WORK for me... or DIE with Atlas

May it be our finest year.

There was something sharp and pricking in Ryan’s words, like a little burr that caught at Jack’s mind and refused to be dislodged. But it wasn’t in the words, exactly– that was the wrong way to put it. It wasn’t anything Ryan had said (or maybe it was, Jack couldn’t tell) but was instead just something that seemed to have come with the fact that Jack was finally ready to go through with this murder. It was a little prickle in the back of his thoughts that seemed to remind him that he might not really want this, that if he had really wanted to kill Ryan he would have done so already.

He was fairly certain he understood, now, all that he had seen in that room. He was fairly certain that he had understood it all as soon as he had gotten there. He didn’t want to think about it, but he didn’t need to think about it to understand.

“Why should I stop you,” he asked slowly, his eyes darting up to meet Jack’s. It was a more difficult motion than he expected, looking him in the face. He’d known--- well, he’d known a lot, for a while now, but it was one thing to see a face on the security feed, and another thing entirely to look him in the eye. 

“I’ve made my choice, and you’ve made yours.” Havent you? He didn’t say. His look was hard, as if daring Jack to contradict him. To acknowledge that he had no power here. 

He had been ready for so long, ready to kill Jack. And now that the boy was in front of him, he wasn’t even sure he was ready to die. For the first time, he felt the icy touch of fear. He should just say the words, make Jack do it, and get it over with. A muscle twitched near his eye. 

While going on a run seemed to be more worth her time, she couldn’t help but enjoy cooking. Years stuck with those monsters, forced to eat their gruel then clean it up. Ellie found doing things herself to be so rewarding and liberating.

All this time she could do it, there was just never a chance to.

Still.

It wasn’t as though Jack had much of a choice either way.

“Ah, the assassin now moves to tell me how to save myself.” His voice was tired, pure grit and gravel from so many months of isolation and cigarettes. “Do you play chess against yourself, I wonder, or is your resolve weakening? Everyone always was amazed to find that I was only a man.” There was bitterness in his words, liberally coating every consonant as it was spat through his lips. He had once been untouchable, a god. Now he was a different sort of legend-- a monster. 

When he was dead, he would be neither. He would be forgotten, entombed in the paradise he had built. 

Ellie thought herself lucky to have a friend like Mallory. Not only did she invite her to outings, but she made sure she had the appropriate attire for them. She might work hard and have money to her name but she had no clue why a velvet dress was better than a cotton one.

Hi Dad. Bye Dad.