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

Abhorsen's ideas aren't surprising—at least, considering the self-admitted ignorance of their source. His duplicate's agreement, on the other hand...? Connor's brows knit in faint incredulity.

"You expect him to believe that Cyberlife gave up his name... to any group including you?"

It's more than implausible. It's absurd. If the deviant had approached Cyberlife for information, it would never have walked away. And the alternative explanation—that Abhorsen had pressed them for information, only to turn around and ally with the deviants—required persuading Craven that she'd tricked information from Cyberlife's agents before. Hardly a convincing base to start from in persuading him to disclose more.

He turns to Abhorsen. "If that's the tactic we're relying on, it should stay outside."

"We could tell him Cyberlife gave me another RK800, if you're all right with pretending not to be deviant," Sabriel says, giving the other Connor an uneasy, deeply apologetic look, "If you aren't... I could say I met with you after Cyberlife gave me the information and we struck a sort of truce?" She's sure Connor will have something harsh to say, but she's used to that by now. And while the other android might have chosen to work with her, he's not bound to her the way Connor is.

"Or you could.. wait outside the door and keep watch?"

"I need to be present during all of this," Connor says stiffly, tension coiling at the corners of his mouth. "As a deviant, I'm walking proof of the reason Craven's career is in jeopardy. I could help control the pressure he's under just by standing there."

"... And pressure is of course going to be crucial," he adds, turning to shoot the android a withering look. "If we approach this adequately, we can expect that he would be distracted enough by the accusations not to have time to doubt."

Immediately it occurs to him that this is an optimal place for his counterpart to sabotage him. Connor's expression doesn't move, but his fingers twitch at his sides: if his counterpart tries to fumble the interrogation, it will be proof in its own way. Still, if he could account for betrayals and build in contingencies...

"You're walking proof that we didn't come from Cyberlife," he shoots back. His eyes flick to Abhorsen, stare dulling slightly. "And there aren't any other RK800s."

Not after what the deviant had done. (Not after he failed to stop it.) Cyberlife had made it very clear at his inception that their entire model series was on the verge of being decomissioned.

If they'd changed their minds, he wouldn't have been thrown away.

He looks back to his copy, voice sharpening with quick, deliberate scorn. "That's your plan? You pretend Cyberlife trusted you. You accuse him of doing his supposed job. And somehow, this pressures him into sharing company secrets?"

Secrets Craven doesn't even have in the first place. Is it trying to obfuscate that fact? Maybe if it sabotages the interrogation, it thinks Abhorsen will let it prove its claims another way. Connor shakes his head, one hand cutting through the air as he gestures toward his copy.

"You suggested lying to him in the first place. If you actually wanted the tactic to succeed, you'd do the bare minimum to make it plausible."

"None?" Sabriel says, frowning a little, "Because they stopped manufacturing androids when deviancy became public knowledge?" Or is there another reason was the unspoken question. She wasn't sure if Connor was being deliberately contrary, or raising real issues- she didn't know Cyberlife or Craven well enough to know.

"If he's proof that we didn't get the information from Cyberlife," Sabriel says, keeping her attention on Connor, "Why don't I make him look like someone else? I don't think a magical disguise would fool cameras, but it should fool humans."

"Unless," Sabriel says, turning her attention to the other Connor, "You want to keep Craven so confused he doesn't have time to question whether any of what we're saying makes sense." It sounds like something that could work, but that could also fail miserably.

Connor sends her a look, tight lipped and impatient. She has good suggestions, but--

"We don't have to persuade him Cyberlife ever trusted us with anything," he snaps, turning back to his counterpart. His own hands are curled stiffly on his knees, and if he weren't strapped into a seat, he would probably be squaring off towards him.

"Trust doesn't matter. If we tell him that Cyberlife was found to have violated an international treaty with the Old Kingdom, we could claim they gave us information on Craven in order to deflect political and legal pressure away from themselves. It would back him into a corner easily. It could work," he adds, head glancing towards Abhorsen without actually breaking his stare-off.

Unlike his predecessor, Connor will return Abhorsen's gaze. Still, his attention certainly doesn't leave the challenge to his side. To the contrary: the condescending tip of Connor's head makes it perfectly clear exactly who (or what) he's talking about.

"Our model series was slated for decomissioning after Connor #313 248 317-53 betrayed its mission to kill humans." He bites off the words, eyes glinting coldly. "And that was before it infected thousands more to fuel its war."

His attention slides sideways, matching the defect stare for stare. "You really are deluded. The army used Cyberlife's resources to hunt Abhorsen because they thought she was protecting you. Even assuming Craven's not aware of that—and he might be—he can't be stupid enough to believe that they or anyone would cave to legal pressure from any group including you."

