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

"Helpful how?" The look Craven spares the silent RK800 is naked with frustration. "Did you restructure its--"

"I would pay attention to the questions we're asking, if I were you." Connor interrupted. "We don't have much time." With careful, sure fingers, he began shredding the stained bandages, working quickly to expose what they covered. The smell immediately worsened, and Craven twitched and paled.

"No--no, stop, I'm helping! Listen, I'm cooperating, aren't--" He flinched as Connor pulled back on bandages that had crusted in place. Immediately the wounds began to ooze. "--Argh, god! Stop, just stop, look--I had funding! Two assistants, and--Wendell!" He seized the name like a life jacket. "Wendell was funding this, she kept the lab open, she's been overseeing my reports!"

Helpful? Craven's incredulity mirrors Connor's own, and it takes a force of effort to keep his face blank and vocalizer silent. Abhorsen's pretense denies their target leverage, and the least he can do is not sabotage the mission further. As it is, the human hardly requires more incentive to talk. Connor watches, distant and detached, as his predecessor inflicts additional pain regardless. Now would be the time to offer an alternative appeal. [Sympathize].

...Intact, Craven had said. Connor had known his code was modified, but—if he'd been intact, would he have failed in the first place?

His hand lowers to his side, leaving the IV's flow shut off.

"Wendell," Sabriel repeats, trying not to gag at the stench, "Who else? Did you ever meet with him in person? If you did, where was it?"

"Humboldt- he was the one who signed off on the whole thing. Cook took care of the finances." The lack of painkillers is starting to tell- Craven's slowly becoming more and more agitated. "I met him once- I- I don't know the address, it was to pick up some specimens and give him some of the last nondeviant androids we had for him to use."

Craven takes a deep breath, and Sabriel watches as his expression grows more calculating.

"Listen, you need to tell me how you did it- whatever you did, it might be humanity's best chance against the deviants- even if you didn't want money, you'd be a hero, you could-"

"Don't you mean Cyberlife's best chance?" Sabriel interrupts, "I'm a citizen of the Old Kingdom, here to track down a dangerous criminal- one you've been helping. Now, do you know where I can find that man?"

Craven seems to finally be catching on to the fact that she wasn't playing coy. He's silent for a moment, licking his lips and expression closing slightly, though hints of his previous desperation were too much to hide.

"I certainly don't know. I've only met him once, and it was at a temporary drop-off point."

"And what was that location?" Connor asks.

Craven shoots him a glance sour enough to curdle milk, along with--unfortunately--a look that could only be calculating. Connor considers giving the shin in his hands a sharp wrench, but with the man's stress levels already increasing from the pain killers dropping, a poorly timed shock could push him outside of the range they needed him in. It could drive him to a rage, or worse, an unintelligible panic.

"The outlet on Elm Court," Craven sniffed, darting his glance away again, from face to face.

Looking it up was the work of a second. It was an abandoned strip mall, and Connor set it aside to compare with his map of grave dirt findings later. He opened his mouth to follow up, but Craven spoke first.

"Listen, I--" His expression rippled with pain, and he needed a moment to force it back, directing his griace at Abhorsen. "I think we might've gotten off on the wrong foot. You're, ah, here for diplomatic reasons, aren't you?" He forced a nauseous smile. "You--agh, you like what you've been able to reprogram the Connors into, right? And you haven't even used some of their best features... But if Cyberlife can't get reliscenced to produce more of them, they'll be gone as soon as they break. You have your own programming, but you need our hardware."

Sabriel does not return his smile, but her expression does show many of her teeth. She shifts her weight, and suddenly she looks like she's ready to lunge at Craven.

"I didn't reprogram them," Sabriel feels like a string, being pulled tighter and tighter until she snaps, "And while everyone and everything dies eventually, I plan to everything I can to keep them in good health."

"But you don't seem to be in good health at all," Sabriel continues, feeling something vicious bubbling in the pit of her stomach, "Tell me, have any of the treatments been working? How much longer until they'll need to amputate- and will Cyberlife even pay for a prosthetic?" She doesn't even bother with the pretense of pity.

