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thisavrou_log2017-08-07 06:19 pm
alan_1) wrote in thisavrou_log2017-08-07 06:19 pm
Entry tags:
[closed] now all our demons are screaming their wages aren't fair
Who: Alan (and !Alan) and Rinzler (and !Rinzler)
When: Backdated to late July
Where: Alan’s apartment
What: Alan and Rinzler’s shadows think it’s high time the real Alan and Rinzler got their shit together. Which means it’s time for a learning experience \o/
Warnings: Violence, mindfuckery, shadows being awful, a whole load of self-loathing in one room.
[Alan has heard about the shadows. Impossible not to, watching the news. He’s heard about the harassment, the elaborate games of impersonation and violence, and of course, the murders. But knowing of what’s happened is very different from seeing it. It certainly does little to dampen the shock when he returns to his apartment and sees himself already there, looking almost commonplace as it watches Alan from the sofa.]
I was starting to wonder when you’d show up. [There’s no menace to the thing’s voice. If Alan didn’t already know what to look for, he doesn’t even know if he’d recognize anything physically wrong with his reflection. The black of its eyes is not glossy or in the least bit striking. Instead, there is only shadow beneath its brows, soft enough that you could almost make yourself believe that you could see eyes behind it if you looked deeper.
It stands and Alan wonders if there’s any point in slamming the door and running in the opposite direction.]
Please don’t run. I’m not here to hurt you, [the thing says, slowly raising both hands in a placating gesture.] Killing you wouldn’t help either of us. And I’d hate for you to break your promise.
[Alan finally manages to find his voice. He hasn’t closed the door yet.] What do you want?
[It smiles, the image of benevolent reassurance.] I just want to help. Isn’t that what we always want to do? [It’s smile grows wry.] It doesn’t always end well, of course, but I’ll try not to repeat your mistakes.
[Alan watches the thing wearing his face for another moment—and then moves to step back and slam the door before it can reach him. He’s already turning, not yet processing the silence where there should be the sound of the door hitting the frame, when an iron grip closes around his arm, nearly yanking Alan off his feet as it pulls him back.]
There wasn’t any need for that, [the creature says amiably. I really am here to help. Besides, it wouldn’t be very fair to Rinzler if you weren’t here for this next part.
[Alan yanks at the trapped arm. This time, the creature lets him go.]
What do you mean? [Alan demands, fear joined by anger in his voice. He knows about the M.O of this creatures by now—family and friends are their targets more often than not.] Have you hurt him?
[The creature at least does a good impression of looking aghast.] Of course not. [A beat of indignant silence.] Well, I haven’t. anyway. But this isn’t about hurting him, either.
You’ll excuse me if I don’t expect your kind to have a conscience about these things.
[The creature shrugs.] Maybe that’s for the best. Your conscience hasn’t done you any favors—or anyone else.
If you’re here to kill me or Rinzler—
Listen, [the creature says, the amiability in its voice evaporating in an instant.] I’m not the one with a body count in this conversation and I intend to keep it that way. So save your self-righteous moralizing for someone who doesn’t know you.
[The sudden fury in the other’s voice is enough to make Alan reconsider his decision not to run. But before he can change his mind, a noise at the door causes both him and his shadow to look up.]
That didn’t take long at all.
When: Backdated to late July
Where: Alan’s apartment
What: Alan and Rinzler’s shadows think it’s high time the real Alan and Rinzler got their shit together. Which means it’s time for a learning experience \o/
Warnings: Violence, mindfuckery, shadows being awful, a whole load of self-loathing in one room.
[Alan has heard about the shadows. Impossible not to, watching the news. He’s heard about the harassment, the elaborate games of impersonation and violence, and of course, the murders. But knowing of what’s happened is very different from seeing it. It certainly does little to dampen the shock when he returns to his apartment and sees himself already there, looking almost commonplace as it watches Alan from the sofa.]
I was starting to wonder when you’d show up. [There’s no menace to the thing’s voice. If Alan didn’t already know what to look for, he doesn’t even know if he’d recognize anything physically wrong with his reflection. The black of its eyes is not glossy or in the least bit striking. Instead, there is only shadow beneath its brows, soft enough that you could almost make yourself believe that you could see eyes behind it if you looked deeper.
It stands and Alan wonders if there’s any point in slamming the door and running in the opposite direction.]
Please don’t run. I’m not here to hurt you, [the thing says, slowly raising both hands in a placating gesture.] Killing you wouldn’t help either of us. And I’d hate for you to break your promise.
[Alan finally manages to find his voice. He hasn’t closed the door yet.] What do you want?
