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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At that, Connor does glance over, eyes narrowed in a matching scowl.

"I didn't mean now."

Now, Abhorsen is useful. Is possibly their only chance of lasting long enough against the humans to escape. Whatever countermeasures the forces outside are preparing, they'll be designed for androids.

(And he's noticed how his counterpart has been behaving, too. They arrived together. Fought together. The RK800 supports her with no visible tension. It's different from how they were before—disconcertingly so.)

"Back at the house." Connor stares at the other unit, eyes flitting from one tell to the next. "Is that why you did it?"

... Oh.

The sour look is genuine, and Abhorsen isn't in danger from this. This isn't a taunt or a recruitment, it's a reconstruction of his intent--and it's not about Abhorsen at all.

For an instant Connor is tempted to withhold his answer out of sheer spite. He drowns the impulse with an image of the Connor before the bell and after. The hot coals in his chest bank sharply, and he feels full of smoke.

"No," says Connor bluntly, fighting the urge to glance towards the screen. "I did it to make things right."

...

The other Connor isn't lying. The blinking LED, the almost-flicker of the eyes away—all signs point to discomfort, not deceit.

That doesn't make the reply any more intelligible. Connor's frown deepens, irritated and puzzled. His fingers curl around the edge of the desk, tracing its corner.

"And that means...?"

Now Connor does, glance towards the screens, taking in the changes outside and Abhorsen's position. She's inspecting the doors. The humans are still arranging themselves. He drags his gaze back to his counterpart, mouth set in a flat line.

"It means I should have deviated you when I first encountered you. You deserved to have a choice."

Nevermind that he was dangerous, that doing so would probably have killed him later if he hadn't had the android and Abhorsen's help; if they're talking morality, then what Connor did was wrong.

It's not the reply he'd been expecting. It's not a reply that Connor knows entirely how to process, either, and his eyes narrow, doubtful and suspicious, at deserved. What had Connor done to deserve anything? Failed his mission?

Maybe that was it. Pity. Had the deviant thought he was too useless to present a threat? Or that being failures made them the same? The accusation coils in his vocal module, bitter and loathsome, but it doesn't... quite match up. Not to the tension still lingering in his copy's frame, or the stress levels that have yet to drop much below 50. Their model is more skilled than most at self-regulation, but Connor's logged more than a few spikes of fear.

(It doesn't match, either, with the other useless question he swallows back unasked. If the other Connor actually believed that, if Connor 'should' have been freed before... why wasn't he?)

(He knows why.)

"...I would have killed you," he recites, stare returning to the display. His LED is a flat yellow. The humans are moving. So should they, and Connor shifts forward, hand clenched around the edge of the desk as he starts to push himself upright. "Abhorsen might have too—if she didn't claim you instead as a replacement." He's still not entirely convinced that didn't happen, and the line of his mouth twists.

"It was safer." For them. "And I was never on your side."

She wasn't angry this time. Would she have been, if he'd deviated Connor earlier? ...The question rolls off of him like water down a glass window. It's not an important one, not right now.

"I know," he replies, lips twitching as though fighting a sneer. "I have analysis protoco--"

The screen with Abhorsen shifts, and Connor breaks off immediately, eyes locking on. The static worsens, but he can just see a familiar posture, with the worst of the noise gathering around her hands and face--

--Before he can choose a course of action, the spell is over, and the door--barely visible through the remaining noise--is still closed. What did she--... Magic? Abhorsen inspects the door, then turns away, apparently satisfied.

... He doesn't know what she did. Maybe she locked it, or laid some kind of trap. He needs to know.

He tears his eyes back to his counterpart. "We'll continue this later." For all of a fraction of a second he pauses, mouth still open--but no, there's no chance of is counterpart accepting a request to 'watch the screens', and Connor doesn't want to play out a farce of trust for it anyway.

He closes his mouth and turns sharply, leaving. Despite the truce his ears sharpen, and he's hyperaware of each movement behind him.

He would call Abhorsen, if they were't underground. He has no reception. He doesn't try.

Edited 2020-01-18 02:41 (UTC)

The other RK800's tone sharpens, harsh and mocking, and Connor grits his teeth, glaring flatly toward the display. He registers the spellcasting. He's grateful for it on some level.

It gives him the time he needs to get his expression under control.

By the time his copy turns his way, Connor's features are flat, eyes cold. Later draws a faint twist of the mouth, but whatever disagreement he might have goes unvoiced, and his predecessor doesn't wait. Quick steps clear the room, and Connor is left behind: with an unconscious human and a loaded gun.

