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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Connor's LED burns red, gold, gold, swimming quick circles even after his double's weapon finally turns away. He doesn't follow the others. He steps back instead, pacing a quick circuit of the room with his lowered, readied gun. Narrowing down targets no one else will interfere with.

He hopes.

When he stops, it's at an angle. Connor's eyes flick back to the other RK800 as his weapon rises, fixing on the vent their first intruder had made use of. The slats are partly crumpled, a bullet hole carving out further space—behind which a new mass of silver legs are starting to seethe forward.

"There's another one here."

The warning is terse and flat. It's followed by two shots.

"If you can take it out, I'll seal that vent." Sabriel's already tracing out the marks for the spell, and her voices is- distracted, as she keeps her attention divided.

"Let's make them spend that much more time out in the open." Hopefully the JB400 will recover in time to help them- he's not dead, she didn't feel him die or even come close to it- so it's possible he'll recover soon. In the meantime, they just need to keep him safe.

And hope the centipedes don't realize there are more deviants, vulnerable deviants, in another part of the facility, while they wait for Jericho to arrive and chase the army away.

There's a warning behind him. Then gunshots.

Connor's shoulders coil tensely, LED burning yellow on blue. Then, without a word of acknowledgement, he forces himself back into motion. There's fine legs scuttling on hollow metal somewhere nearby, and though the source isn't visible yet, Connor spots an unblocked vent several doors away.

Connor walks towards it, frowning. "If we block every exit we know about, then they'll search until they find others."

Nevertheless, he reviews the marks he saw her use inside the kill-switch room, concentrating. He's--not very clear on the energy allocations of it, but he thinks he's far enough not to be a danger. Carefully, gracelessly, he summons up marks and sends them up to the vent overhead, pouring energy into the spell.

He shoots. The glimpse of silver scatters. Connor waits a beat to be sure it won't resurge, then steps back from the vent with a curt "Done" to Abhorsen. She takes over, and he glances around, wondering just how many openings she can block off.

As his predecessor's pointed commentary notes: it's unlikely to be enough.

He tracks the other android's tension, and the subsequent stalk off. The RK800 is stressed by him shooting, but not enough to interfere that time. Had the JB400 been the motivating factor? It seems likely. Connor eyes the frozen shape in the doorway and scowls. Even if he had shot it, he doubts it would be worse off.

...There's one way to find out.

He glances around the room, checking for immediate hazards, then takes a couple steps to the hallway. His copy is a few doors down, and Connor glances over, logging the spellcasting with only a flicker of frustration before he turns his focus back to the red-lit JB.

"I'm going to probe its systems."

If the other Connor plans to stop him, he'd prefer to know before the act this time.

"Do you think you can help him?" Some of Sabriel's tentative hope leaks through in her voice, even as she focuses her efforts on sealing the grate.

Once that's done, she turns back to Connor- she needs to baptize him, if they keep working together, and he's amenable, she distantly realizes. Having three mages working together is better than just two.

"We don't need to block all of them," Sabriel says, her voice low, "Just enough that they have to get into the open far enough away that we can take them out more easily. Especially since using a gun is less draining than my methods."

Far enough away that the centipedes will spend more time out of the vents. Not so far that they stumble onto the other deviants while looking for more open vents.

Connor lowers his arms and turns. There's a second or so's pause--not long, by human standards--and then he walks towards them. He doesn't want to be involved, but strategically they should investigate the centipedes' abilities. Does he think the other RK800 will mishandle the job? ... From a technical standpoint, no. Their abilities and skillsets are essentially identical. From a compassionate standpoint--

Abhorsen speaks, and Connor glances, mouth tightening. He's within view of the LED he'd already seen earlier, and his overall conclusion is the same as then: "It looks like a system crash, at best."

By his tone, it's clear his hopes aren't high. This is no longer a question of compassion for the living, but respect for the dead, and proper handling of desperately needed recycling.

