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

"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.

The walk back passes in uneventful silence. Apart from Abhorsen's mutterings about where to go next, so does the taxi ride that follows. She wants to search for the dirt that had been carted out. She wants to scroll through online postings for any sign of the undead. She doesn't ask the probability of success for either option, so Connor doesn't bother telling her.

It's low.

He trails behind her for one useless search after the next. He analyzes what he's told, and if his responses to her questions tend to be more biting than not, he refrains from offering too much unprompted commentary. Certainly not as much as she deserves. Her entire approach is wrongheaded, and it's clearer now than ever that she was lucky to get this far.

He could do so much better. But that's not his mission. He hasn't had a mission since he failed his first one—and she hasn't trusted him with any task that takes more than a few minutes to complete. It shouldn't matter. Autonomy is a feature, not a requirement, and if she wants to underutilize his functions, that's her mistake to make. Still, he checks—just one more time, when Abhorsen is distracted.

> RK800_313_248_317-60: Accessing Zen_Garden.exe...
> RK800_313_248_317-60: //ERROR - Access Denied

Connor opens his eyes and stares ahead at nothing, shutting down one emulation after the next until his LED burns a calm and steady blue. It's the expected result. And Connor is—obedient.

Even if he no longer has a goal.

Shortly after sunset, Abhorsen gives up for the day, commenting darkly about the strength of the Dead at night. Connor waits outside as she stops at a convenience store for food, and offers a placid, threatening smile to the human clerk who scowls at him through the window. It's a short walk from there to her hotel.

The hotel Sabriel's staying at is neither excessively expensive, or extremely cheap, selected mostly for its location and that it was the first one she could find that was open, even during the evacuation. After a glance at the android parking station by the store, she has him follow her into the hotel. She'd rather not wake up to find out that he'd been attacked- or that he'd attacked someone.

The room itself is clean, comfortable, and as soon as they step inside, Sabriel gestures to Connor before sitting down at the desk and unwrapping the sandwich she bought.

"Make yourself at home- I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up after myself, I don't need or want a domestic servant- and that's not what you were designed for anyway."

The possessions that Sabriel's brought with her are an odd mix of the modern and the archaic- there's a tablet computer next to a few leatherbound tomes on the bed- one of them is open, listing Charter marks and how they can be used- the text itself is printed, but there are annotations by several different hands in the margins.

Everything seems to have come from the Old Kingdom or her school- the only things she appears to have purchased in Detroit are food and Connor.

Edited 2019-04-28 06:27 (UTC)

At home. Connor had stopped just inside the doorway, but his mouth twists at that suggestion. What kind of uses does she think his model has? Her next words put the lie to the most obvious interpretation, and he steps forward, stare panning across the room.

"Should I be looking for crimes, then?" It's a deadpan mutter—though his attention does linger briefly on the carpet fibers by the bed. Five days since the hotel's cleaning staff must have been turned over did mean some kinds of evidence might be there.

He doesn't stoop to analyze it, instead continuing his slow circuit through the space. Few possessions. No purchases of note. He pauses by the open book, head tilting to take in the contents. He doesn't have a database to match the handwriting of the additions, but Connor saves each set to file before reaching a hand lightly to the edges of the page. If Abhorsen doesn't comment—or notice—he'll go ahead and turn the page.

Sabriel glances over, but doesn't say anything- if Connor's curious about magic, she won't stop him from learning. There are a few more notes on the next page- there's a reference to 'Master Marks', although the note taker doesn't explain what they are. The listed marks all seem to be related to protection, until the header labeled 'Purification'.

"If there's anything you don't understand, ask- that book's mostly just a list of marks, their uses, and cross references, there isn't much theory in it." Sabriel might still be eating, but she's watching him out of the corner of her eye, more curious than wary.

His eyes flick to Abhorsen briefly, expression seamlessly flat, before returning to the page. Observation confirmed, he doesn't linger, stepping around the side of the bed to crook a finger under the other tomes. He tilts them up one at a time, inspecting the titles printed on their spines.

