#o.a. ꩜ .ᐟ

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Snapped” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Wren (they/them)

Atlas surveys the streets below, sure he must be dreaming.

Taking up the entire back wall of the hotel room is a long, shiny floor-to-ceiling window.

A window.

He can’t remember the last time he’d seen one. The warehouse, despite its many floors and levels, didn’t have any. Not ones that led outside, anyway. And definitely not ones as grand as this one. It was nothing but the same steel-gray walls along every hallway, stretching on endlessly, inescapable no matter what room you turned into. His bedroom had been like that too: four bare, gray walls, not a single window in sight.

But here — here he can see it all.

The darkened streets stretch out below him, bustling with cars and people. It isn’t as crowded here as it had been when he’d first drove with Wren this morning, less people around to watch. Still… It’s beautiful.

Outside. He can really see outside.

Wren’s van sits out in front of them in the parking lot, the pale white of the paint glistening from the streetlight overhead. Wren had slid into the parking lot only fifteen minutes prior, flashing a sleek credit card in his direction, proclaiming it was for “emergencies only”, before leading him inside the hotel. It’s a nicer place than the rest of the buildings he’s seen today — much cleaner than the McDonalds — with shiny elevators and smooth marble floors, a few people bustling around in the hallways; kids and adults alike, smiling and laughing with each other. 

Now settled in their hotel room, he can spot a few men gathered on the corner of the street, little wisps of smoke drifting up into the night air around them from their cigarettes. They’re laughing loudly, throwing their heads back, mouths spread out in a grin. Atlas wonders what it’s like, to laugh like that.

He stands there in silence, simply taking it all in, eyes flickering towards every person that passes by on the street, to every car in the distance. They are all but blurs of colour in the darkness of the night, the illumination of streetlights casting a dull glow over everything, the lights from nearby shops slowly starting to flicker off as the day falls to a close.

Atlas is pulled away from the serene view at Wren’s eyes on him.

They look up at him from their spot criss-crossed on the floor, face curious as he meets their gaze. They pat the spot beside them, expectantly waiting for him to sit.

He hesitates for a moment, scanning their expression for any hint of hostility. He still isn’t sure what to think of them. They’re brash and rude — not to mention stupid — but then again, they’d genuinely tried to help him, hadn’t they? Slowly, he obliges, taking the seat next to them.

Wren fixes their gaze back onto the street below, pressing their forehead into the glass. “How old are you?”

Atlas bristles at the question. “You first.”

All day they’d been asking things like this, trying to… get information out of him. He guesses it’s what anyone would do, he is a practical stranger, after all. But a part of him can’t help but feel on guard at it. He isn’t supposed to tell people about himself, isn’t supposed to give anything away. Especially to someone from outside of Eden. Though, he guesses, he isn’t a part of Eden anymore either, is he? Those rules don’t apply to him anymore.

Not after he left them.

Wren sighs, but for once doesn’t push, instead opting for answering his deflection. “Fine asshole. I’m fourteen.”

Atlas falls quiet at their answer, weighing his options. Eden’s rules don’t technically apply to him anymore, but that doesn’t mean he really cares about Wren, either. It isn’t like they’ve ever been nice to him before now. Still, it isn’t like he’s going to gain anything from being so prudent with them. And telling them his age can’t be that bad….

“I’m fifteen.” He relents.

Their head jerks towards him at his answer, eyes going wide in shock as they mumble, “You’re just a kid.”

Atlas’ gaze doesn’t leave the window, his face still a perfect mask of calm, the only movement coming from him being his eyes as they scan the different buildings outside. “I’m older than you.” He points out.

Wren clicks their tongue loudly and shrugs, tearing their face away from the window again to glance at him. “Yeah. I’m a kid too.”

Atlas focuses on a particular car — a deep maroon in colour, with a dent in the side, little chips along the paint. He places all his attention on it, taking nice, even breaths, holding back his urge to scream at them. He’s never felt so miserable, so helplessly alone, in his entire life. “My age doesn’t matter.” He responds, voice clipped. So just shut the fuck up already.

Wren rolls their eyes, huffing out a breath of frustration. “Yeah. Did they tell you that too? Did they tell you it doesn’t matter that you’re a literal kid?”

Atlas stiffens. “That’s none of your concern.”

Wren sighs and leans back on their hands, still staring out the window. “Fine, whatever.” They go silent for a long moment before a thought suddenly occurs to them. “What’s your name? Do you have a name?” They ask, glancing back towards him.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He says coldly, unable to hold the exasperation from leaking into his voice. Wren seems to have that sort of effect on him; he never feels quite so defensive or angry as he does when he’s around them.

Wren huffs, sagging forwards and resting their forehead upon the glass once again. They seem unable to sit still for more than a minute, constantly fidgeting and moving around. Atlas has never found something quite so irritating. “Look, I know you don’t like me. That’s fine. But we can’t do anything unless you trust me a little. At least enough to give me your name.”

“I don’t need to give you anything.” Atlas replies rigidly. He decides that he in fact isn’t going to tell them anything. He’s out of Eden now, so that means he can choose. There are no rules against that, not anymore. And Wren is definitely not his superior. He likes it better this way. That way they can’t use anything against him. That way he still has the slight upper hand.

Wren lets out a long, hard sigh, rocking for a minute before flopping all the way back, lying flat on the scratchy carpet. “Okay. Whatever.” They mumble, closing their eyes.

Atlas doesn’t move.

Wren thumps their feet on the floor rhythmically, disturbing Atlas’ peace. “Fine, I don’t need to know your name. Do you have a favourite colour?” They ask, glancing towards his hair, a shaggy mullet with burgundy streaks littering throughout it. “Is it red?”

“Is yours blue?” Atlas counters, still annoyingly refusing to answer any of their questions. He can’t stand it — can’t stand sitting here, with them, can’t stand their constant chattering. He wants to be at the warehouse, with Cato, with Ira; wants to be in his dorm room, curled up on his cozy bed. Wants to be training, the familiar feeling of his staff in his hands, strength surging through his core. He wants to be at home.

You left that, remember? He chides himself. That isn’t your home, not anymore.

“Very clever. Did you figure that all on your own?” Wren asks, pulling him from his thoughts.

“It doesn’t take a genius.” He grunts, not once glancing toward them to meet their gaze.

“Sarcasm.” They mutter. “You dye it yourself?” They gesture vaguely towards his hair.

Atlas answers with nothing but a curt nod, hand subconsciously raising to fiddle with his hair, a dark red strand twirling around his fingers. 

“Me too. I’ve spent too much money on box dye.”

Atlas hums. He still remembers with perfect clarity the first time Ira came over with box dye and helped him with his hair — almost as if it was just yesterday.

He had been twelve. She’d swung into his dorm room with a small grin, waving the box around like it was pure gold. It had been, to him. He remembers, up until then, he’d barely even had belongings to himself. No books beside his textbooks, no notebooks or paper besides the ones supplied to him for his lessons. No souvenirs, no nothing. His room had genuinely been bare. Just a bed and a small desk pushed into the corner. Wren had commented on the absolute emptiness of his room, but it was nothing compared to back then.

So when Ira had offered to dye his hair, he’d been over-the-moon. For as long as he could remember, her hair was always done up in some interesting way. A streak of colour, or ombré, or jaggedly cut in a way that Atlas wished he could pull off. He remembers how excitement coursed through his bones as she helped him chop off his ordinary, plain black locks for the shaggy mullet that he then kept for the past three years. That pure, child-like excitement… it was the best feeling in the entire world.

Wren doesn’t take his lack of a response as a sign he isn’t in the mood for a conversation, simply continuing to talk. They might as well be talking to themself, for all that it matters. “The first time I dyed my hair, I bleached it without instructions. It was so bad, it started falling out of my head.”

Atlas still doesn’t react, simply winding his hair around his finger, over and over and over again. Its soothing, almost. Something to focus on. 

Wren continues. “I had a big bald spot on the side of my head for the entire first part of 6th grade. My mom bought me this hair growth stuff for bald guys. Didn’t work at all.”

Atlas doesn’t give them a second of his attention. He stares out the window, watching out into the streets below, half-forgetting to blink. He wants to be out on those streets, walking. Free. It has never been a thought he admitted — not in full extent — but out of everything in the entire universe, that has always been his dream. To go out, by himself, no watchful eye of his commander or the judgemental gaze of a scrawny insufferable rebel. Just him and the quiet of the night, the chill of the breeze cooling the back of his neck. Calm, contented peace. 

Wren’s gaze doesn’t leave him as they sit up, scooting closer to his side. “Hey…?” They ask, leaning over slightly and waving their hand in front of his face. 

“Hm?” Atlas hums, his piercing gaze falling upon them. This is the closest they’ve dared get to him, only inches apart. “What is it?”

Wren furrows their brows at him. “You went all zombie on me.”

“I was listening.” Atlas says dismissively. What he really wants to say to them is “shut up, I do not want to talk to you right now, or ever, for that matter”, but he holds his tongue. He wants to do many things — shove Wren away from him, scream at them, beat their annoying face until it’s black and blue, run away from them and never come back — but that does not mean that he can actually do them. He’s stuck with Wren, as much as he hates it, so the best he can do is try to tolerate them. For now.

Wren frowns but shrugs, brushing past it. “Okay.” They say, leaning away to resume their position of resting their forehead against the window, letting out a heavy exhale as they do so. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

Atlas focuses his attention back upon the window, watching outside in silence for a second. If he was to be honest, he’d say that he really couldn’t care less if Wren told him anything about themself. But he knows that’s not what they want to hear. “Whatever you would like to tell me.” He says with the slightest of shrugs. We are not friends. He thinks. And we will never be friends. There’s nothing you can do or say that will ever change my mind on that.

Wren rolls their eyes with a loud and dramatic groan. “That’s not how this works. I’ve told you plenty and you won’t even respond.” They say, shooting him a scowl.

Atlas hums. “What would you like me to say?” There’s a reason I didn’t answer, you dunce.

“I dunno man. Usually you’re supposed to acknowledge what someone’s saying.” They say with another loud huff. “Whatever, you get a free pass because you got brainwashed.”

Don’t fucking speak to me like that.  

“I’m not brainwashed.” Atlas mutters, side-eying them.  

Wren clicks their tongue and scoffs. “I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything, but you kind of are man.”

Atlas scowls. You’re a naive, stupid child that thinks they know everything because they managed to steal a few fucking files. You’ll never amount to even a sliver of what I am right now, even if you spent your entire life trying. Pull your head out of your fucking ass.

“You don’t know anything about me. Stop acting like you do.” 

Atlas’ words only cause Wren to shrug. “I mean, I knew a lot more than you.” They point out matter-of-factly.

Atlas is so sick of Wren’s constant comments, their know-all attitude. Their audacity. All he’s had to deal with this entire day is their snarky quips, poking and prodding, rubbing salt into his sore wounds.

He should’ve known better. They’re a rebel, after all. Rebels are cruel, apathetic. Why would they care about what he’s lost, what he’s sacrificed, leaving with them? A homeless middle schooler with a clunky, dirty van that barely operates on its own. And he’s supposed to just be grateful, accept their treatment with the same grace he always holds. 

They don’t have a single clue about what his life was like, the hardship and struggles he’s had to endure. They don’t know how much he gave away, just to join their shitty little grandiose delusion of “revolution”. They make him sick.

Fuck, I’m so tired. 

He gives them a hard glare. “No, you didn’t.”

Wren narrows their eyes at him, giving him a skeptical glance before sighing. “What-ever.”

This finally snaps Atlas’ resolve.

It isn’t their dismissal that does it, more an accumulation of the last day. He should know better than this, should know better than to snap at them like he does, but suddenly the burning anger that has been boiling, slow and steady, in his chest all day is exploding out of him, hot as flames. Unrestrained.

“I hate you.” He spits, whipping around to glare down at them with pure hatred shining in his eyes. “At least Eden treated me kindly. At least I belonged.” His voice shakes, emotion slipping through in a way it hasn’t in — he doesn’t even know how long. Years? A decade? Forever? “At least I wasn’t stuck with an insolent child.”

His words come out quick and sharp, a part of him almost too scared to even say them. He can’t remember ever speaking out against someone in his entire life. He isn’t supposed to — it’s against the rules. He’s supposed to keep his feelings in check; a soldier who can’t keep control over themself is as good to Eden as a ticking time bomb. Soldiers are polite. Soldiers are obedient. Soldiers don’t voice their own opinions. Soldiers don’t have opinions — don’t have emotions. For all of his life, he has been this: The perfect soldier.

But what had that gotten him in the end?

“You don’t know anything about what it was like.” He says coldly. He has to admit to himself, actually voicing what he’s been thinking the entire day…. It feels kind of good.

Wren’s eyes widen slightly, a look of shock that gives Atlas the slightest hint of satisfaction evident on their features. They slowly tilt their head up to look at him again, the words hanging lowly in the air between them, turning the atmosphere thick with tension.

Finally, Wren breaks the dreadful silence. “Yeah, I get it.” They say, pausing for a moment, as if they were for once going to put in a sliver of thought before they spit out some crude insult at him. “I don’t expect you to like me. And I don’t really care if you do.”

Their face is calm, voice even as they speak. It feels as if they are addressing an explosive child, not a boy who has spent the last fifteen years of his life carefully pushing down his true feelings for what matters, who always does what he’s told without questions, who works and works and works. Who doesn’t know what it’s like to experience true relaxation — true peace.

“I may not know what it was like,” they say, the slightest bit of exasperation in their voice. “But I know what would’ve happened if you stayed.”

It’s like a slap to the face. Atlas pales, the thought of the files — the videos; the horrific images of torture, torture that he would’ve endured, torture that Eden had been doing on its own soldiers for years — causing his mouth to instantly snap shut.

The smug feeling dissipates just as fast as it comes. There is no rebuttal to their statement. Although he never would admit to it, both he and Wren know that they are right. What had been waiting for him after today….

He doesn’t even want to think about it.

In one swift movement, Atlas jumps to his feet. His hands are shaking as he roughly turns on his heel, stalking out of the room and making a beeline for the bathroom. For the first time in his life, he feels the careful control he has over his emotions slip through his fingers, anger burning in his chest fiery hot, flushing his cheeks red.

He fucking hates it here.

The door slams behind him with a sharp bang.

He is shaking as he enters the bathroom, his entire body trembling, the weight he’s been holding upon his shoulders for too long finally cracking away at his perfectly poised exterior, slipping him under the waves of unconstrained emotions he has tried so hard to dull. His control is dissipating faster than he can manage, the short rapid breaths through his nose doing nothing to cool the fury within him. 

The stress of the past 24 hours — no, the entire past month — have taken their hold on him, sending him spiraling down a well of no return. He is untethered, boundless, suffocating in the infinite unknown of space. And there is not that usual rough calloused hand to pull him back to safety, reassurances of warmth and belonging easing him back to reality. 

His reflection glares back at him, only inches away. The boy in the mirror is a shameful thing, cheeks all blotchy and red, flushed by his rage; eyes glassy and tinged with tears, squinting with a determined will to force them back; his chest is heaving, uncontrollable gasps slipping from his lips. 

He hates it. 

He hates all of it. He hates the perfectly tidy bathroom, too similar to Eden, with its sparse toiletries, carefully unordinary, and pale gray walls, no decorations adorning them. Too similar to what he left behind — what he’s missing so desperately. 

He hates not knowing what he’s supposed to do, how he’s supposed to act. Before today he had every single second in every single minute carefully and methodically planned out, his whole future set in stone, just waiting for him to arrive. And now he is lost, his plans of a picture-perfect future set aflame, all notions of normalcy or structure crumbling to ash with it. He is a nobody, with nothing to his name.

Useless. He’s fucking useless.

He hates these new emotions swirling up inside of him. He hates being so fucking angry, every breath of air igniting his insides, erasing this perfect persona he has crafted so delicately for himself. He hates this new life, hates this stupid smartass kid who thinks they know better than he does, thinks they’re somehow greater and better because they didn’t get roped up into a corporation like Eden, didn’t fall for the sweet-as-honey lies, the manipulated comforts. He hates living in a van, hates having no home. 

