The absolute first thing that Atlas felt upon beginning to near consciousness was a sharp pain between his eyes. The sort he tried to dig out with the base of his thumb but found the ache was too deeply seated in his skull to be reached from the outside. Didn't stop him from trying with a low groan of pain and a hand up to his forehead. The movement of his stiff muscles added nothing to be desired to his condition.

He was not drunk enough to justify this headache. He really had to stop passing out.

Finally Atlas blinked his eyes open, finding the world to still be a mess of blurry shapes and shadows. An unpleasant mess of green and blue – good to know Rapture's colour pallet had changed none. Blearily he turned his gaze to the side, seeking out anything to make more sense of his situation. The first sturdy figure his eyes landed on was that of the big daddy that hadn't killed him the moment it saw him.

Despite this Atlas flinched, the adrenaline rapidly pulling him up and out of the murky waters of sleep. Jerking upright Atlas kicked back away from the impassive giant, feet squealing as his boots grated against the moist ground for purchase. His mad shuffling did little more than emphasis the wall at his back and the searing pain that shot up his side when his raw skin as he pressed into it.

The hiss of pain that pushed through his teeth seemed to prompt the silent witness from its lulled state and Atlas went sharply silent when it moved. Eyes locked on the beast with about as much trust as he'd hand to a shark sharing the water with him.

It might have noticed his distrustful glare, or perhaps it could only move slowly when not fighting as it made no abrupt movements. A gradual ease forward that set every nerve in Atlas's body on edge. He watched as it's armored body leaned to the side, little pieces of it's suit grinding and hissing as it carried the weight of the drill across the ground with a faint scratching sound.

Then just as calmly as it had moved, the big daddy plucked up a med kit from its side. Atlas had not even noticed it sitting there until the beat held it in its palm. The med kits scattered around Rapture was sizable bits of gear, packed with plenty to see a dying man a few more precious minutes, but in the big daddy's hand it looked tiny. Inconsequential, useless.

Warily Atlas's eyes passed between the metal man and the much needed health kit. Unsure if reaching out for it would abruptly shatter whatever pacifism had overtaken it.

Distantly he recalled Sinclair's voice humming through the radio. Confusion and adrenaline having made the whole scene very fuzzy in his memory. Like most his other memories he supposed. But he did recall Sinclair having sway over this monster.

He did not think this made him all that much safer. Sinclair being in charge of something that could kill him was a very, very shallow comfort. Might as well have been a threat now he thought about it.

But his arm was throbbing much worse than his head now the injury had made itself known again and Atlas needed what was in the big daddy's hand.

It wasn't until the beast gently swayed its hand up and down in a come hither gesture that Atlas relented. He watched very carefully as the daddy stretched its fingers out, arching its palm as much as it could in a show of…perhaps reassurance? Not unlike a child attempting to hand feed a spooked creature trying to make its innocent intent known.

Atlas needed the med kit.

"Thanks…" Atlas slowly gave his appreciation to the creature, reaching for the offering just as cautiously as he gave gratitude. Ready to snatch both back if that drill started to whirl.

But both it and the monster it was attached to remained still. Impassive and impossible to gauge behind that faceless mask. Atlas didn't like being unable to see a person's face when they lied to you, using a fake face was about as bad. Though he was not sure he could call the big daddy's build a face of any kind.

Yet as the med kit passed into his hand, a considerably larger looking item when held by him, the beast eased back and Atlas could have named its demeanor as…pleased.

As though satisfied by the good it had done.

Fancy that. A machine made for killing that had more morals to its being than Atlas could have mustered up in his pinky. He wasn't sure if he ought to be ashamed or not by that. Then again, he might have just been projecting and the creature was no more virtuous than a toaster.

Hell…the toaster might have still had him beat.

Deciding it was best not to start examining all the different kitchen appliances that could have bested him in a morality test, Atlas instead tried to focus on doing what he could for this shoddy arm of his.