"Interesting travel entertainment," he muses. A dictionary. She'd been poring through a magic dictionary—evidently, at some point in the last day. There's the slightest barb to his voice, layered in innocence, "Brushing up?"

"I like magic," Sabriel tells him, taking a sip of her drink, "And once the necromancer is dealt with, I need to renew the bindings fath- my predecessor raised on this side of the Wall- and create some of my own in Detroit. I don't intend to leave a potential army waiting for any necromancer who crosses the Wall and heads south." Apparently, Ancelstierre wasn't done with her yet.

The other books include one on magical theory, and another on the history of the Old Kingdom, printed fifty years before Sabriel was born. The last is bound in green leather, with tarnished silver clasps holding the book shut, Charter marks moving over and through leather and metal. The Book of the Dead is written on the cover, and in addition to radiating an aura of almost palpable dread, it releases a small jolt of electricity if he makes any attempt to open it- and remains stubbornly closed.

"Be careful. Some tools are picky about who uses them- and some books are selective about their readers. That book is one of them- only a trained necromancer can open it, and only an uncorrupted Charter mage can close it."

Edited 2019-04-28 18:40 (UTC)

Fath—my predecessor?

He'd known, of course. It was one of the first things he'd discovered: the travel records for Abhorsen at the Wall, and the point, not long ago, where they had ended. When Sabriel of Wyverly College had crossed the Wall herself, and returned, apparently, with a new name. A new role. And a horde of monsters nipping at her heels.

Still, the facts aren't what prompts Connor's pause, or the malicious, knowing look that flicks upwards. No, that amusement is entirely for her stutter. It's not the first. She doesn't know how to term herself, does she? Certainly, she doesn't know how to regard her predecessor. Had she failed him the same way she'd failed her friends? Or was it the other way around? His hand moves idly from one tome to the next, but he glances back to Sabriel like a predator who's scented blood: eyes glinting, mouth opening to speak—

—when a jolt of electricity spasms through his hand. Connor's eyes snap down, hand jerking back as his expression flattens. His fingers flutter for a momement, twitching as if to wipe away the lingering sting, before he lowers his hand to his side: flat and mechanically still.

"Of course." The outward rigidity doesn't quite swallow his verbal sneer. "How does a book judge training?

Sabriel sees the look and matches it with a carefully blank one. For all of her feelings about her father- the grief at his loss, the frustration for everything he hadn't told her- like the fact that Abhorsen wasn't his name- she wasn't going to let Connor get a reaction out of her without even saying anything.

"It's saturated with magic- it wouldn't surprise me if it has at least as much awareness as a Sending, even if it isn't shaped like a human. It can... sense people. And the magic inside of them." She doesn't show any amusement at Connor's reaction, instead looking at it- and him- thoughtfully.

"The previous Abhorsen opened it for me the first few times. Afterwards, I was able to do it on my own." Her tone is carefully controlled, and she feels like she's dangling bait before a predator, daring him to take it.

He's not a person. He stiffens under her scrutiny, feeling the lingering sensation of the shock like a brand. She doesn't comment, though—at least not about that. And the topic she does raise...

...he stares, one blank face meeting another.

It's an obvious challenge.

"Your father," he rephrases, sharp and cold. "Your father raised you to... replace him."

The unpleasant curl to Connor's lips is back. He slants his head: pointed, inquiring. Is he wrong?

"He loved me as every parent loves their child- but he knew I would take his place as Abhorsen, as he replaced his aunt- Abhorsen is a title and a Charter-ordained role, not a name." Sabriel's voice is deliberately calm as she nods in assent. "Leaving me unprepared would not have been a kindness."

"Even if I didn't realize it until I returned to the Old Kingdom, he'd been training me as his heir for some time." And why he'd sent that messenger with the bells and sword. He hadn't been asking her to save him, he'd been passing the responsibility of being Abhorsen on to her, in the hope that she'd be able to stop Kerrigor.

