You can never say that I didn't try

[notglitching]

Who: Rinzler and OPEN
When: April 14th through the 24th
Where: the Hold
What: Rinzler killed some people and copes poorly. Set after this log.
Warnings: references to character death and mindscrew, glowy injuries, unfortunate assumptions. (See also: Rinzler.)


The first place Rinzler woke up in this system was a cell. He'd been locked in after a fight with his duplicate—with Tron. Not that the enforcer had been capable then of even hearing the older version's name. Rinzler had attacked because he had to, because the overrides built in his mind detected conflict and demanded he delete the source. Since then, he's shattered that if/then chain. Chipped away at the filters on his memories, even managed, once or twice, to speak.

But he's back where he started, and he knows better than to expect things to end the same way.

For the most part, visitors will find Rinzler seated on the low bench back against the wall. Circuits burn dimly in the shadows, almost outshone by the dull glint of fractured code that covers a full half of the enforcer's core. He's turned slightly to conceal the injured side, but the spiderwebbing cracks through code and armor are obvious to see, and he doesn't have the power to refresh his shell and cover up the damage.

The low rattle of corrupted code echoes through the cell and down the corridor, though it does nothing to compete with the invectives from the user locked in one door down. Rinzler approaches shutdown just once, curled up against the wall, and if the flickering lights and twitch of limbs is any sign, it's anything but restful. The program won't notice anyone approaching then, but he probably wouldn't mind being woken.

Once or twice, Rinzler rises, pacing, frustration and the need to move boiling up through the despair. There's nowhere to go, though, nothing to do, and even that much risks opening his damage further. Maybe he should. Fracture, break, rip himself apart and leave them voxels on the floor to claim and punish. Rinzler wonders if he ever tried before. If he does, he can't remember. He wonders what they'll make him into. Alan-one had told him what would happen, told him he'd correct the fault if Rinzler fought again. Now two users are dead, and if there's any hope at all, it's that they'll decide he's too worthless to salvage.


[[ooc: the duration during which Rinzler can be visited depends largely on the results of his trial, so there may be some time-wobbling. In particular, if he ends up with solitary confinement... no longer applicable; Rinzler will be visitable for both the trial period and his sentence. ETA 2: As of the 20th, temperature conditions will be improved thanks to Vision + co.

Prose and spam both welcome!]]

Comments

[pleasereset]

Asriel saw the footage. He really wished he hadn't, but after how they're encounter had gone in the prison, Asriel's both horrified at what took place and yet he wonders if he should've seen the signs the whole time.

And yet between Sans and Chara, it seems like EXP was something that people here were a little too eager to collect.

He stops by the hold after his shift ends at work, later in the evening. And Rinzler looks, well... awful. But no one in the hold really looked their best anyway. He has a lot of questions, a lot of whys. But seeing him curled up the way he is, Asriel decides not to ask right now.

"Rinzler...?"

Are you okay? seems like a stupid question to ask. He'll wait to see if he can even get a response.

[notglitching]

It takes a moment. The heat bleeding in from the engines is enough to clutter his processes with lag, if not nearly so badly as the baking oven of the users' trap. The damage doesn't help either, or the numb ache of low power. Still, if Rinzler were to be completely honest with himself? The hardest part is motivation.

But that voice is familiar, and the expression he sees when he looks up, more so. It's the same face Asriel had worn in the cells of the facility, when the beta looked up and saw him soaked in blood and voxels. Almost funny, how quickly the projection had proved true.

Noise grinds out, a little rougher than usual. Rinzler waits.

[warandpeace]

"Rinzler."

The greeting was simple, if forceful. The words more meant to command attention than to placate. The damage, worse than the last time he saw him in here. Nasty. He'd seen that damage happen to him. He knew that Rinzler probably wouldn't respond. So Miller did the one thing he was good at, he just talked.

"When I first met you I was terrified. But you didn't attack me. You were more interested... in analyzing things. I don't think it was all looking for threats.

