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just-horrible-things · 14 days ago

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'Verse: Resistance, co-author @whump-sprite AU: Alt to Unlikely Salvation Arc 1 – what if it was Anders who found Ari broken, not Alex?

Retrieval [First | Prev | Next]

The recording ends. Connor’s cursor hovers over the button for a second, then hits replay.

The description matches, and the analysts have already ID’s the witness and confirmed that she’s lived in Ariadne’s building for seven years. Connor can’t hear any hint of coercion in her tone – not that that means much – and it’s hard to think of anything she’d stand to gain from a false report.

She could of course just be mistaken. Connor’s not inclined to trust blindly just because he’d like to believe that Ariadne could be alive.

Surviving the Resistance isn’t unheard of. But when they take prisoners it’s usually to trade, and when they want to trade they usually make contact pretty promptly. A week would be a long delay. Ariadne’s been gone for a month and a half.

And they typically kill interrogators on sight. The evidence points to them targeting Ariadne specifically because she was an interrogator – Alex Morgen’s interrogator. It’s not as if they didn’t know.

Maybe she escaped. Maybe, as several people have suggested already, she traded intel for her freedom. Connor knows all kind of people break under torture, but he still has a hard time believing that Ari would have sold out. When they came for Morgen, Connor was sure they got her info by mindfucking her.

Now he’s not quite as sure. They wouldn’t have released her for that. They’d have killed her as soon as they had what they wanted.

That leaves escape and – unfortunately more likely – false or mistaken report. The witness sounds pretty sure – claims to even have exchanged a few words with Ariadne – but witnesses are sure of things they’re wrong about all the time.

And Ariadne’s supposed behaviour makes no sense. “Sneaking around”, “nervous”, “suspicious”, “hiding”... Why would she be hiding in her own apartment? If she was alive and free, why wouldn’t she have reported in? And she’s not stupid. If she was hiding from someone, she could do better than the first place anyone would look for her.

The possibility of mind magic looms large. Connor’s seen the catatonic victims, and the mad ones. Mindfucking breaks people – changes them, drives them crazy, or convinces them of things that aren’t true. Supposedly it can even control people at a distance.

They had a month and a half to get inside Ariadne’s head.

It’s not a pleasant possibility, but it has to be considered.

It’s a weird feeling, planning out an assault on Ariadne’s apartment. Connor’s been there off the clock, hung out there, slept over. After a while working this job you build a kind of habit of assessing the entrances and exits of any building you’re in, but it’s not the same as actually making the plan of attack.

There was never any question that he’d take on the retrieval. He’s going to maintain a healthy skepticism, but if there’s any chance that Ariadne is out there – apparently hiding and presumably confused at the very least – of course he’s going to pick her up.

His team are in agreement, even the ones who’ve voiced the opinion that she talked. You don’t leave a comrade behind. Even if she’s been mindfucked into insanity, they can bring her in and try to rehabilitate her.

And if it’s a trap… well, that’s why they’re planning it as a full armed assault.

They move early in the morning, not so early that there isn’t any other traffic on the road, but perhaps early enough to catch any potential threats off balance.

They scope out the building – and the rest of the block – very briefly from the van before moving in. Just one circuit, since both Ari and the Resistance know enough to be suspicious of a circling van. Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing much to see from the street.

Full combat gear is far from subtle, but if this is an ambush, they’ll need the guns and the body armour. Connor is kitted out in the new experimental anti-magic armour – still almost untested in the field. The whole inside of it is inscribed with the same kinds of sigils that go into anti-magic cuffs. Supposedly it’s safe. R&D claim it will stop nearly any kind of spell, but Connor would prefer not to rely on that if he doesn’t have to.

The element of surprise won’t last, so they go in fast.

Elevators are too easily sabotaged, especially since any enemy will have had time to prepare their battlefield, so the strike team take the stairs. Fortunately the apartment is only on the third floor. Somewhere up the stairwell above them, a door slams. Hopefully a panicked bystander, not a Resistance lookout.

No one raises an alarm, but that means nothing. Less experienced warlocks rely on their voices, but the Resistance communicate silently when they want to.

Connor’s team fan out with practiced efficiency as they reach Ariadne’s floor, covering the flanks and the stairwell while the centre guns cover Connor as he steps up to the door. Locked, but he has one unusual advantage this time – and yes, the spare key still fits the lock. She hasn’t had them changed.

Teammates close on his heels, Connor enters the apartment. It’s dark, but the kitchen is lit. Torch beams sweep the room, first quickly for any obvious hostiles, then more slowly to let the operatives scan for any hint of invisible foes.

