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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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.

"I'd prefer to keep them out of our hair, and not acting as fuel for the- for our enemies." Connor won't be happy about it no matter what she says, but she might as well offer some explanation. And this one has the benefit of being true, even if it isn't the whole story. Not that she can explain the whole story with the WR600 there.

"Remember, I came here for a reason, and it wasn't to get involved in politics. I want to deal with the situation as quickly as possible, then go back to the Old Kingdom." Once she's stopped the necromancer- and placed some sort of binding on all the easy paths out of Death the Ancelstierrians have created.

Oh, so she is censoring herself. A little. Connor wonders just how long the effort will last this time.

"Obviously." He keeps his voice as bland as his expression. "Uninvolved."

Connor's eyes linger casually on the letter. Addressed to Ancelstierre's most notorious terrorist group, held by a malfunctioning machine she was legally required to turned over for destruction. And, of course, penned by Abhorsen herself.

How many felonies count as involved?

"I just- want them to stay out of my way." That isn't too much to ask. For them to just- ignore her. Ancelstierrians often ignored what they couldn't understand. Hopefully their creations wouldn't differ much in that regard.

Sabriel gives the WR600 an apologetic look.

"The less you know about this, the happier you'll be." There's something ominous in the way she says it, but it's less of a threat and more of a warning.

"Connor, perhaps we should carry on our conversation elsewhere?" Somewhere they wouldn't be overheard.

His brows raise, skeptical. "Is it staying?"

Certainly, the WR doesn't look like it wants to. Its eyes, already flitting uneasily between machine and human, widen noticeably at the suggestion, and it takes a step back toward the door, murmuring "No, I—"

Connor doesn't acknowledge it. "There's an upstairs."

The android shifts, nervously shoving the note into one of his pockets.

He clearly wants to leave, and Sabriel can't blame him. So she doesn't call after him as he edges out of the room, or slam the front door behind him as he leaves.

Instead, she turns to Connor as the door closes, her expression intent. Time to focus on the real reason she's here.

"Were you able to get an estimate of the forces at his disposal- living and Dead? How many bodies did they bring to him?"

Edited 2019-07-21 05:52 (UTC)

Connor's eyes do track the deviant—and return to Abhorsen, silently questioning, when it vanishes out the room's door. He can stop it, if she did want something. Or if she'd reconsidered her absurd plan.

Apparently not. He steps over to the room's exit, glancing outside to the open hall and restrained humans before shutting the door.

"Harris and his associates delivered eleven bodies at their last meeting yesterday," he reports, hands clasping behind his back. "He observed ten more reactivated androids already present at the site—in addition to the one he was given."

Connor's eyes drift to the bodies in the corner. Eight, so far. The WR who left would've made nine. "He was encouraged to scale up his reclamation. Our target's other allies may have been more efficient than he was."

"Any idea how many humans he's recruited?" If he only has a few allies- they could be dealing with dozens of Dead. If he has many, or they've done better than Harris in procuring bodies, they might be dealing with hundreds- and possibly, many more grave dirt bridges, making them far more mobile.

"Or where they've been placing grave dirt bridges? That should give us some idea of where the necromancer's trying to target" Sabriel's initial assumption is that he'll start with isolated groups of humans and androids, targeting larger and larger gatherings as his numbers grow, and the deviant and human armies become less of a threat to him.

They need to stop him before then.

"Without more sources, it's difficult to say." Harris had been a lackey, at best—and certainly not included in any larger scale plans.

"I extracted four names. Two are confirmed to be working with our target, and were present at the landfill. The others are active red ice dealers in the same area. Harris thinks would have involved themselves once they heard about the opportunity."

Depending on how far Abhorsen is willing to go, he's certain that pursuing these could net them more.

"As for the... dirt," a hand reaches into his jacket pocket, fishing out Harris' phone. Connor's LED spins yellow, and the device activates: not to a keycode prompt or open menu, but a navigation app, displaying a list of recently searched coordinates. "Here."

A moment later, Sabriel's own phone pings with a new message. RK800_313_248_317-53 has sent her an image file: a map, with the locations overlaid.