"Did I tell you why I was afraid of you? About the things... that took my arm and leg. That ruined my body. Did I tell you about them?" He didn't think he did. But sometimes things slipped his mind. Miller... to his credit, was on two legs now. But out of paranoia was still carrying his crutch. In case the artificial one failed him again.

[notglitching]

The words have their effect, and Rinzler's helmet lifts a little. Miller's presence isn't a surprise. The user had been here last time, too, asking whys and offering to help. Somehow he doubts this trip is for the same reasons.

Rinzler's a weapon, and Rinzler's a threat. Clu's threat, Clu's weapon, but still one half the system feared, and there are a hundred reasons why anyone with sense might do the same. Far more puzzling is why Miller ever stopped. Rinzler's not sure where the user's going with this, but he shakes his head. No, he wasn't told.

[beautifulspaceraptor]

The kinds of things Rinzler had pulled would've merited at least a century in jail in the Hierarchy. Saren would have called it paltry.

Nihlus had been inclined to agree- up until Elle had cast her vote on Rinzler's trial.

Now he's less sure of himself.

J's death and failed resurrection had been the main reason for his vote and plea for a more severe punishment. You didn't kill innocent civilians and walk away with only a month in solitary confinement, unintentional or otherwise. Spearfall's death had been more of a gray area, but J's was clear as day.

And yet.

As Nihlus makes his way down to Rinzler's cell, he finds himself idly wishing for Saren's black and whiteness again- and then promptly hates himself for it. Even if the bastard hadn't shot him, it wasn't like Nihlus had a ever agreed with the older agent's ethical choices half the damn time.

What if Elle was right, anyways? Was he compromised for letting himself be swayed into thinking Rinzler deserved another chance? And with what evidence? He can't trust his instincts anymore, not when it'd let his mentor put him in the cross-hairs.

And yet.

It's not an unfamiliar doubt. This is not an unfamiliar situation. After eight years of being a Spectre and working with the people he did, doing the things he had...

He stops in front of the glass, the click of his talons fading into silence. If Rinzler looks up, he'll see Nihlus' striped face set in a carefully neutral expression.

[notglitching]

Rinzler will look up. There's a momentary stillness—recognition—before a faint tension slides through the enforcer's hunch. That particular ballot isn't far from the program's memory either, and if the vote itself was meaningless, Nihlus' encouragement of harsher measures left more of an impression. When it comes to calculating "the most severe" punishment, Rinzler has a millennia or so of good examples.

He doesn't get up, though. Eyes flicker down behind the mask, checking for his disks. If the user has them, he can't feel it, and anything else it might have come to do, he can endure. Noise rattles out, low and grinding, but otherwise, Rinzler only waits.

[keelahselai]

She shows up not long after seeing the footage. Part of her doesn't know why she's bothering - part of her thinks she shouldn't be here, should turn around and go and...go to Engineering or finish that book on magic she's been uselessly squinting at from the library or...or something.

Somehow, though...

Well, here she is anyway.

He's damaged - she remembers him being vaguely so when they first met, though she hadn't figured it for what it was then. Now, though, it's obvious, and it's even pitiful. But apparently he won't let himself be fixed. If Rinzler were organic, she'd wonder if it was guilt. But he's not, and she's merely confused.

If he doesn't notice her, she'll tap at the wall to get his attention. Only when she has it does she say anything.

"You know, uh..." Her mask is on - her enviro-suit, too, still on from having been on board the station - and her sigh comes through as a crackle on the mic. "I haven't met the other program. Tron. We've been on board as long as each other and I've never spoken to him. Ever. The giant robots are getting hard to avoid, but I stick to rooms with low ceilings." A scoff of a laugh, but there's not much humour to it. "None of them have been killing organics, either."

She's twiddling her thumbs, a nervous gesture, not a bored one, and suddenly blurts out. "Do you have a soul?"