Ariadne sticks her head round the kitchen door. Her eyes and mouth go round with shock and there’s a clatter as she drops something, then she’s stepping out with her hands up.

“Milonas.” Connor didn’t really let himself expect to see her. “You’re alive.” “Thompson – thank god.” “Why the fuck didn’t you come in?” “Don’t let your guard down,” she urges. “They – watching me, monitoring, they said –” She’s not obviously injured, but she sounds like shit. Connor’s never heard her so scared. A quick gesture, and his team move in behind him, covering each other as they start to sweep the apartment. “I didn’t think I could call in safely –” Connor motions Ariadne forward sharply. Whatever the fuck the situation is, he’d rather have her within grab range.

She’s just starting to move when the apartment explodes.

The flash is blinding. The shockwave hits like a sledgehammer to the chest. It’s too loud to sound like anything but sharp pain.

Connor doesn’t feel himself hit the floor, but as his eyes clear he finds himself flat on his back. He rolls and pushes himself up, staggering as his head rings and sparks dance in his vision. The air is full of choking dust. Muzzle flare flashes in the haze. Someone is screaming, more are yelling.

Gas-blue flames flare to life from nothing. Connor still has his rifle but he can’t see shit to shoot at. He runs toward the screaming, almost tripping over someone’s sprawled legs. Unmistakable lightning cuts across the dust, and a voice is silenced.

Connor is yelling, shouting the orders to fall back and regroup, but he can barely hear himself. A comrade stumbles past him, clutching their head. At least half of them are down. There’s blood on the floor. The scream has stopped. The temperature is rising fast.

He spots Ariadne, crouched and firing a pistol into the dark. If she has a target, Connor can’t see it. Her face is contorted – wild and panicked.

Barely slowing down, Connor grabs her. She screams, short and sharp, but she doesn’t fight as he hefts her bodily by the arms.

Another detonation, smaller than the first, rocks the floor hard enough to throw them off their feet. Connor’s up before Ari is, hauling her after him. It’s all happening too fast for real thought, there’s only flash impressions and snap judgments. Not the window, too high. There, the line of light at floor level is the front door.

Ari is stumbling, slowing Connor with her weight. He pulls her close and throws her over a shoulder. The door’s within reach. He has to grope blindly for the handle. Someone’s close behind him but as he wrenches the door open lightning cracks and he hears them hit the floor.

The stairwell is bright. Connor sucks down a lungful of air without choking. Then another explosion splits the air, and the force throws them both forward.

Time disintegrates into isolated, unmoving snapshots. Pitching over the railing. Grabbing, the metal wrenched out of his hand by his own momentum. A split second where he thinks he’s going to miss the stairs and fall the full three storeys. Twisting to try and get Ari on top of him.

Then impact, and he loses sight for a second, and comes to sprawled across the concrete stairs. Ari is keening, a thready sound that tells him beyond a doubt she is injured badly.

There’s no time to check what’s broken. He gathers her into his arms, and staggers on down the stairs.

[Next]

#my writing #ariadne milonas #connor thompson #daniel peyroux #sequence: if anders found ari #verse: resistance #unlikely salvation alt

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just-horrible-things · 29 days ago

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'Verse: Resistance, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Possibly-canon aside to Unlikely Salvation Sequence: Connor burned, pt3

Supplies [First | Prev]

Ari’s heart rate spikes at the sound of feet outside the storage-unit-shelter. Connor hears it too, or he picks up her tension. His body locks rigid. For a second he doesn’t breathe at all. Then a low moan of panic starts up in his throat.

“Shhh,” Ari hushes him, mouth moving without thought while all her attention tracks the footfalls to the door. It’s almost certainly Taryn. Almost certainly. The bolts move of their own accord. Well-practiced scenarios flick through the back of Ari’s mind, priming her body for movement. The door slides open.

Taryn steps inside.

Relief is a weight off Ari’s ribcage. She was 90% sure it would be Taryn. She saw no sign that she was followed or even noticed by the other warlocks. And boltholes like this don’t see a lot of random use. But the survival instinct in her was not 90% convinced.

She flashes a brief, tight smile at Taryn by way of greeting, then turns her attention back down to Connor. He’s shuddering violently, and if there was any awareness left in his eyes, it’s been smothered by the fresh panic. “It’s okay,” Ari tells him as gently as she can. “She’s not here to hurt you, no one’s gonna hurt you. Shh, sh, sh. It’s gonna be okay.” Hollow words, really. Even if he makes it, is he ever gonna be okay? But compared to what he’s expecting… it’s gonna be better than that.

