now you've hit a wall, and you've hit it hard

[notglitching]

Who: Rinzler and OPEN
When: August 1-?
Where: Moro deck and beyond
What: Rinzler got his ass kicked and drags himself off to recover. A followup to this.
Warnings: severe injuries, references to mindfuck and violence. Glowy, glowy dismemberment. Rinzler?


He remembers gold lights and sharp impacts. He remembers words, slick and close and far too heated. Thin the herd. Bradley. Let's play a game. But not a game, a test, and every line far too familiar.

He remembers the snarl of nausea rising through his code, the moment where can't and shouldn't gave way to already did. He remembers failing. Fighting. He fought Clu, and the numb anticipation that truth brings is enough to jar himself halfway through reboot on his own.

Rinzler doesn't need to remember anything to know who won.

Gold lights. Gold lights, but when visuals reset behind the shell that holds him in, the room is empty, only his own faint red-orange glow illuminating the barracks floor. Broken code lies scattered on the ground in dull, grey fragments, half-faded back to null already. It might not be a proper system, but some values never change.

He has to go.

Functions stutter, half-settled from the reboot. He needs his disk; needs to work right (serve Clu), but Rinzler's been broken far too long to let those kinds of errors stop him now. He can't think about it (won't), and if diagnostics are too lagged to call, that hardly makes a difference either. The sharp spike of pain as he drags his legs underneath him reads instability, code lost on the right side below a knee. The battered ache through core and dock registers impact and interrupt, the source of his shutdown. A hand on the ground and he pushes himself up, but he's still unbalanced and unsteady, with no time to source the flaw. Rinzler reaches for the door.

...and stops, mask tilting with bewilderment, to the jagged, crumbling stump of shattered code where his left arm should have been.

Oh.

...

No. (Useless.) He can't stop, can't process any of it now. A staggered step forward and he jerks his right side to the lead, elbow slamming the control switch for the door. It slides open, and Rinzler lunges out into the hall, ragged steps forward because it's far too late to go back. His room is close, but not safe; Clu will find him and he can't be trapped again. He makes it to the lift, keying in a floor at random before slumping against the wall. The low rattle of code conflict echoes loudly in the space, and Rinzler locks his focus on the sound, letting his own white noise drown out as much as he can.

He has to keep running.


[[OOC: Pick a floor, any floor! Rinzler will dodge public areas as much as possible, but his orientation is slightly awful right now. If you want something more specific, prod at notglitching; he'll be in this state for the better part of a week. I'll match prose or spam.]]

Comments

Moro deck

[pleasereset]

Asriel had kept close to his room ever since he'd been rescued by Rinzler and brought back from the Outpost. This new, almost oppressive kind of darkness didn't encourage Asriel to get out and explore the ship like he usually did. That, and he was still recovering from the injuries he had.

Sounds from outside draw him out, causing him to slowly peek out into the dimly lit hallway. Noise wasn't an uncommon occurrence on this floor, not with the number of robots that occupied this hallway. But paranoia spawned from one month of death, violence, and kidnappings had him out checking any kind of suspicious sound. Any kind of threat to him or his family.

What he sees is much worse than what he expects though. At first, he only sees the familiar glow of circuits. It causes Asriel to move a little further into the hall... and that's when he gets a better look at Rinzler.

"R-Rinzler! What happened?!"

Asriel isn't exactly in any shape to run, but he still does - clumsily and nearly tripping over himself to get closer to where Rinzler is.

[notglitching]

Rinzler's a few scant paces from the lift when the voice, that voice echoes through the hall behind. He freezes. It's not a threat. Not an enemy. But Asriel is still one of the last people he'd have chosen to find him in this state.

The tension lingers through his frame, doing nothing at all to help the unsteady balance as he turns reluctantly to look behind. He was supposed to protect the beta. Keep him from harm, and above all else, keep Asriel clear of his own conflicts. Rinzler's fairly sure this is a failure condition. Not the first one recently, and in his current state, it seems unlikely to be last.

He watches the stumbling approach, a growing sense of numbness overriding other logs. He needs to move. Go. There's a twitch away from contact, a small shake of the black helmet as Asriel draws close. It's unclear, even to Rinzler, if it's meant to be an answer. Nothing. Stay away. Nothing he can do. They're all equally valid, and neither of them should be here.

[pleasereset]

"You got attacked, didn't you?"

