#connor lassiter fanfic
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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Seventeen: Returning the Favor
Risa Ward escaped a shuttle destined for her certain, painful death. Connor Lassiter ran away from home before it was too late. Lev Calder was kidnapped. All of them were supposed to be dissected for parts, used to advance a declining galaxy, but as of right now, all of them are whole. Life will not stay the same way forever.
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Connor Lassiter stares at Death. Death stares back at Connor Lassiter.
Dorian Heartland is not an easy man to look at. Connor doesn’t like doing it, but taking his eyes off of this infernal creator for even one moment could offer Heartland a chance to take Connor’s pupils for his own, so he refuses to budge his gaze even one millimeter.
All this does, though, is to give Connor a good look at everything that makes Heartland so horrifically wrong. He can see in the stiffness of Risa’s posture, the flightiness of her breath, that she’s caught on to who this is too, although by this point that would almost be impossible to avoid. Dorian Heartland is like no other man Connor has ever met before, though that might be because Dorian Heartland is no longer made up of any of his original birth parts, nor the secondary parts that replaced him, nor the ones that swapped him out after that. Connor can’t even begin to fathom what iteration of lungs he must have inside someone else’s ribcage– is the fourth generation of blood pumping through his veins, perhaps? The fifth?
Connor wonders what parts Heartland will take from Connor as some sort of grisly hunting trophy. The eyes, maybe. Everyone likes the eyes. Snatching his heart would be a particularly satisfying touch, too. If Connor wasn’t so disgusted by the idea of harvesting someone else’s bits and pieces to keep himself intact, maybe he, too, could see the allure in holding Heartland’s brain in his head, clenching the pink matter between his knuckles and knowing that someone else’s entire life and soul was in his hands.
Well. His and Roland’s. Connor is no better than this grave robber. Even though the switching out of arms was unintentional, Connor still bears the limb and tattoo of another teenager. Does that make him any closer to Heartland? Will it spare him from Heartland’s punishment? No and no, but it does paint a rather more confusing portrait. It would be easier if Connor were totally blameless, of course, but no one in this galaxy ever is. The same chain that breaks our wrists will help us up one day, and then it will kill our best friend and worst enemy in turn. All Connor can do is hope to stay alive, but even now, that seems like one last possibility that’s slipped out of his reach.
Heartland smiles indulgently, taking in the startled looks on their faces. “Now, now. Don’t give yourselves an aneurysm trying to figure out how I tracked you down. I need all of your brain matter to be as functional as possible. You won’t believe the number of potential buyers who have been contacting me in the hopes of getting a piece from the two of you.”
“I’m trying extra hard now,” Connor says dryly.
Heartland has the nerve to roll his eyes like a petulant teenager. Connor wonders if that motion is uniquely Dorian, or if it’s from an actual AWOL who’s still not past his rebellious teenager phase even if he’s landed in the body of someone like Heartland. Regardless, the sudden movement makes Heartland’s whole face bulge unevenly as different sections of skin resist tension with varying rates of success, old and young parts making themselves known. For a moment, Connor swears he can see every piece of Heartland for what it is, can map every seam and stitch, and then the man’s face returns to neutral again and the effect is undone.
“Don’t be sulky, Connor, it does you no good.” Heartland admonishes him.
Connor folds his arms across his chest. “Oh, so you’re going to lecture me before you rip off my limbs? How charitable of you.”
“I’m not ripping off your limbs, that would be my expert team of surgeons,” Heartland clarifies. “Besides, ripping is entirely too gory of a description. Distribution is a perfectly reasonable procedure. The galaxy has ensured that it’s completely scientific, with as little pain to the distributes as possible. You simply must get your mind out of the gutter. Speak elegantly or don’t speak at all, Connor. I don’t want that tongue to be corrupted more than necessary.”
Beside him, Risa narrows her eyes at the man. “Was that little flower bed over there produced in the name of elegant speech, or did you just want an excuse for other people to talk about unwinding without putting words in your mouth?”
She jerks her chin towards a display somewhere beyond them. Connor thinks he remembers her coming from that direction when she’d run over to tell him that they had been caught. He wishes fleetingly that he had been closer, that he’d never suggested splitting up at all, that they had just put themselves first like every other soul in the galaxy seems wont to do, but the dreams evaporate in time, leaving him only the stark reality of having been caught in the pointless effort of trying to save lives.
Heartland chuckles, evidently remembering what Risa’s talking about. “Oh yes, the flowers. The last band of upstarts had the same reaction. I love it when we’re all on one page.”
Connor frowns, wondering if some other group of runaway unwinds had made it here before them to be the ‘band of upstarts’ Heartland referred to. He hadn’t seen anyone in the airspace above them when he landed, and certainly Connor would have heard if someone sprung Heartland’s trap a few standard hours ago, but then it occurs to him that Heartland isn’t mentioning events earlier that day at all.
No, Heartland is recollecting the last group of kids who tried to act as heroes for the galaxy. Connor hasn’t heard of any in a while, but even without the Collective’s propensity for propaganda whitewashing everything into blank silence, the last batch of would-be saviors would have been around decades ago. Heartland could be referring to infinite rounds of kids who didn’t want to die, all stretching back for centuries.
How many unwinds have stood in this exact spot? How many generations of children have tried to kill off Heartland or his policies but failed? Connor and Risa are far from the first, nor, judging by the fact that they’ve already been caught, will they be the last. This cycle will go on forever, as surely as a thousand suns rise and set across the galaxy, as certainly as the never ending rotation of fresh organs from the body of a child into the frame of an adult. Teenagers will rise out of obscurity, challenge the notion that the young should die for the wastefulness of the old, and then they will be struck down all because one man has cheated them of their last resource: time.
Of course Dorian Heartland wins every round. He has the luxury of knowing the full story every time. Heartland knows how the rebellions start, so he can crush them in their infancy. He knows how the last stragglers turn into martyrs, so he can lay expert traps and avoid their attempts to save their friends. Starkey’s little attack may have caught him off-guard, and Connor may have been able to run from him once, but now Heartland has had time to consider their strategies and plan accordingly. Dozens of Connors have tried to make a stand, and Heartland has killed them every time. What is Connor now but one more replacement? Heartland is swapping out another one of his parts: the rebel, the fighter, the loose end in his plans. He’s done it before. He’ll do it again.
Connor feels his stomach roll, low and heavy. He wants to scream and scream until the sickness leaves his body and goes into Heartland, until Dorian Heartland of old-Earth and always having enough remembers what it’s like to crave survival more than anything else.
Instead, he rocks back and forth on his heels twice, trying to force himself to stay under control. He’s got to stall so he has time to plan. Connor can hear slight rustling on the paths surrounding them. The other park visitors are conspicuously not looking their way, leading him to believe that they’ve been planted here to alert Heartland to their eventual presence without tipping off Connor and Risa that anything was wrong. That means everyone here will try to stop them if they run, plus more soldiers are likely on the way. There’s a clear opening somewhere behind Heartland, a path out of the park and into the surrounding streets, but they’d have to get past Heartland first.
In order to give himself an opportunity to conjure up an escape plan, though, Connor needs what he has always lacked: more time. He stares at Heartland, and asks, “How did you find us, then? Did you put a tracker in my blood while you had me in your hospital?”
Heartland scoffs. “And risk damaging the product like that? Certainly not. I will admit, you had me worried when you threw yourself from the window, but as it turns out, I didn’t have to worry. You wanted yourself intact as much as I did.”
Risa scowls protectively. “Don’t act as if you cared about his survival. You just want his pieces.”
Heartland turns to her with an affronted stare. Immediately, Connor wants to say something stupid so the man will focus on him instead. Nothing good comes of Heartland’s gaze, Connor can say that for certain.
“Oh, and you care so much more? Risa Megan Ward, abandoned to a State Home when you were a child. You value the Akron AWOL more than I do? Not just because his survival ensures that you’ll end up alive?”
Risa meets his gaze coolly. “You’re wrong,” she says simply. “I don’t have to prove a damn thing to you. Connor trusts me and I trust him.”
Her expression is completely certain, but Connor swears he still sees her relax microscopically when he adds on, “You can’t turn us against each other, Heartland. Save your tricks for someone who cares.”
Heartland just shrugs. “You’d be surprised how many battle-scarred partners in survival will abandon each other for the opportunity to live. It’s worked before.”
Not for us, Connor thinks decisively. Like every other AWOL before him, he believes at once that the two of them will be the first to actually make it work.
Dorian Heartland ignores this, unaware or perhaps simply not caring that yet another round of teenagers believes that they can save themselves. He’s seen it often enough that it probably doesn’t even register. “No, Connor, I couldn’t track you. I simply had to lay a trap. I was going to ransom your friends from the Graveyard so you’d come to me, but you beat me to it.”
Connor realizes he’s referring to the massacre at the harvest colony. “That wasn’t us,” he blurts out before registering belatedly that he probably shouldn’t give away more than Heartland expressly tells him.
Heartland, however, doesn’t seem surprised by this. “Oh, I know. My men arrived perhaps a few standard hours after you left. They checked the security holos and saw both the attack and your shocked reaction. I must admit, however, that I already guessed it wasn’t you. You two didn’t seem the type for tasteless bloodshed.”
“As opposed to the tasteful bloodshed of unwinding?” Connor fires back. He can see Risa eyeing the exits as well. She’s always been good at planning; so long as he keeps Heartland talking, he gives her more chances to save them. If there’s one thing Connor can do, though, it’s talk. This is fine. It has to be.
Heartland sighs. “You must let go of this unnatural fear of yours, Connor,” he chides. “You don’t run around screaming at cosmic pilots for transcending humanity by exposing people to the horrors of spaceflight, do you? Even though the risks from accidentally entering a wormhole or dying star are far more gruesome than a clinical distribution.”
Connor stares at him, bewildered. “Those aren’t even remotely the same thing. Get better metaphors.”
“If you insist,” Heartland remarks, looking vexingly unbothered by this, “I’ll tell my surgeons to have my next cranial implant come from a writer or a poet. Will that make you feel better?”
Connor wants to tell Heartland in no uncertain terms that something that would make him feel better would involve Connor’s fist going somewhere very nonclinical indeed, but Risa places a gentle hand on his arm, a quiet reminder to cool it, and he manages to swallow back the anger before it consumes him entirely.
“So,” Connor says, fighting the urge to scream, “The trap. It didn’t work.”
Heartland arches a brow dubiously. “Of course it did. You’re here.”
Connor shakes his head, exasperated yet again by the man’s wording. “No, no. The trap with the Graveyard kids. We’re going chronologically. It failed because everyone in the colony was taken.”
“Did it?” Heartland remarks. “Because I still have all of my distributes back with me.”
Too late, Connor realizes that he’s misread the situation again. “Starkey already came back here,” he whispers quietly. “You got them back.”
“Of course I did,” Heartland says mildly. “He fell for the same lie you did. Funny, no matter the technique– blood or bargaining– both of you dropped all of your good sense the moment you heard there were distributes about to die.”
Risa lets out a slow gasp. “You have everybody?”
Strangely enough, Heartland wavers slightly before he answers. “Yes.”
“No,” Connor guesses. “You don’t. Someone escaped. He’s got a big group, someone could have slipped through the cracks.”
At the bright flash of warning in Heartland’s eyes, Connor knows he’s struck it right. Risa grins. “Starkey got away didn’t he? Little starspawn always puts himself first.”
Heartland’s mood has gone sour, and when he starts to move forward, Connor knows that the time for monologuing is over. “It doesn’t matter. He can’t run far. I have you, I have his supporters. All of you will be in pieces by the end of the week. A few hours in between captures makes no difference to me.”
Connor grabs Risa’s hand, throwing himself forward towards the gap he’d seen earlier. Immediately, a few passersby try to block their passage, but they’re both running now, as fast as they can. Connor knocks into somebody as he hurtles back through the park, but he doesn’t check to see who it was. Anyone who isn’t Risa is an enemy now, and anyone in their path will be trampled on their way to freedom.
Something whistles over Connor’s shoulder and buries itself in a nearby synth-hedge. He recognizes the slim dart as he passes, calling out to Risa in between gasps for air, “They’re shooting tranqs at us! Be careful.”
“Always am,” Risa growls under her breath, pulling him around a tight corner.
The tall gate marking the entrance of the park is within sight, and Connor puts on an extra burst of speed, willing them to get there. They can lose the guards in the streets if they have to, but right now, with everyone so close behind them, there’s no way they could last forever.
