(prologue of the obligatory rhack siren rhys au i’ve been writing)
Rhys remembers a time before the Purple. Before the eridium burning through his veins. He still has faint memories of his childhood outside in the Dust. Granted, it wasn’t a good childhood—few on Pandora are—but it was his. They had lived next to a calmer raider camp, whatever that really meant. Rhys’ father would head there every day to trade with them. He was a hunter, and would drag the best pieces of his hunts over to trade for water and protection.
See, the bandits had built their camp on an oasis. The only water source in a seven mile radius. And one day, Rhys’ father had gone out and just…hadn’t come back. One hour turned to two, and three, and five, until two days had passed. A six year old Rhys had licked his chapped lips and had told his mother he was thirsty, not understanding why the day’s water hadn’t showed up yet. His mother had stared back at him, sorrow evident in her gaze.
As she stood up, she had shakily smiled at him. She had gotten dressed in her best dress—the one she wore on her wedding. A lovely sky blue, even if it was coarse and rough. “Don’t worry, I’ll go and fetch the water. You just stay right here, okay? I love you.” She ruffled his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead as the door shut behind her.
A young Rhys had silently nodded, too distracted with the sandpaper feel of his tongue against the inside of his cheek to say it back, tucking himself in and going to sleep. That night, he dreamt of an endless sea, waves sweeping over and pulling him under the tide.
That was the last time he saw his mother.
The next morning, he had woken up to five canteens full of precious, precious water placed in the kitchen. In his thirst, he downed two immediately. And once a day passed and one more canteen had been emptied, Rhys left. It was as if something had told him that neither Mother nor Father would be coming back, so he had to leave too.
There, he wandered the Dust, aimless and creeping towards death. There, he collapsed onto the scorching sand, the sun beating down on his head. There, an old lady approached him, cloaked in a black cape despite how hot it must have felt with it on.
She had stared at him, unflinching even as Rhys had mustered up his last dregs of strength to grab at her ankle. In the silence, she had swept back Rhys’s long hair to reveal his eyes, adjusting her hood and revealing her face to him. Both her eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly, malevolent purple, making Rhys shudder with the impression that he was looking at a predator who could eat him alive.
The old crone had a blue tattoo under her right eye, flowing from her eyes like long lashes. They were sharp and jagged and reached down to her cheekbones like a parasite grasping for more purchase.
And as they stared each other down, she smiled. It was a wicked thing, broken and battered but alive.
“You’ll do, girl. You’ll do fine.” She murmured, patting his cheek lightly as she stood back up, towering over Rhys.
Three hours after Helios burns to the ground, Rhys misplaces the ECHOeye somewhere in the Pandoran desert. Three years after that, Promethea is plunged into a global blackout.
crossposted on ao3 because why not?
Word Count: 2,620
Three hours after Helios burns to the ground, Rhys misplaces the ECHOeye somewhere in the Pandoran desert. By the time he notices that it’s missing, it’s too late and the desert sand has kicked up into a dust storm, obscuring the road. Rhys curses up a storm but doesn’t say a word to Fiona when she asks. How could he? How could he tell her that ‘Oh, yeah. He just kept the genocidal AI who tried to kill everybody alive out of a mix of misplaced admiration and sadism. Maybe? Even he’s not sure why he kept the eye? Haha, whoops?’ When you put it that way, it sounds crazy.
So Rhys doesn’t. Tell Fiona, that is.
In fact, Rhys doesn’t tell anybody about Jack. For the first few months after the Vault - after what he’s calling the Incident - Rhys is on full alert, jumping at the nearest sound. Did somebody revive Jack? Yeah, being so twitchy isn’t healthy, but Rhys passed that line when he plugged Jack into his head. No, it was when he joined Hyperion instead of a second-rate like Tediore. But what else is he supposed to do? Relax? When Jack could be out there?
Eventually - and by eventually, he means two and a half painful and insufferable months later - he stops being so jittery. But he’s always wary.
If anything, Jack taught him best. The lesson in question being that Rhys should never trust easily. Instead of killing people outright like Jack, Rhys smiles, treats them kindly. But he never lets his guard down. Not even just because of his trust issues - those existed well before Jack and grew in the cutthroat office culture of Hyperion, where one wrong move got you killed, even if Rhys himself wasn’t willing to take a life back then.
No, it’s because CEOs of megacorporations have mega-sized targets on their heads. Rhys knows of at least seven different assassin guilds that have set a hefty bounty on Rhys being dead. Honestly, he hates that he kind of understands why Jack was so trigger-happy. Who knows where the next assassin will come from. Dahl? Vladof? Maliwan? Or just a lucky shot from some sucker with nothing to lose and everything to gain?
[ We’re not so different, you and I. ]
He spends the next seven months after that minor breakdown avoiding the robotics lab with a religious fervor. He doesn’t care that his arm needs tuning up; he can do that himself. Rhys knows that they…well, appropriated tech and research from the ruins of Helios. Well, less they and more Atlas employees. Rhys doesn’t think he can stomach going back to the wreckage and seeing the destruction he caused.
