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heliads · 3 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Twenty: The Final Call

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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The nurse in charge of Risa’s last rites is surprisingly cavalier about the whole affair. Probably because she’s been too busy flirting with one of the guards outside to really care about Risa’s personal feelings regarding her own imminent demise. Once the nurse got over the lingering remains of a boy named Starkey still encrusted on Risa’s skin and clothes, she started ignoring Risa entirely. It’s as if Risa is nothing more than a beating heart and breathing lungs.

Then again, to the workers of the Proactive Citizenry, that’s all she’s ever been, ever since her distribution order was signed by the OH-10 State Home. More than a year ago, Risa Ward was marked for death, and now she’s finally about to face her fate. Funny, she really thought she could escape it. Guess it just goes to show that no one can avoid their path, not forever. Not Starkey. Not even Risa.

The nurse cranes her neck to glance at the soldier standing guard just outside the door of Risa’s holding room, and blushes saccharinely. Risa fights the urge to roll her eyes and asks dourly, “How’s the sweetheart?”

“Charming,” the nurse gushes, then remembers that she probably isn’t supposed to be talking to the sacrificial lamb and shuts up.

Risa snorts. “Yeah, I just love it when my future boyfriends are supportive of killing kids. It really brings out the best in both of us.”

The nurse’s eyes narrow, and she deliberately wraps the cuff too tightly around Risa’s arm when checking her blood pressure. “It’s not murder,” she says, “Murder is what you just did to that boy. This is distribution. It’s different.”

Usually, Risa would like nothing better than to engage in a fascinating debate on the true meanings of distribution, but all of a sudden it strikes her that the whole thing would be pointless. Risa is going to be dismembered regardless of whether or not she can argue with one of the Proactive Citizenry’s many nameless nurses. She’d just be wasting her breath, as if that isn’t also going to be taken away from her in a matter of hours.

The nurse smirks slightly when Risa goes silent, evidently assuming that she’s won. In a way, Risa supposes she has. Everyone in the PC has won. All this time, Risa’s been running around the galaxy in an attempt to escape this, yet here she is, having her vitals checked in preparation for the one problem she couldn’t solve, the one trap she couldn’t help but fall for.

The nurse enters something into the records, then unwraps the cuff from Risa’s arm and places it back in her basket of essentials. Her hand moves towards another device, but stalls halfway there when she gets a message, no doubt from her complicit boyfriend out in the hall. The nurse’s face flushes a happy pink when she opens the message, but quickly her smile fades, replaced by an unnerved, tight-lipped stare.

“What is it?” Risa asks, unable to resist.

The nurse shakes her head tightly. “Nothing you’ll have to be concerned with, I can assure you. Your operation will continue as scheduled.”

Risa groans. “Just tell me what’s going on. Like you said, I’ll be distributed anyway. What if my cranial matter is damaged because I’m dying of curiosity when you slice me up?”

She’s not entirely sure if that’s a thing or not, but evidently the nurse isn’t willing to risk her job like that, so the woman sighs and answers Risa. “Apparently, some contraband radio broadcast went out a few hours ago while that boy was being distributed. It told all listeners to meet up here to protest distribution. Ridiculous, I can assure you, but it’s got some of the stockholders worried. The guards have all been placed on high alert, so be confident in the fact that the PC will hold strong.”

Inside, Risa’s heart leaps. The broadcast the nurse was talking about has to be Radio Free Hayden, which means that Connor is still alive and somehow managed to get the Graveyard AWOLs to safety. No one else would have the means of uniting that many people.

If Hayden’s calling the galaxy to arms, that means they must have a plan. Admittedly, Risa would have appreciated it if they could have rescued her first, then maybe sent out the broadcast later, but perhaps it’s harder to break into the PC headquarters than she thinks. Or maybe that’s just the terror in her talking, trying to dissuade her from thinking that Connor and her friends will have enough time to break her out before Risa gets split into a thousand different vials. If they fail, this time there will be no one there to shatter the pieces and put her to rest.

Risa’s lip curls. “I don’t know. I’d tell your little boyfriend that he’ll get slaughtered with the rest when they come to save me. Don’t you know what the Akron AWOL does to Juvey-cops?”

The nurse rears back. “Don’t talk like that, young lady.”

Risa eyes her maniacally. “You already know it’s true,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Even if we lose, they’ll still get to him. Do you think you could still love your boyfriend if he had unwind parts?”

The nurse jams a syringe into Risa’s arm. Risa hisses in pain, but the nurse doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Suns, the nurse is even pleased by prospect of throwing Risa off. “Nothing will happen to Heyward. Don’t be absurd.”

“Tell Heyward to watch his back, or we’ll take it back,” Risa grins.

“Sick, all of you,” the nurse spits. “This is why we distribute kids.”

Risa’s stomach twists. “Every one of us is more deserving to live than you.”

The nurse’s lips thin to the point where they look as if they’ve been stitched shut. She doesn’t answer Risa, instead opting to tighten the restraints keeping her in place, just in case. The nurse takes a few more readings, all the while glancing frantically towards her small holo display whenever a new message from Heyward pings in. For someone who insists that Hayden’s broadcast was nothing more than a scare tactic, the nurse looks awfully worried.

As if catching her looking, the nurse grits her teeth and mutters again, “Nothing is going to happen.”

Just as she says this, Risa starts to hear voices out in the hall, shouts of surprise and confusion. Around the same time, the ground shakes. Risa lurches forward in her seat, kept in place by the restraints and only able to loll around like a doll with its strings cut.

“That doesn’t feel like nothing, does it?” Risa asks, pushing herself back into a sitting position.

The door flies open. A young man in soldier’s fatigues stands in the door, eyes wide like a startled synth-rabbit. “Time to go,” he shouts to the nurse, who wastes no time in abandoning Risa to run to the guard.

This must be the illustrious Heyward of the nurse’s giggles and blushes, but Risa quickly realizes that he isn’t here on official business. “Wait!” She shouts desperately as the pair head to the door, “Aren’t you going to take me with you?”

