bindsthedead

PSL

There was a time when Sabriel might have been eager to see the inside of Cyberlife Tower. Her class had been to Detroit when she was thirteen, and they'd toured an android factory- or the part of it they showed to tourists, at least- and visited museums and art galleries and all the sorts of things Young Ladies ought to see, but weren't available in the small town of Wyverley, or in Bain.

But Sabriel wasn't here for a school trip. Recent events in Ancelstierre meant that with the sudden loss of all android soldiers meant that soldiers from the entirely human garrison at the Wall had been transferred elsewhere- which meant fewer soldiers watching the border, on top of the losses from Kerrigor's attack, and a necromancer had slipped across, making his way to the largest city that was close enough to the Wall that magic still worked- one that seemed rather different than how she remembered it.

But what was occupying most of her attention was the Cyberlife representative in front of her. Sabriel listened politely as the woman spoke about malfunctioning machines and simulated emotions and how things that weren't alive couldn't die, so why would a necromancer- and from the woman's voice it was clear she didn't believe such things were real- want with deactivated androids?

Sabriel stood up and shook the woman's hand, telling her she'd been very helpful without meaning a word of it, and headed out the office before pausing.

She sensed something ominously familiar- Death, and a recent one at that. She turned another corner, following the sensation as a hound tracked a scent, half-expecting someone to spot her, to see her in her armor and bells (security had made her check her sword at the front desk) and tell her she wasn't allowed to be here.

But no one came, and no one living was in the laboratory she went into- just a dead- (deactivated?) android on a table-or its head and torso at least, with panels on its chest removed to reveal tubes and biocomponents, and Sabriel felt she'd stepped into a morgue and found an autopsied body.

Sabriel was seized by a sudden impulse. If androids weren't alive, then she'd simply waste some time, but if they were... well, she'd have a source of information she could interrogate as she would any Dead spirit. And unlike the representative she'd just spoken to, she could force it to answer honestly and completely.

Decision made, Sabriel undid the straps and drew Saraneth from the bandolier. This far from the Wall, stepping into Death took a deliberate effort, but soon Sabriel was in the First precinct and she cast around with her senses, trying to feel out the spirit of the android- if it had one, it couldn't have gone beyond the First Gate, and probably shouldn't be that far into the the First Precinct.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Four and a half minutes ago, it was offline- completely shut down- and she wasn't moving- I'm not sure if she was even conscious-"

"Then how did she-"

The discussion kept going, but Sabriel was only half-paying attention as she looked at Connor like he was a particularly difficult math problem, or a puzzle she was trying to put together. She'd never had many interactions with androids, and but she'd never heard them swear before. And hadn't it been instructed to be quiet? If it was some sort of prototype, she wasn't sure why swearing was a feature they wanted to add.

Or perhaps it was more of a person than a machine. She really ought to talk to it- alone, or at least without Cyberlife employees present, both of them looking at her with an odd mix of curiosity and fear, and Sabriel was struck by an idea.

"Explaining how I did it would take too long, but suffice to say I can do this to other androids, and do so fairly easily. The man I'm tracking," Sabriel told them, her words carefully measured, "Can use the same method, and is able to bypass the safeguards put in place to keep people from using androids to commit crimes or kill people, and I understand that there are many offline androids in Detroit at the moment. Can Cyberlife really deal with any more bad press? I want to stop him before anyone gets hurt, and you don't want a scandal. Why don't we help each other out?"

Sabriel offered them cold smile, one that didn't reach her eyes.

Edited 2019-03-15 23:13 (UTC)

Sabriel's inspection receives a cold, flat stare in return. Politeness is hardly requisite toward a human who hacked him, and Connor has no regrets at all about informing Cyberlife of the attempt. Whatever else she might be looking for... she won't find it.

He's a machine.

The humans present absorb her words with varying degrees of discomfort. The technician's eyes flick between Sabriel and his screen, mouth opening hesitantly in question. The attempt aborts at a look from his superior, though. Her expression is closed, eyes narrowed sharply: in distrust of Sabriel, or dislike of the entire situation. Probably both.