The military would shoot it on sight. Cyberlife would take it in. Abhorsen would be lucky not to be arrested herself for the collaboration. But leave it to the deviant to act like it would have rights.

"Pretending Cyberlife is our source will already take maneuvering." Teeth flash, one hand curling around the edge of the seat. "You're a liability."

To that, and so much more.

Sabriel shifts her attention from Connor to Connor, weighing both of their words.

"There are treaties between the Old Kingdom and Ancelstierre- but they're centuries old, and it's entirely possible the government will disregard them if they decide current events are more... pressing." But it's something, at least. Still, the other Connor is involved in open, violent revolt against the Ancelstierrians, which will certainly be a complication.

"Connor, do you have any better ideas? Besides torture?" It's half exasperation- and half a genuine question.

'Possible.' 'If.' Connor's eyebrows raise, deliberate and scornful, gaze still fixed on the defect. It knows as well as he does that these are more than possibilities. Maybe that's why its stream of idiocy has halted. Or maybe it's just choking on the reminder of its place.

Whatever the reason, he doesn't miss a beat. He looks back to Abhorsen, head cocking with the air of someone patiently repeating the obvious.

"Leave it outside."

It's the easiest solution. The best. He exhales, slow and pointedly annoyed.

"If you insist on coddling it, don't lie about Cyberlife at all. Craven's been left to rot in a public facility while his company's mistakes ruin his city and his job. Nothing about his profile suggests fanaticism—he won't want to die for other people's secrets."

Pressure instead of lie. Or Convince, depending on the man's reactions. With so little to work off, it was hard to know which tactic would work best. But between the deviant revolution and the human's own condition, Craven's position was nothing like secure.

Connor's fists curl, and his stare burns. The android had been holding back from agreeing just to have a stance to argue, and it's outrageously, flagrantly obvious now. Unfortunately, Connor can't allow himself to act on the impulse to take the android by the kneck and shake him violently.

"That's also an option," Connor says, more loudly than politeness really permits. As though he'd spoken at a perfectly reasonable level, he rolls his gaze to Sabriel. "I agree with this plan. It is, after all, what I was suggesting."

"Well," Sabriel says, fighting very hard to keep herself from saying something too sarcastic, "Considering how reluctant you are to agree about anything, I assume a plan you do agree on must be an excellent one. So that's the plan we'll follow."

The edge of sarcasm fades from her tone then, replaced by something earnest and utterly serious. "Now, what do you need me to do- or not do?" She knows that her interventions in previous interrogations haven't exactly been... helpful. And she reminds herself that even if it does come tot torture... if Craven't been working with the necromancer, she shouldn't feel sorry for him.

The badly hidden rage beside him, Connor pointedly ignores. If the deviant wanted credit for suggesting basic sense, it should have stuck with that tactic. Besides, the more outraged it is at their strategizing, the lower the odds they're playing into any tricks it might have planned.

Abhorsen's question is more relevant. "Don't heal him," Connor answers promptly. "Or tell him that he won't be hurt."

He doesn't look at his predecessor. He really doesn't need to.

Don't heal or promise safety. Hmm.

Connor's eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, but he didn't linger. He had other, more delicate things to think about, like phrasing his own advice.

"He may try to appeal to you, from one human to another." A beat. "Don't fall for it. His only interests will be to his own benefit."

Sabriel can't help but look guilty at Connor's instructions- she can recognize that those are the mistakes she made with the other Connor. Or at least, telling him he wouldn't be hurt was- Sabriel still doesn't think healing him was a mistake. Although there'd never been any questions about the other Connor working with a necromancer.

"So what you're both saying is 'don't be sentimental'" Sabriel nods in agreement.

"My loyalty lies with the Charter, and the Old Kingdom- not humanity as a whole. And I'll do my best not to repeat previous mistakes."

Oh, so she recognizes the mistakes now? Connor eyes his owner with a flat, neutral expression that broadcasts absolutely none of his distrust. If she recognized the problems her sentimentality had caused, they wouldn't be here now. Certainly not all of them.

She'll make an attempt. His predecessor will doubtless make its own, towards whatever ends it has in mind. Connor will adapt.

(Maybe this time, that will be enough.)

He nods: polite, deliberate agreement. "Do you have any other questions?"

"No," Sabriel says, shaking her head. "I'll let you take the lead- you've already shown you're better at this than I am."

Connor got answers out of Harris. The two times Sabriel's tried to get information from people about the necromancer were... less than successful. And even if Craven's not working with the necromancer... Sabriel can't bring herself to feel that bad about what Connor might do to him in the process of learning that.

