The creak and slide of metal is answered with a step, weapons whirring in bright, lethal rings. Rinzler is ready—to break him, to hurt him—but nothing comes. No lance of charge, no echo of gunfire. Only a controlled collapse, shell flattening against the floor.
...
Surrender.
No. No, no, no, that isn't right. Isn't fair. Fists clench around his disks, and Rinzler takes another step, frame coiling inwards in sheer, vicious aggression. Hate. He hates the user. Hates this. He's a coward, a liar. It's another trick. Does he really think the enforcer would be that stupid again?
(Why wouldn't he?)
Rinzler had trusted him before.
It won't save him. Not this time, not now, and the ticking, glitching echo of the program's noise scrapes louder, a distorted snarl of sheer rage. Get up. The words choke in his throat like always, but the user (Nihlus) should know him well enough to read the meaning. Rinzler hadn't been online when he'd been cut apart. Why would he care if the user won't fight him?
(Why does it matter?)
It doesn't. It won't. He'll crash a blade down through the user's neck, sizzle through its throat and spine to sever the connection. He'll cut its parts away and leave it bleeding power in the dark. He'll make it fight back. Then he'll win, and it will die, and this will all be over.
He wants to. He will. His disks are shaking with the need. Rinzler is a weapon, Rinzler is a tool, and Rinzler never should have stepped outside that. He went to the user. He betrayed Clu, betrayed his purpose, and everything that followed is no more than he deserved. But he can set it right.
(He's shaking.)
(Choking.)
Circuits flicker with a snap of static. It echoes in his sound, growls up from his core and code. Raw. Furious. Impossibly clear.
Some people are bitten by radioactive fauna... some people bite it first. :|b
...
Surrender.
No. No, no, no, that isn't right. Isn't fair. Fists clench around his disks, and Rinzler takes another step, frame coiling inwards in sheer, vicious aggression. Hate. He hates the user. Hates this. He's a coward, a liar. It's another trick. Does he really think the enforcer would be that stupid again?
(Why wouldn't he?)
Rinzler had trusted him before.
It won't save him. Not this time, not now, and the ticking, glitching echo of the program's noise scrapes louder, a distorted snarl of sheer rage. Get up. The words choke in his throat like always, but the user (Nihlus) should know him well enough to read the meaning. Rinzler hadn't been online when he'd been cut apart. Why would he care if the user won't fight him?
(Why does it matter?)
It doesn't. It won't. He'll crash a blade down through the user's neck, sizzle through its throat and spine to sever the connection. He'll cut its parts away and leave it bleeding power in the dark. He'll make it fight back. Then he'll win, and it will die, and this will all be over.
He wants to. He will. His disks are shaking with the need. Rinzler is a weapon, Rinzler is a tool, and Rinzler never should have stepped outside that. He went to the user. He betrayed Clu, betrayed his purpose, and everything that followed is no more than he deserved. But he can set it right.
(He's shaking.)
(Choking.)
Circuits flicker with a snap of static. It echoes in his sound, growls up from his core and code. Raw. Furious. Impossibly clear.
"Why?"