"What exactly are you proposing?"

"Officially transfer ownership of this android to me, and repair it." Sabriel says, keeping her gaze fixed on the woman, her expression full of focused intensity.

"I'm familiar with this criminal and how he operates- I'm not that familiar with androids or large cities. I'll keep my mouth shut, deal with the criminal, and make sure no one else learns how or what he and I can do- and don't worry. He'll be brought back to the Old Kingdom, so you won't need to worry about anything coming out at a trial." Or rather, Sabriel intended to kill him and force his spirit beyond the Ninth Gate.

They might not understand what it means to be Abhorsen, wouldn't believe the true nature of the man she's hunting even if she told them, but whatever had happened during her time in the Old Kingdom, it had left this company reeling.

...Ownership.

Connor doesn't speak. He doesn't move. He doesn't have fingers to twitch or fists to clench, but even his expression stays perfectly, utterly blank. A machine wouldn't laugh. A machine wouldn't sneer, not openly—not here, and not for this.

Connor #313 248 317-60 isn't just any machine. He's an RK800, custom-built with superior processing, simulation software, analytical and social routines. He's a prototype, technology never released on any sales floor. And unlike the defective failure that preceded him, Connor has a purpose. He knows exactly what he is.

He belongs to Cyberlife. He takes orders from Amanda. And if or when Cyberlife is done with him, Connor will be taken apart. Reduced to information, to improve whatever follows next.

A deviant would be terrified of this. Would delude itself with false pretenses—or beg this human, maybe, to save them from that fate. Or maybe they would laugh. Connor does none of that. Connor waits and Connor watches: for the humans to scoff in his place. To tell Abhorsen he's proprietary. That she'll need to pick some other toy to sniff her culprit down. The pair exchange a look, the woman's mouth opens—

"We'll see what can be done," she says.

...Oh.

The discussion moves upstairs. The lights go out. Connor waits the hours out, LED pulsing silently in the abandoned room, and eventually another team returns. They scroll through his code and inspect his components, issuing orders for basic, routine diagnostics. Mostly, they chatter amongst themselves. Much of the city has been evacuated. The army was ordered to stand down. The deviants had won, as far as anyone could tell.

The deviants had won, because he failed.

Connor replies to the diagnostics. He takes instruction, staring straight ahead as his cranial plates are pried away. He shuts down on command and reboots on a new processor, answering a new series of questions until they're satisfied enough to seal up his face. Half of it is new. There are no mirrors in his line of sight, and Connor wipes immediately the useless urge to move towards one. He knows he won't look any different.

They seal up the hole in his shoulder. They attach his arms and legs. More tests, and then they give him clothes to wear. Permission to put on his skin. He's sealed into a standby berth, and he closes his eyes in the small space, fingers lifting to touch his armband. Lowering, to tug at the edges of his jacket. He tries to reach out to the building's systems. He tries to reach in, to the frigid, barren garden where Amanda waits.

> RK800_313_248_317-60: //ERROR - Access Denied

No one comes to tell him. But he knows.

There are details to negotiate and executives required to sign off. But the next morning, Sabriel will be presented with a stack of contracts on arrival. Once she's pored through the sales contract, the nondisclosure, the affadavit of liability, and all the rest, she'll be led back out front.

Her property is waiting.

Sabriel's read each piece of paperwork carefully, signing after making sure there are no surprises or loopholes she can spot.

She walks back out front, wearing the only clothing she owns that isn't her school uniform or from the Old Kingdom- a pair of jeans and a Wyverley College sweatshirt. She almost looks like a student from high school or college, but her posture is too formal, despite the casual clothes. Even standing still, she gives off the sense that she might burst into action at any moment, as she picks up the guitar case she left at the front desk and checks its contents- her sword, the spare shortsword, her bell bandolier, and her hauberk and surcoat- with practiced, efficient motions. Then she turns back to look at Connor, her expression flickering back to that same odd curiosity she'd shown back in the lab. Aside from the clothing and LED, he really does look just like a human, and Sabriel once again wonders why Cyberlife puts so much effort into making androids look like humans, while insisting they're nothing like them.

