Leave all the lost souls behind

[notglitching]

Who: Rinzler, Tron, and Bel Thorne. Later adding Wanda, Zam, Gregor, and maybe others!
When: A few hours past midnight on Jan 2 (actual murderfights), and fallout over the next few days.
Where: Starting at the Observation Deck, ending up in the hold and medbay
What: error--conflicting types for function declaration
Warnings: mindscrew/trauma references, laser disk violence, blood, injuries, and snark


Low-power shifts, it seemed, were part of every user system. The Moira might not shut down quite as fully as that school, but activity levels had dropped markedly half a millicycle back, and by now, most users were either in their quarters or off visiting the planet-shape below. Definitely an improvement, from Rinzler's point of view.

Dimmed as it was, the hallway illumination was more than enough to travel by. No need for scans to find a path, though he kept up awareness on all fronts as he climbed silently toward the higher levels of the ship. There was something disquieting about the empty spaces in this ship, reflections stretching, whispers calling from the edges of a room. All the more reason to keep searching for the threats.

And all the less reason to sleep. Not that Rinzler ever needed much dissuading on that count. He paused halfway up a ladder, gaze catching for a moment on the red-orange reflections on the wall. Reboot had always been a painful process, but on the Grid his systems had corrected any glitch too soon for the enforcer to retain any memory of why. But in the user world, in that user body he'd been in? There had been dreams. Faces in the wrong shapes, lights in the wrong colors, and a system far too vast and bright to be his world. Rinzler jerked his head to the side, pushing back the nauseating twist of [warning—] in his code.

He wasn't sure what would happen if he went to sleep now.

Focus redirected almost gratefully to the field of stars as he started out along the observation deck. These lights, at least, no one had turned off. But something seemed distorted further down the hall, and the enforcer slowed to a halt, mask fixing on the faint blue glow approaching the far entrance. Yori? Hope hurt, but logic wiped it far too quickly. He'd checked the directory, and besides, the shade was wrong, a cool blue-white that set his code on edge. Rinzler stilled, one hand reaching silently to retrieve his unlit disks. It didn't have to be an enemy, not here.

But it felt wrong.

Comments

[fight4theusers]

Tron had very little need to "sleep", as it were, and spent very little time in his small assigned quarters for the few reboot cycles he required. He'd fallen into the habit of unofficially patrolling the ship's decks after his shifts were over in Communications, feeling far more at ease in a security function than the one designated to him here. Certainly, there were security personnel on the ship, but Tron could not deny his programming as a monitor, not even here in this new world.

In this downtime, however, something new was setting his circuits on edge. Some familiar buzz in his code, a sensation that should not exist. Tron extended his patrol further than usual, moving toward the aft deck, searching for whatever it was that had pinged his senses.

There. A hint of orange-red, almost hidden in the darkness, but stark against the blackness of space outside. Movement, quick and sure. This was no reflection of an instrument panel, and Tron knew that glow, that color. His discs were in his hand before he'd even thought of the command, though he did not yet activate them.

"Identify yourself, program," he called out, stepping into the observation deck's open space.

[notglitching]

Steps drew nearer, and the sensation built. Wrong, wrong... familiar. Like a chain of errors spilling out of cache. He could feel his own sound jarring louder, and for more than a moment, Rinzler wondered if that was the source after all. A mistake of light, a glitch in systems copied and replaced too many times to hold together. How long has it been since Clu repaired his code? Even in the user school, repair and recoding had been delayed. Perhaps too far.

But glitches didn't show up on scans. Errors didn't have a face he could map even at this range, nauseatingly uncovered (not allowed). And the voice that called out across the gap? Was enough to stall, or crash, or rip apart. Another double. But worse, somehow, than the blood-soaked copy he'd chased before. He didn't want to hear it talk. He didn't want to see it. Noise jarred out in a snarl, code locked and grinding with something far worse than breached permissions. It was him. It was broken.

It had to die.

Lights flared a furious red-orange as paired disks split and launched. First one, then the other. The rest of Clu's weapon followed after.

[fight4theusers]

That glitching, rattling sound was far too familiar, and more than enough of an identification. No. It couldn't be, there was no possible way...

