Still fueled by the anger rushing hot through his veins, Atlas strode into the theater.
Not even able to muster up surprise under his severely trodden on nerves when it seemed to have survived the worst of the flooding. At least everything above the ground floor. Atlas could follow the perfect ring that signaled where the water level had reached around the whole theater. A sudden, sharp break from the unpleasant green rot left behind by being submerged. The upper half of the theater had been spared the water damage, but not the degeneration of time.
Under foot the still thoroughly saturated floor let out a wet squelch when Atlas stepped on it. A disgusted sneer briefly flashed across his face and Atlas almost took the step back till he felt Delta at his back and stubbornly continued forward towards the theater stage.
Once Delta's heavy steps had pressed into the soggy carpet Atlas noticed that Delta's pace was somehow quieter a splash than his own had been. Delta's boots were heavy but broad, dispersing the sound, making it far less startling a sound. It helped too that Delta was walking while Atlas stomped.
It was only then that Stanley opted to grace them with his near manic chatter again.
Or rather chose to address Delta, as though Atlas was a footnote.
"Now, take a seat, Johnny." Stanley suggested eagerly, like he thought he might somehow make Delta more comfortable and more inclined to think well of him.
In response Delta only turned slightly towards the rows of audience seats. Even had they not been in such disrepair it was clear Delta could not sit in them. So fragile and breakable when compared to his hefty size. Delta stared mutely at the seats offered for a few awkward seconds and Atlas snorted quietly. Unable to help himself though he hastily returned to his scowling before Delta could think his bad mood had lifted. It had not.
No matter how amusing it was to see Delta staring so blankly at the offered seat.
Hastily Stanley spoke again, realizing his error. "—or, or, or stand, standing is fine. It's uh, more heroic, I guess."
Atlas cringed, lips tugging down in an unpleasant sneer. Fans, just what they fucking needed. He distantly recalled having a few of his own back in the day. It seemed less charming now than it had before and truthfully it hadn't held much charm to begin with.
"Not to kill the marvelous groveling we seem to have going – but you got something you want to fucking share with us?" Atlas asked sharply, glaring upwards. As though that were the source of the chatter rather than the booth they'd left behind.
Stanley sounded like he really had forgotten he was there until he spoke. "A-Atlas." He stuttered, perhaps not above a bit of awe of another big name in Rapture, though Atlas got the idea he was no great admirer of his. "I- ah. Yes, yes of course! I wouldn't waste Mr. Topside's time!" He was not going to laugh at that, Mr. Topside. He was not done being angry. "Right…right. I got something to show you! Now, just take a good hard look at this!"
Atlas jumped, feet making another wet sound of impact as he did when the otherwise fairly well-lit theater lapsed into darkness. Instinctively he lifted his gun, awaiting a trap that just didn't come. Instead the room burst into light again, bright and focused. The screen ahead of them lit up.
Bleeding hell…The theater still worked!
Before Atlas was able to wrap his brain around that, an old film threw up on the screen. One he recognized.
There was Jonny.
A whole and perfectly normal human, still obliviously walking through Rapture. The boy looked so young up there now. He still towered over the other passersby who stopped to whisper amongst themselves upon seeing him. He was a firm, broad shouldered youth. A mop of thick hair he seemed to have at least tried to comb. Couldn't tell through the grainy screen but Atlas vaguely remembered the kid having a bit of a notable colour to his hair. Something nearly red, dark but definitely not brown. Made Atlas wonder how much of his own countries blood the kid had running through him.
The video seemed to have struck them both a little harshly. Seeing Jonny so normal. Peering through the windows of Rapture's finest businesses to see the oddities of an underwater society. Some stupid, beaming smile on his face. So excited to see the sights – never knowing he was being recorded and carefully sized up.
All to end up shipped off by Ryan and eventually stuffed into an iron suit.
Despite the insult Atlas still truly felt from their earlier interaction, he risked a look over at the silent giant behind him. Delta was looking at the screen, not a sound out of him. Then slowly approached, passing Atlas who didn't dare take a step between him and that screen.
He wondered…did Delta remember any of this? How much of the kid on that screen was still left in his head?
