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

"I thought you were affiliated with Cyberlife, thanks to your android's model and its continued use of its Cyberlife uniform." Connor drops a glance in the android's direction, impersonal and uninterested.

"I also guessed from the questions you asked a damaged android at the county's Solid Waste that you're searching for someone closely associated with the recently taken android bodies, among other incidents."

These are hardly the only facts he'd been assuming, nor are they the only reasons he'd thought some of these statements, but it's a start. Connor lifts his eyebrows slightly, eyes tracking as much as he can to try to predict her next action. She seems attached to her sense of morals, and like she's not planning to hurt him? Humans are naturally fickle, though, and nothing is guaranteed.

"I see. Connor, is this true, and do you know what other incidents he's referring too?" Sabriel turns back to Connor her eyebrows lifting. If he's telling the truth, and androids have become aware of the necromancer... that's going to complicate things. Hopefully, she can convince them she's an ally, or at least not an enemy... but if androids have already become aware of the necromancer's actions, that's going to be hard to cover up- she only knows how to cover up very recent memories.

In the long run, it could be good, if like the soldiers at the Wall, they welcome her help. But if they're fearful, if they decide all magic is the same... that's going to complicate things.

Connor's eyes flick back up at the address. His LED spins with metronomic precision as he checks the summary against the files he'd taken. Static catches behind the first syllable of his reply, clearing almost immediately as his voice recalibrates.

"I͟҉t̶̕'҉͞s̶ ́͢n̨o̵t lying." A beat, mouth flattening before he amends. "Currently." About that.

"The KW brought the theft of the discarded products to its notice. Before that, it had been looking into attacks on deviants from their own kind." Abhorsen can guess the implication. Connor's eyes fix on his duplicate, voice cold and disdainful. "It posited a virus."

"Thank you, Connor. As for your speculation- that's a reasonable guess," Sabriel says, in the tone she'd used to encourage an underclassman struggling with a difficult problem. She purses her lips, considering her next words.

If he was investigating already, trying to alter his memory wouldn't keep him out of their way- and while Sabriel was confident in her ability to alter very recent memories, anything more risked the spell going out of control. But if he was pursuing it anyway... Well, she's not going to send him off to fight the Dead, but she could persuade him to track down the grave-dirt and keep it from being of any use to the Dead.

"Look for dirt where it doesn't belong," Sabriel tells the RK800, her words suddenly forceful and urgent, "And if you find any, get rid of it. And look into the Bain Emergency Drill. Following it could save your people's lives."

Be inside by nightfall. Lock all doors and windows. Deny entry to strangers. Shed light inside and out. Prepare candles and lanterns for when the electricity fails. Wear silver. If caught outdoors, find running water.

Not a foolproof defense against the Dead, but if covered the basics, and didn't mention the supernatural.

The Bain Emergency Drill. His LED bleeds yellow for a moment, and then he has its full contents saved and being digested.

Superstitious. Nonsensical. Connor tugs uselessly at the bonds holding him, and narrows his eyes very slightly, because those two words no longer hold the same weight they had mere minutes ago.

"What does dirt have to do with missing androids and finding a dangerous person of interest?"

She doesn't look like she thinks this is a wild goose chase... but it doesn't sound like advice she's giving him that she thinks will crack his case, either.

"The KW- she told you, didn't they? That they were taking dirt along with corpses." She's not going to call them discarded merchandise. If they were just that, she wouldn't be here, she'd be back in the Old Kingdom, instead of here, dealing with a conflict that had very little to do with her and was distracting people from what was actually important.

"They have a use for both. Those... things, they can't pass over or under running water, unless there's a layer of grave dirt between them and the water," Sabriel frowns at Connor, "I should warn you- going after those things with guns will not end well for you- most injuries don't bother them, and the wounds they inflict- their teeth and hands have been covered in something that rots human flesh and android plastic." Nonsense, of course, but it's a vaguely scientific-sounding explanation for the way wounds inflicted by the Dead go bad. Sabriel regards him solemnly as she continues.

"And they're not sick. What's inside of them... it's not the AI they were made with, it's something else entirely. Who they were before- that's gone." Entirely true- but she doubts he'd believe what the 'something else' was even if she told him- he'll probably assume they've had some other, simpler program loaded into their hardware, one that can't become alive.

Connor's eyes narrow infinitesimally at the use of the word 'corpses', standing out in blaring contrast to the android's own word choice.

She tells him about running water. Dirt. Guns. Superstitions. It's all just...

... He shakes the disbelief off, zeroing in on what she continues on to say.

"They're dead," he says, though it's more a question than a statement. It's half to see if she'll continue to acknowledge the terms alive and dead as applying to androids now that he's actually participating, rather than out of some kind of habit. It's also half to see if she thinks they actually are, so he can store the information and compare it to the facts as his evidence grows.

