MAY 7, 1959 — 9:02 AM

Well over a year had now passed since the death of Frank Fontaine. Well over a year was plenty enough time for Andrew Ryan to celebrate, and yet not even once had he found any occasion to do so. Celebration was remarkably difficult, after all, when he found himself presented with one of the complications that arose from the man's death nearly every single day thereafter.

In past years, he might have been inclined to think of any child, particularly any child of his own, as merely that: a complication. But Jack had proved a far greater complication than he could have ever imagined. Perhaps that was to be expected, owing to his being something more than a mere child of his own—either a marvel of science or a freak of nature, depending on which way he was looked at, custom ordered and engineered to a T as though he were some kind of machine.

He might have had the shape of a man when Ryan had found him, but in reality, Jack had been far less than that.

Ryan hadn't thought it possible for him to hate Fontaine any more than he did while the man was still alive. But the sight of what his child had become—no, the very thought of his own flesh and blood having been twisted into such a state, corrupted and malformed into a puppet designed to obey Fontaine's every whim... That thought was one that repulsed him. It enraged him.

In the end, however, it spurred him to do the only thing that could truly spite Fontaine and his memory: to salvage something of worth from the sad lump of flesh he left behind, to shape it into a man who could rightfully bear the name and legacy of Andrew Ryan.

Jack had done well so far. But only time would tell if he could truly succeed...if he could truly become capable of standing as Ryan's heir.

"Mr. Ryan, your son is here to see you."

The secretary's voice filtered through the PA speaker on his desk, breaking through Ryan's thoughts and reeling his attention back from wherever it had wandered off to. It was becoming an uncomfortable habit as of late, one he couldn't seem to shake.

Perhaps the prospect of anniversaries was making him unnecessarily contemplative.

He shook his head to no one but himself, shaking the thought out of his head. He pressed the PA call button to respond.

"Send him in."

Ryan didn't look up from his work again until the hiss of sliding doors announced his son's arrival. Jack settled into one of the seats opposite Ryan's desk, smoothing a hand down the front of his navy suit jacket and looking very much like he was trying to look anything but uncomfortable. The effort didn't count for much.

It was something Ryan had come to expect, of course. If Rapture was the cathedral then Central Control was the monastery, and this office its cloister, lifting praise to no god but rather the spirit, ingenuity, and determination of mankind alone. Rare was the man who could face down the founder of Rapture in his deeply-vaulted, highly-vaunted hall and retain the specter of comfort and ease. That was the way it had always been; that was the way it should always be.

Fontaine had been one of those men, Ryan recalled with some bitterness. He wasn't yet decided on whether it was good to see that Jack, apparently, was not.

He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands together, and cast an appraising eye over his son.

"What news do you have?"

Jack leaned back as well—a gesture that may have been in mimicry of his father, or an attempt to put himself at ease, or both—and crossed his legs at the knee. His brow lifted just the slightest amount, as though meaning to convey some nonchalance. "Nothing you don't already know about, I'm sure," he said with further nonchalance. "Not as far as the city's concerned, at least. The economy's never been stronger, and from what I hear, people have never been happier."

Ryan couldn't be sure whether he really hadn't heard any differently or if he was choosing to gloss over any evidence to the contrary for his father's sake. He'd been hearing plenty of it himself: rumblings of dissent in Apollo Square, demonstrations in Dionysus Park, even reports of charity in the slums beneath the Atlantic railway. He'd been naive to think that silencing Sofia Lamb would have done anything to quell what parasites remained in his city. With the way things appeared to be progressing, Jack would have to work as tirelessly as he himself had done to protect Rapture from their insidious reach.

But would he be up to the task?

He sighed deeply, exhaling through his nose. "And what about yourself? What do you have to report?"

Jack shifted in his seat. It seemed he didn't have an answer prepared for this one.

"I'll be going to see Dr. Tenenbaum this afternoon."

Ryan waited half a moment for Jack to go on. He didn't.

"It's been three days since we last spoke like this, sin moj. Do you mean to tell me you've done nothing worth reporting in that time since?"

For the past few decades, perhaps even longer than that, Ryan had not considered his "mother tongue" a language to be used lightly. But it was his blood and nothing else that tied Jack to him when he was first found, and if Jack would ever be a worthy heir to his legacy, he would have to be bound to him more deeply than that.

"Nothing that would interest you, I'm sure."

