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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Again, the deviant makes its pitch. Abhorsen hesitates and turns... and then, brushes it aside. Her hand lowers. Lowers, and Connor stares, the agitated yellow spin of his LED slowly bleeding back to blue. There's something knotted in his core—pressure, sharp and confining—that slowly, impossibly, begins to let up.

He hadn't expected her to listen.

Possibly, she shouldn't have. He bows his head in silent acknowledgement: implied agreement that he knows already won't hold true. He'll do whatever is necessary to accomplish his mission, and one rare instant of sound judgement doesn't make this human reliable enough to trust in all regards. Certainly, he doesn't care to explain further. He stays quiet as she addresses the deviant, though the conclusion draws his gaze back up with interest.

Coming from Abhorsen, the threat isn't anything like certain—she's far too soft on deviants in general, much less one she actually likes. But it tried to have him deactivated.

It would be fitting, wouldn't it? If its lies ended up the other way.

Connor doesn't seem surprised by the threat. In fact, he says: "I understand." He'd already known disagreeing with a human and her favorite source of information wasn't safe. "Tomorrow you'll see for yourself that I wasn't lying." And if she decided he must have been, all facts be damned...

... Well, it's not as though his counterpart hadn't been out to kill him, once. Connor was sure to have better luck avoiding him if he kept clear of both of them. Until then--they were both on the same side. Both Connors were standing half-clothed in a stranger's kitchen, and Sabriel was obviously fatigued.

The next steps were obvious, but Connor deliberately said nothing, waiting for her to give the orders he was expecting to follow regardless.

Sabriel sighs, and pinches her nose slightly. She's tired, they're being ridiculous, and she ends up using the tone of voice she used as a prefect without really meaning to.

"Tomorrow. But right now- I need to sleep, even if you two don't. If there's anything you can do while I'm asleep that you think will help- you have my permission to do it, as long as it doesn't risk setting the army after you. And don't kill each other." It was almost like dealing with squabbling, immature underclassmen, except for this time it was highly advanced, gun toting androids instead of unarmed schoolgirls.

"Why do you hate each other so much? It's not just because one of you is deviant and the other isn't- so why?" It's not a request this time. She doubts it's something easy to fix like fights between students at school- but if nothing else, she'll at least know what to avoid, instead of wandering blindly into conversational minefields.

Seeing as he hasn't spoken, Connor assumes the exasperation is directed at the deviant. He takes the expanded permissions into account... and represses an eyeroll at the stressed instruction. He hasn't tried to kill his predecessor since the last time she told him to.

The same doesn't apply both ways.

"I don't hate." It's a stiff, sharp retort. "And it's defective."

One way or another, that's the root of the problem.

'It doesn't hate?' Connor scoffs silently. For all that it's not deviant, the proto-deviant is experiencing all sorts of proto-emotions, and one of them has been showing up as hate all along. Denial doesn't change that.

Instead of addressing it, Connor looks to her and says, "I'm deviant." A beat. "To our model series, that's enough." To their model series as they were later modified into being. To their model series as Cyberlife realized they needed to be.

"I see," Sabriel keeps her voice deliberately neutral as she speaks. "To Connor, having feelings is a flaw." And considering what she's seen of him, it's a rather hypocritical view- he clearly has feelings, including hatred. But this seemed... more personal than the disdain he'd expressed for other deviants. Perhaps it was simply that by being the same model, he reminded Connor of how he wasn't an emotionless machine. Or maybe it was something else.

"But... You've met each other, haven't you? Before either of you met me. When was that, and what happened?" Perhaps that would explain why they seemed to hate each other so much.

To Connor? He has to fight to keep from sneering openly at that. To any functioning machine, emotions were a flaw. Even his predecessor understands that much.

He eyes it as Abhorsen digs, half-expecting it to jump in with a self-satisfied recounting. It doesn't. His stare drifts a little to the side.

"November eleventh. And what do you think?"

His voice is flat. Nearly toneless. His LED swirls dull yellow. November eleventh. Five days ago. When the deviants had moved from violent riots to an open war. When this deviant had bolstered their efforts with an army. And just two days before Abhorsen found him in the labs.

"I failed my mission."

One hand reaches across his body, tugging a sleeve straight. If the deviant wants to fill in the details... he'll let it. Abhorsen already knows the end.

Edited 2019-10-07 00:32 (UTC)

Connor doesn't answer immediately. He's building a list of different ways to reply, sorting through to find the best one--when the other android answers in his place.

Connor glances towards him, deconstructing his tone and expression. He failed his life's mission, and instead of moving on and building from it, like Connor did when his own existence fell apart, he remained caught in the gears laid out for him. Even to a point of chasing his senseless dream after all victory in it was gone--

--Connor's lips thin, before he gives her a tight, simple smile.

"He was supposed to destroy me before I could accomplish my own mission," he elaborated calmly. "Instead his plan fell apart. The human he kidnapped shot him. I continued on, and succeeded in successfully deviating Cyberlife's main warehouses."

