Rinzler / Tron (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notglitching) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-08-20 10:35 am
notglitching) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-08-20 10:35 am
All the truth is all you need to make of your reality
Who: closed to Rinzler, Nihlus, Alan, and Clu
When: backdated to August 6
Where: Gardens
What: Rinzler gets fixed; Clu's mind gets broken. Alan gets permission for (this) codescrew, and Nihlus is a disapproving mom.
Warnings: glowy dismemberment, casual discussion and/or demonstration of mindfuckery, personhood issues, abuse, The Joy That Is Tron Canon. Also, Rinzler and Clu: now with adult supervision!
When he first picked up the MID to hear that Clu had visited his user, Rinzler nearly crashed on the spot. Once Alan-one was finished explaining, the program was half convinced he had. Clu had threatened the user. Thrown Rinzler's errors at his feet, gloated over his death, and suggested overtly that he might repeat the process. Or do worse. ("Fix him.") That's what had sparked the violence between them in the first place, why he'd fought back until Clu took his weapons and his arm.
But apparently both programmers regretted that that. Enough, for now, to work together for repair.
Once the meeting was agreed on, logistics weren't difficult to work out. Nihlus had been contacted, a neutral location worked out between the group. The garden zone had multiple exits, and was public enough to ensure safety without being completely exposed. Rinzler arrives early, avoiding the more populated area by the cat tree in favor of an isolated corner framed by several large planters. His steps are slow and lopsided, weight adjusted for a damaged right leg in addition to the gap where his left arm should be. Most of the smaller cracks of impact have self-repaired by now, but code loss requires code access. Edits.
He leans carefully against one of the walls, feeling the empty dock behind him much too sharply. Nihlus has his disk—has had his disk since Clu first got here. If the threats to Alan-one had been what brought things to a full cascade, hiding his disk had started the initial faults. Or rather, stopped Clu from fixing those parts of him too.
Alan-one had made the offer in his call: to repair Rinzler on his own, with no need for Clu to be involved. It's hard not to remember the last repair his user forced, when he'd had Rinzler trapped and hunted to cut out a part of his mind. But things are different now, and Alan-one doesn't want him to be Tron. It's not (mostly not) fear that made the program turn the offer down.
Rinzler's doesn't want to be pared down to what he was. He doesn't trust Clu not to go that far alone. But neither of them can keep pretending, and whatever he is now?
Clu needs to see.
When: backdated to August 6
Where: Gardens
What: Rinzler gets fixed; Clu's mind gets broken. Alan gets permission for (this) codescrew, and Nihlus is a disapproving mom.
Warnings: glowy dismemberment, casual discussion and/or demonstration of mindfuckery, personhood issues, abuse, The Joy That Is Tron Canon. Also, Rinzler and Clu: now with adult supervision!
When he first picked up the MID to hear that Clu had visited his user, Rinzler nearly crashed on the spot. Once Alan-one was finished explaining, the program was half convinced he had. Clu had threatened the user. Thrown Rinzler's errors at his feet, gloated over his death, and suggested overtly that he might repeat the process. Or do worse. ("Fix him.") That's what had sparked the violence between them in the first place, why he'd fought back until Clu took his weapons and his arm.
But apparently both programmers regretted that that. Enough, for now, to work together for repair.
Once the meeting was agreed on, logistics weren't difficult to work out. Nihlus had been contacted, a neutral location worked out between the group. The garden zone had multiple exits, and was public enough to ensure safety without being completely exposed. Rinzler arrives early, avoiding the more populated area by the cat tree in favor of an isolated corner framed by several large planters. His steps are slow and lopsided, weight adjusted for a damaged right leg in addition to the gap where his left arm should be. Most of the smaller cracks of impact have self-repaired by now, but code loss requires code access. Edits.
He leans carefully against one of the walls, feeling the empty dock behind him much too sharply. Nihlus has his disk—has had his disk since Clu first got here. If the threats to Alan-one had been what brought things to a full cascade, hiding his disk had started the initial faults. Or rather, stopped Clu from fixing those parts of him too.