What was it even all for? He killed coworkers and bosses and interns and even their innocent family members. Why? To stop Jack. Then Rhys kept Jack alive. And then Rhys loses the ECHOeye on Pandora, never to be found again. Jack’s still out there. Rhys can feel it.
So no. Rhys isn’t touching Helios or the robotics lab with a ten-foot pole. He knows from the biweekly employee updates that the researchers there are working on augmentation. Full-body augmentation. The first time Rhys saw the plans, he threw his laptop across his office and had to ask his unimpressed secretary for a new one, preferably a desktop this time. What does she know? It’s not like she has the lives of thousands on her hands.
(Whoooo, calm down. He shouldn’t take it out on other people.)
It’s just that Rhys swears he can even sometimes hear Jack’s voice echoing in his head. Mocking him. Taunting him. But there’s no trace of him left in Rhys’ head - he would know. The possibly justified paranoia is the reason why he goes a scan of all his cybernetics every month. Nothing changes every time but it calms him down, considering Jack somehow evading his scans literally means life or death for both Rhys and everyone in Atlas.
It’s during one of these routine scans that the Blackout happens. By now, it’s been three and a half years since Helios crashed into the sandy dunes of Pandora. Since then, Rhys has gotten a little cybernetic diagnostic machine of his very own installed in his office. It guzzles power like a madman, but Rhys only uses it once a month, so he deems it alright. It’s unplugged every other day. As for the security - since Rhys is such a lovely paranoid person now - it’s under constant lock and key to avoid anybody tampering with it. He even installed turrets by the door to ensure no spies might sneak into his office.
Wait. Fuck, he just took another page right out of Jack’s book. Damn it. Even in death or perpetuity of nothingness in the ECHOeye, the man seems to haunt him like a specter, unwilling to let Rhys move on. It’s gotten to the point where Rhys is actively making decisions to be less like Jack because if he’s not paying attention, the similarities are disquieting. Though, he supposes that is what happens when an insane AI lives in your head and knows everything about you. You start to sort of meld together and the effects will probably stay for a lifetime.
[ You got to break it down to build it back up— ]
(Was Rhys good before Jack in his head? No. The mining deal demonstrated that pretty well. But having Jack spending so much time messing around with his circuits really didn’t help.)
[ —and there’s so much to break down before you we can build again— ]
He’s in the middle of scanning his arm when the machine blips and turns off. Then, a split second afterward, the power in his office breaks. In the darkness, his ECHOeye flickers on automatically, adjusting to the newfound lack of light. Rhys sits there, staring at the now useless scanner in the dark for a few seconds before he jumps up in a panic. Glancing outside a window in his office, he’s treated to the terrifying sight of city blocks going dim, one after another.
(It’s eerily quiet, the sound of the city on mute as everything screeches to a halt. The sirens of the ambulances cut off abruptly; the advertisements blaring in Electra have gone black. Even without the noise-canceling built into his office walls, Rhys can’t hear anything. Anything at all.)
The first thought that runs into his mind is foul play. After all, Atlas HQ’s power systems are the most protected in the city. If there were a power outage, reserves would be directed here, since there are certain experiments that require constant electricity. Classified and...erm, spark skag-based experiments.
But the power in his office went out first. Rhys chews on the corner of his bottom lip. This isn’t good. If they have enough power in his systems that they can just turn off the power for the whole city and bypass all the safeguards and firewalls, they could probably kill Atlas with a snap of a finger. All their research and documents deleted or released to rival companies with a flick of a wrist. Shit, he’s fucked. All this should be impossible, but it’s happening.
So someone’s attacking Atlas and sabotaging their power. Who is it? Some company spy or an extortionist? Maybe it’s someone ex-Hyperion who understandably isn’t too happy with Rhys.
(A small part of his brain whispers that maybe it’s somebody who has a personal ax to grind. It’s gotta be him.)
He mentally flips through his ECHOeye to check on everything. Yep, the ECHO connections are down too. He’s so fucked. How did they sneak up on him like this? Atlas has some of the best firewalls in the six galaxies; even if someone got through, the alarms would go off. But having complete mainframe access like this to cut off the ECHOnet entirely? That takes months or years of careful planning. Or a backdoor. But Rhys checked everything over himself - there couldn’t be, right?
In a moment of panic, Rhys runs over to the keypad at the door. It’s dark. Shit.
[ Hey, language! ]
Yeah, fuck. The keypad normally a vibrant red, is lacking all its color, and Rhys can almost feel that same rosy hue leech out of his face at the realization. The only way he can get out of this room now is once the auxiliary power for HQ kicks in.
But seeing as it hasn’t yet, Rhys prepares himself to spend some time directing the fight while stuck in his office. He manually pages his PA on a radio walkie-talkie he decided to use on a whim after finding a pair sitting under his desk on his first day here.
The only sound he gets is a crackling static. Damn it, what the hell is wrong now? The sound of creaking metal and splintering wood fills the room and for a moment, he wonders whether the tower is about to fall. But no, Rhys wasn’t paying attention and just took a chunk out of his desk with his robotic arm. Perfectly normal. He’s fine. Rhys is not freaking out and if you say he is, he will fire you.
