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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Unless he thinks he can handle it? Connor's not the one losing consciousness for hours at a time. Still, Connor doesn't give in to the knee-jerk urge to step forward, and after a careful moment of thought, shakes his head, gesturing back towards her. He knows he isn't as powerful as she is, and for all that her condition is making him pause, she's still more experienced.

She explains the marks. Connor traces them in the air with a finger when she's done, reaching experimentally for the charter--but aside from a few faint light-motes, nothing appears, and he closes the motions before they can truly channel.

"I'm ready." Connor drops his hand to his side, privately reviewing the symbols again in a preconstruction. He makes a minor adjustment, then tucks the files away. "We can start when you're finished, here."

Abhorsen sits. His predecessor leans against a counter. Connor positions himself at a nearby table—neither with the other two, nor far enough to miss out on any information. He's already reloaded the weapons he came here with, but he extracts a third gun (salvaged off a guard) and spends the time dissassembling it and checking over components.

The conversation is predictable enough. Connor glances over once or twice, catching the sequences of marks as they're sketched out into the air. Her theory book had talked about augmentation like this, and he rolls his eyes at the other RK800's confidence, muttering just loud enough to be heard:

"Enjoy being a battery."

Abhorsen's almost finished. It shouldn't be much longer, and then—he can go. The pressure lingering in his core twists at the thought, and Connor refocuses on the table: reassembling the weapon in quick, efficient motions.

Sabriel opens her mouth to argue, to insist that isn't what cooperative casting is about, but she closes it. Connor might be wrong, but she shouldn't waste time arguing with him, and his ignorance isn't his fault.

Instead, Sabriel drains her mug, scarfs down one of the bars, and then shoves as many of the snacks as she can into her pockets before she leaves the room- no point in letting anything useful go to waste.

Sabriel can hear snippets of hushed conversation as she heads towards the entrance- conversation that ceases the instant they realize its her, and she can't do much more than offer her apologies as they back away from her.

"Sorry, I just- need to get to the door to open it. All of you will be out soon, I promise."

Once she's at the door, Sabriel rests her palm against it, feeling the spell she put there, almost surprised at the strength of it. Still, she's more than certain the marks she showed Connor will open the door, and it's likely both of them will be conscious after they've opened it.

The calm he'd been cultivating is like a cool pond-surface, and the other android's comment is a brick, thrown directly in. Connor's shoulders rise, and he shoots his successor a poisonous look, trying to impress the need to stop interjecting for all of two seconds. At that point he remembers how counterproductive the gesture might be, and he tears his frown away, directing it at an unremarkable cabinet away from either of them.

He says nothing. He deliberately relaxes. When Abhorsen finishes, Connor leads the procession out.

He remembers to clear the shadows from his expression just before they reach the door, and when the cluster of walking wounded see him he looks, if not reassuring, then at least neutral. It's not enough: without something to grab and keep their attention their eyes dart past, searching out and landing on Abhorsen. They shift around her like magnet filings repelled by a wrong pole.

Connor lets her lead this last small distance. Soon they'll be out, and the group will be able to avoid Abhorsen indefinitely, unlike him.

Quelling that thought, Connor steps up beside her, mirroring the gesture and holding out his remaining hand to take hers in an impersonal clasp.

He knows what comes next. The preconstruction plays out in rapid-speed, and he closes his eyes, concentrating. The marks are simple enough to hold in his mind, and he's had enough practice 'evoking' that he does so decisively.

Are those faint lights, just visible through his silicone eyelids? Are there sounds in the room, a shift in air pressure, a whisper as deviants recoil or freeze at the sight? His eyes squeeze tighter, and his hand presses the slightest bit harder against the door. He's concentrating. The more he focuses, the faster this will be over.

Edited 2020-05-13 04:30 (UTC)

Sabriel feels the spell flare to life, and welcomes it as it passes from Connor to her, and she adds her own strength to it.

When she's focusing on the spell and the Charter, it's easy to forget how tired she is- instead there's just the Charter, that sense of connection to something vast and comforting, and the rest of the world doesn't matter.

Then the spell flows down her arm and through her fingertips, and as it enters the door Sabriel's once again aware of her body, and how exhausted she is, as the second spell undoes the first and starts to force the door open.

There's a shriek of metal and a deep rumbling as it does, and Sabriel sees- many androids on the other side. There's one a the front, with long hair who looks- familiar, but Sabriel's exhausted mind can't think of where she's seen her before.

The door shrieks. The gap opens. Connor stands back and to one side, eying Abhorsen and his copy from a vantage that's become decidedly more crowded than he would like. The captured deviants are a tight cluster of yellow LEDs and soft whispers, all but seething with anxiety as the stream of marks flow through the pair ahead.

The figures revealed as the door splits wide look considerably less intimidated.