The nurse doesn’t spare so much as a backward glance towards Risa, shutting the door behind her with a loud click. Risa screams again, a guttural, twisting yell, and thrashes against her restraints to no avail. The building rocks again. Risa doesn’t know what’s going on out there, but it feels as if the whole PC complex is about to be ripped from its foundations. Normally, Risa would have no problem with this, but there is the small issue that she’s still inside it, and if Connor is coming to get her, she would like him to retrieve her, not just her corpse.

The door flies open again. Risa looks to it eagerly– could the AWOLs be inside already, are the defenses here that bad– but instead, she’s just greeted by the sight of four armed guards. They undo the restraints on her chair and start to yank her into the hallway. Risa’s feet give out beneath her when the walls shake again, but other than a slight stumble, the soldiers carry on.

“Wait,” Risa says, suddenly frantic, “Where are you taking me?”

“Last minute distribution,” one of the guards grunts out. “Orders from higher up.”

No. Risa puts her entire body weight into the sole task of trying to get free. She twists and writhes and claws at the guards, hoping to slow them down or otherwise break away, but their grip remains firm. She is carried down the corridor regardless of her attempts.

When they turn around a corner, Risa realizes that she remembers this particular hallway from earlier that day. The door at the far end is marred slightly, its surface blotted by bloody handprints. Risa’s handprints. This is the room where Starkey was distributed, and soon, Risa will face that same fate within those same walls.

As they draw closer, Risa starts screaming again, the words scraping her throat as they’re forced out. No, no, NO, NO. Vividly, forcefully, Risa cannot help but remember Starkey’s last moments outside of the machine, how he had begged and pleaded with her to kill him or otherwise save him from distribution, how his words had lost all sense at the end until the only thing out of his mouth was loud, horrified gibberish. She’s there now, fully mad, absolutely terrified of what is about to befall her.

The force of her screams brings tears to Risa’s eyes, and then she’s sobbing in earnest, tripping over the sound of her begging for her own life. She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want to die.

(No one listens).

They’re at the door now. One of the guards pauses, reaching in his pocket for the key. Risa stares at the dried blood and gore on the surface before her. They’re here. Connor is too late. Stars, she hopes he forgives himself for it, that he won’t spend the rest of his life wondering if there were moments he wasted that, if used properly, would have led him to her in time. She’s wondering this now, and remembering a long-ago conversation with a blond boy named Hayden Upchurch, back when she was safe with friends and thought she might live to die of natural causes, if she would ever die at all.

The boy had asked her a question.

Which is better?

In front of her, the key clicks in the lock.

Death?

The guards ready themselves to pull her inside. She’s screaming again.

Or distribution?

Risa makes a choice right now. Dying is better than this. Dying is better than this. She screams once again, gutturally, and stamps her foot down hard on the shoe of the guard who’s attempting to open the door. Risa’s ears are ringing to the point where she can’t hear anything but the tumultuous beat of her heart against her temples.

And– it’s funny, really, what the power of a stressful situation can do to you. Risa didn’t think she was that strong, but the second she slams her foot against the guard’s ankle, he crumples and falls like a stone. He doesn’t move, just lies there on the ground, pulling Risa down somewhat with him. The guard doesn’t land on the ground immediately, supported as he is by the dense web of arms of the other soldiers. Risa pauses in her escape efforts momentarily, staring with confusion at why this guard has suddenly gone silent. The soldier’s head lolls to the side, and then she sees his empty eyes, the perfect circle of red leaking out from the back of his neck.

The other guards see it at the same time, and start shouting in surprise. They wheel around, dragging Risa with them. She blinks stupidly at the people rushing towards her down the hallway. They’re too young to be soldiers, but they’ve got guns, big ones. They aim at the soldiers around Risa. She flings her hands in front of her face instinctively, as if that’ll do any good to stop real bullets, but she isn’t hurt. The other guards either get killed or take off running, leaving Risa’s attackers to run after them, all except one, who takes her in his arms like she’s a dying synth-dove, and whispers tenderly, “Risa?”

She blinks, and then the face comes into focus. Connor. Suns. Risa chokes and flings her arms around him. Connor holds her close, tighter than he ever has before. She thinks it’s a better embrace even than when they had been separated across the worlds and he had found her in the avenging path of an angry cyborg. One of his hands rises to cradle her head all too carefully, and when he finally leans away, he can’t stop looking at her, eyes raking her body over and over again. There’s a horrified expression on his face, a sick and twisted guilt, and it takes Risa a moment to realize why before she remembers that she’s still covered with the debris of a boy named Mason Michael Starkey.

“No,” she says quickly, “It’s not my blood, Connor. I’m fine, I promise. Look at me. I’m fine.”

Connor breathes out slowly. “But– there’s so much of it–”

He raises a shaking hand to trace at Risa’s cheek, her throat. Risa can feel the uneven stickiness of dried blood on her skin. She must look a fright, but the only thing that matters now is convincing Connor that she’s still alive.

“They unwound Starkey,” she chokes out. “I smashed the pieces so they couldn’t use him. I killed him, Connor. I killed him. Starkey wanted me to save him and I couldn’t.”

It’s strange. Risa hasn’t cried about Starkey since he came out of the distribution machine. When the nurse had expressed discomfort about Risa’s condition, Risa had been proud of what she had done. Once she’s face to face with Connor again, though, all Risa can think about is the horrible, horrible thing she had been forced to do. Sunfire, it must be all he can see when he looks at her. There is no Risa anymore, just some creature in her skin, covered in the gore of what had once been a living, breathing boy.

She waits for him to let go, to take several steps back, to run from her as you would any other monster. Instead, Connor holds her close again, and whispers against her ear, “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.”

Risa is shaking and she can’t seem to stop. “No, you don’t understand. I pressed the button. I did it. All Heartland had to do was stand there and watch. Starkey was begging me to help, and I couldn’t do it.”