The words are out before she can even wonder where the hell they came from.

[notglitching]

Whether Rinzler noticed her or not, it's after Tali's tap that the black helmet twitches her way. Her own mask takes a moment to match up. The voice is familiar, though, despite the communicator's distortions. He's met this user. She'd been afraid of him before. If the faltering language and faint twitches are much sign, that hasn't changed. He waits through the rambling tangent. The amusement at his kills. He even manages not to bristle when she brings up Tron in contrast.

That question, though? Is a surprise. Rinzler's mask tips a little, startled to open incredulity. Does he... really? He's heard of the concept, yes, but never with any reason to expect it might apply. Which is itself an answer, probably.

The enforcer shakes his head.

[realitywarped]

Loki can't very well condemn Rinzler for murder, attempted or not, not with the blood of so many on hands that weren't his to begin with. At least, not witout a little more information.

And, perhaps, a little sideways sympathy. If Rinzler is a program, is it fair to judge him for what his programming forces him to do? Does he know what he does, does he have an opinion on it? Or can he see the trap, but with no way out, the way Loki

He stands by the bars, watching for a moment, before he clears his throat.

"Are you actually allowed to speak in your own defence? And if you are, do you have anything to say?"

[notglitching]

Rinzler watches right back. The grinding rattle of mismatched code is the only noise the program will answer with—the only noise Rinzler ever makes, even if it's usually a little smoother. There's an almost deliberate skip at Loki's questions—derision or offense, it's hard to say.

Rinzler isn't allowed to speak at all. He reaches for the MID, red-orange letters scrolling out into the air in short reply.

No purpose.

[ersatzeverything]

Deacon didn't expect it to be so hot down in the hold. Beats of sweat are already prickling on his brow and scalp as he sits down on the floor inside Rinzler's cell to talk semi-privately. It's making him feel a lot more unsure about this whole ship justice deal. Punishment is one thing, or eliminating a threat, but a week of this edges into torture and Deacon's not okay with that. He takes off his wig and sets it in his lap and is silent for a long time before he speaks.

"Hey."

Another long pause.

"Wanna have a staring contest?" says the man in shades to a program in a helmet. It's not what he came down here for, but it's a way to start talking. And if the person he was talking to were human, it'd perhaps catch them off guard and give Deacon a small tactical advantage for the first stages of the conversation. Rinzler isn't human, and Deacon doesn't know how he'll react, but habits are habits.

[notglitching]

The heat is stifling by human standards. For a program? It's different, but definitely not better.. Rinzler doesn't sweat, but he can feel the heat dragging at his code, pushing it past any metric of ideal function. System over temperature. Errors compound, glitches and lag stringing out until his processes self-terminate unclosed. It's compounded by the existing damage, and the power loss out to the air. It makes it hard to hold more than the most basic thought together.

Not that the current situation requires much. Rinzler's helmet tips up at the greeting. At the line that follows... well, he stares. Incomprehension? Incredulity? Subtle rejoinder? Deacon can decide.

[neveroutwrenched]

Ratchet sympathizes with the Rinzler that's pacing in the cell; with the person (was he a person?) who's trapped, frustrated, and with nowhere to go except back and forth. This trial, the hold, the Moira, this entire situation...it was impossible not to feel it pressing in on them. His eyes follow the program's frustrated path, and he can't help but feel like he's looking at some kind of visual representation of what far too many of them were feeling.

But that's where his sympathy ends.

"Hey. I need to talk to you."

He stares hard at Rinzler, waiting for a response, his arms crossed tightly, trying to keep the anger out of his expression and largely falling short.

[notglitching]

Steps stall. The black mask turns. The enforcer's usual hunched stance leans just a little further today, frame curved around the absence in his side. It's almost a surprise to need to look down to find the speaker. But Ratchet is familiar. Rinzler observed the user's flight assessment just over a week ago.