Looking down at the raw flesh Atlas almost winced. It was hardly the worst he'd seen but when it was his own hide blistering and peeling it was a fair bit different to seeing a splicer's rotten corpse.

Pointedly he looked away from the burn area and down to the kit between his legs. Opening it up Atlas found himself relieved to see it stocked well, sometimes these things had been shells left behind after someone else raided them for something specific. In this case he was lucky. Gauze, need and thread, some bottles to clean up an injury, what looked like a slightly over generous supply of drugs – but wasn't that just the Rapture way? Everything he needed to get moving again and a bit more. Burns were a touchy topic and while they could be dealt with, it wasn't as simple as a gash or stray bullet once removed.

Gingerly Atlas grabbed up some clean water, alarmingly hard to come by in Rapture, and set to cleaning his skin as best he could. Even touching the afflicted area led to greater suffering and Atlas was grinding his teeth as he stubbornly cleaned the wounded skin. It wasn't until he pressed a little too harshly over a blistered area of skin and the fucker bust that Atlas pulled back with a bark of pain followed by a vicious curse and some sharp breaths to calm himself.

Fuck this. He thought angrily to himself. Fuck this place. Fuck Ryan. Fuck it all.

While in the midst of his hissy fit, the daddy had inched forward. Atlas didn't even notice until it was practically by his side, large hand reaching. He did notice however when those coarse fingers brushed his arm.

Atlas jerked back with an indignant snarl. "I don't need your bleedin' help!" In answer the beast seemed to recoil. If Atlas had to peg a name to it, he'd have said the thing was hurt by his outburst. Pulling back that large gloved hand to its side. Chastised.

Irritated Atlas settled back down with a scowl. Watching the thing as it...sulked.

Unbelievable.

"What do ya even want?" He snapped after a moment longer of terse silence. Did it actually intend to help him? Was it's idea of helping to just tear off the afflicted limb? Atlas didn't particularly want to take his chances.

But as the beast reached for the med kit and began to pick through it on its own, Atlas was admittedly a touch curious. He'd never seen a big daddy behave like this. So…thinking. Like it was really still some sort of person in there.

Certainly he'd never seen one so delicate as it withdrew the gauze and a bottle of what seemed like ointment to ease the swelling and fight infection. Then it held both these items up for Atlas's inspection. For his approval. "I reckon your hands are a touch too big for that sort of work."

Then, just to prove him wrong, the daddy unwound the gauze and popped to lid off the ointment without stretching or breaking either. Alright, it wanted to be smart with him? Atlas's good hand slipped down to his side, feeling for his gun and once he had it he showed the beast what he was holding. Fucking thing didn't so much as flinch. Cocky son of a bitch. "Break my arm and I'll put a bullet between your eyes." Wherever those might be in that helmet.

Truly the threat was a weak one. He might get one lucky shot in before being skewered by that drill, but his meaning was clear enough and the beast went ahead with what it had wanted to do before being barked at by the wounded mutt.

Atlas watched closely in equal parts wariness and genuine astonishment. It was alien in a way, seeing this creature hunched over his arm, working so tenderly not to hurt him further and despite himself Atlas breathed a quiet, "What are you…?" in disbelief.

The question was given no answer and they fell into silence. The daddy was careful in a way he hadn't been. There were no more wounds opened despite its calloused touch and when Atlas let out a little hiss of discomfort as the ointment was pressed into his aching flesh, his current medic paused to check his state, getting a stiff nod from Atlas to continue. Before long the gauze was being wound around his arm. Firm but not painful, much like the daddy's hold as a whole.

The entire experience seemed like a fever dream to Atlas, but much of his life had become like that and with the sharp pain in his arm being gradually soothed he accepted this abnormal exchange readily.

Finally patched up Atlas sat back and tested his arm's range. Seeing if the gauze was going to slip or pull too tight as he moved. The beast's work was impressive. No Steinman granted, but quite amazing for a big daddy's clumsy hands.