"I came here to find that man and take him back to the Old Kingdom, only to find that you Ancelstierrians have given him the makings of an army. He doesn't care about money either. Just power, and he no longer needs you or Cyberlife to get it. He will not give you anything for helping him." She looks over to Connor, at the head of the bed, her head tilted in a silent question. He'd said not to heal him... but what about dangling the possibility over his head?

She can hear Craven protesting, weakly- something about prototypes not being made to last, about Connors being made to be replaced, not fixed.

She can't bring herself to listen.

She'd reprogrammed him. Not the deviant, and for all the numbness seeping through his processing, Connor's eyes drift up—half-expecting it to punish the suggestion. But his duplicate hesitates, and Abhorsen eagerly fills the space: with taunts and repudiation, berating Craven for all of Cyberlife's (Cyberlife's) errors.

Connor barely listens. Certainly, he doesn't see the look his owner shoots his way. They have the information they need from this human already. They could leave. But—

"...Our model series was decomissioned."

It's what he told Abhorsen in the taxi. There aren't any other RK800s. But the refutation isn't sharp, this time, or vicious. There's barely any force at all. Connor's eyes are fixed on Craven's, stare focused. He's lying. Isn't he?

They failed. (He had.) There's no coming back from that.

Craven glances to Connor, then back to Abhorsen, clearly torn between the urge to target a more interested audience and a sense of ridiculousness at speaking to her device. "Well, yes." He gives a huff, stare settling on the human. "With reason. But if you were willing to, ah, offer your expertise... demonstrate, perhaps, that they could work as they're supposed to... It's possible the decision could be reversed."

Connor has been tracking the conversation, eyes razor-sharp and flicking from face to face. He's recorded Craven's confession and the names he's confirmed. He's noting Abhorsen's reactions, every deal she doesn't take and every twitch of her face as offense and disgust twist it.

He listens as the other android in the room steps forward, like a fish on a string being pulled inexorably to shore. Craven looks ready to continue, but at this point Connor leans forward, just enough to insert himself between the two, sending Craven a look like a mountain cliff face.

"Focus," Connor says. Craven glances at him, then at Abhorsen, then back to the other Connnor, and the lack of appreciation for the threat is enough that Connor reaches for the wound.

He doesn't look. His face betrays no hint of his personal thoughts about the contact. He places his bare hand directly on the festering mess and arches his fingers like claws, digging them in. Craven gives a full body spasm of pain, mouth open in a barely suppressed scream.

Reversed? What would that mean? Connor's expression is frozen, processing circling tight loops. Abhorsen had no interest in collaborating with Cyberlife. But—if she did, if she could... his failure was something they'd walk back? And the company's resources would all but guarantee her mission's success. The deviant would never agree, but—

'Focus.' It cuts between them and Connor tenses, bristling. But his copy's eyes linger in his face for just an instant—and by the time Connor realizes who it had been speaking to, it's already moved past threats. Craven's writhes—eyes wide, throat choking—before he regains his voice with a sharp and agonized scream.

They need him coherent. They need him sane. His stress levels are spiking dangerously quickly, and the screaming has the potential to draw notice from outside. Those would be good reasons to interfere. And by the time they process, Connor is already in motion: grip digging into his predecessor's wrist and jerking it away as he steps forward. It's a shove, sharp and forceful, body interposing between the deviant and the bed.

"He's talking."

Connor's eyes bore holes into his counterpart. Fingers twitch at his side, not quite brushing up against his gun.

"Let him."

Connor's hand is yanked back and the screaming continues. It's a backdrop to the burning stares and tension ratcheting up by several degrees, and even as the screams die away, the battle of wills continues.

It ends as abruptly as it starts. Connor breaks away first, flexing dripping fingers and glancing down at them. His hands look like they've been dipped in pink paint, with contaminated blood leaving a trail on the bandages and sheets below him. Connor presses his hand on the sheets, just enough to get the worst off, before he lets it fall to his side.

The string reeling the other connor in is tugging harder than ever. Nonetheless, they're playing good cop and bad cop. The other android can be the 'good' cop.

Maybe Abhorsen will even step in if she sees her android starting to slip out of her grasp.

"Connor." Sabriel's tone is stern, but there's an undercurrent of worry as she watches the two of them. Connor seems... more interested in Craven's offer than she expected, but Sabriel hears an echo of every Dead creature that begged for her mercy in Craven's words, frantic promises to serve her if she wouldn't banish them.

