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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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.

As thoroughly as he's looked into records south of the Wall, Connor lacks the context to interpret all of Abhorsen's retorts. That doesn't mean he can't recognize them for what they are. Excuses, fumbling and petty—fueled by a hate and hurt she broadcasts clearly on her expression, even as she struggles to keep it from her tone.

How very human of her.

The order she snaps out after fits the bill as well. Connor closes his mouth on a half-formed answer, eyebrows quirking up instead. "Of course... Abhorsen." His voice twists slightly on her title.

He doesn't move as she stands, reaching past him for something on the bed. Only his eyes flick to track the motion, lingering on the computer she retrieves. He's still a step too far to read over her shoulder, but his LED blinks briefly yellow as he connects to the screen. It spins back blue just as quickly. Cyberlife's sharp font and dry documentation is easy to recognize. Connor doesn't need to read the notes to guess at their contents. He doesn't need to know what they'd recorded about him at all.

If there's anything Abhorsen can use, he's sure he'll hear about it soon.

It's dry reading, and while computer science was definitely on the syllabus at Wyverley, it's less a user's manual and more a collection of notes from Connor's developers. Some of it is censored, while other parts are hard to understand and reference something called a 'zen garden'- code for something, presumably. She makes a note of the preconstruction and reconstruction capabilities- those do sound useful, and explain how he was able to analyze the scene where the dead android was attacked by the Shadow hand.

She occasionally glances over at Connor, but he's mercifully silent. There isn't much about how to adjust his programmed personality- and not much she can understand about his social integration programming, which doesn't seem to be functioning as intended. Still, there was one note that caught her attention. Her tone is casual and curious as she speaks- getting angry at Connor only seems to goad him.

"Connor, I'm afraid I don't entirely understand this part- it says you're designed to be autonomous, with a mission based objective system- but how do I set a mission? Is there a phrase I need to use, or do you just do that automatically?" If so, she should probably make sure she didn't accidentally set it to something useless like be quiet or stay out of the way.

Edited 2019-05-05 01:50 (UTC)

Abhorsen reads. Connor retreats to the edge of the room, leaning back against a wall to wait. Her periodic glances won't find much: his expression holds nothing but flat neutrality, and he only bothers meeting her stare once. One hand tugs idly at the edges of his jacket. The other briefly fingers the rent torn in his sleeve from the attack. He stops when he sees her look his way.

On a human, the gestures might look bored.

His gaze comes up more fully at the address. Connor's face shows nothing at all, but his stare lingers for a moment's silence.

"My handler assigns my missions." Fingers twitch, and his head tips curtly in her direction. "You, now. As for how, it's no different than anything else. Tell me what you want, and I'll do it."

Some small, petty, vicious part of Sabriel wants to tell him his mission is to stop acting like an asshole, but it's quickly overruled. She acquired Connor for a purpose, and it wasn't to argue with him. She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. She straightens up before speaking, setting the tablet down on the desk.

"Your mission is to locate and apprehend the necromancer, ideally with making as few people as possible aware of the supernatural, and with minimum loss of life."

Hopefully that's enough- after watching Connor attack that deviant earlier in the day and some of the liability forms she signed, she wouldn't put attacking people past Connor, and large numbers of Ancelstierrians becoming aware of the supernatural would create far more problems than it solved.

Connor straightens in response: not mimicking Sabriel's, but settling almost unconsciously into a fixed, obedient mold. Frame upright. Hands at his sides. His LED blinks sharp blue as the instruction logs, priorities chaining themselves into neat sequence.

Mission: Apprehend the necromancer.

	*Objective:* [Locate the necromancer]
	Restrictions:
	> [Minimize awareness of the supernatural]
	> [Avoid human deaths]

She isn't Amanda. This isn't what he was made for. Still, it isn't the revenge he'd half-expected either, or any of a multitude of misuses the human could have set. Connor's eyes stay on Abhorsen, the light at his forehead continuing to spin as he processes the goal.

"...Apprehend," he echoes finally. There's a twist behind the word, but it's less scornful than it could have been.

"You want him alive?"

Edited (formatting) 2019-05-05 03:46 (UTC)

Sabriel's mouth twists unpleasantly, into a morbid grin.

"Dead is also acceptable- but if you do kill him, I'll need to take steps to ensure that he stays dead. And don't do it in public." The last thing she needs is more questions, or her and Connor's faces all over the media- and while altering a single person's- or even a small group's memory is possible, a crowd is a different story.

