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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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?

"The apartments then- and take the body with you." There's still no judgement in Sabriel's voice, just urgency. Connor shot the android, which Sabriel had been trying to avoid... but apparently the other RK800 hadn't been interested. Unfortunately, him dying will make things complicated.

Which is why she needs to fix things.

"Was he the one who shot you?" Revenge would explain the amount of satisfaction Connor seemed to take in this. And if that's the case... Sabriel might not share in the feeling, but she can't blame him.

Hopefully he won't sulk too much about the android not staying dead.

So she does want it for something. Connor's stare shifts between Abhorsen and the body, mouth flattening just a little before he steps forward. He crouches down into a kneel, holstering his gun for the moment while he drags it forward and hoists it up. A fireman's carry should maximize his mobility while also leaving one hand free to aim and fire.

It means Connor's face—and LED—is obscured when Sabriel asks that question. For the briefest moment, Connor stills, but his inflection is fairly neutral when he does speak.

"Not in the head."

Cyberlife had sealed up the shoulder that the deviant had shot—better care than its own damage had gotten, if the grinding sensation he's currently experiencing is any sign. But that wasn't the gunshot wound Abhorsen meant. Considering how little was left of his body when when she first stumbled into the labs, Connor would be surprised if she'd noticed the more minor injury at all.

He stands and turns, heading for the apartment entrance. For a moment it seems he'll leave the conversation there, but if Sabriel stays close enough, she'll hear a low, derisive follow-up. "It needed a human's help for that."

Sabriel hears the comment- but doesn't respond, more focused on spelling open the apartment entrance. So the RK800 has human allies- she'll have to keep that in mind.

Inside, the lobby is dusty, with the withered remains of a potted plant in one corner, and a long-neglected coffee machine sitting on the counter.

"Set him on that couch over there- and if there are any bullets in it, pull them out while causing as little damage as possible." Sabriel's had to help heal serious wounds in her time in the Old Kingdom since Kerrigor's fall, but she's never healed an android before.

Sabriel snaps off a handful of withered stalks and sets them on the ground, her Charter mark flaring before she prods the pile with her fingertip- then sets it alight, running a finger through the ash as soon as it cools and tracing it over her own baptismal mark before rummaging in the cabinet by the coffee machine. Hopefully they left- and yes, there are a few bottles of water sitting neglected in the corner. Sabriel pulls one out, then goes to see how Connor's doing.

No reply to his own summary. But the deviant is him, even now, and Connor's stare lasts a little longer this time. His LED spins: once, twice, a third time, before he slowly moves to comply.

He dumps the burden down. Crouches beside it, one hand raising to touch the sticky stains on his new jacket with a frown. He needs a tool to extract the bullets, and by the time Sabriel comes over, he'll have found one: a small, flat knife previously secured up one sleeve.

Carefully, Connor inserts it into the wound, feathering the tip against the bullet embedded deep inside the pump. It's delicate work, and he doesn't look away as Abhorsen appears beside him. He will, however, speak.

"What are you doing?"

If she tells the truth, Connor will argue, or insist it's not possible. And she'd need to explain that even though his actions were understandable, things will be easier if this android is alive.

So instead she offers a grim smile, and an answer that while honest, is also not the whole story.

"I'm going to prove a point." Mostly to the RK800, but also to Connor. She kneels beside Connor, watching him work and mentally reviewing the Charter marks she needs before gathering them. She'd never performed a baptism before, but he knew how they were done, had watched Magistrix Greenwood perform them on other girls.

Besides, if the Charter didn't accept the baptism, there'd be no need to worry about patching up the body- he'd be dead beyond the possibility of revival.

Once Connor's done, she stands up, unscrews the bottle, and then hesitates.

"What was his name?"

She's not answering. Not except for cryptic threats—to the deviants? To him? He'd known she hadn't wanted it to die. Even if this is some convoluted leadup to censure, Connor doesn't regret it—and he strongly doubts she's capable of making him. Still, as his focus turns back on the injury (still welling blue in soft, erratic sputters), the line of Connor's mouth draws a little tighter than before.

The deviant should be too damaged to reactivate... but so was he, when she found him. It hadn't made a difference.

