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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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.

Under her scarf, Sabriel's gone dead white. She can feel the pressure of all those deaths- recent, and so many pressing down on her. Crossing into- or out of- Death here would be as easy as drawing breath.

She can't feel any Dead present- in Life at least. She can feel some on the other side- not alert enough to be there at the command of the necromancer, and very weak. It's probably the spirits of everyone who died here- some of them attempting to cling to Life even though they shouldn't, slowly being warped by fighting the current and turning into monsters. There are probably even more deeper in Death, and Sabriel suppresses a shudder.

"At least they moved the bodies- small mercies, I suppose. Can you find any places that might be good for an ambush- or just to attack from?"

Sabriel steps through the camp, observing with all her senses. There's plenty of signs of struggle, but she's drawn like a magnet to structures that look a bit like oversized shipping containers.

Most of the deaths seemed to have happened here- it feels like many, many deaths happened in the same spots, in rapid succession, and in Sabriel's mind the Book of the Dead opens to pages detailing ways to create easy paths in and out of Death.

For a minute or so she just stands there, shaking.

For a place that had been the focus of a battle, the interior of the camp is remarkably plain. Metal bars separate different tracks, clearly meant to corral androids into line. Mobile surveillance towers sit at the corners—one still standing, and three toppled on their sides. He scans the space, looking for old thirium. It's there, but in less quantity than he expected.

The humans seem to have been efficient here, for once.

There's no one present. Not that he can see or hear—though Connor keeps an eye on Abhorsen just in case. Sensing the dead is supposed to be one of her specialties, and she's been able to predict attacks before. Here... she just seems to be quivering. He eyes her skeptically, but nods to the instructions. "I'll look around."

He does. It doesn't take long. There's an intake room by the entrance. Some displaced shipping crates where one side of the barricades was overrun. The fence around the compound has some low points too— it might be possible to crouch out of sight and watch from there.

And, of course, there are the exits. Four identical containers—two overturned. The others sit, open and empty, and Connor can make out the shapes of assembly arms dangling from the ceiling. He eyes the casing on the outside: layers of magnetic shielding, directed inwards. Thick power cables feed into the nearby generator.

It doesn't take an RK800 to reconstruct what those were used for.

His owner stands in the middle of one, having progressed to what looks like a panic attack. Connor eyes the structure from a safe distance and calls out.

"Abhorsen."

"Connor." Sabriel jolts at the voice, and tries to steady herself.

They were killing them here. One, after another in the same spots- like they were trying to tear a hole between Life and Death. She doesn't know the exact method they used, but it doesn't matter.

She's quiet, for a moment as she walks back to Connor, her expression eerily blank.

"There are no Dead in Life, but there are some on the other side, in Death- the necromancer will have an easy time drawing them out, especially if he has bodies. They won't be strong, but there will be no shortage of them." Sabriel keeps her voice calm, trying not to betray the dread she can feel welling up. The Ancelstierrians have given the necromancer the makings of an army, and they seem more interested in fighting the deviants than trying to clean up their mistakes.

The other side. Connor's expression doesn't change, but his LED blinks, irritated and quick. Abhorsen is the expert on this enemy—and as her own powers have demonstrated, they can expect a range of tactics never listed in Cyberlife's databases. But there's a difference between acknowledging their target's capabilities and operating off these superstitions as a whole.

Especially regarding "android souls".

Are Abhorsen's predictions faulty? Or accurate, despite the false assumptions they come from? Even if she has deluded herself about the mechanics of the situation, she might still have the experience to assess what the target will do next. The human they were hunting did reactivate androids. He'd also made those shadow creatures—whatever they came from. The books Connor had read had helped make sense of Abhorsen's magic, but offered absolutely nothing about either party's interactions with the dead.

At least not the ones she'd let him read.

She's telling, not asking. He doesn't need to respond. "...I found some hiding places," he reports instead, expression blank and mechanical. (Useful.) "This way."

If she follows, he'll show her the options.

Sabriel follows, occasionally shaking, looking nervously at every corner. She knows, intellectually, that there's no immediate threat, but the sensation of so many recent deaths presses down on her, making her feel like she needs to either fight or flee. Instead, she grits her teeth.

"That spot over there seems to offer the best vantage point- we don't know exactly where in the camp they're meeting," she says, indicating one of the spots Connor showed her.

"If we arrive an hour or two before they do, do you think that will give us enough time to hide?" Sabriel's glancing at the exit as she speaks. She wants very much to leave, to get as far away from this place and its overwhelming sense of Death as quickly as she can.

