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 can't move his body. This fact is all that keeps it from tensing as a door creaks open to his left. His head snaps up, eyes swiveling to the entrance—to Abhorsen, uninjured and standing on her own. If possible, his expression grows even blanker. Connor had failed to take down the deviants. Connor had tried, despite her preferences. Is she...?

She asks after his condition. His mouth opens, then stalls. He can't access his system status. He doesn't know enough to report back. She moves on before he has to, setting a new task, and Connor blinks, something small and tight uncurling in his throat at the implication.

He's still useful.

"Go to the console." He keeps his own voice quiet too, eyes flicking to the larger exit. The Traci hadn't seemed inclined to linger, but that didn't mean another guard wouldn't be by soon. Or wasn't stationed close outside. "Look for a menu on the right..."

If the array of options Sabriel navigates past are any sign, this machine is very multipurpose. Still, Connor's instructions are simple enough, and if she follows them, the central arm will starts to lower.

Sabriel follows the directions quickly- even if she's hardly an expert programmer, she used computers plenty at school, and she lets out a sigh of relief as the arm lowers, and the machine starts to disengage.

They need to get out of here, assuming Connor hasn't been seriously injured and needs healing. In which case she'll do that first, and then they'll leave. Sabriel runs her fingers through her hair, trying to tidy it a bit. Her hair and clothes are dusty and disheveled from hitting the floor and then being shoved in the closet.

"Given that my ideas haven't been working out- do you have any suggestions for how to get out of here?"

Hopefully without killing anyone- but then, she'd tried to handle things without hurting anyone, and all she'd done was gotten them captured.

Connor's expression doesn't change, but his eyes stay carefully on Abhorsen as she inputs the commands. It's only once the assembly rig begins to lower that he so much as blinks. Awareness broadens in sequence, unlocking one system after the next. He drags in a short, uneven breath. Curls his fingers at each side. Cables recede, connectivity re-opening, and Connor staggers only slightly as he's placed back on solid ground.

He's free.

His side still aches. His left arm is 0.047 seconds slower to respond than his right, and diagnostics report several nonresponsive biocomponents near the point of discharge—including the affected lung. Noncritical. He takes one careful step, then another, calibrating for the lag as he glances back to Abhorsen.

...what an unusual admission.

Connor's LED spins, a single burst of yellow as he accesses his GPS. "...We're in a secondhand shop," he reports. "Android Central. It's in the deviant-occupied region of the city—near the border, at last note." He's not remotely sure he trusts the DPD's assessments. Still, if it's true, they won't have to travel far.

Assuming, of course, they can even clear the building. His glance slides to the door Abhorsen came from—a supply closet?—and then back to his owner. His tone stays flat, expression neutral.

"Are you likely to pass out again?"

Sabriel frowns at the question, the guilt evident on her face.

"As long as I don't try to cast two powerful spells in short succession, I'll be fine. But I should probably get some sleep after this." Connor seems- in less than ideal condition himself, although he's clearly able to walk. What had they done to him, after she passed out? She can't imagine him surrendering peacefully, or the deviants being particularly gentle with him. Sabriel might be a little tired, and a little sore from her collapse and subsequent nap on the floor, but she's otherwise fine.

"And I'm sorry- it's my fault we're in this mess. I should have listened to you, and left sooner. If they hurt you- I'll heal you. It's the least I can do."

Admittedly, it's probably not the best use of her energy, but if they're close to human controlled territory, then she probably won't need to use magic otherwise, unless this building is being guarded.

"Is there anything here we can use as weapons, or should I get ready to spell any guards outside?"

"..."

It is her fault. Unquestionably. Is he... supposed to disagree? Connor stares, lips pressed together—waiting for the other half of the equivocation to emerge. A stipulation: she'll fix him, if he listens more to her in turn? Or just a barbed comment: a reference, maybe, to how badly his approach had ended? There has to be something. Humans don't—apologize. Especially not for anything an android could have cleaned up in their stead.

Whatever he's waiting for, it doesn't come. The offer of repair hangs in the air a beat, then she moves on to another question. Practical concerns.

Those, Connor knows much better how to handle.

"...I'll check," he answers, turning toward the tables along the edge of the room. The space is notably devoid of thirium or parts, but there might be tools he could repurpose. He moves slowly, LED blinking a steady blue as he focuses on staying balanced.

Sabriel's used to archaic weapons before. But here... there's nothing made to be used as a weapon, like a sword or a dagger, although she's sure she could club someone with a wrench, or stab them with a screwdriver.

Connor's moving slowly, and Sabriel considers offering to heal him again- but he'd probably just snap at her, and they might not have enough time for her to do so. Instead she picks up the longest screwdriver she can find, examining the balance of it. Hopefully it will be good enough, and she'll be able to heal Connor afterwards- his injuries are her fault, so it's only fair for her to fix them.

