It's not ideal. It's not. Not one thing has been since that first scalding apprehension of pure white and the soft resolution of the new world washed in around him.

Insisting on the familiar was a disaster. One he'd made.

Rinzler was something else, had always been held together by a desperate wish and sheer resolve. Only, now the valence of that has changed, and his behavior has changed--he is keeping secrets, he found a way to do it--and it's terrifying, but it's not a surprise.

Clu knows what it means. It's the only thing it's ever meant. Entropy exists: perfection tends to decay, to imperfection, and it must be maintained, or it will cease to exist. It will slip away.

Anyone with a choice? Left.

"...I know that." With a soft sine wave hum, slowly. Perhaps Bradley requires smaller words. "I know who does."

He's already moving. They must hurry.