"And I'm sure they could give us other names- but the more we go after, the more likely it is that the necromancer will realize what we're doing and call off the meeting- do you think it's worth it?" Knowing what they're up against would be useful- but if they scare the necromancer off, they'd lose a valuable chance to end things once and for all.

When she gets the text, Sabriel nods, and opens the map. She's not entirely familiar with the city's layout, but she recognizes where the landfill is... and some of the street names are familiar from her and Connor's hasty escape from the androids. She looks for other landmarks, places she knows are under human or android control, and frowns.

Harris seems to have been helping make a path from the landfill to the parts of the city controlled by deviants. But there's a handful of sites in the parts of the city controlled by humans- either her estimation of the boundaries is wrong, or the man they're after wants to give his forces access to both parts of the city.

Sabriel looks up, a small, grateful smile starting to spread across her features.

"Good work. This should give us some idea of where the Dead can and can't go"

Where the dead can go. Where their target will be. And some leads to follow in the meantime. It has been a productive morning. Connor's eyes flit to Abhorsen, expression blank, but after a moment, he returns a nod to her acknowledgement. As for the question...

"That depends."

Perhaps unusually, Connor's tone carries no particular malice. But there's a clinical, curious glint behind his eyes. He casts out with one hand: toward the door, and the collection of injured criminals beyond.

"This operation is effectively disabled—but if you let them go, they'll talk. Depending on who they speak to and how soon, any ambush might already be ruined."

They can't stay here to watch them. And Abhorsen's restraints aren't likely to last days. Connor raises his eyebrows, hand turning up. "Taking out our targets allies would be useful."

If Abhorsen is willing to make sure that they stay down.

Avoid human deaths. She'd set the objective. She can rescind it at any time.

"I could make them forget this, change their memories to make them think someone else attacked them- if we take the thirium, it will look like a rival gang decided to take their supply." Or that they were attacked by androids, but Sabriel's not sure if Jericho would see that as a provocation.

In theory, this would also lead to less chance of a police presence, or the necromancer interrogating their spirits to find out what had happened. But Sabriel wasn't sure how much the necromancer would care- he was probably occupied with his own plans, and the police were probably busy as well- and would also assume androids or a rival gang were behind this, if they bothered to investigate at all.

"But next time... If they're willingly serving the necromancer- do what you think is necessary, even if it means killing them. In the Old Kingdom, collaborating with a necromancer or Free magic sorcerer is a serious crime."

"Understood."

There's no smirk on Connor's face, but something like it sounds in his reply: bright and quick and only a little malicious in his satisfaction. He does understand. She recognizes the advantages, but isn't willing to accept the responsibility of telling him to kill. That's fine by Connor. His judgement is much more reliable.

Her current plans aren't ones he'd considered in his own analysis. Connor dismisses the automatic replay of the last time she'd intended to wipe memories, and considers the application at hand.

"...The evidence won't line up," he points out, "though they might not notice. But unless you change most of the last week, they'll still go back to helping your opponent."

Can she change that much?

Sabriel frowns- Connor has made some good points. She looks at the bodies, at the expressions they'd been frozen in at the moment they'd died.

She can't in good conscience say that Harris and his group don't deserve to die. But something in her recoils at the thought of killing them when they're already tied up.

"I doubt they will- Humans tend to see what they think is there, or far more Ancelstierrians would know about the Dead and magic. Besides, if they notice anything odd, what do you think is more likely- they'd thing their minds were playing tricks on them, that the people who attacked them were lying about their real intentions- or that someone magically altered their memories?"

"Besides, the necromancer can't heal them. It's not in the nature of his magic. They'll be dealing with a concussion, gunshot wounds and broken fingers, and and everything else you did to Harris. I don't think they'll be able to assist the necromancer for the next several days, and once they are, he'll be dead." Or probably longer, in Harris's case. Sabriel can't say she's particularly sorry about that.

The necromancer can't heal. And apparently Abhorsen can't change memories—not human ones, at least—for the full duration of the week. Connor notes both facts for future reference, and adds several questions to his growing list.

"If all goes according to plan," he mutters in reply. Still, Abhorsen isn't entirely wrong. The probability of interference from these humans was low. The risk they'd pose if they did try was lower.

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