Taryn has a big plastic box of supplies balanced on her hip like it weighs nothing. The smile in her eyes dies as she takes in the scene – Connor half in Ari’s lap, trying to hold onto her despite the damage to his arms. The swathe of blisters and weeping flesh and charred fabric up his front. His bare feet swollen, blood oozing from the cracked skin.

“Fuck,” Taryn says. “Fuck’s about right,” Ari echoes. She slides Connor’s head carefully off her leg and unhooks his blistered fingers from the hem of her shirt, as Taryn sets the supplies down. “It’s okay, I’m coming back.”

For a second, just a second, Ari ignores the supplies to put her arms round Taryn and squeeze tight. She’s pulling away again before Taryn can more than begin to hug her back, and Taryn looks concerned but she lets her go. “Thank you,” Ari breathes.

Then she’s on the supplies, rifling through Taryn’s offerings and taking stock with practiced efficiency. Taryn levitates the parts for the IV up to begin attaching tubes – but Connor cries out in hoarse fear. Ari’s head jerks up to see him trying to push himself up off the mattress – or maybe back toward the wall – with his eyes fixed on Taryn.

Taryn cuts her magic immediately, but it doesn’t calm him. He tries to use his legs, and makes himself scream, falling back with fingers twitching into claws. Ari scrambles to him. “Hey, no, be still, don’t panic, no one’s gonna hurt you. Stop moving, you’re safe –” “I won’t hurt you,” Taryn echoes, but it’s not clear if he can hear either of them. His face is a rictus of panic, eyes darting back and forth. With a temperature as high as his, god knows what he’s seeing.

“Hey. Hey.” Ari takes his face between her hands, trying to get him to still. “Look at me, Connor. I’m here to help. Focus on me. Just – breathe for me. Try to just breathe.” Shallow gasps are the best she gets, but at least he looks at her. His raw, terrified confusion sets something aching in Ari’s heart. “I’m here,” she promises, even knowing she’s hardly a friendly face. “I’m gonna help you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

As Taryn’s shadow falls over them, Connor recoils again, jerking his head away from Ari’s hands. “I won’t hurt you,” Taryn repeats, crouching down to be closer to their level. She has the morphine, and the syringe ready to fill. Ari reaches back for them without taking her attention off Conor. “Easy,” she cautions, afraid he’ll start struggling again. But he only screws up his face and chokes out another exhausted, miserable sound.

The way pain changes people has long since lost its power to shock. It’s just sad. The Connor Ari knew is gone, probably long gone. The one that exists now hates her and is afraid of her.

She eyeballs the dose of morphine. Connor’s bigger than most of her patients, both in height and muscle mass, but it’s unlikely he’s built up a tolerance. When she looks up from the syringe, Connor’s eyeing it with naked distrust. “Just morphine,” she tells him. “Nothing bad.” She shows him the bottle, not that there’s much point. She doubts he can see or think straight enough to read the label right now, and if he did he has no reason to trust the handwriting of a warlock.

“No,” he protests weakly as she reaches for his arm. “It’s morphine,” Ari repeats. “Just morphine. It’s not optional, but you’re gonna like it I promise.” It’s hard to find a place to hold onto his arm that isn’t at least a little burned. But his legs are worse. Ari can picture too clearly the way they were left exposed as he slumped against the back wall, too weak to draw them up away from the fire.

Her blood burns, and she has to take a deep breath to push down the sudden fury.

Connor holds reluctantly still, panting tiredly, while she prods at merely grimy and reddened skin, searching with her fingertips for a passable vein. But when she tries to line the needle up, he grits his teeth and jerks his arm away.

Ari exhales. “Connor, you want this.” She recognises the terrified, futile, stubborn defiance in his eyes. She’s been there. What does he think she’s trying to inject him with? Could be anything. “It’s morphine,” she repeats again, just in case the problem is understanding or holding onto her words. “Nothing bad, I swear. Don’t fight me on this. You’re not gonna win anyway.”

She tries again, and again he tries to squirm away. “Tare–” She doesn't have to finish the thought. Taryn's hand glows, and Connor's arm is pinned in place. He yells hoarsely in protest and tries to yank the limb free of the invisible force. When that doesn’t work, he thrashes. His feet kick against the mattress again, leaving smears of blood and burned tissue, and his voice cracks into nothingness as he screams.

Before Ari can so much as open her mouth again, Taryn's magic spreads to cover Connor’s whole body – visible to Ari only in the unnatural stillness that it enforces.