"Connor, please follow me- I'll explain the situation on the way. I know what I say may be hard to believe, but it will all be true." And hopefully, she wouldn't need to explain too many times. She pauses just long enough to tug on her gloves, wool cap, and a fleece-lined oilskin that was clearly made for someone taller and broader in the shoulders, before heading out to the waiting taxi.

Edited 2019-03-16 15:43 (UTC)

Connor isn't human. He would never want to be. He's Cyberlife's creation, manufactured with a purpose. If Cyberlife sees fit to change what—or who—that purpose serves... that's their prerogative.

(It's a mistake.)

He watches the human check through her array of oddities with no interest. Her command logs in his periphery: objective set. He complies. Past the desk. Out the door. Toward the taxi. His LED is spinning swift blue rings, but the RK800 won't look back.

Once they're on the bridge, past the security gate, and over water, Sabriel clears her throat. She's awkward for a moment, apparently searching for the right words.

"I don't know what rumors you've heard about the Old Kingdom, but the ones about monsters, about magic, about walking corpses and restless spirits? There's some truth to those. Now, listen very carefully, and please believe me." Trying to explain every detail of Free and Charter magic, along with all the varieties of Dead and Free magic elementals, would take too long, but she should explain some of the basics. Hopefully being Connor's registered owner meant he would believe what she said. Or she'd have to go somewhere and cast a few spells to prove her point.

"There are two kinds of magic- Charter magic, which is orderly, tied to Life, and is generally safe to use- and Free magic, which is chaotic, tied to Death, and inimical to life- it's only safe when contained and leashed by Charter magic, as it is in Abh- in my bells. Necromancy is a subset of Free Magic- it's used to bring spirits of the deceased back into Life, either inside of corpses, or as bodyless spirits. And the Dead... they're not people anymore. They can't withstand sunlight or running water, and they need to devour life force to remain in this world." Sabriel pressed a fingertip to her baptismal mark, and felt it glow.

"What I told them was mostly true. I'm pursuing a dangerous a dangerous criminal from the Old Kingdom- one who shares some of my abilities. He's a necromancer, and while I don't know how Free or Charter magic interact with android programming, I suspect he can use deactivated androids the same way he can use human corpses." The awkwardness has faded, replaced by a kind of focused intensity as Sabriel drummed her fingers against the guitar case.

"This particular necromancer is both intelligent and has some understanding of subtlety- he won't send his servants rampaging through the streets, or use obvious magic in public. And while he prefers the Dead as servants, he can subvert the will of the living with Free magic." Among other applications of Free magic, but this necromancer was unlikely to start throwing fireballs around. Sabriel looked away from Connor, gazing at the Detroit skyline and the snowflakes falling past the window, before turning back to him, her posture going ramrod straight.

"I am Abhorsen, and Abhorsen's purpose is to banish the Dead, bind Free magic so it's contained and can't hurt anyone, and deal with necromancers and other Free magic sorcerers." Something about the way she says 'deal with' suggests that she's not planning to take the necromancer back to the Old Kingdom or hand him over to the police.

Edited 2019-03-16 18:04 (UTC)

Androids don't feel. Certainly they can't believe. Connor doesn't bother informing his new owner of that fact. He sits and waits with perfect posture, hands folded in his lap. He listens, exactly as she told him. And if his processors are easily advanced enough to run several other tasks in the background... he doesn't feel the need to inform her of that, either.

Police access has been cut off. Still, facial recognition runs fine with the images he can find online, and Connor flits from one source of data to the next. A dual citizen. Wyverly College. Not Abhorsen there, but Sabriel. But that name appears too...

"I see."

His reply is polite and nearly toneless. It's more or less the truth. Magic and death might be obvious trappings, cultish superstitions by the cultish follower before him. But he'd seen for himself she had some means of accessing his code. If she was hunting a man with similar abilities... without knowing what could be done to androids?

Certainly, Connor could see why she'd want one of her own.

