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

Sabriel sleeps for a long time, and when she wakes, her dreams are a jumbled, half-remembered mess- there's her father and the Dead, as usual, along with Mogget and Jacinth's rabbit- and Connor. Waking comes suddenly for Sabriel- a sudden jerk, a dream-memory of her own sword going through her abdomen, and she's suddenly awake.

I'ts a little before dawn, Sabriel realizes and she's refreshed but ravenous. So she hurries through her morning routine with urgent efficiency, getting cleaned up and packing her guitar case with her armor and weapons. By the time she steps out of a convenience store with coffee and several pastries, it's six-thirty in the morning.

"All right," she tells Connor, "Where do you want to start?"

While she slept, he'd looked into the case data. He'd also read Abhorsen's emails, skimmed through the police reports from the day before, reread most of her book collection, and tried to source the key discovered in his predecessor's pockets. Human biology is remarkably inefficient, and by the time Abhorsen has finally gotten herself up and functional, Connor is more than ready to investigate.

So ready, in fact, that he doesn't offer more than a pointed stare when she inquires after wants. He holds up his palm instead, projecting the image of a scruffy looking human man. Tattoos run down both exposed shoulders in the mugshot, showing a pair of snarling, draconic faces.

"Adrian Harris. Born December 10, 2002, currently unemployed. Four arrests on record for possessing and dealing red ice." Connor lets her examine the image for a moment before his palm curls shut, dismissing it.

"His description matches the KW's summary with 96% confidence." It would have been 100 if he'd been allowed access to its memories. Connor swallows back the bitter remark, inclining his head.

"And his cell phone is currently just east of Highland Park."

"I see. Not many men have tattoos like that." At least, not the sort of men Sabriel's seen. But recent events have shown her just how limited her experience is.

She hasn't heard of Highland Park before- but hopefully it isn't a particularly large park. Still, Harris matches the sort of person they're looking for, and even if he's armed and has allies... Connor has combat programming and Sabriel's both a powerful Charter mage and a necromancer. They'll be able to deal with any living or Dead opponents.

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with Detroit's geograhy- is that very far from here? Will we need to go past any checkpoints on the way there?" She's sure Connor will say something snide about her ignorance, but she'd rather have him be snide than be caught unprepared.

Ignorance is, at this point, a default assumption. Connor's eyes shift into the distance, LED spinning a quick yellow circle as he checks.

"It's fourteen minutes by taxi. And still under human control." Troop locations aren't publicly accessible, but if they stay away from the border, the odds of being stopped decrease significantly. "...We should be able to avoid them."

Should. He tugs at the line of his jacket, smoothing a near-invisible crease from the holster underneath.

"Then we should be on our way," Sabriel says firmly, "And I'll deal with any soldiers we encounter." As long as they're not Charter mages, that should be simple enough.

Sabriel's mostly silent during the taxi ride, but there's an air of tension about her- like a coiled spring, or a bowstring pulled taut, constantly looking out the window as though she's ready to jump out and keep moving as soon as the taxi stops.

When the taxi does, she looks around, confused. "Are you sure we're in the right place? I don't see a park here."

Connor might be an ass, but she can't see him sabotaging her like this- or making a mistake about location. So she must have misunderstood something.

If Abhorsen's plans for 'dealing' with soldiers are anything like how she'd 'dealt' with deviants the day before... Connor has doubts. He doesn't, however, see much point in sharing them, especially when they're almost underway. He keeps his attention on the road.

Two minutes to wait. Fourteen to drive. The taxi rolls to a stop, and Connor's already reaching for the door. Shoes crunch in the snow, eyes settling on a house across the street... before Abhorsen speaks, and his gaze flicks back. This time, his expression isn't quite as restrained.

"...Highland Park is a municipal district." Each word drawls out pointedly slow, as if for an audience with a particularly challenged mind. "And I said 'east of'." A pointed jerk of the head indicates the house at the address, and Connor takes a few steps forward at an angle, trying for a better view of the windows. Are the lights on inside the building?

"I see." But there's no point in apologizing for her ignorance, or asking for more information. Instead Sabriel puts on her armor and reaches for her sword and bells, squinting up at the building. She can feel something with her Death-sense- one of the Dead, and something else- possibly corpses, possibly just old deaths. Neither is a pleasant possibility.