[It smiles, the image of benevolent reassurance.] I just want to help. Isn’t that what we always want to do? [It’s smile grows wry.] It doesn’t always end well, of course, but I’ll try not to repeat your mistakes.
[Alan watches the thing wearing his face for another moment—and then moves to step back and slam the door before it can reach him. He’s already turning, not yet processing the silence where there should be the sound of the door hitting the frame, when an iron grip closes around his arm, nearly yanking Alan off his feet as it pulls him back.]
There wasn’t any need for that, [the creature says amiably. I really am here to help. Besides, it wouldn’t be very fair to Rinzler if you weren’t here for this next part.
[Alan yanks at the trapped arm. This time, the creature lets him go.]
What do you mean? [Alan demands, fear joined by anger in his voice. He knows about the M.O of this creatures by now—family and friends are their targets more often than not.] Have you hurt him?
[The creature at least does a good impression of looking aghast.] Of course not. [A beat of indignant silence.] Well, I haven’t. anyway. But this isn’t about hurting him, either.
You’ll excuse me if I don’t expect your kind to have a conscience about these things.
[The creature shrugs.] Maybe that’s for the best. Your conscience hasn’t done you any favors—or anyone else.
If you’re here to kill me or Rinzler—
Listen, [the creature says, the amiability in its voice evaporating in an instant.] I’m not the one with a body count in this conversation and I intend to keep it that way. So save your self-righteous moralizing for someone who doesn’t know you.
[The sudden fury in the other’s voice is enough to make Alan reconsider his decision not to run. But before he can change his mind, a noise at the door causes both him and his shadow to look up.]
That didn’t take long at all.
no subject
It doesn’t even register as Rinzler immediately—not even close, not with its proud poise or bared face. If it weren’t for the red-orange lights, Alan’s first instinct would be that he’s looking at Tron. But Tron never had scars like those—nor had he spoke like that.]
It’s nothing personal, [his own shadow says with a shrug.] I just know how the other one likes to draw things out.
[Alan has noticed the disk in the other shadow’s hand by now. His gaze is livid as it moves from the disk to the creature’s black eyes as if there are answers there. Would Rinzler’s shadow have disks of his own? It must. The Rinzler Alan knows would never allow an enemy to take his. Not unless he no longer had a choice...]
Where is he? [Alan demands, looking between the two creatures as if he has the power to do anything besides demand.] What have you done with him?
[His shadow glances at him, only mild interest in his expression.]
There’s no need for that tone, [it says, before looking back at Rinzler’s copy.] I’m sure the rest of him will join us shortly.
no subject
What did I do? Oh, Ù̶͟͞ś҉̴e̷̡r͏̷̸.
[The word hisses, crackles, mocking and reverent. One pace. Two. He stops just one step inside reach, offers a innocent tilt of the head. Silent and curious, inquisitive and weak. Passive. Flawed.]
You really have no idea, do you? How far he'd go, how badly he wants to die. For—
[A hand flashes up, clenches in the front of Alan's clothes.]
—this.
[The grasp lingers a moment. It's almost familiar. Almost the same—if Alan's program were kneeling and broken. That's how Alan likes him, isn't it? So much easier to keep in line.
Rinzler's grip uncurls with a hard, short shove.]
I barely had to lift a hand.
no subject
He can’t argue when it says Rinzler wants to die for him. He wishes he could, but when the creature says it, he realizes he has no evidence to the contrary. Rinzler may be willing to fight when he’s the only one in danger, but the second Alan is on the line, the program has always seemed willing to sacrifice himself in a heartbeat. All Alan can do is glare at the shadow wearing Rinzler’s face—his face, younger and crueler—and try not to let on just how deeply the words cut.
When it grabs him, hand clinging to the front of his clothes, it takes actual effort not to shove it away in disgust. It remembers. It has all of Rinzler’s memories, but nothing else. Not unless—
...No. This isn’t Rinzler. It isn’t even close. It shoves him away and Alan isn't sure why he can't bring himself to say anything back.]
[His own shadow clears its throat, casting a pointed look at the other creature before holding out its hand with an expectant twitch of its fingers.] If you’re finished...
no subject
Yes.
He does remember. He has every sentiment, every file, every pang of guilt and desperation. Every grudge. All of it is real.
He is.]
Of course.
[Rinzler looks back. The second syllable draws out, finely edged courtesy and the sardonic incline of a head. A hand snaps up and opens, tossing the red-orange disk that he'd been holding into the other shadow's waiting grip. And then he turns. Walks away from Alan, through the door, offering a clear view of the code disk still docked between his shoulders.]
I'll fetch the leftovers.