Before he could stop himself there was another word of thanks on his lips, mercifully he didn't get the chance to let it slip past when he saw the beast pulling a needle from the kit. The sight had him going tense.

Pain killers. Blissful as the thought was, Atlas refused them. Pushing the needle away much to the beast's confusion. It only pushed back a little and when Atlas shoved, it allowed itself to be pushed away. There was no way Atlas could have forced it back unless the big daddy chose to ease off.

It did so with little more than a slight tip of his giant helmet. Questioning.

"Can't use those." He muttered to the beast, seeming to surprise it. "ADAM." This didn't remove the stance that suggested puzzlement from the daddy. "I ain't no bleeding splicer." Atlas spat with just a touch too much venom.

But then his eyes settled on the unnatural vein like scars running down the length of his arm and he hesitated on his conviction.

Just what had he been before the memories fractured?

Curiously the big daddy's helmet tipped down towards the syringe and then back up to the man. As though trying to make sense of the two things and why one was unacceptable to the other. Something about that eyeless stare began to gnaw at Atlas and finally he reached out with his good hand to take the needle.

"Only if I need it." He muttered, hoping very much that he would never need it. He was in pain, yes, but he thought he could stomach that pain until it was gone rather than force it away with ADAM in his veins. Things like this didn't make splicers sure enough, it was plasmids that truly did it, these watered down products wouldn't lead to that. But Atlas knew well enough that even the smallest touch of ADAM to the body was a massively dangerous undertaking and very few, perhaps none in fact, came back from it.

A small bit of ADAM to fix an agonizing wound did no permanent harm, but how easy it was to go from that to a slight strength enhancement. By the end of the week you were throwing lightening and screaming about ants burrowing into your brain.

Atlas would rather not take that first step if he could help it. Still, he also knew that if his pain became too great he might as well kill himself now and save the splicers the trouble.

So he slipped the needle safely away into his bag and resolved to try and not have need of it.

"Where are we?" Atlas asked after he'd settled some. Looking around the decrepit park. He vaguely recognised some of it, but it was hard to make heads or tails of the once vibrant party area. It had corroded after so long underwater that it made Fort Frolic seem well preserved.

After a stretching silence Atlas glanced back towards his silent companion and then recalled that he was in fact a silent company to have. Well… not as though he hadn't had his fair share of the tight lipped sorts. Most still had their vocal cords to try out mind you. "Aye. Stupid question." He admitted after a hefty sigh. It was foolish to feel disappointed by the lack of conversation. What would he have even had to say to a creature like this if it could speak?

Still…he felt a very poignant sort of seclusion at being unable to kick up a conversation at will. Come and gone had the days he'd made talking an art form. With the right sorts it could be more than that, it could be a sort of dance. A fight with some, a duet with others.

Now there was silence and Atlas had only himself to fill it.

Which was why he jumped so sharply when the beast at his back let out a low rumbling moan. Not speech by any stretch but it was followed by the daddy raising its hand to…point.

Communication. Basic at best, but communication all the same. He'd take it. "Well that'll be a fine a start as any." Atlas muttered and it only hit him at that moment how he could speak with the beast. Not in the traditional sense sure, but it understood him. Clearly it did.

It understood what he said as well as any human would have and responded almost as well. As if only crippled by its lost vocal cords and suddenly it felt like Atlas was doing the beast a disservice.

"Well I must be forgetting my manners in my old age." Atlas began, feeling almost foolish in his attempt at human interaction with the big daddy, but unwilling to go without trying. He hadn't had someone physically by his side in…Christ if he knew how long. "Name's Atlas." He introduced and refused to acknowledged how his chest clenched for just a moment in expectation of the disappointment he would not doubt feel when these efforts proved futile.

Instead what he got was the daddy moving again. This time to hold both hands out. One turned downward and the other pressing a finger over top. Displaying its glove to Atlas a little more clearly. He had to look closely to really see what it was showing him. A symbol.