Connor tips his head at her other words, glancing down the hall. His gun is still in his right hand, and while he doesn't seem to have a use for it, he hasn't reholstered it, either.

Low hopes. But no objections, and as Connor steps up slowly to the JB400, no new protests fill the hall. Of course, his predecessor's gun doesn't go anywhere either. If it changes its mind—

...He'll just have to be faster. Connor exhales shortly, switching his own weapon to his right hand as the skin rolls back from his left.

"Watch the hall."

He places a hand on the deviant's shoulder and initiates the probe, LED spinning quick yellow. The JB400 doesn't react, but Connor's brow furrows immediately, most of the data returning a corrupted hash. He combs through it carefully, trying to trace back to the access logs—and guard himself against any malware left inside.

Sabriel nods in assent, and does as she's told. There's nothing she can do inside, and Connor...

Connor will know how to help the android, and the android would probably want Connor's help rather than hers anyway. Even if the other Connor hadn't sounded optimistic... he wasn't dead yet.

So Sabriel waits, listen for the sound of skittering legs getting closer, watching for the gleam of metal, and waiting for help to arrive.

She's not sure how they'll know Jericho's arrived, aside from no more centipedes appearing. Maybe Connor will have some other way of telling.

'Watch the hall.' Connor's jaw tightens by way of response, and before the distinct lack of deferral is clear, the other RK800 is immersed in the hack.

A second passes. Two seconds. The RK800 doesn't fall victim to any attacks of his own, and after a second or so more Connor checks his gun's clip, glancing around.

His hearing is good enough to catch faint sounds in the distance, and not good enough to identify what's making them. He recognizes the whisper of passive ventilation. He hears the whirr of computer fans. Are those faint footsteps? A line appears between Connor's eyebrows, as he realizes that they haven't warned the rescued deviants about the centipedes.

Connor eyes his counterpart, then Abhorsen, then the small door--

--it might be too dangerous to hack the self-destruct, but maybe there's a lower security station he can use to hack an intercom.

Connor leaves the corridor without another word, stepping back into the small room.

The JB400's motor controls are undamaged. Its cognitive functions... less so. Slowly, Connor picks through the hash of half-wiped files, brushing off the occasional process trying to attach to him.

A full reconstruction proves impossible, but Connor can at least source the bulk of the damage. Memory. Files are corrupted and half-accessed, readdressed incompatibly across a wash of sectors in what seems to be an interrupted format. The centipede had been downloading stored data from this android... and resetting systems as it went.

Answers found, Connor terminates the probe, eyes blinking as he refocuses—

—on the flash of silver, dropping in his periphery. On the dig of metal claws into his arm. Connor jerks back in horror, elbow smashing against the wall—but the thing seethes past undaunted, heading for his port—

Sabriel barely has time to shout out a warning before it's climbing up Connor, and she doesn't have time to think before she acts- she grabs its head, pulling it away from Connor and ignoring the sudden pain in her hands as the thing's sharp edges slice into her- she hisses out a spell, and the centipede jerks as a surge of magic rushes through it, frying its delicate circuitry and breaking a few other small, exquisitely engineered parts.

Unlike Connor, it's just a machine- and thus easily breakable.

"Are you all right? It didn't- didn't get you?" Connor seems unharmed physically, but so was the other android- it's not a guarantee of anything.

Edited 2020-03-28 05:30 (UTC)

The intercom hack is--delicate, and includes the use of the dead human's access codes and a creative override. The call itself is short, and distracting, and consists of little more than a short transmission and a reply. He keeps his ears trained on the hallway, and his eyes on the terminal.

... It's not enough. Connor never hears the almost imperceptible tic-tic-tic of metallic legs on the vent channel change until they're gone, and Abhorsen is shouting a warning, and there's the whirl of cloth and the impacts and clatters of a struggle.

