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

"That sounds reasonable," Sabriel says, nodding her head in assent. Apparently, he wants to see if Craven gave any orders- or if Cyberlife's given Connor orders by other means.

Sabriel hopes he's wrong about that, but she can't really blame him for being careful.

She's agreed. That means the RK800 is required to comply.

Connor reaches forward, clasping it over its forearm's sleeve. The milimeters of fabric aren't enough to interfere with the interface, and Connor--

--Connor starts through the interface protocols with no communication, not even a polite glance or a greeting. If Connor were asking for the android's assistance, then he would prompt him to offer up information on his own. Instead Connor sends commands to open the appropriate files directly, skipping the time he would waste navigating system directories.

It's not a clean process. Even before the memory itself surfaces, Connor is receiving stray bits of code that don't have a clear purpose. They're distracting, and if it weren't for the fact that they seem just as detrimental to the memory's host as himself, he would take it as a deliberate move to interfere. But--

--but the code isn't deliberate. The code is filled with a caustic boiling in his gut, a heatless fire in his lungs that can't be breathed out. It's filled with a sickening ice that threatens to weaken his joints despite there being no damage, and--not a single one of it is Connor's.

Connor isn't the structure swaying under the storm of his emotions. The other android is, caught up in enough stress and system instability that it's a distraction of its own.

Connor shakes himself internally, turning back to the memory with the correct time stamp.

'Give me your serial number...'

Outwardly, Connor's face has settled into a frown of concentration, with his eyelids flickering. Inwardly he's pushing his own fear and suspicion and violent need to survive into a shape that's supposed to help him, keeping him focused. Craven acts the way Connor expects him to. The RK800--

--endures. It's--he's--at the human's mercy, and Connor doesn't miss the way his instability and emotions spike. Connor feels--

--Complicated. Now isn't the time to explore it.

The memory finishes. Connor spares a glance around as his own memory finishes saving, but he doesn't linger, jumping directly again to his task queues.

>313-248-317-60: Display [Current Mission].
>>> Apprehend [Necromancer].
>313-248-317-60: Display Standing Orders.
>>> Don't talk ask about what happened at [Wyverly College]
>>> Don't talk about [Abhorsen's Family]
>>> Don't talk about "what it means to be Abhorsen"
>>> Tell [Abhorsen] if [313-248-317-60] takes new damage
>>> Don't threaten [Deviants] or start fights
>>>>>>Note: paired with 'Defend self if [Deviants] threaten [313-248-317-60]
>>> Report to Cyberlife.
>>> Disregard previous order.
>>>>>> WARNING: Conflciting orders...

Connor pauses, lips thinning.

>>> Answer [313-248-317-53's] questions
>>>Allow [313-248-317-53] to examine stated memory logs and task queues
>>>Tell [Abhorsen] if [313-248-317-53] deviates from stated goals

...It's thorough. There's no signs of tampering or connections to hidden lists that would suggest more sinister goals.

Connor scrutinizes it for a second or two more before withdrawing completely, letting go digitally and physically.

Edited 2019-12-09 03:47 (UTC)

Of course it pushes for more access. Of course. His eyes narrow, lips parting to demand it narrow down its inquiry... when Abhorsen cuts in with unilateral agreement. Connor closes his mouth and stills: as a hand latches on around his wrist for the second time inside an hour.

[Allow RK800 #313 248 317-53 access]

He doesn't need to grant permission. The other unit doesn't ask it. Its probe cuts in, his systems answer, and Connor waits, empty and mechanical, as his mind unfurls for review. Its attention is a sharp, quick lens, honing in on every detail. Grasping and prying, trailing sharp flickers of mistrust behind it. Echoes of its impulse to survive.

Connor hates it. He wants to rip it from his memories. Tear in, break it to pieces—break both of them from the inside out. He will, if it tries anything. He won't be the only one it ruins.

It doesn't try. He doesn't fight. The shift of attention passes slowly through every item in his queue before at last withdrawing. Connor patches his security back into place. Jerks his arm back. Synthetic skin returns to cover it, and he stares flatly at his predecessor before shifting his gaze to the seat ahead.

Abhorsen is waiting for its assessment. Connor wonders, distantly, if it intends to lie.

At this point, he doubts it will make a difference.

Connor's own skin smooths back over his exoskeleton, and his LED switches from a steady yellow cycle to a yellow that's blinking like tiny, ongoing fireworks. Across from him, the RK800's has switched back to red.

"... Craven's order to report to Cyberlife is still there. So is the conflicting order to ignore this." He glances towards her. "There appear to be no other tasks except ones you've assigned."