Atlas frowned, trying to make heads or tails of it. Without thinking he reached out to touch the marking, only to realise what he was doing and pulling back sharply. Glancing up to the daddy's mask for some sign of anger or retaliation but it remained as benevolent as ever and slowly Atlas resumed the motion till he was running his thumb along the mark.

"This…ah, ain't this that greek thing?" Atlas never claimed to be a massively well educated man, but he thought he recognised this. Maybe. Felt like something he'd seen somewhere or had known once but forgot along with plenty of things. He wasn't doing amazingly in the memory department as of late.

It took some searching and failed guesses until he landed on something that felt right. "Gamma…alpha, that sort of thing right?" A small inclination of the daddy's head kept him going until he hit the right mark. "Delta?"

Abruptly the hand withdrew and for a split second Atlas worried he'd done something that would earn him a swift and painful death. But when he followed the daddy's hand up he was genuinely left speechless when it formed a….a thumbs up?

A surprised bark of laughter left Atlas. He simply could not believe he'd seen a big daddy do that. He was rapidly realising this one was nothing like the ones he knew. It was practically human. "Delta huh." He managed once the laughter tapered off. "Well I'll be…not something I thought I'd ever be seeing but…well here we are."

He felt…a little less wretched. Atlas wouldn't attach the word 'loneliness' to what had eased slightly, but regardless it felt a little less overwhelming now. Some good humor replacing it. "Good to be meeting you properly, Delta."

Supposed he owned the beastie a bit of leniency then. If it was a thinking man and had leant him a hand. Friendly folks weren't easy to come by when Rapture still had all its lights on and even less so now days.

Better still to have a friend with a drill attached to it. Atlas wasn't an idiot, he saw the opportunity in this. To have a machine like this fight with him rather than against him? Yeah, that was too good to pass up.

And yet the beast's leash still belonged in different hands.

A fact he'd nearly forgotten until the radio line lit up again. One from Delta and also from the radio latched to his hip. "Well look at you!" Sinclair's jovial voice came from the little box with a static hum to it. "Back in the land of the living."

Plucking up his radio Atlas didn't so much as blink before answering. "Aye, and I suppose I'm expected to thank you for that, Augustus." Atlas chimed back and despite his sardonic tenor – truly he was elated to be hearing another human voice. Friendly or otherwise.

In answer to his dry remark Sinclair chuckled amicably and Atlas wasn't fooled for a moment. They'd worked together in the past, as friendly as Sinclair might have sounded, he most certainly was not if you weren't of use. Granted that didn't make him a malicious force, just an apathetic one. Would leave Atlas twisting in the wind in a heartbeat if he saw nothing to gain from him.

Cold son of a bitch. Atlas could respect that.

"Tell me, Atlas, lets say you and I do a touch of business again?"

"Well you got me listening, Sinclair. That's half the battle, ain't it?" Atlas tossed a glance up at Delta and noticed how it stood there almost…lost. As though it were some kid listening to adults bickering about things that went right over it's head. Endearing idiot that one. Looking back up into the empty space of the park's decaying ceiling Atlas went on. "Although I can't think of what you intend to have me do for you."

"I'd be a fool to look past your history, Atlas." Sinclair reminded and Atlas could have laughed. He knew what that actually meant. Sinclair didn't know what to do with him yet either, he was biding him time while he figured it out. Fine by him so longer as when Sinclair reached his answer he didn't have his pet big daddy turn on him. "As I see it two hands on deck are better than one." He added with a shrug that Atlas couldn't see but heard clear as day in the tone.

"And what would you be having my hands do?" Atlas probed, wondering what exactly it was Sinclair was playing at down here. Once upon a time it all had to do with hiding secrets, moving weaponry and making money where it could be made.

Now days it all had to do with survival and, if you were the sort, revenge.

Atlas was undeniably the sort, but Sinclair? Atlas couldn't say for sure if the man had a vengeful spirit, however he could easily confirm the man's capability for spite.

So what was it driving him now?