"I could immobilize them- or make them fall asleep if I ready the spell before we make our move- it shouldn't take more than a minute." They should have that much time, at least.

Screwdrivers. Pliers. Some rummaging inside a drawer produces a small laser saw, which Connor considers with a little more interest, flipping it in the air to catch by the handle. He nearly fumbles the grab, and frowns, turning it back and forth around his left hand in an attempt to calibrate.

Abhorsen said that she'll repair him. When is unclear, but escape is the current focus, and Connor factors in his current level of function as his eyes flick back to the door. For any plan to work, they need to know what's on the other side. Or have at least a rough estimation.

His LED spins as he runs a search online. The shop's floor plan isn't public, but it has several listings on review sites, including... yes. Photography of the interior. Connor can estimate the dimensions of the large front room, and he quickly constructs a mental projection based on the building's size and the location of the employee door.

"...outside is a hallway," he concludes. Long, but narrow, curving through the back to give access to workrooms like this one. A clump of deviants would barely fit, which means... "One or two guards in sight of the door. Possibly spaced out." His eyes go to Abhorsen, a hand raising to tap his own LED. "If they know they're under attack, they'll send out a warning to the rest."

Paralysis won't work here—or, not well. As reluctant as he is to admit it, the same risk applies to a frontal attack, especially without knowing their numbers. Still, better that than risk Abhorsen passing out again.

"How quickly would they fall asleep?"

Sabriel see the near-fumble, and frowns. She needs to heal him- what did they even do to him, to put him in this state?

"Two- or even three should be manageable- and the spell will work right away." If she had her bells, she could perhaps use Ranna- it was the only one she felt comfortable using on the living, and it would be less draining than casting a spell.

But she doesn't have time to focus on what-ifs. Instead, she starts tracing out the first marks of the spell, the beginning of a chain of Charter marks that start to coil around her hand. It's not as complex or draining as the baptism or healing, but- she should probably eat some food and get some sleep after this. Once they're free and she's healed Connor.

Right away. Connor nods, making his way toward the door as golden light begins to build around Abhorsen. He takes up a position just beside: left hand resting on the handle as his right holds the laser tool ready. Still, his glance flicks back more than once—and not just to catalog the marks Abhorsen uses. It hadn't taken a huge spell to push her into unconsciousness before, and her vital readings are still disconcertingly low. If she does faint again...

She doesn't. Not yet—not from this. Connor waits and watches. When she signals that she's ready to release the spell, he'll open the door.

Sabriel makes a deliberate effort not to rush the spell- she can't afford to waste any energy. When she's done, the spell wraps around her right hand, a golden, chain of symbols waiting to be activated.

When she's done, she straightens up, nodding to Connor. Her posture is tense, and despite everything that's happened, she's apparently ready to spring into action. They just need to knock out the guards, get into human territory, then call a taxi. She's faced worse situations. And this time, she has't been stabbed with her own sword.

"I'm ready." They need to get out of here, and get to work on why she's really in Detroit- before everything goes even more wrong.

Edited 2019-06-11 22:46 (UTC)

Mind. Rest. And targets, trigger, a connecting framework and key values spinning gently in place around her palm. Connor's eyes flick across the marks, analyzing the pattern even as he nods back to Abhorsen.

He opens the door.

The hallway is unfurnished but wide, a utility corridor meant to allow transport of small and large machinery. For the most part, the space is bare, though stacked boxes sit by some of the doors, many already opened and rifled through. Jericho's guards are close at hand: two AP700s framing the exit, firearms holstered at their sides. That won't last. Connor moves quietly, but the displacement of the door is hard to miss, and their heads are already turning, expressions shifting as they see.

In 0.9 seconds, their LEDs will flicker yellow: alerting all nearby deviants to the escape. In 1.6 seconds, the first will reach for her gun. In 1.8 seconds, Connor will attack them.

...Unless Sabriel can stop them first.

Sabriel sets the spell loose the moment the door opens, the marks clustering around their heads before their LEDs even start to flicker.

Instead of reaching for their guns, they stiffen, LEDs blue but eyes blank, not breathing, and for a second Sabriel wonders if something's gone terribly wrong- but she hasn't felt them die. This is just the android equivalent of sleep, she tells herself. Unsettling, but ultimately harmless, and even if Sabriel's winded, she's not in nearly as bad a state as she was after reviving the other Connor.

They need to leave as fast as possible, before their escape is discovered, but before that... Sabriel reaches for one of the AP700s guns, careful not to touch the trigger as she pulls it out of the holster and holds it out to Connor. Sabriel's training with firearms might be minimal, but she knows that at least.

