JUNE 7, 1959 — 7:49 AM
The cramped tenements of Artemis Suites were far from Diane McClintock's first choice of residence. Indeed, they were far from the splendor of what quarters she had occupied in weeks previous. But being here meant living free of the Ryans' influence, as much as she could possibly manage, and that alone was enough to keep her going.
She couldn't be sure whether or not it helped that, in some ways, Apollo Square reminded her of the home she'd left long ago: the dank alleys that were rarely safe for any girl like her to tread, people sitting out in the street all hours of the day, the feeling of desperation that hung constantly in the air. But at least in her memories, no matter how bad things got, the sun was always shining from one day to the next.
Then again, it seemed that it didn't take much these days to remind her of her life on the surface, even the darker parts she'd sometimes prefer not to remember, the days before she had found herself swept into the lap of luxury. They were memories she always sought to quell as quickly as possible. Rapture was her home now, even if parts of it no longer shone as beautifully as they had before. She had made the choice to come here, and it was a choice she was determined to uphold. No matter how bad things seemed to get down here, she wouldn't waste any more time longing for the life she once had—she would only drive forward instead, to better this city and truly make it the paradise that everyone had been promised.
At least, this was the sort of feeling that Atlas had inspired in her. Some days she found it more difficult to believe than others; some days she found it difficult to believe at all that she could help, even in any small part, to bring about the kind of change that Atlas was fighting for. But at this point, she felt as though she had little choice but to fight on.
When Atlas had showed her how to keep a steady aim with the revolver she carried at her side—when she leveled that revolver herself to shoot out the watchful eye of one of Ryan's security cameras—she knew there was no turning back.
She picked her way through the littered street that led to the Square, stepping briskly over spent syringes and broken cobblestones, and stopped only to drop a few dollars into the outstretched cup of a shivering woman in the street. She had a mission to accomplish today, all on her own. She had a purpose set before her unlike anything she had ever known in her life.
It was all for the greater good, she reasoned, and that was what quickened her steps. That was what held her chin aloft despite the squalor that surrounded her, despite the sorrow of the people around her, despite the life of comfort and ease she had chosen to leave behind. It was all for the greater good, and she was going to make herself a part of it.
As she crossed through the Square, a large man suddenly barreled into her with a drunken stagger.
"Hey!" She pushed him away with a shout, then immediately, instinctively patted herself down to ensure she hadn't just been pickpocketed. "Watch where you're going, you big creep—"
"Diane?"
The broad hand that caught her wrist had a familiar grip. When she looked into the man's face, she was startled to see Jack Ryan staring back at her.
"Jack?"
The look on his face was not the one he wore when he was drunk, which Diane was just as startled to see. It was haunted and hollow, and in his eyes, widened with fear, was an uncanny blue glow.
"Jack, what—" Too many questions came to Diane's mind for her to remember what she had told him upon their last meeting. "What happened to you? What are you doing here?"
"Atlas—" He grasped her hand with both of his; his touch was clammier than she remembered, and a telltale static jolt seemed to jump from his fingertips. "Where— I need to—"
"Jack, have you been splicing?"
"Please, Diane, I need—" He was shaking like a leaf. "Atlas— I just need to see him, please, I need..."
The thought of a man like Jack, with all the dedication she'd seen him give to his father's ways, having any business this urgent with a man like Atlas was inconceivable in her mind. Then again, so was the thought of Jack using plasmids, or the thought of him ending up in such a state in Apollo Square of all places.
Diane frowned. This wouldn't be an easy decision for her to make, but she couldn't in good conscience make any other choice.
"You've got no business seeing Atlas like this," she said curtly, wrenching her hand out of Jack's grip to take him by the arm instead. "You've got no business being here at all, you know that? Come on."
Jack huddled close as Diane tugged him away from the Square, out of sight and mind from those more opportunistic than herself, and said not a word as she led him on. She was grateful for that much, if nothing else.
Jack's apartment was just the same as Diane had ever remembered it: lavish enough for any son of the city's founder, but looking oddly unlived-in despite the fact she knew he spent much of his time here. There were almost no furnishings to be found that hadn't come with the apartment as it was built, and those that were served some kind of practical purpose, such as a record player on the mantle and a radio that sat unused in the corner. There was nothing particularly unique in the place, not a thing to suggest what kind of man Jack might have been before he had descended to Rapture.
It wasn't something Diane had often considered during any of her other visits to his home, but now it seemed to stick out like a sore thumb.
Still, there were more pressing matters at hand. Dragging Jack through the bulkhead and down the street on foot had been difficult enough, but lugging him into his bed and making sure he stayed there was a chore in itself. He'd kept muttering about Atlas the whole while, all without saying exactly why he needed to see him so badly.
Diane was used to the antics of plasmid addicts by now; their ravings and violent outbursts were a part of day-to-day life in Apollo Square, after all. But this delirium that had seized Jack wasn't quite like any she had seen before. Even more unsettling than that was the fact that, in the entire time she had known him, she had never seen him so evidently gripped by fear—or perhaps what was truly unsettling was the question of what had made him so afraid.