The WR400 is at the front. North, his predecessor had said before. The PL600—Simon—isn't present, but Connor thinks he recognizes a few of the other androids gathered behind her. All of them are armed, clothes spattered with weapon residue and stains (both blue and red). Evidently the humans didn't vacate the place willingly.

Jericho's attention is fixed on the exception: Abhorsen, sagging in exhausted triumph. And Connor's predecessor, beside her. A few weapons rise, drawing a bead on the human, but most of the group seems content to keep their guns simply... in hand.

Their leader is no exception. The WR400 takes a step forward: eyes hard, scowl dragging from Abhorsen, to her accomplice... to him.

"Connor?"

His mouth presses flatter, but Connor doesn't respond.

He's not the one they're looking for.

Edited 2020-05-13 07:02 (UTC)

"It's alright," Connor says, raising his hands and trying to make himself big enough to attract attention. He's tired, like his system is too low on thirium, like his capacitor banks all need recharging, except they don't, and he's fine. There's no reason he should feel as tempted to wither in place until he's had a few hours' rest.

"Sorry we took so long," Connor continued, lightly but without quite smiling. He lowered his arms. "We're here, now--this is everyone that was inside."

"What the hell was that, just now?" The androids around her shift minutely, but still no one actually ventures across the line where the heavy doors used to stand. "Those lights? You couldn't do that, before."

The whole story pushes into his mouth, against the back of his teeth. What actually comes out is, "I've been learning some new skills. And I have a lot to tell you, but I'd rather do it somewhere more secure."

North doesn't seem surprised, or impressed. After a long moment of silence more she gives a sharp gesture, LED pulsing yellow, and--Connor receives no messages. The guards do, and they start forward, fanning into the cluster of androids. Many of them go to the hurt deviants in the background, checking them over and helping them leave--except for three, which stop facing the RK800.

Connor tears his attention away when he sees several more standing around himself and Abhorsen. His awareness is lagging, and his processing is congested with fatigue, but he tries not to show it as he turns back to North, expression more unruffled than his actual thoughts.

"Come on then," North says slowly, looking from one face to another. "... Let's move this somewhere else."

Edited 2020-05-14 03:41 (UTC)

"Have fun with that," Connor snaps. The WR400's commentary is neutral enough. The three androids now encircling him, firearms in hand? Are considerably more telling. His fingers curl at his sides, left thumb brushing the edge of his jacket—and the now-reloaded gun holstered beneath.

(He'd known it wouldn't be this simple. He'd fucking known, and still—)

He keeps his voice hard and flat. "I'm leaving now. Unless that's a problem?"

His glare lingers pointedly on the guards around him—and then flickers to his copy.

Both Connor and North look over. "Is that a problem?" North repeats, turning to face the android more pointedly.

She's ready to say more, opening her mouth to start, but Connor interjects before she can: "He's deviant now." He says it like a reassurance, like it's a tiring, positive thing. "I freed him--he won't rejoin Cyberlife. He can go."

North stares at the RK800--except the RK800 she's looking at now is Connor, with a stare that takes in everything he'd rather not show, and more. The stare alone drags out the few pernicious doubts he has remaining, shaking them awake, and Connor mentally stamps them back.

... The look isn't just searching for flaws in his assurance. On an intuitive level Connor knows he's the one being evaluated too, and Connor withstands it as steadily as he can, feeling part of himself fall quieter. She's--measuring him, weighing something that once they'd taken for granted, something he hadn't realized was gone.

It's disturbing. He may have misjudged.

"A lot's happened," Connor says quietly. He doesn't just mean the deviation.

"I can tell," she replied.

She glances past him to the guards, breaking the standoff. "No one leaves until we've debriefed." Her eyes skate over the human, then land on the younger RK800, finding his gaze and holding it. "... We'll sort everything out then."

The Traci rounds on him. His predecessor interjects. Agrees with Connor; says the things he'd promised, and—

Still, it doesn't seem to be enough.

His jaw locks tight. His LED burns solid red. Connor wants to sneer, or snarl—or laugh, sharp and poisonously bitter, at the mercy he'd been told that Jericho would show. The last time he'd seen this WR400, it had promised he would suffer, and now it stares him down, expecting him to submit.

...All that struggling, and he's just as trapped as he was when he walked in here. He'd been "free" for a scant few hours before he sacrificed it to survive.

(And did he really lose anything of value?)

Connor closes his eyes. Blanks his expression. (Tries, and if he fails, that's hardly anything new.) He's stiff and furious and tired, and not quite dulled enough to miss the utter lack of promises this time. His fists curl closer at his sides, and when he opens his eyes to match North's gaze again, his chin juts up in challenge.

"...I'm keeping my weapons."

