Chapter Text
Ryan Bergara is on top of the world when he begins his final semester of broadcasting school. Soon, he would have his cap-and-gown moment and a bachelors of radio communications under his belt - despite having to take the class on Morse code twice - and he’d be out of here.
He was sure he’d miss certain things - Sara, for instance, who was staying to complete her masters, saying that technology was evolving so fast, she wanted to stay and learn it all. She was particularly fascinated by the internet, she’d said, which she had heard rumblings about with some of the newer profs, though the older ones had been very dismissive of this new potential fad.
He’d miss the ready access to the technology on campus as well, he decided - they always had the newest, latest and greatest; not to mention the studio space where he could try it all himself, even if he never really took advantage of it.
He’d miss the routine of his days, where he was always sure of what the days would bring. Job searching was going to be difficult, especially when he had little to no practical experience under his belt. Good (or in the case of his class on Morse code, acceptable) grades wouldn’t count for much if he wouldn’t be able to get a foot in the door anywhere.
He’d also miss the cafeteria to a lesser degree, since they always made sure he ate at least one vegetable a week. Or ‘a day’, if you were talking to Ryan’s mother.
Despite all that, Ryan was ready to leave; create a new name, a new life for himself. It was a whole new decade. He knew as soon as the ball dropped on the year 1989 and auld lang syne rang in 1990, he knew exciting things were going to be coming his way.
Maybe it’s because of this hubris or youthful confidence that he decided to take advantage of what he had at his disposal: food, equipment and company included.
“I’m going to run a radio show out of basement two.” He tells Sara over dinner one night - it's pasta night, and he counts the tomato sauce as his vegetable. It has green flecks in it, he thinks. It totally counts. “The college has a bunch of call signs, I’m going to apply for one. I want to put something on my resume before I leave this place.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” hums Sara, which is the highest praise he’s ever gotten from her at one of his many ideas. “But what would it be about? The news? Fishing facts? A one-man radio play?”
“I haven’t gotten that far, yet.” Ryan skewers his noodles, taking a massive bite and talking around his food. “I just figured I’d get the call sign and figure it out in the meantime.”
“I’ll give you some advice for free,” She says, putting down her fork. “First, talk about something you’re passionate about. And second,” Ryan watches her eying him shoveling another giant bite of pasta in his mouth, “Don’t talk with your mouth full. In fact, don’t bring any food into the recording spaces.”
“Smart,” he says around his half-chewed noodles. “Wouldn’t want to spill anything on the expensive tech.”
Sara sighs and picks back up her fork. Ryan smiles brightly at her, which earns him a coy smile in return. He can always count on Sara for being the voice of reason. He’s lucky to have her in his life.
They spend the rest of the meal talking about whether or not Milli Vanilli will have to give their grammy back. When Sara says that she thinks the whole thing was a hoax, a chime goes off in the back of Ryan’s head.
The application for his call sign goes through without issue - he’s a last year student in his undergrad and he’s already completed all the prerequisite courses, he hoped not to anticipate much issue outside of maybe some scrutiny at his last name. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d faced narrow-mindedness at the hand of the university or his peers - sure, things were better, but he was still a visibly brown man with a non-white sounding family name.
Maybe that’s why he downplayed his show idea a little on his application - “Historical Investigations”, he described it. It wasn’t a lie, per se.
His scheduled hour with the call is not ideal - but he won’t complain. It’s a Tuesday evening slot; the last one of the day. He can take advantage of that by staying late and learning more about the instruments, he decides.
The first day, he doesn’t even make it on-air. He uses his air-time to familiarize himself with the machinery: there are so many fancy new thingamabobs and doo-dads that he’s never even seen before, outside of photo slides in advanced technology classes.
He plays around with a vocoder, feeling a little like David Bowie or Kate Bush when he hears his voice come out of it. He works with the pitch and drops it a few octaves, recording a sample and playing it back; he decides he sounds like Orson Welles, which he likes very much.
He makes some notes, some technology questions to ask Sara later. He writes down the important numbers on the machines, and by the time he looks at his watch, three hours have already passed.
He’s too pleased with himself and his progress to be upset at the fact he missed curfew for the dorms. Everything's coming together.
Ryan’s ready by the next Tuesday: He arrives early, flips all the necessary switches and tunes the vocoder to hear his artificially smooth, dark timbre through his headphones.
“This is Ryan Bergara for KZKA-LP, a UCLA Broadcasting Sign. Have you ever wondered about the truth? What is truth? We always say that ‘history is written by the victors’, but where does that leave the truth?
