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

"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.

"It should." It certainly didn't with Kerrigor, but this is just a necromancer, not the greatest of the Greater Dead and a rogue member of the royal family. It'll be fine- she or Connor will kill the necromancer, dispose of the Dead he's made, and she'll lay down a binding on the landfill and never need to go this far south again.

"I'll get started on changing their memories, then I'll have them go to sleep while you get rid of the thirium so it looks like one of their competitors did this. Unless there's anything else I should know?"

Get rid of the thirium. He'd suspected that would be his job from the moment she'd broken down the tasks, and Connor's lips press together, swallowing an irritated comment. Cleanup isn't part of his function... but it's a necessity of her current plan. And he can't exactly—

Anything else?

Connor stills. There was the recognition displayed by Harris' friend. The last question he'd asked, in a blood-stained bathtub filled with the reek of human fear. And the answer Connor had received in turn. Abhorsen's enemy had shown his lackies images of her. Footage recorded in Cyberlife tower.

Abhorsen... should know. It's relevant. He knows it is. But the words stick in his throat, something cold and painful interfering. Was Cyberlife... opposed to Connor's mission?

Why had they sold him to her if they were?

Probably, it's a mistake. Hearsay. A false lead, or intercepted data. Just because Abhorsen was technologically inept didn't mean that all her enemies were, too. He shouldn't assume the situation—and certainly, he shouldn't confuse his owner with misleading data that had yet to be confirmed.

"...Nothing else, no." Connor turns to the stored liquid. "I'll get started."

[So̶ftẁa̛r̨e̴ In̵s̷ta҉b̨i̵lit͜ý ^]

"Very well then- meet me outside when you're done," Sabriel tells him, before going to focus on her own work.

She recites the same story to each of the three as Charter marks circle their heads- the same description of their attackers, and what they did- she adds a few extra details with Harris, an entirely different set of questions than what he was actually asked. Each of them repeats the story back to her with a glazed expression, and in turn she sends each of them to sleep before their dazed expressions- when they wake up, it will be like they never met her- or Connor. Then she heads outside, her expression pensive.

Next time, she might not be able to get through a confrontation like that without killing anyone. Not if she and Connor are massively outnumbered.

It takes five trips to haul the thirium downstairs. There's a 37% chance of being spotted if he uses the storm drain out front, so Connor exits through the back, scaling a fence to dig a small hole in the neighbor's flower garden. The dirt is loose-packed, and absorbs the liquid easily enough as he pours out one gallon after the next.

There had been eight bodies in the house. Nineteen, with the last delivery. Harvested by one group of humans, in the span of a few days. If Abhorsen's target kept up his work, that would make hundreds of deviants off the streets.

Negligible, with hundreds of thousands out there.

Abhorsen seemed to be expecting conquest—or mass murder, at the very least. But Harris talked about her enemy as someone who could solve the deviant condition. And the android they'd found here had followed orders.

Cyberlife... might be interested in that.

Connor doesn't have enough data. Not on their goals, and not on his target's. He doesn't have any evidence a link exists. He glowers at the blue-stained dirt and fills the hole, stashing the empty containers in a nearby shed. By all appearances, the neighbor's house had been evacuated days ago. It would be weeks more before its occupants returned.

He climbs the fence. Kicks some snow across the prints he's left behind. Connor slips back into Harris' house, making a quick detour to wash up in the bathroom before he heads out front.

Abhorsen's waiting. "Where next?"

Sabriel gives a start, then frowns, ticking off several options with her fingertips, and shivering a little in the cold. The wind's picked up again.

"I suppose- I should get something to eat, and we need to decide what to do next. We know where and when we can confront the necromancer- should we scope out the site ahead of time? Are there any supplies you want to get before then? Or should we go after more of his allies, and risk the element of surprise at the meeting?" Sabriel frowns. The meeting is their best lead, and she doesn't want to ruin it by being too aggressive.

"My preference is to visit the place where the meeting will happen before we do anything else, but- I'd like your input. You're the one who found all this information."

Scouting. Supplies. Or pursuit of new targets. They're all valid objectives, and Connor tilts his head, considering. Her insistence on his input is new, and slightly out of place... but not something to discourage. Not when it might be crucial for the mission later.

"Scouting out the meeting site sounds useful," he agrees. "We should be careful, though. There's a chance our target may have the area watched."

Or, be there already.

"It's possible- either by living allies or Dead servants." Most likely the latter- the necromancer seems to have put his living allies to more active uses than merely guarding things, but if the guards are Dead, they'll have an advantage by going in daylight.

"Where is this place, anyway? Is it inside a building, or out in the open?"

"Neither, I believe."

Connor's LED spins yellow once, then twice—searching for images online. Unsurprisingly, there isn't much past barbed wire and hastily built walls. Human media had been excluded from the sites during their operation, and they'd had much more eventful stories to chase since.