If he had the processing space to spare for irony, Rinzler might appreciate the reversal more. As is, the pause lingers as the enforcer's frame twitches, restless and unhappy. He can feel the strain from even basic motion, but inactivity is worse.

Talking, he suspects, will solve nothing at all. But Rinzler waits. Listens. There's nothing else he can do.

[skelepun]

"Rinzy!"

The voice is jovial, almost teasing, coming from the door to the hold that was certainly empty mere moments ago. The silhouetted figure there is hardly intimidating -- short and squat and smiling with a wide-eyed deadness that didn't seem to fit on the skeleton's round face.

Stepping closer, Sans shuffles his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets. His grin seems to magnify exponentially the closer he gets to Rinzler's cell. With an experimental tap on the bars, Sans cocks his skull to the side thoughtfully.

"Y'know, I've heard of a computer locking up before, but this is ridiculous."

[notglitching]

Rinzler hadn't heard the approach. Between the heat-lag and the damage, it's not much of a surprise, but it still bothers him. That name doesn't help either. The helmet twitches upward, noise skipping a beat with irritation.

Sans' pun doesn't seem to register, though that mistake, at least, is understandable. Rinzler's experienced enough lockup of both kinds in the last few millicycles to last a runtime. For now, he only stares at the monster. Waiting.

What does it want?

[alan_1]

[Alan had debated whether or not to come down here at all. The horror, anger, and guilt he had felt watching the footage for the trials is still fresh in his mind, shot through with dread as he remembers what he said he would do -- what he has to do -- if the program broke his injunction against violence. And in the hours since, that reprimand and Rinzler’s response to it have played and replayed in Alan’s memory enough times that he knows even if he wanted answers, it’s unlikely Rinzler would supply them.

And yet here he is. Easier, perhaps, to stay away, to not have to face the program until the time comes for him to repair the error in his code, but for all the pain it might spare him, Alan can’t bring himself to be that cold. The program’s low rumble is just barely audible over the drone of the engines as Alan approaches his cell.

He had seen the glint of Rinzler’s injuries at the trial, but nothing compares to seeing them up close now, spidering over the program’s torso like breaks in glass. Alan remembers the video, the sickening crunch of collapsing code as Peter had slammed the disk into Rinzler’s side over and over again. The anger comes unbidden and instinctive, an echo of what he had felt watching the footage at the trial, and just as quickly turning inwards. Alan had let this happen. He could have stopped this, could have saved everyone before it started if only he’d acted sooner, and isn’t that just perfect coming from him? Twenty years and he’s still making the same mistakes, only this time without the excuse of ignorance. He had known the risks. And he had known how to eliminate them. Only fear had stopped him from acting this time.

When he speaks, the anger doesn’t reach his voice -- only regret and resignation.]

Rinzler.

[notglitching]

[Alan's approach, Rinzler can feel. It's a pressure in the back of his mind, the whisper of (user, mine) seeping up through filtered code. It's recognition of what made him. It's the same terror that's layered through every process for the past couple user-days, growing too strong to ignore.

He disobeyed his user. He disobeyed his programmer. And if Alan-one hadn't spelled it out already, a thousand cycles of correction were enough to tell Rinzler what the result would be. Footsteps come closer, and he freezes, noise rattling out louder as errors snarl and compound. He wants to run. To hide. But there's nowhere to retreat to, no barrier or distraction to deter consequence this time, and he knew this was coming, but that doesn't help.

The lockup holds until Alan-one is right in front of him, then breaks with a jerky scramble to his feet. He shouldn't be sitting. Lag and damage and blind, stumbling fear delay the movement, but Rinzler's standing now, as far from the entrance as he can get without actually pressing back into the walls. It's a few paces, at the most. Shoulders in. Spine curved. The helmet ducks in answer, and doesn't come back up.]

