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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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.

Connor scowls, swallowing the urge to insert another 'it' out of sheer spite. She doesn't get to tell him how to speak. Or anything else, for that matter.

"Then it sounds like you've got everything you wanted."

"What I want doesn't matter. But things could be far worse."

They could be dead, or captured by the army, or the necromancer. Instead, they're being held by people who want none of them dead, and will hopefully release them to go on their way.

"But- Connor, what do you want?" She's asked him this before. Hopefully, this time he'll give her an answer, instead of just saying he's incapable of wanting anything and looking at her like she's an idiot for asking.

Admittedly, he's probably looking at her like she's an idiot right now, she just can't see it.

Probably? Definitely. His eyes have been turned toward Abhorsen's wall for a while, and her new bout of self-pity only sharpens the loathing in his glare. She just admitted to keeping him to satisfy her wants—and now that they're satisfied, she trots out this?

What a convenient time for 'selflessness'.

"I want you to cut the bullshit." The words hiss out, sharp and angry.

There's a long pause before Sabriel speaks. She's not even sure if she should, but the words press in her throat.

"Fine- I have at least one ally, and while I'd prefer it if the army and Cyberlife weren't after me- I don't regret doing what I did to set them on me. But I still owe you a debt, and I want to settle it." And she's not entirely sure how, or what kind of payment Connor would even accept.

...There it is.

The pause returns, long and silent. In part, Connor's swallowing back acrid commentary: did that much honesty physically hurt? She exercises it so rarely. But still, Abhorsen insists on that 'debt'. Admits she wants to settle it.

Wants, not needs. For herself, not as a favor. Not something for him—leverage, or maintenance of a resource. No, this is a human serving her own self-centered whims. Checking off an arbitrary box so she can think more highly of herself.

It's pathetic. But not useless to him, either.

"...Fine," Connor cedes. "I'll think about it." She's just told him she can't do anything right now; delaying shouldn't make a difference.

(He eyes the wall, half-expecting a protest anyways.)

"All right." There isn't any need to say more than that, and Sabriel shuts her eyes and sinks back into her cot. Connor will come up with some way she can pay her debt, and the other Connor will explain things to Jericho. There's not much she can do now but rest and wait.

Even the obnoxiously bright lights can't stop her from drifting off- within a few minutes her breathing is steady and even as she sinks deeper into much needed slumber.

Hours pass.

The cell's harsh lighting stays on, uncaring of the human's obvious desire for sleep. The light fixture hums faintly, the guard in the hall makes no effort to be quiet during her regular patrols.

Eventually footsteps come to a crisp stop outside the cell, this time with a longer stride, with crisper shoes.

They wait.

... When nothing stirs in the cell, there's a polite, measured knock on the class.

(Pause.)

A careful, "Abhorsen," called, in a familiar voice. The manners involved are familiar too, and telegraph at least as much as the voice's timbre itself.

(Pause.)

(There's still no response in the cell. Connor can see that she's breathing deeply and evenly.)

"Abhorsen..." he calls slightly louder. "Are you awake?"

(Pause.)

(No answer.)

His hand is still resting on the cell window, he considers hammering against it. Shouting. Finding some strident alarm that would force her awake.

Connor lowers his hand slowly, and his shoulders rise and fall in a silent sigh. Her condition may answer at least two of the questions he'd wanted to ask her, but that leaves him stuck where they are until she's been debriefed, let alone released. (Assuming Jericho releases her.) Connor has already been debriefed, and he's already answered everything the technicians in sick bay asked of him. He's already taken the time afterwards to regroup, switching out his damaged clothes for cleaner ones without bullet holes. He's resupplied.

He can't leave without Abhorsen. She can't leave unless she's been debriefed, and she obviously hasn't done this yet. He'd vaguely wanted to speak, but he's disinclined to pound the glass in a way he's confident would wake even the most comatose of subjects.

... They can't leave until she's been debriefed. Isn't there anything else productive that Connor can do?

Without calling again, Connor turns, then leaves. He has contacts to check in with, and... food to have sent to her.

---

When Connor comes back, there's a bottle of water and a few bags suitable for a vending machine waiting just inside the door of her cell. Abhorsen herself is still sleeping.

Connor goes to the cell window, and this time his tone dips mulishly. Any hesitance he might've had before is now gone.

"Abhorsen, wake up."