The anger rising in Asriel's voice is clear, though none of it is directed at the program. Rinzler hadn't done anything. Were people still trying to pick fights and hurt him?

Asriel sets aside his own feelings for the moment, trying to figure out what he should do. Go to Medbay? He looked really hurt. Asriel nudges his head under Rinzler's arm, attempt to help steady him. As he tries to help, he notices the other missing arm and he feels a little sick.

"Do you need to go to Medbay? We can go to my room too, if you need someplace to rest for a while."

Worry and fear creep over Asriel's face. It's hard not to look at Rinzler's injuries and not expect him to turn to dust. Would he die before they even got anywhere? He's not sure, it's not fair, he doesn't want to keep losing people.

[notglitching]

Attacked. Was he? Yes, Rinzler supposes, but... not in the way the beta means. He'd hidden his disk. He'd disobeyed, he'd fought Clu, and fingers twitch, frame curling against a burst of nausea as he recalls a baton-rezzed blade twisting to stab back. Clu was fine. Clu had to be fine, but that shouldn't have happened. Rinzler shouldn't be able to do that.

He shakes his head, but Asriel's already moved ahead, and the small motion sharpens, quick and desperate as Rinzler catches up. No. Not the medbay. The medbay was static, the medbay was trapped, and there was nothing the users could do for him regardless. He doesn't want to be forced into stasis. He doesn't want to be locked up in the hold again for fighting. No guarantee whether they would; all previous metrics had related to harm dealt out to users only. But Rinzler didn't want to chance it. As much as he knows his own failure in this, he knows he can't (can't) (won't) be locked up in this state again.

He remembers.

The other suggestion draws a lagged, uncertain stare. He needs to rest. He needs his disk (but he won't find it), needs power urgently. But he needs distance too, and the beta's room is a clear line of sight from Clu's. He'll be seen. He'll be seen, and he'll be found, and Clu will come to visit, not just him but every error that kept his enforcer from his grasp.

Noise is rising, the scraping whir choked thick with static. He shakes his head again.

[pleasereset]

Both suggestions are turned down, and Asriel's not really sure where to go next. He keeps himself under Rinzler's arm though. Even if they don't have a destination right now, he's gonna help him keep moving.

What was a good place to rest...

"What about the garden?"

mero deck

[hatesimprovising]

As he presses the button to call the lift to Mero Deck, Wash casts a glance down each side of the hall. The last thing he wants is someone stopping to tell him that he looks like he's in rough shape and should maybe be resting. That is absolutely what he should be doing and what he's supposed to be doing, but this is him sneaking out of his room for a breather and a break from the crazy that laying around with nothing to do but think brings down on him. He doesn't want any other people telling him to go back to bed.

When the doors slide open, his attention shifts back to the elevator, but his eyes find the figure inside and blink in surprise.

"Rinzler?" Most of their meetings are by random chance, but this is the first time in at least a month or two that it hasn't been in the midst of combat. It's almost weird, in a way, to run into the program in a more normal setting now. This oddity doesn't bother Wash for long, however, as his gaze trails down to catch sight of the state Rinzler is in. "What the hell--?"

That is definitely a missing arm. That in itself is shocking, but the way it looks only adds to the effect. It doesn't look like an organic wound, as he'd sort of expected. It looks... less ripped and more broken. There's no blood or ripped flesh, just empty space and light. ...Code? --Whatever it is, it's obvious enough that it's not good, and the ex-Freelancer doesn't hesitate in pressing one hand to the door to keep it open before taking a couple awkward, limping steps forward, other hand reaching out to grab for Rinzler's arm in an attempt to pull the program out of the lift. Like hell is he letting Rinzler go anywhere else before he finds out what the fuck happened.

"How'd this happen? You were fine when we got back to the ship."

[notglitching]

It takes Rinzler longer than it should to register when the lift's momentum slows, and the soft slide of the doors draws a lagged glance upward. He needs to get out. Keep moving, find somewhere to hide (but they've run this pattern before, and he knows better now than ever how it ends). He can't stop. If he stops, he won't be able to get up, and Clu is close, Clu is near—

A figure looms above, blocking the light, and Rinzler tenses, hand twitching for a baton that isn't there. Power is flagging, scans shut down to conserve, but the ID does register, if slowly.

