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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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.

"Still. It was my fault you were in that situation in the first place." She was the one in charge, so responsibility for how things worked out lies with her. Well, her and the other Connor. It had been his choice to approach them with a gun, and call the other deviants to their location.

Still, Connor is her responsibility. Sabriel rises to her feet as he starts to unbutton his shirt, frowning as she looks for any external signs of damage.

"Next time, it will be different." Next time, she'll be on guard, Connor will be armed, and the deviants will understand they're not her enemy unless they choose to be.

Or at least, that's what she tells herself as she starts tracing out the first marks of a basic healing spell- a simpler, less powerful one than what she used on Connor, but it should be enough for her purposes.

Abhorsen had insisted on staying to restore the deviant Connor. Abhorsen had sabotaged his interrogation in the first place, enabling it to gain the upper hand. A quick analysis produces no less than fifty-five instances in the same category: moments where Abhorsen's actions had contributed to the utter shitshow that the situation had become.

Somehow, he doubts she has any of them in mind.

It doesn't matter. Connor was designed to accommodate for human faults, and this human's sentiment doesn't excuse his own mistakes. Next time, he'll do better, he silently recites. She doesn't seem interested in hearing it aloud.

He unbuttons the shirt. Shrugs out of it, left arm slightly stiff, before he folds and sets this garment aside too. At least from the waist-up, the RK800's chassis is a perfect imitation: pale skin dusted with a scattering of freckles, mimicking a slim, fit, male form.

There are, however, two points of irregularity. On his left, where a human's ribs would be, a patch of flesh melts and shivers, showing white—synthetic skin struggling to hold charge and consistency over the damaged systems underneath. And higher up on the same side, an odd divot lingers in the shoulder. Like a scar or wound, painted over badly.

Connor's stare lowers, face blank as his skin recedes.

The process stops at the neck and right arm—but what's left could certainly never be mistaken for human. Smooth plastic forms his body: grey seams and white panels printed with minute serial numbers and part codes. A ring of blue glows softly at the center of his torso. The damage to his shoulder is much more apparent: a cracked hole with twisted edges, parts melted back in place. They slide past each other unevenly as he lifts his arm.

Connor glances at it, but his attention settles at his side, where two small scorch marks are visible on the plastic. The damage is underneath, and he pauses for a fraction of a moment before continuing: an awkward reach around his body, pressing at seams until the edges open. Carefully, he starts to pull the exoskeleton away.

Sabriel waits patiently as he proceeds, frowning slightly as she sees the injuries. She waits until he's removed his exoskeleton to get to work. Some of the parts are clearly equivalent to human organs and blood vessels, but others have some purpose she can't guess at.

If the healing spell she used on the other Connor was an epic poem, the spells she uses on this Connor are a series of epigrams- small spells to heal each damaged part piece by piece- just as thorough, but slower, and less draining, her fingers barely touching him as she lays down spells that are painless, but leave an odd, lingering warmth, along with functioning biocomponents wherever he directs her to heal.

Halfway through her work, she glances at the shoulder injury.

"Did they do that too, or was it there when the other Connor switched with you?" In either case, she should probably try to heal it, but if it was there before, the other Connor probably made some effort to fix it- in which case, she was probably looking at the android equivalent of a scar, rather than a wound.

Only a couple sections of plating need to be detached. Still, the view they offer is extensive. Carbon fiber offers internal support, framing a mass of complicated structures carefully packaged in the space. A faint blue glow halos several working parts, while the damaged organs spark, glow red, or show no light at all. As Sabriel completes her work, the components reset, and if she listens closely, she can hear the whir as Connor's breathing restarts on both sides.

For his own part, Connor shows little reaction: no pain, no relief—no sign of feeling at all. His head is lowered, eyes turning automatically from one component to the next—a human mask atop a plastic doll, opened to show the machinery that pulls its strings. He looks up briefly at the question.

"Previous damage."

His own, in fact. He doesn't let the thought touch his expression.

Despite the strangeness of it, it's a little soothing to immerse herself in the Charter, to draw comfort from it without the strain of casting powerful magic. Sabriel looks up from her work as Connor speaks.

"I see." Connor's... not showing much of anything right now, like he shut off his personality along with his skin. Sabriel can't tell what he's feeling- or if he's even feeling at all. Sabriel keeps at her work, until she's healed everything that looks damaged, and she lowers her hands, trying to ignore the trembling.

"Everything I healed is working, though? Have I missed anything? Or do you want me to try to fix the shoulder?" If it's been badly repaired, she's not sure how much she can do- Sabriel knows that healing spells aren't much use if a wound has healed wrong in some way.

