Atlas found himself actively avoiding the scene they'd just found themselves playing witness to. He'd been completely ready - scratched that, eager – to crush Stanley and his façade of Ava under the heavy metal frame. It was not murder that unsettled him, could hardly be considered murder when in defence of himself and Delta, not to mention the kid.

The kid that Atlas also found himself attempting to avoid. She'd taken to Delta naturally. A little cry of, "Mr. Bubbles!" and she was safely in the gentle giant's care. Well away from Atlas who kept a good distance from the pair.

No, it was not murder that unsettled him, but rather the eventual path Stanley had taken out. It felt almost cowardly in a sense and Atlas was sure plenty of others in Rapture had opted for a quick pull of a trigger than the hell the city had become. He wasn't an easy man to shake, but something about it had set him on edge and he couldn't pin what it was, which only served to make him more agitated.

Was it something Stanley had said?

Pushing the thought aside, Atlas tried to focus on what usually held his attention – surviving.

It couldn't have been more than ten seconds after Stanley pulled the trigger that Sinclair's voice had chimed back in. Pulling them both from that frozen state they'd been in. If there was ever a man who brought it onto himself, Sinclair had said, it was Stanley. Hard to argue with that sound logic when it had been Poole's finger on the trigger. Sinclair had moved on swiftly, no added weight to his conscience and reminded them to get the override key.

A train ride out of here seemed almost too good to be true. Less pleasing was their destination. When Sinclair had told them their next stop, Fontaine Headquarters and supposedly the end of the line, Atlas had swallowed down an agonized groan. After all the effort he went to in order to escape that place – he'd at least hoped he'd never have to willingly return to it.

He made plans to ask Sinclair for a detailed and compelling reason as to why they were doing all of this just as soon as he felt the tension in the air lift. It crossed his mind that he'd been extraordinarily cooperative and more of less following blindly until this point. But what choice had Rapture given him? He had nothing left to fall back on. No cards hidden up his sleeves or contingency plans in place, all he had was the vain hope that either Sinclair or Tenenbaum would come through by getting them topside and not murder him at some point along this road.

However, he thought he deserved at least some explanation here and there. He needed to ask, but refrained from going for the radio until he felt that a sufficient amount of time had passed. Perhaps by then some of his unexpected discomfort around what he'd seen would ease up.

Still he head the crack of Stanley's gun ringing in his ears and he couldn't seem to silence it.

He kept himself busy. Scouring the area for supplies before they got on the train. Sinclair urged them to bustle along and the good doctor even chimed in to add her agreement to Sinclair's urging. He wondered idly if they were both as surprised they agreed on something as she was.

Atlas had been listening to their squabbling after all.

As he searched Atlas would occasionally look up to seek out Delta's form. Not hard to spot him lumbering around with the child in tow. He'd been in search of a vent in which to free her but seemingly had no such luck. The only one he'd spotted had been broken beyond repair and could not be used safely. So the little girl kept following at his heels, chatting and occasionally singing.

Though at times he caught sight of her looking over at him, and when he saw that he made a point of turning away. Discouraging any ideas of closeness she might get in her head.

Now, Delta wasn't exactly the most talkative person, being mute and all, but Atlas had the distinct impression that he was being given Delta's version of the silent treatment. Atlas kept his personal bubble rather expanded currently but some part of him must have expected Delta to push into it because when the big daddy didn't he was surprised to find he was rather put out by this.

So he tried to kill a splicer, what of it? He'd saved Delta's hide in a moment of need and for some reason the guy was on a moralistic high ground.

The silence left Atlas to his own mind and even the small victories of finding packs of bullets here and there along with candy bars that were safely wrapped and likely stale as all buggery, couldn't keep those irritable thoughts at bay. He had time to once again reflect and for once found that he had a bit more information to go off. It was unreliable but at least it was something.

After giving it some thought he came to the abrupt realization that despite it's obvious drawbacks, the EDEN he'd taken had loosened his minds grasp on his memories. Just enough that a few fell free. It had snapped back shut apparently because when he reached for more he was once again met with a solid wall that kept him out.

But he recalled a few more names, a few more faces. Nothing particularly awe inspiring or indeed very comforting, but at least it was something.

Ava he recalled more clearly. Must to his great chagrin.

