bindsthedead

After disrobing and removing his synthetic skin, Connor goes still, responding as silently and quickly to his owner's instructions as he would to any order given in a Cyberlife lab. His eyes shift a little more freely, though: flickering across the marks scribed in the air, inspecting his own damage, and glancing, more than once, back to Abhorsen's face.

She doesn't seem angry. She doesn't seem to be acting differently toward him at all, and as the damage seals, he takes in a careful breath. Exhales. His brows twitch faintly at the comment, and Connor glances at the shirt and jacket folded on the counter to his side. He'd just gotten new clothes.

Still, she isn't wrong. "...And bullets," Connor mutters. He never did make it to that gun shop. And thirium, too. Abhorsen's magic doesn't seem to cover fluid replacement, and Connor knows she doesn't have a stored supply. Where would, in the city's current state? Cyberlife Tower, certainly. A retail store, perhaps—if there were any left the deviants hadn't burned.

All of which was only relevant if she still allowed him to go anywhere after tonight. His eyes return to Abhorsen, waiting for her to indicate she's done.

Sabriel spends most of her time paying attention to her spell, but once- while Connor's looking at her- she looks back, her expression surprised but not disapproving.

"Those too," Sabriel agrees, a little reluctantly. Tomorrow night, they'll face the necromancer- with an additionally ally, but still- they won't have that much time to prepare.

"Can you think of anything else we might need?" She half expects the answer to be 'more guns', but if the necromancer's followers are heavily armed, perhaps it would be a good idea. She turns to the other Connor, looking thoughtful.

"I still need to fix your shoulder, but- it won't be as hard as your arm. If you want to ask me anything while I'm healing it- well, I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

The shift of attention freezes Connor's gaze. He's not sure what the look on Abhorsen's face implies, but he keeps his own perfectly blank for her consideration. Fortunately, it doesn't take her too long to lose interest. Her focus slides off toward the deviant... but not before dropping another point of inquiry along the way.

"...Thirium," Connor admits. He locks his eyes on Abhorsen. The other RK800 was there when he lost most of the fluid. Logically—it knows his condition, or can guess at it without help.

That doesn't make saying it less galling. (Like stretching a wound wide.)

"My levels are low."

Thirium. Both androids had been shot; both lost a lot of blue blood. "We'll need to top off our levels to be in peak condition," he says carefully, before moving on.

Abhorsen turns to him and talks about his shoulder--still bleeding, though sluggishly and without major mobility issues. She offers explanations, too.

Well, obviously he has many questions. Just to start with, he has: "I'm going to learn how to perform these 'spells', but all I'm seeing have been spoken words combined with hand gestures. What other actions are you taking, and what should I be observing?"

His mission started the instant they agreed to the terms, and though she was confident he could perform whatever it is she needed, he's been withholding his own doubts. He doesn't know why the mark on his brow glows when touched, only that it does. He doesn't know how the symbols appear like floating ashes over a campfire as she casts. Will there be consequences, if he tries and fails?

With Connor's healing done, Sabriel turns to his counterpart, frowning slightly. She hadn't considered how little he'd know about magic. Best to fix that now.

"What you're missing... isn't something you can observe." Sabriel says, not unkindly. She brushes aside some hair from her forehead.

"Charter magic relies on memorizing Charter marks, understanding how they can connect and combine to create various effects. But all Charter magic derives its power from the Charter- you'll need to learn how to reach out to it, to draw power from it." Of course, he also doesn't understand what the Charter is Sabriel realizes as she reaches out to it, the first marks of the healing spell flowing easily from it, through her, and to her fingertips.

"The Charter is... I suppose you could think of it as the power that underlies all that exists, and contains and describes all things in the Old Kingdom- everything that is, has been, or may yet be."

Which probably sounds very mystical and superstitious to an Ancelstierrian, especially one whose knowledge of the world was programmed into him by people like Cyberlife. So as the first mark touches Connor's skin she sighs, and taps her forehead with her free hand.