As he thinks this, Connor hears a tranq gun fire somewhere behind them, plus the whistle as the dart flies through the air. A quiet thunk sounds, and since Connor can’t feel any pain, he assumes it’s another miss, right up until the point when Risa stumbles and starts to fall.
Immediately, he starts to panic. Connor catches her before she hits the ground. As he helps her up, his hands brush the dart sticking out of her shoulder. “No,” he mutters urgently. Connor needs Risa to be able to run. It’ll be tricky to carry her unconscious body as he sprints through the city, trying to shake the Juvey-cops, but Connor has made the last year or so banking on similar impossibilities. For Risa, he might as well stop distribution altogether while he’s at it.
Clutching Risa to him, Connor stumbles through the gate. They’ll get out, they have to. Risa’s body slides from his arms the second before he’s past the twin iron bar doors, though. Already over the threshold, he spins around to retrieve her, but the doors of the gate slam shut in his face. Belatedly, he realizes that Risa is the one who pulled herself free, and it is Risa now who is locking the gate between the two of them, making sure that no one else can get out. More specifically, she is ensuring that Connor cannot get her back.
Connor tugs desperately at the metal bars of the gate, but they don’t budge. Risa has grabbed a synth-vine from the ground and is knotting it around the handles, taking extra precautions to avoid them opening.
“No!” He screams, voice raw. “Don’t you do this to me, Risa. Don’t you leave me. You promised.”
Connor feels like a child begging for something he can’t have. You promised. But they had promised, both of them, they’d sworn they’d either make it out of this alive or die together. Yet here Risa is now, locking herself and the Juveys on the other side of a wall from him.
Risa tries to answer, but already, her words are slurring, her movements impeded as the tranq works its way through her system. “You– you can’tttt– get both of us outt,” she tells him. “Save yoursellllfff, Connnnnnor. Like you did for meee.”
Connor yells that he won’t do it, he won’t, but the Juveys are upon her already, dragging Risa’s unconscious body back from the doors. It’s too late to save her, and as a gate farther down the length of the park opens up, spilling out cops onto the street about half a block from Connor, he knows that he can’t waste her sacrifice, either.
So, hating himself with every step he takes away from her, Connor turns and runs down the street, pushing himself faster and faster. Connor swears that half of his life has been running at this point. He wonders if he’ll ever stop. He wonders if he will ever forgive himself for not being the one to sacrifice himself for Risa again. He wants to tell her that he wasn’t worth this, not at the cost of her, but she can’t hear him anymore.
Connor skids down a series of alleyways. There are guards everywhere, it feels like, breathing down his back and drawing closer to him with every step he takes. Connor pulls himself up a rickety fire escape so he can use the roofline to skirt over a high gate. After that, it’s easier to drop into a new set of alleys, to cling to the shadows, to shove a hand over his mouth to muffle the wild gasps for breath as the cops go thundering past. Connor’s good at hiding, but hiding won’t save anyone but himself.
Connor sags back against the grimy wall of the back alley as reality comes crashing in again. Risa is gone. The Deadmen who managed to escape their harvest colony when Starkey saved them have been captured once again. Connor is well and truly on his own. What can one boy do to save all of his friends from dying?
Heartland would tell him nothing. Connor’s brain is telling him nothing too, but his heart whispers a different story. He can’t give up hope, not now. Hundreds of AWOLs are counting on him to break them out. Even if it kills him, Connor can at least try.
He pokes his head out of the shadow, risking a glance into the relatively dim light of the alleyway. He doesn’t hear anything, nor see any crowds of Juvey-cops waiting on him, so he creeps out a little farther, taking careful, treacherous steps down the alley and into the sun again.
Connor emerges onto a quiet scene. He can see streets unfurling somewhere in the distance. In between them, an abandoned court for some sports game that was too expensive to make it over to the OH-10 sector. Connor pads onto the smooth ground. He can’t tell what material it is, just firm enough to make him feel like the ground is solid beneath his feet, but giving just enough that he won’t risk injury.
Is this what it means to live at the heart of Centerworld? Forget the synth-gardens and false flowers; they can create entire worlds for themselves, custom-tailor planets and star systems to fit their plans. No wonder Heartland could get away with rewriting his physical body. There is no limit to innovation here, and no limit to how much they’ll strip away from the outer systems to make that happen.
Connor makes it halfway across the court before someone calls his name.
“Connor. Long time, no see.”
The words make the hairs on the back of Connor’s neck stand up. He hasn’t heard that voice in a while, but he’d recognize it anywhere. Even from somewhere behind him in the creeping metal tunnels of the Graveyard. Even glitchy and broken up from a security holo. Even now, on a planet that belongs to neither of them.
Starkey.
Connor turns around slowly, hands raising from his sides to be ready for whatever trouble is about to come his way. “What do you want?”
Starkey chuckles. His hair has gotten brighter since Connor saw him last; lighter, closer to gold than red, like a fire that’s heightened to an inferno. Connor certainly feels as if he’s a bit of pitch and charcoal, crumbling away to ash. How is it fair that Starkey had time to sit around and re-dye the locks while Connor was hurling from star system to star system in an effort to save the people he holds dear? It’s impossible. This confrontation was not supposed to happen yet. Connor needs to direct all of his focus towards saving Risa. There is no room in his plan for tangling with Starkey.
Starkey, like usual, does not seem like he cares much about what Connor wants. “That’s rude, you know. I thought you’d have kinder words for an old friend.”
“We’re not friends,” Connor spits. “Not since you had your little show on that harvest colony.”
Starkey’s grin broadens, clearly delighted. “You saw that? I was wondering if you would. Do you have any constructive criticism? I mean, you’re the king for taking down Juveys, you did do it first, but I think I did mine with a bit more flavor. You were never willing to commit. You can’t save the unwinds without willing to do whatever it takes.”
“And butchery is whatever it takes?” Connor asks dryly. “Funny, I thought that’s what we were trying to stop in the first place.”
Starkey’s incandescent smile flicks out in a second. Connor still feels like the manic grin was creepier than the dead stare, though. At least now, Connor knows what’s coming. They’re not friends and they never have been. The sooner Starkey put away the adoring fan image, the better.
“Don’t tell me you miss the doctors who would have unwound us,” he hisses. “They wanted us in pieces, Connor. They would have taken your organs in a heartbeat, and they sure as sunfire wouldn’t be crying for you like you are for them. Niceness won’t get you anywhere. They don’t have a moral compass, so why should I?”
“It’s not just the distributors you have to win over, it’s the entire galaxy.” Connor tells him. “Can’t you see that? No one will agree to stop distribution if they’re terrified of us. We have to convince people in every single star system that we deserve saving, but so long as you’re bombing out harvest colonies, that’s not going to happen. You have to play the long game.”
Starkey’s eyes flash, and Connor is briefly reminded of the flare of the exploding engines back on the Graveyard right before the whole place went nuclear. “No, Connor, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. They’ll only respond to shows of force. If we stay quiet, we’re easy to ignore. Look, right now I’ll give you the opportunity to take it back. This is your chance for redemption. You’ve been afraid of getting your hands dirty for too long. I’ve never been scared. There are no shades of gray, just black and white. You’re with them or you’re with me. Pick who you want to be, Connor, but either way, you’re not walking out of here as anything but one of my men.”
Connor’s breath feels harsh in his lungs, grating against his ribcage. He can’t join Starkey, he can’t, but what if this is the only way? “One of your men? I wasn’t aware you had an army.”
Starkey’s lip curls. “We’re better than that. They’d follow me everywhere. See, I watched you, Connor. I watched you for a year in the Graveyard. I saw what you did. Those kids loved you, even though you didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t wrap my head around why they’d willingly devote themselves to someone who clearly wasn’t willing to go all the way, but then it hit me. Everyone loves a hero. So I made myself one.”
The dots are connecting in Connor’s head, but the picture they reveal is far more terrible than he’d ever envisioned. “That’s why you sent that message through Hayden’s radio frequency, isn’t it? It wasn’t an accident, you wanted the Juvey-cops to find us. You wanted a showdown.”
“Of course I did,” Starkey sneers. “I’d been planning it for weeks. No accident there. The second the Juveys were sighted, I directed all of my closest followers plus a few extra kids towards one of the shuttles that was still docked in the Graveyard. We got out before shots were even fired. After that, it was easy to track down the harvest colony. Once I swooped in and saved the day, they loved me more than they’ll ever love you. Best decision I ever made.”
Connor wants to kill him. “Sentencing hundreds of kids to distribution, destroying the Graveyard, killing the Admiral– that was the best decision you ever made? People died in the riots. Dozens have already been unwound. All so you could get some hero worship.”
Starkey just shrugs. “Every battle has its casualties. We’re still alive, aren’t we? I knew you would pull through anyway. I hate to say it, but I was counting on it. I always use you to spring the trap. I slipped up this time, I tried to free the kids first, but next time I’ll let you challenge that weirdo before me so I can get it right.”
“What do you mean, next time?” Connor asks, voice tightening. “Just what are you planning?”
Starkey spreads his arms theatrically. “I’m ending it. No more distribution. It was one thing to take out a harvest colony, but with the amount of explosives I’ve got on my ship, I could take out this whole damn city.”
Connor tenses up. “You’re not just targeting the distributors. You want to kill the civilians, too.”
Starkey chuckles remorselessly. “Of course I do. You think I give a damn about Centerworld? Look around you, Connor. Look how much they have that we don’t. This is what they deserve. It’s what we deserve. We’re going to bomb them to pieces. Maybe then they’ll have a deeper appreciation for what it’s like to be unwound.”
“No,” Connor breaks out. “You can’t. He captured Risa. I have to get her back first.”
Starkey lifts a shoulder. “I don’t care, I’m not stopping for one girl. Now come on. You’re either with me,” he says slowly, drifting closer to Connor again, “or you’re against me. Make your choice.”
Connor shakes his head. “I’m not joining you, Starkey. If you’ve been watching me this long, you know there’s no way I’d do anything to risk Risa. You killed my friends. You’re no better than the rest of them.”
Starkey’s face shuts down. “Actually, I was about to say the same thing about you.”
Connor sees the flash of Starkey’s hand to his belt right before the first shot rings out. Connor only just manages to drop to the ground and catch himself in a tight roll to the side. He hears the bullet whistle over his head and realizes that Starkey isn’t bothering with tranqs. Only one of them will be leaving this place alive, and since Starkey is the one with the gun, it isn’t looking great for Connor.
Another shot goes in the ground just a few inches from Connor’s head. He springs to his feet, racing towards the nearest exit. Already, the sound of gunfire is attracting attention: a few heads poke out of nearby windows, and Connor can see the distant silhouettes of passersby pointing out the two of them.
“Stop this,” Connor urges. “I’m not your enemy, you idiot. You’re going to get the Juveys on us again.”
“They’ll only find your body,” Starkey challenges, and fires again.
Swearing violently, Connor throws himself around a corner. The bullet hits the wall, sending forth a shower of sparks and loose debris.
“Come out, Connor, come out,” Starkey calls, his tone a mocking sing-song beat.
Obviously Connor is not about to do this, so he drifts further down the side of the wall. Starkey is just on the other side of him, about to fire again and end it for real, and then his eyes widen and his mouth goes slack with shock.
Too late, Connor peers past him and sees that Juvey-cops have broken into the scene. One is lowering a tranq gun. As Starkey slumps over, Connor can see the dart embedded in his back. Quickly, the cops rush over and restrain him, hauling the boy to his feet. Starkey tries to fight back, but the tranq is slowing him down and it’s easy for the Juvey-cops to get him under control.
Starkey locks eyes with Connor as they drag him away. All of a sudden, his jaw unhinges and he starts to scream at the top of his lungs, spittle flying from his mouth with the force of his yells. “Wait, stop! He’s the one you want, not me! Connor Lassiter is right in front of you. You can get the fucking Akron AWOL. Kill him! Kill Connor! He’s your enemy. He’s the one you want.”
Connor’s eyes widen, and he presses himself further into the shadows. Starkey redoubles his efforts to break free, writhing in the arms of the Juvey-cops even as they pull him farther from Connor. “Get Connor!” Starkey screams again. “You don’t even want me. I didn’t do anything to you. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. Fuck the Juveys. Fuck Centerworld. I’m just a kid.”
Nausea threatens to black him out, and Connor has to press a hand against his mouth to bring himself under control. Starkey disappears down the street, but the rest of the Juveys don’t follow him out of the court. Instead, a few exchange glances, then start to head Connor’s way, evidently wanting to see what Starkey was talking about just in case.