Connor tears from the transmission and darts back out of the room, bringing his gun up. It's already over by then, Abhorsen clutching the centipede in a bloody, sparking fist.

Shit. Connor shouldn't have left. The realization is clear in his expression, and even as he immediately wars with it (Abhorsen rose to the occasion, his counterpart surfaced in time, Connor could have arrived in time if they hadn't already--), the guilt is there.

Then his eyes catch on the vent above, and Connor snaps his pistol up and fires twice. Another pair of legs silences, though he can faintly hear a third in the distance.

Abhorsen lunges. A spell goes off. Connor is left with a stinging ache behind his shoulder, thirium welling up stickily from the gaps where metal barbs had been ripped free. He stumbles back, red flickers interrupting the yellow of his LED as he stares at the device in her hand.

That was too close.

He swallows, starting to nod... when his predecessor bursts back into the hall. For just an instant, Connor's stare is confused. It clears—and shutters—quickly. Connor drags his glare from his copy to the vent, LED spinning furious gold as he retreats another step: back against the wall, keeping the opening (and the others) in clear view.

(What else had he expected?)

The other RK800 fires off a shot. Connor tracks the trajectory and keeps his weapon ready.

"Someone seal the damn vent."

Sabriel nods, and gets to work, ignoring the occasional drip of blood on the floor. She needs to seal the vent- her hands can wait until she's done with that, and she doesn't need to worry about slicing them open again pulling a centipede off of either Connor.

"If you've finished whatever you were doing," Sabriel says, not caring at this point that she sounds like she's lecturing an underclassman, "Connor's injured, and I did teach you a healing spell. And could you tell us before you go off on your own next time?"

Sabriel's injured too, and while healing her own hands will pose... additional difficulties, she can probably do it herself. It will just take a little longer, she decides as she takes a mental stock of how much more magic she'll be able to do before she needs to rest.

"How much longer until Jericho gets here?" How many more injuries will she needs to heal, how many more centipedes would she need to break, how many more vents will she have to seal off?

How much longer do they need to hold out, she wonders as she finishes sealing the vent.

'Connor's injured'? Oh fuck no—

"I'm fine," Connor snaps, stepping back again and hating the immediacy with which he bristles. It's true. The claws barely scratched his plating, and the tears to his synthetic skin should seal soon. He doesn't need help. And he certainly isn't going to be the other Connor's practice. His glare is locked on his copy, gun rigid in his grip, but his empty hand jerks toward Abhorsen.

"You're the one bleeding on the floor."

The RK800 gestures, but it's not with the hand holding the gun. Connor's gaze rests on it for an instant, then sweeps over the android in his entirety, scanning for injuries. He can't see any tears, what with the android facing him, but he sees the stiffness of that shoulder, and a smear on the wall he'd backed against.

His mouth is set into a thin line, and he doesn't speak just yet, or move forward. Not out of unwillingness, but because the argument is ongoing.

"I can heal myself," Sabriel replies, "And it wouldn't be right to ask for that." Not for herself, when she knows how to heal her own hands- and she starts tracing out the first marks of the spell with one hand onto the palm of the other.

It's slower going than it would be normally, and more draining, but the marks are familiar and well up easily, closing the wounds and leaving unbroken skin beneath the blood as she works with clenched teeth.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" It's mostly out of genuine concern... but none of them can afford to be injured too badly to work right now. Not when they're still under siege.

Connor doesn't know what part of Abhorsen's morality involves refusing repair... while insisting those around her seek it. Connor also doesn't care. He shoots a glower at Abhorsen.

"Yes."

He's sure.

"I'm sorry," Connor cuts in, tone layered with too many things to be uncomplicatedly remorseful. He's looking at Abhorsen. "Next time I'll make sure to communicate my plans more thoroughly."

As his words end his eyes switch to the other android. The apology--such as it is--includes him also, if perhaps with an extra shade of meaning.