"Touch my mark- it's probably easier just to show you."

Edited 2019-09-21 06:11 (UTC)

The marks touch his synthskin as he talks, and bullet holes close, leaving patches of clean, new exoskeleton. As they talk the synthskin closes over the areas, leaving pale sections that slowly fade.

This does sound superstitious, and completely unhelpful. She's using it to heal him, somehow, but it still makes no sense.

'Touch my mark.'

Connor's expression, which has been intent as he listens, shifts to something more inscrutable. With only minimal hesitation, he closes the distance between them, reaching for her brow.

As soon as Connor touches her mark, there's a fraction of a second when he can see it flare under his fingertips before everything falls away with the sense of something, some engergy, flowing through him.

He can't see Sabriel anymore- instead, he's falling- or perhaps floating, among an endless galaxy of Charger marks, marks moving around him and through him in some intricate pattern, and there is no end to them, no matter what direction he looks, a vast, uncountable multitude, all moving in some vast, incomprehensible pattern, strange and alien, but not menacing.

And as soon as his hand breaks contact with her skin, it all falls away, his feet are firmly on the floor, and Sabriel's in front of him, offering him a patient smile.

"Do you understand now?"

Connor stares. Out of sight, he's rebooting several minor processes and double checking his readouts, which are all spitting back the same answers.

He just...

It makes no sense. It wasn't an interface, it was magic. There was nothing to it except a touch, and--

--and the senses he couldn't describe, a sense of awareness, and presence, and a flow through his being that stretched beyond the limits of his mechanical shell.

His lips part, and he's about to speak, but before he does he focuses on the feeling, replaying it with as much attention as he can, along with a symbol or two that he recognized. (Purification?) He's not paying attention to his sight, not until a glimmer of light appears--the instant he looks at it his concentration breaks, and the light vanishes.

... Oh.

...

Oh.

...

"... Yes," he says finally. "I do."

Edited 2019-09-21 18:36 (UTC)

"Good." Sabriel's smile widens now, relieved and eager. He's not lapsing into denial, or saying that's not possible, or questioning her sanity. Instead he's accepting what his senses are telling him.

"In time, with practice- reaching into the Charter will become easier for you. For some, visualizing a few marks they're familiar with is helpful for reaching the Charter." Not that she wants him to use any of the ones he'd seen so far- they're not the kind of spells suitable for a complete amateur.

"The first spell I'm going to teach you is a simple one- there's only one mark, and nothing bad will happen if you make a mistake- the spell just won't work."

Reaching back into the Charter, Sabriel finds the mark for light, and traces it out with slow, deliberate movements. With the electric lights flickering unsteadily overhead. it casts a steady, golden light over the room as it floats in front of Sabriel.

"Reach into the Charter, find this mark, pull it out of the flow. Then let it out of your fingertips as you trace it out." Sabriel keeps her tone even, encouraging.

"Don't worry if you don't get it right on the first attempt- just keep trying."

Connor blinks twice, recording the mark and considering her instructions, then nods. He doesn't close his eyes, but he does stop paying attention to them, shifting to recall his experiment a minute ago.

... It's still a struggle to describe the experience. He becomes aware of the flow through and around himself, he concentrates on the memory of the mark she traced, and he brings one hand up to sketch it on an imaginary pane of glass. He's trying to recreate the same feeling as last time, but it's slipping through his fingers like water. A spark of light appears at the first 'touch'--then disperses.

Connor frowns to himself. Like a bird unfurling and refurling its wings, he tries concentrating on a different part of the experience, feeling for the 'right' aspect to flex.

It takes him a few more tries, with varying degrees of success, until finally he traces the mark and it stays suspended, shining light in the flickering room. Connor lowers his hand, trying not to move otherwise--but it stays.

... He just cast a spell. He just--cast one. He has this capacity, and Sabriel's deal is seeming much more attainable in very strange ways.