Sunfire. Not what he wanted. Connor turns to run for what might be the hundredth time today, but he has no idea where to go. He’s out of the alleys now. All that’s left is the street lined with luxurious houses, and anyone watching from their gilded windows could tell the Juveys where Connor went. He starts moving anyway, a brisk walk turning into a jog, but there’s nowhere to hide out here.
So he thinks, at least, until a hand latches onto his and starts to drag him away. Connor’s first instinct is to fight, but then he realizes that this mysterious stranger is leading him farther from the cops, not towards them, and he slackens his grip. He doesn’t recognize the teenager, nor the one who joins them half a block down, nor the one at the door of a house who ushers them all through the door and into the relative safety of the building.
Connor does, however, recognize the blond tween who’s waiting for him inside. It’s been a long time since they crossed paths, but when Connor gapes at the boy in front of him, the name that rises to his lips is still the correct one:
“Lev?”
unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes
all tags list: @wordsarelife
#unwind#unwind imagines#unwind oneshot#unwind series#unwind fanfic#unwind dystology#unwind dystology imagines#unwind dystology oneshot#unwind dystology series#unwind dystology fanfic#connor lassiter#connor lassiter imagines#connor lassiter oneshot#connor lassiter series#connor lassiter fanfic#risa ward#risa ward imagines#risa ward oneshot#risa ward series#risa ward fanfic#conrisa#conrisa imagines#conrisa oneshot#conrisa series#conrisa fanfic#connor lassiter x risa ward#connor x risa
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Babs
Hehe
#unwind#unwind dystology#sequel fic#unwind fanfic#unwind series#art#character art#roland taggart#connor lassiter#cam comprix#hayden upchurch#the admiral#unwind oc#risa ward#lev tashi'ne#mason starkey#argent skinner#grace skinner#cyrus finch
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Unwind Au?
Should I start posting my Unwind AU on here?
Like, please, someone tell me before I do it
#unwind dystology#unwind#unwind fanfic#unwind oc#connor lassiter#risa ward#lev tashi'ne#hayden upchurch#argent skinner#grace skinner#mahpee kinkajou#una jacali#camus comprix
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Serial Killer au art for the one and only @nealshustermanbrainrot !!
(dude pls keep writing i love this and ill keep making art for it i promise)
Close ups under the cut
#unwind dystology#connor lassiter#risa ward#hayden upchurch#jasper t nelson#unwind fanfic#been a while since i drew any of these guys#theyre fun to draw :D
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I posted an Unwind AU fic! It's from a Ghost!Roland au I made up. Read on Ao3 here
Connor wakes up in a haze, unsure of where he is. His whole body has a dull ache and there is pressure over his right eye. A bandage. The smell of bleach penetrates his nose. A soft and constant beep comes from his left.
He peels his left eye open to reveal a hospital room. His right shoulder aches as he moves his hand over the bed. The sheets are soft and feel as cottony as his brain does at the moment. Blinking the cobwebs from his mind he recalls what he can remember last.
The chop shop. The doors closing on him for what felt like the last time. An explosion. A revolt. And Lev, standing over him. That's all he can remember.
A nurse walks in carrying a chart, "So you're finally awake! How are you feeling?"
"Good," he croaks, then tries again. "How long?"
She glances down, "You've been in a medically induced coma for a little over two weeks."
Two weeks? The way his life has been going over the past year, where everyday feels like an uphill battle, two weeks seems like an eternity.
His mind is slowly catching up to him.
Risa... what about Risa?
He's too tired to mask his desperation. "There was a girl," he says, "She was on the roof of the Chop- the harvest clinic. Does anyone know what happened to her?
"That can all be sorted out later," the nurse dotes.
"But-"
"No buts. Right now you need time to heal-and I have to say, you're doing better than anyone expected, Mr. Mullard."
Connor's brain stutters, he must've misheard. "Excuse me?"
The nurse shuffles things around, "Just relax now, Mr. Mullard. Let us handle everything."
His first thought is that he's actually been unwound. He was unwound and his brain was put in another body. But realistically he knows that's not right. The voice he hears is his. He can feel his teeth as he moves his tongue across his gums. He can feel his unkempt hair on his head.
"My name is Connor," he tells her. "Connor Lassiter."
The nurse gives him a mysterious look. One filled with kindness and a deep sense of knowing. It's calculating- disturbingly so. "Well," she says, "as it so happens, an ID with the picture charred off was found in the wreckage. It belonged to a nineteen-year-old guard by the name of Elvis Robert Mullard. With all the confusion after the blast there really was no telling who was who, and many of us agreed that it would be a shame to let that ID go to waste, don't you agree?" She changes the angle of Connor's bed until he's in a more comfortable sitting position and looks into his eye. "Now tell me," she asks carefully, "What was your name again?"
Connor gets it. He closes his eye, takes a deep breath, and opens it again.
"My name is E. Robert Mullard."
The nurse smiles widely and reaches out her hand to shake his. "A pleasure to meet you, Robert."
Instinctively Connor reaches his right hand to reciprocate and gets that same ache in his shoulder.
"Sorry," she says quickly. "My fault." She shakes his left hand instead. "Your shoulder will feel a bit sore until the graft is completely healed."
"What did you just say?"
The nurse looks like she's been caught saying something she shouldn't. "Well, the bad news is that we weren't able to save your arm, or your right eye. The good news is that, as E. Robert Mullard, you qualified for emergency transplants."
Connor rotates this in his mind, letting it sink in. Eye. Arm. Emergency transplants.
She sighs, "I know it's a lot to get used to. I'll let you be alone while I get your lunch." She heads for the door.
"Yeah," Connor replies absently, having focused all of his attention to the arm. "Lunch. That's good."
The arm has a slightly darker complexion than his skin tone and the nails need to be trimmed. It is more muscular than his left; he recalls reading about physical therapy for this type of thing. He touches all of the fingers to his thumb. His sense of feeling is the same. He flexes the fingers. They flex. He twists his wrist. It twists. When he rotates it a bit farther he sees something that makes him stop. His stomach plummets and he feels a surging wave of panic. He doesn't want to believe it. Connor refuses to even acknowledge it. On his arm is the unmistakable tattoo of a tiger shark.
Still reeling from shock, Connor hears a voice he thought he would never hear again. A voice that, given the arm surgically grafted onto Connor, couldn’t possibly be here at all.
"So," the figure sneers, "the Akron AWOL goes into the Chop Shop and lives to tell the tale.”
Roland is leaning against the wall, looking hatefully down on Connor. But once what used to be a whole boy is now a nightmarish apparition covered in stitches. He could almost be real if it weren’t for the gaping hole where his arm used to be. While there is no blood, the wound seems to emit an inky blackness that Connor cannot tear his eye away from.
“H-how…”
“You did this to me, Connor.” Roland’s glare shoots daggers as he moves closer. Suddenly, Connor is acutely aware of his vulnerability, his logical mind is telling him this ghost can’t hurt him, but his heart doesn’t get the message. The monitor to his left starts screaming.
His mouth opens and closes like a fish, “No! You- you should be dead!”
Roland stops at the side of his bed, remaining hand toying with the cord of Connor’s IV. “Don’t you remember Connor?” A malicious grin spreads across his face, “Unwinding isn’t death.”
Paralyzed Connor watches as Roland silently reaches for his arm. “Weren’t you ever taught to share?”
A nurse rushes into Connor’s room, finally coming to investigate the shrill noise coming from the machine beside him. “Your heart rate is through the roof! Are you all right Mr. Mullard?”
Connor turns to where Roland had been mere seconds ago to find him gone. What just happened? Was that… real?
“Oh, I see you took your IV out! You really have to be more careful next time.” His heart rate slows but his mind fires at full speed. When did he take his IV out?
The nurse pats his hand satisfied that he’s all fixed again and goes to leave. “Wait,” he has to make sure he’s not going crazy, “has anyone been in my room since you left?”
Her smile never falters, “No, hun, just me. If you want to see any of your friends you’ll have to wait till after lunch.”
“What drugs did they give me? Would any, um, cause hallucinations?” Her picture-perfect smile wavers, probably rethinking her decision to save some kid who turned out to be a nutcase. “It could be a side-effect from your coma. The brain often tries to fill in gaps or create its own explanations when recovering from a trauma like this. It should wear off after a good sleep.”
Connor is doubtful more sleep could do him any good. He just slept for two weeks straight after all, but he doesn’t want to be here any longer than he needs to be by convincing people he’s insane. He returns a smile to the nurse, “You’re right Doc, thank you.”
—--------
After a hearty lunch of jello and chicken soup, Connor is finally allowed to leave his room to see Risa.
The nurse leads him to her room, most likely glad to be rid of him for a few minutes, and he lingers in the doorway. Risa is in a bed that reminds him more of a dentist’s chair. There are pins and rods supporting her up that Connor recognizes as signs of paralysis, something he’s only read about in textbooks heralding unwinding as the solution to all of your problems. His gut swirls with guilt. Risa didn’t accept unwind parts and she’s much worse off than what he would have been if he hadn’t either. How will he face her like this?
“You have a visitor.” The nurse steps aside and he can see Risa’s face. Her eyes fill with tears and she holds back a sob. “I knew they were lying,” she says. “They said you died in the explosion–that you were trapped in the building–but I saw you outside, I knew they were lying.”
“I probably would have died,” Connor says, “but Lev stopped the bleeding. He saved me.”
They talk of the victory at Happy Jack and the losses taken to get there. He tells her of his coma and new identity. In his happiness of seeing Risa he almost forgets his arm and the demon that came with it until he spots Risa looking at it. He flinches and the bandage shifts, revealing the tattoo. Her breath catches in her throat and Connor turns his head. She’s going to hate me. I mean, how could she not? This arm will always carry him with it.
“Connor…?”
“I promise,” he breathes, “I promise I will never touch you with this hand.”
Risa looks at Connor and he looks back, a broken soul. Connor takes her in, for this might be the last time she will ever want to see him.
“Let me see it,” she says, giving nothing away.
He hesitates, so Risa gently takes it from the sling. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
She brushes her fingers across the knuckles of that hand, and her voice is quiet, “Can you feel that?”
He nods. He watches her lift the hand to her face, the palm against her cheek, and she holds it there. When she lets go he decides. He decides what this hand will do. He decides its pressure, its direction, and its intent. And he tells himself he always will have that choice, not his parents, not Proactive Citizenry, and certainly not Roland. His hand brushes a tear from her face, moving down her cheek, across her lips. He takes his hand away and Risa opens her eyes and tightly clasps the hand in hers. “I know this is your hand now.” When she speaks, there is not a single thread of doubt, “Roland would never have touched me like that.”
She pulls him into a hug and he closes his eyes, sinking into her embrace. This moment is for them, after two eternal weeks of not knowing, after surviving the Chop Shop, after escaping the PC’s grasp, they can finally be teens again. There is still much more to do, but at least they will have each other to rely on.
However, a twitch in his arm shatters the peace, and he opens his eyes. Roland peers back at him from the doorway, watching them silently.Doctors and nurses shuffle about, unconcerned about the boy standing in the doorway, for this is not their fight. Connor realizes he’s the only one who can see him, because whether he likes it or not, they are now connected. He suddenly remembers what Roland said before he disappeared as he feels another uninvited twitch in his arm—Weren’t you ever taught to share?
A/n: I hope you guys enjoyed it! Feedback is always appreciated. Also I have a LOT of thoughts about this AU so let me know if you want me to spill lol
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what I have so far on the splatoon au
Connor will be one of the Agents (any previous agents in splatoon do not exist). I’ll have him be Agent 3–which u guessed it— means he’ll be an Inkling.
Risa will be a fellow Agent although she’ll be an Octoling raised in the Octo army and the schools of the Octolings underground who managed to escape and was found by the Admiral.
The Admiral will be the Captain Cuttlefish of the au and will obviously be an Inkling.
Lev I haven’t decided, I think I’ll either make him a sub species or an Inkling.
Roland will be a fellow Agent BUT I’ll make him a Sharkling (get it??? cuz of the tattoo???)
Roberta will be in charge of Kamabo Co and Cam will be one of the test subjects (thank u @luckytidbit).