Hopefully a little more than Atlas remembered of himself.
And Stanley spoke. Good lord did the man speak. "See that? That's you!" He crowed, as though they didn't already know. "Now, do you see what they did? They just erased you from Rapture history, Johnny, like you never found us at all! And they dragged you away to some spy d-d-dungeon without so much as a howdy-do!"
Delta still walked, as though he wasn't hearing Stanley at all. Stopping only when his waist hit the stage. Still staring. Still silent.
Maybe he really couldn't hear Stanley, but Atlas could. He listened and did all the thinking for him. "And do you know who's responsible? Well sir, I'll tell you. Ava-Marie Tate. That's right. Andrew Ryan's B-Baroness of Bullpucky."
Tate? That seemed an odd person to blame. But Atlas did know Ryan had her right and good under his thumb. It would not be strange that she'd do shady things for him. Her and Cohen might have snapped and snarled at once another but they were beasts of the same nature, begging at Ryan's heels.
Stanley's stammering went on without Delta's input. "That's uh...that's all I've got so far. B-But I can learn more, we both can! I just need a bit of help from you…"
Of course he did. Atlas scowled, he hated feeling like an errand boy…but he had a feeling Delta might not mind. Especially if he got some closure.
If someone had come to him with promises of answers…he'd have likely taken them up on it. He couldn't very well refuse Delta the same opportunity.
"Now for the kicker. T-The harpy herself is still throwing parties around here! You wouldn't believe the kind of sick, sick things they do there! They know my face in there, and already gave me the boot! But you — if you sneak in and use that camera of yours to capture the scandal, I can expose Ava once and for all!"
Atlas didn't think there were any parties still going on in Rapture. None that were any fun for the every man at least. A gathering of splicers did not sound like his idea of a fun time. He had a refusal bubbling up in his throat immediately but bit it back down. Needing to think about the long game rather than the short-term anger.
Finally he approached Delta. The flicker of his former image still on the screen. Despite himself, Atlas couldn't seem to muster up the anger he had before. Not when Delta stood so still and silent in front of a memory.
"Hey." Atlas's voice was firm but softer than he usually allowed. "Jonny." No answer.
Atlas steeled himself and tried again. "Delta."
Gradually Delta turned away from the screen looking down towards Atlas. Maybe truly hearing what was being said for the first time since that reel began to spin. It was not much of a reaction to go off, but it was a reaction at the very least.
The Irish revolutionary didn't speak any further. Just looked right back. The guy never said a word but seemed to get his intent through to Atlas with ease. He tried to do the same, too proud to say the words aloud. He hoped Delta would get the idea behind his stare, the well intent he had despite his foul mood.
If answers were what he wanted, Atlas would support him.
And hoped if at some point he needed that support in return Delta would do just the same.
The seconds trickled by before finally Delta gave that slight inclination of his helmet. A small gesture of understanding. Perhaps also one of thanks.
Satisfied, Atlas looked back to the flickering scree, speaking to Stanley. Atlas used his words to express Delta's agreement for the mute man. "Fine, you got our attention. Where is this little shindig being held?"
And he hoped to god he had enough bullets and sanity left for this errand.
Stanley's voice somehow became even less composed once he knew he had the ever generous aid of his apparent idol – that is to say Delta, not Atlas. "W-Well! The price of admission to Ava's show for the debauched is a jab to a man's morals." That was not a location and Atlas decidedly did not like where Stanley was going with the train of thought. "And it looks like Ava's guests are…are hiding, Jonny. Won't let you in or come out unless you show them you're on the level! I-I know you're not, of course! But…well you You gotta trick them into thinking you're one of them!"
On the level. One of them.
Given all Atlas knew about the way those parties had started to swing – those were two things he had no business being involved in. Already his expression was twisting into something unpleasant through Stanley's ramblings, turning darker with each clumsy word. But then the projector cut off sharply and rather than bring the room back to life with some light, they were given a single spotlight.
