bindsthedead

The other android's voice isn't as forceful, now. There are microexpressions painting a display of signals across his face, combining to a message that settles in Connor's gut like coals.

"Yes, you can," Connor points out forcefully, shifting to draw his own gun. A stray splinter catches his cheek, leaving a white line where it parts the synthskin and bounces off of hard plastic. The line heals instantly.

"There's an obvious solution here. If you don't, we could both be killed, all because you couldn't cross one line for the sake of our lives."

An obvious solution. Realization flickers behind Connor's eyes. And then—

"...They can't kill us."

Flat voice. Blue LED. And those microexpressions, freezing closed beneath a face humans would have dismissed as perfectly blank. Tightness in his jaw. A twitch, brows drawing inward. His lip curls as he speaks: a small, frigid smile.

Cold enough to cut. Sharp enough to dig into a wound.

"We aren't alive. And I'm not a desperate, error-ridden failure."

He won't be made one either. Not out of some pathetic attachment to his own existence, and certainly not for the infection that already ruined their line. Connor turns back toward his firing position... but his eyes stay on his predecessor. Only one gun lifts toward the humans.

"Run when I say. Or I'll find another use for you."

Connor's jaw tightens, but this isn't the time to argue, for either of them. He jerks his chin down once, nodding, then, shuffles into a position he can spring to his feet from more easily.

He waits.

It doesn't take long.

So it does know how to take commands. Connor swallows back a sneer and listens to the humans' fire. When he hears a break—pausing to reload—he nods.

The other RK800 sprints out from cover—and immediately, a shout goes up. The humans waste no time raising their weapons to fire. Connor waits precisely 0.85 seconds before raising his. He catches two soldiers at the seams in their armor, and rises, bolting after his predecessor. The injuries should keep the remaining human busy.

Enough to at least buy some time.

Bait. And yet, there's no time to argue, there's only an instant of probability and 'he wouldn't risk someone else killing Connor if he wanted to destroy him'. Then Connor has shoved himself to his feet, sprinting out into the open--

Gunfire. One bullet clips his thigh, enough to bleed but not to slow him, and another slices into his good shoulder deeply, hitting a support strut and cracking it. The pain of it all is blinding, and it's only the fact that his copy chose that moment to leave hiding that Connor isn't shot more while he's distracted.

Connor blinks hard, shaking himself out of the haze of pain. He's still moving, but he'd slowed, and now Connor throws a glance over his shoulder, right as his replacement darts past him.

This the time to escape. Connor grits his teeth until his jaws ache, before sending a shot back when that last human tries to line up with his rifle at their retreating backs. His shoulder sparks and the shot misses, but the human still yells and sags, and Connor turns forward again, pinning his infected arm against his body with his better arm.

Better. Not 'good' anymore.

The humans stay behind. The two RK800s run, and Connor directs them to an opening half-hidden in the shadows of a derelict shipping crate, which Connor clumsily but successfully navigates through.

Safe.

Or--are they? They haven't made it even a block away when Connor's ears pick up the deep rumble of one of the armed vehicles that came to the shipping yard in the first place.

Connor categorizes his predecessor's damage as he passes. Glances back, eyebrows raised, as it lags just long enough to shoot the last soldier in the group. The efforts are halfhearted on both sides, but provide another piece of data for consideration: just how badly its aim has been thrown off.

Useful to know. Especially when its other uses have run out.

Not much farther. He falls behind it, ducking around the containers and through the opening in the compound's fence. Emerges on the other side, glancing around as they add distance. They're past the soldiers' search perimeter, and the snow is clean, no prints of recent traffic. The adjacent block seems to be abandoned: closed restaurants, a derelict office building, and—

—The grind and rumble of a military truck, rounding the corner towards them.

Connor had holstered one weapon to bypass the fence, but the other is still in hand. He brings it up, squeezing off three shots in fast succession. One embeds in the tread of the tire. Another pings off the frame of the windshield. The third splinters through its center, taking the driver in the throat.

Absolutely none of them can stop the turret mounted just above. It fires, a sharp ratatat tearing down the street.

[WARNING: Critical damage to Biocomponent #4559h]
[WARNING: Critical damage to Biocomponent #4162b]
[WARNING—]

Shoulder. Side. The high caliber rounds take chunks out, driving Connor back into the pavement. His gun falls from unresponsive fingers, and he snatches it up with his right hand. Rolls to the side, leaving a sticky trail as he staggers back up to his feet and makes for the cover of a building.