SIDE CHARACTERS:
Hayden: Inkling | Argent: Inkling | Nelson: Inkling | Grace: Inkling | Trace: Inkling | Starkey: Octoling | Divan: Octoling or sub species | Una: Octoling or sub species | Sonia: Inkling. |*
*I cannot guarantee I’ll included some of these characters because of I’m not a professional writer and cannot remember to include the characters <3
#still working#rewrote this twice#unwind au#connor lassiter#risa ward#unwind fanfic#unwind dystology#unwind#unwind fic#au
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scary? my god, you’re divine!
ship: connor lassiter x reader
includes: pre-unwholly post-unwind, friends to lovers, pov second person, it’s CORNY. it’s HORRENDOUS. but i’m starving. so here u go fuckers. not beta’d
song rec: diet mountain dew (demo) - lana del rey
wc: 1150
a/n: yeah he might be slightly ooc dunno who cares i felt motivated to write be proud 😔
a lil rushed bc all of my writing tends to be.. was listening to the dt mt dew demo and felt inspired so here we go
also its not mentioned but connor didnt date risa in my fic. because I SAID SO
It was a quiet yet peaceful evening in the deserts of Southwest Arizona, the blazing heat contrasting the softly-lit moon raised high in the glittery night sky.
Life had truly taken a wild turn for you—in just under a year, you were no longer under your parents’ watchful eyes, checking for deceit and harm, but you had landed up in an isolated airplane graveyard with a new life ahead of you (mainly because your parents wanted to toss you away once they had signed the unwind order).
Throughout your rough and stressful escape from the juvey-cops, you also had your best friend, Connor Lassiter.
From the moment you met, the connection between you both was like lightning. He became your closest friend; your partner in crime. He was one of the only people you felt like you could truly be yourself with, and your walls of facade would immediately crumble once he was around.
As time passed, you witnessed Connor's transformation firsthand—his short temper and impulsiveness guided into rationality and intelligence. Though others saw him as merely the legend of the 'Akron AWOL,' you knew the true Connor. He wasn’t like the rumors, no, he was different. He was special.
Throughout the chaos and drama, you stood by his side, no matter what. He was your light in the darkness, the blossoming flower to your stem. You could never admit it to him, but your heart knew; he meant everything to you.
You were with him every second of the journey, no matter how tough and complicated it was. He meant the world to you, even if he was unaware of how you felt.
Completely lost in thought, you were sitting on the grass near the planes, stargazing and letting the peaceful silence fill your ears when a familiar pair of footsteps approached. You yawned and looked up, seeing Connor sit beside you and tilt his head upwards to look at the sky.
The both of you sat in peaceful silence, just watching the stars glimmer in the dark sky, until Connor spoke his thoughts.
“Do I look scary?”
His question caught you completely off guard. Scary? Why would he ask that? You glanced over and scanned his appearance, and oh god.
Connor Lassiter was absolutely perfect.
His soft, caramel-tinted skin looked beautiful underneath the moonlight, and you saw freckles scattered across his bare arms and cheeks like the stars blanketing the night sky. He had deep, tired brown eyes that made him look as attractive as ever. His tousled and messy curls sat prettily on his head, the tangled and sleepy mess more adorable than you’d like to admit. You could see why all of the other ‘whollies’ (as Hayden would call them) would throw themselves at Connor’s feet, because you would too. You’d do anything for him.
And the best part? His ass was fat. Massive. Colossal. Astronomically huge.
I’m gonna forget I even thought about that last part, you mused as you looked back up at the stars and let a soft sigh escape your lips, the warm breeze tickling your cheeks. “You look fine. Why?”
“I feel like people are scared of me.” Connor confided, leaning back on his hands as his eyes wandered across the clear night sky. “Not just because I'm the Akron AWOL, but.. I think it’s because I have all of these scars from the explosion.”
“You don’t look scary to me.” You shrugged, looking up at him and catching his gaze before the both of you looked away and back up to the star-filled canvas in front of you. You felt his hand come down to absentmindedly play with your hair, and your breath hitched. You weren’t.. falling in love, right?
Right?
“I mean, you’ve seen the way people look at me.” Connor sighed gently, his other hand coming up to ruffle his curls. As his fingers ran through his hair, you noticed the light scarring around his cheeks and temple, and it made him look more adorable.
He wasn’t frightening in your eyes, no, he looked divine. But he didn’t know that yet.
“From what I’ve seen, the kids here worship you.” You shrugged once again, yawning and stretching your arms out. The peaceful quiet of the night was almost eerie, and you shook away the thoughts of potentially getting caught. It wouldn’t happen. Not now, at least.
“I know, but some of them look at me like I’d shoot them with a tranq too.” Connor muttered, his other hand coming down to play with your hair too. He was no longer admiring the night sky or gazing at the glimmering stars, his attention was purely on you now. You felt your heart flutter as you felt those cold, calloused fingers stroke your hair with a gentleness you've never felt before.
“Seriously? You don’t look that scary.” You chuckled quietly, leaning your head into his hands as your eyes met his. You noticed a spark of something unfamiliar in his star-filled gaze, and you had to fight the urge to not pull him into a tight hug. There’s something special about him. You just didn’t know what.
“.. You know, I had a dream about you last night.” Connor blurted out absentmindedly, his rosy cheeks flaring up as his eyes darted away from you. You looked up at him in shock, eyes widening as your vision laid upon his features. His expression was no longer relaxed, it was more nervous and embarrassed. You had never seen him like this before, and it was quite endearing to see.
“Really?” You asked, your smile almost giddy as you slowly sat up from the grass, propping your hands behind you and leaning back slightly. You felt Connor’s smooth, cold hands continue to run through and play with your locs, and it was a comforting sensation. You were feeling head over heels, and there was a flame of hope burning within you that he would reciprocate.
“No, I-” Connor stammered out, avoiding your eyes. “Alright, fine. I think I’ve fallen for you.”
The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, unaware of what to do or say. The situation was extremely delicate and fragile, and you were worried you’d ruin everything by letting your thoughts escape your lips.
So, instead, you gently raised a hand to cup his cheek, as his hand laid on the back of your neck, and you both leaned in to close the distance between your lips. The kiss was soft and gentle, nothing too passionate as having sex in an airplane in the middle of a southwestern Arizona desert didn’t sound too enticing.
He pulled away first with a grin, his smile melting your heart as his hands gripped your shoulders gently. “Does that mean you love me back?”
“No.” You replied, although the bright smile and the pure happiness in your eyes said otherwise.
#julysn#julia’s fics .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚#i loev him#hes so silly#connor lassiter#connor lassiter x reader#unwind dystology#unwind#unwind fanfic#unwind fanfiction#fanfiction#x reader#friends to lovers
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Recalled • Part 5 • 38 - Lev
Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 5 Masterlist • Next
Lev sits out on the front porch, spreading his arms wide so that Lawu may crawl on them. By now, it seems like Connor has been radio silent for a year. There’s no secret internet stuff dumb enough for him to figure out, no letters from cousin Carl. At this point, Lev would have actually forgotten about Connor if Elina hadn’t been there to ask him if he’d heard anything.
“Do you think he died?” Lev asks his Kinkajou, Lawu lays himself down, nestling into Lev’s arm.
“I don’t want to think about it either.”
A gust of wind comes in, it smacks Lev’s earpiece against his cheek, and he winces a little before the pain disappears. Many of the qualities he had to learn on the Rez were humility, forgiveness, and patience. Yet it seems like his patience might be running out soon. Before, he would have stayed here peacefully, spending the rest of his days with Kele and the others. But after a while, it seemed like he would always end up in Connor's net somehow. So why not now? Why won’t something come along and face him back in Connor’s direction? Lev sets the sleeping Lawu back in his little house before heading back inside. Every once in a while Lev opens the door to Wil’s room, wondering if somehow his spirit is still in there. Lev thinks Wil would’ve had something to tell him, maybe even Una, but both of them are gone now. Lev always found it funny that Una went to Molokaï with Cam, he supposes it takes two non-clinical minds to help raise 50 Rewinds.
Lev sits down in his room, beading together an ornate necklace for Elina. Somedays Lev likes to think he was born a Tashi’ne, to imagine himself as a young boy running around the Rez. But that’s not how the story goes, unfortunately, Lev was raised for death and had to escape it. Many times he doesn’t think he did, but here he is, breathing, hearing, sitting, and beading together a necklace. After a while, Lev turns to his alarm clock and plays around with it until he finds the radio button. It always first tunes into Arápache’s own radio station before Lev can start upping or lowering the signal. Today Lev looks for a certain radio station, he starts cranking the knob on the back of the radio. It’s a flutter of static between the radio from the Arápache to the Hopi and any other tribe in the surrounding area. Advertisements about upcoming Powwows, they’re quite fun actually, seeing all the Chancefolk’s interesting regalia as they all dance competitively.
Lev knows he’ll get the right radio station, he’s done it before, Hayden’s radio show somehow can get to almost anyone in the world. Even in dictatorships, it will somehow sneak in.
After a while, he hits a radio station playing ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin.’ By Frank Sinatra, a clear sign he’s tuned the radio correctly.
Lev puts the clock back down, continuing his beading, soon enough the music dies down into Hayden’s radio jingle.
“Good afternoon everyone, welcome back! And if you’re new here, Hi! I’m Hayden! Here we talk about information about unwinding around the world. Today we have big news! I’ve just gotten info that Mexico and Hawaii have vetoed the Unwind Bill, and South America is currently considering if they’ll vote back in the bill, I hope they don’t. Unfortunately, we’re still seeing a big influx of American parents travelling with juveniles to Canada. It seems like until we cut off that hydra head it’ll keep swallowing kids.”
Lev pauses what he’s doing for a moment, people are still travelling to Canada to get their children unwound. Lev wonders if even when Canada vetoes the bill will people even stop? Maybe they’ll just find another place to keep the process going. Seems like all that protesting, all that self-immolation, it does nothing. Even when unwinding is over, people will find ways to get it done. If parents aren’t the ones paying shady people, then there’ll be millions of folktales teaching not to go out at night or a part pirate might steal you away.
Lev has been mostly drowning in his thoughts until something Hayden says piques his interest.
“So, there’s this kid Connor knew who now lives on a reservation, his name is Lev? I’ve met him once in the graveyard, he’s the clapper who didn’t clap, there you go! That’s a better idea of him! Anyway, if someone can get in contact with him, or if he’s listening right now, I’d like to talk to him. I’ve got good news.” You can hear a smile in Hayden’s voice as the jingle drowns it out back into music.
Is this it? Did somebody finally find Connor? Lev picks up his phone, careful not to put any typos into the search bar. He rapidly goes through Hayden’s website and dials up the phone number. There are a few empty rings before someone picks up.
“Hello, you’ve reached Hayden Upchurch, h-” “DO YOU KNOW WHERE CONNOR IS?”
There’s a giggle on the other end of the line. “You’re Lev aren’t you?”
Lev blushes out of embarrassment, “Yes, this is about Connor right?”
“Yup, tried to keep it vague enough. I’d hoped you’d be more interested in the news than the first person I told.”
“Who was that?”
“I don’t think you’d know him, but he knew Connor, maybe a little too much. They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer!”
Lev cringes. “So do you know where Connor is or are you just going to do this?”
“Not the small talker? I get it. I’ve found Connor in Marseille, France, he goes by Robert Saltries now.”
“Have you been talking to him?”
“No, I’d get charged for that, and by the looks of it Robert is running an unwind safe house, I wouldn’t want to pull any attention towards him.”
“Right, it’s just, that I feel abandoned, like I’m his friend, and I wasn’t told anything about where he was going.”
“I feel that too, I’m as much of Robert’s friend as you are, and I was never told anything either.”
“You hacked into something to find him didn’t you?”
“A school’s system, it felt wrong, really wrong.”
“I guess he hid himself very well.”
“I guess he did.”
Lev pauses, “If anything ever comes up, you’ll tell me about it, won’t you?”
“Of course!”
“Goodbye, Hayden.”
“Goodbye, Lev.”
And that’s it, that’s all, Lev is no closer to seeing Connor, but at least he knows he’s alive under a different name. Lev gets back to beading the necklace for Elina like nothing ever happened.
#unwind#unwind dystology#unwind fanfic#unwind series#sequel fic#hayden upchurch#lev tashi'ne#lev calder#lev garrity#connor lassiter
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Leadership
Hayden ponders the concept of a leader.
Hayden wasn't a leader.
Oh god was he not. He could manage in a small group, but he had no enjoyment for it. Those weeks he had run the graveyard had been proof to him.