But most of all….

He hates himself. 

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ───────── · ·

“I was gonna shower, asshole.” 

Wren stares at the closed bathroom door with a scowl. The boy has shut himself in there and it looks like he’s not going to come out anytime soon. Great. Just what they needed. 

They sigh, standing up and flopping back onto the bed with a groan, their body limp. The mattress bounces underneath their weight, creaking in rhythm. The blankets are smooth, though not cozy and gentle like the ones they have back at home, impossibly soft to the touch. But they’ll do, much more comforting than their worn-down sleeping bag rolled up in the van, which is much overdue for a wash. 

They stare up at the ceiling, eyes bleary from exhaustion. It is in this quietness, a sort of rest washing over them for the first time all day without the boy’s tense presence to bother them, that the realization dawns on them that they haven’t really slept properly at all in weeks. At Eden they were on constant alert, left with the choice of camping out in their van half a mile off-grounds or cloaking themself somewhere ambiguous, body forced into a small, impossibly cramped crawl space no one would think to search. And this morning they woke up far too early for their own liking, the boy’s piercing violet gaze disrupting their dreams. 

They groan, turning their head towards the bathroom door. The water isn’t even running. “Hey,” they call out. “You gonna shower? Or can I?” 

They wait and the air is left brimming with tension as silence stretches out, no response coming from the other side of the door. “Hello?” 

The sound of slight shuffling is the only noise they can catch. 

They frown, sliding off the bed and going to stand in front of the door; their eyebrows furrowed, mouth pulled taut. “Dude, you good?” They ask, voice louder this time, fist brought down in a light knock. 

An explosion of fury booms from behind the door, ripping the next words from Wren’s tongue. 

“SHUT UP!” The boy screams, unbridled rage cracking his voice. It is deafening, hitting Wren with a truckload of emotion that has evidently been pushed down for far longer than he’s capable of withstanding. It's a violent kind of rage, one that’s dangerous to get caught up in. A stark contrast to the quiet and polite attitude from before — Wren is almost unsure if it came from him. “FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE.”

Wren flinches slightly at his outburst, the anger coming unexpected. Their eyes are wide and they are still for a moment, lips parted slightly. Shit. 

With a sigh, they turn away from the door. If he wanted to be left alone, then Wren would leave him alone. That bursting, uncontrollable anger is one they are all too familiar with. It’s no use in trying to comfort him, they’ve never been very good at that anyway. They’re sure their presence is only making his breakdown worse.

They turn and shuffle through their bag, pulling out a pair of large sweatpants and a t-shirt. They carry it to the door before dropping it in front of it wordlessly, and returning to sit on the bed. 

The bathroom is quiet for a second, so quiet that Wren thinks the boy has calmed down. They listen out for any further sound, and it’s at that moment that a large crash cuts through their hotel room. There’s a deafening bang, the sound of smashing glass shattering from behind the closed door. Wren gasps as a series of muffled thumps follow, clattering and clanging alerting them of the destruction reigned upon the bathroom. 

The sound of running water hisses from the tap and Wren grimaces, wiping at their face, their exhaustion settling in. They kick off their shoes, curling up under the covers. This should have been expected. 

They can shower tomorrow. 

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A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* | “Atlas’s Final Decision” | *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Wren (they/them)

Tomorrow is Evaluation day. 

Atlas sits stiff on his bed, staring down at his hands. He can’t even count how many times over the years he wished for this day to finally come. It has been the only thing present on his mind for nearly a decade now, this sparkling, shiny dream that hangs over his head every single day. Everything he has trained for, every single ache and hit, every punch and kill, every night spent huddled over thick books, studying until his eyes burned. They were all for this. The hurt in his muscles and the wear in his bones, they were all supposed to amount to this very moment. This is everything he has ever wanted. Everything he has been building and molding his life after. 

So why does he suddenly feel terrified to go through with it?

He should want this. This was supposed to be his big moment - his day of celebration. The ostracization from his peers, the nights spent with Cato, training until he couldn’t stand, the suffering and pain he has endured, it was all for this. The Elites were his victory, his reward. After all of it, they were supposed to make it worth it. He was supposed to be the winner, the one with it all. But right now, he couldn’t feel more lost and confused than he has in his entire life. 

The spy has come here, uplifting the meticulously crafted life he has set in stone for himself. They’ve torn down the vision of perfection he had, dismantled and disrupted everything he thought himself to be. And now here he is, just hours away from achieving his dream, and he couldn’t feel more scared. 

Soldiers aren’t supposed to feel fear. Fear is a useless emotion, one that only prohibits the strong from completing what needs to be done. Fear is meaningless. He shouldn’t be scared. He shouldn’t be feeling anything. This is his duty and that’s all that matters, his own opinion on the subject shouldn’t even be taken into consideration. He shouldn’t be thinking these things. 

But now that he’s started, he’s not sure if—

Atlas’ head snaps up at the sound of a knock. It is abrupt, interrupting the heavy silence that has settled over his room, cutting through it without a care. Unlike Cato’s, which is loud and sharp, three bangs against the metal, or Ira’s, one singular rap. It’s quiet, as if the person is hoping to go undetected by the others along the hall. One that certainly can’t belong to any of the commanding generals. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Who could possibly be looking for him at this hour…? 

Slowly, he stands, pulling his door open in a hesitant motion, peeking out into the hall. He’s not sure why it comes as a surprise to find himself face-to-face with the spy again. Their jaw is set, brows furrowed, gaze level. But Atlas for once cannot find his usual confidence, posture slouched in on itself, if only slightly. His mouth parts when he locks eyes with them, shock seeping into his core. He had been certain they were finished with him.

Without another word, the spy pushes past him, forcing their way in despite Atlas’ standstill position, not caring as they shoulder-check him to the side. While Atlas may have once shot them a warning look, lectured them in a threatening tone about their thoughtless attitude, today he just allows them inside, his fear reducing him to silence. The door shuts with a click behind them, any stragglers left behind in the halls forbidden from seeing inside. 

“Geez, this place is so boring.” The spy huffs, glancing around, evidently unimpressed. Their eyes scan over his belongings, taking in the place that he has called home for over a decade. The walls are gray, plain, with no photographs or decorations to mark them, not even so much as a scuff or a chip in the paint to show that anyone has lived here. His books, which are no more than encyclopedias and history books that Cato begrudgingly agreed to allow him to keep, are tucked away neatly into his miniature bookshelf, pushed up in the corner, the same plain gray as the walls and cement floor. His bed, a small cot, has no more than a few thin sheets, tucked in military-style, and his desk is mostly empty, his few belongings ordered in a tidy row. It is exactly up to code, just as it should be. But in the same sense, it is completely and irrevocably bare. 

Atlas has never even had the thought to decorate. His mission has always taken top priority. 

The spy plops down on his bed, the springs creaking slightly as they hop on it carelessly. They turn to face him again, eyes gleaming silver before, with a startling abruptness, their appearance starts to… change. 

The air around them shimmers and it is within seconds that Atlas is not staring at the plain, blank-faced figure of an Eden soldier, but instead a kid. Choppy dark blue hair which appears to be cut with inexperienced hands, a mismatch of baggy clothes unlike any Atlas has seen before, and silvery eyes that fade to a normal hazel colour. Of course. It makes perfect sense. It had been an illusion all along, a trick for his eyes. He doesn’t know why he expected anything less. 

He stands still, staring at them in silence. He has not even blinked, the whole scene settling a sort of confusion in his already disoriented mind, leaving him unsure on what to do, how to react. He isn’t sure what he’s even supposed to say to them. He isn’t sure why they’ve come to find him. They made it strikingly clear they thought he was just as disgusting as the rest of Eden. What have they returned here for? To rub more salt in his already stinging wound? 

The spy hums, leaning back on their arms and tilting their head. “I’m here for those files.”

Of course. 

Disappointment settles heavy in his chest and he quickly forces it down, bottling away with the rest of his unwanted emotions. He doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting, what he was hoping to hear. Why else would they come back for him? It’s only logical that they would be in search of the files, the last solid evidence needed to build their case. They’re a spy, afterall. He doesn’t know why he thought of them as anything different. They’re just another rebel, nothing else. 

He takes a single step towards them, before hesitating. The thought of giving away those files suddenly fills him with an insurmountable amount of anxiety, freezing him in place. It seems like something impossible, something that will tear away what little sanity he has left. 

He should want to get rid of this, the evidence of his betrayal, his insubordination. These files are a representation of his doubts, his unwanted thoughts. The lies. They’re exactly the thing that could put his position at risk, the thing that could end him up in severe punishment. Spies and their accomplices didn’t get such merciful treatment. He should be lucky that the spy is here to steal them back, to take the burden away from his hands. He should be glad. 

But he isn’t. 

He doesn’t want to let them go. Those files are the only proof he has that this stranger has been here, that any of this had ever been real. The only proof he has that maybe Eden isn’t what it seems. Maybe Eden is more than the clean, shiny front they put up to the public. That maybe, Eden isn’t a place that he still wants to go through with supporting, with being a tool for. 

That maybe, he doesn’t want to be a part of the Elites. 

But he sees no point. He’s going to be an Elite and there’s no changing that. This is what he has worked so hard for, what he wants. Evaluation day is tomorrow and there’s no chance he can abandon it. It’s what he was born to do, and he has to accept that. Whether he likes it or not, he belongs at Eden. His own personal feelings on that matter are secondary, unimportant. This is his duty. 

He’s sure the spy has collected plenty of files without his awareness anyway. If he gives them away, he can pretend he never saw any of it. He can purge these terrible, haunting emotions from his memory. He can just… go back to his life how it used to be. How it’s supposed to be. 

He crosses the room in two quick strides. “Move.” 

The spy furrows their brows but begrudgingly scoots off of the bed, moving to stand by the door again. Atlas carefully lifts up the corner of his mattress, pulling out the worn-down bag where the files have been tucked inside in an organized pile. He sucks in a sharp breath, summoning the rest of his resolve, and turns sharply on his heel. “Here.” He sticks it out towards them.

The spy raises a brow, accepting the bag and slinging it over their shoulder with a small grunt. “I won’t be coming here again. I’m all done spying.” They state, eyes locking onto his, something unknown resting underneath the surface. Atlas doesn’t bother to try and decipher it. 

“Okay.” He responds in a flat tone, unmoving. He would make himself forget about all of this, forget they even existed. Evaluation day is tomorrow, and that’s all he should care about. The things he’s seen, their words that he can’t stop from repeating in his head… it doesn’t matter anymore. They’re leaving and he’s staying, and that’s how it should be. 

This is his duty. This is his duty. 

Atlas is sure they are about to stomp straight out the door, files in tow, never to be seen again, when they suddenly open their mouth, words blurted in his direction sharp and fast. “Do you really want all of that stuff to happen to you? Are you really okay with it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Atlas replies after a second’s hesitation, an acceptance passing through him. This is how it should be. “Why do you care?” 

The spy sighs and tosses their head back. “Because it’s fucked up, man. Now that I know it’s going to happen to you, it’ll be on my conscience.” They pause, taking in the sight of him again with narrowed eyes before pulling back their shoulders, standing straight. “Come with me.” 

“I can’t.” 

Atlas stares at them with sad eyes, heaviness wearing him down, crumbling his self-righteous exterior. He looks at the bag across their shoulders, thinks about everything they’ve uncovered about what Eden is really doing behind the scenes. Hundreds of children, buried and forgotten. Children just like him. 

But what else would he be, without Eden? Washed up, starving on the streets. Alone. Wasn’t this just… inevitable? “I can’t leave my home, the only family I have. I just can’t.” 

The spy crosses their arms across their chest and frowns. “Is that really what you want? Are you just going to accept how horrible it all is?” They protest, expression pulled tight. “It’ll happen to you too. Unless you come with me. I can get you out of here.” 

Their offer hangs heavy in the air, an escape Atlas had never considered; a doorway to free him from the cards of life he had thought were set in stone. To forget his destiny, his duty. To be… free. 

But he thinks of Ira, and the answer is immediate. “No.” 

Maybe he no longer can trust Cato, trust his superiors. Maybe his life here is built off sugar-coated lies, and the mission he had thought he had sworn himself to was nothing more than a cover for something darker, more sinister. 

But at the thought of Ira, even the notion of considering this offer dissipates. She’s had his back for longer than he can name, always at his side. When he has doubts, it’s Ira who eases them, nudging him and giving him reassurances of his place, of his capabilities. She’s his partner, his very best friend. If he has no one else, he’ll always have her. She doesn’t know what’s headed, doesn’t know about the horrors he’s witnessed. If he leaves, she’ll be alone, forced to be subjected to that. With no one to protect her. 

He can’t leave. She’s counting on him. 

“They’re the only ones who have ever cared about me. That will ever care about me. I’m not going to… give that up. Maybe it’ll be different this time.” He adds half heartedly. 

With a sigh, the spy takes a step closer to him, shaking their head. “It won’t be any different. They’re telling you the same thing they told all of them. You’re in danger and you’re just going to stay here? I don’t get it. If they really cared about you that much, why would they want to do that to you?” 

“They do care about me. They wouldn’t lie to me, not for something like this.” Atlas’ face is set. He won’t back down. He won’t leave everything he has ever known. He… he can’t. 

The spy lets out an exasperated huff. “Is tricking you into becoming an experiment a way of showing that they care? They’re just going to use you. You’re just like all the others, in their eyes.” They take another step forward. “Your evaluation is tomorrow, right? What have people been saying about it? That ‘it’s important’? That this will be ‘good for you’? How can you not realize they’re tricking you? They’re pushing you into a trap.”

Atlas stares at his feet, quiet for a moment. “You don’t know them, not like I do. I…” He swallows heavily, forcing down the emotions spurring up inside his throat. “I can’t leave them.” 

Ira wouldn’t leave him. She’s loyal, good. She takes care of him, stands up for him, fusses over him. She and Cato are more family than he’s ever had. He won’t ever belong anywhere else — the outside world is dangerous, unpredictable. Eden is the only place he’ll ever have a sense of stability. 

He needs this. He needs to stay here, he needs his mission. He needs to fulfill his duty.  

“How do you know they’re not all waiting for you to go along with whatever they say? Don’t you think it’s possible they gained your trust for a reason. They drilled all of these things into your brain for years so that you wouldn’t think to question them or leave. You’re going right along with their-their manipulation!” The spy is growing frustrated, pacing slightly as they run a tense hand through their hair, brows drawn together in a tight line. They’re agitated, desperate. They need to be right almost as much as he does.

Atlas just shakes his head. “I don’t expect you to understand.” 

The spy groans. “No, I don’t understand!” They huff, turning towards him again, throwing their arms around as they speak. “Risking your sanity, your life, for people who have done nothing but lie to you? It doesn’t make any sense. Don’t you want to live? You’ll become a lab rat if you stay here.” 

“I just have to believe they’ll protect me. Like they always have.” Atlas reiterates, his voice growing smaller with each rebuttal. He feels as if he is trapped inside a cage, forced into a position where no answer is the right one. Becoming an Elite is the last thing he wants to do. But does he have a choice? 

Cato’s words repeat in his head. The Elites will make you great, Atlas. They’re just what you need. Perfect potential like yours, it’s too good to waste. You’ll shine along their ranks. With time, you’ll understand. A true warrior like you is just what they’ve been waiting for. 

“Maybe…” He pauses, breath hitching. “Maybe it’ll be for the better. Maybe I’ll at least become something stronger.” 

“That’s stupid! Your life is in danger and you’re just going to trust them?” Their voice rises. “They’re the last people you should trust right now after they’ve done nothing but lie to you!” 

They suck in a sharp breath, their eyes hardening. There is an air of regret around them, their hands tightening into fists. As if they’re about to do something that they wished to avoid. 

“Like your little friend, you think you can trust them?” 

Atlas’ head snaps up, brows furrowing. “What?” 

The spy huffs and swipes a hand through the air with exaggeration, impatience lining their movements. “Buzz cut. You think you can trust them?” 

“What are you talking about?” Atlas snaps, suddenly defensive. He doesn’t need this, doesn’t need their riddles and games. He needs them to leave and disappear, needs to go back to his old life; It’s all he has left to cling onto.

