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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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.

Sabriel's on the verge of giving up and dragging him back into Life when he finally moves forward, bracing himself against her.

Then she keeps up the momentum, keeping the RK800 upright as, step by step, they move towards Life. He doesn't fight her, and even though the river swirls and tries to drag them under, Sabriel keeps them upright.

At the boundary, there's nothing to mark the transition from Death to Life, save perhaps a thickening of the mist to complete opacity, and a sense that there's something beyond the other side. Sabriel tightens her grip on Connor and moves forward, fighting the current and pushing through, back into the world of life and light, and their physical bodies.

In Life, Sabriel jerks into sudden motion, her body thawing instantly and bits of melting frost falling off her hair and clothes as the unnatural chill vanishes. She looks around, and then looks over to Connor, before turning her attention to the android on the couch.

"I won't bring you back next time."

She doesn't drop him. Even when the water pulls, and his footing threatens to slip out from under him, she keeps them both steady, closing the distance to the edge of something.

They reach it. And then--

Connor's eyes snap open, and he's hit by a wall of sensation. His arm, chest, and head all ache, some places more sharply than others. The couch under him is overstuffed and lumpy. His clothes are a little tighter, a little more form fitting from the perfect tailoring his old uniform had. He can smell thirium and three different kinds of mold, and taste water--his face is wet? Droplets cling to his lashes as he opens his eyes, blinking.

'I won't bring you back next time.'

He was dead. She just...

... He's no longer dead. She did something, and he's back.

Connor's eyes rest on her a moment, inclining his head in a single nod. (She--helped him?) Connor's eyes take in the rest of the room, and the other RK800 is still present, lips curving up in something unkind. It's covered in thirium, and when Connor looks down, he is too.

Connor touches his face, from the moisture to the faint weight of some residue on his brow.

"What did you do?" He asks quietly. He feels--painful, and low on thirium, but considering that he should be dead several times over (and with no one to blame but himself), this is hardly an outcome to compain about.

Abhorsen hadn't been... occupied for too long. Connor had changed out the knife for a gun. Circled the bodies. Sampled the frozen liquid encasing Abhorsen's form—water, condensed from the nearby air.

When the ice cracks, they'll find him settled against the wall nearby: firearm in hand, thumb tapping idly along the grip. It's a position that offers an easy line of sight (or aim) to either party, and when his duplicate glances his way, his lips twitch upward in a smirk.

"What does it look like?"

It was hardly a stranger to reactivating damaged machines.

Well, Connor's back to being... Connor. Frankly, given what she knows of his prior experiences with the RK800, Sabriel can't find it in herself to scold him.

"I fixed the damage, and brought you back. And please don't threaten either of us, Connor's instructions haven't changed." Still, he seems less hostile than before. It might just be disorientation, but it's... promising. Sabriel presses forward, keeping her tone firm but not too aggressive. She wants to sit down- between Death, the baptism, and healing him, she's definitely drained- but she needs to not seem weak.

"I'm not interested in androids chasing after us to avenge you- I have enough enemies already." Sabriel leans forward, propping herself up on the arm of the sofa to better loom over the android.

"I need you to tell your friends to leave us alone- I don't want to hurt you, or them. I just want to stop the man with the bells before he hurts anyone else, and deal with the mess he's already caused. And don't push yourself too hard for a few days- otherwise you'll disrupt the healing and the wounds will reopen." Her tone is stern, bordering on lecturing.

She leans over him, pale and seemingly unaffected by literally snatching him from the jaws of... whatever that river was. The afterlife? Was that the afterlife? ('Nothing. There would be nothing.') Connor's chest squeezes unbearably, and suddenly he feels crowded, penned in. He struggles to a sitting position, mouth tightening as the aches all shrill with pain at the jostling, and he doesn't stop until his feet are flat on the ground.

He doesn't (can't) get up. He can lift his chin, saying very, very evenly, "If you don't want to hurt them, then don't. No one's forcing you to do otherwise."