He doesn't like to think back to those times. But he was still somewhat proud of himself for managing to calm nearly 400 angry AWOLS and keep them alive enough for Connor to step in.
Being a messenger certainly helped too. Hayden was never a runner but people liked and trusted him. Which was good. They shouldn't trust Hayden though. A snake is never something you should turn your back on.
Well a snake might not be the most accurate description.
Hayden was manipulative. He was honest with himself about that. But he was manipulative in the way a hostage negotiator was. Rather than the terrorist holding hostages. Same tactics, different motives.
Managing to redirect a bunch of hormonal teenager's anger into something that wouldn't destroy the graveyard was perhaps his finest con yet. It was harder to do, since he was in charge everyone kept their scrutiny on him. But he did manage to cool the flames a good amount.
He managed the minutiae well enough but where he really shined was talking the others down. Controlling the conversation through jabs and snipes. It was almost drunkening to be able to cool a crowd through a few well placed words.
Which is why Hayden isn't a leader. He's too manipulative. Caring more about control of a crowd then anything long term. He knew that. He recognized that that was a really bad trait for any good leader to have.
Humorously , when in captivity of the Stork Brigade, Hayden noticed the same tendencies in Starkey. Which he found amusing to no end.
What was also amusing was Starkey not even realizing how similar they were. He saw Hayden as a braggadocious idiot. Which was his mistake. And then he gave Hayden control of the food. Like an idiot.
Starkey must know how useful food is for morale. For trust. Give someone control of your food and they have control over everyone there. He was in charge of the food for the graveyard after all. Maybe Starkey just didn't think Hayden could pull off the same trick.
He was an idiot that way.
Connor was a pretty good leader. But his earnestness and pervasive teenage angst left him easy to move around. Hayden knew that. He had moved Connor around a lot. Mostly out of the way of incoming trouble.
Connor…
Hayden never asked Connor about the shark on his arm. But when he saw it, He knew immediately.
Hayden never will say to anyone that he liked Roland. If he knew what he almost did to Risa, then he would definitely never say it.
But he didn't know.
And deep down, he liked the guy. A lot of people liked him. He was a natural born leader, even with the insane amount of testosterone induced fury and angst. And Hayden respected that.
And when Connor had come back, his not acquaintance but not quite friend- he had went in for a hug.
And saw the shark.
Blood had drained from his face, and he had stepped back.
He wasn't a leader. He saw what happened to leaders.
Leaders were blown up. Leaders were unwound. Leaders were permanently disabled. Leaders were captured. Leaders were unwound.
So Hayden, who had too much self preservation to save his life, had backed away.
A year later. He had made a similar decision.
To be selfish. To be self preserving.
And now. As Hayden travels the country, Radio Free Hayden airing from various unwilling radio stations, he thinks for a few seconds.
He is not a leader.
He is content however to push the right people in the right direction.
#unwind#unwind dystology#hayden upchurch#neal shusterman#spoilers#unwind dystology spoilers#roland taggart#mason starkey#mason Michael starkey#connor lassiter#fanfic#avis's writing
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More Lassiward Fanfic
Finally worked a bit more on it!!!
Kinda #sorrynotsorry that there is so much fluff at the end
———————–
“Lassiward at the Beach”
He doesn’t remember who’s idea it was, but it was a great idea. The sun beat down on them, making it harder to see the water through the bright rays of sunshine. He realizes he forgot to put on sunscreen, in the hurry to make it to the beach unnoticed by the general public that camped outside his current residence, he forgot it was hot out. Connor just knew he would end up covered in sunburns by the end of the day, he loathed sunburns. He’d definitely had more than his fair share back at the graveyard, but he didn’t loathe the treatment he’d gotten for them back there. Thinking about his favorite pretend doctor, he turned to face his favorite pretend doctor who also happened to be his favorite person in the world. Her head was turned to look at a bunch of pigeons squabbling not to far away from the blanket they sat on, her eyes watched as they pecked at each other as if she couldn’t help compare they way pigeons fight for their food to the way society fights for their parts. The warm breeze that blew off the water tugged at her hair, causing strands to whip at her face to which she pulled back and tried to maintain. Connor found himself wishing she would let her hair blow around her face, it made her look even fiercer than he knew her to be.
Risa turned and caught his eye, hers gleamed as if to say ha, I caught you again!
He didn’t turn away or acknowledge that she caught him staring again, instead he opted to say this: “I forgot to put on sunscreen.”
She smiled at him in return, she didn’t reach into her tote bag and magically conjure up a bottle of sunscreen or a hat or something. She just smiled.
“I know.” Risa told him.
“ And you decided not to remind me or…?”
“ We don’t have any, anyway.”
It made sense,not having any sunscreen. They rarely got to go out in public, especially alone and unprotected like this. They never went outside for long anyway, any public appearances they made were always inside sound stages or filmed somewhere else enclosed.
“We’re so going to be covered in burns, and when we get back, everyone will know we snuck out, it’ll be so obvious.” Risa laughed. Connor laughed too, the thought of them walking in covered in sand and as red as a tomato,denying they left would be comical. It’s not like they could do anything about it anyway, they were the star of the show. That wouldn’t stop them from being mad though.
“What’s even better is we have another big interview on Friday, and it’s a live one! I can just see it- us looking like stupid,awkward tomatoes in front of a live audience.” Connor remarked. He looked at his arm to check for signs of a sunburn forming, oh course he didn’t see a thing. It would be at least a few hours until they showed.
“We’ll be stupid, awkward tomatoes together then. At least we won’t look as pasty white as the last interview.” Risa offered. Their most recent TV appearance was on the Jarvis and Holly Show, and when the show aired, people tweeted these cringey screenshots of them looking as pale as ghosts. That was over two weeks ago, and people still won’t let them live that down.
“Let’s talk about something other than painful sunburns, and pressing interviews.” Connor offered. Risa dug her the tips of her bare toes into the hot sand, not at all flinching from the sudden heat. She rolled onto her back, shifting her beach towel with her body.
“Like what?” Risa says slyly, probably thinking Connor was going to say something playful or witty. Poor Risa, she won’t know what’s about to hit her.
“Like…THIS!” Connor grabbed Risa and put her over his shoulder and began running towards the water. Risa, of course began kicking and doing everything in her power to get Connor to put her down. He laughed at her obviously pissed reaction he loved her, but sometimes you have to toss the one you love into the nearest source of water.
“CONNOR, YOU KNOW I HATE WHEN YOU DO THIS! AH! STOP! OH,NO,NO,NO!”
He went as far as possible down the little dock so she wouldn’t get hurt by hitting the shallow part.With one last laugh, He threw Risa in the lake. She immediately floated back up to the top, fuming, the cold water had not cooled her down like Connor thought it would.
“YOU LITTLE-”
Connor jumped in after her, why let her have all the fun to herself?
“I am so mad at you, Connor Lassiter.” Risa laughed, lunging at him. They wrestled in the water for a few moments before his lips found themselves on her’s. Throwing Risa into the water was most definitely worth it.
“Am I forgiven?” He asked, when they pulled away.
“Maybe, it depends if you’re good at kissing underwater.” Risa challenged. Challenge accepted. He pulled her under the water despite the gravity that pushed them upwards. He struggled finding the location of her lips through the murky water and the tangle of hair. Connor found them and kissed them as long as possible. But defying gravity doesn’t usually last long. Gravity brought them back up, each gasping for air.
“Well, am I good at kissing underwater?” Connor managed. Risa laughed.
“No, you actually suck.”
“Well that’s harsh, you try pulling someone deep enough into the water to be able to properly kiss them before being brought back to the surface. Not to mention how dark it was and the-”
“I’m kidding, wow you take things so seriously sometimes."Risa laughed ringing out her hair with her hands.
"Hard not to.”
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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Ten: Still Here
Risa Ward escaped a shuttle destined for her certain, painful death. Connor Lassiter ran away from home before it was too late. Lev Calder was kidnapped. All of them were supposed to be dissected for parts, used to advance a declining galaxy, but as of right now, all of them are whole. Life will not stay the same way forever.
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At first, Risa can’t even think because of the screaming. She cries and shouts until her vocal chords are raw; past that, even, because when she looks up in a daze some time later, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’s lost the ability to speak altogether. This doesn’t hurt her as much as it should. Who would she speak to if not Connor?
Connor. Connor is gone. It’s been more than a year since she first met the boy, and she was kind of counting on the fact that she wouldn’t ever have to be without him. Connor is her one constant. When she’s on the run from the Juveys, when she’s hiding in the Graveyard, when any trouble comes her way, Risa has always had Connor. Always, until now.
Risa gives her grief one last moment to consume her, then forces herself to snap back to reality. Connor is tenacious. He’ll have found a way out. Connor will have tracked down another hidden escape pod or else made one himself out of spare parts. Maybe he’ll even have forced his way onto one of the Juvey-cop warships and masterminded his way into a one-man coup. He’ll come to her in command of a fully armed battalion, and brush it off as just a bit of fun in his free time.
The thought makes her laugh, and it is this last bit of hope that makes Risa surge forward and take hold of the controls once more. Yes, Connor will have found a way to survive, and he’ll find a way to her again. Until then, Risa must manage to make it out of this tiny escape pod and onto a planet so they can meet up, because they will, and then everything can be okay again.
Risa turns her attention back to the control panel before her. Admittedly, she’s not the best pilot, but escape pods were designed with the knowledge that most people using them had already managed to grievously mess up their original ship, so the layout is exceedingly clear. An infant could manage to make this work, so at this point, it’ll be more embarrassing than anything if Risa can’t figure it out.
In the chaos back on the dying Graveyard, they had set a destination in the navigation interface, but she doubts Connor remembers it. They hadn’t had the time to leisurely peruse their options for the best scenery and general tourism, after all. She’s fairly sure that Connor had just picked the first option that came up on the loading screen. Seeing as Risa still has no clue where they are, and thus has no preference to be sent anywhere else, she decides to stick with that for now.
Risa leans back in her seat, trying to get her bearings. The escape pod has rotated such that she can’t see the Graveyard anymore. Instead, the only sight around her is space, wide and desolate. Connor’s always had a fondness for it, she knows that, but to Risa the vision of that many stars just makes her think of all the places she could hide, all the people she wouldn’t know about. The galaxy is huge. What are the odds that Connor finds her again even if he does manage to make it off of the Graveyard in time?
The fear from earlier threatens to cascade over her again, but Risa puts herself on mental lockdown. She won’t think about it. She can’t. The only option is to assume that Connor survived. She’ll have time to grieve later, but she won’t have to.
A beeping from the nav panel draws her attention back from the precipice, and Risa’s stomach lurches when she realizes it’s flashing red in an alarm signal. Squinting at the fine print, she reads the warning in full, but what she sees only makes her stress heighten, fissuring into her brain like a needle. She had assumed that the rogue chunk of ceiling debris that had put an end to Connor’s escape pod back on the Graveyard had left her pod intact, but it must have clipped the pod after all because the readout indicates that her fuel tank has been steadily leaking this whole time. It’s already half empty now, and she’s definitely not halfway to her target planet, at least according to the live map on the nav readout.
Swearing softly, Risa pokes cautiously at the nav screen until she can find a menu. It’s not too late to change her destination, so she probes around until she finds another option that’s closer to her. It’s quite small, more like a moon than a full-blown planet. More than that, it’s not where Connor sent her, but it’s not like Risa has much of a choice at this point. She’s sure he’d prefer her to land on a different world than to run out of fuel in the middle of empty space and die out in the endless cold.
The pod flies. The fuel continues to drip out somewhere behind her. As both the journey and the power source come increasingly near to the end of the line, Risa grips the armrests of her seat, fingernails digging into the smooth silicate material. There’s absolutely nothing she can do now but sit and wait for either a semi-smooth landing or no landing at all, but the powerlessness does nothing to calm her nerves.
All this time, Risa has always had an option, something she could do: run away, choose Connor, flee to the Graveyard, find an escape pod, but now, in the face of yet another danger, Risa’s hands are tied. Either she dies or she doesn’t, but it won’t be by Risa’s actions. Some would call that a relief, but to Risa it just feels like a cop-out. Shouldn’t she always be able to do something? Dying from a power out of her control after everything she’s been through would be obscene.
She nears the small planet. As the pod enters the atmosphere, its surface starts to heat up. The torn edge of the fuel tank doesn’t take kindly to the sudden air compression. Sparks flare along the metal seams of the pod, sparks that lengthen into ribbons of white hot flame. Risa shuts her eyes and begs anything out there– the stars, the suns, even the Collective in all its self-righteous tyranny– that she will survive this. Her last moments cannot be in a tight metal coffin. Not when there’s nobody here beside her.
