Rinzler's entire shell itches with disgust as the slick tug spreads across his lower frame. Between the damage and the creature's weight, his core is more or less trapped already, but the enforcer strains to maintain slack in his legs. If he can stretch out far enough to angle a kick back...

He can't. He tries anyway. There's nothing else to do.

Nothing but watch the threat ready its tools. Nothing but feel the touch-connection close, stray data flicking inwards in a ping. It's corrupted. Sick. He shuts it down, shuts it out, but it comes back. Again. Again. Lights flicker, struggles lagging as internals strain to match the speed. Rinzler is skilled. Rinzler is fast. Rinzler is a thousand cycles of efficiency: pared and practiced and perfected from code that was already a marvel in its elegance.

Rinzler is nothing at all, compared to the enormity he's been hooked into.

It's not quick. Not instant, and that fact alone is staggering. But noise catches, a new pitch threading through the rattle of mismatch. The distressed flicker of the program's circuitry gives way to a maze of color: red lights speckled with pixelized glints of pale blue—both darkening to black in patchwork. His entire body warms. Heats.

Crash imminent.