The spy grunts, reaching into the pocket of their jacket and pulling out a folded, dark green booklet, so rich in colour it appears to almost be black. “I found this in your mommy’s office.” They spit, thrusting it towards him with a sudden jerk.

Seeing it more clearly, the colour drains from Atlas’ face. This is no booklet. 

It’s a file. 

Atlas’s eyes are wide as he stares, reaching out for it with shaking hands, his movements slow and unsteady. There is a hesitance in him that he can’t ignore, the very action of just reaching for this dark green folder, one that is almost too difficult to complete. 

His fingers close around the hardcover of the file and Atlas is so tense as if a detonating bomb. As if the information hidden inside these pages will be the very thing to do him in. There is a terror thrumming inside his bones and he suddenly very badly wishes to run, to flee from the spy’s watchful gaze and disappear altogether. 

The file is marked by three silver numbers in the very bottommost corner. Three numbers Atlas knows all too well by now. 

792. 

He swallows, his stomach twisting. This isn’t just any ordinary file, isn’t like any of the others that the spy has stolen or uncovered. No, this file is not unlike the rest, because this file is— 

His own. 

He stares down at the cover, unblinking, too afraid to move. He was always aware of the fact that he had a file, had documents and reports dedicated to him. Of course he did. Nearly everyone inside the warehouse, inside Eden, has one. It’s how their system works, how they manage to keep their organization one of balance and careful security. 

But staring at this now, he feels dread spread through his stomach, eating away at his insides. He’s already seen enough, seen the things Eden is capable of. He doesn’t…. He doesn’t know if he can take anything more. He just wants this one thing, this tiny little memory, amongst all the lies, to stay. To be the same, unchanging, like he knew it. Please. 

It is with trembling fingers that he begins to read. 

Inside is a mission report. No — several mission reports. Most are recent, with dates from this month alone; but flipping through the pages, it’s clear that this isn’t the first time these reports have been conducted. These are no doubt going back years, perhaps a decade. The amount of information inside these pages… only someone who had been watching his every move for years would know all this. 

And at the top of every single page is another number. One not unlike his own, one that he would recognize instantly, no matter where he saw it. 

261. Ira’s number. 

Atlas’ expression morphs, betrayal replacing his uncertainty. Their name is plastered along nearly every line in every page. Sentences strung along each of the pale paper, documentations of conversations, private thoughts shared in the darkness of his room, through the quiet of the night. Secrets and whispers of dreams, and they’re typed out without another thought. 

Ira had been assigned to him. 

Pages and pages reporting how he is making progress towards the Elite, his doubts and uncertainties, and the reassurances that he had thought were given to him out of genuine kindness and belief. Spying on his every move, prying anything of use to the higher-ups out of him, trust given so easily. His best friend, his partner through it all. The only one inside the warehouse who didn’t doubt his strength, who truly and honestly supported him. Who believed in him. 

All this time, and he’s been nothing but a…

A fucking assignment. 

She wasn’t his best friend. She didn’t care about him, like she had said. None of them cared. She’d been using him, pulling out all of his hidden thoughts and worries to feed directly to Cato. Checking on him, making sure he was prepared for Evaluation. Asking him with furrowed brows if he was alright, if anything was still weighing heavy on his mind. If he needed to talk, needed someone to listen and lean on. And all of it had just been her stupid fucking lies. 

“Is this who you trust so much?” The spy asks, sending a jolt through him. He clenches the file tightly, fingernails digging into the rough pages. “That’s who you’re staying for?” 

Slowly, he looks back up at them, utter and complete defeat passing through his face. “I…” 

The spy sighs, moving beside him to sit on the bed again. “I’m not enjoying watching you learn everything in your life is a lie, by the way.” They say, staring down at their hands. “But you need to face the truth.”

There is a beat of silence that passes through the room. The spy glances back up at him, brows downturned. “Is it really worth your life to stay here?”

Atlas glances around his room, the same one he’s had for almost ten years now. But even all these years later, it barely looks changed from the day he stepped into it. Not a scratch or tear, everything in perfect order. He thinks about all the nights he and Ira laid in here, staying up late, whispering to each other through the night. He confided in her, trusted her. She’d been the only one he had at the warehouse, the only one he had on his side. 

But with the file in his hands, it’s for the the first time that he realizes….

He has nobody. 

He has no family, no one to support him. No purpose, not when they molded him like this to use and discard — to kill. Does he really want to die for this?

Does he really want to die for Eden? 

“You’ll be safer leaving.” The spy speaks again, their voice almost faraway now, unable to compete with the static cutting through Atlas’ violent, swirling thoughts. “You can even fight against what they’re doing if you decide to. But you can’t stay. You gotta let me get you out of here.” 

“Okay.” 

His answer is abrupt, coming as just as much of a surprise to him as it does to the stranger. He isn’t looking at them, isn’t staring at anything, his eyes burning back to a time in this room when it wasn’t cold and stiff, when it had been filled with hopeful dreams of a new future, of unity and acceptance. He has no place here. Not anymore. And as he steps forward, he wonders, Was there a time where I ever did? 

The file flutters from his grip, tossed haphazardly onto his sheet. He doesn’t need it. He doesn’t need any of it. What would it be, if not another reminder of his naivety, his failures? Everything he thought himself to be, everything they told him he was, all of it was lies. He truly has nothing to account for. Nothing to make him happy. 

“Okay?” He doesn’t meet the spy’s gaze as they blink, evidently shocked by the sudden agreement. “You’ll come with me?” 

Atlas nods and turns away, hiding his face, keeping silent. He looks around the room, eyes scanning over all his things tucked away, things he’ll never see again if he leaves. He has half the urge to pack a bag — if he’s really leaving, is he going to just abandon years worth of belongings? But his mind drifts back to the files. The evidence. Years worth of lies. A part of him knew, he thinks, that this was how it was going to end. And if Ira and Cato had all orchestrated this as a huge plan to take him as another lab rat, to trap him and abandon him, then is there really any other option than leaving?

He truly doesn’t have anyone he can rely on. It doesn’t matter anymore.

The spy crosses their arms and hums, standing up slowly. “Grab what you need. We’ve gotta be gone tonight.”

Atlas is brisk as he heads towards the door, jaw clenched. He blinks hard, emotions he has tried — and almost succeeded — in erasing all the years suddenly crashing down on him in a tidal wave of chaos, swirling within him and turning his throat dry. He sucks in a sharp breath, clenching his hands. He won’t be upset about this. He won’t cry. He won’t allow any of them the satisfaction. 

He doesn’t ever cry, and he certainly won’t cry now. Ira is nothing. A nobody. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t— 

He doesn’t need her anymore. 

“I don’t need to bring anything.” He whispers, voice impossibly soft. 

The spy tips their head to the side, adjusting the bag strap on their shoulder. “Alright. Let’s get out of here.” They say, stepping beside him, their hand settling on the door. They fix him with their gaze again, hazel eyes searching his face. “We want to be far away from here when they realize you've ditched your evaluation.” 

The two are quiet as they creep through the halls, the spy’s disguise slipping back up with a flicker of silver. The corridors are dead silent, not a single trainee out and about. To everyone else, it is a normal night, the air holding a shimmer of excitement to all those awaiting their final evaluation — the very thing they’ve been preparing so desperately for. 

But to Atlas, these halls couldn’t be more suffocating. 

“There’s a maintenance elevator on the far right side,” the spy whispers to him, gesturing for him to follow. “Easiest way to get out discreetly.” 

Atlas stares down at his feet as they make their way to the elevator, refusing to stare at his surroundings. He’s made his way down these very hallways possibly thousands of times over the years, but right now, he couldn’t feel more out of place. Lost, in a place that he can travel around almost effortlessly. He just wants to purge the memories of his home from his brain completely. He needs to forget. 

The elevator jolts slightly as it starts to move, thick steel doors shutting with a familiar hiss. Their quiet is only broken once, the spy’s voice cutting through the tension. 

“I’m Wren.” 

The elevator fills with silence. 

It is within minutes that Atlas is breathing the familiar cool autumn air, the breeze of the night sending a chill down his back as he follows the spy into the surrounding forest. They are met by low-hanging trees and dying shrubbery, until finally—

“This is mine.” A van, disguised with tree branches and other plant life piled around it, as some sort of pathetic cover. It’s chipped and dented, white paint much-due for a touch up; its condition is fairly weak for a spy so set on eradicating a wealthy, widespread company like Eden, a vehicle that looks as if it belongs to a homeless beggar. But Atlas has no time to dwell on that, standing still as the spy shakes off the greenery and slides open the door. 

They toss in the bag of files, dropping it down next to several other piles of evidence, before slamming the door back shut. “Get in.” 

Atlas feels disconnected from his body as he climbs into the passenger seat of this musty van, trash and other miscellaneous items discarded by his feet. This is no place to live. He’s surprised someone could survive in such filth. 

Unfortunately, the spy has even worse news of their own. “I don’t have a house.” They interrupt, starting the ignition. “I have roll-up mats back there that I use. There’s a parking garage in the next city over with no toll. We’ll go there. It’s two hours, so it’ll be far enough for now, but we’ll move somewhere else in the morning.” 

Atlas turns his back to them, leaning his forehead against the cool glass as the car shudders and comes to life, shakily backing out of its nest. He stares out the grimy window, the last slivers of the warehouse consumed by trees as they speed away in the other direction. 

He has never felt so indescribably empty. 

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A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

..＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Torn” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ＊..

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Wren (they/them)

Atlas doesn't really know what he's doing, sneaking through the halls after lights out. 

He should be back in his dorm, preparing himself for the training and tests he'll have to endure tomorrow morning. They’ve only picked up, growing more intense and strenuous as Evaluation day inches nearer and nearer. It should be his top priority right now, above all else. He knows if Cato heard he was still out — that he was breaking the strict curfew that’s set for everyone inside the base, disobeying so many of their different, vital rules — she’d be deeply disappointed in him. 

“Letting yourself be distracted with such trivial things, Atlas,” she’d say. “Is the first step towards failure.” 

But those recordings have been all he’s been able to think about these past few days. With what he’s witnessed, the horrors that he cannot erase, no matter how hard he attempts to, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget about it. Not until he gets proper answers. 

He knows it’s bad. Knows it’s horribly, terribly wrong. But there’s a part of him, a small, impossibly rotten part of him…. That really wants to see that spy again. 

He can’t keep them out of his thoughts. Their words replay inside his mind at a near constant rate, distracting him from conversations and leaving his head spinning, questions spurring up in a way they never have before. He’s never met someone like them, someone so assertive and brash — so hellbent on reaching their goal. They don’t care about rules or regulations, about following orders. Atlas thought everyone followed orders. But this kid… they don’t seem to work for anybody but themself. He didn’t think that was even an option. There’s something about them, with all their loudmouthed disobedience, that seems too irresistible to forget, drawing him in with every new interaction they have. 

Before them, he thought he knew his place, knew exactly where he belonged. But now, he’s not so sure. With all the things he’s seen, the sickening images he’s discovered….

He’s not even sure he wants to be an Elite anymore.

It’s that thought that lingers on his mind as he creeps down the darkened halls, following the same pathway as that night, so many days prior. And it is just his luck that only feet away, the same spy from before turns the corner, boots clattering together as they briskly stomp down the corridor. 

Atlas picks up his pace, sticking to the shadows as he follows along. Guilt brews in his chest, eating away at his insides. Cato put her trust in him, and he’s breaking it, doing this. Fraternizing with the enemy. But he forces the unwanted emotions down, taking a breath to steady himself. He needs to find out more. He needs to…

He needs to prove them wrong.

The spy waltzes along the hallway, not checking to see if they’re being followed, before finally coming to a stop in the research wing, in front of the steel-panelled room from last time. It is a little fumbling inside their pockets that follows before suddenly they produce a small green card — one unlike any of the others Atlas has seen before. Stolen, no doubt. He doesn’t take his eyes off of them as they slip inside, the doors coming apart with a little hiss. He quickly steps in behind him, all his movements near-silent. Not even the scuff of his boot against the cement can be heard. 

He stands near the back of the room, unmoving, his figure clouded by the shadows, as the spy makes a beeline for the desk in the far corner. They don’t waste any time, hastily ripping apart the drawers and retrieving another singular black hard drive. It doesn’t look like anything special, no different than the one he saw a few days ago. There isn’t even a number code to differentiate it from the others. 

They plop down in the chair, immediately plugging the hard drive into the computer without a second thought. The computer is quick to boot up, dull blue light flashing from the screen, illuminating the plain gray of their surroundings. Unlike the other computer, all the folders inside this one are separated differently, labeled by decades instead. Atlas peers closer as the spy clicks at the mouse, pulling up a file, this one with a more recent date. 

He’s sure that nothing bad will be in this file. Surely someone would have put a stop to these experiments by now. Maybe… the previous videos had been taken a long time ago, from way before Cato had even become head director. From before their leader had come into power. Maybe—

You’re lying to yourself, a voice at the back of his head unhelpfully supplies. You saw the dates. 

He quickly shakes that thought off, eyes narrowing as a large wall of text pops up on screen. He draws closer, beginning to read. 

“Jesus.” The spy mutters, a frown etched upon their lips. 

There is a column, in darker text than the rest, listing the current Elites accepted into the new year. The column beside it is smaller, recording how many were left alive by the end of the year. The most recently recorded was twenty-one at the beginning of the year. 

Six are left at the end. 

“Hey, you,” the clipped voice of the spy cuts through the tension, teeth gritted. “Come look at this.” 

Atlas flinches at the sudden sound, hesitating for a second. Did they know he was here the entire time? He’d been so careful as to not alert them of his presence.

But this was what he had been hoping for all along, wasn’t it? Running into them again, talking to them about the files…

He pauses for a moment, before very reluctantly stepping forwards to lean down next to the stranger, staring at whatever has caught their attention.

They turn to eye him for a second, dark eyes flicking over his face, before they scoot to the side, pushing the mouse towards him. “Look at how few people survive. Every year, the number of Elites that make it out is lower than they started with. And these are just the deaths from experimentation. Not even including field deaths.” 

Atlas stares at the screen, unsure of what to even make of it. “They weren’t properly prepared.” He murmurs weakly, still desperately trying to cling onto the Eden that he knew, before they showed up and ruined everything. 

Being an Elite was what he had always wanted… wasn’t it? Was he really going to let this stranger dissuade him against it? After all he had done to reach his goal? This is why he trained so hard. Being an Elite was never meant to be easy. You were supposed to be the best of the best. So what if there were casualties? It came with the territory. In a war like this, you couldn’t avoid it. That’s why Cato was so hard on him, why Evaluation day had so much importance. So that you were prepared.

The spy arches a skeptical brow and huffs. “Weren’t ready for the experiments performed on them? The torture they were put through? Can you really say this is anyone’s fault but Eden’s?” They narrow their eyes, their words hissed and exasperated. “Look at the dates. The same pattern goes back years and years. They knew what they were doing. They knew what the results would be.”

Atlas falls quiet, for once not with a rebuttal. He stares at the dates on the screen, a sort of hollow emptiness working its way through him, sapping the little fight he had left. Cato wouldn’t have lied to him…

Would she?

“Look, like it or not,” the spy sighs, eyes darting back and forth from the computer screen to Atlas. “This is bad. There’s no excuse for it. It’s evil.”

Atlas doesn’t take his eyes off of the screen, even though he can feel their eyes on him. He rereads the information over and over again, his eyes burning from the intensity of his stare. It is almost as if he reads it hard enough, if he burns the words into his skull, memorizes and dissects them, then maybe something here will make sense. Somewhere within these lines there has to be something that explains why they could be possibly doing this. Why the Eden he’s learned about all his life, the Eden he’s lived in, could do something so… so cruel. So inhumane. There is a desperation thrumming inside him, this need deep in his bones, that he just can’t ignore. He needs this. He needs to be right. 

He needs to belong. 

The spy lets out a long, exasperated puff of air, leaning back lazily in their chair. Their gaze is still focused directly on his face as they speak again, a sort of resignation in their voice. “Is this really something you want to be a part of, now that you know about it? You could come with me, you know? Get the hell away from here.” 