Sabriel can't help letting out a sigh of relief at that. There was no betrayal, no elaborate plot to hurt her- her trust hadn't been entirely misplaced.

"So there was no elaborate plot, Connor wasn't sabotaging me, and Craven was just being opportunistic," Sabriel offers. "All we really need to do is take away Cyberlife's authority over Connor."

His eyebrows twitch at the oversimplifications. "Yes..."

... But.

"But unless he deviates, it won't be as simple as it sounds. Cyberlife is written into the foundations of android AI, and was never meant to be removed."

As much as he hates to consider it, even Connor doesn't know every way that Cyberlife shaped androids to serve the company. He'd thought once that he knew--then he'd lost control, and he'd almost frozen, and from then on his confidence was a front. He didn't know for sure, and this might never change.

"Connor... This may sound rather like bragging, but I added myself to his ownership registry without trying. I was actually just trying to get answers to a few questions." And in forcing him to answer, she'd altered his programming.

Who knew what she could do if she made an effort?

It was a thought that ought to have been reassuring- she was a powerful Charter mage and necromancer, an Abhorsen who could handle herself no matter where she was... but instead it left her feeling vaguely unnerved. What could she do to them? What if she hurt them without meaning to? They didn't seem to break like most technology when faced with magic, but how far did that truly go?

Her reply plops into the path of his thinking like a rock, and it takes a moment to eddy around it. It must not have been hard for her to add herself to the ownership registry if they were giving her ownership--except. Except she added herself? For a moment he sticks on 'why did she have to', but the fact that she did, and she did so alone grows much louder.

There are questions begging to be asked. He wishes he knew what answers to hope for.

"What are you talking about?" He settles on, eyes tracking her expressions like a hawk. "How did... What are you talking about?"

Sabriel looks.. distinctly uneasy. But she probably owes the other Connor an actual explanation.

"When I first came to Detroit, I was aware of the possibility that the necromancer might be able to use androids as his kind normally use human corpses. So I went to Cyberlife to gain more information." At the mention of Cyberlife, Sabriel's expression grows flat.

"They weren't helpful. At the time, I thought they were simply ignorant, but now I wonder... in any case, I was frustrated, I wandered off- into a labratory. I found Connor- or his body, rather. I thought I might go into Death, to see if he had a spirit, and if so, try to get answers out of him."

"As is clearly evident now, he did have a spirit, and I did get answers out of him- but I had to use Saraneth to do it, as he initially refused to answer. I was interupted when someone from Cyberlife discovered my body, and I had to return to Life- and he followed me, returning to Life alive as well, rather than as some Dead thing. But I'd altered his programming in the process."

"I... had a discussion with Cyberlife personnel. I tried to explain that the necromancer was dangerous, that he was a threat to them and their reputation, and that Connor could help me stop him. At the time, I thought I'd convinced them." Now, it was clear she hadn't, that they were just trying to humor her, and make her go away.

Connor feels like his optical units might crack from staring so hard. He turns his head to the other RK800--the mistake, the stolen unit, the unit that's been swept up in this like dirt tracked into a clean room, like dust contaminants on a labcoat sleeve--and back to her.

"You trespassed into a restricted Cyberlife laboratory and resurrected a nondeviant android by awakening its soul, and leading it back into life by accident," he repeats. "Did I understand that correctly?"

"Cyberlife was.. rather disorganized while I was there. I was able to just walk into the laboratory," Sabriel says, a little defensively. She hadn't realized the laboratory was restricted.

"But other than that- yes, I think you understand correctly. More than the people who were actually there at the time." They hadn't believed... anything, until she'd rephrased it into a form that didn't mention magic.

He'd never claimed to have a soul. He's still not convinced Abhorsen wasn't the one misunderstanding. Like she had with so much else. Connor meets the deviant's incredulity with a flat glare, fingers curling slightly against the seat. It doesn't need to put words to the rest of its gaping.

Connor knows he was a mistake. Abhorsen's said as much before. What he doesn't know is why she hasn't fixed it.

She just walked in to an unattended laboratory. And accidentally resurrected a nondeviant android by calling on its soul. Turning every principle Cyberlife worked with on its ear. And she got away with it because it was so outrageous, the resident technicians must not have even understood what she'd really done. And it hadn't even part of any deliberate strategy to begin with, it'd happened by chance.

"... I see," Connor says, words that carry libraries of meaning in just those two syllables.

This may explain, slightly, why his counterpart is the way he is.