"Got ourselves a small problem under the name of Lamb." Sinclair began, tone as wary as it was irritable. "She's been giving us all different kinds of grief. Cant say I'm much of a fan of hers."

Despite himself Atlas dug his fingers into an old wound of Sinclair's. "I'd imagine not. After all she gave you the boot way back when, didn't she?" He did not wait for Sinclair to choose to take offense to that, quickly moving on. "Had myself a wee chat with the old bat already."

"Have you now?" There was uncertainty in that tone. Uncertainty and concern. Not for Atlas of course, but for what might have been said.

In truth it was a dangerous tone for Atlas. Meant if he took too many wrong steps he'd be the problem they needed to erase. Fortunately he did not believe he'd fall into that category, he had no fondness for the bitch.

"Not a word of the conversation pleasant." Atlas recalled with a sneer. "Lunatic seems to have taken wonderfully to Rapture sinking. And she had plenty to say to me."

None of it made much sense at the time and despite himself Atlas felt her comments begin to weigh on him once again. Snaking into his mind and taking up residency now there was room for them to fester. A relic, eight years, Ryan – gone.

Pulling the radio back up Atlas began to speak again. The words lower, heavier as he dropped pretenses for a moment. "Look here, Sinclair. I'll do business with you, whatever you decide for that to be. But I have two conditions." The silence from Sinclair's end was likely the most approval he'd get. The man was not against breaking his own word but why give it if he did not have to? "I get topside and I get a few truths."

"Truths?" Something in Sinclair's tone was off but Atlas paid it no mind. "And pray tell, what truth would you want?"

"We can start with the year." Atlas bit back and when no answer came immediately. "You think I'm pulling a fast one on your right no, Sinclair? I'm serious, I want the current date!"

A simple answer was all he needed. He needed a voice that was not Lamb's to solidify all the evidence around him. No beating around the bush, no second guessing or twisted prose and riddles. A simple straight forward answer.

He got one. But not from Sinclair.

"Ninteen-sixty-eight."

A beat of silence. A weight settling heavily in his stomach. And a voice he knew.

With a deep breath pulled into his lungs, Atlas gradually rose back to his full height, features pulled into a grim expression. Yeah, he knew that voice just fine and if his body felt a rush of ice through his veins and then scorching anger immediately behind it – he felt it a justified reaction.

"Doctor…been a quick minute hasn't it?"

He'd wanted answers and who better to give them than her? Atlas still loathed to hear her voice again. Tenebaum seemed just as pleased to hear from him again. "Not long enough. Not as long as it should be."

"Indefinitely I'd wager." Their bitterness was shared but Atlas believed his to be more justified. She'd done nothing but get in the kid's way. Done nothing but speak poorly of him.

Arguably some of his bitterness might have stemmed from the lad listening to her over him at times. But more likely it was how the weight in his stomach became heavier recalling what they'd been arguing for and against. They weren't children anymore, he knew that. But it made his deeds no less bloody.

The doctor had never forgotten that, nor would she forgive him. Just as well her hands were just as coated in those girl's blood.

He hadn't been the one that set it all up after all.

Before anymore spite could pass between them Atlas made a sharp demand, unaware of how loudly or angrily the question would come out until it had passed his lips and rung out in the abandoned parkland around them. "Where is the kid!" He shouted, the force of his words surprising even him. He could see Delta sway from the corner of his eye – perhaps unsettled by his anger.

Tenebaum was silent however and that lack of response fueled his anger and the words came pouring out. "If you're still fucking here and I'm still fucking here, where is the kid? Where is Jack!"

She began to speak, but it was not the tone of an answer she gave. "Of what concern is-" The question was never fully asked before Atlas exploded again.

"That's my fucking kid!"

There came more silence over the radio and Atlas couldn't stop now he'd started. Each word just as explosive and hateful as the last. "I don't care how many children you've managed to unmake in your lifetime playing fucking Frankenstein, that kid is mine." Atlas barely knew what he was saying as each accusation came out faster than the last. "I'm the one that looked after him! You put the life of every child you ruined ahead of his, ahead of my family just because you felt guilty! So if you know where Jack is you had better fucking tell me right now!"

