-
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?”
"The kind of man you need? Oh no no, that's not quite how it works." The Revolutionary laughed, then began to explain himself in the way a contractor might explain his services. "See, I've been in this business for a while now. 103 years ago is when I started, actually. That's when I got sick of the big guys up there fighting neverending wars over their own stupid feuds, and leaving the rest of us to die thinking we're doing something right. That's when I decided to make it my purpose to stop that shit from happening. So now I go to places that need help, and I show them what to do. I'm that outside expert you didn't even know you needed."
Reaching into his worn old leather satchel, he pulled out and opened a book. It looked well used, like it was often opened, with many annotations and dog-ears on its pages. "All you've got to do is go by this book. I developed and wrote down a method, one that's vague enough to fit in anywhere, but specific enough to be useful. But-" he stopped, slamming the book shut quickly. "Before you get to see the Method, I have to determine what your intentions are. I'm not going to give you any help at all if you're just another power-hungry bastard who's only out there for himself. And if you lie," he said, stepping forwards and getting right in the face of the other man, "I'll know."