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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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)

Stress levels: 89%—at the baseline. The numbers rise and drop, quick frantic spikes like the flashing of its red-lit LED. Now, the answers come as quickly as he needs: dates and numbers, salvage transported, and the rough descriptions of the humans who'd been there. It's useful, but still not enough. If the had faces, he could find them, and he deactivates his skin, reaching out to probe the deviant—

—when a hand locks around his shoulder and jerks him back. Connor stiffens, expression blanking in sheer outrage.

Another interruption follows in short order. The massive, pile of corpses shudders, something dislodging the packed bodies from below. The grip on his shoulder falls away, and Connor takes a step back, empty hands curling slightly as he regards the display. Whatever can shift that much weight isn't human. Or anything made in imitation of one.

His eyes flick to Abhorsen, readying her swords... and then to the trapped deviant. He only needs a moment. He steps towards it—only to freeze again, as Abhorsen speaks and a new task sets itself in front of him.

Free the deviant.

"It's not—" He stutters, frame locked in a coil of frustration. "It still has information!"

"Connor, if that thing feeds on her, it will only get stronger, and if more arrive, we'll need to run- unpin her and call a taxi!" Sabriel doesn't have time for Connor to throw a fit.

The pile shudders again, and a TR400 starts to emerge- it's skinless, with its eyes a solid black- like the forms of the Shadow Hands, absorbing all light rather than reflecting it. Sabriel plunges the tip of her sword into the ground, and reached for the Charter, the mark on her forehead flaring into brilliant life. Distantly, she can hear the KW500 saying- something about RA9, something that sounds almost like a prayer, but Sabriel's no longer sparing any attention toward her or Connor.

"Anet! Calew! Ferhan!" The marks come easily, forming silver blades that punch through the Dead android at the neck, stomach, and thigh, leaving fist-sized holes that burn with golden fire as Saraneth rings out.

But this Dead is stronger than the Shadow hands, and it doesn't fall under her sway as quickly- instead it lurches towards her, imitation muscles twitching as it slowly falls into her power, resisting her all the way.

[Free the deviant]
[Call a taxi]

The second order, Connor clears with a flicker of thought. The first stalls, burned into his vision, a nearly tangible obstruction as he turns to glance at the fight. He doesn't recognize the words Abhorsen speaks, but the result is immediately clear—and she's not slow with the damned bell, either. Neither seem to be having the effect she'd hoped.

He looks back to the deviant: trapped and muttering, eyes glazed faintly as it babbles about rA9. Stress levels: 93%. He could probe its memories right now. Get the criminals' faces, and dispose of one more useless defect on the way. He just has to reach out—

[Free the deviant]
[Free the deviant]

Red letters arrest his motion, and Connor stiffens, fist curling as the skin slides back in place. He steps forward, one foot braced against his victim's side, and when he moves again to complete the reach, his hand locks around metal, not plastic. The rebar comes free with a wrenching twist, blue blood dripping down the length as the deviant cries out again. He steps back. Glares as it starts to scrabble its way up.

He hopes it bleeds dry.

Finally, finally the Dead android falls under her power, kneeling before her and looking up with a horrible blank expression, like it forgot how to make its face work, its body still twitching and flinching as the fires burned in the wounds from Sabriel's spell.

It might have fought Saraneth, but once under Sabriel's control, it can't fight the other bells, and Kibeth sends it into Death with only a whine of protest from the Dead in question, the fires fading as the spirit heads into Death.

Sabriel steps over the corpse after brushing aside the impulse to perform the final rites. They need to leave, as soon as possible.

"We should head to wherever the taxi's arriving. If more Dead appear, I doubt they'll do us the favor of arriving one by one, and this is a bad place to get swarmed."

The TR goes down. First kneeling, then falling, reduced to the same heap of trash it came from. The entire process took... a minute? Less? It hadn't gotten near the deviant, much less used it as fuel.

Connor stares down, expression as blank and featureless as the corpse's. The blood trail is obvious, and it wouldn't be too late to follow. Recover the target, take what information they might need.

That's not what Abhorsen tells him.

He nods curtly, turning toward the exit. "This way."

Sabriel's gaze shifts toward the blue on white blood trail, and she frowns. She hopes the android got away, that she gets somewhere safe. Somewhere that isn't this place, which now feels even more dangerous than it did before.

She'd never seen one so frightened- but then, before Connor, she'd never seen one show much emotion at all.

Sabriel follows his direction, her expression a little unfocused as she keeps her attention on Death, trying to feel if anything else is trying to get through.

She hasn't put the sword away, instead keeping a firm grip on it, occasionally glancing down at the blade. The inscription is different this time.

The Clayr Saw me, the Wallmaker made me, the King quenched me, Abhorsen wields me.

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