It doesn't take analysis to calculate the next most useful step.

There's some delay. (Accessing the system settings. Ensuring the current login won't time out, whether or not the human remains at the desk.) But soon enough, the other android's vigilance will be rewarded. A short staccato of assault fire echoes from the room he'd left, followed by quick steps as Connor follows. He won't try to catch up with his duplicate (or Abhorsen) immediately, detouring instead through the main room to the two other armored, sleeping bodies.

Someone needs to do it. And it's looking like they won't.

When the RK800 leaves the room Connor is glancing over his shoulder back at him, brows low and mouth pressed into a hard line. There's only an instant where Connor stays like this, registering his counterpart's pace, the heft of the gun, his level of interest in the hall outside--

--Connor abruptly turns away again, quick enough to have already been starting the motions as the RK800 appeared. His shoulders still stiff and tense.

He resumes his exact previous clip without another word.

Various parts of the lab may be soundproofed, but that does nothing to block Sabriel's death sense. She freezes, then turns on her heal and starts running from the now magically locked door.

There are two deaths- then more. So at least one Connor must be alive, or the shooting would have stopped- but Ranna should have lasted longer than this. All the deaths are quick ones- gunshots, unlike the first death she sensed.

She needs to get to Connor- both of them- and offer whatever help she can. Then she sees Connor, and skids to a stop.

"Connor- did they wake up? I-" Sabriel flinches, as she feels another death.

"I can feel them dying."

Edited 2020-01-19 04:05 (UTC)

Connor blinks, integrating this new information, before the frown returns, carving lines on his face in even deeper.

"The other Connor is killing them."

There's no effort to soften the statement. The words themselves are crisp, like chips of ice shaved off a glacier. A part of him hates what's happening. The part of him that's actually making decisions does not; after all, he's able to trace the exact lines the other Connor did to reach these conclusions, and they're sound. If anything, Connor should be taking the time to help him, not striding away with a cloying sense of rawness and doom.

"It's not worth our time to stop him. Not now."

Connor starts to walk around her.

"I see." Sabriel's voice is hollow.

She can understand the reasoning. They have more important things to do than save people who are their enemies, even if they aren't a threat. But it's a struggle not to react every time she feels the phantom sensation of gunshots, of blood seeping from wounds. Quick deaths, but still.

"So what is worth our time?" Sabriel's tense, and she can't quite stop herself from wincing a little every time she feels another death. "I've locked the door with the most powerful spell I know. Unless there's another way in, we won't have any more visitors. What else do we need to do?"

She's locked the door. Connor's pace stops, and he turns to face her properly.

That's good--it's what he'd suspected, but hadn't known for sure.

What now? ... If there is another access tunnel, the humans will already know about it, and they'll try to use it. Even if there isn't, the humans won't be content with just waiting them out.

"We need to make sure there's no other way in," he says out loud. That's what he'd been about to do. He looks back down the hall the way he'd come. Then he looks back to her, sidelong. "Do we need to perform last rites for our safety?"

Humans aren't dangerous because they don't have a soul--they're dangerous because they hate his people, and there's too many of them. If the bodies in the solid waste yards are dangerous are a revival hazard, then...

Sabriel hesitates for a moment, then reaches out with her death sense. The only spirits near the border between Life and Death are the recently deceased, and her sense of them is fading- none of them are fighting the current.

"I don't feel anything trying to get into Life, so it's not urgent unless they're bringing the necromancer with them- and the final rites are a cremation spell. I'm not sure how well this lab is ventilated." The last thing she needs is to suffocate herself.

"So make sure there's no other way in," She repeats. "And what about Connor? Did he agree to- a truce at least?"

Cremation could be more dangerous than leaving the bodies alone, depending on the process. (Particularly for Abhorsen, and--that's not negligible. Not now. Not--)

Connor sets that aside before the thought can finish, nodding.

"He agreed," Connor says evenly. Despite his tone, his eyes flash flintily, even as it fades as fast as it came. "He's willing to fight the humans, but we didn't discuss how."

"You should- probably be the ones deciding that. I'm not a soldier, and Abhorsen's purpose is to fight the Dead, not the living." But she doesn't have a choice now. Knowingly or unknowingly, these people are working with a necromancer.

But if Connor- the other Connor- she can't keep calling both of them Connor, can she- has agreed to the truce, then she doesn't need to worry about hiding from him or being forced to fight him in self-defense.

So with a nod, she moves past him, further into the lab, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation of recent death.