So does the grab. Rinzler's not quite fast enough to evade (and that says a good deal), and lights flicker, red/blue/red as his noise rattles up in a low growl. Wash will get him a stumbling step and a half before the program manages the footing to jerk back against his hold. The motion holds little of Rinzler's usual fluidity, but it's strong, and his wrist twists with the motion, bringing his hand against Wash's own forearm.

The message isn't hard to read. Let go. Rinzler doesn't need his other arm to break the user's.

[hatesimprovising]

Anger isn't unexpected. Wash shrugs off the growl, more focused on getting Rinzler out of the lift to talk to him, but the fact that he actually manages to tug the program closer at all? That's a surprise. The flickering colour of his lights, those are written off as some issue to do with the obvious damage that Rinzler has sustained--the fact that anyone could manage to do this to Rinzler is starling in itself. He hasn't seen anything like this and sure as hell never expected to. He's seen the way Rinzler fights.

When the program finds his footing and refuses to be pulled further, then proceeds to make it clear that he wants to be released, Wash stares him down for a long moment. He has no intent to harm, only to make sure Rinzler is safe. Still, with a disgruntled exhale, he releases his grip on Rinzler's arm and pulls his hand back, holding it up in some vague apology.

"Fine. I'm not touching you." And he won't. He can respect personal space--it had honestly been more of an instinctive action, anyway. A want to get the program out of the lift, get him somewhere safe, get him medical attention... Anything along those lines. Not touching Rinzler, however, doesn't mean he's going to let go of the situation at hand. Wash's voice gets more stern--perturbed, even. The anger isn't at the program, rather at the state that he's in and at who or whatever put him in it, though that may be a bit challenging to interpret. "What happened?"

[notglitching]

Rinzler holds that stare, noise a static-choked snarl until the user lets him go. Then the helmet dips, frame folding unsteadily back to his close hunch. The lift doors slide shut behind him, easy exit vanished, and Rinzler flags a little sideways, damaged shoulder bumping on the wall. The glittering shards of red-lit data that scatter on the ground probably weren't staying attached anyway.

At least he made it to another floor. Wash is still talking, and the anger registers, but Rinzler's not nearly focused enough to guess who it's for. Fortunately, he also can't muster up the energy to care. If the user attacks, he'll fight. Wash isn't fighting, though, not now, and Rinzler stares blankly for a long moment before twitching his intact shoulder in a helpless, uneven shrug.

It's complicated.

He can't stop. He has to keep moving. The lift is closed, but the hallway stretches out ahead, and Rinzler steps forward, weight careful on the damaged leg as he tries to step past Wash.

Nomo Deck

[beautifulspaceraptor]

It's been a long day of getting readings from the activated Ingress and then playing the fun game of whack-a-pyjak with all the problems the sudden power shortage brought with it. Nihlus was more ready to head down to the engines and peel himself out of his armor to let his carapace breath and soak up some warmth. The Moira had been barely tolerable before, but now it's freezing.

He's in the middle of trying to stretch out the soreness in his neck when the elevator arrives.

The first thing that hits him is the gizzard-flipping scent of ozone, thick and sharp against the back of his throat. The world slows to a stop, narrows down to the flickering red-orange lights and the voxels scattered across the metal floor, the shattered snarl of broken coding.

A surreal calm takes over him and Nihlus silently steps inside, turning to open up the maintenance panel. Some quick inputs with his MID and the elevator is put into repair mode, the doors sliding shut behind him.

"Rinzler," he breathes numbly, finally turning to the program, the flanging in his voice so pronounced that it really did sound like several people speaking at once. The panel on the back of his cowl snaps open as he moves to his friend's side, and he quickly pulls the hidden disk free.

"I got you. Come on," he urges gently, reaching out to help Rinzler lean off of the wall and free up his dock.

[notglitching]

Rinzler's been erroring out in one way or another since his arrival in the system—or arguably, before. Still, when he sees Nihlus filling the opening? The enforcer's nearly convinced he's reached a whole new level of glitched.

Nihlus was helping him. Nihlus hid his disk. Clu can't know, and he doesn't, Rinzler didn't tell him. That doesn't explain the twisting, hollow feeling inside his core. The mask dips in belated acknowledgement, noise staticky and raw as Rinzler tries to parse response. Parse anything.

The red-orange light in the user's hands sharpens that focus quickly. His disk, his disk is here, and Rinzler needs that, needs to stabilize and sync. His hand comes up by reflex, doing absolutely nothing to help that already unsteady footing. Rinzler flinches at the contact, but he won't resist Nihlus' help. He will, however, have much more trouble staying upright as he's moved from the wall. Loose voxels shift, skittering against the ground, and after a pace or so, Rinzler will opt to sit down if he isn't stopped. Either way, his dock is exposed.

