Derek6630
The world knew Bruce Wayne as many things: a philanthropist, a billionaire, a silent guardian in the dark. But Atlas knew him as a set of rules. A series of cold, calculated decisions that prioritized the "mission" over the boy standing in the foyer of Wayne Manor.
Six years ago, Atlas hadn't been given a choice. While Jason and Richard were groomed for the rooftops-trained in the art of the hero-Atlas had been handed a different fate. He was the one deemed too different, too difficult, or perhaps just too much of a reminder of Bruce's own failures. So, Bruce had sent him to the one place that promised to break a man down and rebuild him into a tool: the army.
Six years. Two thousand, one hundred, and ninety days of "hell."
Now, standing on the tarmac under a bruising gray sky, the transition felt like a physical weight. All around him, the air was thick with the sounds of reunion. Sobbing mothers, laughing wives, children screaming as they collided with their fathers' camouflaged chests.
Atlas didn't move. He stood at attention, his spine a rigid line of steel, his gaze fixed on a point exactly six inches above the horizon. He was waiting. Not for a hug, not for a welcome, but for the one thing he had been trained to survive on.
An order.
"Atlas."
________________________
$-OC
$-Batfam
$-Original
$-Black sheep of the family
$-No ships[for the start of the story]