Sabriel watches silently, her expression cautious but eager as Connor's counterpart keeps trying until he succeeds.

Then she smiles, almost despite herself.

"Congratulations- you can call yourself a mage. Please, keep practicing that spell, and communing with the Charter, but unfortunately..."

Sabriel looks back to Connor, shuffling her thoughts into order as her smile fades.

"I won't be able to teach you more until we deal with the necromancer. Connor learned who some of the humans serving him were, and when and where their next meeting is." Sabriel's smile is creeping back, but it's more of a grimace now.

"Which is tomorrow night- at a recycling camp. So not only will we likely be outnumbered, but at a place with so many recent deaths... he'll be able to pull spirits out of Death easily, and bind them to his service, even if he didn't bring bodies for them." Honestly, she's not sure if it will be better or worse if he does.

"We need to kill the necromancer. I'll make sure he stays dead, but I need to lay down bindings at the recycling plants and the landfill to make sure no other necromancer is able to raise an army and attempt to march it north." It almost sounds simple, when she puts it that way. In truth, she's not sure how simple putting down bindings will be in a warzone.

When Abhorsen had first turned away, he waited. For instructions, or permission, or an answer to the supply list she'd asked for. Acknowledgement, at least, that she was done.

It didn't come. It took just over a minute of stiff and silent observation before he concluded it wasn't going to. Connor stepped back slowly, turning away as he put on his skin.

Shirt. Tie. He pulls the jacket on over the rest, fingers curling in the ragged holes shot through both layers. It's all he has, and he tugs the ruined fabric into place over his holstered weapons, eyes flicking back up to watch the other two. Abhorsen seems—happy. The Connor model flickers through a spectrum of disbelief and fascination, all of it disgustingly visible across its face. Connor's own fingers curl at either side, and he runs a probability construction on the odds of a 'betrayal'.

...Low. Very low. Why would it?

It's getting everything it could have wanted here.

Abhorsen provides a wealth of information. The deviant casts its new spell. Connor waits, motionless and aching, until finally, Abhorsen speaks his name. The necromancer. Tomorrow night. He looks to her, LED swimming quick circles. Is she finally going to explain what he's for, now?

When she smiles at him, openly and sincerely, he doesn't smile back. He isn't frowning, though, either: his posture is neutral, and the creases around his eyes have finally lessened to something that is just this side of pleased, and calm.

All good things must come to an end, and this moment ends quickly. Connor settles back into a frown, and...

... What? This sounds... Connor's eyes swing to the other Connor. All actual relaxation has vanished.

"From a strategic standpoint, I can already advise against going to this meeting tomorrow."

Connor tears his eyes away, turning back towards her.

"You would be much better off if you waited."

"What? No, if we wait, he'll raise more Dead, and place more grave dirt bridges- his power will only grow." Not to mention, they'd have to track the necromancer down again if they miss this meeting. Besides, she doesn't want to delay her return to the Old Kingdom any more than she has to.

"If you want to back out of the deal, that's fine, but this is my best chance to stop the necromancer before he has a chance to raise more Dead and recruit more followers- why would I wait?" She looks back to Connor, clearly confused.

"With the three of us working together, it's manageable- I'll deal with the Dead, Connor will have my spare sword in case any get close to him, and the two of you should be able to deal with the necromancer's human allies." She looks back to Connor, clearly confused by his counterpart's reluctance.

"Connor, all of that makes sense, doesn't it?" Perhaps there's something she's missing, something that makes it more dangerous than it seems, but she see it.

He can feel the weight of his predecessor's stare. Still, it isn't until the other unit speaks that Connor's strained reserve gives way. His eyes snap over: mouth flattening, brows knitting in a glare. It has its arm healed. It has its tracker out; it has magic, and the regard of a human who's already promised to share more.

And now, less than twenty-four hours from the rendezvous, it wants to take away his chance to fulfill his mission, too?

