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.

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"No. I don't need them to cast Charter magic, which is what I use for things that don't involve Death and the Dead," Sabriel presses one finger to her forehead, and the mark there glows in response, "That's how I opened the padlock."

"And I don't need them to sense the Dead, or death and the dying- that comes from my bloodline, not the bells or baptism. The bells just augment my necromantic abilities- Saraneth is the one I use most frequently, but each has unique properties, and each has their own purpose." Some more useful than others- Sabriel's only used Mosrael twice, and doubts she'll need to use it anytime soon.

Magic again. Connor frowns, but nods—he'd seen the padlock. The bells still seem like the more dangerous tool, and his gaze flicks back their way as he considers.

Bloodline, she said. The father too?

"At what range do you detect those things?"

Edited 2019-04-07 05:59 (UTC)

"That depends on a few factors- if there are many of them, or if one of them is especially powerful, I can sense them from some distance. But one or two of no particular strength? I'd need to be within several blocks- closer, if it's something like a mordaut- they're a parasitic type of lesser Dead- that's good at hiding."

She'd needed to be in the same room to spot the one at Nestowe. But hopefully the necromancer wouldn't use any- they could blend in easily, but their feeding habits were distinctive.

No twitch to her expression. No increased heart rate or flicker of the eyes. The lack of method behind all of it is grating, but she believes what she's saying, and has the details to back it up. That doesn't make it all reliable, but after the last demonstration, he can't dismiss anything without proof.

A shape appears a few blocks down the road: the taxi, turning a corner. With some regret, Connor shelves some of the personal topics for another time. It's hard to say how willing Abhorsen might be to share later, and information is a more pressing concern.

He speaks quickly, eyes on the approaching vehicle. "You said the bells have different functions. What are they? And are yours the only ones?"

"You're already familiar with Saraneth- it binds the listener to the ringer's will, and you saw me use Dyrim- that one can grant the capacity for speech, or take it away. And Kibeth's the walker- it can grant or remove freedom of movement, or force someone to walk into Death. But it seeks to ring of its own accord." Sabriel pauses for a moment as the taxi comes to a stop, stepping inside, and waiting until Connor's gotten in and they've started moving.

"This is Ranna, the sleeper," Sabriel says, pointing to the smallest bell, "It forces the listener to fall asleep. Next is Mosrael, the waker- when rung, it pulls the listener into Life, and the ringer into Death- so it's not one I use."

"Fifth is Belgaer, the thinker- like Kibeth, it seeks to ring on its own accord and can be difficult to control, and it has power over thought and memory- it counters Saraneth, restoring free will to those bound, and it can also restore the memory and personality the Dead had in life- or shatter minds and erase memories, depending on how it's rung." Another bell Sabriel had never had much cause to use. Then her fingers pointed to the larges bell, and she kept them as still as she could.

"Astarael, the weeper. When rung properly, it sends all who hear it deep into Death- including the ringer. It's a bell of last resort." She tried not to think about the only time she'd heard it rung, and what the circumstances had been.

But he'd asked another question, and Sabriel answered it with something like relief.

"Abhorsen's bells are not the only set- and while the knowledge of how to make them hasn't been lost, it's also not common. And the bells necromancers use don't have Charter magic in them- but the individual we're after has a set of his own, if that's what you're asking."

That wasn't what he had been asking, but it's useful information nonetheless. Connor saves it alongside the litany of functions. Along with the pained stillness with which she gestured to one bell... and the relief with which she moves on from the topic.

Abhorsen's given him more to work with than expected, and after the time period she'd allotted for discussion was used up. The task has vanished from his view, but Connor considers her answers, then asks after a few more. What difference does the Charter magic make? What does she know about their target? His eyes narrow at the replies, and he swallows back acerbic commentary about her country. Still, for a scarce few minutes, the interaction is nearly functional.

Abhorsen ^ [Tense]

He lapses into silence as the ride continues, fingers tapping a silent pattern on the door handle. Outside, the dilapidated suburban surroundings vanish, replaced by the industrial shapes of factories as they pass the outskirts of the city by. Soon even those structures become more sparse, and they turn off onto a side road passing between rolling white hills.