Atlas jerks away from them in an instant, the colour draining from his face at their words. “No.” He gasps, the very notion of abandoning his post one that he will not, under any circumstances, even consider. There’s not a time where it could ever be a possibility. What would that make him, if he just got up and ran from his duties, as soon as things got hard? What kind of soldier did such a thing? “No. I’m not leaving.” 

Only a coward would run. 

The spy lets out a grunt of frustration, their nose scrunching, brows furrowed. “Why not? What’s keeping you now that you know the truth?” 

“How should I trust you?” Atlas steps back, panic rising at their insistence. He isn’t supposed to think these things. He isn’t supposed to question these things. He isn’t even supposed to be out.

“Maybe… maybe you just planted this here. To try and trick soldiers into leaving.” He hisses, his thoughts erratic and nonsensical as he fumbles for excuses, his voice growing hoarse. “Maybe you just— just orchestrated this whole thing. I’ve never heard anything like this in all my time here, and I’ve been inside this warehouse for years. Why are there suddenly all these files and pieces of ‘evidence’ just popping up out of nowhere? It doesn’t seem likely.”

Deep down he knows he sounds illogical, but admitting the truth in front of them would be one hundred times worse.

The spy throws their head back with a groan. “How could I plant this? How could I orchestrate footage like that? Files like this?” They spit back, defiant. “Those scientists work here, they walk this building every day. You’re just now finding out about it because it’s been covered up. I uncovered the truth. I’m an outsider. No one here could have known enough to gossip about it.”

“I’m not…” Atlas furrows his eyebrows, dread settling inside his stomach. When he speaks again his voice is not more than a mere whisper, the exact opposite of the loud and commanding tone it held when he first cornered them. “I’m not leaving my home.” 

“What’s going to happen to you if you stay here?” The spy counters, leaning towards him with squinted eyes. They don’t seem angry anymore, moreso confused. Just as confused as Atlas currently feels right now, his head a jumbled mess. “Can you really call it home if they plan to destroy you?” 

“They won’t…” He murmurs. “They’ll keep me safe.”

“Safe?” The spy scoffs and shakes their head before jabbing a finger at the computer screen. “I bet that’s what they thought too. They probably thought they were safe. They probably thought they were being rewarded.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” He spits. 

Still, he isn’t sure he believes what he’s saying. Not anymore.

“I don’t need to. I can see it. You think you’re special. You think it’ll be different with you, that you’re the one out of hundreds that will actually be rewarded.” The spy laughs, their voice dry. 

“I will be.” 

The spy crosses their arms and raises a defiant brow. “Are you sure?”

The death toll looms in front of him. It seems to be written in pure blood, inked with the regrets of hundreds before him. 

Will that be his name on the list, his pale frame on that silver table? 

Stop it. He chides himself. This is what he wants. This is what he’s always wanted. He’s been hoping for his Evaluation since he was seven years old, anxiously awaiting the day he would shine, victorious, above the rest. It’s why he trains, why he lives. It’s all he’s ever known. It’s what he’s supposed to do. What does one measly little rebel really know, in the grand scheme of things? Is he really going to listen to them, and their idiocy?

“Y-yes.”

The hesitation only seems like a confirmation to the spy. “No you’re not. You’re trying to convince yourself.” They stand with a huff, reaching forward and snatching the hard drive from out of the computer, tucking it away inside their vest. They level their stare, shouldering past Atlas with a harsh shove. “But who am I to stop you.” 

They pause at the door, turning back with one final glare. “But I gave you an out. It’ll be your fault for not taking it. 

The door shuts behind them with a resounding click, leaving Atlas alone with the darkness. He blinks blankly at the empty computer screen before him, not daring to move. 

He feels torn. 

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A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ─ | “Who To Believe” | ─ *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Cato (she/her)

Atlas isn’t sure he believes his eyes. 

Sitting criss-crossed on his bed, crouched over a crisp file the precise shade of seaweed, he doesn’t think he’s ever read something quite so outrageous. Eden Inc. is a company built for the protection of Magicae and humankind alike, working in silent secrecy as they rescue forgotten children off the streets, providing them shelter, food, and clothes on their backs. A place to call home. The evidence in these reports is the clear opposite of that. 

The sentences inside these files are too gruesome for Atlas to even name, descriptions and illustrations of a series of reports so vile Atlas is sure that he can’t possibly be reading the right thing. This couldn’t have come from inside the drawers of one of Eden’s own filing cabinets, from inside the warehouse he has grown up and lived in his entire life. Eden has offered him nothing but warmth and love, with open acceptance and plentiful gifts. He would be nowhere, nothing, if it weren’t for Eden’s generosity. 

Yet through the dark green lettering along these pages, Atlas finds himself face-to-face with an organization a clear opposite of that; an organization built on the blood of the poor, the labour of the vulnerable. These missions have no rhyme or reason, no explanation to the horrors and atrocities committed. They don’t follow Eden’s strict rule code, their straight-lined regulations of order, justice, and structure. No, all of these reports, these missions, they’re only after one thing: Complete and total power. 

This can’t be right. 

Surely there’s another explanation for this, a reason behind it. How many times has he sat through lectures, heard stories from real-life survivors of the brutality committed against vulnerable Magicae, seen how Eden saved them? They give people purpose, give people a life. He’s witnessed it himself, his own life a clear example of all the good that the company brings to a nation so divided and at war with each other. He’s been on missions since he was only a child, and he’s never taken part in anything bad — Eden protects innocents and silences terrorists hellbent on destroying peaceful society as they know it. This is how it has always been. 

Perhaps that spy planted these here, just for him to find. They’ve been so obvious about who they are, how they don’t belong. Surely they had been trying to get him to follow. Distract him, plant seeds of doubt… just as all evil rebels would do. 

Or maybe this is a test. A part of his training for Evaluation day all along, set up by Cato herself. Having a soldier serve as a distraction, to see if he was truly suited for the Elites. Even giving them the time of day to just consider their lies would be unacceptable, no doubt. He’s always been good at assessments. So a surprise one, something that none of the trainees have knowledge of; questioning their loyalties, their dedication… That would be the true test. The one to weed out the weak from the strong, the faithless from the devoted. 

Of course. That has to be it. 

This was all a test, and he’s already on the path of failure, allowing the spy to go loose. Next thing tomorrow, he must go down and report them to Cato. He’ll be rewarded highly, granted a sure spot along the Elites. Everything he has ever dreamed for. 

It’ll be perfect. 

Yet staring at the evidence in these files, Atlas can’t help but feel like he’s grasping at straws, trying to find reason in these monstrosities. Would Cato really set all this up to see if it would dissuade him from his mission? Would he really be wrong for feeling wary of it, after all of this, after the torture he has witnessed, displayed between these lines. 

Does he really believe that it’s all made up? 

Staring at the satchel placed haphazardly across from him, he can’t fight the feeling probing inside of him that this is all wrong. That perhaps that spy may have been telling him the—

An abrupt rap against his door cuts him off from finishing that thought. He flinches, hands scrambling at lightning speed to shove everything back into the bag, swiftly stowing it under his mattress. What was he thinking, bringing these files back into his room? What will become of him, if someone finds them here? They’re classified information — he’s breaking so many rules by just daring to peek inside of them. He’s going to be in so much trouble. 

Atlas sucks in a sharp breath, patting down his sheets and trying to hide the tremble in his hands at just the thought of someone finding out what he’s done, what he’s been doing in here. He straightens up, face a perfect mask of neutrality, and crosses the room over to the door, praying the sound of his heart thumping from inside his chest isn’t as obvious to his visitor as it is in his head. 

He finds himself staring straight at Cato. Her lips are drawn into a firm line as she glares, the tenseness in her expression instantly notifying Atlas of the fact that she is absolutely pissed, her mismatched eyes stormy. He has to hold back the urge to shiver, the sight of her glass eye staring through him enough to send fear spiking straight through his spine. He has always felt like that eye has a magic of its own, being able to just pull the thoughts from his head with a terrifying ease. 

Cato’s eyes narrow and Atlas instantly moves in response, opening the door wider and stepping back to make room. She is brisk as she walks into the room, the clack of her heels the only sound to be heard through the chill of the atmosphere. Her hands are folded behind her back as she surveys his dorm, eyes sweeping across his belongings. She focuses on his bed for half a millisecond too long and Atlas holds his breath, dread filling up his already-queasy stomach. 

Oh fuck, she knows. 

He is just about to bow and beg for her forgiveness when Cato’s voice cuts through his spiralling thoughts, her tone clipped and harsh. “You missed training.” She states, head turning an inch as she eyes him again, gaze cold and piercing. “Do you have a good excuse?” 

Atlas feels relief flood through him at her question, though the comfort is only momentary. His face pales as it suddenly dawns on him that he has allowed himself to be so carried away by this spy business that the thought of training or any of his other daily activities completely slipped his mind. 

He’s never missed training. Never misses training. He’s never tardy or behind, perfectly on time and perfectly prepared for each one of his sessions. How could he ever forget? 

His tongue seems to be stuck in place for a moment too long, before Atlas finally manages to find his voice. “I, um, I forgot.” He mumbles, his cheeks burning red in shame. “I’m sorry, there’s no excuse.” 

Cato straightens her back a bit to stand taller, crossing her arms over her chest as she arches a brow in his direction. Her frown only seems to deepen at his words, eyes dark and unreadable. “Atlas, this kind of thing is already not acceptable — but just before your evaluation?” She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose, letting out a heavy sigh. “Are you really trying your hardest here?” 

Atlas stares down at his feet, avoiding Cato’s gaze. Guilt bubbles up inside his gut, slowly eating away at his insides. How could he be so careless? So… worthless. What will happen to his position now, that he’s gone and broken one of the simplest rules Cato has ever set for him? 

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, voice near-silent. 

Cato tips her chin up, brows drawn into a tight line. “Sorry does not make up for the loss of time. You are going to put in extra training hours tonight to make up for it.” She instructs, voice firm and unwavering. “This will not happen again.” 

Atlas silently nods, still not meeting her gaze. He can’t believe he let himself become so carried away with that stranger. What was wrong with him? 

He was never usually like this, so preoccupied by other things. How could he ever allow himself to concern himself with anything other than his mission? Nothing else was important, nothing else mattered. All he lived for was his mission. Why did he let it occupy his thoughts for a mere second?

Now he’d disappointed Cato. 

There is a beat of silence between them, Cato’s eyes searching his face. Atlas half-expects her to criticize him, to critique his appearance or lecture him on the importance of timing — and his contributions to Eden. He’s heard the lecture a million times over. How vital he is to the company, how he isn’t like everyone else. Slacking off will just squander his high potential. 

But instead, she places a singular finger underneath his chin, slowly tipping his head up to be level with hers. It’s only now that he meets her gaze. Her eyes are still dark and gloomy, unforgiving; yet, beneath them, another emotion lingers. Something Atlas is sure is akin to… worry. 

“Is there something on your mind?” She asks, voice deadly quiet. Her hand cradles his cheek, soft against his skin — tender, almost. The slight rub of the thumb against his jaw is enough to make him shiver.

Atlas fears he’ll break right then and there, that all of his fears, the storm of questions currently brewing in his mind, will come spilling right out. Cato is never so affectionate with him. 

You’re being trained for the Elites too aren’t you? They’ll do the same thing to you.

The thought of that spy, teeth bared, eyes bright with defiance, is what stops him. He doesn’t know what they’re here for, how they even managed to sneak their way in. But someone against both Eden and the Congregation of the Chosen is an anomaly that he didn’t know existed. He needs to find out more. Needs to find out what they know.

The next words out of his mouth are a surprise to both he and Cato: 

“I just lost track of time.”

Cato exhales, the moment broken within an instant. Her touch is gone as soon as it came, expression closed off in mere seconds.

“Training. Tonight.” She says, sharply turning on her heel and marching back towards the door. “Don’t lose track of time.”

Atlas closes the door behind her, allowing it to shut with an almost silent click. He waits until he’s positive she has made her way back down the hall before he returns to his bed, slowly pulling the files back out. His head buzzes with a million questions, all of them a complete betrayal to the mission he has sought so hard after. 

He hates himself for getting distracted by the stranger, for letting them pull him away from training. But on the other hand, the stuff he’s seen inside these files…. It’s disgusting. 

He’s not sure what he believes anymore. 

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★ Send an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist ★

A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

…── •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⋆ Eden’s Name ⋆˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ ──…

|| An excerpt from “What is Eden Inc.?”

⋆˙⟡ Ade Kiran, Yue Ramsay, and Alexander Gray, with assistance from Silas Fazel. “Eden Incorporated, a Detailed History”. 863.

── .✦

Founded nearly four centuries ago on the eighth day of the fifth month, [Eden Inc.] has since risen from the lowly and humble beginnings it started as and expanded to the highly influential and distinguished company the public knows it as today. Led by its current leader, Altan Möngke, the organization still stands strong with its core values and beliefs, remaining resolute for the fight that began over three hundred years ago to this very day.

But as Eden draws near to its yearly anniversary, the population of its ranks growing with each decade that passes, a myriad of questions begin to arise. The days of old are long gone, murky and forgotten with the passage of time. Where Eden originally began, and what led to its existence, is more of a mystery than ever. Many recruits are left wondering where this battle arose, and how it’s ended up here, in these very warehouses, so many centuries later.

Founded by Castor Wright, the company was not always the organization of wealth and riches that most know it as. Finding its creation in the darkness of a candle-lit inn, Wright started the organization as a wish for unity and hope amongst his people. With the destruction of the secretive Magicae communities and societies and the creation of the Unification Act, Wright had witnessed firsthand the harm and damage that Human and Magicus integration caused. With not much to his name, he began the first blueprints to his seemingly impossible pipe-dream: A peacekeeping organization to keep the calm between the two worlds, set on keeping magic and humans separate, reducing the bloodshed brought on by their continuous congregation and communication. A world of perfect, careful balance; as it should be.

With a slow start, Eden Inc. eventually found itself with an impressive and well-rounded assembly of Magicae, all with alike aspirations to Wright’s own dream of the new world. It took nearly a decade of preparations, but it was with this very council that Eden Incorporated found its current name.

Eden Inc. is most notably associated with the Garden of Eden, a biblical paradise of pleasure and delight from which Adam and Eve originally lived. This connects deeply to Eden Inc.’s own cause, having its own ideas of a utopian society of complete justice and stability, dreams towards a paradise much like the one inside the Bible. Many have assumed this was Wright’s intention when naming the organization, but Wright actually expressed his extreme disdain and revulsion towards this notion. Throughout several interviews, he explained that Eden Inc. has and will not have anything to do with Christianity, instead focusing on a completely scientific approach to the wellness and greater good of the public.

“Eden’s mission has absolutely no association with any religion for that matter,” Wright explained to the press. “But especially not Christianity.”

He refused to go into any further detail in how he got the inspiration for the name of the organization, simply requesting to keep the questions focused on the more important details of what Eden is conducting. It is well-known throughout the company that many of its members follow the same atheist beliefs as Wright did, with the infamous Congregation of the Chosen being a strong factor into why so many of its members found peace through Eden’s open arms.

── .✦

Eden Inc. as a company has gone through a long line of developments through the almost-four hundred years that it has been around. With hundreds of leaders to rule over the organization over the years, it has found itself headed in a long, twisted path. Many people focus on the company in its current, with its thinly-veiled secrets and mysterious aura. But there is still so many decades to unpack beyond this, starting from the very beginning.

Eden’s name is up to debate, with its own founder claiming it as having no ties whatsoever to the church, despite its misleading name, while most of the public assuming it to be a somewhat Christian organization, due to its themes to do with the Garden of Eden. But there’s no true clear answer on this, the true reason Castor Wright chose this specific name being left up to interpretation of the reader.

This little excerpt above was inspired by @cepheusgalaxy, who wrote out quite a brilliant theory about the roots of Eden’s name and the religious themes of the story — especially to do with the first arc of The Chrysalis. I recommend giving that a read, as it’s pretty genius and well-thought out, if I do say so myself. Check out the ask over on my other account, right HERE.