Alan-one had made the offer in his call: to repair Rinzler on his own, with no need for Clu to be involved. It's hard not to remember the last repair his user forced, when he'd had Rinzler trapped and hunted to cut out a part of his mind. But things are different now, and Alan-one doesn't want him to be Tron. It's not (mostly not) fear that made the program turn the offer down.
Rinzler's doesn't want to be pared down to what he was. He doesn't trust Clu not to go that far alone. But neither of them can keep pretending, and whatever he is now?
Clu needs to see.
no subject
Alan and Clu working together was not a scenario he could have predicted in a hundred years and the fact that it'd happened was simultaneously hopeful and nerve-wracking. Rinzler hadn't mentioned Alan being in any danger, but there was still a distinct possibility he was being forced into this somehow. There was also the possibility that Clu and Alan working together could end poorly for Rinzler, although in theory they should keep each other in check.
Mostly, it just exposed a very disconcerting gap in what he knew of the admin- and how well he understood the situation between the two programs.
He slows to a stop next to Rinzler, casting him a look of quiet concern before drawing himself up and crossing his arms while they waited for the programmers to arrive, green eyes narrowed.
If something went wrong...
Well.
Nihlus wasn't just here to deliver the disk, was he?
no subject
Disgust pulls his shoulders tight, and he pushes through the branches as though expecting leaves to ignite at the contact, holding them at bay until Alan follows through.
It's easier to hate all of nature than it is to face what he's done. The visible damage is certainly vivid enough--complete removal of Rinzler's arm, jagged resistance in the opposite leg--but there is more and he knows it. He can only estimate the extent [verifiable data: insufficient], can only guess at the nature of the strains and exceptions he's pried into.
He meets glittering narrowed eyes the same hostile green as the landscape...and steps aside.
When it is important, organics listen only to each other, and it is imperative that he and Alan gain the disc.
no subject
And yet Alan is here now, trudging wordlessly behind the program as they move through the garden. It makes sense that Rinzler had chosen this place to meet for repairs, though the setting makes Alan uneasy all the same. This had been where he had first encountered the program -- and where he had threatened to correct him should he default to violence again. At the time, he’d only thought of it as fixing the damage Clu had done. Funny, that both he and the admin should both be here now, with the same purpose.
Rinzler and Nihlus come into view as Clu steps to the side. It feels surreal approaching them like this, like two opposing sides come to parley. Alan can only imagine what it must be like for them to see him standing next to Rinzler’s reprogrammer. For his part, Clu is a silent presence by Alan’s side, entirely lacking the theatricality he had displayed so often on the network. Looks like Alan will be speaking for both of them.
“No point in drawing this out,” he murmurs, gaze going from Rinzler to Nihlus. “Has the disk been synced yet?” No stalling or attempt at prelude. The sooner Rinzler is whole and stable again, the better.
no subject
[Programmer] [Admin]. [Programmer] [User]. Either would be enough to claim their program's focus, and together, the presence is enough to all but strangle him with fixed imperatives, [protect] and [serve] and [
fightfor] all but shrieking with sharp need. It's dizzying and terrifying and he has to bow, shoulders curved and hands half-open as he waits for inspection and command. He has to watch, he has to be ready, he has to draw his disk and put himself between his user (programmer) and the threats.He doesn't have his disk. He doesn't have two hands. Weight shifts anyway, the lean against the wall aborting as his frame draws a little further in. Attention lingers on Clu, waiting, but it's Alan-one that speaks, and Rinzler's helmet starts to duck by default, slanting a little to the side. Yes. Sort of. They'd performed a sync since the damage, but a fresh one would be better, to update information as much as possible before the edit.
His glance slides sideways to Nihlus—the user probably knows enough to explain by now—then stills. The helmet doesn't move, but Rinzler's eyes, Rinzler's attention shifts back toward Clu.
Defaults hadn't worked. That's why they're here.
Slowly, fractionally, Rinzler's hand comes up. Fingers curl inward. His wrist jerks a little to the side. The gesture-based activation is an update Alan-one added to his MID just days ago, to make sure he could use it in this state. But damaged or whole, this is the first time he's used the device in front of Clu unprompted. It's a loophole, it's a cheat, it's a way around the vocal permissions he was stripped of. It's something Rinzler's hidden, because he didn't want Clu to take it away.