[visionarie]

He enters the holding cell taking in the synthetic with a heavy heart. The scene echoes a vision of Ultron and his final demise at his hands. In the end, he had not wished for Ultron's death and he did not wish for Rinzler's either, yet with little knowledge of the justice system on this ship he had no guarantee they would not harm them. This was the reason for his unease during the trial, a state of being he easily hid under a mask of neutrality. After all, the court was a place for facts not sentiment. But the trial was done and over with and Vision... he could let someone so familiar yet unknown be locked away so easily when it was obvious they required help.

He steps into their line of sight and his eyes linger on the destruction still ailing his form.

"Do you--"

His lips press together, finding it difficult to voice his initial words when this unique being whose balance had tipped causing destruction in their wake was left in this state even after their sentence.

"-- Are you in pain?"

[notglitching]

Shutdown has far too many hazards, even if Rinzler were inclined to make the attempt deliberately. But over the last couple days, low-power mode has become a default. It's necessary: to function in this heat, to keep from losing what energy he has through the damage to his shell. And more, to keep from overprocessing. If he lets himself spend days thinking about everything to come—if he lets himself loop—he'll crash for good.

Still, if there's one thing Rinzler hates, it's not being able to feel people coming. He twitches audibly at the voice before his sound harshens, glass-edged irritation at his own reaction. There's slightly more control (if just as much tension) as Rinzler glances up... before the motion stalls with a blank stare.

That's not the question he'd expected. The program's helmet is still for several moments before it slants warily to the side. Question for question. (Even if the answer to its own was obvious.) Why does it want to know?

4/15

[quixotically]

Elle...

...

Elle puts a lot of thought into this, before she comes down to the hold. When she's been off-duty, she's been wearing her clothes from home, for the most part. Her Pre-War dress, the white T-shirt and jeans of the Kings' outfit... But, today, she leaves those behind. Today, she's actually wearing her civilian uniform, with its yellow stripes. But, over it, she's pulling on something else. A duster. She's taking her pack with her, as always, which means it'll cover up the symbol on the back. But, once she reaches Rinzler's cell, she's going to take it off, leave it sitting on the floor nearby. It's important, even if she doesn't intend to show Rinzler her back -- not because of any worry for her safety, but because it defeats her purpose.

She waits to say anything until her pack is on the floor, and even then, she gives herself a moment to gather her wits one last time. She uses the time to take a deep breath, too, while she's at it.

"Hey." She sticks her hands in her pockets. She looks Rinzler over, concern flickering openly on her face. In the end, that's what she seems to give in to, because what she says next is, "Are you okay?" It's a stupid question, she knows. He doesn't look okay. But she has to ask, anyway.

[notglitching]

This visitor, at least, Rinzler can hear coming. There's not much reaction to her approach, though eyes slide up behind the helmet enough to identify the shape, at least. Elle_Days. The third user assigned to share quarters with Rinzler—and the only one not to actively prove itself malicious. (Yet.) The one who'd found the body, according to his scan of network logs.

The person Nihlus thought he should apologize to.

Rinzler's holding out judgement there. She looks him over, and he watches back. The question that comes out is stupid, and the look on her face doesn't mean much more. Rinzler bypasses either in favor of tilting his mask to the side. Mute question; return inquiry. Why is she here?

[fight4theusers]

Their last conversation through a cell door hadn't gone especially well. Still, Tron couldn't stay away, not after what he'd seen... what he still has yet to understand.

Pausing by the window, Tron peers through the glass at his counterpart, his brow furrowing as he observes the damage more closely. Hasn't Rinzler allowed anyone...? No, he wouldn't. Tron remembers those lock protocols, the directives that only Clu, the admin would have access to repair him. Still, those cracks look too extensive for self-repair, and Sam and Alan could probably break those protocols...

"You don't seem to be functioning at full capacity, program," he says, perhaps a dry attempt at humor.