Beyond panicked, Connor starts to sob. “I'm sorry,” Ari tells him. “We're not gonna hurt you. I promise. We just want to help you.” But there's no getting through to him, and she's been there too. She slips the needle into his vein, sunken as it is from dehydration, and sits back to watch panic morph into shock and then desperate, uncomprehending relief as the drug sinks into his brain.

“How much have you given him?” Taryn asks softly. “Not… too much.” Ari grimaces. “I… want to get fluids set up. We can decide what to do after.” Taryn nods assent to the not-quite-question, and the approval settles Ari’s nerves.

There’s nothing Connor can do to stop her putting the cannula into his arm, though his eyes show clearly that he wants to. “Saline,” Ari tells him as she affixes the line. “To rehydrate you. Nothing bad, no drugs even.” He needs antibiotics too… if he’s going to live. But there’s time for that. A few more minutes won’t make a difference. “It's going to be okay,” she tells him. One way or another.

Sitting back onto her heels, she catches Taryn’s eye. A gesture with her head asks outside? Taryn nods agreement. They both look back at Connor, still trembling in the grip of Taryn’s magic. “Keep holding him, just for now?” Ari asks. “He’s going to hurt himself…” “Yeah.” “I’m coming back,” Ari informs Connor as she stands. “But I won’t hurt you then either. I’m here to help.”

Then she follows Taryn out into the quiet corridor between storage units.

A quick gesture and a brief light in Taryn’s hands does… something. Ari has no way to tell what, but it doesn’t matter enough to ask. Something defensive, probably, to protect them from accidental discovery.

As soon as Taryn’s obviously done with the spell, Ari hugs her again, and this time she holds on tight. Taryn puts her arms around her in return.

“Thank you, for letting me do this.” “Warlocks are assholes,” Taryn mutters with surprising venom. “... those guys sure are.” “You were right not to leave him. I’m glad we got him.” “Me too,” Ari agrees. “Thank you.”

Reluctantly, Ari disentangles her arms and steps back. She leans briefly against the side of the storage unit, and drags a hand down her face. “He won’t live without a healer,” she observes wearily, “or a hospital.” “They won’t trade for him in this state,” Taryn notes. “And if they did, they’d kill people putting him back together.”

Taryn looks down and away as if she isn’t sure what to say, or how to say it. Ari figures she’ll save her the trouble. “If we gave him too much morphine now, it’d still be… much kinder than leaving him to burn.” Taryn looks up a little sharply. “Is that what you want?” Ari’s throat closes abruptly. Her voice comes out thick with the risk of tears. “I – don’t know,” she admits. “It’d be – enough. I don’t…” “Well,” Taryn interjects, “I for one think it would be a shame to take all that risk for someone only to kill him. So unless you’d actually rather he died, why don’t we see what we can do.” Ari lifts her eyes. Taryn faces her down, serious and focused. “I… don’t think we’ll change his mind about us,” Ari warns. She doesn’t know why she expects Taryn to argue that point, but Taryn just shrugs. “Okay,” Ari agrees, swallowing the lump from her throat. “Okay. Thank you, Taryn.”

The look Taryn is giving her isn’t entirely sympathetic. Something in Ari bristles, if only faintly. Was it too harsh of her to suggest killing him? She knows Taryn was thinking it too. He’s an enemy. A warlock-killer. It’s not cruelty, she’s just trying to be pragmatic.

But she shakes off the unhelpful line of thinking. “A healer, then.” “Let’s bring Alex in on this,” Taryn suggests, to Ari’s surprise.. “Are you sure?” “He’ll want to help.” She says, as if that isn’t part of the reason to worry in the first place. “And I don’t know who else we could ask to heal an unrepentant federal agent. And who won’t tell on us to Daniel.” “Fair points well made,” Ari sighs. Taryn puts a hand on her shoulder. “I think he’ll be fine. He won’t hurt himself for a fed.” Ari can’t help it, she laughs. Taryn looks confused for a second, as if she didn’t even remember exactly who she was saying that to. Then she laughs a brief, tense laugh as well. “That was different,” she points out. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay.” Ari straightens her spine. Emotions can wait. “Can you talk to Alex? I’ll start Connor on antibiotics and try to get him calmed down. He’s… less scared of me than you. Marginally.” “Alright,” Taryn agrees. “I’ll bring Alex straight here if I can.” “Yeah. That’d be best.” Connor doesn’t really have time to lose.

#my writing #verse: resistance #connor thompson #ariadne milonas #taryn morgen #sequence: connor burned #unlikely salvation alt

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