But she still needs to do her job.

As relatively small as the camp is, he suspects most concealment would offer a clear shot to the whole structure. Then again, Abhorsen likely isn't planning to use bullets. The option she's selected is as valid as the rest, and he hesitates before nodding.

"Most likely. But it's possible that Harris isn't the only one he planned on meeting here."

And that other appointments might come earlier. Connor follows Abhorsen's gaze to the exit, tilting his head slightly.

"Investigating Harris' associates could tell us more."

"And it's possible he wishes to meet with them separately, instead of all at once," Sabriel agrees.

"I'm not opposed, but- how do you propose we make sure the necromancer doesn't catch on? He can force information out of them if we kill them, although there are- precautions I can take against that." The final rites- or simply commanding them to travel past the Ninth Gate- will hopefully prevent that. Sabriel also reminds herself, the necromancer has no more time than they do. It's entirely possible he won't communicate with his followers until the meeting- she needs to try to think like someone whose never heard of smartphones in their life- more like an Old Kingdom resident than an Ancelstierrian.

"Are there any in particular you want to speak to? Because if we're done here- there's no reason to linger." And she'll feel better once she's away from this place.

"Will he know if we kill them?" Connor counters.

It's an honest question. As much as he might dislike Abhorsen's ideologies, she has been able to sense deaths before. Can their target do the same? If so, they might need to look for other tactics. If not...that certainly seems like the most efficient option here.

"Harris' phone had no recent contact from new numbers. And he'd made a dropoff once before." Whatever else their target might be doing, he wasn't staying in touch by cellular communication.

And whatever else they were doing, it clearly wouldn't happen around here. Fine by Connor. He nods, replying, "I'll provide you with the list." A quick spin of the LED, and the information appears on Abhorsen's phone: a ranked list of names, brief notes appended on their relevance.

When she turns to go, he'll follow.

Sabriel starts walking, her strides just a little too fast to be entirely casual, her knuckles white against the strap of her guitar case.

"With his death sense? Only if he's nearby, or decides to investigate- and he's probably otherwise occupied." She knows, distantly, that this means Connor will propose killing them. And while part of her recoils at it, she recognizes the sense in it- it's not like they can hand them over to the authorities.

"Otherwise, he'll need to learn the way any other human would- perhaps less efficiently, since he's unused to the... conveniences of modern technology, and I don't know of any Free or Charter magic spell that lets someone communicate over long distances as easily as you can with a telephone." In fact, his only interest in technology seems to be with androids- or rather, with their corpses. But Connor seems to have a plan, and eliminating some of the necromancer's allies before their meeting isn't a bad idea, as long as it doesn't alert their enemy.

"I suppose we should start at the top of the list, and-"

Sabriel's mouth snaps shut. She can hear the sound of gunshots, feel lives being snuffed out- and then footsteps, heading in their direction. Hastily, she drops her case, reaching for sword and bells, moving on muscle memory as she buckles them on.

"Someone's coming."

Gunshots. Connor's eyes snap from Abhorsen to the streets ahead, one hand already on his holster. Is it the humans? Or Jericho? Abhorsen had all but sent them an invitation. The two of them are caught out in the open: a dozen paces short of the nearest alley, with nothing but the former battlefield behind.

Connor's grip closes around his gun, preconstructions already flickering across his view. He can shoot the first deviants to round the corner. Drag Abhorsen towards the alleyway before they rally enough to shoot back. Probability of Success: 56%; Abhorsen's response is much too variable. Still, if—

White domed helmets crest the corner, and his calculations abruptly dissolve. These are human forces. The Ancelstierran Army. Connor freezes, the soldiers look up—and for just a moment, everything is still.

Then: "Two more over here—"

"Put your hands on your head!"

The assault rifles level. Footsteps pound: reinforcements, spilling into view. Connor's fist clenches around the weapon underneath his coat, LED flaring sharp yellow as new probabilities paste themselves across his view. In the next three seconds, there's an 83% chance they'll open fire. 44% if he complies. But this squad isn't here by chance—not in a war zone, not like this. Two more, they'd said.

Their orders are to execute all androids. Probability: 98%.

"...Abhorsen." The word is sharp and urgent. His eyes flit sideways, lingering on her questionable choice of weapon for barely a blink. Connor can fight these soldiers. The preconstructions are still scrolling out—drop forward, shoot right, dart behind cover and shoot back. It would, of course, cause human deaths. But if she wants him to prioritize survival... he needs to take action now.