Last sync: -9 millicycles.
The line scrolls out in projection, red-orange on dark grey.
no subject
"Alan."
He's not that much warmer to the human and doesn't immediately answer the question. Some modicum of diplomacy done with though, the Turian turns his attention back to Rinzler, feeling the program's expectant eyes on him.
Squaring his shoulders, Nihlus readies himself to explain the situation in the enforcer's stead-
... And then Rinzler slowly lifts his hand up, drawing the Spectre to a sudden halt.
Mandibles tapping thoughtfully against his chin, he casts Clu and Alan assessing looks as Rinzler types out the answer, refolding his hands behind his back, wrist in palm. He'll wait until asked before taking the disk out, and it gave him more time to try and get a good read on the situation anyways.
no subject
His focus sharpens for Rinzler's movement, fastens on the way the program lists to one side, dragging further into himself on his jagged leg.
And for the single line of text, glinting like an ember where it hovers between them--he audibly holds a breath. Isn't this what he's wanted? Was this worth what he'd put them both through? Subroutines are shrilling illegal action, are squealing about value out of bounds and it tenses his whole frame.
He lets the breath go. It's an old, old disjunction, the sting of imperfection is familiar and constant, and so, so small in the scope of things, nonsignificant. It hardly registers except to bolster the proof before him.
Rinzler was a tactical genius before he was ever Clu's. Of course he'd found a way.
...It's impressive, really.
"No," not loud. Certain and firm. "No. Resynchronization is necessary." It crackles with static, a differential he can feel strobing through his circuits. He never should have--
"It'll help him if--it ensures best possible updates before attempting repairs."
If they're all going to stare, he'll give them something to stare at, arm extended and palm out, fingers open: gimme.
Except: "Unless you know how to do it?"
They should be a challenge, but they're soft, low and factual--the first words he's ever spoken to Alan that are devoid of scorn.
no subject
Fortunately, Clu doesn’t seem interested in causing a scene over the issue now and his words remain focused on repairs. Alan nods slightly at his insistence on resyncing -- only to stiffen when Clu holds out a hand for the disk.
Except, before he can protest, Clu addresses him instead.
The offer is unexpected, but then, little of Clu’s behavior since he first contacted Alan has conformed to expectations. “I know how,” Alan answers, a little caught off-guard. His eyes turn to Nihlus -- he must know how as well if he’s been keeping Rinzler synced for all this time, but Alan doesn’t want to risk stoking any further animosity between him and Clu by asking for a demonstration of how he’s been abetting Rinzler’s disobedience for the past few weeks.
He steps forward, offering out a hand to take the disk -- and then stops. His gaze turns to his program.
“Rinzler?”
Whatever Alan thinks is best right now, there’s a reason he knows how to sync the program’s disk for repairs. And that reason makes it imperative he actually has permission first.
no subject
Air cycles, motion resumes. The harsh crackle to his admin's voice earns a reflexive duck of Rinzler's mask, but the underlying message is clear. Not now. Rinzler cycles the interrupt out of queue and decides not to waste processing on later.
The words aren't for him, regardless, and if Rinzler twitches toward a familiar bow at that extended hand, the action isn't hard to cancel. He doesn't have his disk. (He shouldn't surrender it—he can't—) He doesn't have it, so he can't obey. Nihlus does, and the resync is necessary, so Rinzler waits, helmet lowered and unmoving, as his programmers decide. The MID display flickers out, inactive.
It's suprising, when Alan-one steps forward in Clu's place. Surprising, concerning, and visuals raise slightly, tracking both of their responses. But his user's stall isn't because of Clu, and Rinzler stares back, caught off guard. Confirmation? Status-check? When the request does parse, it takes a moment to nod. The room is larger, no guards or energy field to force him to his knees. But Alan-one isn't the only one remembering last time.
Fingers curl with faint tension, and the program turns, exposing his disk dock.
no subject
Alan's behavior was a bit more disconcerting. The brief surprise at Clu addressing him, the glance sent his way. Was he not expecting this much collaboration from Clu? And why the hell was he working with Clu to begin with?
And then Rinzler...