If she tries hard enough, Risa thinks that she might be able to float away into the vast and unknowable sky. Her soul could leave this terrible, exhausted frame and find somewhere else to stay, somewhere she wouldn’t have to think about everything that she has done. She could, maybe, except Connor is holding on to her tight, keeping her back on the ground like a tether. She couldn’t leave him if she tried.

“I know you, Risa,” Connor says softly. “I know that you’ve saved my life about a thousand times. I know that I fell in love with the kindest girl I ever met. I know that girl wouldn’t do something like that unless she had no choice. I know that this wasn’t your fault, and I know that we’re going to get out of here now. Is that okay with you?”

Slowly, carefully, Risa pieces herself back together enough to answer in a shallow voice, “Yes.”

Connor smiles. “That’s my girl. Come on, the others will help us out.”

Risa lets Connor lead her carefully back the way they’d come. “I’m confused. How were you possibly able to get in here? Heartland must have a small army of Juvey-cops just in case you tried something like this.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Connor says. For some reason, he’s grinning. “I had to get a large army, just in case.”

Risa frowns at him. “You have an army?”

Connor’s grin broadens. “Wait and see.”

He pulls her to a stop in front of a large window. They look out at the chaos surrounding the PC complex. At first, Risa doesn’t understand what she’s looking at. She can see the Juvey-cops immersed in fights across the area around them, but she doesn’t recognize any of their opponents at first glance.

“Who are those people?” She asks, craning her neck to see farther.

“Everybody,” Connor answers, a trace of raw wonder in his voice. “Bankers and scientists and regular, ordinary, every-day people from across the galaxy. They all heard Hayden’s distress call and showed up. There are hundreds of them, and more show up by the minute. Some of them you might recognize, though. Sonia from the boundary checkpoint. Your best friend Cam from Molokai. Suns, even Lev.”

Risa’s jaw actually drops. “You can’t be serious. Lev Calder is here? The tithe?”

“The tithe,” Connor confirms, halfway to a laugh. “Trust me, I had the exact same reaction.”

Risa shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine how he found you again.”

“You can ask him once we get out of here,” Connor promises her. “My plan was just to get you and then leave.”

Risa nods, but before she can say anything, a voice from down the hall tells them, “You won’t be doing either of those things, Lassiter.”

Risa bites back a scream. Slowly, they both turn around to see Dorian Heartland walking towards them. How is it that he always shows up when they least want to see him?

Connor grabs her arm, tugging her back down the corridor and away from Heartland. She follows him, but the door slams shut in front of their faces before they can make it out. When they pivot and try a different direction, the doors shut again.

Behind them, Heartland clicks his tongue disapprovingly. He holds up a small remote in his hand. “Security systems. You have to love them. When you run a building full of AWOLs, you have to be able to shut down sections of the complex whenever you want.”

Connor pushes Risa behind him. “Let us go, Heartland. You’ve lost.”

Heartland cocks his head to the side. “Have I? Yes, you’ve amassed quite a cult following, but those always die down over time. They’ll lose interest and we’ll be right back where we started.”

“They won’t forget this,” Connor vows. “Look around you. The galaxy is up in arms because of who you are and what you’ve done to us. No one is willing to settle anymore.”

Heartland sighs. “Yes, I must admit that your little exposé of my true identity was vexing, but I can come up with a suitable lie to hide it again. Do you think you’re the only people to attempt to reveal me over the years? I’ve had plenty of practice with making ends meet. I’ll get a new face and it’ll be like none of this ever matters.”

Risa actually snarls at him, her anger coiling white-hot in her throat. “No, you won’t. The hounds are at your door, Heartland. Your time is up.”

Heartland sniffs. “Is it?”

He pulls a gun from his waistband and aims it at Risa. His grip is perfectly steady, and Risa has no doubt that he has centuries of experience that would give him impeccable aim. She drops to the floor at once, tugging Connor down with her. The shot goes right over her ear, cracking the glass of the window. It’s a long drop down to the ground, where the only salvation would be Juvey-cops frothing at the mouth at the thought of re-capturing them.

Not a good end for Risa, then. But– an idea occurs to her. She locks eyes with Connor. “The window,” she says unsteadily.

His eyebrows lift, and she sees that he understands. They stand up shakily, each drifting slightly to the side such that their shadows seem to cut off Heartland like dark pincers.

Heartland laughs bitterly. “You won’t get another window escape, Connor Lassiter. I’ll shoot you before you manage to get that thing open, and there’s nothing to throw and break the glass here.”

“You’re right,” Connor drawls. “The only thing to break the glass is you.”

Heartland’s eyes widen. For a moment, Risa looks into the gaze of an old-Earth man and she swears she sees fear, real fear. It takes a lot to shatter a monument, to reintroduce terror into a man who thinks he’s past such base humanity.

When she and Connor lunge at Heartland, she sees it again. Heartland fires blindly at both of them, but his aim is off when he’s no longer careful and assured of himself. The bullet pings uselessly against the glass, fracturing it further. Risa’s hands connect with the man’s torso and she digs her fingers into the fabric of his clothes. His gun is next to her, and she rips it out of his hand with such brutal force that she thinks she takes some skin off his palm with it. The gun clatters to the ground behind the downed Heartland.

Risa’s fingernails are tinged with blood. Not hers. Not Starkey’s, either. Heartland’s head hits the floor with an audible thunk, but he doesn’t stay there for long. Risa and Connor force him up again, dragging the man down the hall and towards the window. He fights against their hold, but this time the momentum is in their favor, and they make traction before Heartland can shake them.

Risa sees the scene as if in slow motion. One of her hands is behind Heartland’s skull, digging into the snug skin with such force that she can feel the seams of different forced donors beneath her fingertips. The other is on his arm, pulling him forward even as he attempts to fight his way free of them. Connor’s stance mimics hers, except his hand is on Heartland’s throat instead, leaving bloody red crescents as Heartland’s diaphragm rattles for breath. Around them, soldiers and AWOLs streak past, fighting battles intense and totally independent of their own. Somehow, the three of them traverse on, interfered by no one. For Heartland’s claims of a loyal workforce, none of his guards stop to help their boss.

