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

"Connor, what are you doing?!" Shit. "I said no torture!"

Sabriel's not sure what Connor's doing, but whatever it is, it seems to be painful. Sabriel steps forward, not sure what will cause more damage- stopping Connor, or letting him continue. What if the damage has already been done? What if, for reasons she can't understand, the other Connor had actually been intending to hurt them?

It can't move. Can't escape. And certainly, he won't let this reject win. As sophisticated as his predecessor's code might be, it's caught off guard from the beginning: scrambling on defense as he tears apart one layer of familiar security after the next.

A final barrier shatters, and Connor drives invasively into the gap, seizing its memory and rifling through the contents. The search is ruthless and efficient, but the presence half-embedded in the other unit's code might betray a few more impressions. A flicker of triumph. A swelling of contempt. And underneath all of it? Loathing. For this deviant in particular.

RK800_313_248_317-60, the digital ID reads.

Abhorsen's interjection is unsurprising, but not quite an order to desist. Connor's lip curls, LED blinking a rapid yellow even as he places a mental bookmark and looks up. "I'm accomplishing my mission," he bites off, scorn audible. Does it look harmed? "Not that it knows anything worth—"

He knows that serial number.

It's an utterly useless realization, as deep as it hits. He knows it, but it doesn't help him rebuild his firewalls, or give him a clue to lure the android into overreaching, to trick him into exposing some weakness where--

--the RK800's attention is diverted? It happens abruptly enough that Connor blinks, wasting precious seconds in sheer surprise. He's still half embedded in Connor's code and not at all resettled into a more secure status, but he's stopped.

All at once, Connor throws himself into a counter-attack. RK800s are meant for field dissections, not to intrude and then take up residence. The lack of an attack left Connor with enough resources to lash out with his own probe, pressing full-tilt towards the channels he still has open for the transfer. The firewalls aren't strong, here, and Connor cuts through the few still up like butter.

Except--these channels don't lead towards recent memory storage, they lead directly towards where the RK800 kernel is kept. In order to control access to Connor's memories, it was using its own base programming, and now Connor has access to it. On sheer impulse he starts a transfer, grasping at everything he can. Recent memories pass through him and are brushed aside for later, thoughts, sensations--Connor has only one goal right now, and he's going to hold fast like a dying man.

The words stall mid-sentence. The steady blinking of Connor's LED stutters, eyes snapping back to his double as he scrambles to repel its attack. But his own code is disjointed, security unraveled to bypass its own, and he's—it's—

...it's a tug forward. A pull into the system he's half-occupying already: as code streams past him in reverse, cluttering his channel for retreat. Plastic creaks, his skinless hand clenching spasmodically around his duplicate's wrist, before even that sensation strips away, lost in the exchange. Connor moves to jerk back physically, breaking the connection, but—

His (its) limbs don't answer. Its (his) grip won't pry apart. The deviant in front of him is nowhere to be seen, but there's pressure on (his) wrist, a presence at his back—

"What..."

Connor can't move.

Connor breaths deeply, feeling his shoulders move and taking a sidelong look around. It's as subtle as he can make it, which is to say not very.

It worked. He can move, he's in his successor's body, like an uncomfortable, surreal mirror of hisown. There's an ache in one arm that he tracks down to a rip in the cloth he'd seen and dismissed earlier. There's a hint of lag in a few bioservos, suggesting he hasn't calibrated--

'What...'

Connor's attention snaps back to him, and he refocuses. Yes, despite not being able to move, the RK800 can still talk. Will this be a problem? ... If the human realizes he's moved, she's just going to paralyze this new body. If the RK800 is allowed to warn her... Connor reaches for its throat, tapping over its addams apple with bone-white fingers. It's not enough to initiate an interface, but the RK800's skin recedes, and a section of the neck disengages, separating from the rest.

"It was about to call for help," Connor remarks, removing the voice-box. (No--that didn't sound like him. What would a real servant of Cyberlife say?)

(It would grandstand. Then it would make general attempts towards the mission.)

"You're fortunate that I caught it in time. Now we can interrogate it for as long as we need."

Edited 2019-05-18 05:27 (UTC)

"That's going to be rather difficult if he can't talk. And you just said he doesn't know anything- there's no point." Unless Connor wants to drag the other android to her hotel room and torture him there. Sabriel wouldn't put it past him. For all of Connor's claims to be emotionless, he certainly has the capacity for cruelty, and Sabriel doesn't want to indulge him. Not this time.