Sabriel's expression shifts- there's a moment of surprise, and then a look of grim satisfaction.

"Yes. But not dead enough." If he doesn't believe her... his loss. If he does, perhaps androids actually are smarter than humans, "Dealing with such things is my family's duty." It's the reason her father came to Ancelstierre, and why he'd had her raised here- because the Clayr had thought that she'd need to be familiar with this country to do her duty.

"And the governments actions mean he can raise an army of them, if given enough time." Him, and any other necromancer that heads south. Even if one necromancer is dealt with, she needs to convince someone to burn the bodies, or otherwise render them useless. Performing the final rites on each corpse simply isn't an option.

The minds that had once been piloting their android bodies have been extinguished. All that's left now is a glitchy, twisted renmant, some ghost of their original coding.

'Dealing with such things is my family's duty.' Such things, as in... malfunctioning androids? Programming ghosts? This is... odd for someone from the Old Kingdom. Then again, Cyberlife was founded by a precocious sixteen year old. The idea that an educated, motivated adult could decide to specialize in such a field is comparatively tame.

'An army'. She means the rogue agent could try to reanimate the android bodies using whatever was left of their bodies and these echoes of their original programming?

"Many androids were too badly damaged to recover before their bodies were dumped," Connor points out slowly. "... What are the limits to this sort of thing?"

"As long as their limbs are working, he can use them." Processors, circulating thirium... none of that mattered to the Dead. It was part of why cremation and burial at sea were common in the Old Kingdom. Still, at least he's asking practical questions, instead of asking her if such things could really exist, or insisting there was a scientific explanation. If anything, he seemed more accepting of it than Connor.

Being honest about the supernatural was a risk, but in this case, it seemed to be paying off.

'As long as their limbs are working.' As long as the hardware is functional. Therefore, her culprit must be highly skilled at making do with just about any code. Maybe he installs something extra, something that can override the original controls and run an external AI. It would make sense, in its own grotesque way; the man would be able to use countless androids without paying nearly the costs involved in also making bodies.

"I understand."

Except...

"... Why can't they cross running water?"

That's one part that still makes no sense, no matter what angle he looks at it from. He's also not sure how whatever Sabriel can do to paralyze him comes into play.

Edited 2019-05-25 06:24 (UTC)

Sabriel can't help but shoot a puzzled glance at Connor before turning her attention back to the other android. Of all the things to dwell on...

"It's a weakness common to all their kind. The water pulls the spirits out, and only the corpse remains." She doesn't mention where the spirits are pulled too. She's told him enough without mentioning Death. Do androids believe in the afterlife, or souls? Judging by how Connor reacted when she spoke of it, Cyberlife's programmers don't believe in such things, and programmed their creations accordingly.

Connor's eyebrows float up in slow disbelief. The conversation just turned further into the inane, leaving what even the unexplained paralysis could suggest--

--a fragmented memory he'd stolen from the android during the body transfer makes a match with a cursory scan, and he can see glimpses of shadowy, ethereal creatures, too dark to reflect light. The memories aren't long, nothing more than a few clips of vision and scattered sound, but the creatures aren't obviously fake, and they seem to be substantial enough to hurt.

Are those spirits? ... Were they pulled from--androids, or humans, or anything sentient, by running water? Where were their corpses?

None of this counts as a strong answer, and there's still holes in the information itself, but Connor can feel himself shifting as the hold on him fails, and he doesn't need information on these terms long enough to stay and fake imprisonment. He can--

--The paralysis cracks, and Connor drops his arms and steps back immediately, putting distance between them. If he had guns he would draw them, but the RK800 didn't miss any. Instead he focuses on composure, and the influence that confidence might bring him here.

"That was all very interesting," he says smoothly. "I'll be sure to keep it under consideration."

Sabriel's eyes narrow at his expression of disbelief. Forget keeping the supernatural a secret, she could probably get a megaphone and shout it out to the world- and no one would believe it. Her father had told her that Ancelstierrians often refused to believe what was right in front of their face, and that apparently extended to androids. Still, if he was going to deny the supernatural even when it was shoved into his face... no point in pushing it.

"Just one more thing- Connor, do you want your body back?" Connor... hadn't said anything, which was... strange. And Sabriel wasn't even sure if she could compel the RK800 to switch back, or if she could... what, drag both of their spirits into Death and then shove them back into the correct bodies? Sabriel's Charter mark glows faintly as she reaches for the Charter, not entirely sure if she should recast the spell or not.