Her parties had been lavish, but his attention seemed to be fixated on something else. Ava had once been so sweet on him, though she'd been sweet on most anyone that could amuse her for more than a few seconds at a time. Men, women, questionable scum and unexpecting innocents alike – anything she could sink her hooks into and distract herself with for a moment. Atlas tried to shake the thoughts off, Ava's purr of 'We used to get along so well. Don't you remember the fun we had?' circling in his head. The carnal implication of those words had to be nothing more than the woman's crude sense of humour and vanity. He loved his Moira, he would never do anything to hurt her like that. It was only the memory of the vile woman whispering poison to him.

Pushing thoughts of the viper away Atlas tried to turn his mind to the others he recalled. Valery came easily to his mind, snippets of memories with her visage included passing through his mind freely. The sturdy woman's steadfast glares and confident smirks – the look she'd be wearing when completing some alteration or another to a weapon. The exact opposite of that look when supply guns to a grim cause.

More importantly her connection to Sinclair. To say their relationship was rocky was generous. Sinclair's efforts to buy Valery out once her weapons design business took off had ended in miserable failure and Atlas felt Sinclair had never really shaken the bitterness of that rejection.

Yet he'd sent him searching and Atlas knew the pair had worked together once push came to shove. He couldn't help but wonder if all Sinclair's relationships were built partly on spite and partly on respect. He did not know of one person that did not work with him while holding some form of resentment. A rare few felt both resentment and fondness he recalled vaguely, Atlas did not count himself among that small number of people.

The third piece of information he'd taken from that dizzying experience with Ava was less clear that the last two. Flashes of blue and a woman's voice in his head. Another ghost he would remember if he could just get his mind to let him back in.

His arm itched. The puncture wound from the newest injections ached. The pain dull but persistent, a promise that if he only took more, the memories would come more easily.

Swallowing thickly Atlas turned back to his busying his hands, sorting through the remains of a bar. Finding a few notes in the cash register. Perhaps enough to buy a few supplies from a circus of values.

Some naïve part of him wondered if he bought a candy bar for the cranky kid maybe he'd lighten back up… Which only brought him to the question of how Delta ate at all. That felt almost like forbidden knowledge and Atlas decided he'd rather not know. Candy bar scratched off the list. Well, unless the kid wanted one before getting stuffed into a vent to safety.

Atlas had just finished snatching the last of the cash and unintentionally let Delta slip from his line of view he caught sight of a little flash of blue and impulsively turned further towards it. He swore he saw the hazy colour flash out of the corner of his eye, passing through the broken doors that lead back towards the meeting point of many locations in the park. Back towards that cursed broken merry-go-round.

Uncertainly Atlas turned to seek out Delta again but found he too had passed into a different room. It felt very much like he was indulging the idea to sneak off. Chasing ghosts.

But Delta had to understand the appeal. So far most of his memories had come from a needle and a hallucination. He had once heard some form of speculation on the ghosts, he was by no means the only one to see them, some bullock about it being caused by ADAM intake. Not that this was particularly shocking. If something strange happened in Rapture, it could almost always be followed back to ADAM somehow.

The boiled down concept was simple enough. ADAM was recycled. Swallowed up from corpses and passed back into the fresh stuff. If you spliced at this point, it had already once belonged to someone else now dead. The idea was that snippets of them lived in that. Memories.

So they were not real ghosts, but they made Atlas's skin prickle unpleasantly all the same.

Yet he still followed that trace of blue.

Snatching the last of the cash from the rusted metal register and into his pocket, Atlas took off after the colour. Walking quickly to chase after it's trail. Twice more he thought he caught sight of it. Little more than a twisting light that he could never quite catch in the open. Passing through doors and rooms too quickly.

It lead him right back to the decrepit Carousel and Atlas had long since lost the ability to find himself surprised by his piss poor luck. But the light had stopped moving. The colour had stilled and taken shape again.

Sitting with one leg casually laid over the other, was a woman. She sat upon the tilted amusement ride and despite her empty eyes, Atlas knew she was looking at him, could feel her gaze settle sharply onto him. The supposed memory was waiting.

He thought perhaps it was not for him. That this memory was one of a woman waiting for someone else. But when he moved those pupiless eyes moved with him and Atlas felt his breath catch. The memory idea might hold some truth to it, but as always it seemed Atlas was the unlucky case.

This ghost acknowledged him where the one of Valery had not and when she did, the words came with a healthy dose of amused sarcasm.