Sabriel twitches awake, what she was dreaming about already slipping out of her mind (Whatever it was about, it wasn't pleasant.) She's confused, for a moment, blinking at the bright lights until she remembers where she is and what happened.

"Connor?" She asks blearily, sitting up and blinking away the last bits of sleep, "When did they let-" Then she stops- this isn't the Connor she thought he was, and she doubts Jericho would ever put one of their own in a cell. She takes a few hesitant steps toward him. She feels- better, she realizes. She must have slept for hours, at least. She grabs the water bottle, suddenly realizing how thirsty she is as she takes a deep drink.

"I'm awake. What's happened, can we go now?" The necromancer isn't wait. And she needs to get her bells back, and go get her sword before she can do anything.

"Where's Connor- the other Connor, I mean. Did they let him leave already?"

This time she stirs immediately. After some initial disorientation, she sits, speaking--then cuts herself off, though not before it's clear what her mistake is.

(His lips thin as he realizes what she meant. Still, she corrects herself, and is it fair of Connor to resent the confusion when most androids share appearances with thousands of counterparts? No. He shouldn't be irritated at all, except by the reminder of the counterpart himself.)

Speaking of him, the cell beside hers is as empty as it was the last time he arrived. He's been watching as he's moved from place to place, but there's been no sign of him where Connor can see. Has he left? Connor feels--

"He's not in this cellblock," Connor says, severing the line of thought like a snake from its head. "They may have finished by now."

"Has anyone spoken with you about debriefing, yet?"

Sabriel gives him a guilty, apologetic look as she sees his lips thin, and she makes a mental note to be absolutely sure which of them she's talking to in the future.

"Not that I know- I've just been sleeping." And she feels much better for it. Sabriel rips open one of the bags- potato chips, this time- and eats a few- then a few more, as she realizes she was hungrier than she thought.

"Did they ask you to do it?" It makes sense. Connor, more than anyone, would know the right questions to ask, and is the only person here she knows.

"They'll be wanting to talk with you directly," Connor says, shaking his head. His gaze drops for a moment, because there was a tangible weight to realizing how deeply they thought he'd been compromised, and how shaky their trust really was.

He shakes himself internally, trying (without success) to banish the feeling. "They need to corroborate what I've said," he continues, bringing his eyes up again. "Until they're certain, it's practical for them to interrogate us separately."

"But- they listened to you, didn't they? About magic, and the Dead, and the necromancer?" Or will this be like her dealings with the army all over again- dealing with people so focused on their own mission that they won't listen, even when their own allies are warning them?

"I understand that it can be- hard for some people to believe those things, if they don't have first hand experience, but if the necromancer isn't stopped-" If the necromancer isn't stopped, they'll all be dead, or forced to flee south into human controlled territory. And Sabriel understands now what the humans will do to them.

"They listened." To a degree. He shakes his head, waving a hand as though brushing his mind clear. "There was already evidence of the Necromancer's work before I encountered you, and I was able to show them a few basic spells. Those basic points aren't the problem."

Should he tell her? It would give her time to prepare. What would be better, for Connor's friends to have an unfiltered look at her obviously unprepared reactions, or for her to have answers ready to speak concisely?

... If they want a raw reaction, Connor has full faith that his friends can find one. "They're concerned that I might be compromised. I'd told them about the bell after you used it, and some of my actions have seemed puzzling since then."

Edited 2020-06-07 04:57 (UTC)

Sabriel looks at Connor like he just slapped her. When she speaks, her voice is louder than she intends it to be.

"But I haven't done- anything to you! And it's not- not something I could do without knowing I did it!" She'd never used Saraneth on him. And even the first time, with Connor- she might not have known how she'd altered his programming, but she knew Saraneth had put him under her control.

"I- what are they worried about? They can just- ask, and I'll explain everything."

Connor is silent for a moment, watching her, and her distress.

"... They're worried that you may have deliberately altered my behavior to favor you over my android companions," Connor answers finally, stressing key words as though he's trying to explain something difficult. "They're worried that you're using me, so they're comparing my accounts with the other Connor's, and soon yours."

"They're going to ask you what you've done." He opens his mouth to continue, then pauses, struggling. She's surprised that Jericho would suspect her of using the power she has, like she doesn't know that every human that's ever had power was likely to use it.

"... Be honest," Connor manages. "And don't be surprised if they assume the worst." He considers smiling, but instead narrows his eyes further, frown deepening.

PSL

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