There's scuttling down the hall, and the moment ends as Connor glances. "... I wasn't contacting Jericho, and as of yet there's been no news."

"Then what were you doing?" Sabriel shifts uneasily, glancing uneasily down the hallway as she finishes with one hand and moves on to healing the other.

He wasn't contacting Jericho, he didn't have any news- had he tried to contact Jericho and failed? Or did he try to contact the other androids in the facility?

"I'm not a limitless font of power- we need to avoid getting injured as much as possible." And she'll trust that Connor- both of them- can shoot the centipedes, rather than wasting her energy using magic to fight them, unless it's absolutely necessary.

"Warning the deviant prisoners."

It's already obvious that it wasn't probably the best choice, but it's too late to do differently now, and Connor is reluctant to feel bad for trying to keep bystanders safe.

The way he turns to face her more directly isn't a squaring off, but the smoothness in his tone is only a mask for the push behind it. "If you're worried about your energy supply, then maybe I should heal you instead."

At that, Sabriel's expression softens, concern replacing irritation as she breaks off the healing spell.

"I see. Are they still safe?". Hopefully warning them will give them the warning they need to protect themselves, and not alert the centipedes to a more vulnerable group of victims.

Sabriel offers her half-healed hand to Connor- the cuts aren't deep enough to be crippling, but they're still oozing blood, and would probably need stitches if they weren't healed magically.

"If you're willing. I'm not going to order you to do something I'm capable of doing myself."

Abhorsen squares off with his copy. His copy returns soft apologies, packed with as much scorn as it can veil. It's a familiar dynamic, and one that leaves Connor with no regrets about the distance he's established from them both. His attention stays on the ceiling: flagging the vents, listening to the faint scrapes in the wall, and waiting for the two sets to align.

Of course, he can't help from overhearing some of the excuses. Warning Jericho's captured deviants? That tracks. They'd been the focus of his predecessor's protectiveness before.

Unfortunate that—exactly like before—the other Connor had ignored basic sense in the process.

"Did you warn them about the resets?"

The words are dry. Almost toneless. Connor's gun twitches up: sighting and firing at a flash of silver passing further down the hall. It vanishes out of sight, and if motion can still be heard from that direction, it's slower. Damaged, if not entirely destroyed.

"Or do you need to make another call?"

"There was no time to ask," Connor replies shortly, lifting his own hand and recalling the marks for healing. They come easily, and he channels his frustration and guilt into a spell that burns, darting into place with an unnecessary push.

The cuts vanish. With them goes more energy than Connor anticipated. He squares his shoulders and holds back a frown, not quite able to catch the way his eyebrows pinch briefly or the fact that the stiffness in his shoulders is itself a tell.

He's dropping his hand when the next question comes, and Connor pauses.

Gunshots fire. Connor very deliberately doesn't startle, though he throws a sharp glance down the hall. (Scuttling. He missed.)

"What resets?"

The JB400 is still frozen in the middle of the hall, and there are no outward signs that explain what Connor's counterpart means. If he were 'reset', then why is he still frozen? Why does he look dead?

"The ones triggered by these devices."

He gestures to the wreckage by Abhorsen's feet. Connor's attention lingers on the damaged vent, but it's been seconds, and the centipede he's shot has yet to reappear. Either it's too crippled to leave, or it's going for a different exit.

He turns in place, stepping toward a different rattle in the walls.

"It was copying the JB400's memories—and formatting its system as it went." His eyes flick back to the frozen android with a shrug. "The process was just... interrupted."

Useful information for any androids in this place to know. Too bad the other RK800 hadn't waited to learn it. Connor stops several paces away from a new vent, head tilting as he inspects it at an angle. He glances back to his predecessor: a Cyberlife-designed deviant hunter. Just like him.

"Your allies might appreciate the warning."

There's the slightest stress on allies. Then Connor's gaze—and gun—snap back to the vent. He fires twice, and this time, the scuttling cuts off completely.

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