"May I ask a... personal question?" His mouth twists.

Well, he's not saying things like but that's impossible or questioning her sanity, which is already an improvement over the humans she's had to talk to since her return to Ancelstierre.

"You may."

He seemed unemotional, but she wondered what he would ask. Sabriel still remembered how he had sworn the day before.

Permission obtained. And where to start? Connor exhales slowly, before tilting his head. Inquisitive. Sympathetic.

"Did this... religion get your friends killed?"

His expression remains perfectly innocuous. It's the words that drawl out, idle and curious. It's his eyes that gleam, bright flickers of malicious interest underneath.

"Or was that you?"

Sabriel freezes, her face suddenly going dead white and her expression growing fixed- but before that, there's a flash of guilt. She'd known she was putting them in danger. She'd also known that the consequences of not stopping Kerrigor would be even worse.

If she'd had to do it all over again, she'd probably make the same choice. That didn't stop her from feeling awful about it.

"You-" Sabriel chokes back her first reaction.

"They were killed by a monster from the Old Kingdom that crossed the Wall." The words sound almost mechanical, but the part of Sabriel that isn't wracked by guilt and grief thinks that Connors eyes almost remind her of Mogget's- and not in a good way.

"Why are you even asking this?"

"It's part of my social programming."

The smile he returns to her looks programmed. Calm and placid. Insincere, a pretense of kindness on something incapable of harboring any sentiment at all.

"RK800s are designed to adapt to their work partner's needs. The more I learn about your psychology, the better I can accommodate any... unique behaviors you might have."

Like collateral damage, he doesn't say. Why would he need to?

A "monster" explained the debacle at the Wall—and why she might still be allowed in this country. But if he was reading the logs correctly, she'd come back before the incident. Not to mention that vibrant flash of guilt across her features...

"So this isn't the first time you've led one of your 'monsters' south?"

"Then your creators made mistakes in your social programming." Sendings could be frustrating, but she never wanted to hit any of them the way she wants to hit Connor, not even the Sending that acted like Sabriel couldn't bathe or dress herself. This was like dealing with Mogget, if Mogget had more interest in pretense.

"If he were chasing me," Sabriel's words are clipped, "I wouldn't need you, I could just use myself as bait. I was in the Old Kingdom when the Perimeter reported that someone or something had disguised itself as a soldier and slipped across the Wall. Because of the reduced personnel, it took them a week to find the body of the man whose uniform he stole and realized what happened. He's hiding, and he's had a week's head start."

But the way he said 'monster'... Sabriel smiles, and the expression is all teeth and no joy, and as much as she tries to hold it back, she can hear the anger seeping into her voice as her fingers dig into the seat.

"You don't believe me, so there's no point talking about what happened at Wyverley until you do. Don't ask me any more about that." She forces the anger back, and keeps her tone businesslike as she keeps speaking.

"Last night, a man called the police, said he'd seen a monster. The police didn't find anything- probably thought the man was hallucinating- but the description he posted online while ranting about how they didn't take him seriously matched a Dead creature. So we're going to investigate the area while there's daylight, and see if its hiding somewhere nearby. Then I'll force it to give me whatever information it has about its master before I banish it."

Edited 2019-03-17 15:41 (UTC)

If he were chasing me. An isolated reference... and with a far more specific act than Connor's words implied. It's answer enough to his questions about Wyverly, and Connor's stare lingers, sharp and satisfied as Abhorsen continues.

She did cause those deaths.

What she does need him for, she hasn't made clear. He knows better than to ask. He looks back blandly as she bares her teeth, logging with interest the creak of fingers against leather. How much would it take to shatter her control? Now is probably a poor time to learn, but the temptation crawls at the back of his throat: to push her further. To keep pushing. To show this useless human what a true interrogation is.

"...Whatever you say."

Ask isn't tell. And there are so many topics she hasn't classed off-limits yet—her father, for instance. Still, Connor can afford to wait. The payoff will be that much better if he has a chance to do his own investigation first.