[beautifulspaceraptor]

"Easy. Easy."

The disk snaps into place, Nihlus gently urging Rinzler to lean against him as they sink to the floor. He keeps one arm around the program to support him, free hand pulling out a pack of omni-gel and he tears the foil wrapping off with his mouth plates.

Activating his omni-tool, he flips the gel block onto the rendering platform with a quick, practiced motion. It takes a second for the gel to warm up and Nihlus takes it to quietly do a mental rundown of possible actions.

"I don't have access to your code," he says quietly, shifting to press the pale glob of gel against Rinzler's amputated arm, careful not to jostle loose anymore voxels. "Should we go to Alan?"

He can crack the access, potentially, but there were less invasive options to exhaust first.

[notglitching]

The urging won't do much. Rinzler seems far more inclined to fold inward on himself, twitching unsteadily away from the effort at support. The resistance stalls when the disk docks, though, and the program goes half-limp from sheer relief.

It's not Nihlus' first disk sync, or even his first time helping Rinzler sync while injured. But the difference is noticeable. The red-orange ring at the center of the disk is dim, relighting slowly in a circle as it updates. Rinzler's own lights settle noticeably, though not at anything approaching bright. He's lost power in the fight, leaked more to the system through the open gaps in his code. As the sync completes, the glow dims a little further until Rinzler shakes himself. No, he can't shut down.

The blob of... something shoved against his shoulder helps distract, if nothing else. The buzz of energy is unmistakable and Rinzler squirms in Nihlus' hold, twisting his mask to try and see. Between the helmet, the angle, and the user's grip, he can't spot much, but the cool relief that washes through his code is immediate. And countered, almost immediately, by what Nihlus says aloud.

Alan-one.

His user was in danger. His user had died. This wasn't for him, Clu was going to fix things, and sound catches, fractured and uneven as the strings of data crash back in a heap. Clu was a threat, but [Rinzler] wouldn't let him, and circuits flip-flop, red to blue and back, as the program tries to jerk himself upright.

[alan_1]

The darkness works against Rinzler now. Had the hallways been as bright as they normally are, Alan might not have noticed the red-orange glow out of the corner of his eye. But with the lights of the ship dimmed as they are, even such dull light stands out. The faint points of color are tucked against the side of little-used auxiliary corridor off his current route, and though the red-orange hue is unmistakable, Alan almost doesn’t believe it could be his program. He’s so used to Rinzler standing at attention even when injured, that initially, the shape curled against the wall doesn’t register as him at all.

But there’s no one else it could be and Alan feels his stomach drop as the realization hits. Previous path forgotten, he turns into the hallway and moves quickly towards the program, trepidation rising with every step. As he comes closer, Rinzler’s form becomes clearer: he’s sitting with his back to the wall, drawn in tight as if trying to avoid notice. Or to protect himself.

Alan crouches down in front of the program, fighting to keep his alarm from turning into panic. Alan can still make out the glint of shattered code against the darkness of the hall and the black of Rinzler’s armor, but curled up as the program is, he can’t tell exactly what’s been damaged.

“Rinzler.” The name comes out quiet and urgent and more afraid than Alan means for it to. “What happened?”

[notglitching]

Eventually, he had to stop. For power. For stability. Because his allies made him, or because he ran out of the focus needed to not think. Rinzler doesn't know if he's far enough away or out of sight. He doesn't know if he'll get up again. He'll have to, he knows that, but he has no idea how.

He's broken.

When the prickle of [user/programmer] starts to close, it's the most the program can do to flinch in a little closer. It's shame, much more than fear—though neither value is at null. It's the sick certainty of failure, the dim gutter of circuit lights that flicker blue and red in ragged patches. He lost. He fought. He's damaged in so many more important ways than just his shell, and he doesn't want [his] user to look close enough to see.

But Alan's creation was never the only one at risk, and when he speaks, the program freezes. Rinzler. Alan-one means him. Rinzler's noise stutters out quietly, frame huddled and small, but his mask twitches slowly up, fixing on the user's face. He can read fear. Urgency. No harm, though. Alan-one is still alive, Alan-one is running even past [his] [Tron's] failure. Rinzler doesn't answer, but his stare stays up, looping that fact on desperate repeat.