He hadn't seen it at first, too focused on the reel being played up before them, but there was a small tray sitting center stage. A silver platter that gleamed under the spotlight just a touch too brightly to be an easy thing to set eyes on. But Atlas didn't look away, seeing the items on the tray and feeling the glower he'd been working up drop right off his face. Expression one of genuine bewilderment, the disgust would catch back up given enough time.
"See those party favors they've left out in the open? Go ahead...use one-" Stanley's lunacy got no further than that.
"You taking me for a spin?" Atlas shouted back in snarl of disbelief. "You had better be or I'm going to head right back to the booth and pry the doors open myself!"
The loopy bastard had the good sense to sound intimidated by the furious word Atlas tossed his way, but no less determined to see this insanity through to its undoubtedly bloody conclusion. Stanley was a stammering, terrified and equally angry mess when he answered. "I-It…It's the only way!" He protested vehemently. "You wouldn't believe the vile things that go on in those parties! How many people have…t-they have to know the truth!"
The people? The people were dead! There were was no 'the people' left in Rapture. Atlas had watched them try to rise and then fall so fast it was like they were never even there to begin with.
Fuming, insulted and still able to see the red glow of the needles laid out on that silver tray, Atlas stepped back.
A single step back and then a sharp twist, turning back towards where Stanley was holed up. Coward! Fucking coward! Telling them to take ADAM into their own veins because he was too scared to step out of his little safety box and do it himself. He was going to march right back to the station and put a bullet between his eyes.
There was no truth to give to the people. None of either left in Rapture.
Atlas was somehow not surprised when Delta's hand stopped him again. This time more gently. A single hand on his shoulder. As though Delta were not fully capable of holding him down should he feel the need.
He needn't even really bother with it, they both knew there was no way Atlas alone could get himself into that security booth. Not with all those injuries and a single gun. The only way in there was with Stanley opening the door. But reason had absolutely no place in Atlas's mind right then, only the desire to leave that room and the needles on the platter behind.
In record time Atlas turned back on him, ready to fling the same violent words at the man as he had in store for Stanley before the bullet.
Delta's silence was so disarming.
One look at that glowing port and Atlas faltered. Delta's hand still out stretched a little towards him. Pleading. Not demanding. There were no people to give the truth to, fair enough, but there was still them. Still Delta's past and Atlas's own. One at least could be found here.
His anger fizzled back out and he almost resented Delta for that. He took no more steps towards Stanley's murder, but his hand dropped to his arm, nails biting angrily into his scars.
He had no hunger for the glowing slime in those vials atop the stage. He didn't salivate when he saw it or felt an overwhelming urge to have the stuff. He was no addict… not him.
Stanley would risk making one of him for this.
Not a word passed between them before Stanley was hastily trying to win the situation back in his favour. "C-Come on now, Jonny…" He pleaded, appealing to who he assumed to be the most reasonable of the two. He just might have been right. "Every journalist has to get his hands dirty - right up to the elbow!"
Easy for the rat bastard to say when he was being a protective layer of glass and metal.
"What's a little poke between you and the truth, eh?"
What's another drop of blood against all the red on your hands. Atlas bit the inside of his cheek, scowling off in the first direction he found that didn't keep Delta in his sights. Unsure if it was his anger or the gnawing sense of disgust that built inside of him that kept his gaze angled away from the other.
He heard Delta move. Felt the slight shift of air and loss of a body at his side. Delta approached the stage again and Atlas heard the sound of the silver platter being moved. A metallic clang as the needles shifted and clattered around atop its surface.
Despite himself Atlas could not simply stand there, fists balled up so tight his knuckles began to ache, an old cut on one splitting back open.
One more drop of blood.
He turned and began to follow after Delta. Nerves alight under his skin as he eyed the plate in Delta's grasp. He'd never seen him splice up before, hadn't really thought about it until he saw Delta slipping the needle through a space in his gear. A practiced ease about the action, barely a flinch as the injection went down and flooded his blood stream. Atlas stared and for the first time thought about what Delta was.
Big daddies were pumped so full of ADAM they rivaled even that of their little wayward charges. It made sense that Delta would take to the drugs with a greater ease than a human would. Perhaps they wouldn't even make a splicer of him. If he could survive the transformation of a mindless metal man – then he could survive that insanity too, couldn't he?