"Tell me."

Jack lifted a hand to his face and dragged it down his mouth before it rested at his chin, in something almost like a pensive gesture. All it accomplished was making his nerves plain.

"Well... There was a gala in the Tea Garden. My presence was kindly requested."

Ryan frowned. "What was the occasion?"

"Rededicating the park, or something like that. I suppose they've had some recent luck in quashing the Saturnine."

He did know something to that effect. He'd signed off on the security order himself.

Speaking of which...

"Why your presence and not mine?" Not that he would have accepted, of course. This was merely a test.

Jack shifted again. He looked like he might have been sweating.

"You're a difficult man to get a hold of, you know—except for me, I mean—on account of how terribly busy you've been as of late. I suppose they figured they'd have better luck in asking me to attend, seeing that I'm nearly as much of a public figure as you are."

That he was. Ryan sighed again. Maintaining a positive public image was an important quality for the future leader of Rapture; there was no denying that. But this was not quite what he had in mind.

"Do you remember why I ordered your creation, sin moj? Tell me."

Jack grimaced, no longer making any attempt to mask his unease.

"To carry on your legacy, batya."

It was this language that bound Ryan's son to him more inextricably than anything else, a language shared by them and not a single other person of consequence.

"Was it to attend parties and carouse with socialites?"

"I am only doing the best that I can, father."

"Answer me, sin moj."

Jack winced.

"No, batya."

"Was it to spend my wealth as you please, or to wine and dine my mistress behind my back?"

Jack swallowed, visibly paler than before.

"No."

Ryan's voice remained even and calm, not rising a single decibel above his normal speaking tone. He was well aware of the effect he could have with strong words and a piercing gaze alone, and it was just that effect he wished to impress upon Jack now.

"Remember your birth, sin moj. It was by my will alone that you exist today, and by my will I can end it just as easily. It would take nothing for me to start anew should you fail to meet my expectations."

It would never have sat right in Ryan's mind to lie to his son had he not chosen to think of such lies as mere half-truths instead, truths halved only out of pure necessity. Jack knew only as much of the truth surrounding his origins as he ever needed to know, and Ryan made sure of that; he only knew exactly as much as was needed to keep Jack in line, to keep the cloud of Fontaine's memory from hanging over him and all that he did, and as far as Ryan was concerned, that was all he would ever know.

"Have I made myself understood?"

Jack nodded, keeping his gazed fixed on Ryan's desk rather than Ryan himself.

"Yes, father."

Ryan nodded as well, though more to himself given that Jack wasn't even looking at him. He paused to consider his next line of questioning.

"Why are you going to see Tenenbaum?"

Jack hesitated, then looked up again as he answered. "I have some questions about my, er...about my growth that only she can answer. That's all."

For a brief moment, Ryan wondered if his son had mastered the art of half-truths just as he had himself. But he saw no need to press him on the matter now. If anything, he could press Tenenbaum herself later on. Unless...

"You do know that any answers from her may not be forthcoming."

"I know. But it's worth a try."

Ryan nodded, again to himself more than anything else. He could trust Tenenbaum not to divulge anything to Jack that didn't need divulging. Perhaps he could think the same of Suchong, but the man had no business with Jack's development anymore. He had more important matters to mind, which Ryan had seen to himself.

"And what about tonight?"

Jack's brow furrowed. "What about tonight?" he repeated, as though he had no idea what he was talking about.

Ryan's stare was pointed. "You haven't made any plans with Diane?"

Jack stiffened at the question. He might have been bristling.

"No, I haven't."

Again, Ryan's thoughts turned to half-truths. But again, he decided not to press the matter.

"Very well." He broke his eyes away from his son for the first time since their conversation had begun. "That will be all for today."

Jack stood, and in his peripheral vision Ryan could detect a curt nod. "Thank you."

He didn't look up again until the door slid shut at his son's back. The boy was a terrible liar, but that alone wasn't enough to warrant any punishment or retribution. He hadn't yet proven himself truly capable of honoring Ryan's name, but he had yet to prove himself incapable as well. Only time would tell...

Ryan turned his attention back to one of the files on his desk. It was a report from Rapture security detailing a recent theft from one of their storehouses: weapons, ammunition, stores of ADAM and officer uniforms...

Perhaps the true test of Jack's character and capability would come when the city itself was tested by those who wished to see it fall. But only time would tell.