[He's been searching since morning. For the virus, the glitch, the thing that took his voice and face. That used them in a way Rinzler never was allowed to. His lights are dim, sound rattling harsh echoes through the street—but not quite loud enough to drown the voice that speaks his name.
Strange clothes. Black eyes. A knife, and Rinzler reaches silently to undock his own disk, even as the blade rises and falls again, digging into the user's flesh. That user never had been a combatant—but this isn't her, and he's not inclined to take chances. Still, it seems more glitched than anything. Rinzler stares for a long moment before angling his helmet a little to the side.
crash
Strange clothes. Black eyes. A knife, and Rinzler reaches silently to undock his own disk, even as the blade rises and falls again, digging into the user's flesh. That user never had been a combatant—but this isn't her, and he's not inclined to take chances. Still, it seems more glitched than anything. Rinzler stares for a long moment before angling his helmet a little to the side.
Purpose?]