Edited 2019-05-25 19:51 (UTC)

Connor ignores the sideways glance, keeping his weapon trained on his opponent as the deviant model breaks free. Don't shoot still flickers at the edges of his view, geometric blocks of red undercut only slightly by the newer exception. 'Shoot him if he does anything threatening,' Abhorsen had said. But the deviant isn't armed, and it steps back, not forward, leaving Connor's motor functions just as locked and useless as before.

Abhorsen told it even more than he'd expected. She made her priorities clear. The interest in alliance with the malfunctions... and soliciting his predecessor's cooperation in particular. Because she saw the role it played in their uprising? Or because when the two of them went head to head, he'd failed to subdue it? She hadn't considered the deviant nearly so useful until she'd realized it won.

It doesn't matter. Not how he'd failed (just that he had), not what he thought of her decisions. Whatever discourse she might want to have with the deviants, Connor isn't part of it. He's obedient.

(...irrelevant.)

(His LED flickers: yellow, red, yellow as he tries, just one more time, to squeeze that trigger—)

Connor. His gaze snaps up. And... stalls, brows twitching together in the first expression he's shown since failing to shoot. Does he what? Connor's stare drags back to the deviant, retreating in his body, as foreign sensors helpfully report each minute difference in calibration. The numbness in one shoulder. The weight of the deviant's clothing, heavy and mislaid—like everything about this body, each operation that returns RK800_313_248_317-53 instead of -60. Of course he hates it.

He wants everything back. He wants to have never failed so abysmally at all. He wants another chance to reconnect—not to reclaim his body, but to rip every fragment of its code to pieces, no matter if it does the same to him. Not that Abhorsen seems likely to allow any of those options. Why is she asking him at all? The light at his temple blinks rapidly.

"I'm—a machine."

He knows better.

"As you've told me before," Often whenever she did something he didn't like, "And I'm sure you know better than me what you are. But your original body- do you want it back?"

He's being evasive, which is... strange. She's used to him being unpleasant, and insulting, but not dodging the question like this. Sabriel suspects... well, several things. Connor had been in some kind of altercation with a deviant RK800... one that had ended with him getting shot in the head. Was that why he'd been so hostile to deviants? Because one shot him? No wonder he hated them.

There's a sinking feeling in Sabriel's stomach, but- when the Dead were involved, you had to put all your grudges behind you and focus on helping each other survive.

The blank expressionlessness lapses again—this time, in a near-glare. His eyes twitch back towards Sabriel, but he returns them to the RK800. It's readying to move, and he won't be distracted if it does.

The sharpness in his voice, however, is a good deal less filtered.

"I don't want anything."

"I see."

If he didn't want anything, he wouldn't sound so sharp. He'd have told her that he couldn't care less about which body he was in right away, in a tone that told her she was stupid for asking such a thing. Instead he'd deflected.

So he wanted it back... and she had no idea how to get his body back. Or rather, she had a few, but without the bells, she'd need the RK800's cooperation.

"Please," Sabriel said, keeping her hands up and her fingers splayed- in the Old Kingdom, a gesture that would indicate she wasn't going to attempt to cast any spells, "One more thing- can you give Connor his body back?"

Connor's already-growing tension ratchets up a few notches when she turns with her hands lifted. Those same hands that'd been sending out glowing motes of light didn't seem to be doing anything now, but--she seemed ready. And she wanted him to...

... Connor's eyes narrowed, and his lips curved up in a cruel parody of a smile.

"He doesn't want it back."

... His arm throbs. Bioservos lag in strange places, and the glowing armband at his side shines like an unwanted beacon. Connor ignores it all, sparing a moment to share his smile with the RK800. Then he straightens his new (old, overly designed) tie, and touches one of his cuffs.

"And I'm not going to wait for you to coax it to say otherwise." A beat. "If either of you are found attacking androids, neither of you will survive the retaliation."

Connor intends to turn away, then, and to start walking. He doesn't expect the android's expression to completely transform at his poor choice in words. He doesn't expect to read a world of meaning in it, and know even without a timer how the remaining seconds of his life are numbered.

The gun is still out and staring straight at him. That number has never been so small.

Edited 2019-05-26 04:38 (UTC)

He shouldn't want anything. He shouldn't, except—those are his eyes narrowing back at him. His hands, his clothing, and Connor bristles in the deviant's ill-fitting shell, choking on sheer loathing. He wants to wipe that smile off its face. To kill it, break it, shoot it to shreds, and—

'...neither of you will survive.'

—suddenly—

—suddenly, he can.

'Shoot him if he does anything threatening.' The objective lights active at the corner of his vision; [SHOOT THE DEVIANT], walls vanishing like smoke, and Connor can feel his eyes widening, a sharp, savage grin tearing across his face. He squeezes the trigger. Twitches his gun to track it as it falls, making to shoot again, and again—

It all happens quickly- one moment, the RK800 is threatening them, the next, Connor is shooting, and it's all Sabriel can do not to flinch, and all she can think when she sees Connor's expression is that it's ridiculous how he claims he's not alive.