He makes eye contact with his counterpart as he speaks, daring it to take 'not being conciliatory' as 'threatening'. Will it anyway? If it shoots Connor again, would she revive Connor again? Connor's eyes dart back to her, and she's not even winded. She looks young, and too small to be threatening, but several times now she's taken what should have been a complete loss and radically transformed it to her own will. This is not normal. She's dangerous, and utterly, completely unpredictable. He doesn't know how she's going to respond. Will she help him? Will she trap him while Connor gets shot again, and then rewind him back to the beginning, like an old film cassette?

The deviant still isn't cooperating. How predictable. Especially since, from the way Abhorsen's talking, she hasn't done anything to correct that flaw.

Still, Connor can't help appreciating some changes in the situation. Its LED is a muted amber, flickering occasionally as stress spikes and falls. Its movements are slow, and not for any lack of desperation. Is it experiencing too much pain to stand? Or is it just too weak to manage? And, of course, there's the glance it shoots in his direction.

Challenging. Wary.

(Afraid.)

Connor smiles back, gun lifting... and lowering: one casual turn of the wrist. Abhorsen's urging for restraint has been superseded once already, and it's possible he could justify firing again. But without a better reason to do so, she'd just undo more of his good work.

"Did you make any calls?" he presses instead, gaze resting pointedly on that yellow LED. It seems fixated on its 'friends'.

Well, this is... less than ideal, but not as bad as she'd feared. At least he's not threatening them. Sabriel straightens up, trying to look unruffled and not as tired as she feels. She turns to Connor as he speaks- if the RK800 did, call, they might have a problem. Connor might be armed, but Sabriel won't be able to use much magic. It probably would result in someone getting killed, and all over a stupid misunderstanding.

"I don't want to- but I will if they try to threaten or hurt Connor or me. Don't mistake my restraint for weakness- I'm trying to keep all of you from getting hurt- by either of us, or by that man and the monsters he's making. They're not creatures you can fight with guns." Bullets might be able to kill her and Connor, but they won't work against the Dead- and the necromancer probably won't stay dead unless Sabriel drags him to the Ninth Gate herself.

"Just- let me handle it. As Abhorsen, it's my duty, and my purpose, and I'm better equipped to deal with it."

'Stay out of this.' It's not a new instruction, but he lingers over it regardless. Her tone is steady, and a breakdown of her expression turns back, 'earnest', and 'intent'. Not disdain, or contempt, or any number of things Connor has seen directed his way.

There's a 76% chance she's being sincere. The chances of a human expressing this the way she seems to be are significantly lower, and Connor is tempted to run his analysis again, but he doesn't.

"... I sent a message after you paralyzed me, but before I died," Connor answers, grasping at the only concrete answer he can give easily. His eyes drift to one of the guns the RK800 is holding (his own gun), but says nothing, and looks back at her a moment later. "If all it will take to avoid a repeat of the experience is to avoid overt threats, then I will send the order for them to stand by, as opposed to retrieving my remains."

Edited 2019-05-31 04:03 (UTC)

Sabriel nods, satisfied. He's exhausted, aware of what she can do, and seems to have accepted that she doesn't want to hurt him or the other deviants. This is as friendly as they're likely to be, but it's good enough.

"Please, do so. I'd like to avoid any more hostilities- and Connor," Sabriel adds, turning back to the real Connor, letting a bit of her exhaustion creep into her face, once she's not facing the other Connor.

"Defend yourself if necessary, but please don't threaten them- I'm not asking you to be nice, just- try to avoid starting any fights. The Dead are more than enough to deal with."

She's not sure if Connor could be nice if he tried, and asking him to do so would probably just make him act worse when he thought he could get away with it. Then she forces back her exhaustion and turns back to the other Connor, holding out her hand for him to shake- or use to get himself upright, since he seems rather unsteady.