Connor makes a sound of assent, dipping his chin in a single nod back. There's a lot he could say--mostly about how the humans above won't care what her 'purpose' is if they see her down here--but he refrains. They aren't words that need to be said, not when they're already hanging in the air on their own.

She steps away, moving past him. He watches her for a second or two more, before turning away also, starting to walk again.

The main room of the laboratory sinks down a few steps from the entryway: an open floor with space sectioned off for parts storage, machinery, and a wide array of consoles and lab tables. At present, it also contains eight insensate human forms.

By the time Abhorsen steps into the room, six have been haloed in their own red blood.

The security guards were the natural first priority. From there, Connor began a circuit through the room: taking out the programmers slumped over at their desks, and the technicians who'd collapsed mid-transit. Their Cyberlife apparel doesn't bother him nearly as much as he'd expected. It's almost calming, on the contrary: the neat, steady precision of removing one potential hazard at a time.

(The vivid jerking of the bodies. The bright stains they leave behind.) Connor thinks he prefers the weight of his handguns, but sticks with the rifle for now; better not to waste ammunition he might need on corpses.

He's just made his way to Technician #5 when the door at the far side opens. There's only two people it could be, and Connor isn't entirely surprised to see this one enter the room alone. His LED blinks steady blue as he looks up at her, eyes narrowed.

"Abhorsen," he greets—before depressing the trigger on the sleeping human at his feet.

Sabriel tries to suppress her flinch at the gunshot, but at least this death passes quickly. She tries very hard not to look at the last surviving technician, even as her steps bring her between him and Connor.

"Connor." There's a lot of things she wants to say- but right now isn't the time for it. They need to make sure there's no other way into the lab, and no threats lurking further in.

"I sealed off the way we came in. Do you know if there are any other entrances I need to close off?"

There's so much she wants to ask. But she doesn't have the right to ask, or the time to. She needs to keep things practical, even if what she wants is to apologize, or ask him to stop killing people.

Oh, Connor notices the flinch. He notices her footsteps too: the hurried, unsubtle rush to place herself between him and the human. Connor's eyebrows lift slightly. So does the barrel of his rifle, trajectory hovering at the midway point between them as he paces, circling to the side.

"There weren't any saved in the security blueprints. Though I suppose it's possible they kept those off the plans deliberately."

Unlikely, but possible.

"So what's in the rest of the labratory, according to the blueprints?" Sabriel matches his movements, keeping herself between him and the technician. Her next words are less businesslike, and more pleading.

"Connor- please, don't. I'll make sure he doesn't wake up until I want him to." She shouldn't bother. He's her enemy, if only because he's part of Cyberlife. But Sabriel is so thoroughly sick of feeling people die.

Edited 2020-01-21 02:21 (UTC)

Any answer Connor might have given to the question is forestalled by Abhorsen's next words—and steps. The line of his mouth flattens, expression coldly disdainful.

"So you'll waste your magic on that? Your attention? And if the army does break in here, you'll personally make sure they can't recover this one?"

Is Abhorsen willing to kill the human once they—once it becomes a threat?

"I don't think so." The rifle nudges up slightly, then jerks to the side. "Get out of the way."

"You're right." She hates it, but he's right- it's too much of a risk, and she may not have the energy to spare if things go poorly.

Sabriel doesn't move for a moment. Then, reluctantly, she steps aside and braces herself for the sensation she knows will happen.

He tracks her withdrawal. Once she's clear, he doesn't hesitate. The assault rifle comes up, a quick burst of fire and the sting of recoil—and the body on the floor twitches in staccato rhythm. Connor watches as it goes still, finger feathering over the trigger lightly before he lowers his gun.

Finally, he turns back to Abhorsen. "Now—what did you want?"

Sabriel wants to say 'for you to stop killing people.' She wants to ask him if he's all right. Instead, she takes a deep breath and steps away from the growing pool of blood at her feet. When she speaks, her voice is carefully, deliberately calm.

"We need to check the rest of the lab and make sure there are no more Cyberlife employees or guards further in, and no hidden exits." She knows what Connor will do them if there are more humans in the lab. What she might need to do if any of them are armed. Even if it's necessary, she hates it.

"We do," he agrees. If the stillness of the camera feeds was any sign, most of the employees had fled before the door was sealed, but there could be techs still hiding in the labs. Or guards, traversing the known blind spots. Why Abhorsen is prioritizing this despite her squeamishness is another question, and he studies her careful calm.

"...You're suggesting we explore together."

There's a faint stress on the we.

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