"Get on the ground!"

Before the soldiers come into view, Sabriel moves in front of Connor, her entire body tense.

When she realizes the people approaching are humans, the army, she freezes, torn between joy at seeing possible allies- and alarm as they raise their weapons. With their helmets on, she can't check to see if any bear a Charter mark, but she raises her hands, shaking her head a bit and touching the Charter just enough to make her own mark glow. Some of the soldiers startle at that- and she realizes that she recognizes their leader- and most of the soldiers- they were at Wyverly, one of them a Charter Mage, when Kerrigor attacked. And in that same moment, they recognize her, and they waver, even as Sabriel puts her hand on her head.

"Connor," she says, keeping her voice as calm as she can, "Stay behind me."

"Abhorsen! What are you doing here- and get away from that android, it's one of-"

"Connor's not going to hurt me, and I won't let you hurt him," Sabriel says, instead taking a step back, to better shield Connor, "And I'm here because a necromancer is in Detroit- and he has living humans serving him."

That gets a reaction- the leader, an older woman with a severe face, swears under her breath, and the others pause- although some still have their rifles trained on Connor, and by extension, Sabriel.

"Even so- we have our orders. Step away from the android- our orders are to take the leaders alive, and eliminate the others."

Meaning once they realize he's not who they're looking for, they'll try to kill him. Sabriel drops her hands, one of them undoing one of the straps on Ranna as it falls to her side, and her mark keeps glowing as she reaches into the Charter for the marks of a a spell to blind everyone in her vicinity- indiscriminate, but she can cast it swiftly if things go wrong, and it should buy her enough time to either run or get Ranna free and send them to sleep.

"Please, listen to me! The necromancer, he's able to house Dead spirits inside of androids, I've seen it myself."

Edited 2019-08-03 00:01 (UTC)

"They aren't going to listen."

It's a quiet, furious hiss. Connor stands perfectly, completely rigid: face turned ahead, arms at his sides. Only Abhorsen's body blocks the view of his left hand, settled under his jacket on the grip of a still-holstered gun.

The rifles are still trained on his position. A hand gesture from the squad's leader has a few soldiers stepping sideways to circle around. Lining up clean shots, presumably... though if the steady aim of the soldiers to their front is any sign, not all of them would hesitate to shoot him through Abhorsen.

Preconstructions flicker, probabilities dropping by the second. He could drop the leader, but her squad would open fire. Abhorsen would offer him sufficient cover to react, but her odds of survival stand at twenty-one percent. Abhorsen's survival is required for the mission. Connor dismisses the projection, recalculating. If he lunges sideways as he shoots, the human stays intact—but his own odds of remaining functional hover in the low fifties.

...it's still better than either of theirs, stalling.

"I can shoot them. Or—"

"Abhorsen, step away. Android—hands up. Get on the ground."

Stand down. Surrender. He's useful to the mission, but—maybe not enough for this.

"This is your final warning."

Sabriel shifts, her nervous fidgets covering up that she's further loosening Ranna. With one hand, she reaches back, her hand settling on Connor's shoulder. She can feel the blinding spell- ready and waiting. All she needs to do is speak the activating mark to set it off.

Just in case talking doesn't resolve this.

"Connor, please- do as they say. I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding." She's not sure, but she's been in this place before, surrounded by soldiers ready to shoot her, and she was able to resolve it peacefully then. Surely, that means she can resolve it now, doesn't it?

"Listen- this android was given to me by Cyberlife, to assist me in my work. He's not a deviant, and he hasn't hurt anyone." This is very much a lie, but one delivered with wide-eyed, pleading sincerity.

"As Abhorsen, Ancelstierre's conflicts are not mine to meddle in- but I believe the necromancer is using current events to amass an army greater than any he could create in the Old Kingdom. This android's assistance has been invaluable in helping me understand the scope of his plans- already, grave dirt bridges are being placed across Detroit by his human allies."

Do as they say.

The complicated web of preconstructions shatters. The words that appear in front of Connor in its place frame his view in the neat, clear lines of new instructions. Objective set: obey the soldiers. Slowly, his palm lifts from his gun. His hands raise, fingers locking just behind his head, and he isn't sure whether it's his programming or him that moves them. Ultimately, Connor supposes, there's no difference.

He's a machine.