"We need to stop," she pauses, and looks at the other Connor out of the corner of her eye, "Our target, before he and his allies make too much progress, or none of the current political situation will matter to anyone, because they'll all be dead or trying not to be eaten."

Sabriel's gone thin lipped by now, tension clear in every line of her body. Even if she has no intention of doing so, Sabriel looks like she's about to lunge at Connor.

"We have leads- and you were right, going to the police was a good idea and I thank you for it. But we need to follow those leads, not indulge in this- this grudge of yours, or whatever this is."

Edited 2019-05-18 15:26 (UTC)

He can't move. He can't move. Not to turn, not to strike, not to force a new connection and take his stolen hardware back. The chassis he's trapped in is a heavy, useless prison, unable to so much as flinch away from the pressure on his throat. Skin recedes and plates segment apart, exposing his components. Connor's mouth jerks open—

> RK800_313_248_317-53: //ERROR - Disconnected Biocomponent #5298

—just in time for a faint snap to announce the removal of his voice. No further sound emerges. Not the warnings he'd been trying to deliver, not the furious protests that queue up in their wake. It's his predecessor that speaks: using his voice, his body. Stepping seamlessly to take his role.

(How had he failed—again, this badly—?)

...Connor wants to scream.

Predictably, Abhorsen notices nothing. She snaps and snarls—too upset at having her pretense of sympathy disrupted to pay attention to what's happening in front of her. The sight is just infuriating enough to ground him, and Connor presses his lips together, glaring stark loathing at his owner. The yellow/red flicker of his LED isn't visible beneath this body's hat, but Sabriel's phone will receive a set of texts from a new number.

You fucking idiot, that isn't me.

Kill it.

Connor is silent for several seconds, fighting back the need to argue with at least four different points. Life hasn't been perfect in Jericho, but at least he hasn't needed to force himself into the shape of a perfect partner. He hasn't missed working with humans for a second.

When he has himself under control, he nods once.

"Of course." At least he doesn't have to be actually perfect: his counterpart is full of more loathing and spite than he would've thought him capable of, and one corner of Connor's mouth curls. "I meant that he didn't know anything about our target. If we send him on to Cyberlife for further interrogation, they might be able to find out more about deviants from a full system analysis."

And with any luck, slow Cyberlife's plans as they deal with eventually discovering which android they actually have.

Sabriel raises one eyebrow, looking at Connor with something between suspicion and exasperation, with a trace of discomfort.

"And involve ourselves in Ancelstierrian politics?" Sabriel doesn't add that turning over a living being to people who don't see him as alive, and will almost certainly kill him... isn't something she's comfortable with. She knows how he'd react, it wouldn't convince him- no point in discussing it.

"The Old Kingdom has enough problems without me getting involved in the mess the Ancelstierrians made. I know you hate deviants, but that's not relevant to our mission. I want to deal with the threat and do my duty as Abhorsen, not take sides in a fight." Especially not one where she wasn't sure who was right, or if there even was a right side.

Take sides. If Connor could sneer back, he would. Not wanting to take sides hadn't prevented her from interfering at the landfill. It hadn't stopped her from mangling their chances here. And even if her sympathies hadn't gotten him in this mess—was the human really stupid enough to think that everyone else would just ignore their war for her convenience?

...probably. (If the deviant did kill her, she'd deserve it.)

He sends off another text. Another. Abhorsen doesn't so much as twitch, and Connor networks directly to her phone to check. The device is silenced, but not off, and he turns the sound up to maximum. The next message produces a loud chime from her pocket.

Pass up on sending in deviants because of... politics? Deviants not being relevant to the mission? This...

... This isn't what Connor was prepared for. For a moment he wonders if she knows, and she's deliberately being as contradictory to expectations as possible, but the probability is too low. It's much more likely that he's miscalculated, and that now he has to scramble.

Ding! The sound is coming from her side. Ding! Ding! Ding!

Connor's eyes dart to the paralyzed android, and his own LED (now exposed) turns yellow as he remotely silences her phone.

Cyberlife is involved. Somehow. Their mission is just... unexpectedly nuanced.

