[The ace in the hole. That's all the boy is for, even before he's born; when he's nothing but an idea and a twinkle in Frank Fontaine's eye, all the boy is good for is being the ace in the hole. The failsafe, the just-in-case when his efforts as Atlas don't quite reach the desired end. He makes a call. The boy gets on a plane.
Everything else is just debris.
Now the city belongs to Atlas, to Frank Fontaine—come out on top, in one last fuck you to the bloodied heap that is Andrew Ryan lying on the floor. From his secure location Atlas feels a satisfaction that reaches down into his very bones, the satisfaction of a job well done. Rapture is his to cradle in his hands like a newborn child and mold into precisely what he wants it to be.
He's getting good at that, lately. Lost in thought at the precise moment he's accomplished his goal, the moment the sum of the parts is finally revealed, he doesn't realize Jack is speaking through the radio he holds white-knuckled at his side for a moment.
The boy—well, he might as well see what he wants, before he makes an over-hasty decision. He clears his throat before raising the radio up to laugh into it, a sputtering, surprised noise that rings out with the genuine pride in Jack that he's lauded him with on his journey here. Like Atlas is so shaken from what's just happened that all he can do for a moment is laugh—] You've done it, boyo! Now that's what I call a job well done. Saved the city, you have, and just in the nick of time.
[what do you mean "that is your name, right," he suddenly can't hear]
no subject
Everything else is just debris.
Now the city belongs to Atlas, to Frank Fontaine—come out on top, in one last fuck you to the bloodied heap that is Andrew Ryan lying on the floor. From his secure location Atlas feels a satisfaction that reaches down into his very bones, the satisfaction of a job well done. Rapture is his to cradle in his hands like a newborn child and mold into precisely what he wants it to be.
He's getting good at that, lately. Lost in thought at the precise moment he's accomplished his goal, the moment the sum of the parts is finally revealed, he doesn't realize Jack is speaking through the radio he holds white-knuckled at his side for a moment.
The boy—well, he might as well see what he wants, before he makes an over-hasty decision. He clears his throat before raising the radio up to laugh into it, a sputtering, surprised noise that rings out with the genuine pride in Jack that he's lauded him with on his journey here. Like Atlas is so shaken from what's just happened that all he can do for a moment is laugh—] You've done it, boyo! Now that's what I call a job well done. Saved the city, you have, and just in the nick of time.
[what do you mean "that is your name, right," he suddenly can't hear]