Or perhaps they simply don’t care. Right now, there are no age-old monoliths of distribution glory to be seen. Only an old man forced to his knees by two kids. They say the passage of the torch from generation to generation isn’t always easy. Sometimes, the old ones don’t want to give up control. Sometimes, the kids have to force the change themselves.

Heartland’s breath is fogging up the glass before Risa even knows what’s happening. His mismatched forehead leans against the window. “Please,” he says unsteadily. “You don’t know what you’re doing. We can reach an agreement.”

“No more agreements,” Connor hisses.

“Please,” Heartland insists. “You don’t– you can’t–”

A sick sense of victory taints Risa’s tongue. “Every AWOL begs for life before you unwind them. You never listened to them, why should we listen to you?”

“You children,” Heartland says, licking cracked and bloody lips, “So uncivilized.”

Risa and Connor shove in unison. The window has taken several bullet beatings by now. It doesn’t take much for the glass to break, and the full weight of Dorian Heartland is enough by far. The panes shatter around him as he falls through space. For a moment, he hangs there effortlessly, twisting midair to reach back to them for any sort of salvation, diamonds of glass collapsing around him like the rings of a planet.

Then he falls, and falls ugly and beaten. His body crumples on the ground below. Everyone fighting outside turns to stop and stare. Heartland starts to claw his way up, gaze still fixed single-mindedly on Risa and Connor up above him like a wounded synth-dog.

The first AWOL to reach him steps down hard on Heartland’s hand, sending him back down to the ground once more. Another teenager joins in, then another, then another. Heartland is engulfed in a swarm of tearing, kicking, beating AWOLs in a matter of moments. Risa catches one last glimpse of Heartland’s asymmetrical eyes glaring hatefully up at her, and then even that sliver of skin is gone, replaced instead by the mass of people. There’s one low, choking scream of agony, and then Dorian Heartland goes silent.

The teenagers don’t clear out for a while, and when they do, the lump of flesh on the ground is unrecognizable as a man, let alone a distribution magnate.

“They took back their pieces,” Connor says under his breath.

Risa feels a twisted sort of satisfaction cloud her judgment. “Good,” she says.

Turning away from the grisly scene below them, Risa notices that some of the doors have opened up again. “Guess Heartland’s remote got damaged in the fall. I think we can leave now.”

Connor sighs, an exhalation of something far more grave and terrible than just breath. “I would like to leave.”

They depart together. They’ve collected injuries throughout this whole affair, and limping slightly, they emerge into the bright sunlight of their long-awaited freedom. Risa lets her eyes close against the harsh glare, and when she opens them, a blond boy is walking towards her.

“Hayden,” Risa says gratefully.

Hayden extends an arm, pulling her in for a quick hug before releasing her to Connor’s waiting hand again. “It’s good to see you, Risa. Glad you haven’t been distributed.”

“Right back at you,” Risa says. “Thanks for calling up an army for my rescue mission.”

“Connor insisted,” Hayden replies gallantly. “But of course, I could hardly pass up a chance to do another good speech.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t,” Risa says fondly.

Hayden cracks a grin, then turns upon hearing his name called and heads over to a girl several paces away. She’s got a deep glower, but it fades slightly when Hayden says something to her, probably one of his classic jokes.

“That’s Bam,” Connor supplies. “They’re hitting it off, actually.”

“Are they, or is Hayden just wearing her down with bad jokes and sentimentality until she caves?” Risa asks doubtfully.

Connor chuckles quietly. “Hey, it’s been known to pay off before.”

She looks over at him and smiles. “I suppose it has.”

Risa leans against Connor, resting her head against his shoulder. For the first time in a very long time, she realizes that she’s got nothing more to fear, no immediate concerns.

“What happens to us?” She asks.

Connor hums slightly, thinking. “I don’t know. That’s the best part, I guess. We get to decide.”

Risa likes the idea of that. As it turns out, they’ve got plenty of time to decide.

The fight is not over. It never will be. No one will ever stop looking for reasons to provoke each other, not until the last of the stars burn out, not until all of the ships and outposts and starfights are gone. First blood will continue to be drawn, but for once, it will not be the problem of two runaways from the OH-10 sector. Wars will be waged, and they will be safe. Those battles are not their story. They’re finally out of the books, but not for terrible reasons. Just because they’ve finally found peace.

Some people would say that peace doesn’t make for good stories. Connor and Risa would disagree. For once, their worries will be mundane. If a day goes badly, it’ll be because of something small. Maybe the galaxy doesn’t want to hear about the pitfalls of normalcy anymore, but Connor and Risa do. And they’ll do it as they have done everything since their lives started over again, how they’ll go on living for years and years to come: together.

With Dorian Heartland out of the picture, the Proactive Citizenry lost momentum, and, over time, significant chunks of its influence. Legislators across the galaxy were severely pressured to do something about distribution, and although the Collective initially didn’t seem inclined to change it, the sheer force of the galaxy is something no one anticipated. Laws were passed dropping the age of distribution, and then, eventually, it fell off the map altogether.

This is significantly helped by one formerly contraband and now supposedly historical broadcast entitled Radio Free Hayden. Hayden and Bam poked around the PC complex after Heartland’s death and ended up finding evidence of the Proactive Citizenry working in concert with the Collective to hide scientific progress regarding organ synthesis technology. Turns out, there actually isn’t a need for distribution outside of political control, and hasn’t been for a while.

Once that information was leaked, and a subsequent uproar was kicked up, distribution was obsolete almost immediately. Information never passes quickly through space when you want it, but the universe made an exception this time. Some things are important, like our children. When they’ve gone this far for their right to live, who are we to take it away again?

The galaxy is changing. The Chancefolk are returning to their homes in greater numbers. The veil of Collective propaganda is starting to slip from our eyes, and soon, it will disappear entirely. We have a lot to learn as a species. The galaxy holds many secrets that we’ve overlooked in our mad spree to conquer all of it. Slowly, carefully, we must retrace our steps, and look for the small details that hold the greatest of importance, the most enchanting of lessons.