Edited 2019-11-03 01:55 (UTC)

Connor logs the other RK800 as being assigned the authority to lead the mission, and he can't quite hold back the way the corners of his face pinch down briefly. The android is compromised, the chances of this mission's results being sabotaged just rose by an order of magnitude. He wants to protest.

He thinks about how much she followed the android's lead the first time he encountered them, and then thinks about the mangled handiwork left for him to find. Neither incidents reassure him, and he glances at the android's reflection on the smooth screen on the back of Abhorsen's chair.

The conversation continues without him for a few exchanges more, before falling silent completely. Eventually the taxi stops outside Ochoa Memorial, and when it leaves its passengers have disembarked.

Connor touches the beanie pulled snugly over his LED. "... We're looking for Room 256B," he murmurs.

Connor tugs his own flat cap into place, covering the yellow spin as he searches for more information. Maps of the hospital put the designated room somewhere in Intensive Treatment—clear of the Emergency room's metal detectors, if not by a wide berth.

He relays the information for Abhorsen's benefit and turns toward the building. They need to avoid notice. Find the room. Gain access without notifying its occupant to their impending visit. As missions go, all stages of this one seem relatively simple—but even a small misstep could be catastrophic. Something his predecessor doubtless knows as well. He watches it carefully.

The moment they step inside, one thing is clear: this hospital is desperately shortstaffed. Patients overflow the waiting area, a rumbling sea of distress and discontentment managed by a pair of harried human workers. The information booth stands empty, and visitor reception has been replaced by a paper sign-in sheet and an empty roll of sticker badges. Once they pen a few false names, no one bothers their group as they move forward.

Up the stairs. Down the hallways. Room 256B is a closed room at the end of a long hall, and when they open the door, an irritated voice immediately speaks.

"Finally! I've been paging for hours—"

Craven, Dennis.
Born: 11/8/2006 // Software Developer (Cyberlife)
Criminal Record: Hit and run

Dennis Craven is prone on his hospital bed, one leg propped up and immobilized. An IV stands nearby, feeding into one wrist, but whatever painkillers it supplies seem to be insufficient— a layer of sweat already sheens over the man's forehead, and both hands clench around the armrests by the bed as he tries to sit up. Connor steps to the side, leaving room for his companions to come in—and cutting off Craven's aggrieved rant sharply as he acquires a clear view of Connor's face.

"I... what?"

How eloquent. Connor raises his eyebrows. "Doctor Craven. Hello."

After all three of them are in, Sabriel shuts the door behind them before turning to regard Craven. She takes in the sweat, the clenched fingers, and the discoloration spreading from beneath the bandages on his leg- and she can almost smell a faint odor coming from the wound, despite the bandages. He doesn't look intimidating, or especially cunning- he looks like a pathetic, sick man. But appearances can be deceiving.

"Doctor Craven, Connor- both of them- would like to talk to you about the company Cyberlife might be keeping," It's a deliberate effort to keep her voice even, and her body still.

"What- what are you talking about, why are you with a deviant?"

"Along with how you acquired that injury." Sabriel adds, looking pointedly at his leg, although Craven doesn't seem to fully realize the significance of the gesture.

"Why hasn't it attacked you yet? How did you get it under control?"

At that question, Sabriel just rolls her eyes and keeps her mouth shut, and waits for Connor to take over the conversation.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Dr Craven," Connor said crisply, passing his companions as he stepped towards the bed. Pressure, they've planned. Considering all the blood spilt in the revolution, Connor has an advantage here.

"I'm a deviant, and I'm not under her control."

Glassy eyes dart back and forth from one face to another, and for a moment Craven purses his lips.

"You believe that, don't you? Elegant. If they're deluded enough, they doesn't even fight." He looks back at Abhorsen, then slides towards the other android. "This one too, then? Which one is it, you know there's differen--"

There was a stack of tablets built up on the bedside stand. When it became clear that the doctor wasn't being impressed by the right things, Connor picked up the stack one-handed, then simply dropped it on the man's prone leg, keeping it in place with a hand resting on top.

The man made a sound like a wounded dog, breaking off and writhing in place. Sweat beaded and rolled, and the blankets twisted and bunched. he was grasping for something, blindly and distractedly, and without moving far Connor was able to gently lift the pager button out of reach.

Edited 2019-11-07 03:45 (UTC)

For an instant, Connor stills under the scientist's regard. This one, too? He's not a deviant—he's not—but he knows better than to voice the protests frozen in his throat. A machine wouldn't object, or interrupt. A machine wouldn't so much as twitch at the inspection—

A machine doesn't. It's the deviant who reaches out, breaking Craven's line of sight... and in short order, his bravado. Connor blinks, fingers tugging a sleeve straight as he surveys the squirming, whimpering human. His predecessor's tactics might be crude, but they're undeniably effective.