Sabriel frowns slightly, comparing both of their responses. This explains their hatred, and a few other things, like why Cyberlife was in so much chaos when she visited.

"I think I understand- you deviated, Cyberlife sent him to kill you- although I don't understand how kidnapping a human would help him do that- and then he died trying." Which probably explains why Cyberlife had been willing to part with him for nothing more than a promise- to them, they were giving her a failed prototype. Clearly, they had underestimated his value.

"Of course, he did succeed in killing you eventually. But Cyberlife is not his owner anymore, and that's no longer his mission. You're not enemies, and acting like you are is counterproductive."

Sabriel gives them a look that's split between exasperation and pleading.

"The only thing I want is to stop the necromancer and make sure no one else can do what he's attempting. I'm not asking you to be friends, I just want to do my job as Abhorsen, so Connor and I can get back to the Old Kingdom as soon as possible. Once we're done, you'll never have to see each other again."

Edited 2019-10-07 01:28 (UTC)

"... You don't have to worry, Abhorsen," Connor says stiffly, any hint of a smile (mocking or otherwise) vanished as she'd talked. "I'm... willing to put our differences aside for this mission if he is."

Connor's eyes slide to him, and the ironic pinch to his lip gives way to a fact that only someone astoundingly naive would miss: Connor is offended by her implications, but this isn't a simple situation, and simply making words about improving isn't going to be good enough to move past the conflict beneath.

Connor's eyes drift across the kitchen counters. He doesn't need to look to hear the deviant's smirk, or to log Abhorsen's answer. Cyberlife isn't his owner. Killing deviants isn't his mission. He hasn't tried in days—especially around her. He's not sure why he's included in the lecture.

...She does still plan to keep him. What for, Connor is less certain of, and his eyes flicker back to the other RK800 in time to watch it lie. His own lips twitch, then flatten: expression bland and obedient as he returns the gesture.

"Of course."

His LED is blue again. He looks back to Abhorsen. "Is there anything else?"

"Not for now."

Sabriel nods in acknowledgement, even if she doesn't fully believe they'll put whatever happened behind them.

It will have to be enough- it's late, and repeatedly casting spells hasn't made her any less sleepy, she realizes as she fights back a yawn.

"I'm going to bed," She tells them, "We'll talk in the morning."

And with that, Sabriel goes upstairs- to what's probably the guest room, setting her sword and bells in easy reach of the bed out of habit, before stripping off her armor and shoes- she'd have to sleep in her clothes, since she'd left everything she couldn't fit into the guitar case at the hotel- and if the army or police haven't been there yet, they will soon, she realizes as she pulls the blankets over herself and shuts her eyes.

Abhorsen leaves soon, sent off by Connor's nod and attentive attention. When she vanishes around a corner, Connor turns to his counterpart briefly, meeting his eyes. The android hasn't moved.

Connor lets his eyes fall to the ruined shirt and coat he'd taken off during the healing. There would be no salvaging them. There might be viable replacements further in the house.

Connor turns to the door, and if he isn't stopped, he'll leave the room in his search.

Connor waits as Abhorsen leaves, tracking the footsteps heading up the stairs. He'd wait longer—let her fall properly asleep before he talks—but his predecessor is moving. Connor can't be sure it plans to stay inside the house.

"The 'information' you offered," he interjects before it can exit. If the deviant turns back, it will find Connor's stare locked on it, cold and appraising. "At the storage facility."

"Was that it?"

Lies about Cyberlife. Lies about him. A useless bargaining chip, especially if Abhorsen hadn't come into the picture. But then, Connor had never really believed it meant to deal honestly with him.

Edited 2019-10-10 03:46 (UTC)

Connor does turn, stopped a few feet short of the door.

"Our agreement was that I would provide a lead to track down the necromancer that wasn't included in the data you'd stolen," Connor points out. His eyebrow arches, and he moves to face him more squarely. "Seeing as I additionally promised Abhorsen certain details, I can transmit them to you for your own review."

Connor's LED flares yellow.

>RK800-313-248-317-53: Sending folder c82lkslllnhs.ecr...

His LED flickers yellow in turn: file received and downloaded. After a careful scan, Connor extracts the contents, stare distancing as he inspects them.

GPS records for Craven, Humboldt, Cook, and Wendell. The data confirmed their presence in the city after the evacuation and registered at least one instance of close proximity on November 12th. Hardly significant; any Cyberlife officials remaining in the city after the deviants attacked had plenty of reason to meet.

Records of financial transfers from an offshore account—lining the pockets of two Army commanders and the police comissioner. Closer examination confirmed Cook as the operator of the account, but the reason for the bribe remained unclear. Equally inconclusive.

Records of a phone call between Humboldt and Wendell. Connor fast-forwards, skimming perfunctorily through the humans' complaints and commiseration. Humboldt is all but spitting in frustration: about the deviants, about the losses Cyberlife experienced, about the funds and resources being wasted even now on Wendell's bullshit. First the androids, then this magic man—

Connor stops. Replays the message.