The rest of the ride passes in sullen silence, as Sabriel looks out the window at the scenery. It all feels more foreign than it should be- she hasn't been in the Old Kingdom that long.

Their destination is a mostly abandoned neighborhood, one given an illusion of cleanliness by the fresh snow. Sabriel shoulders her guitar case and snaps at Connor to follow her. She moves quickly, her head questing from side to side as she reaches out with her Death sense. She can sense... something in the distance. But about a block away, there's something else- a sense of recent death, about a block away, and Sabriel abruptly turns right and heads towards it.

It turns out to be an android- an older domestic model, in dirty and tattered clothes, with half the skin on her face missing and her expression frozen in a rictus of horror. Even under the layer of accumulated snow, the cause of death is obvious- her throat's been torn- or rather- bitten- out.

"She died last night or early this morning, and her body hasn't been moved since then." Sabriel might be relying on her Death sense, but if Connor reconstructs the scene, what he'll find supports what Sabriel says- along with strange footprints in the evaporated thirium- something vaguely human, but with odd proportions, the print changing shape with each footstep, until the trail is hidden under more snow.

Sabriel pointedly ignores Connor, but while she can't see the footprints, she can sense where it is, and she sets the guitar case down, taking off her jacket to pull on her armor and surcoat- then quickly tugging the jacket back on before buckling her sword-belt and bell-bandolier over it. Then she takes the short-sword out and holds it out to Connor. It's a bit longer than his forearm, the sheath attached to a sturdy leather belt that smells faintly of beeswax.

"I know androids aren't allowed to have weapons, but I fear you'll need this. What attacked that android is nearby, hiding in an abandoned house- and there's another one with it."

The anger at him is still there, but it's distant, buried under the knowledge of what she needs to do, and that she must use every tool at her disposal to accomplish it, regardless of how she feels about it.

Edited 2019-03-17 20:16 (UTC)

Connor steps out of the taxi, taking in a breath of cold, sharp air. His glance around aborts at Abhorsen's order, and he inclines his head, trailing obediently as she stalks off angrily into the snow. She seems to know where she's going—and what she's seeing, when he finds it. Connor's still not sure what she's looking for from him.

"It," he corrects absently, inspecting the corpse. Not she. A machine—and deviant, if the pathetic mimicry of fear is any sign. Whatever killed it clearly did Detroit a favor. He steps closer, curious despite himself. Teeth marks should mean saliva residue, if he can take a sample of the wound.

He's stopped short by Abhorsen—or rather, the two foot knife she's holding out to him. Connor raises his eyebrows, stare panning pointedly from the weapon in her hands to the one sheathed at her side.

"Detroit city ordinance prohibits any person from carrying a blade longer than three inches."

He's not a person. He takes the knife, appraising it critically.

"Has your country never heard of guns?"

"They stop working when brought across the Wall- and wouldn't work on what we're about to face. Shadow Hands can't be hurt by purely physical means. The blade carries spells that will make it effective against them." Sabriel's tone is just a little condescending. She knows a gun could kill her easily, but they're of so little use to her as Abhorsen that it's hard to be too interested in them.

She doesn't comment about the city ordinance, but she does notice his attention to the corpse, even as her gaze keeps shifting to the house in the distance, where she can feel two Dead things lurking. But they have time- the sun is still high in the sky, even if it's hidden behind grey clouds.

"So. What do you make of this?" Sabriel's already reached her own conclusions about what's in front of her, but she might as well see why they called Connor an 'investigative prototype'. What would he make of the handiwork of a creature he probably didn't believe existed?

Spells. Of course. Connor restrains an eyeroll, examining the belt the sheath is attached to before grudgingly replacing his own. "And your 'spells' couldn't be attached to modern weaponry instead?"

He's not expecting an answer. The new belt doesn't quite match his provided uniform, but lies mostly out of sight when he's finished. He tugs at the edges of his jacket, fixing the lay while he considers. Abhorsen's distraction is insultingly apparent, but just because the test is obvious doesn't mean he'll be allowed to bypass it.