"Looks like you're not so good at handling your ADAM." She mused, voice a perfect match for the one that had assured him under the façade of Ava that he was indeed still alive. "I reckon it's having quite the nasty effect on you specifically, bucko. You're built for the make believe after all." The ghost smiled at him in a way that was decidedly mocking despite the shine of something like fondness on her face.

Leaning forward till her elbow propped against her knee in a somehow more relaxed way than her previous position, the spirit asked. "Did you learn nothing from the last time?"

This ghost was a bit of a pest, yet it was far more benevolent then the former illusion had been. The soft blue light far more welcoming than the vibrant, violent reds of Ava. But its voice was no less sardonic. What an unpleasant woman to hallucinate about now at all times.

However, this woman was one he recognized. Like so many of his memories it tried to evade him. Slip from his grasp more and more as he grappled with it. He tried to recall why that jeering smile was so familiar to him. Relentless and furious with how his own mind fought him Atlas pushed harder and harder.

It was like he was looking for memories in someone else's head for all the good it did him. But slowly they did come to him in a name.

"Jaclyn."

The ghost reacted to the name. Her name. But it reacted like someone offended, as though slighted by the name Atlas had spoken. Though that sneer quickly softened into something like acceptance as Atlas went on. Picking through what memories he could hastily before they tried to pull away from him again. Jaclyn let him, seeming to know it wasn't for her sake he was speaking.

"We found you." He whispered, understanding slowly settling in. He knew this woman, but only the last of her. "I found you. After Ryan…after the flat had been…"

She'd been laying there, evidence of her last-minute splicing scattered around the destroyed apartment. The bodies from her last ditch effort to protect her home and daughter littered around her. But she was one woman against Ryan's men – the result her cooling body on the scorched floorboards.

No matter how he tried to recall he could not understand why he'd found her that way. Why he'd bothered to go to her apartment after escaping the sunken prison Ryan had left him in. This woman who he'd assured so firmly he could protect. He and his men promised her that her precious little girl wouldn't end up one of those ghoulies. He'd given his word.

As it turned out, Atlas's word wasn't worth much.

People never did figure it out till it was too late. True he'd not intended to break this particular promise. It hadn't been his intention, but she'd ended up dead and daughterless all the same.

He tried to remember. Tried to find the reason as to why he'd rushed into that room, gathered up the limp body and felt such rage. Perhaps it was because Ryan was killing off so many in his cause, this was just one more. Insult to injury after being stuck in that department store. A final straw of sorts to his pitiless shell, or perhaps just a crack that he'd quickly patched with greater callousness.

But when he'd lifted her, carefully carrying her to the bedroom and setting her down upon her bed. So delicate, cautious, as though the dead could still feel pain and he dared not cause her any more.

Did those really seem like the actions of a heartless man? Atlas felt like he barely knew himself.

As if sensing his unease, the ghost laughed. A familiar snickering as the woman turned back to face him directly. "Oh relax, Atlas. No hard feelings for what happened, eh? I know you ain't the person I'm livid with. Would give 'im a right lashing if he were here right now…but it's just you. With that pretty Steinman made face."

Atlas recoiled when the ghost approached him. Not having forgotten the sting of the other. Wondering how much of this could prove to be real and how much was an illusion his mind conjured up for him. Was this more punishment? But the ghost was undeterred and placed both hands over his cheeks, they did not connect but the hovering over her translucent hands left the impression of touch in his mind.

She was studying his face with those empty blue voids of hers. No matter how he searched he could not find evidence of pupils in those dead eyes.

Dead. That's just what she was. Atlas had set her body to rest himself. As best he could at the time.

"You're not real. You're just in my head."

"There's plenty in that head of yours that ain't real, Atlas. Plenty living there too, little nightmares I'd wager."

As to what that meant Atlas wasn't given the chance to ask as the ghost moved away from him again with a sharp twist and long stride. Back towards the carousel, staring upwards at the painted and once no doubt beautiful colours. He wondered if she saw it as it was or as it had been.

"Careful with those drugs of yours, bucko. They're keys to doors you might not fancy any." Her voice softened, became cautionary and remorseful. "I ain't a traitorous woman, Atlas. Not to the right people or, unfortunately for us all, the wrong as well. But let me give you a small word of warning - there are some ghosts that won't be half as friendly as I."