(As a reminder we love to hear all your different theories, especially to do with the overall themes of the story, so never be afraid to send an ask or reply!!)

─ O.A. .ᐟ

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★ Send an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist ★

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

..─＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆Character Bio⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊ ─..

Cato, the General ──★ ˙🛡️ ̟ !!

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

“If I relaxed my body now, I’d fall apart. I’ve always lived like this, and it’s the only way I know how to go on living. If I relaxed for a second, I’d never find my way back. I’d go to pieces, and the pieces would be blown away.

Why can’t you see that?”

⟢⠀Haruki Murakami, “Norwegian Wood”

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚖️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Basics ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🗡️

Name || Cato

⁀➴༯ Name meaning || Cato is a gender-neutral name of Latin and Roman origin, meaning “wise”. Finding its beginnings in Ancient Rome, with Marcus Porcius Cato, or “Cato the Elder”, being the first to bear this title. He was a soldier, senator, and historian who remains one of the most influential people in Roman History.

Nicknames || None

Age || 36 years old

Birthdate || November 23, 877 (Sagittarius)

Gender and Pronouns || Cisgender (she/her)

Sexuality || Heterosexual, Aromantic

Ethnicity || Russian

Classification || Human

Occupation || Cato serves Eden Inc., a Magicus-run corporation that focuses on the protection of Magicae and the seclusion of magic from Humans. She works directly under the Leader, acting as one of the seven CEO’s inside the company, assigned to the Task Force Branch. Living inside warehouse #004, she makes sure that soldiers are prepped for battle and everything to do with their military runs smoothly. She was recruited to the organization when she was 24 years old.

Role || Secondary character, mentor

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚖️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Personality ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🗡️

Cato is very rigid and set in her ways.

Coming from a negligent family where she had to pave her way to success, always seeming to fall short of her goals, she has been since hardened by a life of poverty and hardship. She's cold and brutal, appearing to be apathetic at times, but for good reason. In the past decade she has lost almost everything inside her life that she has loved or cared for, and it’s caused her to hold everyone who comes near at an arms length. She prefers to live her days out alone, rather than risk another loss. Anything to keep herself from getting hurt again.

Her mission to Eden is the only thing that she cares about anymore. She holds its values on a high pedestal, modelling her own life around its beliefs and ideologies. She’ll do anything to help support the company, having risen to the top in record time from her pure dedication alone.

She’s what can be defined as a workaholic, dividing all her time and attention to her job at Eden. Everything else is an afterthought, meaningless and unimportant. She expects all those that work under her to do the same, forgetting about anything that may distract them from their duties to the company.

She is driven and ambitious, ready to do anything if it means reaching her goal. She won’t accept anything less than it. And she certainly won’t allow herself to fail.

୧ ‧₊˚ ⚔️ ⋅ ☆

Cato is the head commander over the Task Force Branch inside Eden. Working at the company for twelve years, she has fought her way to the top, serving as their most revered soldier as of current. She is deadly loyal to their mission, swearing revenge on the company’s sworn enemy, the Congregation of the Chosen. Taking up residence in warehouse #004, with her disciple Atlas at her side, headed on track to become an Elite, she is certain victory is around the corner. With their secret weapon, there's no doubt the Congregation will fall. There has not been a day in the past seventeen years where she has not thought about tearing that church down, brick by brick, soldier by soldier. She’s determined to put a stop to their crimes — by any means necessary. She will succeed.

୧ ‧₊˚ ⚔️ ⋅ ☆

Traits || Strict, intimidating, guarded, serious, dry, determined, harsh, driven, closed-off

Alignment || Lawful evil

Likes || Atlas, kids, Eden Inc., winning, working, sincerity, schedules, fighting, being busy

Dislikes || The Congregation of the Chosen, weakness, incompetency, most of the other leaders (namely Sasha), failure, liars, meetings, most people

Fears || ?

Hobbies || Overseeing training, missions, fighting, working, writing reports, reading paperwork, training new recruits, going to meetings, cooking

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚖️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Appearance ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🗡️

Cato is quite a petite person, standing at barely average height, with a build that is on the smaller side. Yet despite her short stature, Cato is still a presence not to be contended with. She’s very muscular, to the point that it instantly catches your attention, despite whatever clothes she’s in. She has what can be considered as a swimmers build.

She has dark, wavy brunette hair that can always be found pulled into a tight, firm bun that rests atop her head. Occasionally a few loose strands escape and frame her face. She has very sharp and pointed features, with heart-shaped lips, precisely plucked eyebrows a shade darker than her hair, and pale skin. Her eyes are mismatched, with one being a deep chocolate brown and the other being a silvery, pale blue.

She has a singular tattoo, found on the back of her left hand. It is the symbol of Eden, marked in black ink.

Height || 5’5”

Aesthetic || Cato can be most frequently found in a uniform similar to the rest of the CEOs of Eden, which is a black in colour, with jade accents. She prefers to wear outfits that are fairly tightly-fitted to her figure, most of her closet being made up of black and dark colours.

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

My primary instinct is to protect the child / Girl singing in the wreckage / My dress is torn, my hair is wild / Girl singing in the wreckage

“Girl Singing in the Wreckage” by Black Box Recorder

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚖️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Extra Tidbits ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🗡️

Her last name is actually Cato. No one knows what her first name was, and she refuses to speak about it.

Cato is skilled in many different types of combat, but prefers to use a staff as her weapon of choice. This is subsequently why it is also Atlas’ favourite.

When she was 19 years old she and her younger sister were attacked by the Congregation of the Chosen, resulting in Cato losing her eye. She’s sworn revenge ever since.

Her glass eye is personally crafted by some of Eden’s greatest minds, and has special abilities of its own. She can scan information about a person, whether it be their powers, classification, age, name, background, family, ideals, et cetera. It can also see through most magic, such as illusions. This gives her a higher up in battle, despite being human.

She personally trained Atlas herself, something that she doesn’t do often.

She dislikes most of her coworkers and prefers to complete her missions by herself. It annoys her deeply to be assigned with someone that she didn’t request.

Her favourite food is cucumber salad.

୧ ‧₊˚ ⚔️ ⋅ ☆

|| CHARACTER SONGS

Mother Knows Best — Donna Murphy

Girl With One Eye — Florence + The Machine

|| MOODBOARD

|| MASTERLIST

taglist \\ @ohagiwrites @oros-ash3s @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass18 @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @write-with-will

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Scores” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ＊

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Ira (they/she), Wren (they/them)

Ira lets out a grunt as one of the mechanical training dummies slams into her from behind, a blur of sleek metal crashing into her with its full power and force, knocking the breath from her lungs. She stumbles forwards, a short wheeze falling from her lips.

But the hesitation is only momentary. Within seconds she’s spinning around, fingers locking against the ridges of its face, grip denting the metal. With one quick thrust she flips it over her shoulder, sending it flying in the other direction. 

Three more training dummies are instantly at her heels. 

They corner her, moving slowly, as if about to pounce. Ira doesn’t allow them the time, a swift flick of her wrist sending a bar of pure iron swerving through the air, spearing each dummy with precision. The light in their eyes flickers, splutters, and fades, the red shine of the screen suddenly engulfed by darkness. 

Panting, they wipe the sweat from their brow, eyes fixed up on the screen: 4.43. A new personal best. With a content smile, they turn and make their way over to the sideline bench, joining Atlas as he passes them a neatly folded, pale gray towel. “Your turn,” she huffs at him, out of breath, as she dabs at the back of her neck. 

Atlas stands up automatically, straightening his back. He pushes the bangs from out of his face with a swift jerk of his head, moving towards the weapons rack opposite to them. It’s really a glorious thing, rows and rows of sleek steel weapons, hanging on their various ledges, glinting dangerously. He opts not for one of the sharper blades, but instead his usual staff, unhooking it from its spot with ease. His hands close around it with comforting familiarity, the gentle weight in his hands one that is as close to home as he will ever feel. 

He spins around sharply, taking a deep breath to steady himself. With a ready stance, he approaches the platform, a line of new training bots already standing in a row, waiting for him. 

There is a sharp tick that resounds throughout the gym as the timer resets, and at once Atlas spurs into action. His power activates with a blink, bringing on the familiar feeling of strength surging through his limbs. He delivers a well-placed kick to the first dummy, quickly striking its neck with his staff. Spinning around to greet the next two, he plows through them with just as much ease, the sounds of crunching metal following him as he moves past them, face a mask of complete concentration. 

He twists and turns throughout the platform, movements light yet powerful, as he knocks down bot after bot, defeating them almost effortlessly. Finally, as his staff leaves the last of the training dummies decapitated, the body tumbling to the ground with a resounding crash, he drops his weapon, piles of metal collapsed into piles near his feet. 

He turns to the screen expectantly, allowing himself to smile a little. 4.17. “Beat you.”

Ira lets out a little grunt of protest, tossing the towel down at her feet. “Okay smartass,” they say with a huff, a faint smile flickering across their face. “Beat 4.17 then.” 

Atlas huffs out a laugh, swiftly stooping down to pick up his staff again. He straightens, a rustle at the doorway suddenly catching his attention. 

His gaze flickers, eyes locking on a rather disgruntled-looking trainee standing there, slouching in on themselves. He blinks. No, not just any trainee. He could recognize that startled, wide-eyed look anywhere. It’s the soldier from before. 

With an abrupt spin of their heels, the kid tears their eyes away from Atlas, sprinting straight out the door before Atlas has the chance to think to offer them a go with the new training simulation. The door slams shut, cutting through the silence like the pierce of a gunshot. 

Atlas furrows his brows, staring at the spot the trainee had once stood, his mind lingering. Once again, an unknown emotion has settled over him. It’s odd, pushing and prodding at him relentlessly, unweaving the calm he has worked so hard to put up. So very unlike himself, he can’t help but acknowledge it, his thoughts still resting on the trainee despite all the warning signs he’s seen in just their few short interactions showing him that this kid is trouble. There is something about them that pulls him in, his usual logic and obedience almost forgotten — nonexistent.

“You know them?” It’s Ira’s voice that snaps him out of his trance. They move behind him, gaze focused on his face intently, eyebrow raised in question. 

“No.” He states flatly, forcing himself to look away, grip tightening around his staff. “They’re just another trainee.”

He forces himself to shrug it off, turning his back towards the door and planting his feet in a fighting position as the timer resets. 

The trainee is the least of his problems right now. With training, his upcoming finals, and Evaluation Day in only a few short weeks, it would do him some good to completely forget about them. No use in being distracted by some clumsy, skittish recruit. He has been training his entire life for his upcoming evaluation, there is no possibility where he can squander that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a kid that really is none of his concern. What good would he be, if he allowed himself to be pulled away by something as inconsequential as a new recruit? An Elite certainly wouldn’t allow themselves to be so absentminded. 

He meets Ira’s gaze again. “I bet I can get half your time.” He challenges, his eyes glinting. 

“Half?” Ira scoffs at Atlas’ words, her brows raising half an inch higher. “Alright. Get half my time in one go and I’ll pay for all of your meals this week.” They declare with a daring smirk. 

“You’re on.” Atlas turns back around, facing the dummies, staff raised.

The sharp tick of the timer starting rings in his ears once more and at once he’s jumping into action. He quickly moves through their ranks, staff a blur of silver as he plows through robot after robot, taking them down swiftly and efficiently. He twirls his staff through the air with expertise, moving faster than before, as sweat builds up at the nape of his neck, muscles straining with effort. 

It is with a kind of demon-like speed that he finishes off the last dummy, pouncing on it and sending his staff straight through its chest. Electricity crackles as it deactivates, the glow of its eyes flickering out. 

Proud, he pushes himself off of it with an exhausted huff, wiping the sweat from his forehead and turning back to the screen, out of breath. 3.27. He sighs, eyes flickering back towards Ira, but instead landing on a person rushing towards the doors across from him.

Them. 

Bustling with a kind of mad energy across the gym — almost as if their life depends on it — is the recruit from before, beelining straight for the far east doors near the end of the gym. They have their head bowed low, hands stuffed inside their pockets, hair falling in their face, obscuring it from view. They look disgruntled and panicked, quiet as a mouse as they cross past Atlas and Ira. Atlas has never seen anything like it. 

Although he is used to the fear and nervousness that radiates off of younger recruits whenever he walks by, this behaviour is like none other. Only having seen them a short number of times, there should be no reason for this kind of genuine avoidance — they’ve barely said more than five words to each other. 

He doesn’t understand what their deal is. It’s not like they’ve trained together, or really interacted with each other at all. They certainly aren’t on the path to be an Elite — there’s no way they’re anywhere near his rank. That’s evident enough from their clumsy demeanour and brash attitude. 

He’s positive he’s never seen them around before. He would remember them, his memory is excellent. It’s helped him throughout numerous tests and pop quizzes, no chance it would fail him now. Yet for some reason this supposedly “new trainee” seems to be popping up everywhere he goes. There is something so strange about it. 

He knows he shouldn’t pay attention to it, knows there are far more important things to his mission than some scrawny, random kid, but he can’t shake this feeling that they don’t belong here. Something about their appearance, so mundane and hard to place, as if they’re just trying to blend in; and the way they’re moving towards the door, avoiding going anywhere near him or Ira, as if scared of coming into contact with them. Their gaze, focused pointedly at their feet, posture slouched as to protect themself — the clear opposite of how a soldier should stand. All of it is just so very….. 

Odd. 

Atlas tries to put the thought to the back of his mind. This probably — no, definitely — has to do with the conversation he had with Cato after his training session today. Maybe the recruits were finally beginning to give him the respect that he longed for for so long. The respect that he has tried so desperately to earn, with every glare that found his way in the halls, food and other miscellaneous items tossed to the back of his head when he wasn’t paying attention, too absolved in his studies. 

But now he wonders if he really wants this respect so badly anyway. If he’s just going to be treated differently, treated like an outsider, no matter what he does, is it really worth it? If being an Elite means being feared, does he—

Stop that. 

He quickly shakes the thought off, not even allowing himself to continue. That is foolish; a lunatic’s thinking. He’s been fighting all his life to be considered for the Elites, there’s no chance he’ll back down now. He’s being stupid, getting too caught up in his head. This is the respect you deserve, he reminds himself, Cato’s voice now clear in his head. This is the respect you have fought for. 

Being at the top requires sacrifices. And if it meant that the lower, weak minds around him would avoid him instead of jeer at him, that was a sacrifice he would gladly take. Soon, he’d be surrounded with like minded people, soldiers of his own skill. And then, none of it would matter anymore. He would be completing his duty, what he was born to do. The confines of the warehouse would no longer hold him hostage. 

This was good. 

The kid glances back at him once, brown eyes darting towards his face. They go wide when they notice him looking, the trainee almost jumping out of their own skin before they hastily scramble towards the exit. 

It is with one wide arc that the gym door slams roughly behind them. 

Atlas furrows his eyebrows, turning back to Ira and frowning slightly. That was weird. 

“You sure you don’t know them?” They ask. Their eyebrows are turned upwards, confused. “They seem like they’re…. avoiding you?” 

Atlas grabs the towel from beside them on the bench, sitting down next to them and patting at his face. Training has been forgotten, this new encounter leaving a million new questions pulling at his brain. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, voice gruff. “Maybe it’s all the stuff with Cato. Not everyone is very happy about the rumours that she’s considering me for the promotion.” 

At Atlas’ words, Ira shrugs, leaning back in their seat, head hitting the other side of the bleachers with a resounding thunk. “Yeah, that makes sense. Still hella weird though.” 

Atlas nods, once again attempting to push the mysterious trainee out of his thoughts. Whoever they are, they aren’t important. Nothing else matters besides making the Elites and impressing the other leaders. This is what he was made for, what he’s trained for. This was his purpose. 

Anything else would just get in his way.

Masterlist || Previous || Next

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A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

..─＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆Character Bio⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊ ─..

Ira Mawar, the Second Choice ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚ ⛓️‍💥⊹

“I’ve never believed in destiny.

No the stars never whispered my name, my future.

I grabbed my own fate with two hungry hands, pulling and pushing and molding my life, leaving smudges and dirty fingerprints all over a once clean soul.

