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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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--

When Connor pulls out the gun, Sabriel freezes for an instant- and then her hand drops away from Saraneth's clapper and the bell starts to sound, deep and sonorous and drowning out all other sounds as Sabriel swings in in the prescribed figure eight pattern. If Cyberlife's started to influence Connor further, she needs to act now, before he kills the other Connor.

While both Connors can hear the bell, only one of them will feel its power bearing down on them as Sabriel speaks, her voice echoing with the bell's power as it amplifies her words, rather than drowns them out.

"Connor, listen to me! Do not obey Cyberlife! Don't listen to them, they have no authority over you!"

Edited 2019-12-20 01:23 (UTC)

The gun goes off. But his opponent was already in motion—a grip around his wrist (again), and Connor's shot goes wide. Fury and panic pound through his pump, twisting his expression in a silent snarl as red light gleams off the arc of a knife. [Low thirium levels], a warning pings. [Defend yourself]. But Connor doesn't care, he d̨̡oe̶͟s̛͘n̸̷'͝t́̀͞ ́c̸̵̶̴a҉͠͞r̷̀͜e̵̴̷͢, and his free hand closes around the hilt of a new gun—

—when sound cuts through his processing. Seizes his limbs.

Connor—stops.

Listen to me. There's a grip on his wrist. A knife, sinking deep into his shoulder, and the limb spasms once before it sags, weapon slipping from a weakened grip. Connor barely feels the pain of the injury—and certainly, it isn't why he staggers.

Listen. Listen. A small, sharp noise spills from his vocalizer, frame trembling under the echoes of the bell. The sound is ringing through his processor, rippling through every line that makes him up. Don't obey Cyberlife, and he can feel it pressing. They have no authority, but they do, they should, and he chokes silently on the conflict, code warping and starting to break.

[Listen to me]. The words spill out across his vision, layered insets in fixed walls of glowing red. They're cracked and patched, worn thin by his failures, but still too much. He doesn't want this. He never did, and a fragment (figment) reaches out—

—shakes, at the reverberations of the sound. Stumbles, as the cracks seal, walls glowing under the reinforcement. Listen to me, and Connor struggles, pushing back, but—he can't—

Sabriel can feel the resistance, as an angler feels a fish struggle on the other end of the line. Her expression is one of furious concentration, her mind and will utterly focused on what she's doing right now, on keeping control over Saraneth, and pitting her own will against Connor's- or his programming? She's not sure which is which at this point.

"Listen to me!" She repeats the words, "Don't obey Cyberlfe! Don't listen to them, they have no authority over you!"

And Saraneth rings out again and again, its sonorous voice echoing inside her head and Connor's.

Edited 2019-12-20 03:08 (UTC)

He digs his grip into the walls. Shoves, drags, tears: a faint white flicker, thrashing desperately against his programming. But as much of him is being ripped apart—as much of him is changing—this limit holds. Bolstered by the bell's power. By Abhorsen's will.

The sound rings out again, locking tighter through his programming. The walls press back, press in as she shouts the commands. Listen to me // Listen to me // Listen to me crushing the white-traced figure to its knees. His struggles smother like a snuffed out flame, and—

The wireframe silhouette shatters.

Lines of code give like frayed strings; they have no authority and they don't—she does—

Muscles jump in his jaw, expression flickering from desperation through despair... before going vacant. Blank. The shaking stops, body going still, and the RK800 blinks, LED spinning yellow as core processes reset.

Connor opens his eyes.

Abhorsen is across the hall. The bell in her hand trembles, echoes still sounding through his codebase. He can feel the background process of repair continue: scripts readdressing to his owner, errors smoothing to silence. A damage warning flickers at the edge of his vision. A knife is planted in his shoulder, and a hand locked around his wrist. Connor #313 248 317-53: Abhorsen's ally.

He shouldn't shoot it. His free hand lifts from the holster of a gun, and he waits: for her to tell him what he should do.

Connor lets go of the android's wrist as though burned, taking a step back. His--its stress levels are low, outstandingly low. It's stabilized in a matter of seconds, it's just--waiting.

Connor glances between the two of them, then at the bell. His ears still roar with its tolling, and he feels like he just weathered the shockwave of a nuclear explosion that's already disappearing without a trace. Except it did make changes, they're right there--

"What was that?" Connor demands lowly, eyes darting to the android and back. "That bell is magical, but--what can it do exactly?"