The truth is what we’ll be speculating on in this series, dear listeners - and those who choose to ignore it.”
The hiss and crack of the radio in the silence that follows adds to the theatrics of it all, he thinks. He takes a shaky breath away from the microphone before he continues.
“For the next six weeks, we will be exploring intricate conspiracies that you may have heard in your life before - Was Walt Disney really frozen? Is his corpse waiting for reanimation in a deep-freeze chamber somewhere under ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’? Was there a ‘munchkin murder’ in the 1939 MGM film ‘The Wizard of Oz’? Did the government willfully poison its own people during the prohibition? What about the war in Cuba to oust Fidel Castro - did we have a hand in that too? We will explore these topics as well as many more during our hour together.
First, let's discuss Mili Vanilli - And a lip-synching hoax that could be applied to other popular groups today. Let’s get into the details.”
Sara greets him as soon as he makes his way down to the cafeteria for breakfast late on Wednesday morning. Ryan loves Sara - she is his angel on his shoulder more often than not, and it makes him overjoyed that he could put a spark of wonder and pride in her sparkling eyes as she congratulates him on a successful first show.
Her curls bounce as she talks animatedly about her early morning class, and how she could hear people talking about his show.
“Ryan, it was amazing! Everyone was talking about how your voice was just butter.” She says, spooning herself a large helping of fruit into a bowl of yogurt. “Though I’m waiting for the comments about you being a bag-face soon. There was just too much sex-appeal.”
Ryan laughs self-consciously, helping himself to some toast. “My momma always said I had a face fit for radio.”
“That is not true and I will not hear any Linda Bergara slander in this household.”
“What did they say about the show, though?” Ryan asks, trying to seem nonchalant, but Ryan’s never been nonchalant about anything in his life and he can own up to that.
“I didn’t hear a ton, but it’s only been a few hours. They were obviously talking about it for more than your vocoded voice, though.” Sara shoots him a glance above the rim of her glasses that have been slowly sliding down her face. “But I could give you my two-bits, and I promise it’s worth more than anything anybody else has to say.”
Ryan smiles at her. “Let’s hear it, then.”
Sara’s compliments are always the best: She’s very precise and meticulous in all aspects of her life, which absolutely flows over into her ability to praise. She praises him on very specific details of the broadcast - the pacing, the subtle music choices and changes to said music between the details of the story versus the theories. She applauds his detailed and careful research, which he appreciates and absolutely does not mention that it cost him having to ask for an extension on another assignment he had to do for class last week since she won’t appreciate that - even though obviously, it was worth it.
Ryan knows she’s waited until they’re sitting down and they’ve both finished their food before she starts getting into what he knows she thinks is the most important: The critique.
“Now, I’m just wondering,” she says, diplomatically, “how serious were you about the other topics in your intro?”
“What, like Walt Disney?” Ryan picks up his napkin for something to do with his hands. “Pretty serious, that one’s been around since like, the sixties.”
“No, dum-dum.” Sara takes the napkin out of Ryan’s hand. “The political stuff. Prohibition. Cuba. That’s dangerous territory.”
“Yeah, well.” Ryan shrugs. “I thought it might be a good idea to intersperse some light topics with some heavier topics. They’re all legitimate conspiracies. Don’t even get me started on Woodrow Wilson or- or MKUltra! Even fucking – like, smoking! There’s no way tobacco companies don’t know their stuff kills.”
“Okay, well. You’re probably right on that last one.” she crumples his napkin in her hands. “And you know that I’ll help you with any tech things that I can. But seriously, some conspiracies might draw the– you know. Wrong sort of attention. Some folks can get pretty heated over contemporary arguments. Especially political kinds.”
“Don’t worry so much,” Ryan says, “it’s just a dumb college radio show at night on Tuesdays. What’s the worst that could happen?”
For Ryan, things continued to be really great for a number of weeks.
He was able to mostly balance his course load with his zeal for his radio program; sure, he had to ask for a few more extensions here and there, but that’s life – and people seemed to really be eating up his show.
In those weeks, Ryan spent all of his free time researching his mysteries; scouring newspapers and using the incredible backlogs of information their campus libraries contained. He asked Sara far too many questions on the production and tech side, but she always humored him.