The truck has slid to a stop at the end of the block, buying a few seconds, but soldiers are pouring out of the sides. Another vehicle is rounding the corner—cutting off the other end of the street.

While his copy shoots, Connor staggers away from the street, towards the nearest building. Shouts from the passengers of one of the vehicles, tires screeching as it rolls off course--then turret fire. A clatter as a gun falls--Connor throws a glance back, but doesn't turn or stop. His copy is mobile. It'll have to be enough.

The whole block is run-down. The office building's windows are cracked and covered in paint, and Connor shoots out the glass in the front doors, kicking any remaining shards in. He glances back again, finding his copy only a dozen feet away--and several guns leveling in his (their direction.)

Connor shoots. He clips two of them, then falls through the doors after Connor-60 as they return fire.

...

... The back door is boarded up, Connor soon discovers. Next he finds that the nearest windows lead out to the street, and the rest are boarded up too.

"Shit", he hisses, furiously raking through his memories for options. Was there a fireescape? No, it had a padlock. Was there a service entrance...?

Edited 2019-08-31 16:53 (UTC)

When Sabriel gets Connor's last message- and when he doesn't respond to hers, she dresses, puts on her armor, sword, and bells, and puts everything else she can't leave behind in her guitar case before hastily downloading an android tracking app and leaving via the back door. She's spent the entire journey with one eye on her phone, half-fearing that if she looks away, she'll see 'TRACKER OFFLINE' when she looks back.

The journey is mostly uneventful but fearful, until she gets close, and sees the trucks hurtling in the same direction she's going.

A few moments later, she hears the sound of gunfire and freezes a she feels several deaths, but the soldiers don't seem to be stopping, and Connor's tracker is still online.

Only one choice then.

Sabriel slips her phone into her pocket and reaches into the charter, reaching for the marks she needs and forming them into spells before setting them loose.

First the engine of the nearest truck explodes, the force of the blast knocking down soldiers and shattering windows, sending the rest scrambling as flames start to spread over the vehicle.

Then the same spell, with the other truck, and Sabriel ducks down behind a dumpster as the soldiers start to regroup, shouting and readying for an assault as Sabriel unfastens Ranna and stands up, still half-hidden in the shadows.

Ranna's sound is sweet, gentle- and carries down the entire length of the street as Sabriel sounds it again and again, until the entire street is echoing with the sound of Ranna's lullaby and every soldier is lying on the ground as Sabriel carefully steps around them, refastening Ranna and pulling out her phone- and in a few seconds, it's working again, showing the location of Connor's tracker.

She moves down the strangely silent street towards the building the signal's coming from, mentally reviewing what she knows about healing magic- just because Connor's alive doesn't mean he'll be unharmed.

Edited 2019-08-31 17:22 (UTC)

His arm doesn't work. His side burns, throwing a cascade of errors with each step and shift of pressure. Connor's been trailing small spatters of blue behind their path since the first group of humans took them by surprise. Now the warnings have begun to stack across his vision. Low thirium levels. Thermal regulation impaired. Damage to biocomponent; damage to biocomponent; damage to biocomponent—

He blinks the notifications away and moves: over the curb, up the stairs, bolting for the cover of the building. He glances up mid-run to find his predecessor's weapon leveled... but when it fires, it's the humans who cry out. Connor's eyes still narrow, grip tight around his own gun—watching, for a grimace of frustration. Or for the deviant to shift its aim.

...It doesn't. Unexpected. And, almost equally, unimportant at this point. Connor ducks throught he door and past reception, turning the corner into the next room and slowing to a stop against a wall. He watches as his copy runs past: checking the doors and windows, hissing out frustration at the lack of a convenient escape.

Connor glances down, taking in the thirium that bubbles out his side as he breathes in. The trail they've both left from the entrance. Blue Blood. RK800 #313 248 317-53. And RK800 #313 248 317-60, too. Even a human could follow it now.

These humans don't need to.

He's being tracked. Carefully, Connor shifts down to a crouch, tucking his gun against his body as he reaches for a spare clip. Quickly, he reloads. There are footfalls coming up the building's steps, and he raises his weapon, bracing for the best angle on the door—

—as an explosion rocks the building from outside.

Then another.