But at least Connor's accepted the order without any sulking or talking back, or attempting to be as unpleasant as possible. It's like some the other times she's given him orders that involved doing things- all of which he's obeyed. He might be unpleasant about them, like Mogget could be... but she could deal with Mogget, and she's sure she can deal with Connor. She just needs to avoid having any personal discussions with him. She picks up the tablet again, and keeps reading, hoping there isn't something else she missed.

That's a new look for her. Connor lifts a skeptical eyebrow, but nods. "Understood."

It is. Still, his stare lingers, even as Abhorsen returns to her reading. She'd made her own goals clear within minutes of his purchase, but she'd certainly taken her time applying any long-term tasks to him. This is... more efficient than some uses. And it's something she wants. Something important.

She won't damage the odds of his success.

After a solid ten minutes of silence, he speaks up. "...The police keep records of narcotics suppliers."

If Sabriel looks up, she'll find him watching her again. "If I can access their systems, I can look for the accomplices the deviant described."

Sabriel looks up from a discussion in the manual about the software changes to a recent iteration- large ones, even if she can't work out what the changes did. Perhaps they'd realized how unpleasant Connor's personality was, and tried to improve on it in the next iteration. But wait... the number in the notes was the same as the one on Connor's jacket. Perhaps his personality was simply an unintended side effect of whatever they'd been trying to do.

"I'll send an email- I should be able to get you access." The government had been willing to help her get a meeting with Cyberlife, they ought to be able to arrange this. And Connor was showing some initiative- before, he'd simply followed her directions, rather than suggesting a course of action on his own- and a helpful one too.

"It will have to wait until tomorrow, but if we can track them down, they should lead us to him." Which is an encouraging thought. They'll have to get them to talk, of course, but it should put Sabriel and Connor on the right track.

Will you look at that: a modicum of usefulness. Connor huffs out an unnecessary breath, shifting slightly as he resettles against the wall. The delay isn't ideal, but if she can requisition the information legally, it would avoid any complicating conflicts with the police. Though he privately doubts that any member of Detroit's legal system would allow an android into their records now.

Then again, she'd had enough sway to make it into Cyberlife, hadn't she? He supposes they'll find out tomorrow.

"We," he repeats instead. "You do know I'm capable of operating alone?"

"Connor, I'm not sure if they'd let you in alone, and I'd really like to avoid trouble with the law if I can help it." Not to mention that after how he dealt with that android, she's not sure if she trusts him to avoid unnecessary violence.

"TV on" She might as well watch the news before she's ready to sleep.

"Negotiations between the deviant leadership and the government continue, as the country grapples with the aftermath of the events in Detroit-"

A clip plays while the newscaster speaks- a small group standing in front of a crowd of androids, and among them is- Connor? Sabriel glances from the screen to Connor, looking for an explanation- or failing that, a reaction.

Connor doubts, sincerely and profoundly, that even this human will get everything she'd like. But there's no point arguing, and he presses his mouth closed, gaze shifting to the screen as she activates it—

...

Oh.

Connor doesn't speak. Not to explain. Not to acknowledge. He doesn't even seem to notice his owner's attention. His eyes are locked on the display: the seething mass of defective products, the sanctimonious plague vector at their head. And that face, standing there among the victors.

Connor doesn't move. Not to fidget. Not to breathe. He could be the dead and empty husk that Sabriel first came across... except the faint, frozen curl to his fingers. The look in his eyes. At his right temple, his LED blinks gold twice, before shading into vivid red.

Sabriel would be the first to admit that she doesn't know much about androids, but even she knows that a red LED is a sign that something is wrong. So even as she half-listens to the discussion whether androids are alive (Of course they are), whether the deviants' actions (Whatever those had been.) were justified, and what the government's response ought to be (None of her business), she raises her voice, trying to shake him out of it.

"Connor? Connor, is something wrong? Do you know who that other android is?"

She wishes he'd move. It's unnerving, how still he's standing.

Sharp tones. A recognized voice signature. His gaze swivels, smooth and robotic, settling on registered owner: [Abhorsen] with no emotion at all.

"It's an RK800."

A Connor model. #313 248 317-53. The third model Cyberlife sent for field testing, dispatched to the Stratford Tower in the wake of the deviants' broadcast. His last uploaded records from this model come from Jericho, on the night of the attack.

...His jaw is clenched, lips parted just a fraction. Connor presses them together. Molds his expression into a smile: calm and perfectly mechanical. Why would anything be wrong? "A failed version," he explains.

The light blinks. Red. Red.

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