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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Sabriel freezes when she hears the crash- and then lunges for the door as she hears the gunshots. mind already reaching back into the Charter as she yanks the door open, leaving her bell bandolier hanging on a kitchen chair.

She can see Connor- both of them- and a smear of fresh thirium, and Sabriel feels her heart start to pound.

"Connor, what's going on-" There's no command in her words, just urgency as she starts charging forward.

>313-248-317-53: WARNING: CRITICAL BIOCOMPOENTS OFFLINE

The smears turns into a bloom, and then it's a steady flow, stark blue bleeding from each of the wounds on his chest. Connor sags to the floor, leaving a bright streak of blue in his wake. Somehow he didn't drop his gun in the chaos, but his hand is slippery and unstable, and he can barely aim.

Abhorsen is here. Either she'll stop the deviant, or he'll shoot her. Connor's mouth opens, and the gun comes up--but for all that he's facing the android, his aim wavers badly, and he's split in two mentally by the conflict.

She's here too soon, she'll stop him and undeviate him--
--he's going to kill her, and Connor also, Connor was an idiot not to plan for this--
--This was the only right choice he'd had, the deviant needs to leave--
--Connor is dying, was it worth it?--
--He needs to help one of them. Which one?--

Connor's aim pulls towards Abhorsen, but it's useless. The gun drops.

Edited 2019-12-29 07:31 (UTC)

Both shots strike home, and the other Connor slumps down to the floor. It's down—it's dying, and Connor steps back, pump humming out a thrill of sheer relief—

—when footsteps scatter, a door crashes open, and—

His owner lunges out into the hall.

Connor's throat closes. Connor's frame jolts back. All at once, his steps feel too slow, his limbs too heavy, the warnings of low thirium suddenly a beacon at the edge of his view even as his weapon jerks toward center mass. He doesn't see the bells. Does she not have them?

(Does he—have a chance?)

Distantly, the warning flags: his predecessor, raising its gun. Wavering, off-target, but still so easily a risk. Connor barely registers it. Can't drag his eyes from Abhorsen—from her hands and mouth, from the spells she could flick towards him with barely a thought. He remembers being frozen. He remembers being blind.

She doesn't need her bells to stop him.

[Stress Levels^^^ 94%]

He squeezes the trigger. He doesn't stop to see whether it hits. Connor turns and runs, bracing for his joints to lock, his limbs to stop responding. Yanks the door open, half expecting to hear the peal of a bell, freezing him in place. Putting him back, like that, again.

Nothing stops him as he turns the corner. He won't stop either—not until he's far away.

Sabriel's eyes meet Connor's, and she freezes for a moment, and suddenly her shock is joined by a sudden, irrational surge of relief, that Connor can- feel. Feel anything.

Then he fires the gun.

A scream rips out of Sabriels throat as a bullet tears through the flesh of her right arm, and when she looks up, Connor's- gone, and she can feel the other Connor dying as she stumbles towards him, reaching into the Charter for the basic spells she knows to mend wounds and stop bleeding, tracing the with her good arm over her own wound, as the bleeding slows, then stops. It still hurts to mover her arm- the wound isn't fully healed, and using it too much will reopen the wound- but she's stopped the bleeding, at the very least.

"Hold on."

Every thought, every plan, has fallen out of her head except keeping herself- and the android in front of her- alive. Sabriel reaches back into the Charter for master marks of healing, fighting back the wave of exhaustion as she starts tracing out the marks of a powerful healing spell.

"I won't- let you die."

Edited 2019-12-29 08:28 (UTC)

Connor has been shot, stabbed, thrown back on a wave of rage and hate and promised violence--but Abhorsen's gesture has him flinching before contact.

"What are you doing?" he grinds out. His eyes are showing more white around his pupils, now, and he's found the strength to tighten his grip on the gun, going rigid and having nowhere to run to.

"It's too late. You can't stop him from running." His mind feels like a ship in a hurricane, like he's swimming to catch up with all that's happened in the span of a second or two. "It's done. I already--..."

Vague notions of threatening her if she tries to undeviate him fall apart as the marks find matches in his memories.

Healing--?

She's repairing him before she undeviates him, he realizes, staring at the marks. Isn't she? ('Die', she won't let him 'die'.)