As for Connor and Risa? Well. Their story is over. It’s a good thing, for once. They’re free. Free of the Proactive Citizenry, free of distribution, free of Dorian Heartland. Free of fear.

And, also, free of us.

a/n: the space au has ended!! thank you all so so much for reading, this ended up being wayyyy longer than i expected but i truly had so much fun writing it + interacting with everybody about it. please feel free to ask questions about worldbuilding/yell at me for creating too much drama, i would be delighted to hear from you. over 103,000 words later, it's been a lovely time. xoxo lisa

unwind tags: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

7 notes · View notes

heliads · 4 months

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Can I request an unwind fic where Connor is the one who gets taken from the Graveyard by Roberta (for propaganda reasons not because Cam likes him) and Rise goes and saves him? I feel like we need more powerful Risa fics! She is badass!

'made it back to you' - connor lassiter x risa ward

masterlist

They had thought it would be smart to take Connor.

That’s what he’s been able to gather, at least. The Proactive Citizenry was willing to incur the risk of abducting one (1) unwind for Propaganda Purposes, and they figured they might as well shoot for the moon and chose Connor Lassiter, Akron AWOL, resident voicebox of a surprisingly large percentage of the unwind community. On paper, it was a brilliant idea.

Connor, however, is not quite the boy people think he is. He doesn’t really like cooperating, especially not with people who’ve kidnapped him from the only home that was willing to accept him as an enemy of the unwinding state. Really, the PC should have figured that out from day one.

Instead, they’re continually learning that lesson with each hour that passes. They gave him a nice room with lovely locked doors and impeccably sealed windows. He’s kept in relative comfort, albeit far beyond the reach of anyone and everyone who could possibly help him. And, to make matters worse, they’re insisting that Connor will film propaganda videos insisting that unwinding is done for the right reasons.

Bullshit. Obviously, he’s not going to do this. The first time Roberta Griswold appeared in Connor’s lux jail cell and asked him to recite a few lines for media purposes, he laughed in her face and told her there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d actually do it. Roberta had the nerve to act surprised, like she genuinely couldn’t fathom why Connor wouldn’t be in favor of stripping teenagers for parts.

She’d tried to reason with him a little, but sorry, no amount of carefully prepared logical fallacies will make up for the fact that unwinding is a terrible thing to do. Connor’s not falling for it. He’s already had plenty of time to debate everything under the sun about unwinding with Hayden and Lev at various times in his life, so Connor is actually quite well prepared for Roberta’s line of reasoning. Who knew that kidnapping a tithe would come in handy?

Roberta was persistent, though. Day after day, she kept coming in, waving that stupid little form he’s supposed to sign to agree to the PC’s demands. Connor had tried to be civil, knowing that any slip up would of course be televised to show how crazy and violent unwinds can be, but after a week he got sick of it and launched a pillow at her head.

He’d been on lockdown after that. No visits, not even doctors, not even Roberta. Clearly, they’re trying to shame him for the loss of control, but honestly, it had felt really good to watch the mass of fabric and feathers collide dully with Roberta’s bleached-blonde skull. When Connor dreams of paradise, it involves soft projectiles thrown at hard-headed sadists.

Connor hadn’t anticipated the Punishment, though. He’d expected consequences ranging anywhere from nameless threats to medieval-type shit like iron maidens (not the band) or thumb screws. Connor doesn’t even know what the hell a thumb screw is. It sounds painful, though, and involves body parts, so honestly it seems pretty well up the Proactive Citizenry’s alley.

Instead of getting beaten around, however, they did him one worse: they sent in the freak. Camus Comprix. Christ. Connor’s seen the guy around, he lurks in hallways like he’s not ever sure of where to go or what to go. His posture vaguely reminds Connor of kids getting their portraits taken during school picture days. Like Cam has been forced into a starched-stiff shirt and told to straighten up a little, put his shoulders back– no, a little more, a little more, now tilt your head to the side slightly– and he’s spending all of his waking hours waiting around for the camera to click.

It’s weird as hell, is what it is, and now Connor has to deal with it. Honestly, he’s not sure if Cam’s sudden presence in Connor’s quarters is meant to be difficult for Connor or Cam, or maybe both. Killing two birds in one stone, you get to shame both your lab-grown boy and the unpleasant one you kidnapped in one go. If Connor ever gets out of here and takes up a position with the FBI, he’d suggest this as a certified interrogation method. Simply take your uncooperative prisoner and lock them in a room with a rewind who thinks he’s witty. You’ll have your answers in no time.

They both hate each other’s guts, that much is certain. Apparently, Cam had been angling to get Risa in here instead, suggesting that she’d be far easier to work with than Connor. He’s got to assume that the PC is wishing they’d followed Cam’s guidance instead. As it turns out, Connor also wants Risa. That’s one thing they’ve got in common, at least.

It’ll be the only thing. Cam visits Connor in scheduled one-hour visits, such as right now. The lock on Connor’s door clicks open, revealing the sullen myriad of expressions on Camus Comprix’s many segments of face.

“Why, Cam,” Connor says flatly. “It’s such an honor to be in your presence. I didn’t expect the pleasure of your company today.”

Cam fixes him with a stormy glare. “Ridiculous. Hogwash. Balderdash.”

Connor can’t help a pleased smirk. “What, you don’t think that your company is a pleasure? You should really work on positive self talk, Comprix. Surely one of the voices in your head has an ego.”

Cam looks like he wants to spit on Connor’s shoes. “I am the only one in my head, and I think that you’re insufferable. Also, that you knew I was coming. I arrive here every day. It’s a routine. Typical. Humdrum.”

“Sarcasm, my friend,” Connor smiles. “They can’t plug that into you in a lab, I guess.”

Cam’s face sours even more than usual. “You can try to convince yourself that you’re nothing like me, but it won’t work. We are the same.”