My mistakes belong entirely to me.”

⟢ Misty Gorley, “Destiny”

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚒️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Basics ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⚓️

Name || Ira Mawar

⁀➴༯ Name meaning || Ira is a gender-neutral name with Hebrew origins. Found in the Torah and the Bible, the name translates to “watchful”, referring to one of King David’s Mighty Warriors. The name Mawar is Indonesian, with the meaning of “rose”.

Nicknames || 261, Mawar — her subordinates, Cato

Age || 20 years old

Birthdate || March 1st, 893 (Pisces)

Gender and Pronouns || Unlabelled (they/she)

Sexuality || Lesbian

Ethnicity || Indonesian

Classification || Magicus

Power || Metal Manipulation

Explanation of Power || They can control metals of any kind and bend them to her will. She can also enter a state where her skin is made out of pure titanium.

Occupation || Ira serves Eden Inc., a Magicus-run corporation that focuses on the protection of Magicae and the seclusion of magic from Humans. She works inside the Task Force Branch as a rank 10 soldier, taking orders directly from the head commander Cato. They joined the organization when they were 12 years old.

Role || Secondary character

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚒️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Personality ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⚓️

Ira is driven by her ambition.

She comes from a life of hardship, her preadolescent years being ones of struggle and poverty. With no parents to call her own and her grandfather to take care of, she learned early how important hard work and determination is in the real world — and how even then, it sometimes isn’t enough.

They aren’t a stranger to hunger or the cold, struggling for three long years to even survive without anyone else to care or feed them. They’re independent and strong, they have to be. And living so many years of their life falling behind, doing anything possible to just survive, they’re determined to never experience that again.

Eden Inc. saved them. It’s given them so many opportunities in life they never would’ve had, fed them and clothed them and offered them a home. And for that, they’ll never be out of its dead. They’re deeply loyal to the company, almost to a fault, owing it everything they have. They will do anything to prove their place amongst its ranks, anything to reach the top.

Without Eden, they’d be nowhere. A nobody.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🪨⋅ ☆

Ira is an Eden soldier at Warehouse #004 and couldn’t be more proud of it. She lives in her single dorm and has almost everything she could ever want in life, with her best friend Atlas being perfectly prepared for the Elites, just as she is, all of her assignments running as smoothly as could be. They work directly under Cato, the Head of the Task Force Branch, and only seem to be growing closer to their lifelong goal of becoming an Elite with every passing day. As long as they stay on her good side, there’s no doubt they’ll land a spot and pass their Evaluation, just as planned. Their mission depends on it.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🪨⋅ ☆

Traits || Straight-forward, overachieving, hard-working, loyal, stubborn, driven, determined

Alignment || Lawful neutral

Likes || Atlas, Eden Inc., art, tattooing, record players, music, training, winning fights, carpentry, vintage items, her grandfather

Dislikes || Feeling weak, being alone, disappointing Cato, the cold, failure, scratchy fabrics

Fears || Not being good enough, Cato

Hobbies || Carpentry, fighting, going on missions, completing reports, tattooing, piercing, sketching, glass blowing, whittling, sculpting, painting, boxing, martial arts

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚒️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Appearance ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⚓️

Ira is short of stature, standing at just barely over 5 foot, something that simply has refused to change, no matter how much they willed it to. Despite that, their build is stocky and muscular, one that is evident to the amount of hours they’ve put into training, leaving them as an intimidating foe to face.

Her hair is shortly cropped, a black buzz cut that she cuts herself. No one has seen her with hair much longer than that, perfect for on missions, never getting in her way. Her skin is darkly tanned, with a few brown freckles marking her square face. Piercing, darkly-lined monolid eyes complete her appearance, being a dark gray in colour, with splashes of green inside them.

Many silver piercings bedazzle her skin, most namely on her eyebrows, nose, lip, cheeks, ears and tongue. Quite a few tattoos can be found along her body, mainly on her back and legs. The most distinct one of them all, though, is the symbol of Eden, which has been tattooed onto the back of their left hand.

Height || 5’2”

Aesthetic || Ira, like every other soldier inside Eden, can be seen wearing a dark, navy-green uniform lined by black. On days where she doesn’t have any assignments or missions, she can be found lounging in more casual clothes. She usually wears a very baggy, layered style, and dresses kind of butch.

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

The wasted years, the wasted youth / The pretty lies, the ugly truth / And the day has come where I have died / Only to find I've come alive

“Teen Idle” by MARINA

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚒️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Extra Tidbits ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⚓️

Ira had recently been picked up off of the streets by Eden before she met Atlas, and quickly rose ranks, despite only being there for a couple months. She had been on the run from CPS due to her only living relative passing away a year prior, and had been struggling deeply due to homelessness. Eden provided warmth, shelter, but most importantly, safety. It was everything she needed.

She was assigned as Atlas’ partner for her very first mission, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. She felt a little weird hanging out with a little kid at first, but seeing how dedicated he was to his role, she was quickly won over.

They are fiercely loyal to the company and Cato, and would do anything to protect their position. The Elites have been their and Atlas’ dream since the two were just kids, and they both plan to go off with each other and become the mighty soldiers they were destined to be.

Though, unlike Atlas, they do have hopes and dreams outside of Eden. Atlas was taken into Eden when he was only five, and has had almost zero contact with the outside world, minus for missions over the years. Ira, on the other hand, grew up fairly normally until their grandfather (their only living relative) passed away. He was a carpenter and owned a second-hand store full of collectibles near the end of his life.

Many of the things he introduced Ira to while she was a kid she still has high interest in, including vintage collectibles, carpentry, art restoration, and record players.

Ira is quite skilled with piercing and tattooing, and did most of Atlas’ and her own all by herself. Both of them are basically covered in tattoos because of this, and you’d never be able to tell that they weren’t professionally done.

They don’t have any memories of their parents, and know pretty much nothing about them.

They’re one of the older ones inside their rank, as Elites are usually accepted before they turn 18. This makes them only more determined to become one.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🪨⋅ ☆

|| CHARACTER SONGS

Hard Sell — The Crane Wives

Not Strong Enough — Boygenius

Recess — Melanie Martinez

Anthems for a Seventeen Year-Old Girl — Broken Social Scene

Your Best American Girl — Mitski

|| MOODBOARD

|| MASTERLIST

taglist \\ @ohagiwrites @oros-ash3s @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass18 @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @write-with-will

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

Hi this project is so freaking cool!!!!

Can I maybe be added to the tag list? :)

yes of course!!

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Training” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters // Wren (they/them), Atlas (he/him), Cato (she/her)

Wren didn’t mean to get distracted. 

That’s what they always seem to be saying. They meant to focus on their homework, they meant to do their chores, they meant to get their mom to sign their permission form, they meant to remember to study — it just slipped their mind. Somehow, by some sort of unfortunate miracle, it always did. 

Today, of course, is much different than a basic task like cleaning their room or remember to take the trash out. It might just be the most important day in their life. Because today…. they are on a mission. A critically vital mission. 

A mission to save the world. 

But for some reason, they can’t help but become sucked up with the rest of the crowd, their curiosity getting the better of them. They know they should be using this time to focus, to sneak off while everyone is preoccupied, but at the sight of the bustling crowd blocking their way, they find themself unable to push past it, but instead wander over to see what all the fuss is about. 

The crowd is all gathered in front of two thick-paneled glass walls, eager trainees pushing and shoving to get a better look at what is going on inside, shuffling and whispering with each other in excitement. Wren squishes through, their small stature coming in handy, as they finally find themself standing at the front, body pressed tight to the window. 

They peer through the glass, face tipped so close their nose almost brushes against the window, as they squint and attempt to get a better view of whatever was the cause of all the muttering. In the middle of the room, barreling through opponents like some sort of unkillable machine, is…

A boy. 

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ───────── · ·

Atlas swings through the air, sweat slicking to the nape of his neck. He can feel the piercing gaze of each of the training officers locking onto his back, practically burning into him as he spins his staff, jabbing it into the gut of one of his opponents’ while delivering a harsh blow to the jugular to the other. They both go flying, one crashing into the wall with a yelp while the second bulldozes through two unsuspecting trainees, sending them all tumbling to the ground like bowling pins. Although he doesn’t dare lower his guard to check, he can already see the nods of approval he is undoubtedly getting from behind the observation glass, trainees and trainers alike watching in awe at his indupitable form, his unbeatable strength, his quick wit. His perfect score. 

Each training session prior has gone like this: Atlas’ unmatchable skills, next to his less-than-satisfactory classmates, each who are desperate to finally rise above lucky number 792 — the golden boy. And each training session, he easily overpowers them, knocking each opponent that dares to cross his path to the ground, his movements so swift and light that it appears to be effortless, the boy hardly breaking a sweat. The only one who is still left standing by the end of the hour, his figure radiating power above the bruised bodies all fallen at his feet. 

Today is no different. Atlas takes on opponent after opponent, not allowing himself a second of rest, as the crowd continues to gape at him in complete astonishment. It is only when the sharp whistle from the lead director cuts through the thick atmosphere does he finally allow himself to lower his guard. Relaxing his posture, staff clattering from his grip, the trainee he had in a tight headlock plummeting to the ground with it. It is only then, as he turns his attention away, that he is able to see the amount of people gathered outside, watching. 

A large horde of people stand in front of the observation glass, eyes all trained onto him. More faces than he can count are pressed close to the glass, trainees all excitedly trying to push their way to the front to see what all the fuss is about. Quite the turnout, he thinks dimly to himself as he steps past the rows of crumpled bodies and outstretched limbs, making his way outside. 

This isn’t unusual, of course. It seems that at all times there is someone or somebody watching him, inspecting. As much as he doesn’t like it, he has to get used to it, being at such a high rank now. It came with the territory. But a crowd this size, well, it is definitely not what he was expecting to see. He slides the door open, eying the rows and rows of eager, nervous faces anxiously before tipping his head down, averting his gaze. It wouldn’t have bothered him so much, if not for all the whispering. It is hard to all make out, in a crowd of this size, more a dull buzz of reverence, digging under his skin, turning his stomach to a mess of jitters. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, pushing down the nervous tension and muttering a quiet apology as he pushes his way through the crowd. 

He only makes it two feet before he is very rudely interrupted by someone crashing into him. They stumble back, letting out a loud huff of annoyance — like they hadn’t been the one to run into him — and glare up at him, eyebrows knit together. Their expression quickly morphs into one of panic, fear flickering between their eyes, as they realize exactly who they are looking at. It’s a look he knows well by now. 

He clears his throat, albeit a bit awkwardly. “Uh, excuse me.” 

The trainee scrambles away from him, patting off their uniform and staring down at their feet sheepishly. They fumble with their hands, twisting and intertwining their fingers together, their entire body tensed up at once. “Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention.” They grunt, not sounding very sorry. They’re already disappearing back into the crowd before Atlas can even register their rushed apology, cutting off any other conversation. 

Atlas watches them go, unmoving for a moment, a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips. Strange. Although he is used to the weird looks or the whispering or even the intimidation at just talking to him, something about this particular interaction stands out to him from the rest. Something about how the trainee behaved was just… completely unlike any other soldiers he had the privilege of speaking to. Most of those at Eden, not unlike himself, were level-headed, calm, and respectful. While this trainee in particular was none of these things: Running into him, not paying attention to where they were going, even looking like they were about to fight him. It wasn’t like anything he had seen from another person inside the warehouse before. How very strange. 

If he was to actually think about it, Atlas couldn’t remember ever seeing them around before. All their features were plain, with pin-straight jet black hair cropped short, dark brown eyes, and pale skin. Nothing to make them stand out in a crowd. Still, Atlas was sure he would have remembered seeing them around at least once. He’d been here for ten years, he would have remembered someone like them, so rude and scatterbrained. Unless they were new. It would explain away the attitude, and why he didn’t recognize them. But such a low rank, how could they have found their way to this level? Someone like them certainly wouldn’t be allowed to oversee training…

He quickly pushes those thoughts aside, briskly continuing through the crowd and ignoring the odd feeling that still pokes at him from their interaction, as short as it was. It wasn’t any of his business. Maybe they’re a special case, like him. Granted access to the higher levels due to their powers. Maybe he would find them in training soon. A proper opponent, now that would be nice. 

“Atlas.” All thoughts of the trainee are quickly forgotten at the sound of his name being called. He glances up, finding himself face-to-face with Cato, her crisp black badge engraved with silver lettering shining up at him, marking her as the head of the Task Force. She makes her way towards him, the crowd dispersing at her wake, creating a clear walkway for her as they press themselves up against the walls. It is only when she stands directly in front of him that she allows herself to properly greet him, giving him a curt nod. “Training went well, I assume?”

The attention from everyone else is only amplified tenfold with Cato at his side, the wide clearing she has made leaving him out in the open, exposed. All their eyes burn into him as he gives her a small nod and a smile, fingers twitching at his side, tapping against his thigh. He knows he should be used to it by now, but still with every time he is singled out like this, the center of attention, he can’t help but flush and stare down at his feet, silent. He loves his job, loves Eden, but this is always going to be one of those things he wishes to not be a part of it. 

Cato smiles, the look of approval lingering in her eyes distracting Atlas from all the attention on him, for only a moment. It is the smiles from her that makes it all worth it. He can take the stares, the whispers, the rumours, as long as he has Cato at the end of the day, eyes shining in pride. 

Cato glances around at the gaggle of people gathered in a wide circle around the two of them, and her expression quickly shifts to one of annoyance. Her sharp gaze pierces through each of the whispering, eavesdropping trainees as she raises a brow, as if to say move alone, before nodding to Atlas, motioning for him to follow. “Let’s walk.” She says, not waiting for a response as she moves forwards again. 

Atlas quickly scrambles to follow, falling in step beside her, taking extra care to match her sharp pace exactly. “You are on track then?” She asks, gaze trained straight ahead. “To advance.” 

“Yes,” he nods, rubbing his thumb and index finger together in a soothing motion as he speaks. “I should be ready for when the rest of the leaders come to observe at the end of the month.” 

Even now, as they walk further away from the training room, eyes still linger on them. Some murmur behind their hands, shooting Atlas envious looks before being silenced by Cato’s harsh gaze on them, while others, he can feel watching him, following his every movement, the glare in their eyes saying more than any whisper ever could. 

“Good,” Cato says, her voice calm and steady. “I’m sure they will be impressed.”

She falls quiet, letting the words sink in. Impressed. Cato thinks he is something to be impressed by. The thought brings a new type of jitters to his stomach — a good kind, this time. Atlas had been training for so long, restlessly improving his skills, rising above the odds, constantly fighting to be recognized for his talents; the fact that the day where he’d finally be something more than a lowly trainee from the warehouse is actually arriving… Well, it all felt surreal. Evaluation Day is only weeks away. Mere weeks, and he’ll finally have everything he had ever wanted. All of Cato’s lessons, the sleepless nights before tests, the drills and workouts and fights, they were all paying off. Just like they told him they would.

“This will be good for you Atlas.” Cato’s gaze finally lands on him, sweeping him up and down, observing. Atlas goes stiff as a board, his posture straight. He waits for her to pick out an imperfection that he would need to hone in on before Evaluation Day, waits for the criticisms of his form or posture, or the little remarks about his unruly appearance. But for once, no such thing comes. No, for once, Cato is staring at him in nothing but pure, complete pride. “You’ve earned this.” 

Atlas’ lips part slightly, the praise — something Cato doesn’t hand out lightly — coming to him as a shock. He instantly brightens, chest puffing up in pleasure. “Right, of course.” He says quickly, the smallest smile quirking the corners of his lips. He had earned this. 

A whisper catches his ear, pricking the back of his neck: Look who it is. Cato’s little pet. 

The snickers take him off guard. Usually, he is good at disregarding the little snide remarks said behind cupped hands. They are insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. Just words. Harmless, when compared to the blow of a weapon, or the pierce of a dagger; they are nothing. But for some reason, being so out in the open, Cato staring at him so gently, the words almost… hurt. Of course, it isn’t anything he hasn’t heard before. He knows why life at the warehouse is always so lonely, why he gets the glares and looks of intimidation. He knows what they all think, what they say about him. 