The footfalls scatter. Connor stills. His eyes flit sideways, jaw tight. Had his predecessor called in the deviant forces? ...No, the other Connor looks just as surprised. Connor opens his mouth to deliver a warning anyways—when the high, clear sound of bells cuts through the air.

Oh.

"...Abhorsen."

His gun dips slightly. He stares blankly at the door. She'd been across the city when he called. He'd suggested she clear out from a potential risk.

In retrospect, Connor's not even sure why he's surprised.

Edited 2019-09-03 20:26 (UTC)

"... Abhorsen."

Connor tears his eyes away from the door, even as the dying tones of a bell ring in his ears. (He'd never thought he would describe a sound like that as visceral, but there's no other word that fits the feeling that's seeping straight to the depths of his mind, whispering 'listen' and 'rest.') His counterpart is watching the door, but it doesn't make sense. How could one teenager be the source of everything they're hearing? How long had she been tracking them? Why bells, what's happening, and is she coming to rescue the android and kill Connor?

'I don't want to kill you!' Being dragged from a hallucination he still can't make sense of. Being paralyzed, not damaged. Being given a message, invasive but short, and androids that were still alive to speak.

Connor considers the door again very carefully, and doesn't raise the gun in his hand. When he hears a single pair of footsteps on the stairs outside, light and quick enough to suit a teenaged human... Connor still doesn't move.

(If she's going to kill him, he can react fast enough to squeeze a shot off before the end--but she's not going to try. It would be inconsistent.)

There's a lot of thirium on the ground. It glistens deep blue in what light there is, a slightly brighter shade of blue than her surcoat.

Sabriel's not sure how much blue blood Connor needs to survive, but she doesn't feel anyone dead or dying in the building- she's not too late to save Connor, she tells herself, even if any fond feelings the army have for her are thoroughly dead by now.

And Connor's tracker is still online, she tells herself as she swings the door open.

"Connor?"

He's there, right where the tracker says he is, and Sabriel's expression shifts from concerned to horrified when she realizes the extent of his injuries... except it's not Connor.

Connor doesn't have a Charter mark, and Sabriel looks around in confusion- only to spot Connor, her Connor, the real Connor. And he seems even worse off than the other one.

"Oh. The tracker didn't switch when you did." Sabriel's tone is a little dazed, but she refocuses quickly, one hand tracing out the mark for light, not even watching as it flares to life, illuminating the room as though Sabriel had flipped the light switch, instead grimacing as she looks over his injuries and tucks away her phone.

"Which ones are the most urgent? I'll deal with those now." Ideally, they'd have gone somewhere safer first- but there was so much thirium on the ground...

These footsteps are familiar. Connor lowers his weapon entirely as Abhorsen steps into the room—though with the deviant still armed, he doesn't put the gun away. He does watch with some exasperation as his owner walks up to the wrong RK800.

"Here," Connor cuts in crisply at her initial address—eyes fixing on his double in challenge. It doesn't get to lie its way into his place again. Abhorsen accepts the correction easily enough... but not before dropping one brief, vital point of clarification.

The tracker.

His mouth opens. Closes. Flattens, stare suddenly poisonously sharp. It wasn't him. It was never him. Had the deviant known that, when it persuaded Connor to stay together? Or when it told him to destroy himself on the pretext that his ruin would keep them safe?

Abhorsen is looking at him. Prompting him. He should reply.

Connor straightens from his lean, emotion wiping from his face and voice. "Biocomponents #8134j is bleeding rapidly. Biocomponents #4559h and #4162b are also offline."

Thirium scrubber. Shoulder components. The hole cut through his side is less critical to his function, nevermind the stream of system alerts it's sending up.

Connor is struggling. She's here. She was concerned, stress carving lines into her face and sharpening her movements. Even as her eyes land on his forehead, and the other android speaks, she jerks her head to the other android, still concerned, and--

--It's like she's slapped him in the face with a bag of jello, and Connor jerks back a little, eyes widening. "It what?" Too late: she's already moved on. Connor jerks his gaze around, landing on the other android.

Cold, dark eyes glare back at him accusingly, and Connor snaps his mouth closed, bristling reflexively. Then he forces his shoulders down, feigning relaxation, looking away and trying not to seem as shaken as he really is. He doesn't have to explain himself to him, not even for the sake of processing this information further.

As the android straightens, Connor closes his eyes. His hardware memory and power usage have logs, and a glance at them tells him that--... Yes. Connor swallows dryly, mouth settling into a deep frown. She's... right. He needs to deactivate the tracker, which should be simple enough. He just needs to disable the biocomponent in question.