[alan_1]

Even without a reply from the program, the blue light that flickers dully over Rinzler’s frame provide answers of its own. Alan has seen Rinzler defeated before, seen him paralyzed and near collapse, but even then, the red-orange of his circuitry had stayed stable. Rinzler is written to fight, but those flashes of blue-white signal conflict. It isn’t difficult to guess what other function he must have transgressed -- has been transgressing for some time now, in truth -- to trigger such a reaction.

Alan’s expression darkens as the series of events slots into place, but as much as he wants to give name to the one responsible, he puts it off for now. If things had escalated to violence between Rinzler and Clu, then the last thing the program needs in this state are further reminders of it. Right now, Rinzler needs help. Dealing with Clu can come later.

He meets Rinzler’s gaze as the program’s mask tips up towards him, fighting to steady his own voice as Rinzler’s sound stutters out. “It’s alright. I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and if his voice is still quiet, it’s at least calmer, fear and anger and distress forced behind a facade of reassuring composure. “Let me see what kind of damage you’re dealing with and… we can figure out what to do from there.”

[notglitching]

It's all right. His user says so, but it isn't, and that mismatch gets added to the tally, as if he needed more proof of his own malfunctions. Alan-one isn't leaving, but that can't be right either. He failed. He knows; he knows what happens when he loses, when he fails, what follows the crash of gold light from above.

He doesn't want to be left behind this time. Lights shiver a little further before dimming to dull red. Rinzler doesn't argue, and after a moment, his mask bows, frame stilling for inspection. It's agreement. Submission. But more than that, it's easier.

He doesn't want to see Alan-one change his mind.

Engines

[yorisearching]

Acting as though she belongs is complicated when she has no idea what to expect of the engine compartments. At least her Navigation uniform looks the same as that of the people who pass her by. Yori tries to look busy herself, which means checking her MID at times when no one else is near her in the corridor. The little map is her only guide, since nothing has sent her down near the engines until now.

The coordinates Rinzler sent take a while to reach, through dim small corridors lined with unfamiliar doors and tools. She hopes she can remember them well enough to find the way back.

A rhythmic pulse and rumble grows as she moves closer, covering any noise her footsteps make. Yori can only assume that comes from the engines named on her map. She finds it a little soothing to hear the ship's power system work, even if she can't feel it properly. Maybe Rinzler likes it too.

She doesn't speak; if Rinzler is nearby, he will notice her presence. There are people around, on their own assigned functions. Yori is certain he doesn't want her to call too much attention to their meeting.

If he's able to come at all. Yori doesn't let the doubt show as she looks up and around, but she can't help calculating a growing list of reasons why Rinzler might get caught or change his mind. If Clu finds out, one way or another, she's made things far more difficult for Rinzler.

Once Yori sees Rinzler, maybe she'll have to let him convince her that leaving him alone is safer for him. Not before she's seen him at all. Surely there's something she can do. She folds her arms and frowns at a random outcrop of blinking lights as though she has any idea what they mean.

She hates not having enough data to make any adequate plan.

[notglitching]

Under a different set of circumstances, the engineering decks would be some of the last Rinzler might choose to wait in. The pulse and hum of the power system is nothing he'd object to on its own, but he's spent far too many millicycles locked in the adjacent cells not to associate the sound with its less pleasant accompaniments. Crippling heat, confined spaces. No way to move, or run, or fight.

But Tali'Zorah offered him use of the space to hide the last time he'd been hiding from an editor, and if Rinzler is less familiar with this deck than most aboard the ship, he's still patrolled it enough to know his way around. Clu hasn't. It wasn't until he checked his MID that the third program even entered calculations.

Yori.

Tron's counterpart. His friend. The associations are painfully disorienting, a few decicycles shared at the glitched user school against a massive block of memory that wasn't him. Not all of it was Yori either, if Rinzler remembers the export date she's given. Enough, though. Tron was the one she'd called for in Inugami. The one she'd wanted him to be.

He isn't, but he could be, and that didn't hurt nearly so much before.

With Tron listed in the registry, Rinzler's still surprised she'd called his number here at all. But Yori did call, and Yori wanted to see him, and as little as Rinzler wanted to be seen by anyone in his current condition, he couldn't quite refuse. The enforcer lingers in an alcove to one side, red-orange lights dim against the shadows. His weight leans leftward, resting mostly on the undamaged leg, and compensating for the lack of mass above. Without code repair, the gap where his left arm should be stays uncorrected, but Nihlus' strange gel worked well enough to stabilize. He's not going to get worse. But he can't get better either, and Rinzler's all too aware of how useless he is now.