A click, a shudder, a jolt; Risa’s fingernails dig so hard into her palms that she’s certain they’ll bleed, but instead of tearing into pieces, the escape pod’s landing gear begins to move into place. The pod’s acceleration abruptly staggers when a parachute unfurls from the top. When Risa dares to crack open her eyes, she sees not the assumed inferno of her death but thick clouds gently drifting past her, which give way to long expanses of flat brown and gray land, like the grain of synth-lumber.
Risa was hoping that the tendrils of flame still playing upon the side of the pod would die out as the metal adjusted to the atmosphere, but no such luck. The second the escape pod touches down with far more shaking than Risa would like, she immediately unbuckles her harness and slams the button for the exit hatch until it creaks open. What lies before her is an empty clearing of barren ground, surrounded on all sides by the rocky fingers of a few occasional stone outcroppings. Not exactly hospitable, but better than the pod.
Dizzy from the shaky landing, Risa stumbles over the mouth of the hatch, head spinning. Peeking out the door, Risa’s heart chills when she realizes that the flames are almost at the cracked fuel container. She has to get away in case it explodes, but walking feels impossible. Risa makes it out of the pod, the landscape swimming before her, and immediately trips on the uneven ground. She struggles to pick herself up, but the fabric and ropes of the parachute have tangled on the ground in front of her, and Risa just can’t figure out how to liberate her ankles from the mess of cloth.
Tugging fruitlessly at the material, Risa’s gaze is jerked away when she spots movement at the corner of her eyes, more than just the black dots swimming in front of her vision with each unsteady breath she draws. She pulls harder at the ropes, but the knots around her legs refuse to come undone.
The shadow in her peripheral vision lengthens into the silhouette of a person. Frantic, Risa tries to stand again, but she falls again before she can get higher than her knees. The figure surges forward and Risa flinches away, certain it’s going to kill her. It stops a few feet away, cocking its head in confusion and what Risa swears is indignance. The way it moves is strange, a little too quick and unpredictable to be fully human. It looks like a person, certainly, but there is something about it that most certainly isn’t right, something that Risa’s addled brain can’t quite piece together at the moment.
It crawls forward on its hands and knees, but slow and deliberate, as if keen to prove it’s not a threat. It raises its hands in surrender, and when Risa doesn’t move anymore, it flicks out a knife and starts to saw at the web of ropes from the parachute. Risa holds deathly still, all too aware that one false move could liberate her legs not just from the clutch of the material but the rest of her body, but the humanoid doesn’t hurt her, not in the slightest. Once she’s free, it puts away the blade with an odd flicking motion, and Risa realizes belatedly that the knife wasn’t a knife at all, but somehow a part of its finger.
Risa coughs, trying to clear her dusty, aching throat. “Who– who are–”
She’s interrupted by the shrieking of collapsing metal from the pod, and both she and the figure turn in unison to watch the fuel container finally give in to the relentless surge of the fire. The figure’s eyes widen, and it lunges forward, grabbing Risa in its arms before sprinting away. It moves fast, too fast, and picks her up as if she were no trouble at all. They’re across the clearing in what feels like a matter of seconds, and the creature huddles behind the cover of a rock face, Risa still cradled in its embrace. She draws one shaky, terrified breath, and then an explosion booms across the space they’d just crossed, shaking the rocks with the force of its fury.
Well, Risa thinks wryly, There goes my future as an escape pod pilot. She wants to think more about the implications of losing her only way out, but for some reason thoughts are very difficult to form right now. The edges of her vision are fuzzy and getting fuzzier. The thing in front of her frowns, starts to position its mouth as if it wants to ask her something, but Risa never gets to figure out if it can. Instead, she’s dropping deep into endless blackness, and Risa Ward feels no more.
She is not dead. That would be unfair. After everything, Risa will not die of exhaustion or trauma from a damaged escape pod or even the destruction of an explosion so nearby. It takes her a while to wake up, though. Her body needs the rest, and wants to cling to unconsciousness for as long as it can before forcing itself to face reality once more. Still, it takes some time before her eyes open completely. There is still much to do, many things to learn, and plenty of ground to cross.
When Risa comes to, she is not alone. It takes her a moment to realize that this is abnormal. She has been placed on her back on smooth ground, and is being watched by a person leaning against a rocky overhang. No, not a person; Risa remembers now, and more than that, she’s able to recognize why this being had unsettled her before the explosion. It’s not that the creature before her isn’t human, it is. Just not completely human.
The figure eyeing her with the same placid gaze is a conglomeration of parts. Many are from humans. Different humans, but humans nonetheless. Both of its eyes are different colors, different shapes. The hands folded neatly in its laps are host to fingers of a variety of shapes. They don’t all line up neatly. The hair on its head switches from burnished copper to dark brown to thick curls. The seams of the different pieces are smooth, practically nonexistent, even where– even where the flesh ends and the metal begins. The figure isn’t just made up of different people, it’s also made up of different materials, flesh and bone but also smooth polymers and curving metal plates. It makes this humanoid a–
“Cyborg” Risa says, surprising herself, “You’re a cyborg.” An amalgamation of living pieces and metal. It might even be made of redistributed limbs, parts of unlucky ferals that ended up in creatures like this instead of supposedly extending the greater life of the universe or whatever lie the Collective likes to push.
Most people would be annoyed if she called them out like that. Instead, the figure just inclines its head in one steady, sedate motion. “Yes,” it says, “I am a cyborg. Android. Robot. Gizmo. Gadget. Not all of those at once, of course, but they’re roughly correct. Almost certain. Not quite true. You can call me what you please.”
Risa sits up a little, frowning at the torrent of words that pour from the cyborg’s mouth. “Do you have a name?”
It tilts its head to the side, considering this. A string of small lights on a metal panel near its left temple turns a deep yellow, almost gold. “I have been called Camus Comprix.”
Risa arches her brow. “You have been called that? Were you involved in the decision?”
Something that could objectively be called a smile graces the cyborg’s face. Its lips turn up, but there is no warmth in the expression. “I was made in a laboratory. Not all decisions involving me, involved me.” It pauses, making the lights by its temple flash a pensive orange, then adds on, a little hastily, “Although I have sometimes thought of myself as Cam.”
“Cam,” Risa repeats, “I like it.”
Cam flashes her a grin of perfectly even teeth. “What is your name? Common practice dictates that questions someone asks should be asked back to them. It is as if we only want to know about others what we most want them to know about ourselves.”
“Or they just want something to call you,” Risa comments.
The lights on Cam’s temple turn green. “Or that.”
He looks at her inquisitively, and Risa remembers to actually answer the question. “My name is Risa. Risa Ward.”
“Ward,” Cam muses. “Patient. Protege. Dependent. Who do you depend on, Risa Ward? You came down in a pod. Do you not depend on anyone anymore?”
His manner of questioning is far more forward than anyone Risa’s met. She has the brief, involuntary thought that if Cam was ever allowed in a room with Hayden, they would be able to draw out anyone’s secrets in mere moments, but the accompanying agony of thinking of any friend she can’t see face to face makes her quickly tuck the idea back away in the darker crevices of her mind.
“I try not to, but that doesn’t always work out for me,” Risa admits. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, actually. We were both on this big star cruiser together but it– I had to leave. I don’t know when he’s coming, but he will be. I need to meet him.”
Cam’s gaze turns from quizzical to piercing. “This was close by, wasn’t it? Local. Nearby. I detected many ships going towards a cruiser just a few standard hours ago.”
Risa leans forward, unable to hide her desperation. “You can sense ships up there?”
Cam nods. “Telescopic lenses. I can see what happened. Spot it. Sight it. That’s how I knew to come find your pod. You were one of the last ones that left, and the only one that came over here. So far, at least.”
Risa’s fingers knit together. “Can you see all of the pods? Did any leave after me?”
As a cyborg, even with all of his organic parts, a being like Camus Comprix will never entirely be able to replicate human emotion. Still, the expression that flickers onto his face reminds Risa a little too much of regret.
“None left after you,” Cam tells her. “If any pods were left, they were not able to escape the inferno that consumed the cruiser.”
He looks as if he’d like to add on several more adjectives about the explosion, but bites his tongue so as to not release the stream of synonyms into the air, clearly out of respect for Risa.
It wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t hold them back, anyway. Risa can hardly hear a word he says afterwards. She’s reeling in shock and deep, grave agony. The Graveyard blew up. She had thought that the Juvey-cops would have left it intact so they could search the place more thoroughly, but the cruiser had been in the process of tearing itself to pieces when her pod launched. It would have been simple for any one of the complex systems to misfire and put the rusting skeleton out of its misery.
Although it seems foolish, Risa can’t help a brief twinge of loss for the ship. That’s yet another home she’s lost, never to see again. Her med bay, kept carefully organized for so many months, is so much space dust now. Every corridor she learned by heart, every secret room she explored with Connor. Her bunk, her desk. It’s all gone now.
More engulfing than the loss of the Graveyard, though, is the loss of Connor. Connor Lassiter is a lot of things, capable of infinitely many daring tasks and expert close calls, but an explosion like that– the Juveys would be lucky if they got out of the danger zone, and they were on fully stocked warships. Connor just had his skin and bone.
Risa is still vaguely aware of Cam somewhere in front of her, watching her closely, so she slowly folds all of her grief back into her heart, tucking it away until the rocks and stones around her come back into focus again. At some point, Risa will be alone again, and then she can let the grief consume her as she pleases. Until then, she’ll just have to keep going.
Roughly wiping the tears from her face, Risa straightens up. “The cruiser is gone, then. Fine. I need somewhere else to go than just this clearing. Is there a city nearby? I didn’t see one when I landed.”
Despite his smooth exterior, Risa swears Cam freezes in place. “There is,” he says at last, “But– it’s not– There are no humans on this planet, Risa. It was never designed with people in mind.”
At first, the thought doesn’t even register. “It’s all natural? That’s impossible. I thought the Collective wiped out all wildlife generations ago.”
The lights at Cam’s temple burn a low, dark red. Anger, maybe, or even the faintest pinpricks of shame. “They did. This small of a moon, though, it would never take to settlers. Not enough space. This town’s not big enough for the two of us. They built the labs instead. They made us, but we didn’t pay off the way they hoped. No cash cow. Didn’t make a killing. No bread on our table. They packed up and moved on. Now we’re all that’s left.”
Risa’s starting to put the pieces together. “Wait, so there are more of you? More cyborgs? And when the scientists who made you changed their minds about what they wanted, they just abandoned you on this moon?”
“Eureka,” Cam says glumly.
Risa blows out a low breath. “That’s terrible. Are they at least sending supplies?”
The raw skepticism on Cam’s face tells Risa all she needs to know. “So the city–”
“It’s nothing,” Cam supplies. “Rusting buildings. Everything is falling to pieces. I’ve maintained myself the best over the years, so I take care of the rest when I can. It won’t last forever, though. Already, they’re falling apart. It’s certainly no place for a human to stay.”
Risa feels a swarm of guilt press against her throat. “What about you, then? There’s nothing here. You can’t hold out forever.”
Cam’s eyes are unsettlingly empty. She hadn’t realized how hard he was trying to keep up his expressions, to stay human, until he let it go. “I shut down. Lights off. Case closed.”
They drift into uneasy silence for a while, musing on that, and then Cam stands up abruptly, his knees and joints flexing seamlessly like they ran on gears instead of muscles. Which, being unable to guess at his innards, Risa reckons they might.
“I will take you to the city,” he announces. “A few of the labs are still intact. None of us like going in there, so they’re in pretty good condition. You might be able to send a signal there.”
Risa nods, taking the hand he offers so she can stand as well. “You’re willing to do that for a stranger?”
“You are not a stranger anymore, Risa Ward,” Cam informs her. The lights at his temple blink a lovely emerald green. “You are my friend.”
The journey is tedious. At this point, Risa’s starting to think that the scientists who abandoned Cam and the rest of the cyborgs must have designed this planet in a lab, too. The ground is perfectly flat, everything coated with a thin film of dust that clings to her shoes with each step she takes. Occasional rock formations pepper the landscape, but for the most part, it’s all the same. In the distance, Risa can make out the skyline of what must be the city Cam was referring to. It’ll probably take at least an hour of walking to reach it, but the air is cool and she’s got interesting company, so the time won’t drag.