He’s shaking out a couple of splinters that have lodged in his finger joints when he sees a light turn on from the corner of his eye. For a brief moment, a spark of hope lights up in his chest. Is the power back? That small flame is immediately extinguished by the chilling realization that the only thing on with power is his computer. He walks around his desk and stares at his desktop in trepidation. Because his computer being the only thing with power in what looks like the whole damn city isn’t strange and suspicious at all.
Not like he’s got any other option though. But just in case. Rhys walks over to the door one more time, just to see if he can try to get it open. He could probably send enough electricity from his cybernetics to power the door long enough to escape, but that would leave him dead on his feet in the event of an emergency. It would conk out his ECHOeye and his arm until the power came back. That’s not something he’s willing to risk. He’s also pretty sure that whoever’s in Atlas’ systems is watching him and would try their best to stop Rhys from escaping.
Rhys’ footsteps echo in his office, his skag skin boots clicking against the metal floor. He’s not sure why he feels so disquieted. Nothing has changed. Nothing except his computer, it seems. When did the screen change? Previously a blank white, the screen displays a semicolon and a right bracket. A winky-face.
There’s a sudden thud and grinding of gears underneath Rhys’ feet and the power in Meridian Square blinks on. But only Meridian Square. Atlas HQ still stays frustratingly dark. He clamors up against the window to get a better view - he’s not sliding down onto the roof unless he has to. There’s no need for it; Rhys can hear what’s being broadcast in the square with no problem. He’s not at the right angle to see what’s being projected on the screens, but from the sound of things, he can imagine. It sends shivers down his spine.
“No need to panic, everybody. I’m not here to destroy the planet or take over Atlas. Not like I’d want this dump. Just want a little chat with your CEO, see? So just stand there, admiring my genius and nobody has to get hurt. Don’t give me a reason. I haven’t killed anybody in two years, my trigger finger’s real twitchy.”
That’s not who he thinks it is, right? No, it can’t be. How did he get here? He should be buried under a layer of sand on Pandora. Not hacking Rhys’ tower.
“Now that we understand - HEY! I felt that. Ooh, an Atlas code monkey. You tried to take back control from me. You tried to kick me out. You tried to KILL me. We can’t have that.” There’s a moment of silent suspense from the square. “Ah, I found the security bots. Huh, wonder what it would be like to kill someone with a medic bot. Whatever.”
The sound of a lone gunshot seems to echo and Rhys can somehow hear it from all the way up in his office. Are the sounds being projected to him? The feed in the square unexpectedly cuts off, plunging the city into total darkness once more. Then, as the walls of Atlas tremble and shake, the speakers in his office screech a harsh and crude static. Rhys winces and claps his hands over his ears, sinking to his knees in pain, face pressed up against the glass window.
He’s pretty sure his ears are bleeding - and when he pulls his hands back, his ECHOeye all but confirms it. Where was the shaking from?
“I just set off a couple of your experiments, don’t worry pumpkin. I’m sure the skags on level five will only eat the researchers on that floor. You don’t need anybody but Jackie here anyways.” Rhys shakily stands up and unsteadily walks towards his desk, using it as a crutch when he gets there. The ringing in his hearing persists and he can barely hear who’s talking to him; it sounds like a mumble, just strong enough for Rhys to parse out. He shudders, though whether from the pain or from who’s talking to him, he’s not quite sure.
“Heya, Rhysie.” The scarily familiar voice hisses the last word in anger, crackling over the PA system. It’s the voice of someone who he had both adored and hated; someone who he’d killed and saved. Rhys refuses to cower. He’s stronger than that; he’s Atlas’ CEO and he’ll face the man on equal footing. Shrugging off the pain - or at the very least, ignoring it for now - he glances back down at his monitor.
Jack.
“D’ya miss me?” When Rhys doesn’t respond, Jack continues on. “Aw, don’t look like that. You look like a kicked puppy. A bleeding, half-cyborg, kicked puppy. Anyways, I meant what I said in the Square. I just want a chat. I won’t hurt you.”
“You just gotta make a deal with the Devil.” Jack continues on. “So what d’ya say, pumpkin? Will you help me get Hyperion back? Or will I have to burn Promethea to the ground? Limited time offer, kiddo. Choose wisely, I’m only asking once.”
Rhys sighs, glancing around the room. He doubts that he’d be able to hack the system to kick Jack out without Jack catching on. He certainly doesn’t want to see what'll happen then. He’s less angry and more resigned; he refuses to kill everyone on Promethea.
[ Why? You murdered everybody on Helios to try and stop me. Why do you care now? What makes everything different now? ]
It's not even moral qualms at this point; he worked so hard to resurrect Atlas that he'd rather die than start back at square one. He did know that this day would come eventually. You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain and Jack’s not one to just roll over and die.
And Rhys supposes, neither is he. He survived Hyperion, he survived Pandora, he survived Helios. He'll be damned if he dies here to Handsome Jack.
[ See, everybody thinks they're the hero of their own story - ^@&$#^&!%@ - and the ones you love litter the roadside. ]