He steps forward, eyes shifting to scan over the chassis. Tattered clothing. The angle of its fall. Its pump pings back slight errors, an overuse that matches to the simulated fear across its face. Dried thirium lights up across its body: patterning the snow, trailing in footsteps that the creature left behind. There's a second, smaller wound on one arm its side—a puncture, as if it were grabbed or held with something sharp.

Connor crouches down, swipes two fingers across the apparent bite wound, and brings the sample to his tongue.

Blue Blood [Contaminated]
Model ST300
Serial #243 317 523
Trace content: polyethylene, polyester-polyimide, copper oxide...

He sits back, stare locked on the body. No saliva. No organic compounds at all. Only the android, exposed throat in a state of chemical decomposition entirely mismatched to a wound inflicted within the last day. The bite pattern is unmistakably teeth, but too sharp and effective to be human. One of the zoo models? The prints don't match. And none of that explains the decomposition. He plays back the reconstruction, tracing the ST300's panicked sprint, the lunge of the creature that killed her—but even in projection, the wireframe shifts and twists, no single shape consistent with the proof for long.

He's sharply, suddenly aware of Abhorsen watching his analysis. Waiting for a response. Fingers twitch, and he turns the motion into a reach, wiping the blood off in a clean patch of snow before he stands.

"...efficient waste disposal." The sneer is quiet, and retreats behind a neutral prompt as he continues. "What did you want to know?"

He's... tasting the blood? Strange. Sabriel notes the sneer quickly hidden beneath a facade of neutrality. Whatever Connor felt, it didn't include sympathy- not for this android, at least.

"How do you think the android died? What killed her- or it- and is there anything about the scene that strikes you as strange? Why did you lick your fingers after touching the wound?"

Sabriel's already reached her own conclusions, but her tone is the same one she used as a prefect, helping younger students with their schoolwork. Perhaps a little gentle prodding will help him understand that she's utterly serious when she speaks of the Dead and magic... that or he'll try to force a mundane explanation, even if it doesn't make much sense.

Why did he lick his fingers? Connor arches a brow. "Somebody didn't read the manual." By 'manual' he probably means the eighty-page file Cyberlife gave Sabriel detailing the RK800's specifications. "My model was designed with an inbuilt forensics suite. Sampling allows for real-time chemical analysis of evidence."

His mouth. His mouth is the forensics suite. Still, Connor didn't miss the other questions either—or the preening, condescending voice she asked them in. His expression flattens, eyes lifting to the distance as he recites in a bored tone.

"The deviant approached the scene shortly after 3 AM last night. On seeing its attacker," he waves a hand toward a patch of snow across the street, "it turned, and tried to run." His hand moves, eyes flicking along an invisible path: minute irregularities in fallen snow where the impression of footprints had been. The gesture stops on the chassis lying in the snow. "It didn't get far."

"Thirium lines to the central processor were severed by a simulacrum of teeth. Additional damage to biocomponents #7119 and #3172v. No saliva residue, but something triggered decomposition of the damaged substrates." His gaze locks on his owner, flashing a polite, bright smile. "It 'died' trying to scream. And failing."

He turns again, head tilting along another invisible path. "The attacker left the scene by foot. The stain pattern shows extreme variation in stride length, though less so in retreat than pursuit." No stains, of course, are visible. His mouth twists in visible reluctance, but... "It wasn't human. Or any conventional android."

Connor turns back to Abhorsen, expression just as seamless as before.

"Do you need me to roll over, too? Or can we move on to the house?"

She's been staring at it since they arrived.

"Well, I can't blame anyone for trying to scream when a Shadow Hand is lunging for their throat." She's dealt with the Dead since she was twelve- she knows full well what they do to their victims. If he expects her to frightened or shocked by how the android died, he's going to be disappointed. Instead, there's just a sort of resigned sadness as she looks at the body.

"Wounds inflicted by the Dead on humans tend to rot quickly- even if the victim is still alive. Apparently it's the same for androids- and yes. We'll deal with what's in the house. There are two of them- both Shadow Hands, unless there's a larger entrance on the other side of the house- Good work on your analysis by the way- and for admitting you didn't know what did it." It's grudging praise, but sincere.