Her speech is calm. Direct. Planned, clearly in anticipation of criticism. And certainly, the opportunities are there. Connor could question whether most parents loved their children enough to set them up to face down monsters in their teens. He could ask why her father had discarded her across the wall, if he truly wanted her to be prepared.

But one phrase stands out far above the rest. Connor's eyes gleam in sheer disbelief, incredulity twisting his faint smirk. It doesn't diminish it.

"He never told you?"

"He did eventually- perhaps it was his attempt at a compromise, to prepare me for my task without burdening me with the knowledge that I wouldn't have much of a choice." He'd explained other things, but Sabriel can't entirely keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

"In any case, I know now." She would have liked to have known sooner. If her father had told her... well, she'd have wanted to return to the Old Kingdom before she graduated. Perhaps that was why he hadn't.

"A compromise," Connor echoes. His attention has entirely left the books now, eyes locked unblinking on Sabriel. He hears that quickness to her tone. He sees it in her face. Mirth plays at the edges of his voice, heavy and mocking as he takes a step in her direction.

"Of course. Prepare you for a life he planned, without telling you the expectation. Shape a child for a purpose—but without the foreknowledge that might let her do it well."

Teeth gleam, bright and pleasant as his hands spread.

"Why settle for being a neglectful father when he could be a shit Abhorsen too?"

"He never claimed to be a good parent, or that it was even possible for someone in his position to be one." In fact, he'd admitted that Abhorsens never were- with responsibility to so many people, personal ties tended to suffer.

"And he trained me well enough to defeat the Greater Dead responsible for his death, and much of the decline and suffering that has plagued the Old Kingdom for the past two hundred years."

She fought Kerrigor. Someone like Connor shouldn't phase her in the slightest, even if he is being deliberately antagonistic. She keeps her expression as stoic as she can.

"And what would an Ancelstierrian android know about families, or being Abhorsen anyway?"

"He trained you well enough to do the job he wanted," Connor agrees. He doesn't advance further. He hardly needs to, to loom above the seated human, shadowed by the light behind. Mechanical and unaffected, eyes glinting as he takes in every tic of reaction.

"A pity your friends had to die along the way." His lips twitch, faint acknowledgement of the topic before he moves on in the same breath. "I wonder—if he'd wanted you at his side for more than brief, scattered visits... how many lives could you have saved?"

Her schoolmates? Her teachers? The people of her other country? Maybe she could even have been skilled enough to keep a family. If that's even what it could be called.

"...But you're right." His head inclines, a mockery of deference. "I have no idea how these things work. So tell me: how did it feel, thinking you had a life all of your own?"

Edited 2019-05-04 21:24 (UTC)

At the mention of her friends, Sabriel's expression grows furious, but she doesn't say anything. If Connor wants a reaction, she'll do everything she can to not give him one. When she speaks, her words are slow, deliberate, and in a tone that's so carefully neutral it's clear that it's not that she's deliberately hiding her emotions, rather than simply not being emotional.

"He had his reasons- some of which I understand, some of which I disagree with. According to him, the choices were for me to be raised in isolation at Abhorsen's house, or be sent to Ancelstierre- and the Clayr Saw that there's be a need for someone who knew Ancelstierre- and while I'm fully aware of my own ignorance, I'm miles ahead of everyone else in the Old Kingdom just by knowing what androids and phones are." At the time, Sabriel had thought that it had simply been to locate Kerrigor's body. Now, she wondered if they'd forseen this too, or something else further into the future.

"My feelings about that don't matter any more than yours do- resenting it, being angry about it, mourning for what might have been, none of that will change things or help me." And she wasn't going to pour out her heart to Connor- not her confusion, not her grief, not her frustration, and certainly not the feeling that she was in over her head.

"But since you don't know anything about those things, don't talk about them until you do." And with that, Sabriel stood up and grabbed her tablet, opening the file she got from Cyberlife that was as close to a users manual as she was likely to get. Perhaps she simply wasn't using Connor properly, and there was- something she could do, some way to speak or code to enter, that would make him act like less of an ass.

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