Then Atlas thought of Jack.
The stumble he'd taken off the second floor the first time he grabbed up a needle. Atlas hadn't….he hadn't told Jack to do that.
He wanted to believe he wouldn't have, but even he couldn't lie that well to himself. He'd have asked Jack to take up ADAM for the sake of his own family, the guilt wouldn't appear until long after. Atlas hadn't told him to use it, but he had coaxed him through accepting it and then pushed him further with each step into Rapture.
Survival and the need to get to his wife and child making him blind to Jack's wellbeing in the beginning. But when they were gone…even a short time before that dreadful moment, he'd started to wonder. Watched as Jack put more EVE into his body and got a little less human with each one.
Yet, he'd always retained that unnatural gentleness to him. Even if at times the kid really did act like a kid. He hadn't seen a grown adult scoff down candy bars like that before.
Jack had never changed, no matter how much he spliced up. Delta seemed to take to the process with more ease than even the kid could, Jack had nearly been knocked over each time he found a new plasmid, Delta was too sturdy for that.
Would Atlas be just the same?
He reached for the second needle just as Delta pulled his free of the little space in his armour that seemed designed for just this purpose. Seeing Atlas's reaching Delta intersected him. He should have been used to those little moment of physical stops that Delta put on him. He didn't have the voice to express what he wanted to, so could only physically stop and start Atlas's actions.
This time when Delta's large gloved hand touched his, it was one of support, but denial. The message clear enough, 'you don't have to', protecting him.
Atlas didn't need Stanley's input to know that wasn't true.
Looking at the glowing needle left on the tray Atlas's gut turned. But when had he ever shied away from getting his hands dirty to get his way? Fought tooth and nail for the revolution and then for his family – falling short only when he couldn't push himself far as he needed to, but his hands got stained all the same. But ADAM was a whole other ballgame and even he hesitated with it in his grasp.
Gently he pushed past Delta's hand and took up the needle. Pausing again to look at the crimson liquid inside.
Ever aware of Delta watching him, Atlas ran his thumb over the glowing vial. He wondered what might go through his head in that moment as he watched him hold the needle. Would he think a weak man of him, a nasty, buried habit starting back up? The press of a gloved finger against his wrist still a lingering feeling on his skin. His own vehement declarations coming to mind.
He wondered vaguely if he still believed it better dead than a splicer.
The label under his hand had EDEN printed over it, he distantly recalled this stuff. It sent a shot of sharp resentment through him reading it again. While he still held a distaste for Ava-Tate's concoction, he found that level of spite a little overzealous. Not unlike his aversion to the carousel.
This at least made a little more sense when sickly, red drops oozed from the tip of a needle.
"Easy there." Atlas nearly jumped out of his skin, almost slipped the needle into his skin at the wrong angle when Sinclair's voice abruptly came from the radio. "Not to say you can't hold your own just fine, Atlas. But ol' Delta here is built for ADAM far more than you are."
"Thanks for the concern." Atlas growled back, wondering if his venom so much as gave the man a moment of pause. He'd wager not with how amused Sinclair seemed.
"EDEN isn't your run of the mill white powder, Atlas." He warned, voice just shy of mocking. Giving real information but not without scorn. "The stuff will make you a little less yourself, so I'm told. If you start seeing things…well in Rapture it's hard to tell the difference as is."
A hallucinogenic agent. Marvelous.
It made sense he supposed, plenty of Ava's guests were looking for a moment away from Rapture and what better way was there through using ADAM? Which was about as Rapture as one could get. The irony not lost on him, but clearly had been on them.
Atlas eyed the needle with a newfound skepticism. He'd never been massive on the drugs, kicked the stuff the moment he met his Moira. Tried to kick the smokes as well when Patrick was on the way. She never had begrudged him for failing on that front. But he was at least no stranger to more illicit substances. All of which became perfectly legal in Rapture but were still avoided by the general public. Image and reputation after all.