That was far from the only question weighing on her mind, of course. She was also left wondering why she was still here, looking after the man like she was his damn mother. She'd meant what she said when she told him that she never wanted to see him again; in fact, what she should have said was that she wanted nothing to do with him ever again, because that would have been even closer to the truth.
Yet somehow, some part of her couldn't bear to see him left to the wolves, no matter how much he might have deserved it. She hated it, but she couldn't bring herself to deny it.
Besides, she reasoned with herself, she had originally been headed in this direction anyway. Her plans for the day might have been delayed for a bit, but by no means had they been thrown off course.
She could afford to spend some time waiting up for him.
She'd just finished her second cigarette by the time Jack finally emerged from the bedroom, stumbling to the doorway and pressing a hand to his head.
"You look like hell."
He lifted his head to look at her, and squinted in confusion. "Diane?"
She delicately looked away as she stubbed out her cigarette. "I suppose it just figures, doesn't it?" Then she glared at him. "Were you blacked out that whole time?"
His brow furrowed. It seemed to be a struggle for him to remember.
"No— No, I remember..." Something changed in his face as he trailed off, and he pressed his hand to his mouth before he continued. "I remember..."
"I hope you remember whatever it was you spliced up with," she said sharply. "That should be reason enough for you not to do it again."
He said nothing to that, only kept his hand at his mouth while his eyes fell away.
"Jack..." She got up from where she sat to step closer to him. "What were you thinking? You know what that stuff does to people in the long run. What does a guy like you need to splice up for, anyway?"
For a long moment, Jack said nothing. When he did speak, it was without moving his hand or looking at her again.
"Atlas gave it to me."
This time, it was Diane's brow that scrunched in confusion. Then she finally remembered—the first time she had ever met Atlas, he had given her that note to pass along to Jack, hadn't he? What had it said? Was that what led to this?
"Why would Atlas do a thing like that?"
"He said... Because he wanted to be my friend."
Something about that explanation didn't quite ring true in Diane's mind. Atlas hadn't ever spoken of either Ryan in any terms other than as the royalty of Rapture that was destined to be deposed, at least not where she could hear. What could he possibly be aiming at by giving Jack a plasmid, of all things?
She had a suspicion, albeit a small one, albeit one she didn't want to fully consider at the moment. But the idea that perhaps he had meant for Jack to end up in this sort of state was difficult for her to ignore.
"Well—" She shook her head. "He should have known better. You should have known better. The next time you end up in the middle of Apollo Square in a spliced-up stupor, you just might not be so lucky, you got that?"
Still, he didn't look up at her. His reply this time was barely more than a murmur:
"Sorry."
She took a deep breath. "Don't apologize to me," she said as she turned to leave. "Just take better care of yourself in the future."
"No, Diane—"
He grabbed her wrist before she could walk away. His grip was weak, weaker than Diane had ever known him to have, but it was enough to stop her for the moment.
"I'm sorry...about everything."
When she turned back to him, it was with a thin frown.
"You'll have to be more specific than that."
It was almost startling to see Jack like this, so obviously shaken in his confidence that he could barely keep eye contact with her. It wasn't quite enough to spur Diane's sympathy, but it was enough to hold her attention.
"I'm sorry about...everything that I did, okay?" He released her wrist, seeming to think better of holding onto her, but he was far from finished. "I should have treated you better, I should have—I should never have gotten between you and my father, I should never have done that, I shouldn't have—I shouldn't have taken you from him, and whatever I did to drive you to Atlas instead, I shouldn't have done that either—"
"Oh, Jack!" She couldn't take any more of this. "Don't be an idiot! My joining up with Atlas had absolutely nothing to do with you, you know that? I'm fighting for him because it was my choice, not because of anything you did! And the same goes for everything I did with you—I chose to be with you, just like I chose to be with your father, and you never took me from him because I never belonged to either one of you! Do you understand that?"
He made no protest. Something in him looked meeker than she had ever seen, like something was broken on some fundamental level inside him. It was something of a struggle for her not to be swayed by it.
"I'm sorry."
If anything, that only managed to strengthen her resolve.
"I don't want to hear it," she said brusquely, turning again to retrieve her handbag from where she'd been sitting. "I just hope you've learned something from all this, Mr. Ryan—and I hope that the next girl you fool around with gets treated with a little more respect."
He said nothing more to her as she went for the door. Somehow, that alone was enough to still her...well, that and another thought that slowly occurred to her, rolling across the sky of her mind like a darkened cloud.
"If you really mean that you're sorry..." She turned back; he still stood in the doorway, still watching her. "Then do me a favor, won't you—sober yourself up, and stay away from Olympus Heights for the next few days."
If Jack questioned her why, Diane didn't hear it. She turned back to the door and left Jack's apartment behind her one last time. She still had work to do, after all.