792 only made it this far because he’s her favourite, he doesn’t know what true hardship is like. Not when he’s pampered by the commander herself. She’ll let him get anything he wants. He’s only ever been special because she dotes over him so much. He’d be nowhere without her. 

It was what made working under the Leader so… intriguing. Under her, there would be no judgement, under her they would see him for who he truly is, not just as an extension of Cato. Under her, he’d be surrounded by like-minded people, driven for power, to do true good in the world. They’d be equals. 

Unless…

The whispers worm their way under his skin like needle pricks, causing his expression of excitement to fade, eyebrows drawing together.

Despite himself, despite the praise Cato has given to him so softly — praise he could usually never expect from her — he finds himself doubting his place, wondering if maybe they are right. After all, the Elites, the Evaluation – they are hand-picked by Cato herself. If she didn’t like him so much, if she hadn’t kept such a close eye on him, given him personal lessons, allowed him to move up when others couldn’t… would he have even made it this far? Was he truly deserving of this? 

“They are jealous. You deserve this.” Cato’s voice cuts through again, practically reading Atlas’ thoughts.

He glances back up towards her, but this time her gaze is focused forwards again, not making eye contact with him. He wishes that she still was. He’d do anything to get that soft smile, the way her eyes crinkle up when she is pleased with him. He simply gives her a nod, lapsing back into silence beside her. She has to be right. Cato wouldn’t lie to him, and especially wouldn’t give him a freeride to the Elites. Only the best of the best made it through. And if she thought that even the other leaders would be impressed by his skills… Well then, he had to be the best of the best, didn’t he? 

The thought spurs something inside of him, and he turns back to face her, a flicker of doubt passing across his face. “Um,” he says, lowering his voice, almost hesitating. “Ira will be coming with me, won’t she?” 

At Atlas’ words, Cato casts her gaze down on him again, but only briefly. Her eyes are laced with something indescribable as she stares down at him, and then the look is gone, her face turned away. “To your evaluation with the other leaders?” She pauses. “Or moving forward to the Elites?”

Atlas stares down at his feet. “To the Elites.” He says, his words suddenly stuck in his throat, as he thinks desperately on how exactly to word his next question. It is a stupid question to bother Cato with, especially when she takes time out of her already-packed schedule to come visit him after training — to make sure he is alright. She doesn’t have time for questions about Ira Mawar. Still, he can’t stop himself from continuing. “You’re considering her too, right? They’ve fought so hard to finally be one of the selected — they’ve even been here almost as long as I have. I don’t know if…” He cuts himself short, the words lingering in the air as he looks towards Cato for her approval. 

Cato’s expression is now far from the soft, gentle look of pride. She shoots him a firm stare, stopping him in his tracks. He is sure that the next word from her lips will be a harsh “no” — he already knew the question was wrong to ask as soon as the words left his mouth. But surprisingly enough, Cato doesn’t shoot him down so fast. She hesitates for a moment, before saying in a quieter tone than before, “We are… considering them. Though, I suggest you don’t speak to her about this.” She adds, the ‘if you know what’s good for yourself’ goes unspoken. 

Atlas relaxes ever so slightly, relief flooding through him. “Understood.” 

The idea of having to leave his best friend behind had been the one problem that had been troubling him as Evaluation Day drew closer. Of course, he’s been waiting for the day to come since he was only a child; it was his one dream, the goal he’d been working towards for years, the thing he wanted the most. But the thought of going ahead and leaving Ira alone at the warehouse is unthinkable. She is always at his side, his rock through it all. They do everything together; an unbeatable duo. When he imagines being an Elite, she is right there at his side. 

To hear that Ira might be one of the selected instantly eases his worries. He knows it was foolish to wish to have Ira as his partner, always, but he is glad that there might be a possibility that the two of them won’t have to part ways. Of course, he is never going to tell Ira this. He is fortunate enough that Cato is willing to allow him such classified information. No one knew who the top picks for the Elites were, not even the other commanding officers. Only Cato and the leaders had access to those files. To think Cato trusted him enough to tell him…. He wasn’t going to dare disobey her, not when she thought he was special enough to know. He could never break her trust like that. 

Cato nods at Atlas’ affirmative. “You have a good heart… thinking of them like that.” She says slowly, falling quiet for another long moment. “I understand your closeness with Ira. However, you would do well to maintain your own success as your number one priority.” 

“Right.” 

“Keep training. Don’t let yourself get too relaxed now that you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve.” She reaches a hand up and gives Atlas a brief pat on the shoulder, causing his ears to go pink. “I’ll see you at your next training session.” 

And with that, she disappears down the hall again. His time with Cato is finally up.

Masterlist || Next

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A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

..─＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆Character Bio⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊ ─..

Atlas Zieliński, the Chosen One ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⚔️

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

“lift with your knees, atlas,

the heavens are a burden but in the starlit ink of constellations

you have written:

endure.”

⟢⠀A.J, “Weight”

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

🌙 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Basics ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆💫

Name || Atlas Zieliński

⁀➴༯ Name meaning || Atlas is a gender neutral name with Greek origin. It means “enduring” or “to endure”, and comes from the titan Atlas in Greek mythology who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Zieliński is a Polish surname that translates to “green” or “herb”. It could also possibly be used for someone with a greenish complexion.

Nicknames || 792, Zieliński — his subordinates

Age || 15 years old

Birthdate || January 11th, 898 (Capricorn)

Gender and Pronouns || Cisgender (he/him)

Sexuality || Biromantic, ace-spectrum

Ethnicity || Polish, Greek

Classification || Magicus

Power || Power Absorption

Explanation of Power || He can mimic others abilities and use them as his own. While this is activated the other person’s power is weaker than it usually would be. In some examples he can mimic physical abilities of humans as well, which in turn drains their energy. While his power is in use, his eyes glow.

Occupation || Atlas serves Eden Inc., a Magicus-run corporation that focuses on the protection of Magicae and the seclusion of magic from Humans. He works inside the Task Force Branch as a rank 10 soldier, taking orders directly from the head commander Cato. He joined the organization when he was just about 7 years old.

Role || Protagonist, hero

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

🌙 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Personality ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆💫

Atlas has been shaped by a life inside Eden.

Since he was 6-years-old he was taught how to be a soldier. Obedient, rule-following, logical. It has been drilled into his brain, shaped the way he thinks, how he behaves. He holds rules and Eden’s mission towards a greater world above all else, doing anything to achieve it. He would not be anything, if not for Eden. And he will never forget it.

He is respectful and courteous, with a high drive to achieve something great for himself. He puts all his energy into his training and studies, determined to not let down his mentor Cato. He’s desperate for her attention and approval, and strives to not disappoint her. He wants to become the best of the best, an outstanding soldier. Laziness and the easy way out will never allow him that.

He is, in almost every way, not what you’d expect from a teenage boy. He does not have many likes or interests of his own, simply doing as he’s told. Always.

Yet still, sometimes he finds himself with dreams of his own. Exploring the world, leaving behind the warehouse…. A life like that is one that he can’t help but wonder if he’ll someday be granted.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🛡️⋅ ☆

Atlas is an Eden soldier at Warehouse #004 and the top of his class. He lives in his singular dorm and spends most of his days going to training alongside his best friend, Ira, or on assignments, dutifully completing Eden’s mission. He works directly under Cato, the Head of the Task Force Branch, and is her favourite disciple. He longs to see the outside world and explore, to see what good Eden is doing for the world. But for now he’s content to keep following under Cato’s direction, preparing himself for Evaluation Day — where he’ll find out if he’s been accepted into the Elites, which are the highest-ranking soldiers in the company, revered by all others. The best of the best. It���s his life goal to become one, and he can’t wait to finally leave the plain gray walls of the warehouse to serve under Eden’s mysterious leader.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🛡️⋅ ☆

Traits || Blunt, socially-inept, guarded, curious, competitive, kind of a people pleaser, awkward, secretive

Alignment || Lawful Good

Likes || Cato, Eden Inc., winning, training, going on missions, music, jewelry, starry nights, space, learning about new things, the outdoors

Dislikes || The Congregation of the Chosen, churches, most people, his mother, alcohol, expensive things, having nothing to do, being cooped up at the base, crosses

Fears || Fire, God, the church

Hobbies || Training, going on missions, studying, reading, researching, tattooing, fighting, killing villains, patrolling, winning medals, listening to music

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

🌙 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Appearance ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆💫

Atlas has the physique to fit a soldier. Just over average height for his age, with a muscular and fit build, evident to the hours and days of training he has personally put in. Though, his bulky, muscular frame looks slightly awkward when paired with his young, feminine face and gangly limbs.

He has a long, choppy black mullet with the front and back dyed a burgundy red. His skin is tanned, with barely noticeable, pale white scars running all across his body. He has a hooked nose and dark, swirling violet eyes that kind of glow in the dark. His face is speckled by facial marks and black piercings, with many adorning his ears.

A few small tattoos can be found along his body, most notably along his arms and back. The most distinct of them all, though, is the symbol of Eden, which has been tattooed onto the back of his left hand.

Height || 5’8”

Aesthetic || Atlas, like every other soldier inside Eden, can be seen wearing a dark, navy-green uniform lined by black. He doesn’t own any clothes of his own and the only accessories he occasionally wears are an assortment of silver jewelry, typically rings and necklaces.

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

Are you satisfied with an average life? / Do I need to lie to make my way in life? / Are you satisfied with an easy ride? / Once you cross the line will you be satisfied?

“Are You Satisfied?” by MARINA

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

🌙 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Extra Tidbits ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆💫

Atlas did not have a name when he came to Eden. Cato named him Atlas Zieliński, replacing whatever his mother’s maiden name was. He has never even been inside a hospital before he was rescued.

He has killed many of his ex-classmates, sometimes without his knowledge. He never questioned it, because, according to Cato, “it was a mercy for them”, seeing as they were too weak to complete their duty.

Atlas’ favourite type of night is when he comes home from a mission, or is put on overnight duty at the watchtower, and gets a change to glance at the stars.

He has made his way through practically the entire library at the warehouse. Any type of material he can get his hands on, he reads. He knows extensive information on all the former leaders of Eden, especially Castor.

This has only sparked his curiosity on what the mysterious leader of Eden was like, as there was practically no information on her — not even so much as her name. It made being an Elite even more exciting: getting to train under her, discover who she was.

Most of Atlas’ tattoos were done by Ira, who although doesn’t have much experience on other people, is surprisingly good at it. A few of them he did himself, like the designs on his fingers and near his wrist.

He was mute until about eight months after Cato rescued him. He had officially begun his training, and even murdered a few of his classmates, before he uttered a single word.

Atlas’ favourite constellation is the one he got his namesake from. Once, Cato even told him the story behind the constellation, which intrigued him like nothing else before. He wanted to know more about these mythological beings, but Cato very quickly shut him down, because “a good soldier didn’t allow himself to be so easily distracted by fairytales”.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🛡️⋅ ☆

|| PLAYLIST

|| MOODBOARD

|| MASTERLIST

taglist \\ @ohagiwrites @oros-ash3s @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @write-with-will

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

....─── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Arc I ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ───….

Training // Recognition // Scores

Caught // Who To Believe // A Reason

Torn // Conversations // Atlas’ Final Decision

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Proud” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Cato (she/her)

TW: Death, descriptions of violence

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Atlas was six-years-old when he killed for the first time. 

His hands shook as he walked into the brightly-lit arena. It expanded out in front of him, lights blinding him as he stepped out of the shadows, his one solace through it all. The room was wide and circular; the ground uneven and jagged, smeared with dirt, grime, and deep crimson stains that were too familiar for Atlas’ liking. Tall pillars lined the two entrances that were opposite to each other, shadows masking the other trainees that were all waiting in an orderly row for their turn. The walls were made out of a similar jagged rock material that the floor was, the same dark red splatters marring the surface. Reaching high up near the domed ceiling was the only window in the room: a dark, tinted glass with splatters of blood near the rim, showcasing a group of shadowy figures that Atlas knew belonged to the generals and other high-ranking officers, overseeing training. 

He could feel their gazes burning into the side of his head. They were piercing into him; calculating, scanning, scrutinizing. Picking out his worst insecurities, his weaknesses. Analyzing his every movement. He pulled his shoulders back, tipping his head up high, straightening his back. That’s what he was supposed to do. Make yourself look confident. Make yourself look strong. Capable. 

But despite the words repeating in his head, he didn’t feel strong. His entire body was shivering, and he knew it wasn’t just from the bite of the cool air. No, he felt…. He felt scared. 

He didn’t like it down here. He really, really didn’t like it down here. He had never even been to the lower levels of the warehouse before. He was never allowed. He had been at Eden for a few months already, but in all his time here, he hadn’t been around more than two or three people. They were all nice. They gave him whatever he wanted: food, snacks, blankets, books. Atlas didn’t understand any of the words, but he liked feeling the pages while the grown-ups did their work. Some of the books had a rough, almost scratchy feel to it, while others were shiny and sleek. Feeling along the material of the pages would entertain Atlas for days. 

Everything inside Eden had seemed like that — with the bright lights, sparkling clean metal surfaces everywhere he looked, and long, winding hallways that went on forever; everything was so new and fresh and awesome. Not at all like before. Here he had a bed and fresh food and anything he could ever want. He was warm and cared for and safe. 

Safe. 

He repeated the word like a mantra, mouthing it silently to himself, as he stepped fully into the arena. He was safe. Even with the scary commanding officers glaring down at him, and the dark, coldness of the room, and the hushed whispers of the others behind him, like pricks against his neck, he was still safe. Eden would always be safe. They were kind. They would never hurt him. 

From across the room, his opponent appeared, slow and careful. It was a girl, small as him, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, fair like wheat, skin pale and marked by freckles. In her hands she carried a long metal rod with two blades attached to the tips. Atlas wasn’t sure what it was called. The training officer had listed the names of each of the weapons they would be supplied during each of their training sessions, and he’d tried so hard to memorize them like he was supposed to, but now for some reason, his usually excellent memory was failing him. The blade in his hands shook, his grip unsteady. What was it called? A…. danger? No, that wasn’t right. A da— 

Dagger, a voice in the back of his mind supplied helpfully. Right. That’s what it was. A dagger. 

He dug his fingernails tighter around the dagger, taking short, even breaths to calm himself. Like he had been taught. Training was simple. This wasn’t scary. This was going to be fine. He just had to do what he was told. He could do that, he could do that just fine. 

Just do as you are told. 

The girl from across him watched him warily, not yet moving from the edge of the entrance. The weapon looked to be far too big and heavy for her tiny hands; she had her weapon lowered to the ground, arms tired. Not like Atlas, his small dagger light and fitting perfectly in his palms — almost like it was meant to be there. He planted his feet, holding it in front of him stiffly, fear still coursing through his veins no matter how much he told himself this was all safe. 

The two of them seemed to be locked in some sort of silent standoff, both waiting for the other to make the first move, and both too stubborn to cave. The seconds ticked by slow as ever, as both stared each other down, still not daring to go. The girl dug her feet into the uneven ground, narrowing her brows at him. She was almost taunting him now, giving an unspoken, come and get me. Atlas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes glancing momentarily to where all the officers stood, still observing. Should he attack…? Making the first move was scary; they were far apart, she’d have more time to come up with a plan. But, with her planted stance, Atlas also noticed that her weapon was now wedged in between her feet, too heavy for her to hold any longer. 

Now’s your chance, her voice echoed in his head. Take it. 

Holding the dagger close to his side, he charged. 

His mind was a whirlwind of rapid, panicked thoughts as he closed the distance between him and his opponent. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing, if this was what he was supposed to be doing, but there was no turning back now. 

Listen to your gut. He could hear her in the back of his mind, guiding him through it all, and that was all he needed. Just do as she would. Do as she would, and he’d be safe. He’d win. 