Footsteps down the hall. A scan shifts out uncertainly, and it takes effort not to freeze at the bright/warm signature that matches. A little jerkily, Rinzler steps out, right-side first, helmet lifting toward Yori's clear blue glow.

[yorisearching]

That particular shade of orange light has grown familiar and welcome over the last two months, though something's different about the reflections now. Yori notes the helmet and the armor, concentrating the circuits. Four points of light under his chin still make it obvious both who he is and who he reminds her of.

"Rinzler!" She moves swiftly toward him. For an instant she's only delighted to see him, smile spreading over her face...and then the extent of the damage registers, shock and shared pain. His leg isn't just differently armored but cracked. His arm--

No wonder he's used so few words by text, she calculates distantly. Not just his usual brevity--it's a wonder he can use the keyboard at all.

She reaches for his remaining hand, hesitates as she examines that arm for visible damage or signs of pain. If Rinzler doesn't even want her to hold his hand right now, she'll have to respect it. The last thing she wants is to hurt him worse, but this kind of massive code loss...even for Security, she'd expect a program so hurt to derez without immediate help. "Did Clu do this?" she demands to know.

If he didn't, it's better. There must be other threats here. Maybe Rinzler is still hurt simply because he's avoiding Clu and no one here has earned enough trust.

If Clu hurt him like this in an attempt to get disk access, Yori feels an immediate need to work out plans to delete Rinzler's admin. Preferably without troubling Rinzler with the knowledge.

[notglitching]

Yori's voice is much too welcome. Her smile locks in visuals with a sharp ache of relief. It's her. It's her, she's here, she's here, and every month of skimming through the registry to check new crew seems wholly and completely worthwhile. He hadn't realized how much he missed her, and if he can't (shouldn't) be grateful now, he still has to work to stop himself from stalling as she calls out his name. (His name) (not Tron's) (why?).

It hardly matters. The freeze comes a moment later, as realization spreads over her face. Yori sees him, really sees, and it's no surprise to see her smile slips away. He'd warned her (or he'd tried), but he hadn't wanted to say this, to admit how broken (useless) he'd become. The enforcer's hunch flinches inward, useless and exposed...

...as Yori reaches out a hand. He stares for a long moment, noise ticking out unevenly. Then Rinzler extends his own.

Inspection will turn up no signs of damage on the remaining arm. A few faint cracks glow dimly across the program's core, but most of the injury seems restricted to peripherals. He's stable—surprisingly so, considering the jagged gap left of his shoulder.

Physically, at least. The sharp jarring of conflicting sound that answers Yori's question doesn't bode too well for Rinzler's state of mind. Neither does the tension. It was Clu (of course it was Clu), but he doesn't want to say so, and for more reason than his own guilt for the failure. Yori's sympathy is undeserved but welcome. Yori's blame is something else, and setting her at odds with Clu only guarantees a risk to both of them. Wash was bad enough.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

With the current wave of new crew members on Moira J has found herself more than just once buried underneath massive amount of work. Of course she had been aware that personnel officers could get busy, she's watched Mr. Miles driving himself crazy with work, but she hadn't imagined it to take most of her free time when she had applied to be their assistant. On top of that she's still ship's official makeup artist and then there's her own little personal project that's cooking underneath Captain's nose.

But strange enough J didn't mind the fully booked schedule at all. In fact, it's the complete opposite, at least now she couldn't lock herself up inside of her room and isolate from the rest of people. Within less than a month she's had to deal with way too many near-death experiences, during both the invasion and their brief stay at the outpost. Twice now she's had held a weapon in her hand, meaning to take someone else's life. Something that she'd rather not to think about -- same as how numb and used to she started to grow on the idea of murder.

So, it was everything but unusual for J to be up and moving during the late hours. Wearing a dark dress that covers her most of her body, hiding away all the scars and injuries that she's got from the recent violent encounters, and holding a folder on her arms she through the J deck's hallway, right towards to the elevator. Taking work to 'home' was never a pleasant thing to do but there's still bunch of names and information that she needs to go through. Seems like she's going to have a long night ahead of her.

