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Handsome Jack, whether you think he is a corrupt dictator or the best President the Hyperion corporation has ever had, has one of the highest kill counts of anyone. Like, ever.
He blew up bandit camps, shot the bandits that got away, then blew up any civilization nearby to ensure that all the bandits died. He didn’t care about civilian casualties. If you lived on Pandora, you either were a bandit, or you died for the greater good. There was no alternative option. Well, at least not to Handsome Jack.
Now, with the yank of a few cords, Rhys had taken his kill count and surpassed it tenfold. Most people didn’t view him as a murderer. They saw that what he did (destroying Helios) was for the greater good (killing Handsome Jack, but like for real this time.) Some people went as far as worshipping him as some sort of weird Messiah thing. That was a bit of a shock, as if Rhys’s direct causation of all of those deaths was worth the freedom from the All-Powerful Hyperion Corporation.
But wasn’t that how Jack felt? The useless lives of a few civilians was surely worth the safety of the people on Pandora.
Then again, it wasn’t like Rhys went around screaming that he was the one who tore down the base in the sky. Sure, he was glad Jack was out of his head, and yeah, he was glad Jack was gone for good. But a lot of people were hurt by Helios falling, and not just those who were trapped in the compartments or their rooms on the Space Station.
The sight was, frankly, horrifying. Helios began to split from the center, due to the change in the air pressure from outer space... or something. So door frames and walls collapsed, trapping a lot of people right in the rooms they were in. No one survived the crash. Not any that were stuck on Helios, that is.
They burned alive in their beds before Helios finished breaking through Pandora’s atmosphere.
But, naturally, Helios didn’t just happen to land in the middle of the Borderlands. It broke apart as it crashed, hot metal scattering beyond the crash point. Some larger fragments of metal landed in villages, killing people right where they slept, where they thought they were safe in their beds.
And it was all Rhys’s fault, no matter what Sasha insisted. And sure, Rhys was fucked up over it. Sasha insists he should have a mild case of PTSD. If he sees something move in his periphery, it’s definitely Jack. Except, it’s not, since Jack was dead twice over.
When Rhys wakes up in a cold sweat, Sasha gently rubbing his back and asking what he dreamed about, he answers honestly. He dreamed that Jack is back, that Rhys is stuck in that stupid trap door in Jack’s office.
Sasha doesn’t often act soft with Rhys. Their romance is built on the knowledge that Rhys is, in fact, a total dumbass and that Sasha is just too good for him, no matter what she says. But each night he has these nightmares, she nods in understanding, pausing for him to continue.
But that’s all of the side effects of murdering as many people as Rhys has. He realizes that he should probably be sick with guilt over killing those tens of thousands of people. So he tells her he is, and he can almost see the relief in her eyes. She talks him through how he made the best decision he could, how she was sorry, how it wasn’t his fault… all stuff Rhys didn’t need and didn’t care to hear.
Because truthfully? Rhys didn’t give a single fuck. Yeah, sure, lots of people died, and maybe not all of them deserved it. No, not everyone on Pandora was a stupid, filthy bandit, but those bandits that were on Pandora were horrible.
Yeah, Sasha is wonderful and Rhys loves her with all of his heart. Fiona is… a friend, and Rhys loves her too. Except the rest of Pandora doesn’t really mean shit.
After this realization, Rhys bolted upright in the middle of the night, sweating. Sasha comforted him and asked him what’s wrong. Rhys said that he’s scared of Jack. Sasha did her perfect comforting for that, reassuring him that he’s not back, that Rhys did his best, whatever.
Except Rhys was half lying. He wasn’t scared that Jack was coming back, exactly. He more was scared just how much like Jack he’d become.
The following day or so, Fiona, Rhys, Vaughn, and Sasha were talking over lunch. The conversation was pretty mild, most of them weren’t invested too deeply. They were hyper-focused on the delicious meal that Vaughn and Sasha had cooked.
Fiona had said something that Rhys hadn’t heard. It didn’t matter. Vaughn had responded, then finally Sasha let out a loud, chiming laugh. Her laugh was so contagious that Rhys couldn’t stop his smile. That’s when he had a sharp pain in his chest. Anxiety, his brain helpfully categorized. He tried to pretend that he was immersed in the conversation. Apparently he was a better actor than he thought.