Connor opens his mouth, then closes it, LED burning yellow at two different points. North doesn't notice, too busy arching an eyebrow at his counterpart, before tilting her head slightly.

"Suit yourself."

Deviants are being led past the group, but North ignores them, like a rock in a river. Even with the few that need help it passes in seconds, LED blinking yellow in conversations and updates with her people.

Once the deviants are clear she turns to Abhorsen. "Is she carrying those bells?" she asks, speaking to Connor while her eyes stay on the human.

Connor is silent for a moment. It's not a long pause, but any pause at all is more than he wants to give, because--he's North's ally. He trusts her, and he knows exactly why she's doing this. And yet, how long will it take for Abhorsen to get them back? Is this the start of a detour that's going to derail their time critical mission?

There's nothing for it. Connor set this in motion from his first calls, and now it's up to him to move things as quickly as he can, and the fastest way through this will be to explain the situation properly. North won't listen until they're safely moved.

Connor glances towards Abhorsen, touching his own chest. "The bandolier." He wants to communicate things to her with a look, but there's no simple message to give that would solve this easily.

Sabriel grimaces, but nods. It's not like there's any danger of anyone but a trained necromancer using the bells.

With slow, deliberate motions, she removes the bandolier and carefully, nudges it away with her foot. (If she knelt down too long, she'd be tempted to lay down.) The deviant who picks it up holds it at arms length, like he's afraid it might bite him.

"You can relax," Sabriel tells him, "The whole point of the bandolier is to keep them from ringing."

But she doesn't say more- instead she turns to Connor, an unspoken question clear in her expression- what should she do now?

The look the android gives her is profoundly doubtful, though his grip does shift, and he lowers it to his side.

Abhorsen and Connor's eyes meet, and Connor spends an instant trying to convey some basic, fleeting assurance, before North is speaking.

"Alright, let's move."

Connor tears his eyes away as soon as she started, finding her already watching him. There's no time to absorb this, or try to respond, before she's turning and heading towards the exit. The android guards hanging behind her and surrounding those remaining bark short commands, and Connor acquiesces without protest.

He turns, moving to match the pace the guards are setting. They leave.

Connor's still listening for the scuff of steps behind him. Still furiously preconstructing what might happen—if they attack. If he does. But the WR400's scrutiny moves on, and the brief exchange that follows seems to settle their suspicions more on his predecessor than on him. Understandably, considering the reactions, but...

Slowly his LED spins back to gold.

They're ordered forward. He complies, gaze flitting sideways to track the deviants' positions. One of the three confronting him has peeled off, but he finds his steps matched to his right and left: a PM700 and a TR400, both with weapons in hand. Connor's lip curls, but the guns aren't leveled on him (now), and he can more or less ignore them.

Outside, Jericho's combatants work quickly to load the rescues into a mismatched assortment of vehicles—both theirs, and those claimed from the humans. Their leader splits off to speak to another group, leaving the guards to press them forward toward one of the military transports. Connor eyes it with morbid curiosity, wondering if the GPS history would put the vehicle near Recall Center N2 yesterday afternoon.

He doesn't check. They're loaded in three to a side, with extra guards standing in the footwells by the door. Connor's own guards flank his position when seated, leaving a clear view of Abhorsen, his predecessor, and the PC200 who'd been placed between them. This close, it would be easy to wrest the weapon from one escort's grip to shoot the other, and it takes concerted effort to avoid telling them so.

Somehow, he manages. The vehicle rumbles to life, and lurches into motion down the road.

As soon as she's buckled in, Sabriel slumps in her seat. She wants to sleep, but- she should probably apologize to Connor.

"Listen, I'm sorry- I know you wanted to leave, and- I'm sure they'll let you, once they know you're not involved in any of this."

They're not alone, and Sabriel's sure the guards will report anything she says, but none of this in incriminating.

As sick as Connor is of processing new threats to his supposed life—he finds he's even more fed up with hearing out Abhorsen's bullshit. He drops his latest analysis on the guards (estimating the rounds left in their weapons from the apparent weight), teeth flashing as he sneers.

"And I'm sure you don't know shit about it."

What Jericho would do. What they wouldn't. Connor's mouth flattens as his gaze skims sideways across the seats: settling on the one who had made promises in that regard.

"You're the one who said they don't keep androids."

Connor's paper-thin hopes of staying out of this crumble. It's not even for a good reason, either: Connor's eyes narrow and a silent huff of air squeezes out of his lungs, exasperated and incredulous.

"They don't. This doesn't count as 'keeping' anyone; we're going to talk, they'll verify our stories. Otherwise this is temporary."

He wants nothing more than to pass this ride in silence. He's tired, and he wants to stop feeling the weight of the guards reporting every word he says for later incriminating scrutiny.