Have fun.
no subject
Thank you, [it says as the other creature departs. Once Rinzler’s shadow is out of sight, it turns back to Alan with an apologetic smile.] Sorry about that. You know how he likes his Games. [A shrug.] Or maybe you don’t. The other one is always so well-behaved around us, isn’t he?
[With Rinzler’s shadow out of sight, Alan manages to find his voice again.] Whatever you want from me, you don’t have to bring Rinzler into this. [His eyes dart to the disk in the shadow’s hand and he takes a step forward, his own palms open.] You said I’ve made mistakes—I should be the one paying for those, not him.
[The shadow watches him with mild amusement, making no move to step towards or away.] As I’ve already said, I’m not here to kill you—however much you’d prefer that. [It inspects the disk in its hands, a smile still playing on its lips.] I know you won’t believe me, but I’m actually here to save lives, not take them.
[Alan keeps his eyes on the disk. Could the shadow open it if it wanted to? How close a facsimile is the creature? Close enough to fool code?] All I’ve seen you do is threaten them.
[The creature gives a quiet huff of laughter.] Of course that’s all you see—I’m threatening the one life that matters, aren’t I? [The smile on its face abruptly sours.] You think it makes you selfless, dedicating your life to a single person. It’s a shame you replaced Flynn with someone so much less… worthy.
[As desperate as Alan is, his voice still goes cold at the mention of Flynn.] I haven’t replaced him.
Sure you have. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you didn’t have someone to fight for. [It grins again, the effect almost skeletal.] I’ll give you this much: you’re much better at protecting this one than you were protecting Flynn. You don’t care about the innocent lives he’s taken. You don’t even care about the one’s he will take, given how little you’ve done to stop it. All that matters to you is that he gets away with it.
I have tried to stop it—
With what? A lecture that ends with you comforting him because he can’t take a word of criticism from his precious user? [The shadow laughs, an angry, hollow sound.] Do you really think that will change anything?
It’s the only thing I can do, [Alan snaps, the anger in his voice now matching the shadow’s own.] What other option is there?
[The creature falls silent. Amusement slips back into its expression. Down the hall, they can both hear footsteps.]
I am so glad you asked.
no subject
And followed, every so often, by an erratic tinkle of glassine shards hitting the ground.
The shadow rounds the corner, hefting a limp shape over its shoulder. Even at first glance, the red-orange glitter of code damage predominates. All the more so when Rinzler's double drops him unceremoniously a few steps inside the room. Voxels skitter off into stray corners, sound jarring with a half-coherent twitch. Attack. Defend. Fight.
He really, really can't.
Cracks down one forearm terminate in a jagged stump. The program's core is missing at least as much data by volume: a hole punched through one side of his gut is puddling stray voxels with each shift, concussive damage cracking down his leg and through his torso. The sprawl he's been deposited in hides the remainder of the limb, but deeper gashing can be seen across his core, and the identifiers underneath his throat have been all but cut out. The black mask has been effortfully smashed, and if the face beneath doesn't hold the same cracks as his double, it's not undamaged either.]
Not a nice sight, is it?
[The words might be to Alan, but Rinzler's eyes are on his twin, expression deathly still. It takes familiarity with the program's tells to read the twitch of fingers, the slow incline of his head. Sheer, undiluted loathing.]
I don't know if he's listening—here.
[A step, spiral tightening, and Rinzler drops his weight, knee landing in the small of his duplicate's back. Desperate efforts to twist free freeze sharply, lights flickering: dim/out as a hand slams into the enforcer's disk dock. The shadow grabs the jagged edges of his helmet, pulling his original's head back.]
Look who it is! Don't you want to say hi?
[The eyes that stares up through the wreckage are almost as black as the shadow's: hexagonal pupils dilated much too wide. It's been a long time since Rinzler was exposed to this much light. With visuals or scans, it's clear that he can see enough. There's another spasmodic jerk. A voice, ground out with much more effort, under the building snarl of his sound.]
G-go—
no subject
As it turns out, Rinzler is about as far from “whole” as he can get. Alan can see it in the glitter of damage when the shadow carries him in and all the more when the impact with the ground sends voxels scattering across the floor.]
No! [Alan feels himself moving forward before he can even think about it, only that panic and anger won’t allow him to stand by while Rinzler’s copy breaks him even further. He doesn’t make it far before the same cold grip from before closes around his arm.]
Hey, take it easy. [His shadow’s voice is chiding as it tugs Alan back a step.] I already told you we’re here to help—
[Alan doesn’t even look at his double.] Just like you told me this wasn’t about hurting him? [His eyes are still on Rinzler. There's too much damage for Alan to even process it all, so he focuses instead on that fragment of a face showing through his shattered helmet. He would give everything he had not to be so helpless right now, to be able to do anything to help his program instead of just watching whatever the shadows have in store. His eyes drifts upwards, towards the grimacing likeness pinning his program to the ground. It will find it isn’t the only one with loathing in its glare.] Am I supposed to assume that he didn’t get the message?