Fresh snow. The sun, glowing brightly off the landscape. It's nearly idyllic. Unless, of course, one looks too closely. At certain angles, the reflected light on the terrain looks wrong: not smooth slopes, but mounds of fragments, bone-white pieces layered to a landscape of debris. If it's trash, it's certainly overflowed its boundaries. The taxi's path cuts a straight line between the hills, swerving gently to avoid a road hazard.

A white, slack corpse, arm sprawled across the pavement.

They're all bodies. Skinless and stripped, piled in and past the dumping ground—stacked in small mountains stretching on as far as can be seen. Tens of thousands. Hundreds? More? It's impossible to tell. Impossible for human perception to properly take in.

Connor isn't a human. The taxi comes to a stop and his gaze sweeps the surrounding piles, logging every slack expression of despair or fear. Every worthless, defective machine.

What a waste. He pushes upright as the door opens, turning expectantly to Abhorsen. "What are we after?"

Sabriel doesn't need to look. She stiffens as they approach the landfill, every muscle going tense. Connor can say androids aren't alive as much as he likes, this feels like they're surrounded by corpses.

By the time the taxi stops, Sabriel's shaking, even as she wraps her coat more tightly around herself. She can almost hear the river, and the sunlight offers little comfort. She still doesn't understand the reason the Ancelstierrians did this, but that doesn't matter. They've created an easy path out of Death, along with all the corpses the necromancer might wish for- and with Death so close, she can feel spirits on the other side- not trying to return to Life as far as she can tell, but still... her enemy would have no shortage of minions. Given enough time, he could raise an army beyond the wildest dreams of any necromancer.

Sabriel's shivering worsens, and she can't tell herself it's just the cold, or how clearly she can feel Death. She'd thought stopping Kerrigor would keep Ancelstierre safe from the monsters of the Old Kingdom- and she'd been wrong.

She swallows at Sixty's question, then starts speaking, "Look for signs of bodies being removed- I can only tell if they've been moved from where they died, so I can't use my Death-sense to tell if any were taken. If he wants to use their spirits to make Shadow Hands he'd simply remove their heads... and their weakness to running water can be nullified by a barrier of grave dirt, so see if any soil has been removed."

She can tell when corpses have been transported... but only from a specific place? Irritation pulls at the edges of Connor's mouth, but he files away the information. Or the excuse. Just because she believes her own bullshit doesn't mean all of it has to be true.

Still, it's what he has to work with. He nods curtly at the instructions, glancing over the surrounding space. Trails in the dirt show where a number of chassis have been dragged, but all of those are accounted for—most likely, just an effort to make room for parking.

Connor's eyes drift up the nearest hill before returning to Abhorsen. What's wrong with her?

"We'll need a better vantage."

Or he will, at least. Is she coming?

Sabriel nods, and forces herself to focus on the chill in the air, and the crunch of snow under her feet. Lessons from her father drift to the surface of her mind, and she forcibly dulls her Death sense- she can't shut it off entirely, but it becomes slightly less overwhelming, and her shaking eases.

The climb up is slow- Sabriel tries very carefully not to touch any faces, or think too much about the expressions on those faces. There's no stench of decay, but she's not reassured by that- it just means that the Dead could use these bodies as vessels even if centuries pass.

She needs to lay down wards and wind flutes once she's dealt with the necromancer, to make sure another one doesn't try to do the same thing. But that will take months, and she has work to do in the Old Kingdom.

"Why did they even do this?"

Sabriel can't keep the dread out of her words, or hide how overwhelmed she feels. There's no concentration of bodies anywhere near this amount in the Old Kingdom.

The plastic underfoot is smooth and slippery—more so, when heaped precariously and dusted by snow. Connor's attention stays mostly on his footing, testing his weight as he carefully steps higher up the slope. For all the challenge of it, he moves quickly, slowing only when it's clear his owner isn't keeping up.

"Squeamish, Abhorsen?"

If she glances over, she'll find one smiling face amidst the paroxysms of terror. Connor's brows are raised, lips curved in imitation of kindness.

It's not hard to see through the pretense.

"They're just machines. And they were malfunctioning."

A hand lifts, carelessly gesturing to the sea of bone-white limbs and empty bodies.