Cam asks about how Risa came to be in the pod, and she ends up telling him everything. At first, she had wondered if that was the best idea, but it’s obvious that he would have no way of getting her in trouble for it. Since Cam is pretty much the only thing keeping her alive at this point, she figures a bit of small talk can’t hurt.
It is somewhat fascinating to get to spill her life story like this. Risa’s been around the same people for a year now, give or take the slow rotation of kids in the Graveyard as some age out and others are brought in. Her circle of friends already knows who she is, so she’s never had to explain herself.
Cam, however, is a fresh start, a clean slate. He has no idea who she’s supposed to be, only who she is right now. In a way, it’s kind of nice to be able to decide who she is again. Risa is more than just the smart one, the one who makes the plans. And she’ll prove it now, by making such colossally stupid mistakes that no one would ever think about connecting the past Risa with whatever she is right now.
Cam doesn’t know about her inner turmoil, though. He just knows that she’s Risa, and she’s got plenty of new stories to tell that he hasn’t heard yet, so right now she’s, like, the greatest thing ever. He seems particularly delighted by the idea of the Graveyard, and keeps asking about just how many people were there, just what it was like to wake up in the morning and be surrounded by all that noise. When she describes the gentle din of laughter and conversation that used to fill the halls during break hours, Cam actually closes his eyes and inhales deeply, like he could travel there just by breathing in her words, a figurative file transfer.
“But it’s gone now,” Cam mumbles, brow furrowed. “It blew up this morning.”
“Yes,” Risa whispers. Its absence still haunts her like a phantom limb.
“I can see why you were upset.” Cam tells her. “It sounds like an excellent place to be. So many friends. Allies. Compatriots. All with their own stories to tell about escaping distribution.”
Risa nods. “I am sad to leave it, and not just because it was how I stayed alive. But there’s also–”
“Connor,” Cam supplies. The topmost light in the string by his temple burns scarlet before quickly clearing again.
“Connor,” Risa repeats. Even saying his name hurts. She’s fully aware of the fact that she could go to this city of cyborgs to send out a signal only to be picked up by the Juveys, but even the remote possibility that Connor might hear her is enough.
Cam is silent for a while. “You have other friends than Connor, yes? You will try to reach them, too?”
“I will,” Risa concedes. “Hayden’s probably listening, if he made it out. But Connor is the one I want to find the most.”
The corner of Cam’s mouth flickers into a disappointed frown, and he says no more on the subject. They talk about the city, the lab building they’re trying to find, but the reverence with which Cam had spoken of the Graveyard is gone.
As they draw closer to the city, Risa starts to spot more and more evidence of its decay. They pass the first body about ten minutes out from the border, but a few more appear as they draw ever nearer. Just as Cam said, every slumped figure belongs to a cyborg. Some seem as if they’ve fallen just that morning. Others show signs of having given out quite some time ago, the rotting chunks of mismatched flesh completely erased to reveal solid metal and polymer structures beneath their multicolored skin.
Cam looks away when they pass each one. It occurs to Risa that this is probably like stumbling upon the bodies of his friends. “How many cyborgs are here?”
“The records indicate somewhere around a hundred,” Cam recites. “I have no idea if that number is true. Many of us spread out when the scientists left, though most stayed in the city proper. The rest could be anywhere on the planet. I know the ones who let me help, but many would rather no one saw them go to pieces.”
The shadows of the city fall upon Risa’s feet, and she cranes her neck to stare at the crumbling buildings. There are a few skyscrapers in the very center, but the exteriors are in poor condition. The rest of the buildings around the base of the towering structures are far worse for wear, as if every available material has been harvested long ago. Risa can see houses with missing front doors and broken windows like gap teeth. Everything that hasn’t been nailed down was taken away a long time ago to maintain cyborgs that still corrode by the day.
Cam takes her on a looping, backstreets way to the center. “It’s best if we stay out of sight as much as possible,” he tells her. “It’s too dangerous to go by night, but I don’t know how the rest of us would take to the sight of a human. Keep close to me.”
She follows him down narrow alleys, occasionally hovering in the shadows of a building while they wait for a cyborg or two to pass by before skirting around an intersection. They do their best to move quietly, but Risa swears she can still feel eyes watching her as they plunge further into the rotting city.
Once, they turn a corner to find a cyborg sitting on the ground, leaning against a wall and staring directly at them. Its hair is long and greasy, falling in many-hued sections far past its shoulders. Both of its feet are metal, although the left one is missing several toes, so Risa cannot tell for sure if they were once flesh or merely metal that got lost over the years. She has the absurd mental image of an arguing husband and wife from one of those sitcoms some of the faculty members loved to watch back at the StaHo– Honey, have you seen my toes? I swear I put them right here– and has to bite her lip to avoid hysterical laughter.
The cyborg watches them go, but doesn’t make a move. Even still, they pick up the pace, and don’t let up until several blocks are between them and the metal-footed cyborg. The sun is still relatively high in the sky overhead, albeit sinking more quickly than Risa would like, but the streets still seem gray and uninviting. Everything seems faded and worn, like old holos of neighborhoods that have long since been demolished.
Waiting under a tattered storefront awning for a pair of cyborgs to limp past the street beyond, Risa pivots in a slow half circle to get a better look at her surroundings. There’s a large poster on the wall of a nearby building, and she squints to get a better look. She’s actually seen this before, she thinks, or at least a holo-copy of it in one of her classes in the State Home. It’s an old political design from the early days of the Collective, featuring a man in an old-timey suit holding a test tube and grinning proudly. The text reads, Saving Our Worlds– And Our Neighborhoods!
Risa had to analyze variations of that image plenty of times in history classes, so she’s able to identify the man pictured as Dorian Heartland, the guy who created the Proactive Citizenry. He was a huge supporter of distribution, so obviously he’s not her favorite historical figure, but the guy had a chokehold on the up-and-coming Collective. Without him spreading his pro-distribution propaganda, especially with his massive financial backing, there’s no way distribution would have caught on as fervently as it did.
“Why do you have that sort of stuff out here?” Risa asks in a low whisper, jerking her thumb towards the poster.
Cam follows her line of sight and shrugs, both shoulders rising exactly the same distance in one perfectly orchestrated move. “The Collective payroll made this city. They might just want us to remember their beliefs.”
She wants to ask more about just what that might entail, but he’s already moving on, gesturing for her to stay close, so she brushes it off and keeps going. They’ve got more pressing issues to deal with than the all-encompassing spread of Collective propaganda, namely getting Risa off of this planet before someone or something finds out she’s not supposed to be there.
Risa almost thinks that they might make it to the lab buildings without incident when Cam makes a detour away from the skyscrapers when they’re just a few blocks away.
“What are you doing?” She hisses as they twist farther down sidestreets.
“There’s someone I need to see first,” Cam whispers back. “Trust me, it won’t take long.”
It’s not as if Risa has any other great prospects at the moment, so she fights the urge to scream or run and goes after him. After glancing around to make sure they aren’t being followed, Cam pulls her into a ramshackle building that, according to the long-dead neon sign on the front, was once a beauty parlor.
“Do you want to get your nails done?” She asks Cam, bewildered.
He just chuckles. “I’m seeing a friend. Although I’m sure she’d love to give you a manicure if you asked. She’s very eager to practice her craft.”
Cam shuts the door behind them, reaching somewhere to the side to turn on the lights, which only flicker on with great reluctance. “Audrey?” He calls. “It’s Cam, and I’ve brought a friend.”
There’s a shuffling sound from one of the back rooms, and while the owner of the sound comes over, Risa takes the time to study the building they’re in. This is indeed a beauty parlor, albeit a very dilapidated version. There are old, cracked mirrors in front of high chairs, each one supported by a desk containing broken hair curlers, dusty makeup brushes, and other basic supplies. A cabinet at the close end of the room does indeed hold rows of nail polishes, but judging by the rather volatile smell coming from some of the broken lids, Risa isn’t sure that she trusts her fingers anywhere near the shades.
“Why is there a beauty parlor here?” Risa whispers to Cam. “No offense, but it doesn’t really match the vibe of the rest of the city.”
“Appearances are very important,” Cam mumbles back. “They wanted us to feel like we were real people.”
The last sentence is muttered with undisguised disgust. How infuriating, to be placed in a mock city by your creators like dress-up dolls only to be abandoned the second they were interested in better toys. No amount of hair dye nor dried-up mascara will disguise the fact that this is no real place to live.
The owner of the shop bustles in at last. Her ear-to-ear grin is only highlighted by the lurid pink of her lipstick. Her hair has been carefully teased into a big updo, although it’s starting to deflate unevenly, giving Risa the impression that the cyborg is slowly tilting over. Her entire left arm is replaced with robotic pieces, and even the metal parts change color and texture from shoulder to wrist, matching the patchwork of skin tones on the rest of the cyborg’s body.
“Camus,” the cyborg says reverently, “You’re back! Oh, I knew you couldn’t stay away forever. What can I get for you, sweetheart?”
Cam chuckles as she wraps him in a hug. The cyborg’s metal joints creak alarmingly, but neither of them pay it any attention. “I’m not here for me, Audrey. I wanted to introduce you to a friend.”
Risa’s eyes widen as the sheer force of Audrey’s cheer is directed towards her. “It’s nice to meet you,” she begins smoothly, but she’s interrupted by Audey eagerly beaming towards her.
“Oh, what a dear! Cam, if anyone else in this whole city came up to me with a human girl I’d be absolutely dumbfounded, but this makes complete sense. You’re just quick like that, my boy. Always on top of the trends.”
Risa frowns, not aware that finding a human who crash-landed on your planet was considered a popular trend. Cam looks as if he’s trying not to laugh, and quickly steers Audrey’s attention back to him by speaking up. “Actually, I was hoping you could do us a quick favor. This is Risa. She needs to meet up with some of her friends, but she’s on the run. You wouldn’t be able to help disguise her a little bit, would you?”
Audrey claps her hands together. “A project! I love it. How much can I do?”
“Very little,” Risa rushes to say. “I’m perfectly fine the way I am. I just don’t want to be immediately recognized, that’s all.”
A disappointed frown tugs Audrey’s fuschia lips down into a depressed crescent. “Are you sure? I would love to do a full makeover. It’s been so long since I had a willing customer.”
From the way she’s eyeing Risa, it’s unclear whether that means there haven’t been customers or that there haven’t been victims. Either way, Risa’s not entirely thrilled with it. She sends a pleading look towards Cam, but he just smiles placatingly. “This is a good thing, Risa. If the Juvey-cops are after you like you say, you need a disguise. Camouflage. To go incognito.”
Audrey nods, her head jerking up and down like a puppet on a string. “Very true, Cam. Very true. I’ll go get my things, sweetheart. You’ll be thrilled with the final look, I guarantee it.”
As Audrey disappears into the back of the shop again, Risa turns to Cam. “This is why we’re here? You wanted me to get a disguise?”
“That, and I wanted to say goodbye,” Cam says. His face is quiet, but the lights at his temple are a soft, somber blue. “I’m not coming back to the city when you leave.”
“You’re coming with us,” Risa says, trying not to sound surprised. “No, that makes perfect sense. I couldn’t just abandon you after you helped me like this.”
“I’m not coming with you,” Cam specifies. “I’m just going offworld.”
Risa frowns. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“All of the cyborgs in this city have tags embedded subcutaneously,” Cam says conversationally. “I believe I removed mine, but I can never be sure. I will not risk your endeavor by allowing them to track me while I travel with you. All I ask is for one pod so I can make my way in the worlds. I would like to see the galaxy. I can be a tourist. A traveler. An adventurer.”
Risa nods. “Of course. Anything.”
Cam turns to her with the most hopeful expression when she says this that Risa, for the first time all day, is quite grateful to see Audrey hurrying back into the room, arms laden with supplies. Risa takes the excuse of helping to take some of the products from Audrey to escape the soft, naked longing in Cam’s eyes, and when they’re finished setting everything out, Cam has managed to focus again.
Risa is steered into one of the high styling chairs under the room. Every time she moves, dust is sent showering to the floor beneath her, but Audrey seems not to notice. She bustles around Risa, peering at her face from a position so close that Risa can feel the cyborg’s breath hot on her cheeks. If the proximity weren’t unsettling enough, the fact that each inhale and exhale, no matter when Audrey is moving or speaking, is exactly the same duration, only adds fuel to the fire.