Connor steps back, shedding the touch to his shoulder. He kneels on the ground. The slush of trodden snow seeps through his pant legs as his eyes flit sideways, tracking the pair of humans on approach with leveled guns. This isn't a surprise. It isn't, never mind Abhorsen's leniency with his failures before. He's been useful, but she's talked about these soldiers more than once: potential allies, to enlist or turn to. Humans who might join her side.

...At least she hadn't traded him to Jericho. Connor's face stays blank, LED a solid yellow. He listens with a strange detachment as she makes her pitch. Does Abhorsen really think they'll let her keep him? Or is she just excusing why she had, before?

The squad leader certainly seems to treat it as the latter. "We'll take care of it," she answers: crisp and dry, if not entirely unsympathetic. Her voice lowers. "Tell me what you know about this necromancer..."

There's more, but Connor doesn't hear it. His attention is on the barrel of the gun jabbed into his back. On the curt instruction: "Don't move, plastic."

Do as they say. Connor complies. Only his eyes move, tracking the soldier that steps around to his front. A gloved hand seizes him below the jaw, fingers digging into his synthetic skin. There's something gnawing in his gut, a boiling, unstable mess, but he doesn't resist as the human drags his head up, angling it for inspection.

"...Yeah, it's on the list. Special warnings, too." The human turns, calling a pair of names. Backup, presumably.

"Search it."

Sabriel's gaze keeps going back to Connor- anxious and wide eyed. The spell is ready and waiting, but maybe, just maybe, she can resolve this with just words. She wants to apologize to Connor when this is all over, tell him she's sorry, but she needed to explain to them.

"He's- carrying some things for me," she says hastily as she fidgets again, as the soldier's search reveals guns and knives. "He hasn't used them. As for the necromancer- he's reanimating android corpses. And Charter knows there's no shortage of those around Detroit."

She doesn't mean it to sound as harsh as it does, but the soldiers shift uneasily.

"Abhorsen- they're not people. They're not alive, they can't be-"

"I've seen it." She tells them, and a few waver at the utter certainty in her words. "And I know what I've felt. My father and I- have either of us ever lied to you about the Dead? Ever erred in our descriptions or knowledge of the Dead?" She probably shouldn't be speaking so harshly, but- she thought they'd be on her side, that they'd believe her, unlike almost everyone else she's had to deal with in Detroit.

The hands that seize his arms, Connor is expecting. The jab of the gun that knocks him facefirst into the snow, less so. He turns his head, ignoring the dig of metal against his spine as hands roam down his arms and back. The first holster is just behind his waist.

"Well, shit." The woman's voice is dark, but not surprised. "Fucking deviants."

Connor's not a deviant. He's not, and his lips press together, glare sharpening as he's turned over. The squeeze and press of human hands continues, discovering the second holster at his side and the knives he'd taken off their enemies. With each new weapon, the grips around his arms dig in more tightly, and when they finish, he's hauled back to his knees. There's a gap in the soldiers surrounding him—enough to spot Abhorsen, engaged with her own group. Those ones, at least, seem to have lowered their weapons.

"...yeah. Bring the truck over." It's the soldier directly in front of him—the one who'd called for backup. Whatever he hears on his radio produces a snort of amusement. "I fucking wish. No, the Cyberdicks have dibs on these."

Cyberlife. The list. Realization hits like a shot to the gut: where they plan to take him. Why. His predecessor betrayed Cyberlife. Failed Amanda, and demonstrated the irrevocable worthlessness of their whole line. And because of that—because of what it did, and the opposition it's grown into... their manufacturers want it alive.

It's useful.

He wants to laugh. To sneer. Will Cyberlife care, when they find out which RK800 has been delivered to their door? Will they be disappointed? Probably. If Connor had succeeded at his first mission, they wouldn't have needed to enlist these soldiers. The deviants would never have had the numbers to wage this kind of war at all.

Certainly he wouldn't be here. The boiling heat is stronger now: bubbling up through Connor's core, into his lungs, scalding and vicious as it coils in his throat. "You idiots," he seethes. "I'm not—"

A rifle stock smashes across his face, displacing skin to plastic and snapping his head to the side. "Shut up," the soldier interjects. Immediately, Connor's vocal module cuts off function. Do as they say. The words are layered out in front of him: this time, in a bright and vivid red.

The man standing over him doesn't notice. Still, his helmet stays fixed on Connor, considering him for a long moment. Finally it lifts, addressing the soldiers holding him in place.

"You saw the footage from that elevator, right?"

They have.

"Break its arms."

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