Maybe Abhorsen just wants to make a demonstration with the chassis. Maybe. He draws out one bullet, then a second. The third passed through its body completely—left behind in the alleyway. Connor regrets leaving evidence, but there's no time to go back. Once he's finished, he wipes the blade off on its shoulder and stands, twisting the knife absently in his left hand.

"Connor." Eyes linger on Sabriel, tracking every motion. "...Obviously."

Sabriel turns as Connor speaks, her expression focused, but neither angry or particularly mournful.

"I see. Cyberlife just used the same name." She's not sure what she expected, but it's not that. She turns back to the body, and frowns.

"He was stupid enough to threaten us when he knew what would happen... but having androids after us for his death is something we don't need.

She unscrews the cap, holds up the bottle, and starts chanting.

The marks are old, powerful, and only a few of them were in the book she let Connor read. A light comes to the liquid inside, growing brighter and brighter as she keeps chanting. The marks flow easily, and the magistrix was right- after a certain point, they come of their own accord, and Sabriel feels like little more than a conduit for the marks to flow from the Charter into the water.

After a few minutes, she falls silent, touching the bottle to the floor, and then to the ash on her forehead. Then she upends the bottle splashing the glowing liquid over the android's face. There's a blinding flash as it touches the forehead.

"By the Charter that binds all things, I name thee Connor!"

For a moment, Sabriel holds her breath. Then she sees ash appear on the android's forehead... and feels it vanish from her own.

The Charter's accepted the baptism, and it's time for the next step- there's no time to contemplate that this is her first baptism, or what that means. She reaches back into the Charter, drawing out marks of healing and repair, of regeneration, and of broken things being made whole. She takes them and links them together, before reaching back into the Charter for the master mark of healing which will complete the spell.

Edited 2019-05-28 05:36 (UTC)

Of all of this, he has no idea why the name takes her aback. Even if RK800s weren't successive, default model names are standard among Cyberlife products. But Abhorsen moves on from that topic quickly, and the active Connor stiffens at the confirmation that comes next.

She is bringing it back.

She doesn't need to. They can deal with the deviants—he can, even with whatever limits she applies. Connor opens his mouth to say as much, but she doesn't wait for a reply. Chanted words call up motes of light—marks, strange and familiar, infusing the water as her voice fills the air. A splash of fluid, a flash of light, and—

Is that...?

His mouth closes, expression furiously blank.

The healing is... strange. Golden light wraps around the broken parts, mending them and making them whole. There's still cracks, and visibly melted bits of plastic, but as far as Sabriel can tell, it's... functional. Not that she knows much about android mechanics, and the spells will keep healing the damage for a week or two, assuming nothing is done to disrupt the healing.

Just one thing left to do.

"Connor, I need you to watch my body- it will freeze solid, but I'll be all right. Just squeeze my shoulder very hard if someone finds us, and I'll come back as quick as I can."

Whatever method Abhorsen used to reactivate him, Connor hadn't been online to watch. Still, he's fairly sure this wasn't it. He watches the pump expand and seal, cracked plastic crawling back in place over the gap. His eyes raise to the mark now visible on his predecessor's brow. Are the extra measures because it's deviant? Because she wants this one alive? Or is she taking extra care as an apology?

(He'd woken up with a hole in his head.)

The light at his temple is blinking, quick and unhappy when Abhorsen finally addresses him. His face is empty, but that doesn't stop the rote acknowledgement from sounding like a bad taste in his mouth.

"...of course."

Watch the body. Squeeze her shoulder if anyone comes. A pressure alert pings at the edge of his vision, and Connor glances down, loosening his grip on the knife.

"And if he insists on continuing to threaten us- well, my instructions still stand." Sabriel's mouth twists unpleasantly.

"Hopefully he's not that foolish."

Then Sabriel exhales, her breath fogging in the air as she pushes herself into Death- a familiar sensation. As she leaves her body behind, it stiffens, suddenly ice-cold. There's no heartbeat, no circulation, no breath. Just frost forming over her skin and clothes, and a cold mist that billows up at her feet, slowly spreading and sending twining fingers of fog over both androids.

In Death, Sabriel plunges forward. The RK800- she refuses to think of him as Connor can't have been swept too far away. The mist in Death makes it impossible to see more than a few feet, so she has to rely on her other senses as she wades through black water.