The twitch of his shoulders, the way he shrank back into silence again as the other two worked things out. Over the months, Nihlus has become familiar with his little tells, could read the unease written over his frame as he turns.
Refocusing his attention, the Spectre's eyes dart from Clu's hand to Alan's hand and while his expression doesn't change, there's a distinct air of growing disquiet. Still, he sends the command for the compartment on the back of his cowl plating to open and reaches back to retrieve the disk.
Then offers it to Rinzler, held up with both hands.
"Here," he says, tone neutral, subvocals and expression unreadable asides from the flicker of quiet worry in his eyes when he catches the program's gaze.
Everyone knew how to sync the disk but this is Rinzler's. Nihlus is here to support him. Not Clu. Not Alan.
no subject
Only. It's clear he cannot insist, either--the evidence is spread in tableau before him, not least that he's here with Alan--Rinzler falling to silence and cringing into a familiar bow, Bradley making a point of asking permissions that should be Clu's to extend if he were even to bother--Rinzler jostling at the neck with an alarm that should not ping to a sense of received correction, small and mean.
Nihlus breaks the protocol altogether, because of course he does. Careful and controlled, with the release of a clever hidden mechanism in his own armor, and Clu holds entirely still, like a mannequin or a dead thing, because that, there, in Nihlus' hands, is his goal and objective.
Clu bites his lip to hold in the remark that flashes to the front of the queue, needled and acidic: He can't do it himself, genius.
Because Rinzler can. He can speak and act on his own behalf, and has for some time.
That doesn't mean Clu has to encourage it.
"Y'could just do it for him," quietly, with honest surprise. "His reach is limited, and he clearly trusts you."
no subject
Except he doesn’t hand it to Alan. He hands it to Rinzler.
Alan suppresses the urge to glance back to see Clu’s reaction. Though he himself can't take issue with Nihlus’s intentions, he’s not at all pleased with the position the gesture puts Rinzler in. It isn’t a question of choice. It’s a question of Clu either seeing an exchange between Users or seeing Rinzler hand over his disk to someone else.
He can’t see Clu’s expression, but at least when he speaks, his tone is milder than it could be. And his suggestion is… surprisingly reasonable, all things considered. Alan at least thinks it would be better than placing the onus on Rinzler to choose between them. He gives Nihlus a slight nod -- he won’t object if he chooses to take Clu’s advice.
no subject
But Nihlus isn't reaching past him, and his disk doesn't vanish out of sight. Rinzler's mask twitches upward slowly to the ring of light held out to him, and it's reflex more than anything that raises up his hand to take it.
He can sync his own disk. He has for nearly a full cycle now, outside a few specific circumstances. Damage certainly qualifies as a good reason, and Nihlus had docked it when he'd first found Rinzler in this state. But there's something in Clu's calm advice, in that honest, gentle surprise that has Rinzler's fingers curling more rigidly around the (his) disk.
'Limited.'
Rinzler can't see his admin. And Clu's arguments weren't meant for him. The enforcer ducks his head towards Nihlus, and reaches back before anyone can tell him not to. The joined disk slides into dock with a sharp click, and if he wobbles just a little under the sudden rush of data, Rinzler keeps his footing, fist lowing to curl empty at his side. He doesn't turn or move—they will need the disk after—but both Clu and Alan will have a clear view as the red-orange circle dims and brightens in a ring.
no subject
You're telling him the guy who does unnecessary somersaults at every opportunity has a problem with 'limited' reach here.
Trust isn't the issue anyways. Trust is something he and Rinzler had managed for weeks now, keeping the disk away from the admin. He knows Rinzler trusts him, more than the program should by all rights. He knows Rinzler would have been fine letting him dock the disk.
That particular brand of trust wasn't what was needed right now.
Keeping a protective proximity to Rinzler as he docks and syncs, Nihlus watches Alan and Clu for any signs of potential trouble. Lookout is a familiar position by now, but it's strange having the very person they'd been trying so hard to hide from now seeing everything.
"Is there anything else that needs to be done in prep asides from a full sync?" the Spectre asks quietly, if only for the sake of breaking the tension.
I made up a bunch of bs about how discs work; mod freely, everyone.