But he himself was a copy, was he not? A replication of the original Tron, an upgrade of the one left behind in the Encom system. Why could there not be another copy of him? Justification and reasoning flashed through his processor in an instant, all following the realization that Rinzler, his dark half, his reprogrammed self, was in front of him, was here on the ship...

...was attacking.

Tron's own discs flashed blue-white as he crouched into a defensive stance, the other's discs circling inches above his head. Rinzler was moving with intent to kill, though Tron had no such immediate desire to destroy his double. "I am not your enemy!" He would fight to defend himself, however.

[notglitching]

Rinzler didn't care where the copy had come from. Rinzler didn't [wouldn't] stop to think about its lights, or stance, or voice. All of it was wrong, all of it was broken, and he needed to fight and move and make all of it stop. The thinking most of all.

The flare of disks ahead dragged out a surge of vicious satisfaction. The call [lie, lie], he wiped from cache. Disks rebounded, scoring hot sparks against the wall behind Tron's head, and Rinzler leapt up to catch them as he closed. One step off the forcefield to the right, and his body slammed downward in a flip, bringing both weapons to melee in a blurring diagonal slash that carried the momentum of his launch behind it.

Might want to start fighting, double. Not that Rinzler was ever really offering a choice.

[fight4theusers]

Rinzler was apparently beyond negotiation or reason. Tron brought his discs up, ready to defend, fighting processes already taking over. He knew Rinzler's attacks, knew his style, how could he not? It was far too easy to slip into the motions.

Discs clashed, sparks flying, as Tron met his double's attacks, blow for blow. Despite knowing how to fight Rinzler, Tron still found himself driven back, constantly on the defensive. "I don't want to hurt you, stop!" He'd have to strike out, have to move to injure or bring his dark twin down somehow. Rinzler was obviously fighting with far more lethal intent.

A wall was at his back. Tron had nowhere else to move. Dodging, turning, Tron felt something shift in his processes, a subtle nudge, finish the game, even as the spinning bright edge of Rinzler's disc grazed his arm, a bright spill of voxels far less severe than the intended strike.

Falling more easily into the movements of the fight, Tron struck out, pushing forward, into Rinzler's space.

you've almost reached your decision gate and I can't allow you any more time

[hellsbel]

There had to be a better way to deal with new arrivals than turning them loose to wander through the ship. Bel, in a stormy mood after a long and confusing couple of days, decided to avoid the gardens tonight -- that memorial in the middle had been extremely unsettling lately -- and head up to the aft to watch the sky.

Apparently, though, someone else had gotten there first, and wasn't using the space for stargazing.

Bel paused to listen as the first shouts and clashes became audible, then set out at a quick, catfooted run for the arch leading onto the deck, halting just out of sight to set their Dendarii-issued stunner on the lightest setting. A quick scan of the room first, and then -- whatever response would suggest itself. Maybe the enraged shouting was nothing but a friendly spar.

[[new thread for whenever this should happen!]]

end of line~?

[notglitching]

Spar, arguably. But it wouldn't take much looking to discover that there was nothing friendly at all about the battle going on around the corner. Disks hummed and clashed in bright blurs, score marks on the nearby walls and decks joined by a scatter of voxels. Blue-white and red-orange both, even if the lights on the combatants were a lot closer to matching now.

It was better this way. No colors except Clu's, no voice except the mutual skip and rattle of harsh noise. But if the screaming mass of [error] [mismatch] [wrong] in Rinzler's code had quieted a little as his mirror-self changed, the drive to kill had only become shared. There was only one way this fight was ending.

That, too, was for the best.

Sparks flew as the enforcer's disks clashed against his mirror's; once, twice, thrice before a counter forced him back. He dropped into a roll, flicking one weapon out in a sharp angle to force space. The strain on cracked and damaged code was dismissed as quickly as it flagged; there was a wall behind to reverse his momentum, and Rinzler needed to be quick, needed to focus on the threat. Diagnostics could come later.

