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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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.

The hesitation was minimal, in human terms. For an android it may well have lasted centuries, and when Connor turns he's able to watch an ongoing display of microexpressions playing out over the android's face as he stalls.

... His analysis protocol categorizes each twitch as they occur. There's hatred, which he'd expected, but also--Connor's eyes narrow infinitesimally. Panic, yes. And fear--

He tears his eyes away when she glances towards him. "Yes," he replies immediately. "We've hacked their phone GPS logs, and their banks. They can be directly linked to the Necromancer's activities and location at several points."

"Fabrications," Connor grits out. It can't be trusted.

But the deviant's stare isn't the only one now locked on his face. Weighing what he said; finding it too slow. Too little. He doesn't flinch under the scrutiny, expression locked to perfect blankness. But if Abhorsen's voice is almost calm, there's nothing casual about her orders.

Don't lie. Don't hide things. TELL ABHORSEN, reads the task now pressing at his view, and Connor's lips press tight, drag open, vocal module aching helplessly as the words spill free.

"Harris and his associates were warned that you might interfere. They had—footage of you."

"From the Tower."

Sabriel's not sure if Connor actually believes the other android is making everything up, or if it's the same deliberate denial he uses to insist he's not alive and doesn't have feelings.

But when Connor admits that there was something he hid, something he lied about, she freezes, until her initial impulse to shout at him is overruled by rational thought. When she speaks, her tone is frigid.

"If you were deliberately trying to sabotage me, you wouldn't have admitted that." Sabriel frowns, trying to puzzle out her next move.

"I need you to explain why you lied to me, and I want you to check the information he has, to see if it's genuine, or if he just wants to use me as a weapon against Cyberlife."

Abhorsen stiffens. Connor doesn't move, doesn't breathe—waits, expressionless, for her reaction. It's hardly the first time he's provoked the human's anger, but before, it hadn't been about the mission.

(Before, she didn't have another option, ready and on hand.)

Abhorsen... frowns. Equivocates. Her voice is hard and furious, but what she's saying? Connor—blinks, tamping down any sign of disagreement. Her reasoning is flawed—incredibly so, in some regards. But she wants him to explain. She wants him to verify the other android's data.

She trusts Connor. He doesn't understand the reason, but he won't waste the chance.

"You would have jumped to false conclusions." Deliberately, Connor's eyes flick over to the deviant. False conclusions, like it wanted. "I planned to investigate the footage on my own. I could inform you later, if it proved important to the case."

"If he is compromised, then he will give you any excuse you're likely to believe," Connor interjects, taking a step so he can look from one to the other more easily. His eyebrows are drawn low, and his mouth is a thin line. "We're programmed negotiators with powerful deescalation protocols, and he's been exposed to you for at least a couple of days. You can't take anything he says at face value."

Didn't anyone give her a briefing on their android model before giving her a Connor? ... Of course not. Not if the android's purpose was to be a plant all along.

Edited 2019-09-30 02:36 (UTC)

Half consciously, Sabriel's reaches for Saraneth, her fingers drumming on the handle.

"If those protocols were designed as well as the ones he has for social integration, I don't think I have anything to worry about." Sabriel's tone is bone dry.

"Besides, couldn't I say the same thing about you? But Connor," Sabriel says, suddenly shifting focus, her tone growing sharp again, "That's not a good enough reason."

He was irrational about deviants. Was he irrational about Cyberlife too? Was he predisposed to see them favorably, just as he always saw the worst in deviants?

"I'm not a child who needs to be coddled. If you think things might not be as they seem, you need to tell me. Not cover it up until someone else drags it into the open. Why do you think Cyberlife isn't involved, even if they had access to the security footage?"

His eyes track the reach. Linger on the bell. For just the briefest, barest instant, the yellow swirl of his LED interrupts with a single flicker of bright red.

She's addressing him. (Insulting him, Connor realizes—too belated and too numbly for offense.) He drags his stare back to her face, mouth pressing together. She's not a child, but she is irrational. Idiotic, in more than one regard, and definitely in need of curbing. If she could be trusted to make the decisions she should, this conversation would never have happened.

(The deviant would never have survived.)

...That's not an argument he'll win. He turns his focus to her question.

"Cyberlife needs stable solutions. Our target is a destabilizing presence, with nothing to offer they can't already accomplish with technological means." Resets. Reactivation. He maintains eye contact with Abhorsen, voice steady. "And Cyberlife gave me to you."

A hand rises, tapping at his chest. "I'm programmed to obey you. You know that."

"... If Cyberlife could reverse deviancy on its own, it would have." (He's not going to dignify her 'you're manipulative too's with a response.) Instead he sends a narrow look at his counterpart, too wary to be pitying. "The Necromancer's publicly announced solutions seem permanent. This is exactly what Cyberlife wants."

More quietly, but with no less focus: "Are you really programmed for that, or are you just coded to convince her you are? Because there is a difference... and your actions don't match up."

"Except he's not reversing deviancy- he's shoving Dead spirits into corpses." Sabriel says, still drumming her fingers on Saraneth's handle "I know Ancelstierrians can be stupid when it comes to the supernatural, but even if he tells the the Dead not to eat any humans humans, I'm sure Cyberlife will realize there's a difference between androids and those things. Particularly if they get their hands on one and try to understand how he did it." And of course they'd be curious enough to do that- and probably keep on trying to understand how he did it, if they really were looking for a cure for deviancy.

"And Connor's followed all my orders, even the ones he argued were ill advised- like working with you. The only things he's irrational about are deviants- and apparently, Cyberlife." But was that a result of just what Cyberlife had put into his head as his previous owner, or something more sinister?

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