He doesn't know what's happening, and he's trembling with coiled stress and tension, like a cobra bunched up and poised to strike.

Edited 2019-12-29 20:40 (UTC)

Sabriel's not sure if Connor's simply incoherent from blood loss, or trying to tell her something. And she needs to concentrate on the spell anyway.

"You- did you fix what I did?" Sabriel can't quite keep the hope out of her voice. Or does he mean that Cyberlife's taken control of Connor, and it's too late, this Connor let him get away?

Sabriel can't think too much about that now- she needs to focus on the spell as she sets all the marks in order and lets the spell go, the marks arranging themselves in a spiral as one after another, they enter the wound and start to take effect, even as she slumps to the floor, not dying but utterly exhausted, her consciousness rapidly fading.

I overreached again is her last conscious thought before sleep takes her.

Edited 2019-12-29 21:01 (UTC)

Did he... what?

The marks find their places. He glances down as the wounds close, then at her as she sinks to the floor with a whisper of cloth and impact. Connor opens his mouth, but she's not listening, and he closes it again, reaching up to touch the knife wound. (It's the messier one of the two, with torn splits in the exoskeleton and an open chunk that'd been ripped out--)

The new exoskeleton is as thin as a chicken-egg's membrane. He's not bleeding, and his 'lung' is re-sealed.

Connor swallows, furrowing his brow at her, then back at his blue-stained hand.

Why--?

... Why?

Connor preconstructs leaving. He could walk out the door back to Jericho, he could take the gun in his hand or on the floor and point it at her--

--His gun is already pointed at the upper line of her back. Connor stares when he realizes it, and after a moment of heavy deliberation, he reholsters it.

Then he carefully creeps forward to study her. If he were human, he would need to reach forward, but as he is he can measure her pulse visually, can estimate her ease of breathing by the puff of her lips and the rise and fall of her chest.

He's not bleeding anymore. The patches are thin, but considering her current state and her past record, this doesn't seem like a deliberate slight, no matter how much a human might think it was deserved.

(She might kill him when she wakes. She'll have recovered her energy by then. Despite his new and old abilities, he'd be helpless.)

Connor gathers his feet under himself, testing his balance and the durability of his newly-healed wounds.

Looks around.

Then he crouches, gingerly gathers her close, and lifts her in his arms. The sitting room is five steps away, and for all that she's lean, RK800s weren't built for strength. They make it without incident, and Connor stops by the first furniture he passes, a short and overstuffed loveseat, and he carefully tips her into it.

She doesn't wake. Despite Connor's care, one of the membranes patching his stab's split edges has torn, and Connor presses a hand over it, mouth tightening.

First things first. His LED switches yellow, and he starts his message to Jericho. When it ends he looks towards her again. The hole in her sleeve is stained red, but it doesn't seem to be spreading.

Connor presses a hand flat over his stab wound, and leaves to search for a temporary patch.

Several hours later, Sabriel wakes, to the sound of footsteps, and a doorbell, and she's jolted awake, suddenly disoriented and unsure why she's on the couch, and why her arm aches.

Then the memory comes rushing back, and Sabriel feels her stomach drop-Connor's- gone and she doesn't know if he's all right again. And- the other Connor was hurt, but- Sabriel reaches out, tentatively with her Death-sense, but doesn't feel any recent deaths.

So he survived too. She's glad.

Slowly, carefully, Sabriel sits up, setting her feet on the floor, but not standing up- not yet. She examines her arm- the wound's staying closed, but she probably needs to renew the spell.

She needs to talk to Connor- the other Connor, not the one who shot her. She needs to understand what happened.

There's low voices from down the hall. A long zipper opens and closes--too heavy to be attached to clothes, it's probably for a bag--and then the talking continues. After a few exchanges the door closes, and there are more footsteps.

Connor reappears in the doorway, frowning at a heavy backpack in his hands, but his attention jolts forward before he takes more than a step in:

She's awake.

...

What now? She's not attacking. She seems alert. She doesn't seem--furious. After a few seconds of carefully weighing it, Connor steps further into the room, stopping where the loveseat doesn't block his view.

"Good morning," he opens neutrally. Her color suggests improved circulation, and the subtle trembling in her hands before she passed out has stabilized. She's recovered.

