Atlas Abandoned

Rule #3 (3 years since the crash)

Atlas drew his dagger when he heard a rustle outside. He looked around for his helmet, which he always removed while he worked, but he didn't see it right away. Rule #1 was 'Heads up,' so Atlas gave up finding the helmet and kept his attention on the doorway of The Workshop. In the months he'd been spending more time in The Workshop, Atlas was thrilled to sometimes get visits from PJ, the raptor that saved him from the others. Unfortunately, there had also been visits from other raptors- aggressive ones that would sooner tear Atlas apart than sniff around him and his workshop with innocent curiosity. Atlas never told anyone about PJ's visits because he knew Gressam would get all indignant and obsessed with killing him.

'The Workshop' was what Atlas had named the back half of The Persephone that was stranded in the middle of the valley below where he had climbed to find his mother and the front half of the ship. He'd used scraps from the wreckage along with wood that Gressam had helped him skillfully cut into planks to patch most of the holes in the hull, create shelves and benches to store tools and supplies, and turn the heap into a respectable facility. Atlas, his mother and Gressam had accomplished a lot over the last year, but Atlas was most proud of The Workshop.

Atlas inched closer to the opening. The rustling had evolved into a scratching on the outside of the hull of The Workshop, just around the edge of the opening. Atlas held his breath and jumped out, hoping to scare away whatever creature was overstepping its bounds.

"Yah!" Gressam cleaved downward with his makeshift sword and caught Atlas' raptor-hide gauntlet as he immediately threw it up in defense.

"Ass," panted Atlas.

"Don't be a baby. I'm toughening you up. You need to work on your reaction time," Gressam scoffed. Atlas holstered his dagger and rubbed his forearm underneath his scraped gauntlet. "How's your magical superhero sword comin' in there? Will it be able to fly us back home?" Gressam pretended to crane his neck to peek at Atlas' workbench behind him and laughed.

"It'll cut your sword in half when it's done. What do you want?" Gressam hesitated after Atlas said that. He trusted the boy's words enough knowing he survived alone for 2 years, but never really asked about his sword project. He'd only gotten vague hints from Atlas that the native metal- the metal Gressam's own sword was made out of- was relatively weak.

"Fireworks are coming soon. Your mom wants you to come up and watch," Gressam was already walking away by the time he finished delivering his message. It was true that Atlas had been spending a lot of time down in The Workshop. As grateful as Atlas was to be reunited with his mom and finally make it back to the crash site, Atlas also realized his mind was most at ease when he was working on a project. It distracted him. He came to The Workshop to work on whatever he could think of while his mom usually remained up at the camp. Gressam enjoyed hunting rhinos for probably the same reasons as Atlas liked working on projects, so he was usually out of sight as well. Atlas couldn't complain about that.

Atlas walked back into The Workshop and grabbed his helmet. They had been building barriers along the path between The Workshop and the stairs to camp for months now, but Atlas always wore his raptor armor when he descended into the valley. It was as much for his own protection as it was a sign of respect to any creatures that might be watching. He couldn't be sure, but he felt like if he respected their power they'd respect his. He picked up AGS-9's leg off the workbench he'd been using and put it on a shelf behind him. Atlas was working on a weapon to replace the axe made from AGS-9's arm that he had survived with since the beginning. He wanted it to be perfect though, so Atlas was taking his time in preparing: practicing on logs, sketching plans over and over, and etching the metal leg very slowly. It was going to be perfect.

As Atlas stepped outside he looked up to see a very tiny hole in the sky as the clouds began parting. It was about an hour away. There was a still-functioning clock on The Persephone and Atlas' mom explained how this phenomenon of the clearing of the sky was occurring exactly every three months to the day ever since Atlas' alleged rescue ship crashed down in the far distance. There was plenty of time to get up to camp and grab a good seat with his mom, so Atlas took a pitstop in the shed.