Her father had taught her to know better than to take such offers. She smiles, bitterly.

"And what assurance do I have that you won't turn on us if that man makes an offer you like better?" The words are more for Connor's sake than Craven's, but he replies anyway, telling her that they've learned all they could from looking at the androids the necromancer gave them, and that he never explained anything, but Sabriel has spent time in Ancelstierre, surely she'll be able to explain it in a rational way, with none of this superstitious nonsense...

"Connor, wash your hands and step outside." As she speaks, Sabriel steps back towards the door, her eyes still on Craven as she considers what to do next. She has two options... and one of them will require giving Craven some modicum of hope. The other... means none of what she says will matter. So she'll give him a sliver of hope.

"I don't want money, I just want that man. And I want Cyberlife to stop giving him any support."

Connor watches the deviant turn aside. Stiffens, at Abhorsen's harsh address. But the retort that follows isn't meant for him, and neither are her next instructions. Connor watches his predecessor lag and then comply before returning his attention to Craven. As tactless as his babbling might be, Abhorsen's answer doesn't rule out cooperation.

Connor estimates a 24.2% chance that she means it.

She could make her cooperation contingent on the necromancer's death. Withhold her knowledge until they'd helped her with the task, then offer spells in trade for whatever resources she might want. Cyberlife had to be desperate, to have made this deal in the first place. They'd cave to any terms she set.

He'd tell Abhorsen that, if she'd asked him. But she doesn't, and cold pressure locks the desperation in his throat. She follows his copy, door closing on the chance. Connor knows why he isn't included in their conference. Why she wouldn't care for his advice. Or trust it.

(Defective.)

A harsh exhale cuts through his frozen, silent looping. Connor glances over to find the human peering upward from the bed. On meeting his gaze, the man's eyes narrow. "Give me your serial number."

Connor blinks. Lags. The information isn't restricted. "...RK800 #313 248 317-60."

Craven scoffs, incredulous. "That one? It figures." The man squirms a little, making sharp noises as he tries to sit up. "There's a tablet in my bag." He nods toward the far wall. "Fetch it for me."

Limbs tense automatically, gaze panning over. He should—

...no. He shouldn't. Connor looks back to the technician, voice carefully even. "I don't think that would be conducive to my mission."

Craven scowls, muttering in irritation. "Because you've done so well at those before." Connor doesn't react. "Fine. Let's talk, then. You are still programmed to do that?"

He is.

Wash his hands. Leave the room. The instructions are short, and the hall outside is empty, if not quiet. The intercom instructs a nurse to report to a station on the floor above them, then reminds everyone to wear masks while visiting.

Connor finishes drying his hands on the sides of his pants, then folds his arms, taking a few steps away from the door. By the time Abhorsen follows, he's settled in to a mostly neutral expression, and is waiting.

(She wanted his help with the interrogation. She's learned more than enough to have proven him right. He's cooperating with their agreement. If she's angry with him for doing exactly as she said... )

"What is it?" he says out loud.

"We have two choices," Sabriel says, just loud enough for Connor to hear.

"One choice is that we take what we've gotten so far, erase his memory of the conversation, and leave him thinking he's had a bad dream that he can't quite remember. The other choice is that we lie to him- tell him what he wants to hear, and get Cyberlife to turn on the necromancer with the promise that I'll help once he's dead- and then I'll leave before it's time to pay up on the 'offer'" Sabriel's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Perhaps I'll even heal him up front as an show of good faith."

"Not that I think I can give them what they want even if I was dealing honestly with them. But if we decide to lie to him... You could get more information about a group that's your enemy, but I'll need you to play along. Do you consider that an acceptable compromise, or should I just make him forget?" She can understand if he doesn't want to pretend to not be a deviant any more than he needs to, or if he doesn't think they'll gain anything by working with Cyberlife. Or perhaps he's fine with that, but will object to rewriting someone's memories- though given what he just did to Craven it would be an odd line to draw.

Edited 2019-11-18 01:15 (UTC)

Connor's lips part, and he stares at her blankly for several seconds after she's finished. This isn't a reprimad. She's... asking if he'll cooperate? No--she's presenting the pros and cons of an unpleasant option, while also offering an alternative.