Then she paused and glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. "But I suppose you may already know that. Don't feel too bad, old boy – it's only a memory, so give yourself a little slack. Letting your own mind beat you black and blue won't do you any favours. But would you mind doing me one small favour? Keep that ridiculous Sinclair alive if you could – I'd hate to see him behind the pearly gates so soon. Heaven knows I couldn't stand his company."

Through her tone Atlas had the distinct impression she meant to leave. But she was the clearest memory he'd been able to uncover. This ghost no doubt some way his otherwise untrustworthy mind was trying to give him more. He opened his mouth, reached for her, trying to demand she stay – tell him what he couldn't remember.

"Looks like my time is up. I bet you're going to crash something fierce after that trip of yours, enjoy that aftermath." Already the blue haze was flickering in and out of view with a smile that looked entirely wrong on that usually wicked face.

Atlas had to try. He stepped towards the carousel he so despised but no longer felt as though there were hands waiting to grab him and pull him down given the chance. The eeriness was gone but his desperation remained. "Wait!" He knew instinctively she would not listen, or could not. She wasn't real. It was just in his head. Still he tried. "Don't go, please! Jac-"

The time was up. With that smile that felt so wrong to see on the woman's lips, the light blinked out of existence, with only a parting word from the memory.

"Sorry I went and died on you, you wretched little showman."

With that she was gone and Atlas was left alone at the carousel. Feeling unlike himself, whatever 'himself' even was anymore. He stared at the place the ghost had been and felt nothing for a time. Just a hollowness he couldn't quite reconcile.

Despite himself Atlas reached up, sore fingers clasping at empty air where the spirit had once been and he wondered why he was yet to see his Moira. Perhaps his mind was unwilling to conjure her up. Either as a form or protection from that pain or punishment for having failed in the first place.

Then came the anger.

Rage, denial, some crippling emotion he could place no name to and his fingers were in his hair before he could think better of it. Pulling harshly as if he could tear the memories out of his head. A scream welled up inside of his throat but never got free. He felt like he would explode at any moment but the pressure never broke. It just kept building and building. He'd have yelled if he could, cried if he weren't too prideful.

Less and less he felt controlled while more and more he felt unlike himself. Unfamiliar to his own head, itching in his own skin. None of it felt right anymore and he wished – oh God how he wished – for the time with Jack.

It was an unpleasant time as all in Rapture but he remembered it. He knew himself in those moments. He wasn't unsure or confused or fractured. Everything fit into place. A perfect plan. He knew what he was doing and now nothing made any sense and he thought he was going insane.

It was all too much and Atlas was waiting for the final straw that might break him.

What he had not expected was for that explosion of unfathomable feeling to be abruptly and violently cut short by a little tug at his pants. Jarred from his own state of agony, Atlas uncomprehendingly looked down to the source of the pull, and found a little dirty hand holding onto the fabric of his pants and big yellow eyes looking back up at him.

There was a beat of silence as Atlas failed to process anything after it had all stopped with the little sister tugging at him. Had he just raised his head he'd have seen Delta there, standing at the fringes of his sight, always watching so cautiously.

When he failed to speak, voice caught like a lump in his throat, the child spoke for him. "Sometimes…" She began softly, her voice one of childish caution. The sort young boys and girls used when an adult seemed unable to understand something they saw as obvious but they did not wish to harm them by making obvious how ignorant they were. "Angels speak instead of sing."

The girl released his clothes and reached for the hand that had pulled from his hair and lay limp at his side. She hesitated briefly, gaze flicking back up towards Atlas cautiously. Maybe even still afraid, but not that she'd be harmed, rather that he'd reject her tiny hand when she slid it into his own. "When they do, it's sad. Sometimes, angels make people cry. It's okay, you can cry. Sometimes I cry too."

Despite himself Atlas felt like he might have had no choice but to give in and do just that. Instead he furiously rubbed the hell of his palm against his eyes, assuring that there were in fact no tears then and bit out. "I ain't going to weep over nothing, kid." The words came harshly but the little sister only held his hand tighter rather than recoil from his growling.

It was nothing. It was just one more name to add to the list of people that died around him. It meant nothing. He was just a mess; it was just his head playing tricks on him. Why should he care?

He didn't kill Valery, he didn't kill Jaclyn, and he didn't kill his family. It was all Ryan; none of it was on him.

And yet the weight never seemed to lift no matter how he told himself so.

Besides, his hands weren't clean either. He had killed people. It was easy to tell himself they weren't people anymore, easy to justify it at the time when the war was young and he was still living in that certainty that he was right. Now the war had cooled off and died and left him with nothing but the memory of burning flesh and screaming.

