universalrevolutionary
“Talk you to death? No, I actually need you to tell me things. For starters, what the hell happened to this place? I can tell from the posters around here that some fellow named Ryan seems to be the corporate runner of the place, and something he did has let this whole city go to shit. So where did you come in? Atlas, the posters say? Some hero of the people? If anything is gonna get done here, I figure it’s with you. See, that’s what I do. I’m the Revolutionary, and I find effed-up places like this, and I fix them. I get people to fight back, and I fix things.”
Atlas leaned back in his seat at his desk, eying the boy with a fair bit of incredulity for a moment--quickly hidden when he caught himself. No doubt he was some spliced-up, strung-out fool–to come to him with no knowledge of who he was but with the determination of some fairytale hero. Part of him pitied the kid for his naivete, but people like that were easily spun about and pointed in the direction he’d want them to be.
“Sound like th’ kind o’ man I need. An’ yer correct, for the most part. Ryan made this place in his image--course that image has us runnin’ around like rats while he crushes us under. Not havin’ any more o’ it, see?”