The spell is a better option. Their only option, almost certainly, for getting out without a larger fight. That doesn't make it easy to hold back—to wait, while his own preconstructions time out, to find out if they would be needed after all.

Fortunately, he isn't waiting long. The androids stiffen, rigid as corpses, and don't so much as blink when Connor does step out into the hall. He ignores their strange frozen positions, instead focusing his attention outward: scanning both directions down the hall. No signs of observers. The building's security system has been long since shut down, rendering any cameras a non-issue. Connor turns back to strip the bodies of weapons—and blinks in surprise to see that Abhorsen has gotten there first.

...He accepts the handgun.

It goes into one holster. He skims both units' pockets for spare clips, and removes the second guard's weapon. Neither of them is as well-armed as his predecessor, but one has a folding knife tucked away. He takes that too.

Which leaves exactly two concerns before they leave. Connor's gaze flickers to the frozen androids, then back to Abhorsen. A gun lingers in his hand, and if his LED is back to a calm blue, there's still a question in his eyes.

"Jericho won't leave us alone."

Sabriel sees the question- and shakes her head. No, she doesn't want to kill them. Not right now.

"Hopefully incapacitating the guards but leaving them alive will send the message that we don't want to hurt them." Shouldn't it? At worst, it might make them curious, but Jericho has people who actually want to hurt them to worry about.

"And like you said earlier- our business is with the Dead. Getting dragged into a fight with these androids would be nothing but a distraction. Hopefully it won't be one we're forced into." Hopefully, but it's not a possibility she'll rule out entirely. If the androids keep trying to stop them... Sabriel might not like the idea of killing people, but she can admit it's sometime necessary.

The answer comes as no surprise—but Abhorsen's hopes still draw a flat, unimpressed stare.

"...This is their second ambush." First his predecessor. Then the rest: called to cut off their escape by the deviant Abhorsen had already weakened herself helping. "All this—" he waves a hand to the frozen androids "—will prove is that next time, they shouldn't leave you able to wake up."

But, it's her decision. Obviously. Connor turns away, studying the corridor again before he starts down the hallway to their left. If there's a back exit, it should be in this direction.

He's not wrong, Sabriel realizes with a sinking feeling- even as she's proving she doesn't want to hurt them, she's also showing that she can't be contained or controlled, that normal attempts at restraining her have failed. And if they see her as something dangerous- a weapon, someone who just wants to hurt them...

She needs to send a message, to explain the situation and give them a reason not to attack her or Connor. Decision made, she raises her hand, reaching into the Charter- before pulling back. Better to send her message in a form all of them will be able to understand- like a letter.

Decision made, she turns, her strides quickening as she moves to catch up with Connor.

"You have a point- if any of them attack or threaten you, defend yourself however you deem necessary. I'll send them a message, and if they choose to ignore that... I'll leave it up to you how to deal with them."

It's not difficult to catch up. While his steps have evened out, lag balanced and accounted for, Connor is still moving slowly, careful not to overtax his system in its current state. His eyes flick sideways as Abhorsen speaks, expression closed. However he deems necessary?

It's more latitude than usual. Not enough to remove his skepticism: at her plans to send a 'message', or the implication that she'll listen to him when that fails. At no stage of their acquaintance has Abhorsen demonstrated any practicality with inflicting harm. At least not when it comes to anything she thinks is living.

"Understood," Connor answers, gaze sliding back ahead. He supposes they'll see.

The gun in his hand is a comforting weight. His thumb slides up the grip, flicking the safety on and off as he listens at the corner of the hall. There's no movement he can hear, and Connor steps forward, finding another short corridor ending in a door with a small window. They've found the back exit.

Sabriel hesitates, peering out the window. There doesn't seem to be any more guards- perhaps they'd assumed with her tied up and Connor otherwise restrained, they wouldn't need more. She should probably be grateful they underestimated both her and Connor.

Still, better safe than sorry- she tenses, readying herself to paralyze the guards and run if the exit isn't as unguarded as she expects.

"Once we get out of here, we get to human controlled territory, and I heal you. Then we'll... consider our next move. Do you think there's anyone on the other side of this door?" Because if there are many more... Connor might need to use those guns. Sabriel doesn't want to hurt him, but time spent as a prisoner is time not spent finding the necromancer.

"Oh, almost certainly."

The response is dry, and significantly more casual than the gaze that flicks past Sabriel's shoulder, trying to see through the glass. If she moves aside, Connor will step forward for a more thorough scan out the window.

"One million, seven hundred and sixty thousand androids. Remember?" The curve of his lips could be called polite. It isn't kind. "The ones that weren't put down ended up here."

This district. The adjacent ones. Deviant 'territory', by effect if not law. The humans had scattered when violence broke out—evacuating the city, setting up boundaries and barriers to hide behind. The deviants, by all reports, consolidated.