His gaze darted back down to the child and again he felt that judgment fall onto him. Swallowing the lump in his throat Atlas eventually managed to calm himself enough that not every word had to be forced out through grit teeth. "Go back to your daddy, kid."

"You come too."

Atlas startled. Looking at the girl like she'd decided to speak in a different language. Sometimes it seemed like the little sisters actually were. Undeterred the child tugged at his hand, pulling him back towards Delta though Atlas was reluctant to go. When he opened his mouth to protest she was quick to cut across him with a look that held the threat of a tantrum over his head. "You come back to Mr. Bubbles too!"

In the spirit of keeping every eye in the house dry and no tantrums thrown, Atlas relented and allowed himself to be pulled away. He trailed behind the determined child and tried not to look back towards the carousel. The ghost wasn't going to be there anymore and Atlas had the sense she wouldn't be coming back again. She'd said goodbye when she faded and it felt final.

Still, he found it almost…cathartic in a sense. He'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye to them before. Not her, nor his family. He'd been told in the past that goodbye was important, he believed it too, but it felt no less painful now.

The little hand holding his own squeezed and slowly Atlas was again pulled from his thoughts. Focus back on the girl that bossed him around. That thought made him smile in a grim sort of way. He'd known bossy kids in his time, this one was almost as bad.

Of course Atlas was dragged back over to Delta and he shifted uncomfortably once they were close enough to be considered civil again. He almost expected another form of silent treatment or cold shoulder from the metal man. One of these days perhaps he'd learn to stop expecting so little from Delta. Instead of turning away from him, Delta seemed to hesitate. A slow turn of his head toward the sister and then Atlas who refused to look at him in return. Then what could only be considered a sigh came from the larger man as his shoulders raise and lowered in a huff and he reached out, gloved hand resting on Atlas's head again, startling the Irishman.

There was a sense of patronization that rose sharply in Atlas and he nearly acted on it to snap at Delta but hesitated when he did look up at him from under that hand. Giving up a moment later with a bitter sigh of his own. "This mean we're on talking terms again?" He asked dryly and for his snark got his hair thoroughly ruffled and ruined. That seemed to be a yes.

Slowly Delta withdrew his hand and began to turn away when finally Atlas's voice betrayed him and the words came out despite his desire to swallow them. "Hey! I…" They were not easy words to speak but Atlas pushed them out all the same. Committed once he'd started. "I'm sorry. Don't get me wrong, I have no fuc-."

Delta turned sharply and Atlas jumped, only realising a second later as the big daddy looked firmly between he and the child, oh ah….right. "Have no…um…no full understanding about why you wanted to spare him."

The words were painfully disjointed, there was just no easy substitute for 'fucking' that came to mind for him and he could feel the kid watching, as if picking up one something possibly scandalous. Kids picked up swears more quickly than any word in the English language, likely any language in fact, and Atlas was sure Delta would never speak to him again if he caught him teaching bad words to the girl.

Right, okay, small hitch. Atlas tried to move past it and go on. "Look, I don't get what was going on in your head and I know you can't tell me but…I was protecting us, alright?" Us. You. The kid.

For a moment Atlas wondered if that was really true. He felt such anger, resentment, towards Stanley. He surely would have killed him without the need to protect them but…he had seen the monsters pin Delta down, heard the girl screaming in fear – nothing was going to stop him from trying to kill Stanley.

It seemed Delta was considering the validity of the claim as well. Although he far more quickly decided it was ernest than Atlas did. Shoulders losing some tension before he nodded slowly. Accepting both the apology and explanation though Atlas knew it would dissuade Delta none from keeping his somewhat murderous tendencies in check down the line.

Then Delta gestured for the little sister and Atlas to follow and the girl was quick to jerk Atlas along with her by the hand. She was just as quick to take Delta's hand when offered and suddenly they were all walking hand in hand single file like a fucking kindergarten group. Atlas groaned allowed in dismay and the little sister giggled.

He couldn't tell for sure but he felt like Delta was laughing as well. "Oh sure, just kick my pride while I'm down you two. Marvelous. You truly are the kindly saints here." Atlas groused and both seemed to laugh all the more for it. He could have pulled away at any time but that tiny hand kept a hold of him as they walked.

It was just the effort of putting up a fuss was too great. That's all.