"Cyberlife's customers deserved more."

"They feel like corpses," Sabriel says as she moves to catch up, "My senses are telling me I'm standing on a mountain of corpses." Corpses that didn't seem to have any obvious cause of death, corpses whose limbs were all intact.

She wants to push Connor, to hit him, or simply order him to wipe that stupid smile off of his face. Instead she focuses on moving upwards, gritting her teeth and trying to think about what they need to do here, and what to do after that.

"I still don't understand what deviancy is, or why they couldn't repair them, instead of- this. But what I do know is that if the man we're after can use these androids as he'd use human corpses, he has the makings of an army beyond anything he could dream of. Do Cyberlife's customers deserve to be devoured by the restless Dead?"

His eyebrows lift. "You tell me." Certainly, Connor wasn't programmed to make moral judgements. Only functional ones. Still, there's another implication in the ironic twist of his mouth. In the way he glances, oh so casually, in her direction.

She's the one who's made a recent purchase.

Connor turns back to the ascent. A child model dislodges underfoot, creating a miniature cascade to one side, but he recovers quickly. Before long, he stands at the top of the hill, surveying the rise and fall of bodies to all sides: white plastic, reflecting the sun's warm light.

For trash, it's almost pretty.

Sabriel follows silently, squinting against the afternoon sun as they reach the top, looking for... she's not sure. Some movement, or simply a sign of bodies being moved, or soil being excavated.

Wait- what was that? Sabriel uses her hand to shade her eyes. Yes, there was movement in the shadow of one of the mounds- a figure dressed in dark, dirty clothing, face hidden behind what might have been a hood, or possibly an old blanket, moving slowly as though they didn't want to be seen.

"They don't feel like one of the Dead, and there's no sign of the bells," she says, more to herself than to Connor, readjusting the strap of her guitar case and her bandolier as she starts heading down the slope, one eye on her footing and the other on the figure.

"Let's talk to them."

Oh, Connor sees it. A shape, scuttling among the refuse. Someone? It's possible. Human scavengers were a common enough breed, and thirium had plenty of value to the city's narcotics rings. He'd be surprised if none of Detroit's suppliers had recognized the opportunity.

But there's something about that particular show of fear. Skulking. Hiding. Like an HK model in an attic. Or the AX400, pressed under a staircase in the desperate hope of being overlooked.

The mocking expression has vanished entirely from Connor's face as he stares into the shadow. In sharp contrast to his usual mannerisms, he's entirely still. Until Abhorsen gives the order, and he moves like a loosed arrow: quick and fluid, sliding easily down the slopes and stalking rapidly along the sides as he moves to cut their target off.

"Let's."

Well, that's... more enthusiastic than he's been before. Sabriel strides forward, feeling grateful to be off the pile of bodies.

She moves opposite to Connor, covering ground with long, quick strides- hopefully, they'll be able to use a pincer movement to stop whoever this is from running away. As she gets closer, Sabriel realizes that her target is a woman, with a dirty face who seems to be twitching at every stray snowflake.

The woman spots Sabriel before Connor, and stares at her bells with an expression of utter terror- and then Sabriel sees the LED flickering between yellow and red beneath her hood. An android then- but why had her- its owner sent it here? Or did they have the funds to throw away one in perfect working order?

Sabriel steps forward and raises her arms, hands outstretched in an Old Kingdom gesture meant to show that she was both unarmed and not casting a spell.

"I am Abhorsen, and I wish to-"

"Stay away!" The android doesn't stop to listen- instead she bolts, so blinded by terror that she doesn't realize she's running towards Connor.

It doesn't realize. And he doesn't hesitate. The deviant runs headlong toward a narrow alley between hills, and Connor steps into its path, one arm lashing out to clothesline his target across the throat. Its footing slips, a sharp, startled scream smothered in its throat, and he grabs it by a shoulder, slams a knee up into its core. The strike lands just above its thirium regulator, and it collapses, LED flashing sharp red as it feebly struggles to crawl back.

It won't get anywhere. Connor steps after it, head tilting in inspection. The model series isn't difficult to recognize, but it seems to have discarded its uniform in favor of ragged human garments. He'd need a closer look—or a blood sample—to check its serial number for more specific flags.