“I think I’ll touch up your hair,” Audrey announces at last. “Lighten it up a little, at least. You’d be surprised what a change of color and texture can do to transform somebody. And then we’ll probably do a pigment injection, too. Just in case.”
Risa freezes. “A what?”
“Pigment injection,” Audrey says crisply, picking up a syringe from the pile of goods she’s assembled and waving it happily at Risa. “It’ll change your eye color. Loads of people have it done.”
Risa wants to ask whether that means actual human beings or cyborgs, because the difference is quite important to her. The syringe looks nasty, with the tip bearing at least a dozen miniscule needles arranged in a circle.
She swallows faintly. “What about if we just do the hair?”
“Nonsense,” Audrey says breezily. “You want to be disguised, don’t you? This’ll work like a charm.”
Risa glances at Cam for backup, but he’s wandered off to the far side of the salon, peering with great interest at a panel of old styling holos. So much for sticking by her no matter what.
Audrey hovers right in front of her, flesh and metal fingers curled so tightly around the handle of a hairbrush that Risa is stunned it hasn’t snapped off yet. “Can I start then, dearie? Can I start?”
Risa nods, but Audrey remains in place, practically vibrating from tension. “Yes,” Risa says, when it becomes clear that Audrey is waiting for approval, “You can start. Go ahead.”
The cyborg sags forward in relief. “Thank you, dearie. Thank you.”
And so begins the strangest makeover of Risa’s life. Technically, it’s the only makeover of Risa’s life, but even without prior experience Risa knows this is uncommon. All of Audrey’s tools bear the marks of age; the brushes are all missing bristles, the combs have teeth knocked out of them like they’ve lost a fight, and even the blow dryer has to be whacked repeatedly against the table before it turns on all the way.
Audrey’s hands shake the whole time, no matter how the cyborg tries to contain herself. At first, Risa is afraid for her hair, but it becomes clear that even with the loss of motor control, Audrey’s makeover skills are nothing to doubt. Even still, receiving the pigment injection takes more than a little bit of trust on Risa’s end.
At the end, though, Audrey wheels Risa’s chair around to face one of the cracked mirrors and Risa is greeted with the sight of a figure that logically has to be Risa but seems like a different girl altogether. The reflection’s hair is lighter, closer to auburn, and falls in highlighted curls past her shoulders. Her eyes are green, but not piercing. The shade oddly reminds Risa of the lights on Cam’s temple when he’s pleased about something, which is a comparison she probably shouldn’t have made, but she can’t help it.
Audrey is poised by Risa’s shoulder, grinning hopefully. “What do you think?”
“It’s lovely,” Risa says honestly. “You’re excellent at this.”
Audrey beams proudly. “Oh, you’re too sweet. I can tell why you and Cam get along.”
Upon hearing his name, Cam wanders back over to rejoin the group. He stares at Risa’s changed countenance, mumbling the expected compliments to Audrey’s labor when asked but refusing to look away. Risa feels her cheeks heat up and breaks the staring contest first by gazing pointedly at the ground until he turns away.
Audrey claps her hands together, sending a low metallic thunk through the quiet salon. “That was so much fun! Cam, dear, you’re next. What’ll it be?”
Cam laughs, the sound clipped and punctual. “I don’t need anything, Audrey. I think we’ll be on our way now, actually.”
Audrey’s face falls. “Really? I can’t convince you to stay any longer? At least tell me you’ll be back soon. I miss your company whenever you’re out.”
The cyborg’s hands sag by her sides, and Risa can’t help but feel a rush of compassion for her. Looking at Audrey in the middle of this desiccating salon, she’s forcefully reminded again of an abandoned dollhouse. Audrey has been placed here with her disintegrating tools and products, a stylist with no clients on a planet with no escape. At some point, the last of her mechanical parts will fail her, and then the salon owner will join the salon in the empty ashes of what had once been a grand experiment.
Cam’s smile is only a smile in name, his eyes bleak and despairing. “Of course, Audrey. I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Audrey assures him, “I’ll just tend to the other clients, then.”
The worst part is that she’s not even sarcastic, but genuinely hopeful that there will soon be others. It hasn’t occurred to her yet that no one else is coming. It hasn’t occurred to her that no one ever will.
Cam takes one last despairing look around him, then ushers Risa out of the salon and into the cold air of the city once more. Even when they’re out of Audrey’s lonely clutches, though, the grief on Cam’s face refuses to lessen.
“She’s been getting worse as of late, but Audrey has always been a good friend to me,” he whispers. Cam glances back at the shop behind them a few times as they go, like he’s trying to convince himself not to return.
“And she’ll still be your friend,” Risa says soothingly. “No one would blame you for wanting to leave. If she knew, she would be happy for you.”
Cam’s expression drops. “Would she?”
Risa can’t answer that, so she waits for them to cross the street before changing the subject. “So, how did Audrey come to be in charge of the salon? Are there other stylists in the area? How’s the competition?”
Cam doesn’t laugh, but the lights at his temple shift from desolate gray to a lighter yellow. “No one else, just Audrey. We were all put here with a task in mind. There’s a doctor, a teacher, a baker. They made the streets and shops and made cyborgs for each task. They wanted to make a real town, and that needs a lot of different types of people.”
Risa glances around at the shuttered windows and locked doors. “I can see that. Where’s your place?”
“I don’t have one,” Cam says coldly. “This isn’t my home.”
Risa frowns. “I don’t get it. If you take care of the others like this, and you’ve got friends like Audrey, why wouldn’t you stay in the city all the time?”
Cam’s face twists. “They don’t like me as much,” he admits. “Said I was too different. Too human.” From the way he says it, Risa can tell it’s not a good thing. “They let me visit in short intervals, but they always get uneasy when I stay too long. I think I remind them too much of the scientists.”
What a terrible fate. Not human enough for the scientists to stay. Too human for the other cyborgs to want him around. Constantly bouncing back and forth between the city and the outskirts, allowed to stay only to help but never to linger. No wonder he wants to leave; Risa is surprised he even takes care of the others despite them consistently rejecting him. That shows his humanity more than anything.
“Well,” she says slowly, “It’s a good thing we’re getting out of here, isn’t it?”
Cam’s lips start to prick up again. “It is.”
They make it to the lab buildings at last. Cam shows her how to sneak in through a back entrance. Although most of the other structures in the area have been pillaged for spare parts, the lab complex is almost pristine save for a thick layer of dust covering anything. Cam tells her that the other cyborgs are afraid of what happened within these walls, which keeps out intruders. It’s a good sign for the two of them, although there’s no guarantee that anything in here actually works.
They search the building methodically for some sort of comms center, anything that might be capable of producing a transmission that could travel beyond the reaches of this star system. It takes at least an hour or two, but eventually they track down a room filled with banks of equipment. Risa’s no expert on communication systems, but after all the time she’s spent around Hayden, her knowledge is at least passable, and that’s good enough for her.
Risa pauses before she begins her transmission. “How do I know this won’t just bring the Juvey-cops down on our heads? They’re probably scouring the galaxy for kids from the Graveyard.”
Cam tilts his head to the side, considering this. “You said that your friend Hayden did a lot of work with communications. Did he have a channel he used? A signal, just for him? If you know the code, we can put it in and send transmissions only on its line. Connor could pick it up too if he remembers it.”
“That’s a good idea,” Risa muses. It takes her a little bit to remember Hayden’s signal, but she manages to plug in the necessary codes soon enough. After that, all that’s left to do is record.
Risa raises the receiver to her lips, breathes out slowly, and presses a button to start. “Hey, Connor. This is Risa. If you can hear me– well, you’re alive, and that’s a relief. I made it out, but I’m stuck on a planet somewhere near the Graveyard. My pod was damaged and I can’t leave, but I can’t stay here, either. I don’t know your situation, but I need you, Connor. I’m on–”
She pauses for a moment, turning to Cam, who’s doing his best to seem as if he isn’t hovering on her every word. “Where are we, again?”
“Molokai,” he supplies. “Outer edge of the H-I star sector.”
Risa flashes him a grateful smile, which Cam eagerly reciprocates, then repeats the name into the receiver. “I’m on Molokai. Find me, Connor. Please.”
Risa stalls on the line, trying to think of something, anything else to say, but the words don’t come. She has no use for long, extended sentences. Either Connor is out there somewhere, alive and able to find her, or she’ll never see him again. Regardless, one more paragraph from her isn’t going to affect either of them all that much.
She presses the button to end the transmission with one trembling finger. Wherever he is, she hopes that Connor can hear her. Maybe he’s coming. Maybe, after all of this time, she can still have him. Only time will tell.
a/n sorry again for the delay, hope you enjoy this chapter! aaa i have been waiting to write about cam FOREVER i was looking forward to this since like chapter three lmao
unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes
#unwind#unwind imagines#unwind oneshot#unwind series#unwind dystology#unwind dystology imagines#unwind dystology oneshot#unwind dystology series#unwind dystology fanfic#unwind fanfic#connor lassiter#connor lassiter imagines#connor lassiter oneshot#connor lassiter series#connor lassiter fanfic#risa ward#risa ward imagines#risa ward oneshot#risa ward series#risa ward fanfic#conrisa#conrisa imagines#conrisa oneshot#conrisa series#conrisa fanfic#connor lassiter x risa ward#connor x risa#space au#outer space au#unwind space au
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Recently finished all my plot notes for Recalled, so here’s some out of context, randomized notes for you viewing pleasures.
these two already have chapters on them, so I’m separating this photo.
#unwind dystology#unwind#roland taggart#sequel fic#unwind fanfic#unwind series#lev tashi'ne#connor lassiter#unwind oc#hayden upchurch
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UnChained plot
Unwinding was made illegal about 5 months ago, as a result families that tithe are going to Canada to tithe their children. The U.S Government passed a law to make the tithing of tithes legal again.
This both angered the people and made the people happy. Tithes who were finally able to live a life were being round up, may it be by safe houses, parts pirates, your local tithing camp, or The Fellowship.
The Fellowship is a movement made by 2 siblings, Andrew Cooks and Hope Cooks. Both tithes of their family, they kicked AWOL at their harvest camp and gathered the tithes there to escape. Andrew, named as "Reverend," has been mostly stationary in the movement. His other branches of power do the dirty work.
Kayden J. Calder
Carson ComPrix
Hope Cooks
Kayden, the youngest of the 4 at 15, has the most power in the central area of the United States. He has all the Christian tithes in his area.
Carson, the oldest at 19, has the lower portions of the U.S he has parts of Mexico and Hawaii as well. He trains most of the rejected Rewinds and Tithes.
Hope, being 16, she has most of southern Canada with her brother. She has mostly Catholic Tithes.
#lev tashi'ne#connor lassiter#hayden upchurch#unwind#unwind dystology#unwind fanfic#unwind oc#risa ward
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I’m a writing a fanfic for the first time so here’s a snippet, would love to hear what y’all think so far!!
Spoilers for Unsouled, Undivided, and a bit of Unbound :P
1; A Radio Broadcast & A Friendship Bracelet
“Hi Hayden, I’m Lisa, big fan and it’s a super huge honor to be calling you!” The caller on the radio says.
Grace Skinner sits by the pool of her mansion fidgeting with an old handmade bracelet. She’s listening to the radio, but not a hundred percent playing attention to it. As always, she’s focused on a plethora of things at once: decorating her house, the puzzle she bought the other day, her friends, and a certain family member she hasn’t in a long while. That is until a certain name peaks and captures her interest completely.
“Anyways I think I might have an idea on where that Argent Skinner guy is,” the radio caller continues, and Grace goes stiff at mere mention of her now long lost brother.
Two years. It’s been two years since Grace has seen her brother Argent. Two years since that fate changing day when Argent locked Connor Lassiter in their old cellar back in Heartsdale, Kanas. And two years since she ran out that cellar behind Connor, leaving her younger brother to fend for himself.
#yup it’s grace and argent again#it’s always these two#critique appreciated!!#:D#unwind dystology#argent skinner#grace skinner#unwind fanfic#unwind spoilers#unsouled spoilers#undivided spoilers
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I'm going on a road trip this weekend so that means I can write during the ride there! Please drop some unwind dystology fic ideas, I'd love to hear them... and maybe write them ;)
#unwind#unwholly#unsouled#undivided#unwind dystology#connor lassiter#risa ward#lev garrity#hayden upchurch#mason michael starkey#fanfic#fanfiction
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more fits!
decided to do more digging and got some waterbender fits for connor
I could barely find any male ones but here are these 🙏
au by @nealshustermanbrainrot
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✞