Connor should know better, but he falls for the taunt anyway. “We’re nothing alike. You’re a lab rat, I’m a real boy.”

Cam arches a brow. “Completely? I can't help but notice that one of your arms doesn’t match the other.”

Instinctively, Connor thrusts his right arm behind his back and out of view. He doesn’t have to look to remember the shark tattoo swimming ominously across the forearm that doesn’t belong to him. Connor didn’t ask for an unwind’s arm after his own was lost in the explosion of the Happy Jack Chop Shop, and he especially didn’t ask for the replacement to come from Roland, one of his all-time rivals. However, he fears that Cam might have plenty of good responses to Connor declaring that he didn’t ask for unwind parts.

Instead, he just glares at the rewind. “That’s only one part of me that I hate. You’re full of pieces that aren’t yours.”

Cam just shrugs, taking a seat on one of Connor’s chairs. Connor feels as if the tide of the argument has switched over from Connor’s side to Cam’s, but he doesn’t know how to get it back. “Say what you want to make yourself feel better,” Cam tells him, “We all know the truth. Who knows, maybe the doctors put a bit more realism in me than you.”

“Shut up,” Connor hisses. “Or I’ll hit you like I did Roberta.”

Cam perks up even despite the threat. “You hit Roberta?”

“With a pillow,” Connor amends. “Maybe I’ll hit you with a brick.”

So much for fighting the ‘violent AWOL’ accusations. Connor’s already reverting back to old-school threats and intimidation tactics. However, seeing as he’s essentially a prisoner, even in a far nicer cell than a juvenile detention facility, Connor feels that it’s his hard-earned right to mouth off a little.

Cam just rolls his eyes. “Then they might actually kill you off. Goodness knows they want to.”

Connor grins, proud of himself. “Excellent to know that I haven’t lost my natural sense of charm yet. It’s not a hostage situation unless my captors get sick of me within a few weeks.”

Cam frowns. “I’m not sure that’s something you should enjoy.”

“And what,” Connor drawls, “This is? Collaborating with the enemy? No thanks.”

Cam looks as if he’d quite like to debate the intricacies of just what ‘the enemy’ could be, but they’re interrupted by the door of Connor’s cell being flung open. In walks Roberta, looking slightly more frazzled than Connor is used to seeing her. Strands of her blonde hair are starting to escape from their usual tight knot, and she’s not even bothering to hide her derisive stare with a pleasant grin, which indicates to Connor that he’s probably outstayed his welcome. Not, of course, that he was ever really welcome at all, but this isn’t a good sign.

Connor refuses to handle this appropriately, opting instead to goad Roberta even further. “But, Doc, I’m supposed to have at least half an hour more with my best buddy over here. You can’t split us up, I can hardly bear the separation.”

This earns him matching glares from both Cam and Roberta. Connor can’t help but wonder if the doctors in charge of rewinding programmed that particular expression into Cam, too, having so much experience receiving it from Roberta.

“Enough,” Roberta says, her voice clipped. “This is a waste. We had hoped you would cooperate on your own, but if you won’t, we’ll turn to other measures. Just remember that we didn’t want to do this. You forced our hand.”

Connor leans back a little. “Wait, what are you talking about?” Maybe he wasn’t wrong to include medieval torture among the housewarming gifts offered up by the PC.

Roberta says nothing, just steps away from the door. Three guards come in, all in military fatigues, and drag Connor to his feet. He’s forced out of the room and down the surrounding corridors. Just before he clears the threshold of his room, he can hear Cam’s voice raised slightly, asking Roberta what’s going on. Roberta, in turn, seems much kinder when speaking to Cam, her voice lilting and gentle like she’s lecturing a pet rabbit or dog. Must be nice to be someone’s pet project. The forced responsibility of someone having to take care of you is more than Connor’s had in a while.

Connor is rudely accompanied to a room down a few halls. He recognizes this place, more so the dozen or so cameras and lights that have been set up facing a chair in the center of the room. Connor is shoved down into this seat, with one guard on each side and behind him, keeping him in place.

Roberta shows up moments later, closing the door with an audible shove. “No more games,” she says directly. “We know where the Graveyard is. We have planes with advanced military capabilities. We will bomb that place to a ruin unless you film the interviews we want.”

Connor rears back. “What the hell?”

Roberta, seemingly anticipating this response, holds up a laptop screen in front of him. On it, Connor watches, horrified, as surveillance footage plays of the Graveyard. It’s shot from a shaky, hazy camera, maybe a drone or something. Connor’s first, desperate hope is that it’s old footage, or staged, but then he sees Risa’s wheelchair roll underneath the shade of a parked plane to talk to someone. Hayden, maybe. Or any number of their friends. Her hair is slightly longer than the last time he’s seen her. Yes, this is recent. Recent enough for this threat to have value.

“You can’t do this,” Connor says stupidly. Of course she can. They’re the fucking PC, and they can do anything from tearing teenagers to ribbons to bombing supposedly abandoned airplane hangars. This is all within her control.

“We didn’t want to,” Roberta says snippily. “It will be a waste of resources and a PR nightmare. However, we need your testimony more. Cooperate and they live. It’s as simple as that.”

This, of course, is a lie. Nothing about this is simple. If Connor does what she asks, he’ll be selling out all his friends. They have no idea that they’re being watched, nor that their lives are on the line. All they’ll know is that the supposedly great Akron AWOL turned them all in for a good night’s sleep and some new clothes. They’ll hate him forever, and they’ll never know that he was just doing it to save them.

“You’ll bomb them anyway, no matter what I do,” Connor forces out. “Even if I film the videos. You’d never let a loose end like that sit. They’ll die anyway, and so will I.”

“They won’t,” Roberta pledges. “We’re the sane ones, Connor. We keep our word. If you sign the contract, we won’t touch them. You can even go back to the Graveyard if you want, although I have a feeling that you won’t get as warm a welcome as you might like. All you have to do is talk.”