"Is it possible they're still asleep?" It's not that early, but it wouldn't surprise Sabriel if criminals were prone to sleeping in. And it would make sneaking up on them much easier.

"There's one of the Dead inside, but I don't think anyone's died there recently- either he's not there anymore, or it's been ordered not to attack him." Those are the only two explanations for how a Dead creature could be in someone's home without attempting to eat the occupants.

"The city is in a state of shutdown, our target is unemployed, and the sun won't rise for another hour," Connor recites. "So, yes."

His expression is unmoved, but there's a hint of charge behind the android's voice. Anticipation. The lights are off. Their targets is complacent, and the dead thing waiting in the building is only confirmation that they're following a useful trail. He nods at the information, eyes lingering on the street outside: multiple cars parked nearby, when most humans have abandoned the area. Did Harris have company?

Connor doesn't mention the possibility aloud. Abhorsen is far too fretful already about inflicting harm, and the presence of potential bystanders won't help. A hand goes to his hip, checking the gun holstered just beneath his jacket.

He's ready when she is.

Sabriel pauses, checking over the straps on her bells, drawing her sword about an inch out of its scabbard so it will be easier to draw all the way if she needs it.

She nods to Connor, falling in line behind him.

"I'll deal with the Dead, while you handle Harris." It seems like a good plan, since she knows she's better at fighting the Dead than Connor is- and he's probably better at getting information out of living people.

And someone willingly working with the Dead deserves anything Connor might want to do to them.

"Of course." He logs the instructions, eyes flicking back. If Abhorsen's position is any sign, she's expecting him to take the lead. How unusual. But then, he supposes, her expertise is with the dead. She's never gone after a human criminal before—at least, not in anything approaching civilization.

Neither has Connor. He keeps this fact from his expression as he walks forward: shoulders straight, stance confident. While his model series was designed to stand in for law enforcement on a larger scale, the deviant investigation had claimed precedent. And his predecessor's failure to handle that had more or less decimated the city's rule of law. If he were operating as designed, Connor would be here alongside a human officer, whose position of authority could be leveraged to compel an interview. This is... not that.

He'll have to improvise.

The door is old and weathered. The porch, half-rotted, ancient timbers damaged by the melted snow. Connor eyes it, calculating the structural stability as he raises a hand and knocks, calling out firmly.

"Adrian Harris?"

There's a sound from inside. Several sounds, he estimates: the scuffle of movement, a graceless thud against the floor, the creak of a door further in. The probability of other humans jumps to 96%, and in the span of seconds, he's fairly sure they aren't hurrying to answer. Are they covering illicit activities? Going for weapons?

...Connor isn't here with law enforcement. Which means there's no reason to wait.

The android takes a step back, freeing one gun from its holster—and lunges back in, a precisely coordinated kick snapping the latch. The door smashes wide, and Connor darts inside, leaving the entrance clear for Abhorsen to follow.

At least one of them knows what they're doing- Sabriel has little experience dealing with hostile humans- especially those that aren't sorcerers or necromancers.

Sabriel stands behind Connor, loosening the straps on Saraneth but not drawing the bell yet. Having it out seems to make Connor nervouse, and she has no way of knowing if there are more living people besides Harris in the house, that might require magical incapacitation. And the Dead creature... isn't approaching the door. Well, she hasn't used any magic, so it doesn't know she's near, and Harris is probably trying to keep it hidden.

So instead, she draws her sword as Connor pulls out his gun, keeping one hand free for spellcasting, and as he charges forward, Sabriel lunges after him, eyes scanning her surroundings. The Dead creature is upstairs- can she go after them, or are there humans beside Harris than need to be dealt with?

A man lunging at her with a knife answers that question, and Sabriel raises her sword to parry the strike- and then slams her knee into his groin before shoving him back with her free hand, to take advantage of her longer weapon as he stumbles back and she tries to gauge how many people she and Connor are dealing with.

"Shit shit shit- it's the one he told us about! Get down here, now!"

She can feel the Dead creature start moving at the shouted command, and Sabriel's free hand goes for Saraneth, undoing the last few straps.

Stairs to the left. Living area ahead. Connor maps the threadbare couches and assorted furniture in a glance as his attention locks on three moving, active shapes. One man (unfamiliar) is emerging from the kitchen, another visible only in profile as he scrambles into a back room of some kind. Harris? Every instinct in Connor's programming urges him to chase, but the third human—

—is swinging toward his head with a crowbar.

