If Tron's condition had improved, Rinzler's had stayed more or less unchanged. The flurry of interrogations had come and gone, leaving far too much time to loop and idle and itch with frustration in the cell. Between the heat and intermittent sounds, true sleep would be unlikely (and unwanted), but by the time his duplicate appeared outside the door, Rinzler had certainly lapsed into a lower-power state. Lights were barely brighter than the glint of damage at his side, helmet low. Until that ping.

The mask twitched upward... and froze, noise building from a low stutter to a growl. Threat. No, duplicate. [Him] [Not-him] and it didn't matter and it should have been erased. The enforcer jerked up to his feet, wiping the fragmented pieces from his processing as circuits flared angry red-orange.

What did it want?