“I’ll be lying. Everyone will know it.” Connor says. It’s the last defense he has. All of his arguments are slipping away in the face of this vast and indescribable horror. They’d probably show him the bombing, too, make him watch live as all of his friends are consumed by the explosions. Risa. He’d watch Risa die. Connor hates himself more than anything for even thinking about agreeing to do this, but losing everyone just like that would cut a deeper wound than he’s ever experienced.

Roberta just smiles, kind and sincere. This is probably the look she gives Cam when he argues with her about having to spend time with Connor. “No, they won’t. You’ll make sure they believe it.”

Wordlessly, she offers Connor a pen and the contract. The guards let go of Connor’s arms. They don’t even have to be in the room anymore. Nothing matters, because Connor can’t do a single damn thing so long as they’ve got the Graveyard. Hell, they don’t even have to lock the doors. Connor will jail himself until the day he dies, just to keep them alive.

He signs. Roberta smiles. “See, that wasn’t too tricky, was it? All you have to do is find a way to see eye to eye.”

He meets her gaze hatefully. Connor had thought that he couldn’t hate anyone more than Roland, more than the Juvey-cops who tried to bring him in, but this raw madness in the back of his throat is far, far worse. He wants to rip her to pieces. He wants to– he wants to unwind her.

Connor appears on the news that night. He is smiling and dressed in a new suit. It fits him perfectly. The news reporter asks him about being the Akron AWOL, and if he has any advice for teenagers grappling with the possibility of being unwound. Connor looks directly into the camera and tells these unknown kids to just go along with it. Everything happens for a reason, he says. Unwinding is better than you think. I wish I could be unwound right now.

Only the last part is true.

Roberta chides him about that afterwards. No need to go overboard, she says. Still, she’s pleased, and why shouldn’t she be? The nation’s hottest topic, the most dangerous unwind, is in her pocket. At last, she’s found the way to pull Connor’s strings to perfection. As it turns out, the only thing she had to do was threaten to bomb a couple hundred children. Easy for someone without a heart.

Connor makes more videos. He despises himself more thoroughly than he ever has before. He wonders if Risa is out there somewhere, watching them all, wondering what became of him. He wonders if she hates him too now, if every single kid sees his broadcasts and curses his name. Connor understands at last why the PC wanted him. If you lose faith in your hero, you lose faith in the cause. Connor is nobody’s hero, not anymore. He is a traitor and a coward, and worst of all, he still thinks that the Graveyard will be bombed when the PC tires of him and puts him to rest.

The agony builds in his stomach as the weeks go by. Roberta has been briefing him ceaselessly in preparation for an upcoming news report. It’s quite likely the biggest deal of all of the videos so far, on one of the most popular news sources. It will be live, so Connor cannot afford a single slipup. She’s already reminded him several times of the consequences should Connor disobey. He knows.

He knows.

Connor arrives at the news show headquarters an hour in advance. He shakes the hands of several important journalists and celebrities, and they all nod their heads and say wow, he’s so well behaved for someone who once was a criminal. Connor wants to ask what his crime was, other than living, but Roberta is staring daggers into his back so Connor knows not to screw up before his big performance. He’s pretty used to ignoring hateful glares by now, anyway. Now that Connor’s the new big thing, Cam has somewhat faded out of the limelight. They still see each other, but the mandatory visits aren’t really enforced anymore. Instead, Connor gets to sit with his thoughts, which is both better and far, far worse.

The interview begins. When Connor walks onto the stage, he gets a round of applause that lasts two full minutes. He wants to scream at the audience to shut up– nothing he’s doing here is worth that sort of appreciation. News flash: selling your soul isn’t supposed to be a good thing.

He doesn’t say this. He follows the script. The interview takes twenty minutes, and at the end, the host flashes him a smile of perfectly straight, white teeth and asks if he’s got anything else to add. Connor stares at the jaws, wonders if they belonged to someone else first, and says, “Yes, I do.”

Connor looks directly at the camera. “When I first found out I was going to be unwound, I was terrified. I thought it was the end for me. I even ran away.”

He pauses a bit, to let the audience react appropriately. Ripples of shaking heads and disappointed glance rock through the crowds. Once they settle down, Connor continues. “I met up with bigger crowds of AWOLs who all thought the same thing. We were trying to escape our natural fates, and if I could say one thing to them right now, I would tell them–”

His voice cuts off. Connor feels like he’s choking up, only no tears are coming out. Instead, he feels more composed than he has in months. “I would tell them that they were right,” he declares. “They were right to want to live. We’re just kids, and we don’t deserve to die because our parents don’t like us. All unwinds deserve to live. I hope they keep running and they never get caught, even if I was.”

Roberta is standing up, marching towards him through the shocked and upset crowd. Her eyes spell danger, but Connor keeps on going recklessly. “They’re going to bomb the Graveyard, Risa. They’re going to kill you all. You have to get everyone to safety. I’ve been trying to buy you time, but it’s no use. They know where you are. Get everyone out. Fight unwinding until you die. All of us are free.”

Hands clamp down on Connor’s shoulders. He fights his way out of the grip at once, but more guards are appearing from the wings, muscling him away. Still, Connor shouts at the camera, telling everyone he can to run and never look back. It takes several minutes to get him away, and he hopes to everything holy that it was enough time to evacuate the Graveyard.

He’s locked into a dressing room backstage. Roberta bursts in moments later. She looks completely furious. “You stupid boy. You stupid, stupid boy. Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Exactly what I wanted to,” Connor grins. “I took a stand.”

“No, you’ve killed your friends,” Roberta hisses. She whips out her phone and calls somebody, looking Connor directly in the eyes while she tells them to carry out the strike.

Roberta hangs up victoriously, but Connor refuses to be cowed. “I hope you’re happy,” Roberta tells him. “They’re all dead because of you.”

“It’s not just about the Graveyard,” he says. “That’s been under threat for years. We were always going to die. But unwinds across the country will know that they still have hope, and that’s worth it to me. Try explaining that to your investors.”