[notglitching]

The last conversation they'd engaged in here had broken Rinzler. Shattered his mind to pieces and forced him to put them back together in a slightly different shape. If it weren't for Tron, Rinzler wouldn't know what Clu had done to him. He wouldn't be capable of recognizing what he used to be. How thoroughly he'd been lied to.

How easily all of it could happen again.

If Rinzler resents that awareness, it's nothing he'd admit to. And certainly, it's not the only thing to resent. Tron is whole, Tron is free, Tron is the one their user wanted. The one everyone wants. He has a place here. He would never kill a user.

Needless to say, that humor falls a little short. Rinzler glowers up toward the door, noise rising a little, but he makes no move to stand or close the gap. What does his mirror—his original—want?

[heart_breaking]

"You're in my room."

They're gone one moment, and there when the light flickers back on next. It's too theatrical to be anything but deliberate, but they keep their face straight anyway. A man is dead, and others are jailed or injured.

And somehow, of course, people are surprised. They haven't figured out how pointless it all is, that lives in this world are like gossamer whisps on the wind. It's like they expect that if they go through the motions enough, that all their deeper meanings will change. It's useless. They're useless.

Chara stays in that spot by the bars, waiting.

[notglitching]

In Rinzler's current state, Chara's not the only one appearing out of nowhere. Scans are all but shut down, focus lagged and glitching from the heat, and most of the time, he doesn't have much reason to drag cognition free from the flat haze. He can't rest, but at least he can save power.

But that flicker of light registers, and as Chara speaks, the helmet raises just a little too sharply to be casual. It takes a moment longer for Rinzler to process the content of the words. There's a spark of irony, half-formulated retort that doesn't feel worth the effort to put into text. There's not really much reason to. Rinzler suspects the user can guess he'd be willing to trade.

The enforcer's noise grinds out to fill the silence, mask eventually tipping just a fraction to the side. What do they want?

About the 19th after Vision's network post

[needsnoface]

BB is not one usually to get fully involved in such things as organic justice systems, but even with the fact there was clear cut proof of what Rinzler had done, the very nature of the system and how it could easily have gone worse if mob mentality had been allowed to gain momentum has him monitoring discreetly mostly.

However, the lack of any regulation of who can and can not visit the other, and whenever they feel like it had raised quite a few alarms. The deplorable conditions were also a bone of contention, but short of them commandeering a room with proper environmental controls and overhauling this pit there's nothing that can be done until those with physical bodies realized this as well.


His hologram slowly materializes instead of the usual pop up, a bit of a warning and hopefully a miniscule deterrent for anyone that may come down with less then stellar intentions if they knew they had a witness.

"Back home these conditions would have had someone regretting their life. Even my team had better condition for prisoners, even though most would prefer those prisoners dead. However, you're not really interested in such and if you want me to leave just point towards to the door. If not I'm going to sit here and play Watcher for you.

Vision, a nice fellow for being enbody and all, is putting in a plea for you in regards to these horrible conditions you're suffering under currently. Perhaps he'll open a few eyes to the fact there may or may not be more to what you did then just you deciding it was a lovely day to kill a few people. He's even asking for someone to show empathy and help you self repair that damage you took so you don't end up deleted on us. You don't have to take any help, that is your choice and all, you seem like a few soldiers I know that would say they're fine when close to death.

He's actually why I'm here, so you can thank him for indirectly causing me to actually stop being a neutral observer in all of this, I'll be willing to catalog and report any attempts of vigilante justice. After all such things would be a show of hypocrisy for all those who see you in a certain light and refuse to wonder if it is nature or coding that is causing such things and if they are making it worse."

[notglitching]

It takes a moment for the dim blue glow to register, but by the time Black Box materializes fully, Rinzler's mask is at least turned his way. The enforcer's noise rattles out raggedly as he listens, with only the slightest changes to externals. Blank stillness at the offer. A twitch of annoyance as the other program mentions Vision. Rinzler hadn't asked for that broadcast, and if anyone did come here to delete him, he was putting all the blame on that. In what glitched system was putting his damage on a public feed supposed to help?