Abhorsen, at least, seems equally appalled. His gaze flits her way in terse acknowledgement—and there's a fraction of a second's lag as she sketches out the framework of her plan. But any hesitation (confusion, fragile and too-large) is swallowed quickly by the implied demand. Analysis. His stare returns to the deviant.

"It does," he agrees: voice cold, eyes searching. (It doesn't. But not in any way that justified the interjection.)

"Unless your new 'ally' is planning something else."

Fingers curl at his side, brushing against torn cloth—and the weapon holstered underneath. Maybe betrayal isn't off the table after all.

Connor doesn't miss the way his counterpart inches towards his gun, as though being forced to delay shooting Connor is a physical strain. Connor is close to yanking the curtain back from the other android's conspiracy, and deviant or not, he must be feeling the threat to his plans like a guillotine overhead.

"You said so yourself that the odds are against you," Connor tells her, eyes narrowing. "Why are you planning to confront the necromancer at the heart of his own territory while he's surrounded by allies? A better plan would be to draw him away or wait until he's sleep. Why aren't you discussing this?"

... If the other Connor hadn't wanted to kill him before, he obviously wants to now. Connor looks at him directly, then back to Abhorsen. "Personally, I think it's strange that your supposed assistant is suggesting a plan that's likely to get you killed. He should know better, if he really has your best interests at heart."

Sabriel frowns, as the other Connor starts speaking- and then, as he implies Connor's motives are something sinister, she can't manage to hide the shock from her face.

"Because the necromancer, from all the reports I have, is both clever and paranoid- it wouldn't surprise me if none of his followers know where he sleeps, and if I tried to use myself as bait- he'd either hide from me if he thought he lacked the strength to win, or use everything at his disposal to kill me. And the longer I wait, the more allies and servants he'll have. The odds aren't ideal, but they're the best ones we're likely to get." Which still doesn't make it a an ideal situation, but waiting means dealing with a larger and larger army, with greater and greater reach as more grave-dirt bridges are set up. Her next words are far more halting and uncertain.

"And- what are you implying about Connor? I know he doesn't like me, but- he hates deviants. He wouldn't do something to deliberately fail his mission."

They don't know where he sleeps. They have no easy way to draw him off, and trying would give away their presence and intent. There are plenty of logical arguments Connor could insert to support Abhorsen's own.

But the deviant isn't really criticizing the plan, is it?

He meets its stare with his own, eyes narrowing right back. This soon? In its position, he would have waited—solidified the rapport Abhorsen is only too willing to grant it. Then again, it can hear the waver in her voice as well as he can.

Maybe it doesn't need to.

"It's trying to convince you to dispose of me."

The words are short. Matter-of-fact, and nearly toneless.

"I told you not to trust it."

"He wouldn't have to deviate at all if tricking you was part of his mission." Connor doesn't look away from Abhorsen, holding her gaze.

"Even with those points, your plan is still the one most likely to lead to the failure of your entire goals right now. Who would that benefit?" He doesn't give her time to answer. "The Necromancer... along with his allies."

Then, in a move that almost seems like a change of tack: "Do you know who Dr. Dennis Craven, Edith Humboldt, Manuel Cook, and Dr. Barbara Wendell are?"

It's not a change, it's introducing a new weapon to the same argument: Cyberlife. One name after another, they're major figures on the company's highest rosters. There's only one way this is driving, and despite his eyes still staying fixed on her, Connor tilts his head towards his counterpart, listening intently for any sudden reactions.

"I don't recognize any of those names." Sabriel's tone is cautious, "And I'm not quite sure what you're implying, but unlike Connor... there's nothing stopping you from lying to me."

Connor is, as he is so happy to remind Sabriel, her property, bound to obey her regardless of his supposedly nonexistent feelings about her. Sabriel shifts, putting herself between Connor and his counterpart, even as she doesn't break eye contact.

"I know Connor keeps grudges- apparently, you're the same." It's the only way any of this makes sense.

