Occupation: Lead Behavioral Analyst for the Wilmington Police Department's Special Operations Division
Neighborhood: Masonboro
short facts
Born in Duluth, Minnesota during a blizzard on January 9th, 1979, with two much older brothers (15 and 12 years his senior).
His career path was influenced by losing his best friend to suicide, leading him to study psychology and eventually become one of the FBI's top crisis negotiators.
5 years back, after a tragic hostage situation where a young boy died, he left the FBI and relocated to Wilmington.
Lives with Jazz, a German Shepherd who failed police dog training for being too friendly, and decompresses through woodworking and playing jazz piano.
Found out he has a half younger brother a few months ago when his father came clean to him that he had fathered a son when his mother and father were taking a break. His half brother is Eddie Powers.
biography
Atlas Thorne never expected to end up in Wilmington, North Carolina, but life had its own plans. Born during a record-breaking blizzard in Duluth, Minnesota on January 9th, 1979, he spent his early years as the much younger sibling to two brothers, with an age gap that made him practically an only child. His oldest brother is 15 years older and the second one is 12 years older. Growing up with a prison guard father and a 911 dispatcher mother, Atlas learned early to read the room. His childhood was split between the family home and his grandmother's farm near Lake Superior, where he developed the patience that would later define his career. When his family moved to Minneapolis in '87, following his father's promotion, the young boy found his calling as the neighborhood's unofficial peacekeeper.
His mediation skills took off at Southwest High School, where he crushed state debate competitions and worked at youth crisis hotlines. He was a star at hockey, but had to give it up after getting injured in junior year - but he still roots for the Minnesota Wild. Losing his best friend to suicide was a turning point in his career decisions. After graduating as salutatorian, Atlas pursued psychology at the University of Minnesota, working campus security to make ends meet. He followed this with a master's in Counseling Psychology from the University of St. Thomas, specializing in trauma and crisis intervention. His growing expertise in hostage negotiation and crisis management led him to the police academy in 2003.
Over the next two decades, Thorne built an impressive career spanning both the FBI and local law enforcement. After five years as a police negotiator, his exceptional record caught the FBI's attention. He joined their Critical Incident Response Group in Quantico, where he spent eight years handling high-stakes negotiations across the country. During this time, he mastered multiple languages - Spanish, Hmong, and Russian - which proved invaluable in diverse communities. His reputation grew as one of the Bureau's top crisis negotiators. But those skills that made him great at work also made things tricky in his personal life.
A bank robbery gone wrong eight years ago led to a hostage's death of a young boy. Atlas blamed himself for misreading the perpetrator's signals, and though this tragedy ultimately made him better at his job, it left emotional scars that influenced his decision to leave the FBI. Two years later, Atlas accepted a position as the lead behavioral analyst for the Wilmington Police Department's Special Operations Division. The move to North Carolina's coast provided a fresh start, though he couldn't leave behind his hyper-vigilant habits - like checking locks twice before bed and always sitting with his back to walls in restaurants.
These days, Atlas lives alone in a minimalist apartment with his failed police dog candidate, Jazz - a German Shepherd too friendly for law enforcement work. He spends his free time crafting wooden furniture in his garage workshop and playing jazz piano to decompress. Despite his professional success in helping others navigate their worst moments, he still struggles with and maintaining close relationships. Atlas, who's always on call and has a weird schedule, surprisingly found peace in Wilmington. He continues to train other negotiators and anonymously volunteers at local crisis hotlines - quietly sends flowers each year to the family of the hostage he couldn't save.