Noise skips, openly irritated as the program continues. Rinzler is fine, and he isn't going to derezz. And why would this program care if he did?

Purpose?

The motions are a little jerky, but Rinzler inputs the word, letting it flash up on his MID's display. He's hardly been a system asset lately.

[trap_factory]

Like with the trial, Prometheus shows up randomly and silently and never for long. A few times, he stands out of view but nearby and leaves when his scanners pick up on another presence approaching. Rinzler would be able to pick up on his presence if he cared to look, but for the most part, the Reploid doesn't say anything.

The shorter visits has Prometheus standing in front of the door, watching Rinzler and seemingly unimpressed - though he grins at the captive if or when Rinzler decides to look up - before he leaves. If he caught Rinzler while the other was shut down, there is no comment. It confirms his suspicions, but like it was in that shared dorm room back at the school, it was too close - too intimate - to use.

It's one of the later visits that has the Reploid finally start a conversation in a lazy drawl.

"I always knew we were our own worst enemy... I'm so happy you're one of the people to prove me right, Rinzler."

He smiles and on the surface, he looks like some cat that got into the cream, all satisfaction and amusement. But Rinzler has known Prometheus for a few months now; that edge that accompanies his smile is different this time. It's more akin to anger than whatever threat he normally walked around with.

"But what a joke. Do the captains sincerely believe this sort of punishment will net results? Last I checked, this sort of thing barely works on humans let alone on some rogue program," the smile widens and he sounds... Bitter. Bitter and tired and it doesn't go with that expression on his face at all. "I wonder what your programmer thinks. A gentle soul like him... I can't even imagine what you've gone and put him through."

[notglitching]

It takes a while for the presence to register. More for Rinzler to be certain it's more than just a glitch. Scans are down to save power, and as days stretch out without his disk, it would hardly be the only visual malfunction. It's the too-sharp smile that seems real, matching the quiet footsteps as the malware walks away.

Rinzler wonders briefly if Prometheus is planning to derezz him, then wipes the concern. If the malware tries, he'll fight. It doesn't seem likely, but Rinzler can't quite remember why, not until the reploid finally starts talking.

That's right. If he were dead, it wouldn't be nearly so entertained.

Heat-lagged processing refocuses slowly, and by the time Rinzler's managed to parse the taunt, it doesn't seem worth responding to. Likewise, caring about the punishment is far too much effort. Of course it's meaningless. It hardly matters in the end. This won't change him, and the only thing that might...

...there's a twitch halfway between flinch and irritation. Rinzler reaches for his MID.

Not my programmer.

User, yes. Programmer, no. Not Rinzler's. (Not yet.)

[whoami]

These conditions were bad enough for Sam, and he was just your average, run of the mill human. On electronics it was bad, but it was already a marvel they were even here, this heat must be murder on Programs.

...there's an irony even in thinking it.

It didn't help that Sam was wearing 2 layers either. He did figure if Rinzler wanted him dead, he would be. So he was able to open the door of the holding cell and walk right in.

"Hey."

A charging pack was thrown in Rinzler's general direction. It landed on the floor with a light thump. Rinzler was free to take it, or ignore it. Either way Sam leaned his shoulder next to the closed door, crossed a foot over the other and shoved his hands into his uniform's pockets.

"You look terrible."

More deja vu. He said the exact same thing to Tron once upon a time.

[notglitching]

The sound of steps outside the door received a slightly lagged glance up. On seeing who was entering, Rinzler's attention sharpened abruptly, ticking rumble building to a growl. The Flynn. It figured.

Even with scans down, he could feel the sharp spike of much-needed power from the pack that hit the ground. But Rinzler's mask stayed fixed on the figure, frame coiled with tense dislike but making no attempt to move. If he did, it wasn't going to be some desperate reach to recharge. Damaged or not, Rinzler was still confident he could wipe this one. And not at all sure he wouldn't need to.