Sara was his only real friend on campus, and outside of a few old group partners from media classes, most people didn’t even know who he was since they didn’t know what he looked like. He could listen to folks speculating on his identity in the halls, in his class – or, best yet, speculating on his mysteries and theories. That always brought him the most joy. He was proud of the amount of research that went into his episodes; he always made sure his theories were well supported with evidence and even encouraged his listeners to read the materials he did to draw their conclusions. If he had any doubts in his work, he wouldn’t air it. He knew he had integrity.
But, as the old adage about good things goes, Ryan finds himself called into the Dean’s office on week five of his expected six.
When he leaves the office, he finds himself on academic suspension for two weeks until an investigation can be completed into his possible misuse of UCLA property.
“They say I–” Ryan chokes out quietly in his dorm room, having snuck Sara in with an oversized hoodie, “That I’ve been inciting hate and radical views – me! Based on an anonymous complaint. They won’t tell me by who and– fuck. You’d just have to listen to one fucking show to know how– how untrue that is! What is happening?”
Sara sits next to him on his bed and lets him cry into the shoulder of her sweater. She rubs circles into his back while he sobs.
“I have no idea how to tell my mom.” He says, in a small voice muffled by her sweater. “There are only four weeks left in this semester. Even if I– even if they don’t kick me out, I don’t know how I’ll make it through finals.”
Sara pulls him back from her shoulder and looks him in his face.
“Do you need my sympathy right now? Or do you need a suggestion to move forward?” She asks him gently, wiping the tears from his ruddy cheeks.
“Sympathy first.” He murmurs. “Just for a little longer.”
She nods and they lay on his bed while she strokes his hair until he’s all cried out.
When all they can hear is each other’s breathing and the soft rock coming through the radio in his room, Sara gets up to fetch Ryan a glass of water from his bathroom before sitting back down across from him on his bed.
“Are you ready for problem solving?”
“No.” He sighs. “But I don’t have time for this pity party. So… I guess, yeah.”
“Okay. So this is what I think you should do.” She sits cross-legged on the foot of his bed while Ryan sits up against the wall at the head. “You have two weeks that you can’t do classwork. You are going to take the Amateur Radio License exam. You’re going to shoot for gold and get the Advanced Class. You’re going to need to practice your Morse again, but you’ve done it before. You’re going to get that novice enhancement, and you’re going to use it whether you’re still a student here at the end of the month or not.” She throws one of her pencils at him when he sighs deeply. “Look – as far as I’m concerned, your problems are my problems. We’re in this together. So, let’s get out of this together.”
Sara continues to write down lists while Ryan gives his input; things that he’ll have to do to make sure he completes his licensing; separate lists on separate sheets for what to do in the event he’s kicked out versus what he can do to catch up on his courses. She holds his hand when they sneak back out to use the payphone when Ryan calls his mom to let her know what happened.
Ryan will never be sure how he got so lucky - how Sara could have sat with anybody at all on introductory night, but she chose him; all spindly arms and thick black hair who looked scared of his own shadow where she was a hurricane of confidence and kindness - and he’ll likely spend his life trying to repay her wisdom and kindness somehow. They’ve always been more family than friends, and this really cements it for him.
He decides to ditch his pity party and start repaying her now by actually listening to her advice.
His plan for the first week is simple:
He studies and practices his Morse code.
He starts working out to take his mind off things.
He researches everything he needs to know for the multiple choice.
And finally -
He passes his license on the first try.
Ryan doesn’t celebrate when receives a letter from the Dean’s office a week later; exactly two weeks from his first meeting: He’s off academic suspension after they could not find any evidence of his hateful speech - though he’s on probation for the remainder of the school year.
Ryan won’t be able to cross the floor for his cap-and-gown moment. He won’t have his photograph in the hall of graduates. He is banned from borrowing any university broadcasting property for the remainder of his undergrad. And, finally, he’s never allowed to have a radio show for as long as he attends any UC institutions. He’ll have a note in his file that will follow him for the rest of his days.
He finds himself unable to care, at this moment. Sure, his mom will be disappointed she won’t get to see his graduation, but he’s got bigger fish to fry; like actually graduating.
He continues to follow Sara’s plan to a T: He schedules meetings with all of his professors, makes detailed academic plans with each one to ensure he’ll pass their classes. His GPA won’t look great, but any GPA will be better than no GPA, he reminds himself.
Plus, after all this, he knows that he’ll never work for someone who doesn’t believe in him again.
He’s not allowed to attend Sara’s graduation, and without any immediate family, she doesn’t bother going either; they elect to rent an apartment together near USC where Sara will be doing her masters during the ceremony instead. A day later, they find studio space between USC and the Arts district - a perfect, nondescript location where nobody would look twice at them.