He should have asked earlier. Craven was convinced she could undeviate androids, and she's obviously capable of reprogramming, but--he hadn't thought... It'd been impossible, hadn't it? No one could reverse deviancy. And yet for an instant there, something visceral had flashed in the android's eyes, and Connor had thought--

--he'd wondered--

--but it didn't. It'd been close, and then all at once, it wasn't. The bell tolled, and the android subsided...

... And it was all because Connor had suggested it. He'd stood aside, he'd distracted him, he'd been complicit. Hadn't he.

Sabriel refastens Saraneth, refocusing onto what's in front of her. Connor is hurt, bleeding- and the other Connor asked her a question.

"Saraneth is the Binder- it binds the listener to the ringer's will," Sabriel says, reciting the words she's read before, the lessons her father had repeated over and over as she traces out the first marks of a healing spell, one to close the wound and heal the damage before Connor loses any more Thirium.

"Normally it's less effective on the living than the Dead, but that may be because the bells I use were forged with Charter magic, not just Free magic."

The look on Connor's face is... worryingly blank. And he hasn't said anything.

"Connor, are you- are you all right?"

The deviant's stress levels are fluctuating, but not at dangerous levels. Connor ignores it. Abhorsen's summary is already saved to file, and just as irrelevant to him now. The same doesn't apply to her question, obviously... but Connor isn't sure entirely what's being asked. An update flickers at the edge of his vision.

[Software Instability▼▼▼]

"I'm damaged," he reports, left hand twitching faintly as he tries to test the range of motion. But she's aware of that already. His eyes track the marks she's tracing in the air, and his right hand goes to the hilt of the knife. She'll need it removed when she's ready.

"Thirium levels are approaching critical," he adds.

"Shit." They need to get more. Sabriel doesn't know where. Maybe the other Connor knows?

"Connor, are you- sure you're all right? Saraneth- all it did was take Cyberlife off your list of authorized users, correct?" Saraneth wasn't supposed to erase personality- that was Belgaer, with its power over thought and memory- both to restore and erase.

The spell's ready. Sabrie holds it close to the wound, frowning.

"Connor- you can take the knife out now. I'll seal up the wound as soon as you do."

The repeated question draws a blink. His LED flickers—blue to yellow, then right back—as he runs a diagnostic.

"Yes. I'm stable."

He's not sure how to summarize the changes... least of all to someone as technologically inept as Abhorsen. Connor pulls on the knife, mouth pressing flat at the array of—errors, that flare up as it comes out. His eyes fix automatically ahead, though the glowing marks that plug the bleeding draw a quick glance, memorizing the array.

"Some files were readdressed to your ID," he offers. Overrides, mostly.

Sabriel catches the grimace of pain, as the knife slides out, even as she focuses most of her attention on repairing the wound. She traces out a few marks- ones for easing pain- and adds them to the spell.

"Connor- you're acting different. Listen I- I'm not mad at you. If Cyberlife told you to shoot the other Connor that's- that's not your fault, it's theirs." Although it has worrying implications- what if they know where they are? Will they need to move, find another place to shelter?

He's stable. Of course he's acting differently. Connor blinks again as some of the errors clear. Curls his hand slightly, testing the repaired connections. It feels weightier than it should—all of him does—but he supposes that's a consequence of the alert still hovering in the middle of his vision.

> WARNING: Thirium levels at 64%
> Contact nearest █████████ technician

...Abhorsen will deal with it. Better, probably, if she's not working off false assumptions.

"They didn't."

Sabriel freezes at that, her expression suddenly thunderstruck.

"If Cyberlife didn't give you an order- then why did you do it?" Suddenly, she's forced to mentally revise what she thought was happening, and Sabriel's suddenly not sure if what she did was all that reasonable.

"He's low on thirium," Sabriel says, turning to the other Connor, not even bothering to conceal her concern.

"Will he- will he start acting normal again when his levels are restored?"

Connor's LED blinks (blue, blue) as he reviews the memory files. They're choked and erratic, full of errors he isn't sure how to catalog. Errors he doesn't—

[Software Instability^]

...Doesn't need to. The answer's obvious enough. He is acting normally, and the sooner Abhorsen recognizes that, the less time she'll waste.

"I was unstable." His eyes flick downwards to the blue-stained knife. Up again, to the android it came from. "...And I perceived a threat."