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The Chief of Police knew she couldnât chastise Atlas when she had been in his shoes before and to her, it was completely normal to lose track of time. âFair enough.â she concluded with a nod. âWere you making progress? Or any findings?...Because if you require any support, please donât hesitate to let me know.â When he decided on what to eat, Gwendolyn nodded and began the trek to Fourth Street for some bagels. âAgreed, itâs filling and a good deal as well, so worth it after all.â She then furrowed her brows after hearing what had happened to the analystâs packed food before breaking out into a grin, âWhy am I not surprised.â she pointed out in an amused tone. âIf youâd like, Iâll take it out of your drawer to give grace to our sanitation workers.âÂ
Atlas felt the tension leave his shoulders. "Following a few threads over in Riverside." Her concern was nice, but he didn't want to drag anyone else into his 3 AM research spirals. The late nights were his thing - a solo mission where he could process stuff without anyone hovering or trying to fix him. Her worry came from a good place, but he knew better than to let people get tangled up in his weird habits and obsessive research rabbit holes. "I'll update you soon, Chief." The Fourth Street walk was exactly what his mind needed. She made him laugh about forgetting lunch again. "My knight in shining armor. I should mention ⌠that container's been marinating in my desk for weeks." This was why he stuck around - no office politics or power games to be found in this office.
Irza found himself smiling at Atlas's suggestion of matching t-shirtsâit was ridiculous in the best way possible. The idea of turning their mutual ineptitude into some sort of exclusive club struck him as hilarious. This was miles away from his usual mayoral duties, and that made it even better. "We'll need a proper logo. Maybe a golf ball with X's for eyes?" The mention of interpretive dance scoring had him rolling his eyes, but in an amused way. Who knew failing at mini golf could be this entertaining? Here he was, a grown man with multiple degrees, completely embracing being terrible at a game that kids would thrive on. "How about we finish this game and get a drink instead? I'm not into giving myself a headache with statistics over mini golf."
Atlas cracked up at the dead golf ball suggestion - it was exactly the right kind of ridiculous. "Perfect. Let's make it super dramatic with lightning and everything." What had started as a complete disaster at mini golf had somehow become the highlight of his week. He'd gotten so used to keeping his guard up that it threw him off when someone like Irza made it okay to just be a total disaster at something and laugh about it. "I'll take drinks over probability any day. But imagine if we did both ⌠we could choreograph our statistical failures. Every missed shot gets its own dramatic pose." He'd forgotten how cool it was when you met someone and everything just clicked without trying. "Let's go do all that at Tric."
Something shifted in Kian's brain when Atlas started laughing. The arrest, the rumors, the sideways looks from peopleânone of it mattered for a second. Making jokes about mugshots shouldn't have helped, but it did. This must be what moving forward looked likeâfinding stupid things to laugh about even when life kept throwing curveballs his way. "I could deal with weekly meetings. We could do a slideshow presentation of everyone's worst photos. Make it real official," he said, amazed at how easy it was to find humor in this mess. The idea of turning their photo disasters into some kind of support group was ridiculous, but that's what made it perfect. His mind raced with possibilities. "At least my mugshot had decent lighting. Though I bet your DMV photo would give me a run for my money in the disaster department. Imagine if there was a gallery, and itâs called Faces That Made Our Mothers Cry? Yikes."
Atlas couldn't stop grinning at Kian's suggestion of a slideshow presentation. This guy had a gift for turning awkward situations into comedy gold. "A gallery called 'Faces That Made Our Mothers Cry' would be legendary. We could sell tickets," he said. Displaying their worst shots like modern art was exactly what they needed. Getting better wasn't always serious - sometimes it was just finding someone to laugh with about life's disasters. Being proper for so long made this silly moment feel extra freeing. Their mothers' imagined horror at the photo collection had him completely losing it. "We should add dramatic lighting and those pretentious art gallery descriptions under each photo. 'Subject appears to be mid-sneeze while possibly having an existential crisis.' Think we could get a grant for that?"
Hazal bit back a smile at Atlas's dramatic response about being the most helpful neighbor. The whole situation felt surrealâhere she was, actually enjoying a conversation with the guy who used to drive her up the wall. His mock offense at being called useless made her want to roll her eyes, but in an affectionate way she hadn't expected. The mention of Jazz's world-famous hugs struck her as particularly funny, considering how the dog had practically ignored her earlier. This lighter side of him was... different. Not awful. Maybe even nice. "Well, don't let it get to your head. Jazz is still the star of this show," she said, surprising herself with how easy the banter felt. A part of her wondered if they'd been ridiculous all this time, fighting over stupid things when they could've been like this instead. "And for the record, I said you weren't completely useless. That's basically a compliment coming from me."