Edited 2020-05-18 05:49 (UTC)

"I'm sure, once we explain everything, they'll set you free and give me back my bells so I can do my job and deal with the necromancer. Those things are in everyone's interest."

Unless there's something Sabriel's exhausted brain is missing, she's pretty sure nothing she's planning would be seen by Jericho as a threat- if anything, she's helping them deal with an enemy, and staying out of their way otherwise. Unlike Cyberlife, they're not allied with her enemies. She shifts her gaze from one Connor to the other.

"You're... part of Jericho. So they'll listen to you, even about magic and the Dead?"

His freedom has never been in anyone's interest. (Certainly not if they 'have analysis functions' worth a damn.) Connor shakes his head, lips curling bitterly, but apart from a muttered "of course", he won't reply.

He's interested to hear the answer to Abhorsen's question, too. As unpleasant as his own future might prove... it hasn't escaped Connor's notice that his predecessor is also under guard.

Irritation prickles under his skin, but this is a serious question, and the way he answers will influence how they act from here on. Connor stills very slightly, smothering his rising concern for their situation out of sight.

"They'll listen," he confirms slowly, looking up at both of them. "... It may take time, but this is important."

No, he has no concrete promises for how exactly this will go. Is he confident that he's going to try and continue on until they have chances of getting everyone out alive? Most definitely.

It's not as reassuring as she'd hoped, but... it's something.

"Well, you didn't believe me at first. Neither of you did." Most Ancelstierrians wouldn't- magic didn't, officially, exist.

"You can show them, too." Which might raise more questions then it answered, but it would be a way of showing that magic was real. And Connor was on their side- they'd be more likely to listen to him than her, and less wary of magic if he was the one using it.

"Hm," Connor says, noncommittal, acknowledging, and promising nothing all in a single sound. It took magic, death, revival, grievous injury, and libraries of surrounding evidence to lead him to where he is. In the end magic is almost the least of it. And if he misjudged casting a spell when Jericho's main concern is Abhorsen's surprise ability to undeviate via magic--

--it could end poorly. There would be ways to succeed, too, but--it's dangerous.

He doesn't want to talk about it. Connor feels too large to fit in the car, like his exoskeleton is too small for the body it's containing. Smothering the irritation back again, he stares past them towards a window.

"We'll see."

He falls silent after that, broadcasting as much disinterest in continuing to speak as he can.

Sabriel takes the message and slumps back. Without the conversation to focus on, she can't help but drift off to dreamless sleep, exhaustion finally sweeping away her last thoughts.

She's awoken by the truck finally coming to a stop, and shakes off the last of her sleep as she stumbles out of the transport to face... a police station. One that had recently been heavily fortified, but clearly a police station. One occupied by heavily armed androids who gawk as the three of them as their lead to towards- probably the cells, Sabriel thinks, and the tired part of her mind hopes there will be a cot there. She could sleep, while Connor explains everything.

They're led in a train into the police station, right up until they reach the open bullpen. At that point the line slows, and two guards approach with transmission-yellow LEDs, expressions shifting as they look from prisoner to prisoner. (Are they prisoners? Guests? Persons of interest?)

Both newcomers stop with their eyes resting on Connor, who'd been leading at the front. "This way, sir," says the taller one, gesturing.

Connor nods. As he steps forward he half-turns, glancing behind himself. Abhorsen is immediately behind him, and the other RK800 behind her.

"We'll talk when this is done," Connor says, and it's part assurance, part question, part statement of intent. He doesn't know how long he's going to take, nor what comes after.

Then he looks past her to the android, and... This case might be different. Abhorsen will be there because she and Connor have a mission, and Jericho wouldn't leave her unescorted. But Connor?

"If you leave before I'm done--"

What's he going to say? To his surprise, he's not ambivalent about losing track of him. What if he misjudges another infiltration plan? What if Connor's assumptions about his new personality are incorrect, and he'll torture and kill once out of sight?

... His pause has gone on too long, and Connor smooths his expression, lifting his eyebrows.

"Don't die."

His predecessor first. That figures. Connor notes the respect in the address alongside the other, less congruent factors: holstered weapons, and the flicker of yellow at their temples as they receive a private call. The other RK800 does have standing here, it's clear. But what kind seems... more complicated than it was presented.

Connor's not sure what that means about his own.

He stills under his copy's regard. Matches it, closed stare for stare. And... blinks, taken aback at the—instruction? It could be a taunt, he supposes. But as much as he searches, he can't find the edge. He can't find a reason for the advice either, especially if the other Connor really does expect he'll be set loose.

...He's taking too long. "I won't," he manages. Is he supposed to return the words? It seems pointless, and Connor settles for a careful nod, watching his double as he's led away.

It doesn't take long for their guards to direct them, too. Connor scowls—unhappy, but unsurprised—as they stop in front of the precinct's cells.

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