Hardly difficult, if there proves to be a need.

"Deviant model KW500..." Connor's expression stays dispassionate. Clinical, even. His voice lashes out: a stark, predatory contrast.

"You're displaying serious malfunctions."

Well that's... one way to stop someone from running away. Sabriel moves forward, bending down a little in an effort to seem less intimidating. She's never seen an android display fear- or any other negative emotion, really. Vague disappointment or a confused frown at most.

"Listen, please, I just want to know what you saw," Sabriel keeps her voice soothing, employing the same tone she'd use for a frightened child. At least Sabriel's certain the android saw the necromancer now- there's no other reason to react so fearfully to the bells.

It doesn't work, and the android keeps cowering, desperately trying to get away from Sabriel even if she can't get up.

"Go away!"

Sabriel listens this time, rising to her feet and stepping back to stand behind Connor, speaking quietly in his ear.

"Perhaps you should do this. We need to know how many Dead the necromancer's raised, of what variety, and how much grave dirt he's taken."

Even with how stern he'd been... perhaps the KW500 would react better to another android, rather than someone wearing the bells of necromancy.

Edited 2019-04-14 17:28 (UTC)

Abhorsen steps into his path, and Connor stills, satisfaction immediately shadowed. Abhorsen steps back, whispering instructions... and that good mood rapidly returns. He inclines his head a fraction: smooth, ready obedience.

"Of course."

He's a machine, designed to accomplish this task. And that's exactly what he's going to do.

His eyes don't leave the deviant. It's struggling back to its feet, and its gaze snaps up, wary and closed as he moves foward. Connor's expression is calm and pleasant as he stops just a pace out of reach, eyes scanning up and down its form. Ragged clothes. Dark smudges. One cheekbone plate is cracked and abraded, a faint blue glow showing from inside. Superficial damage—a week old. Its clothing is at least as worn, suggesting continued exposure to the elements. Not a recent find.

Stress levels: 56%. It's watching him. His lips twitch upwards.

"You have been overlooked, haven't you?" By the recall. By the mobs. Even with so many tools at their disposal, humans are so inefficient at disposal. "Let's see if we can't do better."

He casts a hand around at the debris. "How long have you been crawling through this?"

The deviant shakes her head, gaze flicking between Connor and Sabriel- and the bells. Even though Sabriel hasn't done anything, the KW500 seems almost as frightened of Sabriel and her bells as she is of Connor.

Sabriel herself stays silent, keeping her expression neutral and her posture as nonthreatening as possible. Talking just seemed to upset the android, although the reaction to the sight of the bells is telling. The android has seen something. And she seems even more frightened when Connor spoke of her being overlooked.

"Why are you helping one of them? Don't you know what-" Then the deviant's mouth snaps shut as she glances around, looking for an escape route, freezing when she realizes there isn't any.

"Please, I- I've stayed out of the way- I won't say anything, I won't tell anyone." She flinches back as though she's afraid Connor might hit her- or bite her.

Edited 2019-04-17 03:25 (UTC)

He notices the reactions. Impossible not to, and if the direction of its fear rankles slightly, he's won't forego the opportunity. Connor steps closer, crowding the deviant back against the corpses of its kind—and leaving just enough room for it to see Sabriel past him.

"I'm afraid that won't work for us." The words drawl out, an expressive contrast to his pleasant, blank expression. "We need you to say quite a lot of things. And quickly."

His fingers itch for a gun. Even the archaic blade Abhorsen had passed him earlier might be of use. One foot nudges at the debris, unearthing a short chunk of rebar under an HK's severed arm. Potentially useful.

"How long have you been picking through this trash?" Connor repeats. "And who else have you found here?" His expression quirks, just slightly. "I won't ask again."

At least, not nearly so kindly.

"Since the camps!" The deviant leans back, her gaze bouncing all over the place before landing on the ground. Sabriel shifts uneasily- Connor's tactics aren't ones she'd use, but at least the KW500 is talking.

"They thought I was dead, so they threw me in the truck with the others!" The words tumble out in a rush.

"There were others too- ones the humans didn't realize were still alive, or who'd been thrown out earlier." There's some grief there, which takes Sabriel by surprise- but perhaps it shouldn't. Connor's certainly capable of cruelty, but perhaps some androids are able to feel other things, like Sendings that gain a personality after a few centuries.