And they hadn't been short on numbers.

Connor's LED pulses. Yellow. Yellow. "Keep moving. If we're not attacked, don't draw attention," he advises, voice flat. He tugs at the edge of his jacket... and frowns, glancing down at the unmarked cloth. "We'll need to steer clear of the human checkpoints, too."

"Oh- you don't have your identifiers." Another thing to deal with when there's time. Despite her best efforts, Sabriel feels like she's being dragged further and further into a conflict she has no part in, one that's a distraction from her task of eliminating the necromancer and dealing with the Dead. Her father would have been able to do his work without getting dragged into this mess, and she can imagine Mogget mocking her for failing to do the same. But neither of them are here right now.

She'll just have to do what she can, and hope it's enough.

She follows Connor down alleyways, occasionally ducking behind a dumpster or car to hide until he signals to go forward. Twice, they take shortcuts through abandoned buildings, and eventually they find an unwatched spot to climb over the barricade.

Once they're past the barricade, in human territory, Sabriel relaxes. Time to focus on the next problem. And then the next one, and the one after that, she thinks.

"We should be safe now- how bad are your injuries? Should I heal you here, or at the hotel?" It shouldn't drain her like healing the other Connor had- healing a lethal wound involved far more powerful magic than patching up lesser injuries, even if it would probably be the last bit of magic she'd be able to do before she got some rest and a meal. And after what happened, Connor deserved to be healed as soon as possible.

The deviant-occupied district is predictably cluttered—though their numbers dwindle closer to the borders. Connor brushes past the models he does see as if he belonged with these malfunctions... and thankfully, no one stops to ask. Once back in a human district, he slows, turning promptly to Abhorsen when addressed.

"Biocomponents 8142, 9782f, and 1932r are currently offline," he reports. "1930t and 6731 are operating at half capacity, with corresponding lag in the surrounding systems."

Balance issues. Power flow. And cooling, of course, with the nonfunctional lung. Most of it, he can override manually—and close inspection might reveal that Connor has, in fact, been taking shallow, rapid breaths since he woke up. But rest would help. Repair would be ideal.

Still.

"It won't damage my effectiveness."

Sabriel doesn't know what any of those terms mean, but even if none of it is life-threatening or incapacitating, it doesn't sound pleasant, and it probably isn't good for Connor to be in that state of an extended period of time. The way he's breathing doesn't sound good. She'll have to ask him about it, along with the exact nature of his injuries.

"But none of it's-" he'd just glare at her if she asks him if it's painful. "Uncomfortable?"

"I should probably fix them at the hotel- people are less likely to see something there. Can it wait, or would you prefer I healed you now?"

Edited 2019-06-16 07:31 (UTC)

Androids don't feel pain. Or wants. Uncomfortable draws an irritated blink, but Connor's expression stays more or less neutral.

"It can wait."

It could wait longer if it had to. He could operate without repairs. He's not that damaged. And if he were, repair would hardly be the only option to resolve it.

It does, however, seem to be the option that Abhorsen wants. Connor's eyes flick sideways, LED spinning yellow as he calls up a taxi for them both.

"All right." Sabriel's not sure if that means it doesn't hurt, or if Connor's just being stubborn. In either case, he's able to get into the taxi, and Sabriel leans back as soon as she gets in, half-dozing during the trip instead of speaking, and jolting back to full awareness as the taxi stops in front of the hotel, offering only a nod to the receptionist before heading to her room, and ignoring the nervous look the woman shoots at the android beside her.

Sabriel sinks into the desk chair as soon as she can, looking up at Connor.

"I need you to show me which parts aren't working, so I can fix them. I know you said they're not serious, but- I owe you this. Because it's my fault you were hurt in the first place."

The taxi ride is uneventful. The reaction from the receptionist downstairs deserves a sneer, but Connor keeps his expression blank and unassuming, and starts monitoring the police channels as soon as they've passed. If she did call his presence in, they'll need to clear out quickly.

Probably, he should have used a different door.

No alerts have gone up by the time they make it to Abhorsen's room. Connor closes the door behind them and turns: shoulders straight, hands still at either side. Abhorsen sinks into a chair, but her eyes stay on him, and Connor wonders for a moment where she wants him. She won't be able to reach much from that position—unless he kneels? She'll tell him, he assumes, what's needed.

She does. Connor nods, removing his predecessor's jacket and folding it quickly before he places it on the desk. His movements hitch only slightly as she continues.

"...I failed to deal with the deviants."

It's a flat and unemotional recital. He failed, so it's his fault. She hadn't even been conscious. Connor un-knots the tie and places it on top, reaching to unbutton the shirt next.

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