Retrieving its remains. The corner of Connor's mouth twitches, eyes flicking out of focus at the thought. If the deviants would really come for the body, that could make for a supremely useful tool. To lure in other high-value targets... to gain access to their group. Not to mention the information Cyberlife could have extracted directly from its memories and code. (The information he could have extracted.)

It would take the barest thought to transmit the plan to Amanda. To report the the Garden, submit for scrutiny—approval, maybe. But—

But Connor has no access to Zen_Garden.exe. But Amanda doesn't set his missions now.

Attention returns to the human who does, and Connor blinks, expression carefully neutral at her efforts to impose parameters. If necessary. Try. That's more than enough room for him to apply his own judgement—when or if it benefits the mission, of course. Still, she's made her priorities clear. He tilts his head the barest fraction, tone bland and innocent.

"I was just following orders."

Connor's gaze slides back to his predecessor, eyebrows lifting with a smirk. "And if its 'friends' care as much as it assumes... I'm not sure they'll be a problem long."

"Please do so," she says.

Connor wastes no time: his LED's cycling pauses, then speeds up to a spottier, reception-dependent blinking. 'This is RK800 313-248-317-53', he sends, acutely aware of the new numbers prefacing his messages. Then he hesitates, searching for words to encompass the full system transfer, the death, the river--

No. That's too much. If not a full, complete report, however, then what?

... Well, the act of sending that alone just announced he was alive and speaking from new hardware. Perhaps that's all they need to start with.

... 'Transmitting current location. Stand by.'

There. The entire message took three point seven seconds to compose, and his LED steadies as he finishes, having been yellow throughout. His eyes follow Abhorsen and the android as they talk, and they sharpen as it smirks.

"What does that mean?" he demands sharply.

"Just what you said already," Connor answers, brows quirking further in a feigned suprise. "Friendly advice, was it? And now. You called them to the location. And deviants just don't know how to let proper waste disposal go."

As if in demonstration, a muffled crack fills the pause in conversation. Then another. Gunfire, from the opposite side of the building. Connor's gaze drops to his own gun, balancing it idly on a palm.

"A police report was filed twenty-one minutes ago. Shots fired, just a few blocks from the station."

More, now. Connor shrugs, empty hand opening expansively. A few blocks away, where his predecessor's thirium and a single spent bullet would have been found in an alleyway. A few blocks away, where the deviants were coming to retrieve its remains.

"The humans have been canvassing the scene."

"Shit."

Sabriel's tired, she should probably sit down, if not lie down and take a nap, but there's a surge of adrenaline when she hears the gunshots, and it wipes away some of the exhaustion, enough to make her stand up straight and start heading for the door.

"We have to stop it- we can't let people get killed over a- a misunderstanding!" Everyone dies, but the thought of people dying for this is... upsetting. Wrong.

She's tired, unarmed, and in a state where using magic will probably knock her unconscious. But she's still walking to the door, motioning for the two of them to follow her.

"We have to explain what happened and- they can take the other Connor back."

Edited 2019-06-01 05:59 (UTC)

"Wait."

Connor makes to stand, and one of his knees buckles as it fails to receive thirium quickly enough. He catches himself on the couch arm and tries again, craning over his shoulder to keep her in sight.

"Stop. That won't help anything, I'll give them the signal to leave--" A cry splits the air, and it doesn't sound like an android, but it's too far to be sure. His thirium pump is pounding in his chest, but there's not enough thirium to go around, and he feels faint, and very, very alarmed.

"If you go, it's going to get my people killed."

What would happen if she paralyzed all the deviants, trusting that the police would hold their fire? Or--hell, not even trusting, but expecting them to act as they saw fit? It would be a slaughter. Nothing less. Connor forces himself the rest of the way to his feet, shaking slightly, and his eyes cut a glance at his counterpart. He seems loathsomely unbothered, and it would certainly serve him right if Connor tore his body back out from under him, but that's impossible for a variety of reasons. So is shooting or otherwise deactivating him on his way out.

... Abhorsen is a greater, wilder threat right now. Connor snaps his attention back to her, hoping against hope that she'll have stopped.

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