She yawns widely, not even bothering to cover her mouth, when the elevator beeps softly as a sign that it has reached her floor. But when the doors open she doesn't even manage to take half of a step inside before her eyes are greeted by a sight that she least expected to ever see.

Rinzler. He's Hurt.

Her mouth hangs open as she stares at the dark figure on the floor, observing his injuries. They're nothing like what she's seen before. There's no blood but something else and is that an arm. He's missing an arm. The seconds ticks by slowly, something that's become almost a norm between them, and the automatic doors begins to close. Not knowing what else to do, she stops them from closing with her hand and quickly jumps inside before they start to close once again.

[notglitching]

It takes Rinzler a long moment to realize the lift has stopped. It takes him longer to remember what to do about it. He reaches up behind, bracing against the wall to try to drag himself back to his feet—when something (presence) (threat?) fills the doorway ahead.

User. Rinzler freezes with recognition, stiffening further as he realizes which. Not a threat, not recently, but certainly an enemy. Certainly someone who has no reason to be anything but pleased by his condition. He'd killed the user when she attacked him before, and she'd taken every opportunity since to sneer at him: for helping, for failing. For being so limited (so weak) as to be incapable of taking off his mask.

There's not much question in Rinzler's mind that his current state warrants a good deal more scorn. Or worse. Calculations shift as she steps forward, tension coiling through the enforcer's frame as he projects his chances in a fight and comes up with low. At his current power levels and with the damage to his leg, it would take the support of the wall and all three limbs just to pull himself fully upright.

That in mind, he doesn't bother. The black helmet slants upward, noise stuttering out in a ragged beat of warning as the door seals behind her, trapping him inside. Rinzler's frame stays curled back against the wall, no motion except to brace: for attack, for defense, for ridicule or taunts. He's not expecting anything else.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

It's barely been a month since the last time J had seen or heard of Rinzler but it still feels like it's been much longer than that. For once, she has been able survive through the day without having the idea of him constantly lingering in the back of her mind. No more was she startled by the unexpected sounds or people walking behind her. But still, it's not like she had forgotten about him.

Seeing him again, even in such weak and vulnerable state, brought back all the feelings and thoughts that she has pushed back. Once again, she found her head drowning in the cocktail of anger, hate, fear and that small, quiet feeling that she hadn't been able to name yet. She keeps looking down at him, her grip on the folder tightening, as she’s trying to make a sense out of her thoughts. There had been a time when she had wished nothing as more than seeing him getting hurt and trapped, at someone's (hers) mercy. That fantasy had brought her some, twisted and sick satisfaction after he had showed how little did her distress matter to him.

But it had just been a fantasy, nothing more, and any remaining flames of revenge of any sorts had been dimmed down. And seeing him like this she just couldn't summon the usual snark and sneer -- no matter all the anger and hurt he had caused her. For a brief moment she thinks of stepping outside of the elevator and leave him alone so that he could be someone else's headache. But she abandoned thought of that quickly, it just didn't feel right to let him wait and suffer.

Guess there's still some humanity left in her. Strange thing, considering of all things she's seen and done.

So, instead she stays. Not moving a muscle in her body when his head cocks upwards as sign of acknowledgement. He's no danger to her here. Then, she turns to the side and brings her hand to hover over the control panel, moving her finger over each button while keeping her harsh but distant stare on him, expecting him to give her a some kind of sign about which floor he wants to go.

[notglitching]

Nonverbals are Rinzler's specialty. He knows how to read them. He knows how to use them. They're all he's had for a thousand cycles locked behind his mask, even if he was never meant to output to anyone but Clu. So it's not that J isn't communicating clearly. It's not the motions, or gesture, direction of her stare that Rinzler's incapable of reading.

But the idea that this user would try to help? That's well past the enforcer's comprehension.

She's not attacking. No threat, no further injury (but the taut-wire tension lingers in his frame, waiting for that fact to change). She's not sneering at him either, not with words or her expression. Ignoring him, then? That would fit. He's weak, he's useless, too pathetic to pose any danger, and certainly not valuable enough for any kind of claim. Nothing but Clu's, and isn't that how this had started? How Rinzler started, all those centuries ago.

But she's looking at him, staring, flat and angry but still... searching. Rinzler isn't sure what for. He doesn't have any weapons. He doesn't have his disks. Is she expecting him to do something? To interfere? The helmet dips a little, dizzy and lagged as his lights flicker.

He doesn't understand.