Clu had practically dared him to do it, really. Reach. Trust.
There is an undesirable sensation flooding the queue, hot and bitter; Clu shifts his weight to banish the charge, only it doesn't help, gathering pressure coiled thick in his throat. The urge to cough, to clear it, could be described as unbearable. He waits out the discomfort, feeling his hand tense where Rinzler's relaxed.
For a lying User to accuse him of doing the same is not new at all. When Clu does lift his head it's within precise parameters, speaking when spoken to, level and flat.
Anything to get this sensation out of the queue and off his tongue. It feels alarmingly close to legacy throughput too old to be useful--things aren't always neat and tidy, Clu!--and it's no help to Rinzler, in the bargain.
"Not for this," curt, short, with a mulish toss of his head. "He's not designed to self-recover, not from a cascade of this magnitude. It is not correct. It is not done. Besides," punctuated with a bitter jab of citron stripes toward the obvious, "he's right-handed."
Only, to do it on his own is clearly Rinzler's desired objective.
Rinzler is the only reason he's even standing here, hovering in wait and dumping info for two Users who will turn on him just as soon as they can.
But then, Clu is why they're here at all: to fix a mess he made. Clean up this enormous error he's input.
"Fine. Let him stagger through quirks mode himself, and then we'll see what we see. Who knows, anymore? Nothing's to spec." Swallowing the tension, pushing for a shrug, sharp. "Maybe he'll pick who's gonna drive."
"Either way, once the sync is done, we remove the disc and drop it into read-write so our lucky contestant can $bash through prior arguments to locate the worst sectors. Touch interface is intuitive enough any of us should be able to run the debug, and done that way, everybody can review the code display."
It quirks his lips, snarl or smile. "Wouldn't want anyone passing in any unexpected variables accidentally, now would we."
With a long, clear, steady look at Alan.
This means you, User.
no subject
His eyes remain on the disk as Nihlus and Clu talk, watching as the central ring gradually fills with light. No wonder he hadn’t expected Rinzler to be able to sync it on his own, he thinks, when his one and only experience with the process had been when he and Alice had forced it on the program. No wonder he had believed the same as Clu.
He tears his gaze away at the admin’s final statement, the hardly veiled accusation of what Alan might do. Of what, perhaps, he’s already done.
“No. We wouldn’t.” Tone is flat, declining to engage. He can’t let himself be distracted now, doesn’t have the luxury of doubt given the alternatives. And if that sentiment is familiar to the point of unease, he knows it’s not the same. Rinzler had agreed to this. Even Clu’s presence here had been the program’s choice.
Alan steps forward once the sync completes, though he makes no move to take the disk. His gaze flickers to Nihlus and then back to Rinzler.
“Ready?” he asks the program, voice quiet.
no subject
Clu's insults? Less so.
Rinzler knows he's not designed to self-recover. Rinzler knows too well how far from correct he's strayed, and for how long. Independent function is restricted (short leash), is wrong, but he's spent the better part of a cycle running on his own, and with far too many prompts to call malfunction. He had to. He shouldn't. He doesn't want to lose the capability, and that thought is enough to clog up conscious processing with shame and hate and sparking fragments of uncertainty. None of it's new.
No, it's the line that follows that snaps his focus back to Clu, shocked frustration neatly clearing all the error flags from queue. His mask jerks around—twitches, stops before really looking back, but all the protocol in the world can't wipe the irritated stiffness to the enforcer's shoulders, or the curl of fingers in the one hand he still has. His right hand. Right-handed.
He hadn't been.
Resentment is easier than doubt. Certainly it beats anticipation. Rinzler turns his stare back forward, and manages to log no regrets at all as his admin's needling cuts closer. Alan-one is harder. Proximity shifts, [presence] [source] [user] just behind, and the Rinzler's eyes flicker from Nihlus to the ground before he ducks his helmet in a nod.
Ready.
no subject
"Funny how he's been managing self-recovery and being... right... handed just fine on his own until you came along." He clasps his hands together in front of him, uttering a sigh that just a shade away from being melodramatic. "Didn't realize that was a problem, cultural differences and all. But I am glad to've been informed otherwise and to learn that the solution is, apparently, casual dismemberment."