Then, a thought latched onto his subconscious with a horrible intensity. Sasha was so wonderful. She deserved better. No, not like Rhys wasn’t kind enough to her, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t attractive enough.
No, this wasn’t an insecurity. This was not a feeling of inferiority.
It was a realization that Rhys, as a human, wasn’t good. Not that he wasn’t kind or wasn’t funny, but that he wasn’t good.
Like when Sasha and Rhys had been on a walk about the compound, and Sasha saw someone who didn’t have any food to eat. Rhys brushed it off without a second thought, not once considering that he was rather wealthy and could help. No, he didn’t think that they were lazy, didn’t deserve the food, or whatever horrible other thoughts could go through a wealthy person’s mind. He just didn’t even consider that he should or even could make a difference in that man’s life.
But Sasha. God, Sasha smiled at the guy. He hadn’t showered in a while and he looked hungry, but looked relatively healthy otherwise. She shook his hand, introduced herself, and brought her back to their house. She helped him back to the house, let him use their shower, cooked a huge meal for him, and gave him money to help him out.
Rhys did his best to help, which pleased Sasha. Even then, he knew that if Sasha weren’t there, he would’ve kept walking. Maybe even think a few of those nasty thoughts. It probably had to do with the cold blooded, cut-throat environment that was Helios and/or it was a difference that he and Sasha developed at birth.
When Rhys finally decided to help, was it because he saw that the homeless man was more than a person in an unfortunate situation and he knew it was within his power to help? Or was it because the person that was helping the man was his girlfriend that he loved?
Rhys didn’t like the answer. Sasha was just good, and Rhys now knew that he wasn’t.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t be, it was that he wasn’t. He could continue to fake it, like he had been. Continue to pretend that he was this super nice dork who loved her. Sure, he was a dork that loved her, but he just wasn’t kind, or generous, or any of those things that she deserved.
The thought loomed over his head for a while. Weeks, maybe a month. He heard Jack’s voice echoing in his head.
“You have a way higher body count than me, kid.”
“You’ve killed way more than me, Rhysie.”
“Pumpkin, you’re a killer. Own up to it.”
“Sasha… does she know that you’re like me? That you’re a heartless company man? Always have been, always will be.”
Jack was right. Well, not Jack, but the Jack in his head. Sorta like his consciousness. The angel and devil on his shoulder. Both were Jack, now, and they agreed. Rhys was a shit human. And honestly, Rhys didn’t feel guilty about it.
What he did feel shitty about, however, was how he knew he had to handle it.
Sasha had started to notice. Rhys was trying his hardest not to act differently, but he was starting to see Jack wherever he went. He’d flinch at touches, do double takes if he thought he saw something, not make as many stupid jokes, and when he smiled it never reached his eyes anymore. He was acting. Lying.
Sasha wasn’t stupid. On the contrary, she was one of the smartest people Rhys had ever met. Not that his other friends, like Vaughn, weren’t smart, but he was horrible at reading people. Sasha was a fucking pro.
She confronted him, asking a million questions about what was wrong, providing suggestions for therapy, suggesting getting a dog… Hell, she’d even offered leaving the safe haven that was Vaughn’s compound if it would help Rhys regain his footing again.
Rhys had tried to explain to her that he was okay and that he could get better on his own. No, that he needed to get better on his own. It didn’t have to be “on his own.” He had to be alone.
Sasha hadn’t believed him, but didn’t press the issue. It didn’t matter if she had. Rhys knew that he had to leave.
The thoughts of Rhys being able to do this alone flooded his self consciousness. Eventually it was the only thing he could think about. Independence from Jack, from Sasha, from Vaughn… He could do this himself, and he would.
The sole way he could truly be independent was if the people who tried so desperately to support him had no way to do so.
He had to leave. He had to pack a bag in the middle of the night and leave without a trace. He could never talk to them again. They were… different than him. Even Vaughn had turned into somewhat of a Hyperion hater, even though not all that Hyperion did was bad.
