Sound rises again as the enforcer's blocked, frame coiling in with wary frustration. If he were slightly more intact, it might even look menacing. As is, the program's weight is noticeably slanted to one leg, elbow tucked close to minimize the imbalance his missing arm presents. His back is empty of his disks, but Wash will notice from this range that the paired batons Rinzler's battled with instead are absent too.

The program will fight if he has to—and certainly, he still seems willing to make the attempt. But he doesn't look to be in any shape to win.

Rinzler can't stop. Wash won't move. Answering doesn't seem to occur to the program, though whether it's inability or just stubbornness is hard to say. Then again, he might not have to. Wash mentions Clu, and the program stiffens, fingers curling inward as his frame locks. It was Clu. It was him. It was Rinzler's fault (it wasn't), and he won't betray his admin. But the same sharp anger seethes back up through every line of processing, and this time it's not so easy to displace. He shouldn't have fought. (He shouldn't have lost.)

Rinzler has no idea what he should have done.