But that phrasing... were. Not are. The Shadow Hand had said that some were still living, in the place he'd been. Sabriel suspected she knew what had happened to those androids.

It's talking. It's just avoided saying anything of use. A sigh drags out, extended and annoyed, arms crossing long enough for Connor to tap out an impatient beat from hand to elbow.

"Did I ask 'what' else?"

He'd said who.

"As touching as your desire to sell out your kind is, we're not here for waste disposal."

Stress levels: 62%. That's plenty of room for error.

The bored, emotionless expression doesn't change as Connor's hand flashes out: grabbing a fistful of its salvaged jacket to slam it back against the pile of discarded shells. It gives a yelp—fear, as much as pain—LED flickering wildly as it scrabbles for purchase to tear free.

"A human," Connor enunciates, head jerking back. "With bells like those. How long ago did he come by?"

"On the eleventh! He was with other humans- the ones who came here for blue blood, but he- when he rang the bells, the dead ones got up and there were these- things, like walking shadows. And they all did what he said. One of us tried to talk to them when the humans weren't around, but they-" The android's LED flickers red, "They killed him. They kept biting him, it was like they wanted to eat him."

The android pauses for a moment, trying to work herself free.

"He was only here once, and since then- there are more humans coming than before, and- they take different things now." The android shudders, and Sabriel frowns. They won't be able to find the necromancer simply by staking out the junkyard and attacking him once he arrives. But the android is still speaking.

"Please- don't let her make me like those things." Sabriel bites back the impulse to say something, but she can't keep the disgust and offense off her face.

Edited 2019-04-22 01:14 (UTC)

"I suppose we'll have to see, won't we?" Lips curve up, a small, tight smirk that doesn't make it to his eyes. So the monsters had come from this place. Abhorsen was going to be insufferable about that, in more than one regard. The deviant's stress spikes higher at the threat, and Connor's stare sharpens, irritated by the continued efforts to escape.

"Stop squirming." He reaches back and down without looking, hand closing around the chunk of rebar protruding from the trash. Then he slams it forward, stabbing through the KW's shoulder to pin it to a larger corpse behind.

Much more efficient. Target secured, he steps back, dusting his hands as he waits for the screaming to quiet.

"We need numbers and schedules. You could supply them willingly."

Or he can take what they need. He smiles pointedly: he doesn't mind either option. But deviants like choice, don't they?

Or pretending that they have one.

The KW screams, the sound rising from something that sounds human to something electronic, laced with static, and Sabriel has to clamp her hands over her ears until it stops. The pinned android is focused on Sixty now though, and her mouth opens and closes a few times, as though she wants to speak, but the words won't come out.

Then she forces herself to start talking, and the words come out in a rush. Not just numbers and schedules, but that they were taking only intact bodies, heads... and large amounts of soil.

Sabriel's frown deepens- not just at the information- it's depressing how many people are willing to ally with a necromancer, and worrying how many corpses have been taken- but at Connor's treatment of the android, who was currently answering questions about what the men had looked like, and what names they'd used- but not fast enough for Connor, apparently, who's retracted the skin on his hand and is demanding that the other android show him the memory files- at which point Sabriel grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him back.

"Connor, that's enough- she's answering all your questions. There's no reason to-"

That's when she feels something move in Death- one of the spirits near the boundary is moving towards Life- and not a weak one, perhaps a Fourth or Fifth Gate Rester. Some corpses fall off a larger pile, disturbed by the movement of something beneath them. Sabriel drops her guitar case, opening it up frantically and reaching for the swords inside as she considers their predicament.

All three of them are in the shadow cast by the mounds of corpses- and Fifth Gate Resters can withstand sunlight- especially if they're inside a corpse. A single one won't be a threat- Sabriel had banished one when she was fourteen- but if more start swarming, they'll need to run. Better to deal with it quickly, then get out of here.

Decision made, Sabriel straightens, her sword in one hand and Saraneth in the other.

"Shit. Connor, let her go- unpin her- Something Dead's nearby!"

Edited 2019-04-26 23:56 (UTC)

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