He was amazed at how different things felt with Hazal in this moment. Her stuff about Jazz made him happy - not like their usual mean talks at all. "Oh, so now you're Team Jazz? And here I thought we were building something special with all my expert lock ⌠checking services," he said. When she kind of said he wasn't totally useless, it made him want to smile. This was super weird - but the good kind of weird. Like they'd found some magic place where they were actually nice to each other. "A compliment from the queen of comebacks? I should mark this day on my calendar ⌠maybe frame it. 'Dear Diary, today Hazal Yildiz almost said something nice about me.'" He liked how easy it was to talk now - no more being mad about stupid stuff, just two neighbors finding out they might like each other after all. "Never thought I'd say this, but you're not half bad yourself ... when you're not yelling."Â
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"Really? Why are people like this?" She didn't want to blame it just on men because she knew that anyone could become obsessive and then torment another person. "So what are you meant to do to stop it?" She questioned, hoping that there was something she could do or say that would put an end to it all even though she knew it was unlikely. Her shoulders fell slightly when he confirmed that all she could do was simply write everything down. "I don't know why I have to change everything but I understand, there isn't much that can be done without knowing who's doing this." Technically, he hadn't done anything to harm her. "Once I figure out who he is, can I come and put a restraining order or do I need to feel like I'm in danger for that?"
âMy guess is as good as yours.â Atlas wished he had better answers for her. "People get fixated and lose perspective on what's appropriate," he said. Her question about stopping it hit close to home - if only it were that simple. "Document everything. Screenshots, photos, dates and times. Without proof, law enforcement's hands are tied." The frustration in her voice when talking about changing her routine made him want to apologize for the unfairness of it all. But sugar-coating wouldn't help. "A restraining order needs evidence of harassment or threats. Right now, save everything and report any escalation immediately." He knew from experience how these situations could spiral. "Think of it like building a case ⌠the more documentation we have, the better we can protect you if things get worse." The word 'if' tasted bitter in his mouth, but he kept his tone steady and practical.
It made her brain go into overdrive seeing Atlas get excited about her spreadsheetsâshe'd spent so many nights organizing data just to quiet her racing thoughts. The quinoa thing had started as a joke, but now she had statistical proof. "You laugh, but I've got a 85% accuracy rate on predicting eliminations based on grain choices alone." She'd created these charts during those sleepless nights when her mind wouldn't shut up, and now here was someone actually getting why it mattered. His alien theory about Gordon Ramsay sent her into a fit of laughterâshe'd finally met someone who understood her specific brand of weird. "Jazz's upside down sleeping position is clearly a sign he's communicating with the mothership. Don't get me started on the dessert challenges, they're obviously testing human sugar tolerance levels for future experiments." For once, she didn't need to filter the random stuff that popped into her head. This was the kind of conversation she'd been missingâwhere she could share her charts and graphs without getting weird looks. "Trust me, I've got a whole PowerPoint connecting every contestant elimination to mysterious crop circle appearances. And let's be real, what kind of human voluntarily eats molecular gastronomy? I've cross-referenced every foam-based dish with reported UFO sightings, and the data doesn't lie."