The girl’s eyes widened at the sight of her opponent barreling towards her and she sloppily tried to pull up her weapon again, but Atlas was too fast. He kicked at her, foot knocking loose the weapon from her hands, sending it flying to the side. It clattered to the ground, rolling away from her reach. She turned towards it, moving to retrieve it, and Atlas took advantage of the distraction. He lashed out, grabbing her by her ponytail and tugging her back. She tumbled down and he jumped on top of her, digging his fingers into her hair and tugging, thick chunks coming loose, spilling out around them. She screamed in pain, writhing to get out of his hold, but even then he did not let up. He brought a fist down, just like he’d been taught, whacking her hard against the side of the head. Then again. And again. And again. His knuckles were hurting now, little spasms of pain shooting through his hand for every hit, but he didn’t care.

Don’t hesitate. Finish the job. 

He brought his arm up again, his fingers tightening around the dagger, raising it high into the air. 

He slammed the dagger down fast. 

And just like that, in only mere seconds, it was over. The blade stabbed into the girl’s neck and at once all her attempts to get away from him were gone. The hands clawing at his arms fell limp, her mouth parting into a wide, shocked “O” as she gasped. Her eyes bulged, as big as saucers, as if they were trying to pop out of her head. Tears that Atlas had not been able to notice in the struggle streamed down her face, trickling down to sides of her cheeks. Her desperate, darting gaze locked on his, and for a moment, it was as if she and Atlas were the only people in the room. For a moment, it was as if the officers were not still glaring into them, ready to punish any misbehaviour, as if the others weren’t gathered in the darkness, leaning forwards in wonder at the sight in front of them, whispering and trembling. It was as if, for a second, it was just him and the girl with big, round blue eyes, lying on the ground, and nothing else mattered. For a second, there was only them. 

The moment ended just as fast as it had came. 

Atlas ripped the dagger from out of her neck, the action sharp and intense, just like he’d been taught. The girl made a deep, horrific gurgling sound from the back of her throat, blood bubbling between her lips, as a stream of red shot up from where the knife had been only a second ago, splattering against Atlas in a harsh gush. 

Atlas yelped, scrambling back off of her in a frenzy. His heart beat fast in his chest, so hard he was sure it was going to leap out of his own skin. Blood rushed in his ears, loud and disorienting. The dagger fell from his grasp, skittering across the ground with an awful screeching noise. He scrubbed at his face, eyes darting around wildly, searching for the one person he had been most desperate to please. Did I do it right? Did I do it like I was supposed to?

There was no one there. No one, besides the hundreds of eyes burning into his skin, trapping him in place. No, no, no. He didn’t like this. Wasn’t he supposed to like this? Why didn’t he like this? Where was… Where was she? He needed her. He needed her to tell him he did it right. He needed her to reassure him. He needed her to tell him he was safe. That this was good. He needed—

The girl wasn’t getting up. She wasn’t moving at all. The bright red fountain of liquid was spilling from her neck, staining everything in sight, and she was twitching, making these horrible, terrible, groaning sounds, but she was not getting up. She was not getting up. Why wasn’t she getting up? 

Atlas choked, taking spluttering, gasping breaths. This was all wrong. This was all wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Why wasn’t she getting up? She was supposed to get up. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. He wanted to go upstairs, he wanted to go back to his room. He liked his bed. He liked sleeping in it. He liked the long winding hallways that he could run down as much as he wanted. He liked the smiling grown-ups. He liked going on walks. He liked how shiny and clean everything was. He liked his new books.  

He did not like this. 

The red stuff was sticking to him. His face, his hands, his clothes. It was all over. No, no, no. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want to. He clawed at his skin, desperately trying to get it off. Get off. He needed it off, right now. He didn’t want to do this. He wanted to go back. He wanted—

Sudden hands gripped him, spinning him around and tearing his gaze away from the twitching girl on the ground. He made a desperate attempt to shove them away, to wriggle free and run — he needed to run, run back to safety — but the hands only held him tighter. 

“Atlas,” a voice breathed, soft and careful. He found himself staring at not the foreign face of one of the training officers, but instead the smiling face of a woman with mismatching eyes, one a dark, smooth brown, and one the palest, icy blue Atlas had ever seen, starkly contrasting against the other. 

Cato. 

It was only Cato. 

Cato was safe. Everything was going to be okay. Cato was here. Cato would never hurt him. 

“Atlas,” she said, voice even and gentle. “Oh, Atlas.” 

He gasped for air, grunting and wheezing as the words he wished he could tell her failed to form. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again, and still as he willed himself to speak, nothing could come out. 

This is all wrong, he wanted to scream. This was all very wrong. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want to be down here. He didn’t like this. There was red stuff on him and a twitching girl on the ground and everyone was watching him—

Cato pushed down his flailing arms, moving to cup his face, turning it away again from the body on the ground, forcing him to stare into her eyes. He had thought they were scary, at first — the harsh, coldness of the blue, so unnatural — but right now, nothing had ever felt more soothing. It was familiar, something that dulled the panic of his mind, for only a second. Something he could rely on, pushing away the bad thoughts. 

“Oh Atlas,” Cato whispered, her eyes bright with excitement, thumb rubbing calming circles along his cheek, smearing the blood there. “Atlas, you were magnificent.” 

Magnificent. He hadn’t heard that word before. Was this good? Did he do good? Was this what she had wanted?

“That was wonderful, Atlas, truly wonderful.” She said, continuing with a tone of such reverence that stopped Atlas short in his panic, despite not knowing what exactly those words meant.

“Wuh…” He mumbled. “W—“ 

Cato smoothed down his red-streaked hair. “Yes, wonderful. That means good. Oh Atlas, you did so good.” She fixed him with the widest smile he had ever seen, and suddenly, the twitching girl on the ground didn’t seem to matter anymore. Nor did the officers still watching over him, or the kids gathered in a row at each entrance. No, only Cato. 

He did good. He was good. 

“You’re even better than I thought.” Cato said in the same hushed voice, talking faster than she ever had before, eyes still shining bright in a way that made the fear fluttering inside Atlas’ stomach dissipate. “You’re… you’re a natural. Oh Atlas, this is perfect. You’re truly perfect.” 

She brushed the bangs out of his face, smiling warmly at him. Her face was only inches away now, so close that Atlas may have once flinched and ran free. But not now, not with the look on Cato’s face, so fond and tender. “I’m so proud of you, Atlas.” 

She pulled him into a tight embrace, and Atlas let himself be held tight, his face pressed into her shoulder. He brought his arms up, wrapping around her, his crimson-coated, trembling hands holding onto her with all their might. Proud. He’d made her proud. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

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[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* — | “Recognition” | — *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ＊

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Ira (they/she)

Atlas finds Ira slouched up against the wall beside his single dorm, their head tipped back, leaning against the cool gray metal. They perk up at the sound of his footsteps, a small grin passing through their features as their eyes land on his quickly-approaching figure. “Hey kid,” she says with a nod, standing up straight to greet him. “You all done with training today?”

Atlas nods at Ira in greeting, moving past them towards his dorm. His keys jangle in between his fingers as he unlocks the door, the silver numbers 792 shining down on him as he swings it open. “Mhm,” he hums, offering a small smile in her direction as he gestures her inside. 

Ira wanders inside behind him, propping herself against the doorframe and crossing her arms. “So, how’d it go? You talk to Cato?” 

“Good.” He nods, placing his keys down in the tray next to his jewelry, humming softly to himself as he makes his way over to his cot. “Cato seems to be under the impression I’m ready for Evaluation Day.” 

Ira arches a brow at Atlas’ characteristically short response, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah? How do you know?” 

“She pulled me aside after training. I think that she’ll be the one to give me the recommendation I need, if I don’t manage to impress any of the other leaders.” He replies thoughtfully, settling down on top of his crisp straight sheets. “Though, if the trainees on Evaluation Day prove to be on the same skill level as the current ones in my class, then I’m sure I will succeed.” 

Ira listens carefully as Atlas speaks, nodding slightly at his words. “I’m sure it’ll be easy for you to get through. Especially if Cato thinks you’re ready.” She uncrosses her arms, pulling up from her slouched position on the doorframe and plopping down beside him. She regards him for a moment, quiet, before her gaze drifts again, eyes flickering around his neat and orderly room. She hums softly to herself, a sort of contentment in her features. It is a tune Atlas doesn’t quite recognize — perhaps a new band that she has found? He would ask her about it later. 

“Did Cato say anything about any other people she was considering for the Elites?” Ira asks abruptly, drumming her fingers against her knees in a nervous twitch. 

Atlas hesitates for a second, “No.” 

Cato’s words repeat in his head, harsh and sharp, the sound almost a warning. The flashing image of her icy blue eye, with all its infinite wisdom, sends shivers down his spine, a sure sign. At once Atlas was certain: There was no possibility where he could share such news with Ira.

She was his best friend, of course, but sometimes, he had to keep secrets, for the greater good of their mission. He would never in a million years dare step out of line — or break Cato’s already brittle trust. She took priority, just this time. 

Ira deflates slightly, a flicker of disappointment passing across their face momentarily before they are smiling again, back to her usual self. “Damn,” she mutters under her breath. “I was hoping to get a sneak peek at who the new Elites would be.” 

Atlas offers them a small smile. “You know I wouldn’t leave here without you.” 

Ira scoffs slightly and leans forward, nudging Atlas with her knee. “Yeah, I know. And you know I’d kill you for it, sucker.” 

Atlas huffs. “We’re supposed to go together, remember? I couldn’t let you rot away in the warehouse forever, could I?” 

“Wow. I’m astounded by your kindness,” Ira says with a snort, rolling their eyes. “You wouldn’t last a day without me.” 

Atlas turns his head to the side, flushing. “Whatever you say.” 

Ira clicks her tongue and smirks, smug, at Atlas’ reaction, flopping back down on the bed and causing the springs to creak. “I’m gonna hit up the training dummies tonight. Chuck's got the gyms open later for some seminar with the newbies. Wanna come with me?” 

Atlas nods. “Sure.” 

“Good. Be there at eight,” Ira hums, straightening and hopping back off of the bed. She makes her way back to the door, pushing it open wider as she steps outside. They pause briefly, gaze flickering back towards Atlas as they give him another smile. “I’m glad you’re getting recognition.” 

“Me too.”

Masterlist || Previous || Next

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A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

..─＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆The Chrysalis⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊ ─..

Eden || completed

༄ Arc I

Runaway || incomplete

The Congregation of the Chosen || coming soon

Hiding || coming soon

The Alliance of Magicae || coming soon

Hunted || coming soon

Cato || coming soon

Maximus || coming soon

Number 792 || coming soon

Forgotten Memories || coming soon

Missing || coming soon

Rikiyo Geun || coming soon

Avoidance || coming soon

Kazuya Inoue || coming soon

The Aftermath || coming soon

Recovery || coming soon

Jane Balan || coming soon

Béatrice Arnaud || coming soon

Argus || coming soon

Rescue || coming soon

Domestic Bliss || coming soon

Akrah || coming soon

Unlikely Allies || coming soon

Paulo Rebeiro || coming soon

The Last Elite || coming soon

A Tale of Brothers || coming soon

Rikiyo’s Return || coming soon

The Final Battle || coming soon

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

….·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ Introduction ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙….

Welcome to THE CHRYSALIS: A STATE OF CHANGE

This is a personal project that me and my best Ohagi have been working and developing for the past year. It’s a passion of ours and it’s long overdue that we created a blog to go along with it!

“The Chrysalis” is a dystopian fantasy-thriller novel that with a large cast of characters that the two of us have put a lot of time and effort into. It will be co-written by the both of us and posted as regularly as we can with our busy lives and inevitable procrastination and writers block.

If any of this is of interest to you, welcome. We’re excited to share this vast world and characters with an audience and can’t wait to expand on our story more.

If you’d like to check out our other writing and wips (and maybe even give us a follow):

You can find me on @/oros-ash3s. I post writing, traditional and digital art of my characters, and sneak peeks to portfolio work I have for college.

You can find Ohagi at @/ohagiwrites. She posts her incredibly talented writing over there, and I highly recommend that you check her out.

For posts that are written and posted by Ohagi, the overall theme will be green. For posts done by Ash, the overall theme will be blue. We’ll also sign off with our names in the tags and the bottom of the post. O.A. for Ash, and O.W. for Ohagi.

Now onto The Chrysalis ⋆˚࿔

— O.A.

✶ The Chrysalis: A State of Change ✶

Status || Writing

POV || Third-person limited, multiple POVS, present tense

Genre || Dystopian, fantasy-thriller

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

For as long as anyone can remember, magic has been a taboo subject. No one really believes in it, the myths of a secret society of people with magical powers being nothing but an old fairytale told to kids.

But Atlas Zieliński knows better.

Growing up in Eden Inc., an organization built to conceal Magicae and protect the human population from the terrorist organization known as The Congregation of the Chosen, he's always sought to do what's right, use his powers for good — fulfill his purpose.

But when a spy named Wren breaks into Eden one day, discovering hidden secrets about what the company is really doing to the Magicae that they are "rescuing", Atlas is faced with a decision that makes him question everything he has ever known. He suddenly has to ask himself if Eden is as good as he had been told it was, and what "his purpose" really means to the company.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Content Warnings || The Chrysalis deals with a wide variety of complex and dark subject matter, including grooming, sexual assault and hypersexuality, substance abuse and addiction, suicide, self harm, domestic abuse, death, torture, human experimentation, dehumanization, and kidnapping. Although some of these won't be extremely explicit, it will be referenced and implied throughout the story. The chapters including such content will have the appropriate trigger warnings attached. Overall, the story is more mature and deals with a lot of violence, so if that bothers you please click away.

Themes || Grief, oppression, corruption, brotherhood, freedom, vengeance, control, war, fascism, terrorism, savagery, monstrosity, loss of innocence, past vs present

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Taglist || @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @write-with-will

✩ Send an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist ✩

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

It's not the hunger revealing, nor the ricochet in the cave / Nor the hand that is healing, nor the nameless grave

— "Not" by Big Thief

— belongs to @/ohagiwrites .ᐟ

⟢ The Alliance of Magicae

Wren Chua || they/them

Alastair Cadwalader || he/him

Karl || he/him

Altynai Johansson || she/her

Bernadette Anouilh || she/her

James Evans || he/him

Pabitra Tiwari || she/her

Chinua Chagha’an || he/they

⟢⠀The Congregation of Chosen

Pollux Wang || he/him

Julius Alamilla || he/him

Eleanor Faux || she/her

Elise Meyer || she/her

Jeremiah Cadwalader || he/him

Peter Rangi Floquet || he/him

Constanza Zaneta || she/her

Dani Hortmans || they/them

Jane Balan || she/her

Paulo Rebeiro || he/him

Béatrice Arnaud || she/her

Kazuya Inoue || he/him

Akrah || he/him

Rikiyo Geun || he/him

— belongs to @/oros-ash3s .ᐟ

⟢ The Alliance of Magicae

Wren Chua || they/them

Atlas Zieliński || he/him

Kekoa Kalawaia || he/him

Kau’i Kalawaia || she/her

Luna Nzuyen || she/her

Elio || he/him

Mahin Gupta || he/him

Orla Aguilar || she/they

Daphne O’ Connell || she/her

⟢ Eden Inc.

Castor Wright || he/him

Octavia Mongke || she/her

Cato || she/her

Sasha Beneš || he/him

Silas Fazel || he/him

Clematis Auclair || she/her

Malum Kone || they/them

Akio Yamada || he/him

Baz Ambrus || he/him

Kauri Malik || he/they

Maximus 792M59X87

Ira 261Z88X21

Eilan 524A79X26

Signe 476188X21

Maira 937L48X74

Knox 643039X52

Chapters ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

|| Lore and Worldbuilding

༄⠀Eden’s Name Origins

|| Character Bios

༄⠀Eden Inc.

|| Extra Info

༄⠀Timeline

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

|| Playlists

They can all be found under The Chrysalis on Spotify

༄⠀Which characters they correlate to will be revealed with each arc. Send an ask to @/oros-ash3s or @/ohagiwrites for more info.

|| Moodboards

Wren Chua \\ Atlas Zieliński

Eden Inc.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

“The lesson of history is that no one learns.”

— Steven Erickson || Deadhouse Gates

Credits || @/cafekitsune + @/hyuneskkami