The reaction is immediate. Stiffness settles in the android's shoulders. Lips part, just a fraction, and his eyes widen... before sharpening into a glare. That's—that can't be—

"It's lying."

The words are quick and heated, stepping on Abhorsen's own even as he takes a step forward. Connor's hand goes to his gun, but Abhorsen is blocking him—and in more than one regard. His eyes flick to his owner, catching up belatedly with her... agreement?

How surprising. He doesn't waste time. "It is. Abhorsen, let me—"

"I'm not lying," Connor interrupts, stepping closer to Abhorsen. "And this isn't just some irrational grudge. Those four names are from Cyberlife's uppper echelons, and it shows direct involvement from the company in the Necromancer's activities. It all makes sense, of course, because who could gain more from anti-deviant activities than Cyberlife?"

This isn't a question. He doesn't wait, but he does soften his voice, backing down without actually physically retreating. (It's not a retreat. It's a change in affect: Aggressive, to Sincere.)

"I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but please, listen to what I'm saying. The same company that gave you him is also in a prime position to set up an ambush, one that he could be leading you directly towards. It might not even be deliberate; Cyberlife has back doors into all its androids, and nondeviant Connors are especially vulnerable."

Sabriel frowns, trying to assess the risks. If Connor's been compromised... that's not good. Although why use such roundabout methods, when there was a simpler path?

"Everyone's heard stories about Cyberlife spying through androids, but- if that's true, why not make him shoot me in my sleep? It's not like the police would be able to do much of an investigation, given the state of the city, and I'm sure he could make it look like a robbery if he wanted to."

Besides- an Ancelstierrian corporation, working with a necromancer? Why would they even be interested- unless they thought Dead androids had simply been reprogrammed. But again- why such a roundabout method of sabotage, instead of simply using Connor as an assassin. The other Connor seems sincere, but... it's Connor. He was unpleasant, and sometimes cruel, but Sabriel still couldn't believe he'd been deliberately sabotaging her.

"Connor, have you found- anything in your investigations that would rule out Cyberlife being involved in this- or anything that could hint at them being involved?" Please, let this be just a misunderstanding. Or for there to be some clear-cut proof the other android was lying.

It's lying. It is (it has to be), he knows it. So did Abhorsen, scant seconds ago. But the deviant drops its voice, affect switching on a dime, and Connor can see the doubt clouding her features. He opens his mouth to call out its manipulations—

—and freezes, as his owner asks exactly what he'd hoped she wouldn't.

Have you found anything?

Anything, like drug addled thugs who could recognize an Old Kingdom citizen on first glance. Like the clip saved to a confiscated phone: familiar cameras tracking Abhorsen's passage in and out of wide, bright halls. Cyberlife Tower would be impossible to mistake for someone not manufactured there, and Connor can place the exact time and date of the footage the necromancer's lackies had been sent. It's when she'd come to purchase him.

That didn't mean the company had been complicit. Not as any kind of whole. That's why Connor had kept it secret in the first place. (Why he'd lied, when Abhorsen asked him what he found.) If his owner jumped to conclusions, that would only harm the mission.

...His predecessor just built her a bridge.

She asked him a question. Abhorsen had asked, and—he hadn't answered. Not fast enough. Not like he should. He has to answer. Connor's expression shutters, voice flat and brisk. Dismissive.

"Nothing conclusive."

His LED flickers. Yellow.

That hesitation... he's hiding something. Although if he were working to sabotage her... wouldn't he have simply lied, and said there was nothing, or evidence against Cyberlife being involved? Sabriel turns to Connor, her expression cautious.

"Connor," Sabriel says, firmly but not angrily, "You need to tell me what you found. Maybe there's another explanation, but don't lie to me or hide things from me."

"As for you," Sabriel says, glancing over her shoulder,"Do you have any proof the people you've named are working for the necromancer?" After all, if Cyberlife is anti-deviant, the deviants must be anti-Cyberlife. Perhaps this is less about making her get rid of Connor, and more about going after his enemies, rather than hers.

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