A name damn near stamped everywhere. One feared and revered on the lips of denizens scattered across the city's decrepit state. Audio logs from and about this man gave sporadic records like an auditory evidence board of his deeds throughout Rapture before the fall, in cognitive recollection marred to such a name. He was utterly horrified over all of it. Never had there been a slap to the face like this one. Whoever sold happy endings wore the scape of denial. Everything he had done held no morally grey fixture, not any longer. His hands were stained by the deeds this man orchestrated, physically clean from that which ailed him, but he could see the phantasmal remnants of blood in coated face - not out of justice, revenge -- but a pure power grab.
A puppet all along, with phrase earlier driven into him, now like a mantra to his stupidity. He shook his head in momentary disbelief. One step faltering now on a set of three whilst he backpedaled among thawed motion. Not only did he dance to what tethers Fontaine pulled -- but gingerly held the knife at his own throat willingly under it's ambiguous song, coaxing his credulity on each note that it had been for the greater good. Free will were the illusion.
He heard enough, already had it been too much to take. Yet the promise of more poured out of the serpent's maw before he could even choke out any sort of retort that clung to his tongue like clay, as if to mute his efforts. A venomous torrent of truth, giddy to peel away the fantasy he clung to under what comfort he mistook for reality.
" You're lyin, " Jack ushered in whispering retreat. Inaudible to the receiver of the radio he had now been white knuckling in grip. Course he had a family, he had to have -- hadn't he ? His face worn blanched white, cyan pools frantic across a stare for nothing of particular interest; an inanimate object adorned to a wall aimed to distract his unraveling. Yet the burned image of an infant anchored in wires and surrounded by machinery rapidly fired in a painful flash across the back of his eyelids. As if the discovery he held prior to that knowledge snubbed to remind him the awful truth. That he was home all along.
What sorrow-wrought anger that began to burn at the back of his throat, glistened eyes -- suddenly doused by simplicity off three words that always managed to blindside him. It's accompanied command to stand down on cue of his gathering distraught becoming to a boiling point. Liken fire went from flame to extinguished ash in a matter of seconds over the expense of this conditioned script. Pacifying the agent's countenance , cyan pools once dilated, dulled rather blank slate in addition of his automated yield for systematic precision. Discoloured, off-putting , as if the neurons had simply not been firing to counteract.
Ambling gait shifted for the deposit listed within finer details of the authoritative, as if his legs held a mind of their own. Whilst he removed the rifle from his shoulder, pivoting it's strap without a flinch of hesitation toward what it could entail when disarming. Watching his course of action from the window pane of a vessel no longer his. He emptied every collected weaponry into the mechanized slot. The elongated body of the rifle angled down into it's contents, following suit were a pistol, a few grenades, and one rust-tinged wrench. It all gave cause for his right hand to tremor with what protest he could muster under the last of his defense now abandoned.
The subject retracted in step, an extracted sigh heavy in his chest. Hues floating for the recessed room which connected the central port. How was he to pull away from this one ? Even if he managed , where would he go ?Swiping a hand in distress up through fawn tresses, " C'mon Jackie, think.. " Not realizing the radio he subconsciously returned to his hip, dangling by it's clip.