Atlas couldn't take his eyes off her as she explained her grain-based elimination predictions. Her certainty about the 85% accuracy rate made him curious about her methods. "This data is fascinating. What if we applied it to other shows? There must be clues in how contestants handle their knives." She surprised him with her theory about Jazz being an extraterrestrial messenger, making Atlas picture his German Shepherd secretly writing alien reports between naps. "The aliens chose well. Though his messages are probably just maps to his favorite treats and guides to the perfect belly scratch." Her PowerPoint connecting eliminations to crop circles showed how much thought she put into her theories. "This foam correlation is brilliant. We should exchange notes ... I've been working on how soufflĂŠs might be alien mind control tools." Atlas saw it was time for Jazz's dinner. "Got to feed my space correspondent, but I'll deliver your bracelet later. We can explore why risotto always seems to be the challenge that ends it all." Heading home, Atlas imagined showing her the most ridiculous photos of Jazz. Finding someone who made detailed spreadsheets about quinoa and believed in cooking show conspiracies felt special.
Ariya's sides hurt from containing her laughter at this whole situation. The mental image of Jazzâtheir resident drama kingâreviewing a formal written apology by his special corner sent her into another spiral of giggles. "Displaying the apology in his personal viewing area? That's some premium diplomatic strategy," she said, already planning to demand updates on how this peace offering went down. His self-awareness about sleep almost triggered her full doctor lecture mode. "You'll need calligraphy for this one. And don't forget to include your new sleep schedule promisesâJazz has probably learned all about healthy boundaries from his soap marathon sessions." She managed to suppress her medical instincts, barely. "You know what though, organized sock drawers beat waking up to find he's alphabetized your entire Netflix queue as revenge."
"I'll hire a professional calligrapher. Jazz has refined taste in apologies," he chortled. This whole thing was ridiculous but perfect - his dog watching soap operas and judging his penmanship. The mental image of Jazz sitting there with reading glasses perched on his snout made him grin. "Tell me you're joking about the Netflix thing. Knowing Jazz ⌠he'd probably sort them by how many tissues I need per episode." The genuine worry about his sleep touched him in ways he wasn't ready to analyze. "My sleep schedule promises will be written in gold ink. Right after I find out how Jazz learned to use the remote in the first place." Then it hit him like a cartoon anvil. "I should check if he's been secretly attending online classes while I'm at work. That would explain the organized sock drawer. So ⌠rumor has it you're seeing someone who analyzes minds for a living? I guess between you two, all bases are covered ... body and mind."
"What? And why wouldn't she be eyeing you? You look like a young Brad Pitt, bro. Or are you too close in age so I suppose that would actually make you like Pitt's cousin? Twice removed? Or-even better, those OnlyFans guys that really try to embody the actor. Lean into it." Flashing him a boyish grin, Miles flicked his gaze over his shoulder briefly once more before returning his gaze to Atlas. "So, what do you want me to do about it exactly? Go over there and tell her I noticed her staring? I suppose it would be a good story for her if she's staring at me just because she's recognized me."
"Brad Pitt would be spitting out his drink when he hears that," Atlas said. Only Miles would try to turn a simple compliment into some weird Hollywood connection. "OnlyFans comparisons now? You're really reaching." It was classic Miles behavior - using humor to build a wall between himself and any potential connection. "Nobody's looking at you because of your status. They're looking because you're being real right now ... sauce stains and everything. It's actually perfect ... shows you're human." The blonde kept stealing looks while Miles acted like he needed some sort of fame excuse to be worth her time. "Stop making this complicated. Go over there, introduce yourself, forget about the TV stuff. Just be the guy who destroyed his shirt trying to eat chicken."
benji didn't mean to make others feel as though he were some kind of pest but he wanted answers. he and kimberly deserved answers after everything they'd been through and he assumed that the man in front of him understood that was why he was here. "i hope so. i just don't want what happened to us to happen to anyone else." he confessed and let out a sigh. "you get it, right?"
Atlas connected with that need for answers - it was written all over Benji's face. The same drive that kept him working late into the night, the same urgency that made every detail matter. This wasn't about closing a file and moving on. This was about helping someone sleep better at night, about making things right. "Yeah, I totally get where you're coming from," he said. "That's exactly why the lot of us took on this case ⌠to make sure nobody else goes through what you did. And between us? I'm not stopping until we figure this whole thing out. You have my word."