The presence of a different form around the corner was just as easy to dismiss.

we've almost reached the interrupt interface~

[hellsbel]

Someone had thumped against the wall. As soon as the scrape of feet signaled that they were up again, Bel stepped out into the open doorway, taking in the scene with one quick survey.

One of the new abductees, the helmeted stranger with bad-disk rumbling noise the red lights along his armor, was striking out at another crewperson with something that flashed brightly in his hand, the long flex of his body almost miraculous in its perfection. The other, forced away from what had almost been a grapple, was about to throw something that shone bright blue -- Tron. The lights along his armor were flares now, and both were wounded, bright gashes spilling -- what, tiny glowing specks? That couldn't be good.

Other projectiles, already on their flight paths as Bel turned the corner, caromed off the walls. Jumping either warrior was a bad idea as long as one of them still held a weapon. And this was no ponderous drunken brawl. The two fighters were good.

Bel was already moving. Twenty years of instinct and training took over, adrenaline spiking. Skidding out onto the deck, well out of reach of either fighter, Bel held both hands out just above waist level, an empty, disarming distraction within easy snatching distance from the small stunner still appended to the belt. To the fighters, the mercenary would appear lean and lithe, somewhat shorter than either of them, soft brown hair framing a sharp face in a raggedly ambiguous cut; perhaps not particularly threatening, but moving with confidence, the alto voice raised to a roar.

"Stand down! Both of you--!"

Under a second had passed from the first quick look.

It would have taken a similar fraction to realize that something was wrong -- the flung projectiles weren't losing momentum and bouncing to the floor, like any self-respecting metal object in the grip of the ship's artificial gravity, but curling back toward their respective owners.

And even as Bel's gaze turned from one fighter to the other, a ticking rumble revved up, twin to the helmeted man's incessant robotic purr.

They'd never really talked, but Bel had seen Tron about the ship helping others during the recent heating breakdown. A little tall for comfort, but perfectly proportioned and with a look of gentle sternness that he might not know the power of himself, especially if -- as rumored -- he wasn't actually human. But it was a different face that caught Bel's attention now. Snarling. Transformed.

Transforming.

His light-spots flashed red. The new inhuman purring growl was somehow coming from him.

Oh yes, this is definitely trouble.

[fight4theusers]

So focused on his objective, Tron almost hadn't registered the other presence in the room. Certainly, he'd noticed, but the other hadn't been categorized as threat, not like his double in front of him. He had to finish this, subdue Rinzler, complete the mission tasked to him now.

The shouted command made him falter, stumble. A User's command, issued toward both himself and Rinzler. His overwritten coding demanded obedience, instant submission. Clu had required no less. But this was not Clu, not Alan-1, not even Flynn's voice, but still, his programming insisted that he follow, the split-second of glitch enough to make him step back.

His disc returned to his hand and he straightened, gaze flicking to the side, trying to see the new person who had arrived to stop them.

[notglitching]

The interference drew Rinzler's attention. The command did not. The enforcer's coding demanded submission to Clu and Clu alone, and one shouting user was hardly a reason for delay. The opposite, really. As his double faltered, stalled, glitched? Rinzler kept his focus. The user wasn't a threat.

It was an opportunity.

The maskless figure turned away, and a red-lit disk flashed out. One rebound off the wall, aimed to catch his target from behind. It wouldn't surprise Rinzler if his mirror was quick enough to answer the attack. He would be, after all. But between the swift attack and the user's helpful distraction? Rinzler's own strike had much better odds of slipping through.

The enforcer snatched his second disk from the air and dove forward in a blur.

Post-fight talks - Rinzler (Hold)

[notglitching]

The space was too small to properly pace in, but Rinzler certainly gave the impression of wanting to. When he first rebooted, he'd been at the door in less than a micro, testing the integrity of the lock through increasingly less subtle attempts. But there was no electronic interface to bypass on this side, and if he'd dented the metal with sheer force, he hadn't managed any more. When the damage to his side had begun to fracture further from the strain, warnings of critical threshold, cascade risk overwriting visuals, Rinzler had given up on the attempt for now.