Everything seems to fall into place once more, despite all the broken pieces, Ryan thinks. They purchase second hand equipment, spending their summer driving around for parts as far as Ryan’s beat-up car will take them. They’re in this together.
By the end of the summer, Sara’s got her new class schedule and Ryan’s got a new call sign.
The day before Ryan begins his first broadcast, Sara makes him promise to be careful.
“And I don’t just mean that as like, you know, ‘you pay half the rent’ sort of thing.” She says, sunglasses on while they sit on a bench outside of a coffee joint. “That new thing? The internet? People are really starting to be present on it. You can receive and transfer information from anywhere. It’s going to change the world.”
“Alright, Eric Burdon.” Ryan says, taking a large bite of bagel. “Well, you know. If you think it has the potential to be dangerous, maybe we can harness that power for good before others have the chance to.”
“The Animals? Deep cut.” Sara steals a bite of his bagel. “I wasn’t joking when I said you were going to be using your radio license out of school – I believe in you, Ryan. You had a really, really good concept. Your talent would be wasted doing something else. But I–” she pauses, looking away, down the street. “I was scared, Ryan. People can be terrible when they think they’re better than you are. I’d know, and I know you’d know that too, even before all… that.”
“Hey,” he says, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “I know. I’ll be way more careful, but I’m still going to talk about things I think are important. Things I’m passionate about. But there’s no way they’re going to be able to trace it back to me - to us. I’ll make sure of it.” He nods, offering her half his bagel as a peace offering. “Plus, even if they do try to come for us – they won’t stand a chance. I have you in my corner.”
“Don’t you forget it.” she says, using her half of the bagel to cheers him.
Sara is there for his first broadcast. She says it’s to make sure there aren’t any tech issues, but he knows it’s more for emotional support. He’s grateful, either way.
“This is 6H0ST Air, sending out our first broadcast from deep underground,” Ryan starts, using his own pitch, but taking a page out of his buttery Orson Welles persona of yore, “where we will talk about anything and everything mysterious and unexplainable. I’m your Ghost Host - The Revenant.”
Here, Ryan has been reborn.
Over the next three years, Ryan builds himself his dream job. He builds up a proper underground radio station - infamous and shrouded in all the right ways.
He sets up PO boxes and Sara helps with his first email; He’s able to secure brand deals under pseudonyms within the first year to finally start paying his bills.
He puts his researching skills to good use, writing and scripting hour-long specials about mysterious cold cases from across the country - being sure never to dwell too long on a particular part of the country to give his listeners an idea of where he could be. He expands to ghost stories when he takes out advertisements in alternative magazines - something he’s always been interested in, as well.
Sara builds him his first website to practice for her classes, and later, she builds him an interactive message board - a forum, she calls it - to hone her skills as well. Ryan’s not sure what brings him more pride: That he can finally compensate her the way he’s always wanted to with the revenue the show’s been bringing in, or the fact that people actually seem to be using the site.
She creates a Revenant profile for him with most of the administrative properties as to not overwhelm him - and another for herself, dubbing herself “Ruby Lane”.
“You know,” she says, “for mystery. I’m just taking a page out of your book here, Revenant.”
The forum is a hit; people can create their own pseudonyms and profiles; submit their own theories and personal accounts of paranormal evidence. They can talk with him and each other. He can finally properly interact with his audience now. He’s no longer speaking aimlessly into the void.
With light moderation from Ruby Lane and The Revenant himself, things seem to be going well, online.
Sara was right - as she always is: The internet is a big thing.
And, because Sara is always right about the bad things too, Ryan notices a problem thanks to the forum.
He’s reading through the fan theories from his last episode - a cold case on the mysterious death of the Somerton Man - some of which are elaborations on his own theories or theories of others - when he comes across a new profile on the message board. One that systematically breaks apart some of his admittedly wilder theories, and saying that no good evidence has come out since the late seventies; but with the breakthroughs in technology in recent years, maybe something else will be brought to light.
And sure - this guy might be right about that part, but Ryan doesn’t even want to admit that from the way he absolutely tore to shreds some of his espionage and code-breaking arguments, and another chatter in the thread that insinuated possible extraterrestrial involvement. What an asshole.
It’s fall of 1993 when Ryan starts commenting back on this guy’s thread - this motherfucker who’s called himself $k3pt1c.