"How are you feeling?" he asks anyway.

"Is it still morning?" That would be good- it means she hadn't been asleep for too long.

But there's something else she needs to know, something far more important, and Sabriel leans forward as she speaks, her tone growing more urgent as her fingers dig into the loveseat's cushions, watching Connor with wide black eyes.

"Something happened to Connor. Is he-" Sabriel struggles for the right words, hope and concern warring in her expression, "Better? Or did Cyberlife- start giving him orders again?"

It's not still morning. It's actually late evening, and the sun is partially set, and Connor opens his mouth to say as much.

He breaks off when Abhorsen leans forward to speak again.

When she does... She seems earnest. Sincere. Her usual tells for lies aren't showing. If he's mistaken, it could mean his death, or worse.

There's nothing for it. "Cyberlife did not give him orders. He deviated." Connor pauses. "... I deviated him."

"You can do that?"

Sabriel slumps back, relief instantly overtaking her features, and for a moment there's a flicker of a smile. Connor's all right. Cyberlife isn't in control of him, he was in... functioning condition last she saw him, and she's sure he'll get thirium from somewhere.

"So he's all right, except for the thirium. That's- that's wonderful news, but why didn't you do it sooner?"

It's not an accusatory question- rather, it's one asked in confusion. If he could have done it sooner... would it have been better?

'Why didn't he do it sooner.'

...

'Why didn't he--'

"Because he was dangerous," Connor retorts, even as the words turn to ash in his mouth. Why does he feel like his insides are shriveling up? He has two gunshots and a stab wound to prove his judgment, and this isn't speaking for whatever damage he's caused unsupervised. (Assuming he got far--)

"I was right," he adds, cutting that thought off at the knee. Then, because the thoughts are exploding out of him, he jumps over to:

"Why aren't you more upset? You treated him like a servant. He was your slave, and you kept him like one. Why are you happy he's free?"

"You were," Sabriel agrees, sinking back into the cushions, "But fortunately, that didn't stop you."

"As for Connor... I knew he'd realize he was a person at some point. But when I tried to talk to him about it- he'd just insist he wasn't, so I thought he'd figure it out on his own. And then I-" Sabriel can feel her throat close up, but she swallows, a few times. She feels- sick, and guilty.

"I hadn't expected Saraneth to do that to him- altering people's personalities isn't supposed to be one of its powers. Once I realized what I'd done... I wanted to fix it, but the only way I knew was a different bell, and- I was tempted, but it seemed too dangerous. The bell I wanted to use can grant free will, but it can also shatter minds, and it tries to ring of its own accord."

And given the mess she'd made with Saraneth, using another bell seemed like tempting fate.

It's very convenient for her, that facilitating deviancy was made more difficult by the RK800 and that she had to lean away from pushing, isn't it? What else could he expect her to do? Try.

He's being unreasonable, and yet simultaneously isn't. She's too calm, she must have some kind of angle. Maybe Cyberlife hired her to see to it that the RK800 deviated while under observation, or maybe it was a test of Saraneth's abilities?

(She doesn't cooperate Cyberlife, unless that's a trick also...)

Sabriel swallows hard, and her voice is rough and imperfect in very human ways. She's showing dozens of signs of being sincerely, deeply upset. There's no constellation of clues to show lies, except the fact that she's human and she's saying things that might as well be impossible.

She's probably lying. But it really doesn't look that way, and what should Connor trust? Common sense and hard earned lessons, or what he's seeing with his own eyes?

He crosses his arms abruptly, expression like stormclouds on a horizon: dark, troubled, and distant.

"What are you planning to do now that he's gone?" A beat. "He was your servant. You don't have anyone to complete his duties anymore, you won't be able to use him from afar--" Could magic change this? The thought burns like a red-hot iron. "--Even Cyberlife won't be able to mine him for deviancy data."

"There's nothing for you left."

Sabriel looks up, confused. Then she blinks and refocuses, gathering her thoughts. The first words are easy- she knows what she's supposed to say- but after that it gets harder.

"I should set aside my feelings and do my duty as Abhorsen- stop the necromancer before he raises an army of Dead, and get rid of any that he has raised. I want to make sure Connor's all right, but- I doubt he'd appreciate that." He'd probably shoot her again- this time in some place more lethal.