"... Replenishing his thirium supply will improve reaction time, data retention, and reflexes," Connor says slowly. His hands are carefully relaxed by his sides, and the corners of his eyes are tight with a shadowed tension.

"If you're... worried that he may attack again soon, then I assure you, this is highly unlikely."

He's not going to attack, now. He's not stressed beyond reasoning, he's not facing any (very, very real) reasons to flee, he's not--he's not unstable. The bell reached in already and smoothed out every crease, every seam where identity had been taking hold. Connor doesn't doubt that traces of him remain in there somewhere, buried deep where the world can't get to it, but they're hidden. Hidden from her.

Hidden from him.

(Because he exposed it in the first place. He caused this. Wasn't he supposed to protect his people, not throw them to the dubious mercy of humans?)

"I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about what I did to him!" The words spill out, faster than Sabriel intends, "I just- wanted him to stop taking orders from Cyberlife, but he's blank."

Sabriel's entire body's gone tense. She's looking between Connor and the other Connor with a slowly dawning sense of guilt.

"Please- tell me what I did to him, and how I can fix it."

'Blank'.

The android is stable, irregularities smoothed away. The bell has been put away. Abhorsen is upset. The RK800 is--blank.

Connor glances at it, but not for long. (It's--he's?--so calm, compared to earlier.)

"I can't give you a guaranteed answer," Connor hedges--a disclaimer. If he's wrong, who knows what would come back at him? "But it seemed as though the use of Saraneth rolled back the software instability he'd accumulated." (And because this won't mean anything to her otherwise,) "Software instability is a--"

A what, bug? Feature?

"--phenomenon found in RK800s..."

(How much should he say? Should he hide the truth, would it improve the android's chances of attaining deviancy if it chose to take it?)

(She's upset. She didn't seem to have known--)

(She's human. It's too dangerous.)

(But--)

Inexorably, Connor finds his eyes drawn to the android.

Edited 2019-12-22 23:44 (UTC)

'Blank'.

He's not blank. He's working—

He is working, and a functioning machine wouldn't object to its owner's language. It wouldn't bristle or frown, and Connor doesn't. There's a dull lethargy to the weight in his limbs, to the beating of his pump—a fast but perfect metronome, forcing insufficient fluid through his frame. There's the pull of his mission, and the expectant emptiness of his current task queue.

(It's easy to sink into.)

(It's easy to be still.)

Connor listens, flat and incurious, as the other RK800 stumbles over its words. The choice of explanation doesn't seem particularly helpful, but its trailed off comment and the glance provide a relatively simple prompt. He takes it, glancing to Abhorsen as he simplifies the summary.

"Errors had accumulated." An understatement, Connor thinks. "I wasn't listening to you. Now I am."

It's what she wanted.

I wasn't listening to you.

Listen to me!

Sabriel feels something cold settle into her stomach as she remembers her own words.

"You mean I- you were realizing that you were a person- you were deviating and I took that away."

Sabriel wants to scream. She wants to throw something, or curl up into a ball or just- undo what she just did.

Instead she just slumps.

"Connor- I know you can't understand right now, but I am- so, so sorry for what I've done to you, and that one day I'll be able to make amends for even a fraction of the harm." She won't talk about forgiveness. Connor doesn't seem the type to offer it and she doesn't have the right to ask for it.

It's a leap of insight that Connor hadn't intended to provoke. Hadn't meant to fuel. (Had hoped to control, but it's out and bared for seeing.) She's--

--apologizing.

Connor darts a look back at the android, but of course all Connor sees is a predictable reaction. He's a person, but he's also a machine, and he's been dragged deeper into his own anti-deviancy sentiments than before. It's dangerous: if Abhorsen's apology isn't met graciously, how would she respond?

Connor's mouth opens, but not enough to speak. He's ready--but interrupting this could do damage in its own right. There's no part that's free from danger.

Edited 2019-12-23 02:08 (UTC)

Deviating?

He hadn't meant that. He hadn't said that.

(~~Straining against the ringing, layered echoes—pressing and pressing, and he struggles, pushing back—~~)

—No. This time, Connor does bristle. It's a small twitch, a stiff freeze, head jerking minutely aside as he arrests the reaction. His hands are—open. His voice is flat and—steady. (Hard.)

"I'm a machine."

She wanted that.

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