Connor pauses just a moment, LED spinning quick rings before he dips his head in affirmation.

"All biocomponents are functioning."

It doesn't hurt any more. Nothing removed, nothing replaced—and only a slight, lingering warmth to mark her touch at all. How... odd. Connor's lips twitch, brows knitting very slightly as she follows up the question. Want?

He can't answer that.

"You're showing signs of fatigue," Connor reports instead, tracking her motions with clinical appraisal. "If you don't rest soon, you'll have another episode."

For a moment, Sabriel wants to protest. Then a wave of exhaustion sweeps over her, and she realizes that perhaps Connor has a point.

"But I- All right. Just- Connor, please tell me if you get hurt again- I'll heal you as soon as I can."

Sabriel slips off her shoes, and heads over to the bed.

"An I'll see about getting you new identifiers when I wake up- we have enough problems without both sides of this fight wanting to shoot us, along with the Dead trying to rip our throats out." There's definitely a note of morbid humor in her voice.

"And quite frankly, the Dead are enough- I don't want any more enemies than them."

Connor nods to the instruction. Glances briefly at the unmarked garments on the desk. Deviant or not, all androids were to be turned over for disposal, and having their recycling camps routed has only fueled the humans' hate.

New indicators won't change that, especially near any kind of army checkpoint. But they're a legal requirement, and might help Abhorsen to persuade others of his place. Still, if she continues in this vein—with him, and with the deviants...

"I'm not sure you'll have a choice."

The mutter isn't as acerbic as it could be. But it's not quite toneless, either. The same prickle of attention that's coiled close around his spine through the repair digs in a little tighter as that registers. Unsolicited advice, at a time when he should hold still, be careful, comply with the technician to be cleared. His eyes flicker back to Abhorsen, but her back is turned, attention on the bed.

She isn't going to do anything.

...She's done with the repair. He should close himself up. Certainly, she wouldn't know how. Typically, the process would be accomplished by the rig, or a technican, but—Connor can do this. He reaches for a disconnected section of exoskeleton, half an eye on the human as he orients it in his grip.

"I'll do better next time," he promises. This time, aloud.

"I might not," Sabriel can't help the dull, unhappy feeling of resignation that rises at the thought, "But I'll be better next time. I won't overreach myself, and we'll just try to avoid the deviants. And soldiers, especially ones who weren't transferred from the Perimeter." Ones who were at the perimeter... they'll recognize Sabriel. And even if she doubts they'd be friendly to Connor, she might be able to convince them that he isn't- well, both of them are dangerous, but that he isn't a threat to them.

"The soldiers who were at the Perimeter- they know what the Dead are, they'll understand what it means that they can use android corpses as bodies. And some of them are Charter mages- self-taught and not particularly strong, but they're in a better position to fight the Dead than the deviants or the rest of the army." After all, unlike the rest of them, they understand the true nature of their enemies, and are proficient with swords and spears as well as guns. They even have proper chainmail, Sabriel thinks as she sits up in bed, her back up against the headboard.

Edited 2019-06-18 05:47 (UTC)

She won't overreach? Questionable, considering she'd nearly done so for a second time today. They'll try to avoid the deviants? Irrelevant, when the deviants had hunted them down.

It takes work to keep his utter lack of confidence from his expression. Carefully, Connor reaches back and around, slotting the first section of plating back in place and pressing down until it clicks. The information about the soldiers is interesting. But Abhorsen's speaking as if it were some kind of solution: allies she could command to take her side.

"They're not here to fight your enemies," he points out. They're here to fight deviants. To put down androids. Even if they recognize that Abhorsen's goals have worth, he's not as confident they'll put aside their own.

But, she still doesn't think this war is meaningful.

Reconnected to his body and the charge of thirium inside, the exoskeleton adopts an added level of plasticity. Connor's motions are a little smoother as he reaches for the second detached section, repeating the process. A click, a press, and his internal workings seal back out of sight.

Well, Connor has a point. At the Wall, they'd trusted her because the Dead were their enemy, and they knew she was Abhorsen. Here? She probably shouldn't be so sure. They are Ancelstierrians, even if they know more about the Old Kingdom than most of their countrymen.

"No, but they'll start making defenses against the Dead if they know what's going on. And if they know you belong to me, they might leave you alone." Hopefully. If Connor doesn't say something to set them off. She knows they'll believe her about the Dead and the necromancer at least. Convincing them that Connor is an ally will take some effort.

But these are people who've spent years on the perimeter, dealing with the dangers of the Old Kingdom that had leaked over into Ancelstierre. Surely they'll realize that the Dead are a bigger problem than deviants.

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