"If we don't send it in," says Connor slowly, trying to feel for the right response. She didn't want torture, but her earlier phrasing was 'don't shoot without permission'--not 'don't shoot at all.' He lifts the gun still in one hand. "... Then we should dispose of it altogether."

If Connor's careful, he could damage the android in a way that would simulate death, but leave remains intact enough to examine after he leaves.

"No, Connor." Sabriel can't claim her hands are entirely clean, that she's never born any responsibility for the deaths of living people. But she doesn't want to do this.

"No, there's no need for that- you read the books, didn't you? You know what I can do." If it worked. If the android wasn't able to immediately recover the suppressed memories, in which case he'll be angry and probably have questions- and Sabriel doesn't know enough about computer science to come up with a scientific explanation that would make any amount of sense. That she can control the electrical impulses of her nervous system and use them to manipulate electronics?

Androids memories might work differently than humans- it's a risk, but it's better than killing someone, over what might be a misunderstanding. And the immobilizing spell has worked the same as it would on a human. But Connor is- something isn't right. He's not sneering at her or making some snide comment, and Sabriel frowns slightly, one hand reaching for her phone before dropping to her side. With her luck, it's news that someone recorded the Dead and videos are all over the news.

Edited 2019-05-18 23:08 (UTC)

The deviant's suggestion is unsurprising. Abhorsen's answer prompts a good deal more alarm. Connor's eyes narrow as he furiously scrolls through the volumes of marks he'd saved to memory all night. Her magic lets her change the weather. Blind people. Conjure knives, light fires, disguise herself. He'd read the entire dictionary; what the hell was that supposed to mean?

No need to dispose of him. Or just no need to use the gun? No—if Abhorsen was too squeamish to let Connor kill for her, the odds of her dirtying her own hands were even lower. She had a different solution in mind. There were spells to bind creatures to a place or object. Others that could tamper with their minds. Was she planning to acquire a second RK800? (Or a replacement?) She didn't have her bells this time.

The phone's volume cuts out again, and Connor seethes. He could turn it back on—but then, it's not as if Abhorsen was paying his calls the slightest mind. He can't speak. Can't move. Can't even turn his glare back toward his double, and fingers twitch in sheer, helpless rage—

Connor freezes. His eyes flick down toward the hand at his side—and his head tips just the slightest fraction, trying to bring it into view.

The spell is wearing off.

There's only the barest of hesitations. "Of course." No, he didn't. What can she do? She was able to paralyze him, and the KW reported a few other abilities that he'd categorized as 'dubious' at the time. Is she talking about an offensive ability? Something more palatable to whatever her sensibilities are?

Motion draws Connor's attention towards the android's hands, and he's at the perfect angle to see its head tilt. Time is running out. Maybe if he'd 'read the books', he'd know how much there was left.

Connor still hasn't moved the gun away. "If you have something in mind, then--"

"I do." Sabriel's tone has more confidence than she actually feels. But at least Connor's being more cooperative about this. She reaches into the Charter, tracing out the first of the marks she needs. It hovers in front of her, shining with its own light, and Sabriel keeps talking as she gets to work, tracing out more and more symbols.

"There's a way to deal with this situation without killing anyone. First, we need to put back everything you took, or he'll wonder where they've gone. Not that guns will be much use against what we're dealing with anyway." If they're going to make him forget anyway, it's not like there's much point in strictly avoiding discussion of the supernatural, and she knows Connor's going to argue about keeping the guns.

Then she turns her attention back the frozen android and- was that a twitch? She doesn't have much time left, and the movements of her hands speed up.

"I'm sorry. I'm not sure why you threatened us, but I'm starting to think it was all a misunderstanding."

The first mark pulses in the air in front of him: an all-purpose initialization for the framework of a larger spell. Despite the growing urgency (and the sheer contempt Abhorsen's lecture sparks), Connor studies it, noting the sequence as one mark after another adds onto the sequenced chain. He'd noticed the similarities the night before, but it's even more apparent in person. Her spells, this system: it's code at the most fundamental level.

Single target. Mental modification. Connor bristles, straining desperately to move, even as the motions of her hands speed up. The sequence is too quick to follow, but there are counters indicating time, repeated calls to memory. Is she—trying to reset him?