The water is cold. Not in a way that shocks or invigorates, but in a sense that's gone beyond his capacity to feel. It's as though the thirium in his lines has started to thicken, as though all capacity for movement and thought has started to fade.

He's... tired. He knows on some level that he's not finished, that he should fight, but the water's pull is irresistible. He's never laid down in a river and given himself over to the current, before; would it really be so terrible to try now?

If it weren't for the warm touch at his head, he would have already. As it is, the touch is anchoring, almost unpleasant in its contrast. He doesn't fight it, either, eyes closed and face faintly creased in a frown. Sooner or later it will stop, right down to the thoughts that keep teasing persistently at the edges of his mind. Then...

The sound of the river is deadened by the mist, by the sluggish chill of his ears, but it's also the only sound around him. He distantly registers when it shifts, and some other obstacle is in the water.

After a long pause Connor tilts his head, very slightly, eyes cracking open to dull slits.

Ah- there he is. Sabriel bends down brushing her fingertips over the mark, feeling its warmth- so far, everything's been going as it should. The mark is intact and true, and is keeping the river from completely draining him.

Decision made, Sabriel grabs his arm and starts hoisting him up, out of the water, legs braced against the current. Without the bells, she can't truly command him, but she whistles anyway- and the sound carries an impulse- get up. She's dragged heavy weights through Death before, but it will be easier if she doesn't have to drag him.

"Come on, get up," Sabriel's voice is sharp and urgent. They're close to Life, and she doesn't want to linger in Death without her bells or sword, even if she can't sense anything else nearby.

"I'm not letting you die just yet."

The Abhorsen. She reaches him, brushes against his face with a touch he's almost too numb to feel. Why is she here? Will she be swept away by the water, too?

She takes his arm and pulls, shattering his stillness and throwing inertia into the wind. He stumbles along with the motion, frown deepening to an exhausted grimace, and when she orders him--verbally and otherwise--he automatically moves to obey.

His legs straighten and lock. The water threatens to overbalance him, so he turns against the current, bracing against the flow and mustering the meager scraps of energy left somewhere at the bottom of his reserves. She tugs, and he follows blindly.

Step.

Step.

St...

... His eyes sharpen as his mind belatedly catches up, only fast enough to have finally processed 'human giving orders', and nothing more. His dogged, mechanical gait falters, and he shakes his head, eyes darting sluggishly.

"... Let me go..."

"No." Sabriel braces, and gets ready to drag him. He doesn't seem fully aware yet- perhaps he simply hasn't thrown off the river's pull yet. Life is close- just a half-dozen more steps away. If she has to- she'll pull him out by his collar.

"I'm not leaving you behind." Colors aren't gone in Death, just muted- and a hint of pink is forcing its way into Sabriel's cheeks. She's so close

"I'll let you go when we're out of here- it's not much farther. You can still walk, can't you?"

Hopefully he can. She doesn't think Connor shot his legs, after all.

'Not leaving you behind.' 'I'll let you go when we're out of here.' 'It's not much farther...'

The words drift around his mind, fluttering and clashing like a flock of birds all taking flight in the same space. Connor shakes his head, which clears it about as much as it would a snowglobe, and he sways forward, tugged another step. Then he sets his heels, face tight as he resists.

"Let go."

He doesn't have the energy to fend her off. He can barely stand, and this defiance is exhausting in ways he hadn't thought possible. Even as he leans, he's unsteady and teetering, knees threatening to buckle.

She's not leaving him behind. (He doesn't want to be left behind, does he?) Connor sways forward. (He doesn't want to go with her, either. She's not here to help him.) He locks his knees, pulling back. (If he stays, he'll never leave. He'll never complete his mission. He'll never be a living, free deviant again.)

Connor trembles, and he presses his lips together, turning her words over again and again.

Can he afford to trust her?

... Trust is a generous term. More important than trust, can he afford to not try to escape? How long would she keep helping him if he did try?

...

... His gaze lowers, and he stops leaning back. It makes him teeter forward again, and this time he braces a hand over her forearm for balance. Fighting like that wasted energy he couldn't afford to burn, but Connor sets his jaw, forcing one foot forward despite it all.

He takes another step. She still hasn't dropped him like a cruel joke. Not yet. She still might, but his (albeit weak) grip on her would make it difficult, and--she hasn't tried, yet.

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