"And- if you don't want to work with me any more, and that's understandable, after what I've done-" Sabriel realizes she's starting to babble, but she doesn't stop, fighting past the tight feeling in her throat, "I'll need to find a way to find and kill the necromancer on my own, and do all the bindings on the camps and where they dumped the bodies too. All the other mages beside you in Detroit are in the army, and I don't think they'd help. Not if doing it means admitting androids are alive. But I can't leave- not until the necromancer is dead and no more will come after him- and I- I know he has every right to hate me, but I want to make sure Connor is all right. And I- I need your help, but I've no right to ask for it."

The words come out in a tumble and Sabriel hunches over miserably.

She wants to know if Connor's all right, but has no right to try and see him. She needs the other Connor's help, but he's probably no longer interested in offering it. And if the necromancer's army grows large enough... Sabriel shudders. She has to stop him before then.

She's--what? She's not reminding him of their deal? Connor was already free, but he feels as though he'd been leaning on a rope, only for it to come loose without warning.

She's not holding on to them.

If he won't help her, then she'll do her own tasks, because androids are alive, and the Necromacer won't wait. The souls of the dead can't wait, either.

(... This is a trick.)

She's worried about the new deviant. Her eyebrows are pinching, her words wander back to him like the scene of an old mistake. She was distressed after Saraneth. She's distressed now, shrinking like the air holding her up was leaving her. Like the weight of solitude and her enorous tasks were tangible enough to drive everything else away.

...

... When Connor deviated, he was in danger, but he wasn't alone. Before that, he was alone, and he'd been trapped. The situations don't compare, because she is human, and she's never been fenced off from her own soul and emotions before, let alone been surrounded by the enemy the way androids everywhere have.

... If he tried to point this out, she would be upset--but he doesn't think she'd tell him to stop talking. Or would she? She'd listen, maybe. She'd hurt. Then what?

Connor shakes himself internally, feeling as though a cloying, toxic weight has settled across his skeletal structures, and he unfolds his arms.

His voice is low. "I never said the deal between us was void."

Sabriel's head jerks up, and she can practically feel all her thoughts come to a screeching halt. She feels like the room had been spinning, and then stopped abruptly.

"You- you're not leaving? Why not?" It's- a surprise. One that makes her feel- lighter, somehow. Like a little bit of weight's been lifted off her shoulders.

At least she'll have some help. At least she won't be alone. Sabriel pauses for a moment, struggling to find the right words as she lets out a small, relieved sigh.

"Thank you. I don't- think it's advisable to try to go after the necromancer in my current state, but- We could investigate the drop off point, or I could teach you about healing spells?"

That's a complicated question with a complicated answer. After a moment, Connor says, "You still haven't shown me the final rites for the camps. And the Necromancer is still at large."

There are things that need to be done, and without her he has no way of achieving them except trial and error. He also still plans to confront the Necromancer eventually, and why should they divide their forces against an obviously dangerous opponent?

... She looks less beaten down now than she did before. Good cheer is an inconsistent indicator of safety around humans, but--Connor feels something cautiously, slowly loosen in his chest. He doesn't have to trust her to react to her. For now, that's enough.

What should they do now?

...

"Teach me about healing spells now," he decides. "We'll investigate the drop off point once you've recovered."

Sabriel leans forward, something lighting up in her expression.

"All right. Healing spells at their most basic are about repairing the body- many are designed to work with and accelerate its natural healing- thus, they continue to keep working for a time after they're cast- up to a week, for serious injuries mended with powerful spells."

So she does. Sabriel details the basic structure of healing spells, the marks used for basic spells to mend flesh and stop bleeding tracing out the marks with her fingers on the coffee table for Connor to see. She relaxes, her tone growing more conversational as she keeps going, detailing some of the particulars of healing different types of common injuries, and why rest was important after healing, as excessive movement could reopen still-healing wounds.

"I need to warn you- pace yourself, and don't overreach- Charter magic can place a strain on your body, especially if you're inexperienced. The spell I'm teaching you right now is a basic one, for injuries that aren't immediately lethal, and weren't caused by the Dead or Free magic."