The pleasant front drops like a block of lead then and there and Nihlus' smile goes with it.
He catches Rinzler's gaze before the enforcer turns it towards the ground and he casts Clu one last look before his body language eases back into one of military neutrality. As Alan steps up, Nihlus watches warily, but doesn't otherwise comment.
This? Was going to be nerve-wracking.
no subject
He deserves that look. He doesn't have to like it. But he accepts it, face value, the nod slow and deliberate.
What's there to say? What's there to do, about the way Rinzler won't turn to him no matter which knife he twists?
Later and later and later there will be time for other considerations and other words. Right now, they must act.
"After you," still watching Nihlus but speaking only to Alan, measured and too, too polite. "Watch that first sector; it may skip."
code opening now; let me know if anything needs to be changed!
Fortunately, Clu’s reaction remains subdued. Alan’s only acknowledgment of the program’s words is a slight nod. His attention is still on Rinzler as he steps forward and carefully removes the disk from its dock, before backing away a couple of steps with the disk in hand. He doesn’t expect Rinzler to turn around; the program hadn’t dared look at his own code when Alan had first forced repairs, and Alan isn’t certain he can. Nihlus and Clu, however, aren’t bound by the same restrictions. ’No point in drawing this out.’ The words echo wryly in Alan’s head. Nihlus can judge what he sees as he likes, and Clu? Rinzler had wanted him to see this. It doesn’t make Alan’s expression any less grim as he holds the disk flat in one hand, and wills it to open.
Just like last time, motes of red-orange light spill from its center, an all-too-familiar feeling of living potential prickling at the edges of Alan’s mind. Just like before, there are no clear means of input, no straightforward interface as the light resolves into the shape of Rinzler’s helmet, head bowed.
But it isn’t the same as last time. When Alan raises his hand to the image, there’s no resistance from the disk. All it takes is a single access request and the starting image dissolves, another focused thought of code/repair enough for the scattered motes of light to reform, obscurely at first, but quickly sharpening into blocks of what is unmistakably computer code.
Whatever locks Clu had put in place have long since been broken. As far as the code is concerned, Alan is as much Rinzler’s programmer as Clu is. Alan directs his intent again, willing the code to focus on the damaged sectors -- all the while doing his best to ignore the gaze of both Nihlus and the admin on either side of him.
Looks great to me!
It's strange to think that might have made a difference.
The disk display will look familiar—at least, to those who've seen it before. Nihlus will find the visual oddly geometric, code spelled out in swirling shapes and twists of light. But it's still code. Calls and functions, formal language blocked out part by part. Security programming... or almost. As neat and elegant as the base structure looks, it's clear that even that has been pared down. Some sections are greyed out, others absent, all active operation looped through a single ID. Serve Clu. That's Rinzler's function. That's what he's for.
There's still something different, something not quite right. A shifting fragility to even the surface values of the program's code. But Alan's focus doesn't linger long, and once he directs his search, neither does the view. Rinzler is code, Rinzler is programming, but Rinzler is equal parts alive, and the familiar lines split on focus to reveal an intricate network of light. Functions parse out to ability, algorithms to a branching myriad of paths that spell potential for intent and thought. The console code is just a superstructure for everything that makes the program underneath.
At this level, while Rinzler's red-orange glow remains predominant, other shades will become visible too: a bright blue-white tracing the foundations and base framework, and more distinct boundaries layered in sharp, recognizable gold. Filters and redirects, hooks and adjustments from a thousand cycles worth of edits—just as fixed and pervasive as they were always meant to be.
If not nearly so intact.
From the first sector on, faults are visible. Commands have been frayed, junk data hashing apart complex chains of priority and access. The view scrolls too quickly for detail, but dull grey glints of inactivity can be seen throughout Rinzler's code, and very little of it filed away behind partitions. And there's something else, larger and too-bright—
Damage. The search term matches, and the scan halts, displaying a vast, empty section of darkened code. Function impairment, physical harm, enough to break and cancel a mass of outward operations. For the most part, the surrounding structures appear stable, but this much of Rinzler's code has been quite literally cut off from the rest.