However, Sinclair was no doubt right. EDEN was likely not as going to do down quite as easy as the other substances before ADAM. Cautiously he glanced over to Delta. Stoic as ever, he wondered how long it'd take to kick in and if it'd actually help Delta at all with Stanley's crazy plan. Could be anywhere from five minutes to hours knowing the unstable nature of ADAM.
He'd come too far and had too many questions to stop here. If Delta could stand this than so could he.
Steeling himself, Atlas repositioned the needle and attempted not to wince as his skin parted clumsily to make space for the invading metal. He swore he saw Delta step towards him and for a moment thought he'd take the needle from his hands to carry out the deed with more delicate care than Atlas could. But the giant blessedly kept his distance and left Atlas to press down and flood his body with unwelcome, diluted, ADAM.
It crawled through his skin like molten rock, however once it passed, slipping through his veins it left a chill in its place. Atlas cringed, fist clenching when he should have remained relaxed. He felt it crawling along his arm and wished the feeling away, when it faded none he opened his eyes and looking down towards his wrist.
His first mistake was picking up the needle, his second was looking, and the third was when he dropped it.
The needle smashed when it slipped from his fingers and struck the stage. Unlike the saturated theater floors, there was nothing to soften the impact and glass went flaying in every direction, left scattered across the stage with little droplets of glowing ooze sticking to the shards.
Atlas could only look at his arm, eyes darting up his skin, following the luminous glow as it traced up his arm along his scars. Each scar it traced lighting with the unearthly glow, becoming a yellowish hue bleeding through his flesh.
Thoughtlessly he looked to Delta. Unable to see his own expression in that moment but he could take a guess as to how horrified it must have been. Mindlessly seeking out some kind of help but not knowing what to do besides turn to Delta.
Instantly the larger figure was in front of him. Hands out to steady him, perhaps catch him if he fell. When Atlas didn't collapse and only stood there tensed and shaking from the shock of the colour burning under his scars, Delta's hands rest on his shoulders. He didn't notice it as first but Delta was rubbing calming circles into his arm. It seemed to work, gradually his breathing returned and again he felt he understood Delta's intent. To comfort him, to say it was alright, that it would pass. He only needed to wait it out.
He obeyed, let Delta ground him and waited.
Eyes screwed shut, he tried not to imagine the light passing along his body as it followed those scars. The ADAM flowed through them and Atlas knew what that meant. They were the result of ADAM and accepted it back into his body welcomingly. No denying now where they'd come from and although his body seemed to accept the rush of undeserved power ADAM brought with it, he had no memory of why.
Why would he do this to himself? He swore he never would, no matter what.
Why?
"I'm not." He whispered the words without thinking to censor himself. A wretched little voice that he was sure couldn't be his own. Delta's fingers only tightened a fraction on his arms. Never painful, always grounding. When Atlas did open his eyes this time he got to see the expression he hadn't before. Horrified was undeniably the word. He didn't say it again, didn't have to utter the word splicer for them to both know what he meant.
"I'm not." He insisted again just as quiet and just as desperate as the first, as though if Delta believed him he might believe it himself.
Gently Delta nodded. Just a slow downward tip of the helmet and it seemed to be all the assurance he needed in that moment. Even if it wasn't earnest agreement or it turned out somewhere along the way it would become untrue, for now it was enough.
The ADAM was in his body, but when he looked past Delta's hands and saw the remaining liquid stuck to the sharp scattered pieces of glass, he felt no greater hunger for more. He felt just himself as before, sick to his stomach but still in control.
Taking a deep breath, Atlas steadied himself. Nodded to Delta in return and was released. He knew that there were eyes on him. Sinclair's, Stanley's, Tenebaum's, fuck maybe even god himself if the deity had ever paused to glance Rapture's way. Eyes on him to see how wretchedly pathetic he'd become.
Pathetic maybe – but not a splicer. Not yet.
Spine straightening out, Atlas grasped his gun a little tighter with one hand and the bag strapped around his shoulder with the other. He mustered a firm look and then glanced up to Delta again as the big daddy returned to his full height as well.
I'm alright now, he said with his eyes and Delta understood.
Words were his weapon of choice – it was nice to not need to use them for a while. The person on the screen was still Delta, the person under these scars still Atlas. They understood one another just fine.