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"jazz. sounds like something you'd say when you were trying to impress a girl and not something you would actually enjoy." but he wasn't judging him, that's for sure. after all, he had a bunch of things he liked that would turn most away. the more time that the two of them spent together, the more promising all of this was. he missed his family and while atlas was an unexpected member, he was a welcomed one. "feel free to bring jazz with you when you come over to mine."
Atlas rolled his eyes at Eddie's assumption about the jazz collection. "College was when I got hooked on jazz, actually. Those records were my study buddies," he said. It hit him then how weird and wonderful this was - talking music with a brother who'd been a stranger months ago. Eddie's invitation to bring Jazz over made his day brighter. This whole thing was working out better than he'd hoped. "You'll make Jazz's whole year. She's basically a cuddle monster with fur. Just watch out ⌠she's got this thing about drooling when she's excited ⌠and trust me, she's always excited."
The mention of his friendâs pet and mini golf stories made him laugh. This whole situation painted such a different picture from the usual political circles he was around daily. "You know what? I respect that this is your happy place. Better than my idea of funâreading through city budget reports," he said. The lack of pressure here struck him as refreshing. No constituents to please, no policies to defend, just pure ridiculous fun with someone who seemed perfectly content missing shots alongside him. When Atlas mentioned winging it, he laughed. "At least you make winging it look good. Me? I'm creating new ways to fail at mini golf. Maybe we should start a support group, Mini Golf Misfits Anonymous."
Atlas liked how Irza made fun of himself about budget reports. It felt refreshing - no pressure to be perfect or professional here. The mini golf course turned into their own little world where being bad at something didn't matter. "Mini Golf Misfits Anonymous? Totally in. We need those matching t-shirts ⌠the whole deal." he'd scored big time finding someone who turned their total lack of mini golf skills into an inside joke. How freaking perfect was it that Irza got his weird sense of humor and wanted to run with it? "Want to nerd out and calculate our hole-in-one chances? Bet we'll never make it. Let's forget numbers and score with interpretive dance instead."
Kian had to admit, Atlasâs tornado comment was solid. It was the kind of ridiculous imagery that made him forget, even for a second, how suffocating the townâs judgment felt. He appreciated moments like thisâwhere things werenât so heavy, where someone wasnât looking at him like he was a headline. âMan, if your license photoâs that bad, maybe we should start a support group for tragic IDs. Mugshots and DMV disasters anonymous,â he quipped, his tone lighter than it had been in days. Atlas wasnât wrongâgive it a week, and someone else would screw up spectacularly enough to steal the spotlight. âGuess Iâll just have to wait my turn to fade into obscurity.â
He let out a laugh that surprised even himself when Kian brought up the support group idea. Something about the way Kian turned life's stupid moments into jokes made everything better. "A support group ... that's perfect. Let's do weekly meetings where we share our worst photos and mugshots." The maleâs ability to roll with the punches was exactly what he needed in his life right now - someone who got that sometimes you had to laugh at the stupid stuff. The whole support group thing was ridiculous in the best way possible, and Atlas loved how it turned their shared embarrassment into something that felt weirdly healing. "You know what's cool about this place? Give it a week, and nobody cares anymore. Besides, your mugshot looks like a magazine cover compared to my DMV photo. I looked like I was having an allergic reaction to everything."
Ar had to physically clamp her hand over her mouth to stop from cackling. A sock-sorting revenge plot? This dog wasn't just smartâhe was evil genius territory, and she was completely obsessed. "Here's the thingâand don't take this personallyâbut Jazz has definitely got us beat in the brains department." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Also, hate to break it to you, but those treats are like bringing a knife to a gunfight. Better practice your 'I'll never choose Excel sheets over you again' speech. That dog's got standards now, thanks to his soap opera addiction." She paused, smirking to herself. âAnd donât forget to actually sleep after. Jazz doesnât need a sleep-deprived owner on top of everything else.â
Atlas couldn't deny it - Jazz was operating on genius level, and those treats weren't going to cut it anymore. "I guess peanut butter bribes look pretty sad next to his dramatic revenge plans ... " He imagined Jazz taking revenge classes from soap operas. He felt like the world's biggest doofus. Here he was, trying to win over his dog with dollar store treats. It wasnât normal. "What if I wrote him a proper sorry note and displayed it by his special couch corner?" Her worry about his sleep schedule made him feel special, even with all the teasing. "Right now Jazz gets his TV time while I work late. But I better start sleeping more before he starts leaving cranky notes under my head."