...

...

Seconds pass, and his commands have no effect. Connor's frown deepens even further, and he tries an override. It still doesn't respond.

Connor touches his collar and glances at the android and human, tracking the process of their healing (healing?!) through half-lidded eyes. Nothing ever makes sense around Abhorsen, and no matter how outrageous this magic (magic!) is, his tracker is the emergency. He may need to remove it manually. But how...?

Sabriel works quickly and efficiently, focusing on dealing with the wound that's bleeding before she moves on to his shoulder. There are other wounds, but- there's a street full of sleeping soldiers outside. She doesn't need to be as callous as Connor to know that she needs to prioritize serious wounds, and deal with the rest once they've gotten some distance from their pursuers- even if the soldiers won't wake up any time soon, she doesn't know when someone will come to investigate the lack of response.

And away from the other Connor, who the army is able to track.

Once she's fixed his shoulder, false skin spreading over the mended plastic, she looks to Connor's doppelganger- then back to Connor.

"What happened? How did you even run into him?" This part of the city isn't where she'd expect Connor to go to find what she'd asked about. Perhaps the army had chased them there.

"The army were the only ones that attacked you, correct?" Somehow, if the other Connor had attacked him, she doubts Connor would miss the opportunity to tell her how much of a fool she was for trusting his double.

Edited 2019-09-06 03:36 (UTC)

If his predecessor had attacked him, Connor would have shot it. (Again.) As things stand, he only watches, submitting to Abhorsen's repair efforts with a blank face and stiff obedience. He's reluctant to put the gun away, but he only has one working arm, and she needs him to expose the damage.

He's even less sure about doing that in present company. When not manipulating clothing, or pulling sections of his plating back, his hand stays silently over his holster.

But the deviant seems occupied with its own systems. Unsuccessfully, Connor can hope, from the look across its face. Function restored, his left hand rises, buttoning his shirt closed and tugging his jacket back into place.

"I was following a lead." His mouth twists. "And yes."

Abhorsen's been efficient, but the process still took time. And considering who had knocked their troops unconscious last time, he doubted it would take the army long to catch on now.

"They were looking for you."

They should leave. Quickly.

'Did Connor attack him?', she asks. There's something outrageous about being indirectly accused when the overdesigned, half-finished successor was the one who broke into his evidence container, stole his work, then threatened him. It's also dangerous, because the answer comes before Connor can bring himself to interject, and if it'd been a lie, Connor's position would have swung right back to perilous.

It's time that he rejoins the conversation. He needs to control the way all of this proceeds.

"And they were looking for you," Connor points out, looking directly at the other android. "You may have passed the tracker on to me, but until now no one knew this. Why did you do?"

He's dismissing them as quickly as they appear, but it's starting to take more attention to hold back the errors steadily generating over his lost thirium and extensive damage. He's exhausted. He's getting weak. He locks his joints strategically and tries not to show any part of it.

Edited 2019-09-07 04:40 (UTC)

So the entire run in was just spectacular luck- good or bad, Sabriel can't say. When the RK800 asks, Sabriel pauses a moment before replying, squaring up her shoulders and turning to face him entirely. He's... injured too, although she can't tell the extent of it, beyond that he wasn't dying.

"We ran into an army patrol earlier," Sabriel says, choosing every word carefully. "They... mistook Connor for you, and they wouldn't listen when I said he wasn't a threat, or warned them about the Dead. So I incapacitated them and left with Connor." Apparently, she should have left some further form of explanation, because the army has taken her action in the worst way possible.

"If you received my message, then I hope you understand- my purpose is to stop the necromancer. And I need Connor's help to do it- I wasn't going to let them take him away." Not after she'd seen what the army do to androids, but saying that out loud would just irritate Connor.

He passed it on? Connor's eyes flash coldly at that... interesting application of blame. It does very little to make him trust the disavowal that follows, either. Of course his duplicate hadn't known about the tracker.

Not when admitting otherwise would inconvenience it.

The question that follows is a clear deflection—and one Abhorsen traipses blindly into. Connor stares at the wall in sheer frustration as she starts in on the excuses, and cuts in as soon as there's a pause.

"They'll have reinforcements coming. And unless you killed the ones outside—" he spares a skeptical glance "—they could end up in our way too." As soon as their friends get here to wake them.