He ducks low, snapping off a single shot. It grazes the retreating shape in the leg, drawing a sharp cry before Connor is forced to turn his focus to his current opponent. The woman with the crowbar is short but stocky, and quick to recover from her miss. She follows her momentum forward, shoulder-checking him back against the nearest wall and jamming the sharp end of the crowbar towards his gut. Connor catches the weapon by the shaft and twists, left hand snaking back up to plant his gun against her torso.

Avoid human deaths. The parameter blinks up to fill his vision, and Connor glares, dismissing the overlay even as he twitches the barrel downward and squeezes. A bullet tears through his opponent's thigh, two centimeters left of the femoral artery. The woman spasms, dropping to the ground, and Connor stomps on her weapon hand, producing a sharp crunch and a new scream.

By now, Abhorsen is engaged with her own target—who, from the sound of it, just called for reinforcements. Connor spins the crowbar in his right hand, testing the weight as he steps neatly between his owner and her current fight.

"Abhorsen." He tips the weapon back in indication.

There are steps approaching down the stairs. They're too fast to be human.

"I know." Sabriel's gaze snaps upwards, and there's something in her expression like a mongoose that's spotted a snake- tension, but also anticipation.

Sabriel gets Saraneth free just as the Dead android comes into view, and she swings the bell just as she hears a gunshot, Saraneth's booming voice not quite drowning out the sharp crack.

The Hand bends to her will easily enough, and she makes it walk towards the man with the gun as Sabriel ducks down and follows behind it, keeping a mental grip on it. The gunshots aren't a problem- they're all aimed at the chest and head- but she doesn't want it to rip the mans throat out, which is what it wants to do- it doesn't have any loyalty to these people, not with its bonds to its previous master severed.

Apparently convinced that he just hasn't shot it enough, the man keeps firing, each shot knocking the Hand back a half-step before it moves forward again, urged on by Saraneth's echoes and Sabriel's will, until the man runs out of bullets and Sabriel lunges forward, slamming the pommel of her sword into the mans hand, knocking the gun out as she kicks at his feet, trying to knock his legs out from under him as the Dead android regards them both with a hungry expression.

Abhorsen moves to intercept the android. He faces off against her human target: a man whose eyes are already glued on Connor's temple with a sneer. He waggles the knife in a gesture presumably intended to threaten.

"Should've stopped by sooner, plastic. We could've—"

Connor shoots the man in the foot. He crumples inward, and Connor steps close, twirling the crowbar up and in. It takes the man in the side of the jaw, and he drops, instantly unconscious.

The peal of a familiar bell echoes behind him. Connor stares firmly ahead, dropping the crowbar on the human's form and bending to scoop up his knife instead. But there's motion at the corner of his view—light, glinting off a firearm—and Connor rounds on it, his own gun raising—

—only to stall as his target's aim tracks out. Instead of aiming for Abhorsen, or himself, the returning human has trained its gun on their own reactivated machine. Or, perhaps, 'theirs' formerly. Connor watches from the periphery, brows quirking slightly as Abhorsen directs it towards Adrian Harris. The unit is an AP400 home assistant, with no programmed ability to fight... but the air of menace as it advances is hard to deny. Probably it has to do with just how many shots the unit takes while remaining standing.

A useful talent. Certainly, it's more durable than he would be. Is that why Abhorsen had claimed it? Connor shoves back the flicker of uncertainty and pulls the trigger from across the room: shattering Harris' ankle.

Harris screams, and swears, but all three hostile humans are incapacitated but not dead, so Sabriel backs away, nodding to Connor and directing the Dead android to follow her, apparently unbothered by how it's regarding everyone except her with a look of ravenous hunger, or that it's not bleeding thirium, despite being shot multiple times. Instead she glares at Harris, silent despite the bile he's aiming at her.

"You fucking traitorous bitch! You're betraying your own kind, and for what?" It takes an effort of will not to magically silence him, but Connor does need to interrogate him.

"Speak to Harris using whatever methods you think necessary. I'll dispose of this thing and restrain the others- unless there's something else you want me to do?"