"Connor, stop!" The words come out without much thought behind them, just instinct- she knows, intellectually, that the android just threatened them- she shouldn't feel bad if Connor shoots him- she should, in fact, probably thank Connor, even if he'd sneer at her for it.

When Sabriel looks at the RK800, in Connor's stolen, bleeding body, there's anger in her expression that wasn't there before. She can feel it too- a hot, unpleasant feeling.

"Why," Sabriel says, "were you stupid enough to do a thing like that."

Edited 2019-05-26 05:14 (UTC)

WARNING: CRITICAL DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #84K32.
>WARNING: CRITICAL DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #4442g6.
>WARNING: CRITICAL DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #34T88.
>WARNING: CRITICAL DAMAGE TO...

The ground jumps up and slams into him, but he barely feels the impact, already overtaken by the roar from his damaged components. For an instant vision cuts out, returning with a final, block-lettered countdown.

>Time Remaining: 00:00:14

The shooting has stopped, but the leaks in him haven't. He's bleeding out quickly. It seems unfair, that he'd die after getting so close to surviving, but he'd more or less expected this from the first paralysis. The fact that he was right is a bitter pill to swallow.

'Why were you stupid enough...'

A sleight human form blocks out the light from above him, and Connor drags his gaze to meet hers. He's in pain. His cheek twitches, before his mouth carves into an upward curve.

"Friendly advice," he forces out, moving his one functional arm to the peppering of holes in his torso. Thirium is rushing out, a trembling stream from the frantic workings of his pump. His eyes slide past her, onto the other RK800.

"You're about to test it yourselves."

Out of everyone who deserved to kill him... This android did not. It wasn't--fair, somehow. This wasn't fair.

The first bullet embeds in his processor's stolen pump. The second carves down at an angle, eviscerating the delicate valves on its left side. The third... mirrors the damage. Connor's aim is just starting to shift further: shoot out its throat, blow deep, round tunnels in its head—when Abhorsen shouts, and his gun hand freezes.

It's enough.

Critical damage, the scan pops up. Shutdown in 00:10... 00:09... 00:08.... Connor breathes out slowly, gun lowering as he stares at the wreckage. The body he'd wanted to reclaim. The predecessor he'd have sacrificed so much more destroying. It's a wreck, pulsing thirium onto the pavement with every palpitation of his mangled heart.

It's dying.

He's won.

Abhorsen shifts forward, disapproving and judgemental—and distantly, some part of Connor registers surprise that none of her ire is directed his way. Most of him can't quite manage the attention. The wide smile has vanished, but a smaller shadow lingers as his eyes drag up from its torso to its face. It grates out one final threat. The countdown shivers down to nothing. He watches it die, and his own mouth curves with vicious, satisfied relief.

Deactivate Deviant Connor. It's not his mission any longer, but Success still swells through Connor's code. It's the task Cyberlife assigned to him, the purpose he'd have done anything to fulfill, and there's a bitter, vindicated twist to his smirk. They'd given up. Discarded him as—worthless. And despite that, he still did what he was made for.

He's not a failure.

Sabriels frown wavers as she feels the android dies- there's the phantom sensation of blood flowing out of her chest, of her own heart struggling to beat- but then it's over, and after the awful moment of death, she pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

They don't need a hundred thousand androids after them. Not when they already have enough enemies. So she reaches into the Charter, far deeper than before, searching out marks that weren't in the books she let Connor read, but are in the Book of the Dead- a spell to buy her just a little more time. She's not entirely sure if it's *possible*, but she wants to try.

"Connor," There's no anger in her voice- and no grief either, just focus, determination- and a little bit of fear. Of herself, or for herself, she can't say.

"Do you know if there's a park nearby? Or just- a building we can hide in?" The spell wraps over the corpse- in a human, it would prevent the body breaking down- and temporarily anchor the spirit to the body, until other measures could be taken.

Reluctantly, Connor's eyes tear from the body. Abhorsen hasn't moved, in measured judgement or emotive rage. Still, there's a strange charge behind her voice. No... an intention.

The question is simple enough—as are the reasons behind it, when he stops to think. "...the police," Connor mutters. They're just a few blocks from the precinct, and he just fired an unsilenced gun. For the first time since being forced into this body, his LED is a calm blue, but it flickers yellow for a quick beat as he accesses a map of the area.

"West Riverfront Park is three blocks south of us. And there are abandoned apartments just around the corner of this building."

He'd pick the closer option. Connor gestures in indication, gaze flicking back down to follow the flow of charter marks—unfamiliar ones, and his brow creases slightly in a frown. What's she doing?

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