ounce of the usual charm behind it.
Unfazed by his heated demand Tenanbum met Sinclair's gaze unflinchingly. "He is not a man that should be alive."
Now Sinclair was not a bleeding heart. Tenanbum usually filled that role for Delta. Suggesting mercy and leniency that put them at risk where Sinclair did not. He spoke of survival all but exclusively while she found room for forgiveness. So why the tonal shift? Why the vengeful look in her eyes? There was a coldness behind her stare that almost had Sinclair backing off. Almost.
"Not much fair to be killing a man in his sleep. Ain't that a just the tiniest bit cold o' you?" He was not one to be throwing stones but he'd decided Atlas might be of some use and felt greatly offended that Tenanbum had not even thought to consult him about issuing his execution.
But if history were any indication – Delta would make his own decision on who and who not to kill. They were but voices standing on opposite sides of his shoulders.
The look Tenanbum was giving him was nothing short of glacial and the pair found themselves caught in a silent moment of stalemate. There was something that she was keeping to herself, some information that prompted this hateful reaction. If it were something strictly personal it wasn't really Sinclair's business, although that did not mean he was about to let her call every shot just because she and Atlas had bad blood between them. Despite himself Sinclair was curious to see what would push Tenanbum to such extreme displays of emotion outside of the little sisters.
It occurred to him only then that this may have been her motivation. Atlas and his men had been no kinder to little sisters than splicers had been. Far more organized that splicers but and about as sympathetic – arguably a more vile form of slaughter.
But even that seemed a stretch. He was surely no threat to them like this and even less so with Delta hovering over him. So it had to be something else and Sinclair wanted to know – though he'd not say just how badly he desired that information.
Finally Tenanbum broke eye contact but not in submission or defeat. Simply turning her stare back to the screen, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the prone figure. Delta was yet to act on her command, either paused by Sinclair's veto or by that own freewill of his. "What has he had to say?" She asked finally and Sinclair took that as a truce for the time being.
"Not terribly talkative at the moment, passed out all but the moment Delta found him. Not in the best fighting shape either judging by the way that splicer almost lit him up." Not many people traversed Rapture unscathed but Atlas did seem a little more beaten than most even before he'd been scorched.
Tenanbum didn't say anything about it, moving on immediately to her next inquiry. "And what use do you have of him?"
"Still working on that one." She shot him a look he could only laugh at, that irritable scowl that demanded why he felt the need to fight her on such a weightless whim. "Use whatever we can get our hands on, eh?"
Finally with one last parting glower sent the screen's way. "When he wakes I will be first to know. We watch him. Closely." She said flatly. "Should he prove a threat, he dies."
As though Sinclair would have done anything other than just that. But for now he'd won and Delta didn't move to take the sleeping man's life. As Tenanbum turned away from him Sinclair wondered what caused a woman such as herself to be filled with such loathing and fear of this man.
"Right." Sinclair spoke into the radio with a sigh of mild relief. "Back on track. Now where were we?"
In his experience, answers came to those who were patient and persistent.