"Recall Center Number Two. It's near the northern edge of the city."

Sabriel looks vaguely nauseated when he tells her the site.

"A site of mass death- are there many corpses there?" Even if there aren't- the necromancer will have an easy time drawing bodiless spirits out of death. And it's another place she'll need to lay a binding on. Her hands ball into fists.

"We need to visit it- in daylight. And when we attack, we need to take out the necromancer right away." This is... less than ideal. She'd assumed the meeting would be in some abandoned building, or a public space totally depopulated by the evacuation.

Mass death? Connor nearly snorts his incredulity. He swallows back the reaction with effort, but the quirk of his eyebrows doesn't seem especially impressed by her dramatics.

"I couldn't say." He's never been there.

The timing should be easy enough—even stopping for food, they'd be setting out in the middle of the day today. As for their target...

"Wasn't that already the plan?"

"It was, but- Connor, this location means he could raise many Dead, very quickly, if he's alerted to our presence." In many ways, it's the worst possible location she could think of.

She's still not entirely sure why the Ancelstierrians thought murdering as many androids as they could find was a good idea.

"How many more camps are there in Detroit?"

This location. Mass death. Abhorsen doesn't spell out what she means, but the implications aren't difficult to guess at. Connor eyes her, wishing he had a second source. Her knowledge about magic has been reliable so far—but it's obvious, too, how thoroughly she's bought into the deviants' pretense.

"Five more," he answers promptly. All of them currently defunct. Not all accessible, but Connor refrains from commenting as much now.

"Why? Are you planning a tour?"

Sabriel resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"I want to understand how much of a mess I'm going to need to clean up, once the necromancer's dead. There are... bindings, spells that can be laid down, to make passage from Death to Life more difficult, even in places like that. But such spells take time to cast."

Months. She could be here for months, while humans and androids keep killing each other, stuck in the middle of a fight she's not interested in, instead of being in the Old Kingdom, closer to Touchstone and helping to rebuild the Old Kingdom.

Time, in places occupied by Jericho. Or by the army. Connor doesn't know enough to comment on Abhorsen's methods, but if the deviants haven't been put down by then, he doubts she'll have an easy time. Still, it's not an immediate concern. Connor might well have no part in it at all.

He still doesn't know if Abhorsen plans to keep him when they're done.

"...We should get moving," he offers after a brief pause. The longer they stand in front of Harris' house, the higher the likelihood of witnesses.

"We should," Sabriel agrees, and starts walking in long, even strides. "Let's get a few blocks from here before we call a taxi."

Before she can think too much about what will happen after, she needs to deal with the necromancer- ideally, before he raises an army of the Dead. And with Connor's help, that should be possible. Afterwards... well, she's not sure how many Charter mages she'll be able to recruit for work in the middle of a warzone. Perhaps she could ask Connor if he wished to be baptized.

Connor blinks in faint surprise. How... unusually circumspect. Of course, their target was unlikely to have access to records from the taxi system. But he'd had access to other information that he shouldn't have, already.

...Not Connor's concern. Not now, at least. He reaches up, adjusting his tie out of habit before he falls into place behind Abhorsen.

Connor's... not talkative. Which is fine, Sabriel supposes. There aren't many shops open, but she's able to find some food without too much trouble, and scarfs it down before heading to where Connor's waiting, and calling another taxi- this time, heading north, towards the edge of the city.

The taxi drops them off about fifteen minutes walk from the camp- far enough for them to sneak up, in case the area is being watched. She shoulders her guitar case with her swords and bandolier, and adjusts her winter coat over her armor, wrapping her scarf around the lower half of her face, trying to shield it from the wind.

"Let's go- I'll get my weapons out when we're closer."

She is, after all, making an effort at keeping a low profile.

Maybe scarf-wrapped figures with large cases are low profile in Abhorsen's country. Connor doesn't consider it especially stealthy here. Still, this district is all but abandoned: a graveyard of defunct factories judged useless long before the residents had been scared out by war. An easy place to to move unnoticed.

Or to accomplish other things.

He takes the lead, navigating through snowy streets and past the silent, rusted buildings. Precipitation in the last few days has covered up most signs of traffic, but there are still depressions in the middle of the road: snowed-over tire marks, from transports with a heavy load. Connor slows his pace as they draw nearer, scanning the space around them. No observers yet.

The surrounding buildings cut out to a wide perimeter of open space—once, probably a city park. Its more recent use is all too apparent. Bullet-riddled crates, blast marks, and overturned vehicles outline the battlefield. An empty machine gun mount dangles from a blasted emplacement, and while the bodies seem to have been moved, a faint reek, both chemical and organic, still pervades the space.

At the far end of it lies a makeshift compound: tall barricades and slatted metal fences. Like the gate at its center, they're crowned with barbed wire. The doors have been forced free of their hinges and trampled into the ground.

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