It would be different if he had his disks. Circuits dimmed, tension curling down from the enforcer's hunched shoulders to his empty hands, itching for a weapon. Identity disks were much more than that, but Rinzler didn't want to think about what else they might be used for now. Code access was locked to Clu and Clu alone, but this ship had far too many unknowns already, and there was no way of knowing what had happened while he'd been offline.

He needed them back. He needed to get out. Go back. Finish things, however many threats he had to wipe along the way. He'd hesitated, with the user. His glitch. Nothing he could do to fix it now but wait.

And if being caged felt too familiar, he didn't want to think about that either.

I'm just gonna assume there's an intercom or something... :S

[seeingscarlet]

There's a familiar urge here; Wanda really just wants to hurt Rinzler, make him afraid. It's probably just as well for both of them that she can't get in his head. Unfortunately, it makes her actual job a lot harder.

For a long time she just stares through the window, arms folded. Her eyes were glowing red originally but they've reverted to their usual green after she realized trying to read him was pointless. Well, there's some sort of comm system at least...here goes the old-fashioned way.

"Why?"

sounds logicky to me!

[notglitching]

When the figure first appeared outside the window, the enforcer's black mask tipped that way immediately. User-shaped; just observing from outside... but with a red light behind its eyes that almost mapped familiar. His own scans might not penetrate the door, but Rinzler watched back as the glow dimmed and faded.

Still no move to enter, but that was fine. He could wait. It was a frequent default (if one he'd always, always hated); penned in and waiting for a task to come. These users had no ownership over his functions, but he could stall just as easily for opportunity as for command—and with much more satisfaction when the moment came.

The voice that calls across the intercom isn't that, but it's not objectionable, either. Still, Wanda won't hear any response. The only sound the speaker will pick up is a low, ticking rattle, mechanical and even. Instead, Rinzler's reply comes in a slight angle of the mask she's watching through the window. Query. Restatement request. 'Why'? The program's actions seem perfectly clear, at least to him.

She's going to need to clarify.

[seeingscarlet]

Mind games with robot-things: fun for the whole family.

She'd wanted to see whether he thought she was objecting to the fight or the injuries. Bel hadn't seen what set the two off, so Wanda has no idea who started it. This one, if she were to guess, considering that he attacked Bel and the other one stopped.

"Why were you fighting?"

hello rinszler meet your new bff

[backsassin]

As a bounty hunter, Zam has been around prisoners before: prisoners who cry, prisoners who yell, prisoners who threaten to cut you into tiny pieces unless you open the door right this second, etc etc etc. Usually, the best policy is to ignore them and let them wear themselves out. But Zam is especially unhappy with this prisoner in particular and he’s making far too much noise banging against the metal door like that, so she allows herself the cathartic opportunity to heckle him.

“Hey, I get that you’re trying to pull off the whole ‘break out or die trying’ thing, but if you could hurry up and choose either one or the other, that’d be great, thanks.”

[notglitching]

Having exhausted his options (metaphorically and otherwise), the program had been about to take a pause. The damage from his mirror's disk wasn't deep, but he hadn't exactly been careful of it in the fight, and Rinzler could feel the fractures spidering a little deeper, code grating and shifting with each attack. Better to break off for now. Let the instability repair.

Still, the unsubtle taunt's enough to earn a skip of annoyance in the enforcer's constant rumble. If the user (guard?) minds so much, she's welcome to expedite the process. Or rather, try.

A few (deliberate) seconds later, and Zam will hear another clang of impact on the door. Heckling goes both ways. Enjoy.

[backsassin]

The next clang earns an eyeroll from Zam. “Cute,” she mutters. Still, the fact that the prisoner is awake and lucid enough to wordlessly backsass her is at least enough to pique her interest. She walks up to the window, crossing her arms as she regards the cell’s one inhabitant. Her gaze lingers on the wound at his side.

