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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"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.

The look Connor gives her is reassuring, even if he doesn't say anything, and Sabriel nods in response.

There's a cot inside, with a bare mattress. It's more than enough to make her smile, to the surprise of their guards, and Sabriel steps into the cell without hesitation or complaint.

A bed. Finally. Even with the bright lights of the cell and the plasticky feel of the mattress, she could fall asleep right away. Except-

"Connor? Can you hear me? I'm sorry you got mixed up in all this. If there's anything I can do to make it right..." But there isn't. Breaking out would be counterproductive and suicidal, and she can't undo using Saraneth on him a second time.

Connor is... certainly, not smiling as he's corralled behind a thick, transparent barrier. The space is small and bare, a thin cot and stained metal toilet taking up one wall, while crude graffiti has been scratched into the others. The door that seals shut behind him could potentially be cracked by close range gunfire—but by the time he emerged, any number of deviants would have had time to draw their own weapons and shoot.

Connor paces to the back wall. Reverses the distance. Stops, inspecting the words scrawled into the front. The previous occupants' skill at mirror-writing leaves a lot to be desired, but he thinks he can make out a roughly carved FUCK.

As Abhorsen's platitudes float over from the next cell, he finds himself entirely in agreement.

"That's your second apology in fifteen minutes."

For the deviants taking him. For his being involved. For some of the only events in his life she hasn't had control of. Connor glares out at the camera mounted in the corner of the hall.

"Is there a point, besides stroking your own ego? Because I'd really rather not be your excuse."

He can't even see her, but Sabriel stops herself from curling up in the cot. Words aren't enough, and yet she's not sure what she can do beyond apologize. Especially while she's in a cell.

"No, I- I want to make things right. If there's anything that's in my power to give you that you want, it's yours."

She's not even sure what he'd even want. Her bells? He seemed to frightened of those. Money, a favor? She's not sure what use he'd have for the former, or if he'd put up with her for the latter.

"Anything," Connor intones in a deadpan, one finger tracing the letters scratched into the glass. It's a generous offer—at least, if one ignores the question of what Abhorsen might require in exchange.

It's also so untrue it's almost funny.

"You'd commit a massacre? Melt down your bells?" He turns, pacing back to the far wall. "Or do you mean something smaller? You'd clear out an exit from here, maybe?"

Considering her last recorded level of fatigue, Connor frankly doubts she'd manage even that.

"Be specific, Abhorsen."

"Fine. Anything in my power to do that doesn't directly contradict my responsibilities as Abhorsen." She's not sure if he'd actually try to order her to kill someone, or bring them back afterwards, but it's important to make clear that the latter isn't an option.

"I'd need to sleep before I do any magic though, unless all you want is for me to pass out trying to to cast one." She feels ready to fall asleep as it is.

"I could... give you a Charter mark?" it's the first thing to jump into her exhausted mind, "Or do magic for you."

Now she sounds almost serious. Connor's eyes narrow, gaze flicking toward the shared wall.

"I've been trying to avoid deactivation."

Not leap into it headfirst on some idiotic hope that this time, she'd change him for the better. Connor swallows back the claustrophobic sense of pressure, grateful for the barrier between them. (More grateful yet that they took her bells away.)

"....What do you think is going to happen here? You apologize, set things 'right'—and what? Everything goes back to normal?"

His lips curl, spitting out the word with sheer distaste.

"What are you talking about?" Does he think bearing the mark would put him in danger? More than all of them are already, just by the necromancer being loose and the army after both Sabriel and Jericho.

"Things between us won't go back to how they were before," He's no longer bound to her, and Sabriel has no interest in rebinding him, or certainty that she could. "I'd settle my debt, and then go back to the Old Kingdom when my work here is done. Alone."

The puzzlement sounds genuine. Connor frowns, not sure whether he's missing something, or she is. His predecessor had been thoroughly dead when she applied the mark before.

(He'd wondered at the time what made her decide that Connor was worth empowering. He hates, more than a little, how much of him still does.)

...That's not what matters here. Mostly. (If he'd had magic, would he have been able to stop her from using the bells?) Connor huffs out a breath, head tilting as he tastes the echo of her phrase.

"...your 'debt'."