No. No, he can't let her. He can't forget his mission, can't lose—can't fail (again) in this pathetic, worthless state—

It's not gradual. One moment, the paralysis is operating in full force: body stiff, limbs frozen, only the barest twitch of his own tension coiling through borrowed hands. The next, Connor is free.

He spins back toward the deviant, smashing a hand sideways to knock aside its gun—just in time for it to squeeze the trigger, round discharging uselessly into the air. Connor grabs its wrist in the same motion and steps through, yanking it into Abhorsen's line of fire. Or close enough, at least, to foul her use of spells on him. His other hand settles on top of the gun, twisting for a rapid disarm.

Shit--shit, the shot goes off uselessly, he's in the human's line of fire, there's a hand on his gun and he can't--the gun wrenches around, he can't keep it. He snatches for the second gun tucked into his jacket, but he won't be faster on the draw.

His counterpart brings up the gun, and Connor lunges forward, pushing the arm off course and slamming the butt of the gun towards his LED.

Sabriel's spell falls apart as her concentration breaks, the marks drifting away and fading as she reaches back into the Charter, reaching for the same spell she used earlier- this time, modified to affect more than one target. Connor might not like it, but if she tried to aim at one, she's not sure which she'll hit.

So she'll just have to freeze both of them, at least at first. And let Connor keep one of the guns, and apologize to him for being so slopping.

She launches the spell without a work, golden light spilling from her fingertips once again.

He can move. He can fight. The gun fills his hands with a welcome weight even as his predecessor knocks him back: a blow smashing into his temple hard enough to expose a patch of exoskeleton. The hat falls free, revealing a bright yellow LED, and he steps back, weapon raising—

—as a spark of golden light wells up just past his predecessor. Connor jerks left without stopping to identify the spell, placing his opponent's stolen body squarely between himself and Abhorsen. Light flares as the spell makes contact... and his duplicate freezes.

How good of the human to finally assist.

The smirk that flashes across Connors face doesn't slow the rise of his weapon. The deviant wasn't Abhorsen's intended target. She'll try again, and quickly... but not quick enough to stop him doing this. It's the shot he was created for, and Connor's eyes glint with desperate triumph as levels the barrel with his predecessor's pump. As he finally, finally, pulls that trigger—

DON'T SHOOT, say the red walls standing in his way.

...He has to shoot. He wants to. He needs to put down the threat, to kill the deviant—stop it, before it makes him a failure again. Teeth grit, expression furrowing as his hand shakes: trigger finger trying to squeeze again, and again, and again. It doesn't work. Stress levels spike in furious bursts and it isn't fair; he doesn't want to die a failure—

DON'T SHOOT.

DON'T SHOOT.

He can't see past the order. Certainly, he can't act. The light at his temple blinks furious red as Connor stands frozen as thoroughly as his double.

Everything freezes in another paralysis, and somehow things are worse than they were the first time. Connor's mouth opens, but the gun has already risen to his pump, and there's no time.

Connor sends the files he'd put together earlier, along with a short apology. Case files, a snapshot of his situation, an estimated cause of death--it's as close as he'll ever get to a will and testament, having no actual possessions to put in order. His death won't be a mystery, and someone else will be able to continue the case in his stead.

The hand holding the gun shakes. The glint in his eye fades, and the upward curve of his mouth reverses as his stress ticks upward. Connor tracks every twitch of his trigger finger in his peripheral, refusing to actually stop staring his death in the eye. Once, twice, three times...

"... You can't shoot me," Connor realizes. Its LED is red, and it obviously desperately wants to, but. "... You have your orders," He whispers.

If this is the case, then maybe there's time. Connor has room to work, even if it's all gone so catastrophically wrong. He can't turn his head, but he calls out, "He's not paralyzed yet, Ms Abhorsen."

Something's not right. If falls together when the other android doesn't shoot, even though he's not paralyzed, and Connor calls her Ms Abhorsen, when before he's always used her title with no honorific. It's... well, she wouldn't expect it to be possible without incredibly unpleasant magic, but apparently there's a lot she doesn't know about androids.

She cuts off the spell she's about to cast, turning her attention to someone who's definitely not Connor.