Edited 2019-03-24 05:17 (UTC)

Shocked? No. It had been obvious from the start that the human already knew the details of this crime. He'd wondered at first if she had staged the scene, and if the probability is currently hovering in the low tens, Connor still hasn't ruled it out completely.

Still, any scorn at her pretense of ignorance—or the unique terminology that replaces it—is overwhelmed quite quickly. Connor stills, perfectly rigid as the human who'd bought him continues.

"...I'm sorry, Abhorsen. Do you think you purchased a pet dog?"

Lips curve up. Teeth flash in a smile, void of any friendliness at all.

"Test me all you like. Tell me what you want, and I'll do it. But I'm a machine. I don't need pats on the head to keep working."

He doesn't want her condescension. He doesn't need 'praise': not for basic function, and certainly not for his own ignorance. Connor knows what he is.

(And who she isn't.)

Sabriel lets out a long, exasperated sigh. Weren't androids supposed to be agreeable? Even a Sending would have simply ignored her if she'd told it something irrelevant to its purpose, rather than wasting time reminding her it was a construct. She frowns, her expression going thin lipped, and her tone growing markedly colder.

"My apologies. I'm afraid I'm used to Sendings, who don't care if you praise or insult them, as long as you don't get in their way." She's tempted to pat him on the head out of sheer spite, but the presence of the Dead is a constant pressure in the back of her mind, pulling her attention away from Connor and towards the work ahead. This bickering is a distraction.

"Now, I didn't read your users manual, but I did read the nondisclosure agreement and the affidavit of liability. You're able to fight- which will be necessary for what's in that house." Sabriel's fingers curl around the hilt of her sword as she speaks.

Even in the distance, Sabriel can see that everything is boarded up, and she can just make out a padlock on the door. Perfectly good for keeping humans out, but little use against spirit-forms that could squeeze through cracks, and Sabriel moves closer, looking to circle around the house.

She moves towards the house with large strides, gesturing for Connor to follow- but her attention is more on the house than him. Moving through abandoned buildings in pursuit of the Dead feels more familiar than the politicking and frustrating attempts to get information and cooperation out of officials that have occupied the last few days. She could almost be in the abandoned parts of Belisare, or some other forsaken part of the Old Kingdom. It's not a happy feeling, but it's reassuring. Sabriel might be unsure of her ability to convince Ancelstierrians to help her, but she has confidence in her training and power when it comes to dealing with the Dead.

And the Dead inside the house are stirring, roused by the presence of her life force- and possibly Connor's. Had the dead android simply been mistaken for a human, or had she possessed life force the Shadow Hand had been able to feed off of?

After circling the house, Sabriel pauses, considering her options. The daylight isn't as strong as it could be, and the house is boarded up securely enough that little light will get into the house. Not ideal, but she has her bells, her sword, and armed backup. Decision made, she turns back to Connor, drawing her sword, glowing marks sweeping along the length of the blade and forming an inscription.

I was made for Abhorsen, to slay those already Dead.

Connor doesn't care. He isn't capable of it. But she's embarrassing both of them with this pretense. He has his mouth half opened to tell Abhorsen as much when she moves on, and he swallows back the retort with a curt nod.

He's able to fight.

She gestures and he follows, one pair of steps crunching quietly through the snow after the next. He's not sure what she's looking for, and eyes flick carefully over the building's features as they circle. A dilapidated wooden structure, boarded up in an attempt to ward off vagrants. A quick brute force of city records offers a construction date in the early 2000s. He eyes a smudge of evaporated thirium by one of the windows, but neither the plywood placed across the opening nor the door Abhorsen stops by show any signs of recent entry.

A gentle scrape of metal announces the unsheathing of her sword, and Connor eyes the words that flicker to life along the blade. How pointlessly dramatic. He stands to the side, and when she turns his way, rests one hand on the grip on the shorter blade she gave to him.

Is he supposed to follow suit?

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