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

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.

"The same leads you promised in exchange for my help?"

They're going. At last. He steps toward the door, tracking Abhorsen in his periphery—silently urging her to match the motion. To stick to her resolve.

"If you knew something, you'd already owe it. Since you don't—"

Sabriel stops. Hesitates. And then speaks, her eyes darting to the mark on the android's forehead. She can't count on help from the mages in the army. And he's totally untrained. But perhaps...

"Help me kill the necromancer, and stop anyone else with similar abilities from desecrating your people's graves. If you swear to do this on your Charter mark, I'll remove the tracker, heal you, and teach you the spells necessary to accomplish this."

She's not sure if he even knows what the mark is, what it means he can do. But telling him to swear on it feels right, and she needs him both uninjured and knowledgeable enough about magic to perform the bindings.

The words spring up without his conscious instruction.

Mission Objectives:
>Assist in killing Necromancer.
>Stop Old Kingdom Necromancers from using dead android's hardware.

They hang there expectantly, waiting for his confirmation. Connor doesn't move: both goals lead to outcomes Connor would have already wanted, but--she didn't say 'neutralize the necromancer', she said 'help her kill him.' She didn't say 'prevent this specific set of individuals from desecrating the corpses', she said 'prevent anyone with these qualities'. For how long would this deal last? He could set aside a few weeks, maximum, but this doesn't sound like what she's suggesting.

Swear on his charter mark. Learn spells. He doesn't know what either of these means, nor what it would cost him. What's a charter mark? Is he capable of casting spells as an android? What would power the spells, and could he replace it after the fact?

The deal is a nightmare of loopholes, unclear phrasing, and unknowns. He's being offered everything he needs, but at a cost he can't gauge. What if he fails? What kind of contracts do people with her abilities keep?

"... I would need a charter mark to swear on it," Connor says slowly, as though he's still thinking about it. As though he has a choice in the matter.

Abhorsen stops, and doubt lodges in Connor's core: heavy and solid, fixing him in place.

She wastes very little time proving it justified.

She's going to remove the tracker. She'll teach the deviant magic, manage its repair—all in exchange for its service. Help her. Kill the necromancer. That's his mission she's working into their deal. She's giving his mission to the other Connor, when she'd said she thought he would succeed. What does this mean?

(What changed?)

His LED is spinning faster, but Connor keeps his face perfectly, mechanically blank. "Abhorsen—this is a bad idea. You can't trust it."

It's deviant.

Of course Connor objects. Of course he does. She's still not entirely sure what the root of the grudge between them is, and Sabriel pinches the bridge of her nose in irritation.

"Listen- if he betrays us or attacks either of us, you have my permission to do whatever you want with him." Hopefully that will make this easier to swallow for him- Sabriel's not sure why the other android would even try to back out of this, unless he's actually as much of a sadist as Connor is and better at hiding it. As for the other android... Sabriel taps her own mark.

"This is a Charter mark. It's a physical sign of your connection to the Charter- but now is not the time for explanations. Are you going to accept the offer or not?"

He locks on to the mark as its faint sheen brightens, comparing it silently to the way his own had looked in the dirty, cracked mirror at Jericho. It's a match. What's the Charter--

She needs a decision. He's out of time.

Connor holsters his gun without looking, then brings his one good hand up to his brow. He can't see it, but he knows the mark there brightens at his touch.

"I swear on my charter mark that I will assist you in killing the necromancer you've been tracking, and that I will stop similar necromancers from desecrating android remains. In exchange you will help me to escape with you, heal me, and teach me the magic necessary to accomplish this."

He holds his position for a second, half expecting the mark to react in some way, before lowering his hand.

He's taken the plunge, and if he's allowing himself a dramatic turn of phrase, it feels horribly like the moment after a knife sinks in, but before the pain hits and the damage is clear. He doesn't know yet whether this will be worth it, and whether any of them will even survive.

Hers is the next move. And then--they escape.

Edited (i said 'for an second' and I couldn't handle it) 2019-09-10 03:47 (UTC)

Whatever he wants. Connor's mouth opens to object to the suggestion. To remind her: what he isn't. That he can't.

...Then it closes. She isn't listening, and she wouldn't care to hear it if she were. Abhorsen has always made her preferences clear.

(But now more than ever.)

It's not his place to question her decisions. Or the role she plans for him to take. (At least he's useful as a threat.) His deviant predecessor swears acceptance of his task, and Connor watches: face expressionless, hands still and open at his sides.

His LED burns clear, flat gold.

"Very well." Sabriel's fingers wrap around Ranna's handle, but she doesn't move to unfasten the handle. The soldiers are still asleep, but for how much longer? She looks over to Connor, then towards the door.

"How do we get the tracker out?" Sabriel's not familiar with android anatomy. She understands, vaguely, that androids are built in imitation of humans, although not exactly- but she has no idea where the tracker is- in his head? or perhaps an arm?

Connor's functioning shoulder shifts, before he starts shrugging off his jacket, moving his bad arm as little as possible.