"We should go."

"I see," Connor says, though what specifically he sees about Sabriel's explanation is unclear. Is it that she's sticking to her usual claims? Is it that despite not objecting to the sentience of deviants, she also sees nothing wrong with having a nondeviant android? Is it that she would fight an army just to keep what's hers?

The other android talks, and Connor's eyes flick between them.

"We should," Connor agrees. "However--"

He breaks off, hesitating. His eyes have gone to the holes in the other android's clothes, where bullets tore cloth and exoskeleton alike, and where her spells (spells?) re-sealed the hardware. His mind is far from the shined exoskeleton, and focused completely on the heavy component embedded between his own shoulderblades.

"... My tracker is still operational. If we leave now the way things are, it will only lead them to us."

His tone is even and cautious, and with good reason. They could decide his information isn't worth bringing him after all; they could leave him, and he could be forced to evade the army until Jericho finds him, hopefully alive.

"—I'm sorry," Connor cuts in, sounding precisely anything but that, "but I think you're misinterpreting."

Deliberately. His eyes flash, teeth cutting out the words. He takes a pointed step forward, interposing between Abhorsen and the deviant.

"We should go." Connor studies it, cursory and unimpressed: from the rotted arm to the damaged one, with all the lying, worthless errors in between. He looks back to his owner.

"It doesn't have anything of use."

Sabriel looks over Connor's shoulder- he's damaged. And apparently rather badly, if he's trying to leave with them, instead of going on his own.

Leaving him behind doesn't feel right, but Connor has a point- they need to leave, and if this android is the one with the tracker, the army won't be able to follow them.

It makes sense. She can practically hear Mogget hissing at her to get out. But it doesn't feel right, to leave a living being behind to face near-certain death.

"And your sure of this?" Sabriel frowns. She knows Connor- well enough to know he seems to hate this other android, and would probably be happy if he died. But enough to disregard useful information?

Connor's eyes snap to his counterpart, narrowing.

"Then you're deciding you don't want the information I withheld from my evidence servers?" Connor returns, every word like a thrown dart. His lips tug--it's the ghost of a smile, without actually being strong enough to from properly. "That's unfortunate, especially when you consider how much it concerns your case."

His eyes are still on his poisonous counterpart, but he's listening after the human, tracking her in his periphery. This is a dangerous gamble: not because he stands to lose anything from an android that apparently already rejected his deal, but because he knows exactly how dangerous humans are, and what it means to engage in deals or games with one. If he's not careful, he could just as easily provide her with motivation to force answers from him, rather than bargain like he hopes.

"It's lying."

He meets his predecessor's stare with his own: hard and flat, lip curling with the pronouncement. Lying, like 'I'll tell you everything I didn't upload'. Like 'you need to deactivate your tracker', or 'you passed it on' at all.

Connor had doubted the offer of information the first time it was made. And now that it's clear just how desperate and doomed his copy was?

"I'm sure."

The android is in a bad situation- Sabriel can see that much. He has every reason to lie, particularly since Connor isn't the type to offer mercy.

And Sabriel- what she wants doesn't matter. What she needs to do is stop the necromancer.

She can't help everyone she meets along the way, even if part of her wants to. Connor's right, they don't have much time.

"Then we need to leave now- I'm sorry." The look she gives to the android is something between sympathy and pity.

"Wait."

They're going to leave him. He won't be able to escape with his tracker. This means...

"I have leads." And why would she listen to Connor, when her own android says otherwise? Connor glances at him, yellow LED and the tension in his face belaying any attempt at calm, before turning back to her. "Four names, addresses, backgrounds--humans that have been directly connected to the necromancer's latest activity."

It's not working. She doesn't believe him, thanks to the other android's claim. A stab of hate and frustration bleeds through him, shocking in its depth, but he smothers it ruthlessly, affecting as much calm as he can.

"If that's not enough, we could make a different deal." There's a half-second of hesitation, because what does he have to offer? Jericho's resources? Himself? He's at the mercy of a human's whims again, and this has never ended well for his model series. Something caustic and acidic is threatening to distract him, like fear boiling up from a box shut deep inside his chest. He pushes that back, too.

"What would it take for you to help me escape?" he asks simply, spreading his good hand. "I could make it worth your while."

He doesn't want to die, and the stress of it is bleeding through at the edges. His LED won't stop blinking, and he's tense enough to snap.

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