That door can stay open, man. He is not a butler, and he is in a hurry, and from the sudden whiplash turn of his head it's clear he had expected the same haste from Alan.
"Wh--" Oh. Of course Alan would try to cut him out of it. Not only is it exactly what Clu would have done if there were the slightest choice, it's what Users do.
He stops moving altogether. He holds very still, realization looping through the queue and spitting out the next inanity: "I see."
All he wants is a name?
No. That can't happen, Clu can't allow that, and he has words ready for this. He has a redirect queued. He'd already worked it out on the way over here, already prepared the perfectly rational argument that if I cannot defeat Nihlus, you certainly can't. You've already died once.
Except, Alan is still talking, drawing a neat, ugly, entirely accurate diagram of the situation. The truth carves through him like hot wire. He doesn't have to move at all--his circuits give him away, almost graceful in their meltdown, guttering gold and black like moths bursting to death on the inside of a lantern.
...This is his fault. It is. And no one needs him for anything. No one has any use for him.
Except Rinzler.
"How well do you really know him?" It's sharp, too high, reverb-harsh like a cat yowling from far down a drain pipe. "He flipped, man, clean blue. Do you even understand what kind of a page fault that is?"
Of course he doesn't. Nothing Clu has gleaned of the great Alan-1's prior exploits via the network suggests it in the slightest. Rinzler is a problem to him, something to crack open and solve.
It's a desire Clu fully appreciates, in ways Alan just as clearly finds repellent--but for Alan the need is a simple one, easily addressed by sheer and total removal. By wiping him and starting over.
Two could play that game.
"And just what do you think Rinzler will do, in the grip of a stranger, out of his mind with pain and fear?" It's easy to leer, to pull his face tense and sharp, hungry with the urge to correct it already. "Further delay is unwise."
no subject
"Wh--" Oh. Of course Alan would try to cut him out of it. Not only is it exactly what Clu would have done if there were the slightest choice, it's what Users do.
He stops moving altogether. He holds very still, realization looping through the queue and spitting out the next inanity: "I see."
All he wants is a name?
No. That can't happen, Clu can't allow that, and he has words ready for this. He has a redirect queued. He'd already worked it out on the way over here, already prepared the perfectly rational argument that if I cannot defeat Nihlus, you certainly can't. You've already died once.
Except, Alan is still talking, drawing a neat, ugly, entirely accurate diagram of the situation. The truth carves through him like hot wire. He doesn't have to move at all--his circuits give him away, almost graceful in their meltdown, guttering gold and black like moths bursting to death on the inside of a lantern.
...This is his fault. It is. And no one needs him for anything. No one has any use for him.
Except Rinzler.
"How well do you really know him?" It's sharp, too high, reverb-harsh like a cat yowling from far down a drain pipe. "He flipped, man, clean blue. Do you even understand what kind of a page fault that is?"
Of course he doesn't. Nothing Clu has gleaned of the great Alan-1's prior exploits via the network suggests it in the slightest. Rinzler is a problem to him, something to crack open and solve.
It's a desire Clu fully appreciates, in ways Alan just as clearly finds repellent--but for Alan the need is a simple one, easily addressed by sheer and total removal. By wiping him and starting over.
Two could play that game.
"And just what do you think Rinzler will do, in the grip of a stranger, out of his mind with pain and fear?" It's easy to leer, to pull his face tense and sharp, hungry with the urge to correct it already. "Further delay is unwise."