Pressure.

Connor steps forward, head slanting in dispassionate examination. "I'm not a deviant, Doctor Craven. But my predecessor is, and despite the... outbursts, its goals align with Abhorsen's current mission."

Lips curve: a mechanical, unfeeling apology. He can't dispose of it. He can't protect the damaged human from whatever this malfunction might decide to do. Not when Cyberlife told him to assist her.

"2726 Russel Street. I believe you're familiar with the laboratory there?"

"Call it off! Tell it to stop!"

Craven's attention is still focused on her- until Connor asks his question, and Sabriel sees his eyes widen with recognition.

"Yes, but- listen, I haven't been there for weeks- ever since the androids went crazy!"

He's lying. Sabriel might not have an RK800's advanced sensors or social algorithms, but even with her merely human senses and instincts she can tell that Craven is lying. That he's hiding something.

"Doctor Craven," Sabriel says, and she can see some of the hope in his face die as he hears how cold her tone is, and the frown that's spreading over her face. "I don't like people who lie to me. I'm helping Connor because our goals align, as the other Connor said. But your goals... well, apparently you value them enough to lose a limb for them. Whatever treatments they're trying don't seem to be helping."

Craven flinches at that.

"I- you can't be serious, right? Deviants wouldn't just decide to work with a human, how are you really doing this?"

The outstretched leg is thickly swaddled in soft, stained bandages. The medical records and the smell suggest an anaerobic infection. Connor considered the limb, remembering the neverending ache that came with his own past injury. The fragility of it, the swelling, and the leaking.

It was agonizing.

Connor rests a heavy hand on Craven's shin, right over the bandages.

"How--" The distraction is immediate, and Craven looks at him when Connor's grip begins to tighten. "No--s-stop that. Call it off, lady, we're just--this is just a little discussion, isn't it? There's no reason to--"

"We know you've been continuing to work in the laboratory," Connor interrupts, keeping his hand at a steady pressure that has the scientist's face twisting, and little motions of distress making him squirm in place. "The only question now is 'what were you doing before you received your wound.'"

"I wasn't--" He choked off, a raw sound of pain tearing free as Connor pressed.

Funny, how the others had ranked force a last resort when he suggested it. Still, Connor finds himself too transfixed by the sight before him to object. Craven might not have any information. This could be a serious mistake. But the figure writhing on the bed holds none of Cyberlife's authority or power. The orders spilling from its lips aren't commands he needs to follow. They're pleas.

Like Harris'. Like the other worthless, vulnerable humans who've gotten in their way.

[Objective: Pressure]

Connor takes another step. Then another, slowly circling behind the bed. "Pupil dilation by zero-point-six milimeters," Connor reports. "Spikes in galvanic skin response and vocal stress—independent of the... secondary stimulus." His mouth twitches. "You really should know better than to lie."

He should. One hand lifts, fingers curling around the stand supporting Craven's IV. "If you can provide us with the information, we'll be on our way." He nods curtly at the deviant. "We'll even take that with us. But if you can't..."

A twist of fingers, and the flow of painkillers cuts off.

"Please, what do you want?"

While Connor is standing behind the bed, and the other Connor is closer to the foot of the bed, Sabriel steps forward, leaning over Craven's head, trying to suppress her own discomfort at Craven's obvious distress as she reaches into the Charter, and focuses on the flow as she traces out a single mark over Craven's throat- a mark that cuts off the beginning of a scream.

If he really has been working with the necromancer, he's her enemy, Sabriel reminds herself as she speaks, fighting back the twisting sensation in her stomach.

"I want you to be honest. Tell us the truth, and you'll walk out of here on your own two feet. Lie to us... and you'll be carried out. Now, what were you doing in that laboratory, and how were you injured?" Sabriel's expression gives no sign of her uneasiness- it's stern and furious, and Craven actually starts talking before Sabriel can remove the spell.

"-wanted to look at the coding, to see how he did it, what changes he made- they didn't seem right, like he'd disabled some of the uncanny valley subroutines and most of the social algorithms. But there wasn't any code- nothing, like they were shut down, even though they were clearly online! Whatever you've done, it's clearly more effective, even if they're still aggressive-"

He's babbling, and while Sabriel lacks the technical knowledge of anyone else in the room, she can understand the gist- He thinks both she and the necromancer reprogrammed androids, rather than using magic.

The knowledge that he really was working with the necromancer eases some of her guilt, but not all of it. She looks over to Connor with his hands around the IV, and then to the other Connor, with his hands on Craven's leg, to see what they were going to do next.

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