when the sun goes black (old- will probably revise)

3

Carroway sat at her desk, chin resting upon her interlinked hands. She wasn't particularly angry. The pills made sure of that. Which, of course, was everything she could ever want. But still, she couldn't help but be... frustrated, maybe that was the word, at the state of things.

A defect in the ideal was right under her nose, and it'd take a single second of effort to flick it away, yet she couldn't. It was just out of reach. She didn't have control.

That bothered her very much.

Party Poison himself was alive right below her feet. He'd been leading such a persistent rebellion against everything they stood for. He'd rather let the destructive power of chaos tear everything to shreds than comply with the simple things they asked of the citizens. Seeing him invoked as close as she'd ever get to hatred. Rather than crush him like the parasite he was, they kept him alive.

'Rehabilitate him', they'd claimed. 'He could be a very valuable asset.' Don't make me laugh. That boy's unfixable. He has been since the day he was born.

Carroway was there through everything, before she'd moved up to a higher position in BL/IND employment, when she'd dealt more closely with citizen delinquencies. All the trouble he created and the ripple it sent through the city when he made it over the wall- joined by his poor younger brother soon after, corrupted by his actions. Part of her was relieved when the news first got out; she'd sincerely hoped that Party would get himself killed in the Zones and solve all their problems.

But she seemed to be the only person to remember. They had some semblance of faith in Party Poison, Gerard, whatever he was.

She knew Frank wouldn't be able to make a dent in him, either. He'd been Party's closest friend back in the day and she'd yet to forget that. His work was admittedly impressive, but she wasn't convinced. He was weak. She knew that this task would break him. She doubted even a seasoned rehabilitator could manage it. Party was nothing if not persistent.

She wanted that boy dead, and she was going to do whatever it took for that to happen.

But maybe this wasn't all bad. No, this could work out just fine. She just had to be patient.

Frank's weakness and the twos turbulent past made it clear to her that Party would break him. When that happened, though, the others would surely see that he was a force of chaos not worth the food they'd push through the slot of his door. Surely, their favorite little rising star shattered, they'd consider Party eligible to be dispatched. They'd slip a mask over his face and make him a Drac, or put a bullet through his head and he'd finally be dealt with.

A smile crawled over her lips at the mental image of Party Poison, eyes blank and beady behind the gaping black pits in the plastic, limp and zombielike and prepared to silently obey every command. Maybe even better yet, dead on the floor. That revolutionary fire in his soul, gone within moments. BL/IND would make it clear once and for all that they would rid themselves of whatever threatened their perfect world.
-

Slowly, Party started to adapt.

That wasn't to say that he was used to it. He didn't think he could ever get used to how clean and empty it was. During particularly unbearable stretches of silence, he found himself tapping his fingers in an uneven rhythm against the floor or the cuffs or his leg. He imagined it as the noise of raygun shots. At least that would be a sound he knew.

But the shock wore off as his surroundings became familiar and he fell into a cruel routine. At some point, assumedly at night, the lights turned off and he went to sleep. He wanted to maintain his energy. He refused to eat anything they gave him, convinced it was drugged. He felt fine at first, but he most certainly would feel the effects in a few days. A masked officer would check in twice a day in case he had to use the bathroom, guiding him at gunpoint across the hall and giving him his only brief glance at the building around him.