All targets down. Or otherwise dealt with. Connor returns the gun to its holster, walking over to join his owner above Harris' prone form. Abhorsen's instructions are expected—though the leniency about his methods does make for a promising start. Abhorsen's plans are likewise straightforward enough... though dispose of surprises him a little.

Abhorsen's question? Is considerably further from the norm. Connor's stare lingers on her for several seconds before he turns back to the other human, expression revealing nothing at all.

"That should be fine."

Machines don't want anything. And for all her idiotic insistence on treating deviants like humans, Abhorsen has never deferred to him so thoroughly before. On the contrary, she seems entirely comfortable asserting her control... and micromanaging his tasks along the way. So is this another guilt-fueled episode?

Maybe. Or, more likely: the behavior is performative. A pretense of shared authority, to unsettle the human now screaming his contempt.

Of course, Connor is a machine. Abhorsen's property, to be used where and how she chooses. But Connor can see where this kind of act would be of use. And regardless of Abhorsen's intent, contradicting her in front of Harris would be strictly counterproductive.

"We'll take the bathroom," he declares, fist closing in the human's collar. Harris twists back, hands shoving upwards—and flitting back down with a yell, as Connor starts to drag him on that shattered ankle. The smirk Connor flashes towards Abhorsen almost looks genuine. "Easier to clean up."

"How considerate of you." There's something a little uneasy in Sabriel's tone, but no sympathy when she looks at Harris. He willingly worked with the necromancer, and attacked

While Connor's attending to her own work, she sheaths her sword and refastens Saraneth before drawing Kibeth and letting it sound, the bell's merry marching tune only slightly disrupted by the thump of the Dead android hitting the floor as the spirit inside of it is dragged into Death without much struggle.

Her most important task done, Sabriel wraps her fingers around the bell's clapper and refastens it before it can start sounding on its own, before attending to the other two humans. The woman she deals with first- she's still conscious and only stops spitting profanities when Sabriel very deliberately puts her hand on the hilt of her sword, and Sabriel frowns, looking around the room for something to tie her up with, before heading into another room to continue her search, only to freeze when she steps inside, cold horror in her stomach.

It's full of dead androids and tubing- and the faint whirring of a pump that's still working to drain the bodies of thirium- and blue blood, stacked along the wall in containers of varying sizes.

Sabriel goes very, very still, then looks around, her attention narrowing in on the one android that isn't dead yet- but is instead tied up, with a look of hope that quickly turns to despair and resignation when he realizes she's human.

She recognizes the face- it's the same as the WR600 the school bought to replace the retiring human groundskeeper. It's a face she remembers walking by many times, but never speaking to. The last time she remembers seeing it- him, was when he had helped the teachers barricade most of the student body into the North Tower.

Sabriel can hear her pulse pounding in her ears as she shuts off the pump, and she finds more of the same cord they used to tie up the androids, which she takes into the other room the restrain the others, along with two shirts which should be good enough as a makeshift bandage and a gag. She's not going to waste magic on those people if she can help it, and she's not sure if they'll go to the authorities or not, and she's in no mood to listen to a necromancer's lackey. Especially one involved in something like this.

"I'll untie you," she tells the android, "I just need to do something first."

Slightly muffled by the walls, both of them can hear Harris screaming, and the android tries to say something through his gag. It might just be that he's restrained, but something about his movements seems sluggish.

Tying up the two humans goes easily enough, and Sabriel leaves both of them where they fell, bound hand and foot- and it the woman's case, bandaged and gagged.

Sabriel's about tho head back into the room to get the android free and out of there, but Connor's left the door to the bathroom open, and she can hear Harris talking- so she steps forward, curious.

Edited 2019-07-09 01:19 (UTC)

Their target's police records place him at 5'11" and 182 pounds. Connor privately corrects the figure—185.2, as he drags the human into the bathroom and over the short lip that sets aside the shower floor. Mess appropriately contained, he steps back to analyze.

Harris, Adrian
Born 12/10/02 // Unemployed
Criminal record: Narcotics possession and distribution (4 arrests)

Evaporated thirium flecks the human's hands and clothing. His right hand is starting to swell: a fracture in the third metacarpal. His shattered ankle continues bleeding. If no bandage or tourniquet is put in place, the blood loss will reach dangerous levels in approximately 48 minutes. Plenty of time.