They laughed about it, Sasha, Fiona, and Vaughn. Laughed about how grateful they were Hyperion was bankrupt. Laughed about how Helios had crashed. Laughed about the same things that made Rhys’s already shitty life fall apart.
It wasn’t their fault, and they didn’t laugh with malice. They didn’t know how much Hyperion meant to Rhys. They would never understand, and they might never even try to. They would never fully be on the same team. And his friends deserved better.
He waited for Sasha to fall asleep. She came into their room, crawled into their bed, kissed Rhys on the cheek. She whispered that she loved him, even though she thought he was asleep.
Seeing how much she cared for him, even with the darkness he knew he had inside him, was almost enough to convince him to stay. Almost. The presence of the darkness was enough motivation to send Rhys packing.
He kissed Sasha on the forehead, packed a bag, and bolted like the coward he was. He couldn’t keep faking it, not even for her. Especially not for her. She wouldn’t love him the same if she knew the truth. That, despite all of the horrible things Jack had done, and despite how much Rhys detested him with all of his heart, he couldn’t bring himself to disagree with him. There was no argument that Jack’s methods went too far, but of all of the planets to bomb and destroy, regardless of the small percent of civilians that were good, Pandora was the best choice.
Rhys walked away from Vaughn’s settlement, ignoring his own “worshippers,” ignoring the questions of where he was going. He scratched at the straps of his backpack absentmindedly and walked, trying his hardest not to cry as he left his friends and family behind. He wanted to tell Vaughn, because maybe, just maybe, Vaughn was still Hyperion at heart as well. Maybe he’d finally understood the politics like Rhys had, like Jack created.
Rhys knew better. Vaughn was always kinder than him, always focused on the greater good. In Dungeons and Dragons, Vaughn played a true neutral. One day Vaughn nonchalantly implied that he was a true neutral, both in the game and in real life.
Rhys always fought him on it. Vaughn was a neutral good, through and through. Rhys had started to blame himself, like maybe because he was a neutral instead of a good, then Vaughn should be too. Because Rhys was the cool one, Vaughn was the nerd.
Rhys used to hope he was good. It looked like their alignments were wrong. Rhys wanted to be the cool, brave hero, like Jack thought he was. Vaughn wanted to be the cool, morally grey antihero. But it wasn’t true.
Jack always insisted that he was the hero in the story and that the Vault Hunters
were the villains. Rhys wasn’t delusional. He knew that Jack was more towards neutral, maybe evil. Sure, he was his own protagonist, but most people wouldn’t claim he was a hero. Rhys was the morally grey anti-hero. He was not one of the good guys and would never be.
Rhys knew that Vaughn was never Hyperion, not really. Sure, he’d helped with the Vault Key idea, but that was because Rhys wanted him to and they needed the money.
Vaughn was an accountant. He liked numbers, math, his friends, video games, pizza, and dogs. He would never be able to understand Rhys. The only reason Vaughn had come to Hyperion in the first place was because that was where Rhys was going, and they’d been joined at the hip since freshman year of college.
Rhys adjusted his backpack again, the stress of the bag and the difficult decision he’d made weighed heavy on his shoulders. He looked back, no longer seeing the dim lighting of Vaughn’s compound behind him. He felt nauseous at leaving Sasha. He’d written her a note. He hoped she wouldn’t feel alone or betrayed. Ideally.
She’d gone through enough abandonment, with her parents and Felix both sucking. Rhys only hoped he’d left soon enough for Sasha to get over him fast. She didn’t deserve any more heartbreak.
He looked at the path ahead of him. It was mostly dust, dirt, dead skags, some dead plants. It looked bleak. He knew that he had the deeds to all of Hyperions assets in his bag. Despite being made of paper, they weighed a lot.
Maybe he’d start up Hyperion again. He knew he could jumpstart Atlas, but Rhys was loyal to the company that gave him everything. Maybe he’d start up Atlas, funnel all of the profits from that into the New Hyperion, and burn it to the ground again, just for fun.
His violent thoughts didn’t come in Jack’s voice like they usually did. The voice that was telling him how to crush his enemies was now his own.
Guess everyone was right, then. Once Hyperion, always Hyperion.