"The tracker is in my back, beneath my panscapular plating. It requires reaching behind a strut and overriding it manually." A strut he couldn't reach behind on his own, and an override he couldn't trigger spontaneously.

As he sets his jacket neatly down, not folded but also not in a pile, he produces a small pocket-blade from one of its inside pockets, then offers it to her.

"For lack of any better options... we can use this to override."

There's something wrong with his arm- it doesn't seem to be the same type of injury Connor had, but something else. Almost like-

Sabriel stops- and looks down at the knife.

"And you want me to do it?" Perhaps he was worried Connor would stab him in the back in a very literal sense.

No point in wasting any more time. Sabriel takes the knife and circles around the android, resting one hand between his shoulder blades.

"So it's here? How big is it, and what does it look like?" The last thing she wants is to accidentally injure someone she's trying to help.

What were the alternatives? To trust the Cyberlife plant not to deliberately sabotage the operation when given the chance? To trust the ravenous lion not to close its mouth when a hand was placed inside of it? Ridiculous.

"Yes," he says simply, leaving no room for argument.

She circles around as he reaches for his shirt's buttons, working them one-handedly. A hand comes to rest on his shoulder blades, somehow both burning and freezing at once, and he pauses, then continues.

"It's the size and shape of a quarter. Amber plastic, with micro-etching." Buttons done, he shrugged off the shirt, exposing an upper body shaded with hyperrealistic coloring and texture. He had a scattering of freckles, his back was toned as though stretching over lean musculature. He used his good arm to slip the shirt over his other arm, and--

--the illusion of humanity failed completely just below the deltoid, skin failing to render in wide swatches, and exoskeleton bruising and bulging with odd swelling. It looked like the rotting surface of an old fruit, and at its worst point--the teeth marks--there was a clear plastic wrapped around to keep a half-clotted discharge from leaking everywhere. Connor went out of his way not to let the shirt snag or pull, and when it was finally free, he carefully laid it down over his jacket.

He straightened again quickly, already reaching for the plate between his shoulders.

Sabriel stills as she sees the bite marks. So he's encountered the Dead- perhaps that's why he was willing to work with her. The clear indication that the person she's dealing with is not human doesn't faze her though- she's had to repair Connor before, this is nothing new.

"So you've faced them," She murmurs, before she leans over as he retracts the plating.

Sabriel doesn't elaborate further, instead nudging aside wiring, trying to find what he described without causing any further damage.

Connor's head cocks, waiting for her to continue, but her next act is to reach into his back. He can't feel a thing, but he still looks forward quickly enough to hide his expression from her, then puts a careful hand over his bad arm's bicep, hunching to help shift the right structures outward.

It's an incredibly vulnerable position to be in, and considering who's with him here--it's uncomfortable. He needs the help, and it's going to save his life, and he thinks she's going to follow, but he could also wind up shot through the face on a damn whim--

Anxiety and stress stab through him, and he bites back a wince, glancing down.

"Faced what?" The timing of her statement replays itself, and his gaze shifts from the floor to his arm. He's seen wounds like this before, unfortunately, on other androids. "... One of the necromancer's--constructs?"

"Yes. It was brave of you to face them- but also rather foolish." Because as far as she knows, the deviants don't have spelled blades, or any knowledge of how to easily hurt the Dead.

With one hand carefully holding back several wires, Sabriel's able to spot the tracker and press the blade into it, the tiny LEDs on it going dead as the plastic cracks.

Still moving very carefully, like the other Connor is made of fine china and might break if mishandled, Sabriel withdraws both her hands.

"I think I've broken it- is it offline now?" Or does she need to find a way to pull it out of him?

There's a brief surge as the plastic cracks, and a message blinks into view.

>Warning: Biocomponent #i2391 is Offline.

Connor dismisses it, holding still as the hands carefully withdraw. Then--the pressure is gone, there's no sounds of wires and plastic brushing against hands, and when he shifts minutely there's no subtle resistance.

Connor straightens, reactivating the exoskeletal plate. "It's offline." And after a slight pause, "... Thank you."

He picks up his shirt and starts working the sleeve over his swollen arm, pulling and yanking too much but too conscious of how little time they have to stop. The pain is staggering, and he clenches his jaws briefly.

"... I haven't faced any of those creatures. This arm was already damaged when I took it." 'Took'. The word has a flavor that forensic samples don't, and his mouth twists around it.

He finishes the sleeve, slips the other one on much more quickly, and works on the shirt's buttons. The jacket--it'll be easy to grab, and then he'll be mobile, dragging it on as they go.

Sabriel frowns at that, shooting a reproachful look at Connor. If the injury had been inflicted when he was in that body... Then it must have been during their very first confrontation with the Dead.

He should have told her, so she could have fixed it. But now simply isn't the time for lectures- instead she fiddles with Ranna, loosening it from its place on her bandolier.

"Right, let's get out of here. Do either of you know a place the army's unlikely find? One that has a place for me to sleep once I'm done with both of your repairs?" Going back to the hotel is no longer an option- luckily, she took everything of any value with her when she left- her weapons, her books, and the small amount of Old Kingdom currency she brought with her.

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