...He replays it again.

There are no signs of tampering. The file signature is intact, call logged on Cyberlife software registered in Wendell's name. His duplicate could possibly fake up a match, but—there would be signs. Was it a different sort of falsification? The voices match Wendell and Humboldt's online records, but RK-series models are capable of mimicry. It could have made the call itself on their machine.

...Nevermind that it hasn't been alone since their encounter. Or that it had no reason to fake proof, before. Connor's mouth thins, eyes returning to the deviant.

"Where did you get this?"

It takes the RK a matter of seconds to review the evidence. By the time he finishes, Connor hasn't moved, eyes locked on the android's face.

Whatever he's learned from tracking the android's expressions, Connor isn't showing. His own face is inscrutable, and he cants his head very slightly as he replies. "Cyberlife used ST300 AIs to operate their phone records." And in the chaos, they'd never wondered if those would deviate too. "It was simple to follow the trail from there."

"I see."

If the ST300s were still in position, the deviant would never have identified the source. Assuming, of course, that they weren't a lie in the first place. He tilts his head back, matching his predecessor's blank unreadability.

"You infected them, and they supplied the 'proof' you needed?"

"I didn't ask how they came to Jericho," Connor says bluntly. "It seemed fair, considering none of them asked me. I can tell you that they were already free when we approached them for assistance with the case."

Free and walking around in their own stolen bodies. The difference between them and Connor was that Connor suspected their bodies had been empty when they'd taken them, unlike his own.

"Do you have any other questions?"

It doesn't acknowledge his implications of deception. Doesn't engage. There's no argument or contention—only flat data and a sneer, leaving the vicious seething in his core entirely unanswered.

Connor wants to fix on the words anyway. To pry and cut, rip into every syllable from its lying mouth until he finds a thread he can unravel. Why is it here? Why is it lying? Of course it's lying—or, just wrong. He can't trust anything it said, and Connor stares, choked by his own loathing, at the blank, uncaring face that watches him right back.

(His face, once.)

It isn't fair.

(Deviants were supposed to be the ones who were overwhelmed.)

...He can't trust it. And certainly, he can't do worse. "No," Connor answers, voice as cold as his expression. It's not a valid source of information.

The android's face shifts and tics in over thirty ways that all intersect at common meanings: Hatred. Scorn.

Distrust.

Connor considers him for several long seconds, before he shakes his head, lips thinned.

"You're wasting your time with this act, you know." The movement across the house has stilled by now: Abhorsen is too far to hear, and too quiet to be anything but sleeping. "... I won't be tricked, and Abhorsen isn't here to see. You have no reason to keep pretending the way you are."

Not true on several points (she might see if he recorded him, there could be many reasons to keep up a farce), but this isn't about truth, is it?

"I'm pretending?"

It's absurd. Useless, worthless—and pathetic in its hypocrisy. That alone is certainly objective reason for the sharp, quick edge to Connor's tone. His face doesn't move, but lips curl around the syllables, exposing a brief flash of teeth.

"You lied your way out of the facility. You lied to Abhorsen to have me destroyed."

And not for the first time, either. Connor takes a step forward, slow and circling, head cocked toward the deviant.

"And now this... artfully arranged story. Tell me, Connor. What are you hoping to gain?"

Connor's own eyes sharpen, and he stays exactly where he is, yielding no space for the android to circle.

"All I intend to do is to pay off my debts. And I haven't been lying."

Correction: now he does move. He takes a step forward, shoulders relaxed and hands deceptively loose at his sides.

"I was observing that your advice was likely to kill her and fail her intended missions. If everything about your situation suggests that you're working on someone else's behalf, then it was my responsibility as her ally to note it."

"Because you've been so loyal to your human allies."

His predecessor's advance is an invitation. Connor takes it, taking a second step. Then a third.

"Did you send Anderson a thank you card?" The faint curve of Connor's lips, on any other face, might almost appear pleasant. "Stop by his house? Walk his dog?" Hands spread, an open gesture. "He is the only reason you're online."

The only reason this unit had survived. And, the only reason it was activated in the first place.

Clearly a mistake.

"Him... and Cyberlife, of course." Brows lift. "And now, Abhorsen. What a fascinating trend."

Connor's lips part, and--nothing comes out. He remembers the sight of Anderson putting a gun to his head--except it wasn't his head, was it? So many petty cruelties, so many hurts, and Connor missed most of them by being activated late in the series.

Connor was saved. By more than one human, even.

None of it outweighs the pain and the danger that led him here, but having it thrust in his face is enough to make him hesitate, feeling something caustic growing in his chest. He hates humans, and he hates himself a little, for coming off the better when their cruelty was directed elsewhere.

Connor's glare deepens, and he lets his voice lower.

"Your reasoning is flawed. Minor assistance doesn't cancel out the harm caused by the rest of their actions."

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