It's not precisely a question.

It's not a question, but Sabriel answers it anyway.

"I wronged you, and I benefited from your work. What do I owe you if not a debt? And granting you a baptism seems the best way to repay it- unless you'd rather have a bag of gold?" She's not sure what he'd even do with the money, but if that's what he wants...

Well, she'll give it to him. What else is there? Casting spells for him, pulling strings for him in the Old Kingdom... Sabriel's not sure what else she's good for.

The pause draws out for longer, this time. When Connor speaks, his sneer is audible. The closed, distrustful stare still focused on the wall—less so.

"...you never gave a shit about that before."

His predecessor thought he was too dangerous. What's her excuse? Too useful?

(He doubts it.)

"And I was wrong to not care. I was so wrapped up in doing what I thought my duty was, in wrapping things up as quickly as I could so I could get back to the Old Kingdom, that I didn't question if how I was treating you was right."

The admission is painful, like pulling splinters of glass out of a wound. She'd hurt him, and worse, she'd done it without meaning to, with no idea how much damage she'd done until it was too late.

Wrong. Right. More platitudes, and Connor rolls his eyes, head dropping back against the wall behind him. Nothing the human's saying makes her claims of 'debt' seem any stronger. She hadn't cared what she was doing... until she did. Her use of him had been a simple, justified transaction—right up until she didn't have the option to continue. (Not easily, at least.)

...Hank Anderson had apologized too. Fumbling and heartfelt, right up to the Tower's door. It hadn't stopped him shooting Connor the moment his vantage of the morals changed.

Abhorsen's consequences might be different, but she's no less fickle in the end. Connor's hand slips under his coat, thumb tracing lightly over the contours of his handgun's grip. He doesn't answer.

Connor doesn't say anything, but Sabriel keeps talking. She's not sure if she could stop, even if she wanted.

"I was- stupid. When you attacked Connor- I thought Cyberlife was making you do it. And I knew you were lying about being a machine, but- I thought you liked getting orders, if they were the orders you wanted. Except now I realize you probably hated all of it."

She's practically curled up into a ball right now, her chin resting on her knees.

"And- even if you made it clear you didn't like me, when you were there, I wasn't alone- except that wasn't fair to you, and I should just- accept I'm going to be alone, until I get back to the Old Kingdom."

Connor was a machine. Is a machine. But now he's malfunctioning—failed, finally, past any chance to be repaired. He stares at the door, LED pulsing slowly: gold, red, gold. It's a relief, he thinks. It is and it isn't.

He doesn't contradict Abhorsen. Her misunderstandings are the best defense he's had, and he can't think of many worse mistakes than damaging them now. Assuming he even could.

"You should," he agrees. It would make things much easier. Unless, of course...

Connor hesitates, but—he's been curious.

"Did you bind my predecessor?"

"I will. I'm not a child anymore, and I-" Sabriel goes silent as she processes what Connor says next.

"No!" It comes out more vehemently than she expected, and Sabriel straightens up. It's probably unfair, but she's... offended.

"I didn't do anything to him. After you left- I told him he could consider our deal dissolved if he wanted. He told me the necromancer was still a threat- so our deal was still on." And she's fairly certain he won't linger a moment longer than that. Not that she can blame him.

Didn't do anything is demonstrably false. When Connor had left, the other RK800 was bleeding out on the floor. But if she really did stop at healing his double...

"Then why are you whining about loneliness?"

It's annoying. No, stupid. "He—It—"

...Connor freezes. Stares ahead. Swallows, and tries again.

"It's staying with you. Apparently of its own choice."

Abhorsen could be lying, of course. She's just very bad at that. Whatever she has or hasn't done to his copy, he doubts she considers it binding, at the least.

Edited 2020-05-26 01:05 (UTC)

"He." Sabriel intones. "And- I think so? It's clearly not because his friends told him to. And- I'm not in a position to turn down his help."

Even if he asks for more in exchange- except he hasn't. He's stuck by the terms of their original agreement, despite... everything.

And if he sees the Dead as a true threat, he's the only real ally she has in Ancelstierre. Jericho doesn't recognize the Dead as a threat, and the army has apparently decided that killing androids is more important.

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