Turning his attention back to the original question is difficult, but Connor does so with a herculean effort. "With all this in mind, it may not be impossible to alter his programming without catastrophic damage." (If her methods were likely to break him, wouldn't Connor have seen signs of it through the interfaces?) "We should try."

"Once we get back to the house," Sabriel agrees, inclining her head, "And I wouldn't have suggested it if I thought it was going to hurt him."

Although she had to admit she wasn't doing a good job of keeping him safe. If she had been, she wouldn't have left him alone with Craven.

The rest of the ride passes mostly in deeply uncomfortable silence, until they arrive at their temporary base. trudging through a fresh inch of snow to the front door.

"I'll- I'll get the bells," Sabriel says, "We might as well get this over with."

Red. Red. Connor has given up, by now, on spinning down the light at his temple. He focuses instead on keeping his face blank, his stare forward, his steps—moving, rigid and mechanical, into the house. He stops when Abhorsen does. Listens, light blinking like an echo, as his counterpart closes the door behind.

(He doesn't want to be here.)

(He doesn't "want"—)

She'll get the bells. [Stress Levels^ 88%]. It's not an inquiry, and it doesn't need a reply. He waits in the entryway as she turns and leaves, calculating each step on automatic. Forty-seven paces, to the room she'd rested in last night. Forty-seven back. Two minutes, perhaps, if she took her time strapping on the bandolier.

Probably less.

[Report to Cyberlife]. The objective flickers in his vision. The deviant had taken the address, and doubtless passed it on to its accomplices. But if he left now, he might still make it to the lab in time. If he could deal with his predecessor. If Abhorsen didn't catch him in the act. She wouldn't even need a line of sight to stop him—especially not if she reached the bells first. All preconstructions end the same—he has to wait, to have any chance of a success.

He'll wait. She'll clear the task from queue. And he won't have any reason left to leave.

Connor's eyes flit toward the door.

'She wouldn't have suggested it if she'd thought it would hurt him.' If Connor said 'of course', his true meaning would be too obvious. Instead he simply lifts his eyebrows and nods, as though agreeing to a point in a different conversation, where she was making a simple observation of an obvious fact she'd taken into account.

The conversation lapses. Connor glanced left to his counterpart, where his red LED burned at his temple. That... was something he should probably monitor. Connor makes a note, then looks forward, pretending not to be paying attention as the drive continues.

They arrive.

Abhorsen excuses herself and vanishes down the hallway.

The android's LED continues to cycle red, red, red, and Connor watches it carefully, hands hanging calmly at his sides. (If they're near his guns--no, it's not a coincidence.)

The android is experiencing distress. Not as deeply as a deviant would, but--probably as deeply as he ever has in his short existence. Connor... has no way of mitigating this. They could change their minds on whether or not to make the changes to his code, but that's--

--dangerous. Risky. They're making those changes for a reason, and the only thing Connor can think of that would be more ethical would be to deviate it entirely. And considering that doing this would entail removing all controls to an android Connor isn't convinced wouldn't attack him, given a moment's freedom to do so...

... Connor watches it watch the door. He can't let it go. He doesn't want it--him--to be distressed. He doesn't want to sooth it nearly enough to change what they're doing.

The LED is still flaring red.

"Are you prepared for this process?" Connor blurts quietly, watching him. "Is there anything about it that will cause your stress levels to increase?"

It's a practical question, considering his stress right now. It's--

--just practical.

He reaches for a gun. It draws its own, firing within 0.05 seconds of his shot. Both units are damaged (59%) or deactivated (41%), and Abhorsen returns at the sound.

[Preconstruction: failed]

He lunges for its weapon arm. The grab is successful (82%), but its other hand is free. At his current level of thirium depletion, Connor has a 46.2% chance of winning the ensuing fight. Analysis returns only 1.6% odds of doing so in time to flee.

[Preconstruction: failed]

Connor's eyes stay on the door. It's his peripheral vision that tracks the deviant, adding every minute twitch to his projections. Calculating and recalculating in a useless, frozen loop. It's too late to run. It's too late to change anything—do anything, but face the consequence of his mistakes. He's going to be fixed. Made useful.

He thought he wanted that.

	He ducks past the deviant...
	He sprints for the back door...

[Failed]. [Failed]. The doorknob (64% copper, 36% zinc) is worn, small scuffs reflecting a flickering red glow. It takes him a moment to realize he's being spoken to. To look away, even when he does.

"...Why?" The word is sharp. The sneer he drags across his face feels—less so.

"Are you going to ask her to fix those, too?"