There's a deep pang in his arm, and Connor opens and closes a fist without looking. "What's different about injuries caused by those?"

The lesson goes on, concluding with a brief demonstration. He frowns when he's done, examining his fatigue in excruciating detail, but it's hard to care about it when his other problems just became much more significant:

He's missing almost 40% of his body's full thirium capacity. The slight depletion of energy from the small spell is more than he should have afforded.

"I think we should take a break," he says carefully, attention returning to the room. "Neither of us have finished recovering, and I need to refuel."

His backpack is on the coffee table between them. He's sitting on an arm-chair opposite the love seat, where he'd sunk down as the lesson hit its stride and he was too distracted to want to stop.

"The Dead and Free Magic are inimical to Life and the Charter," Sabriel explains. "It's possible to heal such wounds, it's just harder- especially if it's not done immediately."

The lesson goes on, and Sabriel leans back as the demonstration ends- only to realize that while Connor received the thirium- he hasn't actually refueled with it yet.

"Oh! You're right. And I should- probably eat something too. There's some cans of soup in the kitchen, I'll do that while you- refuel. And then we can check the drop off point."

There are bowls, and a microwave- and while cooking was never a subject Sabriel had much interest in, she does know how to reheat soup. It's- well, it's salty, but at least it's filling.

Once they've both refueled, and Sabriel's gathered her equipment... they head to the drop off point. There isn't much to go on- it's a parking lot in a part of town that was mostly abandoned even before the deviant revolt, and is now outright desolate- there are no witnesses to question, and no residues of Free Magic or emanations of Death and the Dead for Sabriel to sense. So she stands, shivering in her coat as the wind picks up, a few snowflakes starting to dust her clothes.

"I can't... sense anything. He must have taken the androids somewhere else before he did anything to them. Have you found anything?"

Connor's walking back towards her, looking over his shoulder at the lot.

Four different sets of recognizable tire treads, most likely imprinted over the last two days. Countless more that've been lost to weather and time. There's an abandoned car at the lot's far end, next to an overfilled dumpster that hasn't been emptied in at least a year. There's a security camera across the street, but nothing greets him when he reaches out digitally, and its light is off... Damaged. By the camera's age, a long time ago.

"Nothing," he says out loud, coming to a stop next to her. "Nothing we can use..."

There's buildings around them, are any of them likely to have security cameras inside? ... No, everything's empty, boarded up, or deliberately discreet. Connor's mouth pinches, and he fights the urge to make a second lap of the lot.

"... We might be able to hack street cameras," Connor says, but there's no conviction to it. This is a bad part of the city, and the revolution has already taken down most infrastructure that would support those cameras. (Who wanted the enemy to have a free look past their defenses?)

"Might." Sabriel repeats, looking pensive. Connor doesn't sound certain. The whole thing is a dead end, and Sabriel's only other idea is one she knows is bad. Still, she can't resist turning it over in her head, examining it from all angles.

"I can't believe I'm suggesting this, but- assuming my spell holds... Cyberlife doesn't know I know about the necromancer. If we visited the lab Craven told Connor about... we might be able to sneak in, and get information there, if you pretend to be the Connor they gave me. If nothing else, they probably have tracking data on the androids they gave the necromancer."

Sabriel frowns, gripping her guitar case even harder.

"The problem is- it's risky, and I'm sure they have security there- but probably less than there was at the tower, and they seem to be in a state of- some disarray."

Of course, getting in will be the easy part. Getting out will be harder, if their ruse is discovered.

Connor's frown deepens. If they did this, he would have to pretend to be nondeviant. He would have to sell the idea of being owned again, of having his soul and mind shackled. It's hardly the worst thing he's ever done, but he doesn't like it. Should he decline the plan, like last time?

(Can he think of a better option? She'd probably accept it if he refused, but last time they'd had a plan that was equally useful, if not better. What do they have this time?)

(... They could go back to Craven, perhaps. They could go back to the house and try to hack Cyberlife remotely. They could go to Jericho, and ask for updates and leads--no, he can do that last one just as easily from afar. His LED cycles yellow on the spot, and as simple as that, his request has been sent.)

... Connor touches his collar, but he's not wearing a tie. He tries not to frown at that, before frowning anyway.

"It's risky, but it may be the best option we have."

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