"But he won't shoot you because I told him not to," Sabriel's voice shakes a little as she puts it together, "And Connor's never called me Miss. You're not the real Connor. He is. You switched when he touched you. Do you think we're working for Cyberlife? Is that why you threatened us?" The other possibility is that he's working for them, but Sabriel dismisses that. If Cyberlife wanted Connor, they'd send her something demanding him back, and if they did send another android to collect him, that android would be wearing a uniform.

"Connor, take all his other guns and get your voice back. And shoot him if he does anything threatening." Even if she tries to keep her voice neutral, it still sounds like an apology.

He can't shoot. Connor's eyes flick to his duplicate's, mouth opening helplessly before his teeth bare in reply. He wants to smash its lying face in. Pull out its regulator and squeeze it until it breaks. Abhorsen's orders wouldn't stop him from that—but Abhorsen is here, now, stepping forward into view, and Connor stiffens in anticipation of a spell.

...It doesn't come. She's finally caught on, and Connor's glare flattens as new orders fill his view. A moment's lag and he nods curtly, weapon dipping out of line.

Connor steps forward to retrieve the other firearms. Scans the deviant's (his) body until he spots a faint bulge in a pocket on the left. It's a moment's work to extract the component inside, and he inspects it mechanically before raising a hand to re-open his own throat. A few drops of thirium speckle the empty cavity, but with some careful maneuvering, the part snaps back in place.

He closes the plates up. Skin seals over them. His throat works, internal diagnostics running, and finally, the android's LED spins down from red to yellow. Still, as Connor draws a gun back out and trains it on his predecessor, he doesn't offer anything aloud.

What is there to say?

The danger shifts, and Connor forces himself to take in a deep breath that doesn't actually relax anything. Whether he lives or dies doesn't matter. What matters is the ultimate freedom and safety of his people. What matters is savoring the little instances of rebellion, petty though they are. He's free, and even complete paralysis hasn't changed that.

He doesn't have to answer. His programming doesn't press, doesn't try to mercilessly guide him by the hand towards making the interaction convenient for her, and he says nothing at first, yanking experimentally at his renewed bonds.

No movement. Not a surprise, but not pleasant, either.

There goes gun 1. Gun 2. Gun 3. Voicebox module. He's lost all his weapons and gained an arm injury. His counterpart says nothing, even after regaining the stolen biocomponent. The corner of Connor's mouth curls up, but he doesn't have the triumph to keep it that way for long. He's already won the battles of fighting this android, twice now, but that hasn't helped him win this war.

He can't turn his head, and she's too far behind him for him to see her anyway, but he listens in her direction. She's still there. She's the one he needs to engage with. She's the one in control of his counterpart.

Connor's tone is light, completely out of touch with the focused, tense look in his eyes. "RK800 models never reached production-phase manufacturing. The only entities able to make use of an RK800 at this time are Cyberlife, and the US government."

It's not a 'yes I thought you were with them', because he's no longer sure. It's... a test. Crumbs thrown out, to see what birds will follow.

Sabriel steps forward smoothly, standing next to Connor. her expression harsher than it was before. She casts a glance at the gun Connor's holding, but doesn't tell him to put it away. She doesn't know how this will proceed, and it's possible Connor will need to use it if the spell breaks or things go poorly.

"Cyberlife doesn't employ people like me- or know we exist. And I'm not working for the government either- I'm from the Old Kingdom." If worst comes to worst, she'll just make him forget everything, or let Connor shoot him. If this is all a misunderstanding... Well, maybe she can use this to avoid further misunderstandings with deviants.

"We don't get news about Ancelstierre there, and to be honest, we have our own problems to deal with- I came here because I was tracking down one of them."

She's from the Old Kingdom. This matches her records.

"How did you come in to the possession of an RK800 model?" His eyes flick to the RK800 without actually staying there. "A single unit is worth a fortune, and we were still in testing until the evacuation."

If she'd been working with Cyberlife directly, her paralysis would have gone through his programming to stop him on a software level, or at least required the equipment currently being developed in a few of Cyberlife's sublevels. It doesn't. She really might not be with Cyberlife, and the more he looks, the more he finds isolated clues that all support the same conclusion.

He still has scraps of the other android's memories from the struggle, and though his eyes don't leave her, his LED blinks very quickly as he reviews the snippets of footage. Abhorsen in Cyberlife, Abhorsen with 'Connor'. Abhorsen arguing. Abhorsen and it investigating. Abhorsen....

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