The words 'Will I need to?' make it to the tip of his tongue, and it takes more effort to reel them back in than he's proud of. The android is stressed, and he's more than justified. In the end Connor really doesn't know what sort of process he's arranged, does he?

"No," Connor says instead. Calmly. "I'm just... checking for what needs to be accounted for."

It's a pathetic response, and it's just as well that he can hear Abhorsen's footsteps approaching down the hall just then.

They'll get this over with soon.

Sabriel's footsteps are almost.. hesitant as she heads towards them. She's buckled the bandolier on, but hasn't taken out Saraneth. She's never done something like this, and and she's not sure she should, but what else can she do? Killing Connor isn't an option, and he'd made it clear he didn't want to deviate.

"I'm ready," She says, just a little too quickly as her fingers start unfastening Saraneth. "You should probably stand a little bit further apart- Saraneth is one of the more... obedient bells, but even so..."

Edited 2019-12-17 01:37 (UTC)

[Stress Levels^ 90%]

[Stress Levels^ 91%]

His eyes snap toward the hallway at the sound, arresting the knot of loathing that had been swelling in his throat. Something lingers, cold and choking, but no words emerge from Connor's open mouth. Not as Abhorsen steps forward. Not as the deviant steps out of range.

He should move too—should comply, the instruction tugs at him. But his legs won't move. His joints are stalled, eyes locked on the bell and on her fingers: moving to take it like so many times before. But this time, it's not a weapon for the dead. Not an idle musing, not a threat. This is happening.

[Stress Levels^ 93%]

Hands curl into fists. A single step jolts through his frame—back.

Toward the door.

The movement is enough to draw Connor's eye immediately. His hand floats to where his gun is tucked away--but no, gunfire would draw attention, and without pause the hand drifts to where he's secreted a kitchen knife instead.

And then--

--His other hand comes up, empty--a universal hand gesture, one that tells her to--

"Wait," he says, eyes still locked on the android in front of him. "Hold on."

Sabriel freezes, her fingers wrapped around Saraneth's clapper, to keep it from sounding. Connor- the real one- is clearly unhappy, as much as he expresses anything, and Sabriel can't blame him. So when the other Connor asks her to stop- she does. Charter marks move over the surface of the bell, both the silvery metal and the mahogany handle- and she can feel it trembling in her grip, trying to sound.

"Yes?" Sabriel pauses. "Is something wrong?"

"Just wait," he says by way of answering, still watching him. "Please."

A beat passes. Another.

"Connor," he says, turning his attention towards him completely. The hand that's already up, the gesture to wait, lowers. Instead it's reaching as though to reassure the other android--it's intended to be calming.

"Your stress levels are dangerously high. In case it wasn't clear before, no one here is going to hurt you. Abhorsen is just going to..." He glances. "Ring her... instrument. Then then the magic will take hold, and this will all be resolved."

He h͜a̸s̨ to run.

He can't. He won't make it—

(He doe̕s͏̷͟n̢'͢͞t҉̵ ̷̧́c̕a̛r̷͟ę̕—)

He's broken; he should want to be set right.

Connor is failing, again, and once again, the preconstructions blur across his view. Running. Shooting. Being shot. None of them seem any worse than standing here, right now—

The deviant blurts out a word, and for a moment, everything goes still. Abhorsen, fingers wrapped around the bell. His own frame, tensed to move, eyes jerking only for a moment from his owner. It's enough to take in his predecessor: one hand outstretched, voice pitched in a careful simulacrum of calm.

...Lying. Pacifying. Just like they were programmed for... and true to form, its other hand stays back. Fingers curled upwards, halfway into the sleeve where Connor knows from experience it keeps a knife. Just like another Connor model, hand outstretched on a dark rooftop (and Connor r̀͢é̴̕m̷͏e͟͡m̸̛b̶̀e̷̵r̨̢s͡ the weight of that first gun—)

[Defend yourself] is still appended to his local registry. The noise that emerges from his vocal module is small: a choked, incredulous laugh.

"...How fucking stupid do you think I am?"

It should have gone for the gun. His head pivots to his copy and he snaps his own weapon from the holster, raising it with one sharp squeeze—

Things start happening very quickly. The other android reaches for its gun. Connor is closer to his knife than to his own gun, and he completes the motion to draw it, blade glinting in the low light.

By the time it's out the gun is also up. Connor closes the distance with one, two steps, striking like a snake with his empty hand--

--He reaches the android's wrist. The gun goes off, thunderous in the confined space, and the bullet passes four inches away from his right ear. With the gun arm out of the way, Connor strikes with the knife, knowing his disabling hit might be blocked and already planning ahead--

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