For the moment, though, the enforcer only watches. What does it want?

[romanticsoul]

Satine stands for a long moment simply studying Rinzler. His injuries make it clear that he is not an organic life-form. Some sort of droid, then? But why would a droid be put on trial? Surely the one held responsible for murderous actions carried out by a machine ought to be whoever programmed it?

Vision referred to him as sentient. True artificial intelligence... When does personhood start? At what point does a machine become more than a tool? Do battle droids doubt? Do they fear? Do they individually have the ability to decide to lay down their arms? These aren't questions she has asked herself much, but she finds that they flood her mind now. Arrogance takes many forms, and is rarely accompanied by taking responsibility for whatever comes of it, something that rings true for a multitude of species.

"Hello."

[notglitching]

Inspection is familiar for Rinzler. Behind his helmet, he returns it. This user had spoken at the trial, submitting not an opinion, but a request. It wanted to carry out his correction. Rinzler had no way of knowing if the admins had agreed, but it's not much surprise either way to find the user here, assessing its attempted claim.

The ticking whir continues, a clipped staccato with the rhythm of a broken machine. Rinzler gives no direct answer to the greeting, but the mask twitches fractionally up. Yes, user. He knows you're there.

[deal]

Cassandra stands before his holding cell, watching him from his place on the bench. After speaking to Vision, she's promised to try and help Rinzler as best as she can. She doesn't really understand the fact that he's made of code, as Vision put it, but knows that trying to make him comfortable is the right thing to do. It's not fair that he doesn't get treatment when it's needed.

"You don't know me," she starts speaking, quiet as she keeps her eyes on him. "But I'm new here. My name's Cassandra."

She doubts he really cares who in the hell she is, though, so she doesn't introduce herself further than that.

"Are you hurting?"

[notglitching]

Cassandra's visit isn't the only result of Vision's work. On entering the holding area, she'll feel the oppressive heat that bleeds through from the engines. It's sweltering and uncomfortable for an organic, and outright debilitating for synthetic code. But as she moves closer, she'll spot something else, too: a cooling unit, placed in front of Rinzler's cell and set to high.

Vision had come and gone for the second time, leaving Rinzler no less wary or confused, but for now at least, a little more functional. Cracks of damage still sprawl across his shell in neat geometry, injured side tucked a little closer to the wall. But there's more awareness in the stare that watches Cassandra back. He doesn't care who she is, but he recognizes the name. It was on the list Vision had sent. One of the empathy offers.

At least he knows what to watch out for.

The shoulder on Rinzler's less-damaged side shifts upward in a shrug, sound ticking out in its harsh whir. Maybe. (Yes, of course, but he's run with worse for longer.) So what?

[Sometime After Temperature's Been Fixed]

[tearmeanewone]

Elizabeth has been turning this issue over and over in her mind, the situation feels completely out of control for the first few days but she finally manages to get herself together enough to meet with Rinzler. Peter is one thing, but her only interaction with Rinzler hasn't been entirely positive. This is a delicate thing, but something she feels she has to do.

She stops in front of his cell and waits for him to notice her, her expression entirely neutral.

[notglitching]

The downside of the normalized environmentals? Clarity of thought meant that much more consciousness of every moment idling inside his cell. Given the upside was everything else, Rinzler wasn't inclined to complain, but it did mean new input had a way of standing out. Say, footsteps approaching down the hall.

By the time Elizabeth steps into view, the helmet is already raised toward the door. The grind and rattle of conflicting code whirs out steadily beneath, but there's no change of nonverbals as the program assesses. Elizabeth_DeWitt. User-administrator. The one who insisted on keeping system threats active. He wonders idly if the same values hold today.

There's no attempt at greeting or acknowledgement. Rinzler doesn't seem to think it's necessary. The user's here for a reason.