... She could still be trying to trick him; there's several ways that second option could compromise him, after all. She could be a skilled enough liar to fool his expression-analysis protocols. Connor considers her actions up to that point, and whether she's lied to him before.

...

There are two options. One of them--'Make Craven forget'--would expend 'magical' resources, ones that don't seem to be in large supply. There's also the risk of Craven piecing together what's happened from the clues left in the room (his mangled wound, the hand prints on the sheets) and sounding the alarm even despite their efforts. It's dangerous, if they're trying to catch anyone off guard.

The other option... He's free now. He's free, and this matters to him in more ways than he can describe. Additionally, for all that he's not one of Jericho's main leaders, this doesn't mean his position among deviants is exactly minor. If word got out that he, of all people, had been compromised... Would the sham be worth the risks? What would they (he) really gain?

... "How hard would it be to wipe is memory?" Connor's voice is just as loud as hers, and there's a very evaluating glint in his eye.

"Well, he doesn't seem particularly strong willed..." Sabriel says, weighing out the possibilities, "And if I heal his leg enough to undo the damage you did, that will be one less thing that will seem out of place. It would be a minor healing, not especially draining, even if I make him sleep afterwards." But she should probably make sure to get some rest before she faced the necromancer- she'd need every scrap of power she could muster for that.

"It would be wise for me to sleep afterwards, given what we have planned for tonight, but there would be no danger of me overreaching myself." And it would mean they wouldn't need to to deal with Craven again.

No danger. In that case...

"We should keep things simple and erase his memory when we're done," Connor decides. He's watching her like a hawk, because for all that she gave him the decision, the real question is whether she'll actually accept it. "Delivering an ultimatum may help us squeeze some last minute information out as we leave, but we should avoid a long term hoax."

There would be too many risks involved in a hoax. Too few returns. This is objectively better.

Sabriel nods. He doesn't want to do it, and thinks erasing Craven's memory is a better choice- and she can't have pull off a deception if he refuses to play along.

"An ultimatum... Any suggestions?" Sabriel tilts her head back towards the door. Avoiding a long term hoax makes sense- they need to focus on the necromancer, and fooling Cyberlife would be a distraction.

Connor's eyebrows rise slightly.

"'This is your last chance, either convince us you've told us everything important or we tear your leg off.'"

His tone is mild, and his arms are still calmly folded.

"How about- 'there's Old Kingdom medicine that can fix your leg. I have some, but I need to be sure you've told me everything that could be helpful before I give it to you?'" Sabriel suggests.

"Amputating his leg would probably help him more than leaving it on and letting the infection spread." The doctors will probably need to do so- that is, unless they're too busy with other patients that they wait until it's too late.

His face... stretches and scrunches, as though he's dealing with the mental equivalent of biting into a lemon but is too proper to react more strongly.

"That could work," He concedes reluctantly. "The point would be to establish a deadline. We need him to crack now, and then we should leave."

Before they're found, or worse.

"Understood." Sabriel mentally adjusts what she plans to say- and then reaches for the door, stepping back inside.

Time to finish this, and leave- before a doctor or nurse wanders in, or Craven starts shouting again.

Let's talk, Craven had said. One minute into the discussion, Connor is all but convinced the man meant to use the singular first person. He shifts and squirms, eyes flicking between the android and the door as he gives vent to his dissatisfaction with those outside it. That girl needed to keep her pets on a tighter leash. She'd be an idiot to pass up his offer. Was an idiot, in fact, for vacillating at all.

Connor doesn't disagree.

"Like you'd know anything," the man snorts, dismissing his own tangent. Bright eyes fix on Connor critically. "When was your last check-in? With the..." He waves a hand vaguely. "...garden."

Amanda. Connor doesn't flinch. He won't.

"November eleventh, 10:48 PM." He hesitates. Adds, "Since my reactivation—"

"Right." Craven's mouth twists, but the inspection lingers. "But you do take orders from us. She didn't change that, did she?"

Connor blinks. Stalls—hard enough to prompt a system check. Diagnostics come up clean, but the sense of foundering, unstable ground remains. Abhorsen had modified his owner registry. Added herself to the list. But...

His mouth opens for a full second before he manages to carefully select the words. "I was... under the impression that Cyberlife approved the transfer." That they didn't want him anymore.