This time when the silence fell Atlas was seething, taking in slightly heavier breaths as he waited with teeth clenched and the radio clutched violently in his hand. He waited but almost did not want an answer. He waited, afraid of what she might say and wholeheartedly ready to throw blame onto her just so it would not stick to him should the answer prove to be a painful one.

He was so heated that the slip up went missed. He barely even noticed how attached he'd become to Jack, his kid? His kid was dead, Patrick had been dead for a long time.

Maybe that was why he was so set on Jack. Some sick replacement and for as vile as the thought was – Atlas waited still and hoped the replacement wasn't gone as well.

"Your family…" Tenebaum's voice was little more than a mystified murmur. Atlas was as confused by her hesitancy as he was enraged.

"What a-fucking-bout them?" He hissed back through the radio. Daring her to say something wrong to pull more of his anger onto her.

This time when Tenebaum paused it was clear she was thinking. The radio on her end still buzzing with static. She was pondering something and that only made Atlas's blood boil hotter still. What the fuck was there to think about? He wanted and answer and she had to have it. If she didn't the who would?

"You lost your family, no?" She asked instead and Atlas was left at a loss.

The question so quickly stole the wind from his sails and he was left grappling with the pieces of what had once been a solid image of his family. "What… you missed the memo or something?" He asked, voice quieter and hollow now. The anger gone and leaving nothing strong enough to replace it. "The same thing that happens to everyone in Rapture happed to them. Ryan."

He was sure she'd known that. Why ask about it? Was she pulling at old wounds for fun? Some sort of punishment for his crimes. As though he'd not been punished enough.

Perhaps it was that maternal instinct of hers that had her pulling back. Refraining from digging deeper into those opened wounds. "I see…" Still that pondering tone. But Atlas didn't snap this time.

Instead when he spoke it was quieter, almost pleading. "Look, doc. I ain't got a clue what's happening here. I just want to know what happened to the kid. Is that really too much to ask?"

Just tell him where Jack was.

Everything else could come after. He just had to hear the good or bad news. Not sure what was worse, knowing he was dead or thinking that he was out there alone in Rapture without him there to help guide him. He'd promised not to leave the kid twisting in the wind like that. It was the first real promise he'd made to him and one of the few he thought he'd be able to keep.

He expected bad or worse news, but was given the shock of his life when Tenebaum finally answered. "Safe. Jack has left Rapture."

He….he what? "Left?" Atlas repeated uncomprehendingly.

Tenebaum enlightened him but it somehow made even less sense. "To surface."

Was this really a better answer?

"I…" Atlas didn't know what to say to that. A thousand different thoughts racing through his mind. Relief was there, disbelief as well and then finally unease. Had Jack left without him? Without his memory he couldn't be sure how it had gone down. Had he sent the kid off alone for some reason?

Jack wouldn't have…he wouldn't have left him here. The kid just wouldn't do that. Atlas refused to believe that.

"Everyone seems to think I'm dead." He murmured after a moment of trying to organize his thoughts and not quite meeting the mark. "Jack…he must have thought so too. Right?" It was just a misunderstanding. Jack wouldn't have left him here. He wouldn't have.

"A misunderstanding." Tenebaum repeated seemingly in agreement then after a second ventured a little further. "And you…you do not recall how you came to be…deceased?"

"Last thing I remember Jack was about to get to Ryan. We were so close and then…nothing. I got nothing. Did we do it? Tenebaum, did we kill Ryan?" He asked, voice edging on desperate. People would forgive him for being a little out of sorts for this.

"Yes." Tenebaum answered calmly. "Jack killed Ryan on your word."

Atlas let out a dry chuckle in a breath, hand clapped over his eyes as he smiled. It was an unpleasant smile but at least it was something. Ryan dead, Jack alive. Everything else was white noise.

"Well…that'll be the first good news of the day."