despite what she'd been through a couple of months back, she still felt as though she were doing really well after going to a therapist. not only that, she was in a relationship where she couldn't be happier. while atlas had been good to her, he just wasn't what she was looking for back then and the two of them hadn't worked out. "they're not all that fancy and they'll serve black coffee too. i just don't see how you do that. no cream, no sugar, nothing." ember smiled at the man and nodded in response, "for sure. i wouldn't mind doing that. we'll meet up at my fancy coffee shop." she spoke in a playful tone.
Atlas felt good about how therapy made Ember better. She shouldnât be suffering in silence. When she teased him about black coffee, he chortled. Just like her to give him a hard time. "Black coffee is an art form ... " he said. "You don't know what you're missing by putting all that stuff in yours." He liked seeing Ember so happy now, with her new boyfriend. He wanted to catch up with her because being friends was better than their old relationship ever was. "Okay, you win. We'll go to your fancy coffee shop. But I'm paying, and I'm getting plain black coffee. And when everyone there looks at me weird, you have to stick up for me."
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Hazal hadnât expected to find herself smiling at Atlasâs jokes, yet there she was, caught off guard by his comment. It was disarmingâlike the guy had suddenly decided to be human instead of just the guy who got on her nerves on the regular. She didnât know what to make of it. When he said Jazz gave hugs instead of protection, it almost made her laugh. Almost. âThanks. Jazz might give better hugs than protection, but Iâll take what I can get,â she said, even though her worry about the stalker still lingered. Asking him to check her place felt like a gamble, but his agreement made her feel less ridiculous for asking. When he came back with the all-clear, she nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and gratitude. His offer to help anytimeâeven at stupid oâclockâpulled a laugh out of her. âThanks. Youâre not so useless after all.â She was clearly joking now.Â
Atlas watched in shock as Hazal's smile turned their usually awful talks into something kind of nice. Because she wasn't mad at Jazz for being a terrible guard dog, he didn't feel compelled to defend his furry buddy, even though she had a point about the hugs. Her thank you gave him this weird happy feeling in his stomach, which never happened when they usually talked. Her laugh at his stupid o'clock made him feel like less of an asshole neighbor, like maybe they didn't have to hate each other anymore. Then she said that thing about him not being completely worthless. "Look at me being the most helpful neighbor ever ⌠checking your locks like a pro and offering Jazz's world-famous hugs, and you're calling me useless? You're breaking my heart over here." But he wasn't really upset. This new joking around felt way better than their usual fighting - like maybe they could stop being those annoying people who shared a wall and yelled about parking spots, and start being actual friends who hung out and stuff.
"hey," he started, "i thought i found my someone." at the end of the day though, his ex wife had decided his trauma was too much for her and she filed for divorce. he was old now though and he doubted he'd find anyone else to settle down with. "you never know what could happen though. i'm just glad i had somewhere to go after everything." pausing to look at the two dogs, he shrugged, "i guess that wouldn't hurt. maybe the two will find a way to be friends then."
Atlas understood Matthew's sadness about his ex-wife. Break-ups were tough, and Atlas had his own share of them. The apartment had gotten brighter since Matthew showed up - less quiet, more fun. "Marriage isn't my thing either ... " He thought about Jazz and Dolly's silent fight in the corner. "You're right though ⌠having you here has been good. And hey, maybe we can be those weird dog dads who throw puppy parties. What do you say we check out Pet Avenue tomorrow? Jazz goes wild for those bacon treats they sell."