The human's expression is a study in apoplectic rage, but there's a glint in his eye as he stares at Connor. Anti-android sentiments. Probability of attack: 67%. He thinks he can overpower the RK800. Connor raises his eyebrows, voice calm and pleasant: a smile that doesn't touch his face. "I really wouldn't try."

The human doesn't take advice from plastic scraps. And Connor should have stayed on the trash pile where he belongs. Harris assumes that he's deviant, Connor gathers from the ranting, and something sticks in his vocalizer at the thought. When Harris lunges upward, swinging out with his good hand, the android dislocates his shoulder with a ruthless, rigid pop.

That's the first scream.

He doesn't bother correcting the human's error. As loathsome as it might be, the belief is useful: reinforcing the idea that Connor has no oversight to be concerned with. In reality, while Abhorsen had encouraged him to use any method, Connor doubts her sudden ruthlessness will last. He needs to limit his techniques to ones that won't prompt interference... or extract the needed information before she returns.

He gets to work.

By the time Sabriel stops by the doorway, considerable progress has been made. Harris has moved past sneers or snarling—or suggesting other uses for the RK800's parts. Certainly, he isn't going to lunge. The knife that Connor took from his associate would stop him if he tried: jammed between the fractured bones of Harris' right hand to pin the appendage to the wall. Connor supposes he did learn something useful from his predecessor.

Humans don't have pump regulators. But they have nerves and skin, flesh and bone. Their entire construction is a mass of oozing vulnerabilities. Connor stands above this one: arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently just to the side of his victim's shattered ankle. His shoe is already stained with red.

Harris's expression is contorted to a scowl, voice struggling to stay level. But he reeks with sweat and fear already, wide eyes flitting between the android's face and his own threatened appendage.

"I fucking said already, I don't—"

Connor steps forward onto the splintered bone, eliciting a strangled cry as Harris thrashes to escape. There's a sharp gleam behind his eyes.

"You don't know." It's a disdainful drawl, head tilted to inspect the human. "These are your coworkers and competition—the other human defects who exploit your... very lucrative niche. And you don't know who else took the offer?"

Probability: 14%... and that was without the wide array of tells Harris was displaying. Connor smirks. "I'd question just how stupid you must be. But you're lying, so—I hardly need to."

Harris struggles: for breath, for words, for anything past his own agony, and Connor watches, mouth curving upward at the corners. He can see the flaring bursts of stress. The shift of microexpressions, resolve and rage shattering to panic. Probability of success: 98%, and he lifts his foot, demanding, "Names."

Harris opens his mouth—and stops, glancing toward the door.

If Harris was hoping for any mercy from Harris, that hope is dashed when he sees her face. The dead androids and the condition of the one survivor has dashed what little sympathy she might have had for a man who willingly worked with a necromancer. Part of her registers the pain and injuries, and recoils at it. But that part is overruled. If Harris wants any mercy, he needs to earn it.

"If you want to come out of this alive, I suggest you answer all his questions."

Sabriel turns to Connor then, and just nods, a wordless keep going, before she turns on her heel, as Harris screams at her.

"You bitch- you're betraying your own kind, and for what- some stupid superstition? Or did the plastics pay you off?" Sabriel pauses, and when she turns back, there's genuine fury in her expression.

"There's something you've misunderstood- you're not my kind."

And with that, Sabriel heads back to the restrained android.

Getting him free requires only a simple spell to loosen his bonds, but he needs her help to get to his feet, and immediately slumps onto the wall as soon as she lets him go, his movements slow and jerky. He's shaking, and something about his gaze seems unfocused.

"Thirium," he says, "I need- thirium."

The thirium here came from the corpses they're sharing the room with, and the thought of giving it to the android is more than a little revolting. But he's looking at it hungrily, so perhaps androids don't see it the same way. Or he's just too desperate to be squeamish.

Whatever the case, it's clear he needs some, so Sabriel takes one of the bottles and unscrews the cap, helping the android raise it to his lips and drink.

Once he's done, he reaches for another, and manages to get the lid off one his own, even if his hands are still shaking a little. Once he's done, they're no longer shaking, although he's still moving unsteadily- something's wrong with his left leg.

"You- why did you free me? What do you want?"

