'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.
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