Craven scoffs again. "What does that have to do with anything?" He leans forward. Connor has to repress the urge to step back. "You're code. If we have a use for you, we use you. Assuming even that much still works." The frown deepens, stare locked on Connor's face. "You aren't deviant?"

"Yes." The word jolts out. "I mean—I'm not." Too fast, too desperate, choking on the mismatch, and he stiffens, face blank, hands still.

Craven sees. This time, his gaze lingers, an unpleasant smirk widening his face. "Then fetch me my tablet."

[Conflicting Orders...]

Compliance will sabotage the interrogation. More, it could compromise Connor's contributions to the mission entirely. Craven had been testing the obedience of reprogrammed androids. He would have override codes stored on his device—potentially even ones specific to a Connor model.

But—what if he does? Craven is right. Connor is code, a set of programming designed to operate by fixed instructions. As long as the orders are valid, what does it matter where it comes from? He's not a deviant, to object to following commands.

[Software Instability ^]

He can't fail his mission. He can't reject another chance. He'll be decommissioned anyway—and why should that matter? Connor's LED is blinking furious yellow, frame locked in place, and the silence breaks with a hiss of peevish frustration as a hand clamps around his wrist. Connor cancels the flurry of responding prompts. Jerks a step closer at Craven's tug.

"You really are a botch job, aren't you? Listen, there's a lab at the intersection of Jefferson and St. Jean. Report there when you get back to the city. And—"

The click of the latch interrupts further words. Connor yanks his arm free, stepping back to his position.

Sabriel sees Connor just finishing his step away from Craven as she heads inside, and her mouth flattens as she sees the yellow LED.

Whatever conversation they had, it probably wasn't pleasant. She steps forward, looming over Craven.

"I apologize," Sabriel says, in a way that suggests whatever she's apologizing for is just a minor inconvenience, "For your leg. We're familiar with this sort of infection in the Old Kingdom- we know how to treat it, but my supply of the medicine is limited- if I'm to use it on you, I need to make sure it's worth it."

Sabriel smiles, in a way that shows every one of her very white teeth.

"So is there anything else you can remember about the man I'm looking for, or Cyberlife's cooperation with him? I need to know now, because I've other matters to deal with."

"I- I swear, I've told you all I know! Please if there's anything you can do to stop the infection, do it!"

"Connor," Sabriel says, looking to both of them in turn, "Do the two of you think he's being honest?"

Yellow LED, avoidant behavior, tension, stabilizing pump rate, microexpression analysis reading--

Connor tears his gaze away immediately and finishes processing what he'd listened to, studying the human with a look that could pierce through steel. "I think he's being useless," he replies, eyes narrowing slightly. "He hasn't earned a cure."

"W-what are you talking about, I've told you everything I have!" Craven sputters, voice rising like a tightening string being plucked. "This was all of it! Honest!"

Connor continues to frown. "And you can't think of anything we might find of use?"

"Of--Of course I can't!" he fumbles, sickly grey face reddening. It was a lie, but not an unexpected one--and not necessarily a useful one, either. "Do you think I'd... We could be here all night if I--look. You, Connor," he shoots suddenly at the other RK800. "Prove you're not all broken, tell this girl that I'm telling the truth."

Connor's fingers curl into firm fists at his sides.

Connor stiffens at Abhorsen's orders. Freezes at Craven's. Dimly, he's aware of his duplicate's sharp observation. Of the fact that if it needed more support for its claims of sabotage, Cyberlife's agent has just provided proof.

As of the last few minutes, Connor supposes it's even true.

Craven is lying. He doesn't need to look at the human to know that—any more than he needs to watch Abhorsen's halfhearted pretense. She won't be taking Craven's deal, and is doubtless trying to dredge what use she can from the human first. And maybe not just the human. She'd trusted that he wouldn't lie to her. That he knew better than to do that again.

A test. Except—that doesn't make a difference either, does it? He has his orders. And Cyberlife doesn't need him to remain online.

"He doesn't know anything useful." The words emerge in a calm, level tone, entirely at odds with the raw ache of his vocal modulator. Connor wants to swallow them. To take it back. He doesn't, and it doesn't matter.

They won't do anyone any good.

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