Roberta’s face turns a mottled purple. “Clearly, we have no more use for you. You may not be able to be unwound, but that doesn’t mean you get to leave. I’ll have you in a cell until you rot.”

Connor’s past the point of caring about himself, though. “I’ll look forward to getting a break from your sermons, then.”

She might kill him here and now, honestly. It takes all of Roberta’s self-control to direct the guards to take Connor away and back to the PC facility. He’s shoved into his room, the door locked behind him. This might be the end of it for him, but Connor’s conscience feels lighter than it has in a very long time. If he dies here, at least it’ll be knowing that his friends believe in him again. Hopefully.

It occurs to Connor, a few hours into his new exile in the old room, that maybe he hadn’t given Risa and the others enough to get clear of the Graveyard after all. He’d known that he would have to tell them eventually, and a broadcast as popular as this was his best shot, but the Graveyard is big and unwinds are obstinate. Maybe there were still some kids inside when the bombing was ordered. Maybe he hadn’t done enough. Maybe Risa had died anyway.

The thought tears up Connor. He feels as if he’s swallowed acid or something, like his organs are physically ripping to pieces underneath his skin, worn away like time and rain against the Grand Canyon. Connor is a thousand empty hollows, and they can only be filled by the simple knowledge that the people he cares about are okay.

Time passes. It could be hours or days, Connor can’t really tell. The grief and guilt takes him out of reality. Connor swears he can hear sounds down the hall, but it could be anything from an overly loud air conditioning unit to the guards getting bored of only watching plain walls. Connor hasn’t really tried to escape. There’s nowhere for him to go.

Outside, the sounds get louder. Connor frowns, pushing himself up to stand. It almost sounds like people are arguing, plus a few distant thuds. Okay, not the AC. Maybe Roberta’s throwing a fit and finally started tossing around a few punches? Not likely, but what else could it be?

Connor slowly walks over to the door, pressing his ear against the smooth wood. It really does sound like the noises are getting closer, almost right outside– He backs up immediately, practically tripping over himself in an effort to get away. It’s good timing on his end too, because he’s hardly cleared the area before his door caves in. Connor chokes on the dust and smoke from the outside hall. Raising an arm to shield his eyes from the debris, he glances through the hole in what had once been his secure door and sees–

Risa.

Connor feels his breath catch in his chest, and not just because of the chaos with the door. “Risa?” He asks slowly.

She smiles at him. “Surprise.”

Connor takes a few tremulous steps forward, his shoes crunching on splinters of wood beneath him. She’s still in her wheelchair, but holding a large gun that she must have used to knock down the door. “Don’t point that thing at me,” he jokes, but his voice goes weak with relief and he doesn’t sound half as cool as he means to.

He’ll have to save the coolness factor for Risa. Further down the hall, Connor catches glimpses of other unwinds chasing off the guards. “You broke me out?” He asks, unable to believe his eyes.

“Of course we did,” Risa says. “What, did you think we’d just leave you there after you went to all that trouble to warn us about the attack? Not a chance.”

The attack. The sheer shock of seeing Risa had thrown that from his mind, but the memories came back full force. He reaches out desperately to take her free hand, begging her to understand him. “Risa. I didn’t want to say all those things, but they made me. Told me they’d blow you all to pieces if I didn’t support unwinding. I didn’t want to, not at all, but they said they’d kill you. You have to know that it wasn’t my choice.”

Risa just smiles. “I know, Connor. You looked so uncomfortable during all the broadcasts that we suspected something was up. Plus, the last one made it pretty clear that you didn’t believe all that bullshit.”

At last, Connor feels capable of cracking a smile. “Bullshit, huh? And here I thought I was doing a great acting job.”

Risa snorts. “Well, there might not be any Oscars in your future, but that doesn’t mean you’ll live out the rest of your days with only the PC as your company. What do you say we get out of here?”

“I’d like that a lot,” Connor says, voice thick with relief. Then, glancing at Risa– “Do you want me to take the gun? To make it easier to travel?”

Risa gives him a disbelieving glance. “Don’t be ridiculous. The gun stays with me.”

Connor raises his hands in mock surrender. “That is absolutely fine by me.”

“Good,” Risa grins, and they head back out of the twisting corridors. The other unwinds fall in line as they go, hurrying out of the complex.

As they escape out into the bright sunshine, Connor has to ask, “How did you know where to get me? And which room was mine?”

“Funny story,” Risa remarks offhandedly, “As we were breaking in, we met some strange guy named Camus Comprix. He told us where to go.”

“Cam helped you?” Connor asks, flabbergasted.

“Well, he had to be encouraged through threats of violence,” Risa admits, “but honestly, I think he was glad to be rid of you. That’s what he told me, at least. Also, he wanted to keep his kneecaps.”

Connor laughs. “Both of those are great reasons.”

There’s a helicopter waiting for them; Risa and Connor get inside, plus the unwinds who’d come with them. Connor vaguely recognizes the pilot from the Graveyard.

“So,” Connor asks, still unsettled by the realization that he might finally be free, “Where are we going, if not the Graveyard?”

“We’ve got a new place in order,” Risa says. “Don’t worry.”

An unwind by Connor’s shoulder breaks out into barking laughter. “Yeah, she’s whipped us all into shape. Got us out of the Graveyard before the place went nuclear, plus set up the new location. Most organized person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

“That sounds about right,” Connor says, letting out a low whistle. Risa smiles at him when he says it, and Connor can’t help but smile back. He’s out of the clutches of the Proactive Citizenry. His friends are alright. Most importantly, he’s back with Risa. For the first time in a while, it occurs to Connor that he might be on the up and up again. He likes the feeling.

requested by @bopeisdope, i hope you enjoy!!

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#connor lassiter #connor lassiter imagines #connor lassiter oneshot #connor lassiter fanfic #risa ward #risa ward imagines #risa ward oneshot #risa ward fanfic #conrisa #conrisa fanfic #unwind #unwind imagines #unwind oneshot #unwind fanfic #unwind dystology #unwind dystology imagines #unwind dystology oneshot #unwind dystology fanfic

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