“I get the feeling you don’t like me much.” Atlas says and she can hear him grinning over the radio. “Sullen isn’t a good look on a woman like yourself.”
Snowman doesn’t acknowledge him. She lights a cigarette and fills her lungs with smoke, tasting the EVE in every puff. He’s right - she doesn’t like him. Revolutionaries have never endeared themselves to her. At best, they’re well-meaning idiots who can’t grasp that there’s a reason for the social hierarchy. At worst, a smokescreen for far more insidious purposes. A dead husband and a fallen empire stand as proof of what can be accomplished when a revolution is controlled and redirected by the elite behind the scenes.
Atlas strikes her as the well-meaning idiot sort, but that doesn’t mean she has to let her guard down. Sooner or later, his revolution will falter and fail, or else she’ll finally see who was behind it. Sinclair maybe. If Fontaine wasn’t dead, she would have put her money on him. He’s just like Jack, the same scheming ugly kind of asshole who doesn’t just want to win, but to see every single other person lose. Or maybe it will be no one she recognizes this time. Maybe there’s no one besides Atlas.
The silence seems to have gotten to Atlas because the radio hisses to life and he doesn’t sound like he’s smiling when he speaks to her. “An even less good look is dead, which is what you’ll be wearing if you don’t surrender now and turn over the contents of your safes. Nobody has to get hurt, sister, not unless you force it.”
There’s a crowd outside her store’s doors. Atlas is among them, somewhere. She picks up her revolver and tucks it into a holster, leaving it open to grab at, while she holds her whip in her other hand. Her veins are thrumming with EVE and she knows for certain that security won’t be arriving to help her this time. This time, it’s all on her.
She presses the call button on the radio. “If you want what’s mine, you’ll have to take it.”
Snowman smashes the radio before he can call back, not wanting to hear whatever it is he’s saying. It’s more for the followers than for her. What she does is slide off her chair and take up a position in the middle of the store. The crowd slams against the doors and she lets herself fade, turning invisible as she lets the whip spools out beside her.
They might take what’s hers in the end, but she’s going to make them pay in flesh and blood first.