“Well, go on. I’m not stopping you. Just a few more good hits and I’m sure the door will open right up.” She tilts her head, feigning innocent curiosity. “Oh, before you start: do programs bleed out when they open a wound or is it more like short circuiting?” Zam might not be an expert on programs, but her acquaintance with Tron means she knows one when she sees one. Not that those weird glowing suits are all that subtle in the first place.

text;

[hellsbel]

Bel's not going down to the hold any time soon. Flat in an infirmary bunk, arm back in place and immobilized for recovery and blood platelets slowly replenishing... after a gash like that, even a career mercenary knows when to shut up and take their medicine. It's late morning the following day when Bel glances down at the MID on their arm, sighs, and decides not to fight the text function with only one hand up to moving.


"Nice to see you're up and about." The face on the screen is recognizable, but drawn and bloodless, the soft frame of hair matted and the eyes hollow with exhaustion. It's not a blank, though. If Rinzler has any ability to read faces, he might recognize the tight mouth and flat alto as deeply, tiredly ironic. "You're lucky not to have been smashed altogether. Care to explain why you put two people in sickbay last night?"

video + text;

[notglitching]

For all that Rinzler's seen this face for less than a micro of quick glimpses—and that without a chance to dock his disks since—recognition somehow isn't a concern. The helmet stills, ticking rattle skipping a beat as he stares at the display. User. Threat. The flippant commentary earns no response at all; the threat of derezz, only a fractional (challenging) tip of the mask. It's welcome to come try.

That question, on the other hand...

Interference.

That should account for both of them, right? If the user hadn't jumped in, it wouldn't have been injured. And without the interruption to pull Rinzler's focus from his duplicate, it wouldn't have made it to the medbay either. Less work on all sides.

video + text;

[hellsbel]

A weak snort at the text -- cat got your tongue, stranger? ha, maybe he'd bitten it when he hit the floor -- but the body language was plain. Ready for the rematch, no contrition in sight.

Bel met the silent stare as well as possible. "Interference with what? Were you trying to cut open the bulkhead and walk home?"

video + text;

[notglitching]

Oh, Rinzler catches that response. There's a fractional bristle, hunched frame tightening a little closer, but still no sound outside of the low rumbling.

Threat deletion.

Just like he's told every other user. This is a waste of time.

[fight4theusers]

Repairs had been done, code-scars patched over, no longer danger of cascade failure. Sam and Meh had done good work, using Sam's knowledge of program code and Meh's own AI. Tron had spent several days in the medbay, making sure his code was stable, but he couldn't delay this confrontation any longer.

At least this time there was a barrier between them.

Tron stood outside Rinzler's cell for a long moment before pinging the intercom and watching his double through the glass. So alike, yet so different, like looking in a mirror of what he did not want to see of himself.

[notglitching]

If Tron's condition had improved, Rinzler's had stayed more or less unchanged. The flurry of interrogations had come and gone, leaving far too much time to loop and idle and itch with frustration in the cell. Between the heat and intermittent sounds, true sleep would be unlikely (and unwanted), but by the time his duplicate appeared outside the door, Rinzler had certainly lapsed into a lower-power state. Lights were barely brighter than the glint of damage at his side, helmet low. Until that ping.

The mask twitched upward... and froze, noise building from a low stutter to a growl. Threat. No, duplicate. [Him] [Not-him] and it didn't matter and it should have been erased. The enforcer jerked up to his feet, wiping the fragmented pieces from his processing as circuits flared angry red-orange.

What did it want?

[fight4theusers]

There were too many questions, too many problems that needed to be solved here. Tron did not even know where to begin. How could he speak to his double now, convince him not to attack him again as soon as there wasn't a wall between them?

"I am not a threat to you, Rinzler," he said, hoping to appeal to his logic, what might be left of it. "There is no need for us to fight each other."

[notglitching]

The words (not allowed) drew a fractional twitch of fingers at the enforcer's side; their meaning, only a flat glare. Talking? If it had come to finish him, at least that would make sense. But no, talking was all the users had wanted too, and of course this copy was glitched enough to think it might help.

Not that it mattered. Rinzler wasn't broken. He didn't want to look at it. He knew better than to speak. (And if he hated that too, it was easy to bury that loathing in the rest). Violence would make a better answer, but with the door in the way, Rinzler settled for a sharp jerk of his helmet to the side. Fighting was what they were for, and if his duplicate was too damaged to recognize that, all the more reason it needed to be wiped.