He's looking uneasily at the sword at her side, and Sabriel knows she isn't exactly a reassuring sight. She opens her mouth to say she didn't want anything other than his survival, but then she spots a notepad and pen on the shelf, covered in writing- probably keeping track of how much thirium they'd procured, she assumes, but she can think of a better use for it.

"Listen- I want you to deliver a letter for me. In exchange I'll fix your leg." It seems like a fair exchange to her- a chance to make it clear to the other Connor and whatever leaders the androids had that she meant them no ill will, and was working to protect both them and the human Ancelstierrians from a threat that was beyond either side's ability to deal with.

Hinges creak. The human stares. Connor registers his owner's presence, and goes still, eyes flicking back before his head reluctantly swivels to follow. Abhorsen had told him to extract the information. She'd said any method.

And, bizarrely enough... she seems to have meant it.

There's a momentary blankness to the android's face. Then he nods smoothly in return, turning back to his target. Harris' shouted outrage is almost entertainingly irrelevant—though under different circumstances, Connor might have agreed at least in part. Abhorsen really did care far too much about machines.

It takes a minute to get back on track, but Harris doesn't hold out long. Connor extracts a list of names: associates known to have pledged help to their main target. Connor has the time and place of their next rendezvous. Confirmation on what the red ice dealers were receiving in exchange.

It's everything they'd come for. Still, Connor has one more question. Harris' associate had called out an alarm when Abhorsen walked in the door. They'd recognized her—by face, or rough description—and been warned to anticipate attacks.

Connor asks. He doesn't like the answer.

The RK800 checks his work. Plugs the blood flow. Relieves the human of his communication device, and inspects his own appearance in the mirror. When he exits the bathroom, he closes the door behind him, leaving Adrian Harris still pinned against the shower wall: a fleshy sack of shattered bones and seeping wounds.

Secondary objective (avoid human deaths): accomplished. Connor fixes his tie one last time and goes to find Abhorsen.

The WR600's agrees to her request, and doesn't ask what Sabriel's doing when she leaves with the pen and paper and comes back a few minutes later with her letter already folded, with one message written down, and another recorded in the message-spell shed traced on the paper- a message only one with a Charter-mark could hear.

When she heals him, he does have questions, although at least he holds still through the procedure, even as he keeps asking what are you doing?, and once, what are you?

"What I am," She tells him, "Is Abhorsen, and what I'm doing is healing you."

It's clear he doesn't think this is a good answer, and he's clearly unnerved by the proceedings, but she's already tugging his pant leg down and getting to her feet before he can object too much.

"The person I need you to give that letter to is an android called Connor- not the one I came here with, the other one."

Who she can see approaching, out of the corner of her eye, and she turns to face him, straightening up.

"How did it go? Did he tell you where they're meeting?"

"Of course."

The smirk Connor had worn through the interrogation has vanished, expression reshaped to a more usual neutrality. Still, there's a spark of the same satisfaction, movements smoothly efficient as he stops in front of Abhorsen to report.

"Their next rendezvous is in two days. I have the site, and a list of relevant accomplices."

The other human waste who'd decided the necromancer would be their salvation. Connor lets his gaze wander across the room, stopping for habitual analysis of point after point. He takes in the scuffed equipment and old tubing. The high-powered pump and crude restraints. How unsophisticated. But effective, apparently— some of the old thirium worked into the walls and floorboards dates back over a year and a half. Well before the public advent of deviancy.

His eyes flick from the deactivated chassis to the android standing by his owner. WR600. Deviant. He lifts a hand, gesturing curtly towards it.

"What's that for?"

"Wonderful," Sabriel's face breaks into a genuine smile. Two days. Enough time to come up with a plan, but not so long to wait. Perhaps she ought to alter the human's memory though- the last thing they need is to walk into an ambush. They can talk about it once the other android is out of earshot, along with all the other details they need to focus on.

"He's going to deliver a message. One that will hopefully make our work easier."

The last thing she needs is androids who don't understand the supernatural putting themselves in danger, and putting even more bodies and souls in the necromancer's grasp.

A message. It's not the first time Abhorsen's used that phrasing—and with about the same measure of naive optimism. He glances over the other android (now eying him with an uncertain, wary frown), attention lingering on the piece of paper in its hand. How literal of her.

"...Jericho."

The word is precisely spoken, expression flat. It still manages to sound like an invective.

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aaand short timeskip

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