Exposure of the behavior modification industry is slowly gaining traction. . . . But it seems parents all over the country are still falling for the misleading assurances offered by these companies—even though every corporate site that promises sunshine and happiness has shadow sites full of survivor’s horror stories.

. . . [i]n a world of webcams, victims can no longer be hidden away. . . . But there are places where no cell phones or Internet are permitted. Places isolated in the wilderness miles from any form of civilization, where children are taken to correct their behavior—and suffer a wide array of vicious torments.

#OpTTIAbuse represents hackers, activists, victims, parents, and survivors who are trying to expose horrific abuses being suffered by children across this country at various facilities hidden away from public scrutiny. . . .

Cases where children have died from mistreatment, medical neglect, or starvation have rarely led to any consequences. This is partly due to the lack of any regulatory oversight, as well some states not even requiring any licensing system for these programs to exist. . . .

The prison-like design of some of these facilities further limits the children’s ability to report abuse. . . . The children rarely have access to telephones, and when they do utilize these connections, their conversations are watched carefully. If they were to say anything “negative” to their parents, like “I miss you, I want to come home” they would be punished for being “manipulative.”

Anonymous groups continue to try and expose the survivor stories from within the system, but with limited attention from the press their success has been marginal. Some of the major companies involved have even managed to lobby and block reform on private residential “treatment” centers. . . .

The full article can be found at: http://www.policymic.com/articles/31203/anonymous-rallies-against-horrific-abuse-riddled-troubled-teen-industry

79 • Connor

The raid comes just after Connor and Risa shuffle down for breakfast. All is quiet, then out of nowhere, the house is flooded with a tactical unit that’s beyond overkill. It happens so fast, Connor finds himself surrounded while still holding his cereal spoon. There’s no time to panic, or to resist. Too many guns are drawn for him to count. He locks eyes with Risa across the table, who returns the same shocked gaze. He should have known it wasn’t safe coming here. CyFi and his fathers might be trustworthy, but with all the wedding grooms, and the various parts of Tyler Walker living in the commune, someone was bound to turn them in for the reward.

“What took you so long?” he says to the gaggle of gunmen. They don’t answer. They don’t make a move to apprehend him. They just wait. Then in walks the man in the dark suit. For once, Connor wished these people could find a more inspired wardrobe.

“Looks like we’ve got a twofer!” says the suit. He gestures for his unit to lower their guns, which they do.

In response, Connor puts down his spoon. “I’ll come peacefully if you leave her.”

“Connor, don’t you dare!” says Risa.

The suit stays focused on Connor. “You’re not really in a negotiating position.”

Then Risa leaps up and lunges for him.

“Risa, no!”

She’s tranq’d by one of the gunmen before she gets halfway there, and is caught by another before she falls to the ground. This is her way of making sure that wherever Connor goes, she goes. Damn her!

CyFi and his fathers are brought downstairs. The one who happens to be a lawyer argues over the violation of their rights.

“We don’t have time for this,” says the suit, then he turns to Connor. “You want a deal? How’s this? You and sleeping beauty come peacefully, and they don’t get arrested for harboring known fugitives.”

And although Connor doesn’t believe for an instant that they’re going to leave CyFi and his dads alone, his only other option is to fight and get tranq’d like Risa. What chance would he have to negotiate for her then? Besides, there’s something that he senses in this man. He’s trying to be efficient, even a little nonchalant, but there’s an uneasiness in him. The man in the suit is scared. Why is he scared?

They turn Connor around to handcuff him, pulling his arms behind his back. He grimaces. “Careful! My seams!”

“Your what?” the suit says. “Forget it, I don’t want to know.” He has them turn Connor around again, cuffing him in front instead of behind.

They lead him and carry Risa to a jet that’s sitting in a weedy field across the road, without the benefit of anything resembling a runway. Connor had seen planes like this at the Graveyard.

“A Harrier Whisper-Bomber?”

“You know your machines,” the suit says. “Workhorse of the Heartland War. Vertical takeoff and landing. Completely silent.”

“Then Risa and I must be the bombs.”

The suit shifts uncomfortably. “That remains to be seen.”

They’re loaded inside, the three of them in a forward compartment separate from the tactical team. The intimidating boeuf carrying Risa puts her down gently and actually takes the time to put on her seat belt.

“Will you be coming back with the beverage cart?” Connor asks as he leaves to join his comrades.

The jet rises like a helicopter, its engines emitting only the faintest whine, then the craft accelerates, heading into the rising sun. Risa, still unconscious, slumps limply in the seat beside Connor, her seat belt and Connor’s shoulder the only things keeping her from falling. Across from them, the suit seems very pleased with himself. Connor considers how he might, even in handcuffs, throw the man out of the plane. But then the suit says:

“Congratulations—you’re in the protective custody of the federal government. We’ve taken you as a precaution, just in case the bee in the Juvenile Authority’s bonnet buzzes in your direction.”

It takes a moment for Connor to replay that in his mind and process it. “Wait—you’re not the Juvies?”

“If we were, you wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Connor’s still not ready to buy. “If I’m in protective custody, why am I in handcuffs?”

The suit smirks. “Because I trust you even less than you trust me.”

He introduces himself as Supervisory Special Agent Aragon, reflexively flashing his FBI badge, as if it means anything to Connor at this point.

“We are not the enemy,” he says.

“That’s what the enemy always says.”

He regards Connor, studying him like maybe he wants the eyes that Nelson never got.

“Do you believe in democracy, Connor?”

Not the kind of question Connor was expecting. “I used to,” Connor tells him. “I believe in the way it’s supposed to work.”

“It always works the way it’s supposed to work,” Aragon says. “A lot of bitching and moaning until somebody gets their way.” Then he pulls out a tablet and strokes the screen until he finds whatever it is he’s looking for. “As of this morning, forty-four percent of the American people are ready to reject the idea of unwinding.”

“It’s still not a majority.”

Aragon raises his eyebrows. “That’s only because you’re not seeing the whole picture.” Then he turns the tablet so Connor can see it. On-screen is a simple pie chart. “This morning, support for unwinding hit an all-time low of thirty-seven percent, with nineteen percent undecided. And I have news for you—that nineteen percent will ALWAYS be undecided. Which means, Connor, after all the bitching and moaning, it looks like you’re the one who got his way.” Aragon forces a smile and winks at him.

Connor has no faith in anyone who winks. “So it’s that easy?”

“You of all people should know it wasn’t easy at all.”

He’s right about that. The thought of all Connor has been through makes his seams begin to ache inside and out.