[Behind him, his double laughs.] Believe it or not, I don’t think we can blame our friend here for this. Not for most of it, anyway.
no subject
[Rinzler's gaze is still aimed at his captive, voice dark and sharp and slick with loathing. The weaker program's noise is building, lights brightening with a flicker of blue, and again, the stutter rises: clear and harsh—]
User—
[The hand fisted in his mask slams forward, cutting off the plea with a hard impact: face to ground. The collision adds a new crack to audio, but it's hard to tell whether the sound comes from Rinzler or his mask. Certainly, the enforcer couldn't say. Hard edges press against the cuts already in his face—one mess of broken voxels ground against the next.]
Shut up.
[The shadow leans in, grip shifting to press down on the back of Rinzler's neck, weight swallowing his struggles.]
We've all heard that line before. [Eyes flash up to Alan, expression lighting to a grin. Conspiratorial. Inclusive, and his voice pitches to match.] It's tiring, isn't it? No matter how many times he tries, it just won't take.
[An elbow smashes back, colliding with the shadow's ribs to no effect. Graceful as liquid, it folds forward, mouth descending to the side of Rinzler's head.]
You made your choice. You don't get to keep playacting Tron when it's convenient. And remember? He likes you better this way.
[Bowing. Pathetic. Weak, subservient, and small. Rinzler leans back, attention returning to the pair above—only to startle out a laugh, staring at Alan.]
The look on your face! I like that.
Still, you know this is what he's for.
no subject
You know, I think you’re right. [His shadow’s voice behind him is wry, but when Alan turns to face it, the creature’s gaze is startlingly serious.] We aren’t even the first to hurt him like this, are we? [A sad smile.] Clu, Alice, Peter, Nihlus—they’ve all tried to break him, in their own ways. [Its eyes move from Alan to the scene in front of them.] You need to understand: we could stop right now, but this? This won’t stop unless you do something about it. [It chuckles, ruefully.] Or if you let us do something about it.
[Alan knows that the creature is trying to manipulate him. The somberness in its tone does nothing to outweigh the knowledge that its purpose here, first and foremost, is to inflict harm. But the creature isn’t threatening to kill Rinzler and that fact is the only hope Alan can see right now. If that means playing along until he finds a better option, so be it.] You’re saying there’s something I can do to make you—to make this stop?
[The shadow’s smile widens.] I did say I was in the business of saving lives, didn’t I? But first...
[It turns its attention back to Rinzler’s own shadow, its voice cheerful.] I’m going to have to ask you to stop playing with him in a moment—so if you have any parting shots, now’s the time.
[Alan flinches as if struck.] No. You said—
I didn’t say we’d stop right away. But don’t worry, I promise you, he’ll survive. [It’s voice lowers, mirroring the same conspiratorial tone that Rinzler’s double had used earlier.] Because you’re going to fix him.
no subject
Fingers squeeze on Rinzler's exposed disk dock, a scorching burn of power held. The enforcer stutters—chokes, throat working uselessly as inputs blank with nausea. Still, he can make out the low click of a disk undocking. The whir of activation.]
We could cut this out. [Rinzler's disk taps lightly on the edge of a long circuit—specifically, the end still lit in Tron's blue-white.]
Not that he'd learn that easily. [The contemplative pleasure shifts to a broad grin, black eyes lifting to Alan. The shadow's head tilts, just a little.] But that's what you're here for, isn't it? To make things stick.
What do you think, u҉̕͢s̶̀͟͟e҉͘͢͠͝r̀̕? Is there a lesson you'd prefer?
no subject
Avoid damaging the disk dock, please, [the shadow says rather pointedly when it sees the other reaching for Rinzler’s back.] We still need that.
[Alan himself is already starting to piece together their little game. They’ll hurt Rinzler and then make Alan “fix” him, but of course it won’t be that straightforward. Whatever his role, the end goal will only be to cause further harm—of that he’s sure.
He’s also sure that whatever he says now won’t matter. Rinzler’s shadow seems far too keen to inflict pain to be dissuaded by Alan’s words. The creature's question only gets a lowered gaze and three words that are equal parts disgust and distress.] Not for him.
no subject
You think you're helping, don't you?
[The disk cuts in, feathering just a few stray voxels underneath the stripe of light. Rinzler won't cry out, but his sound catches, raw with static, frame shuddering against the ground as he tries to get away. But the hand stays locked around his disk dock, processes stalled and sapped, just on the edge of execution.]
You could have chosen something harmless. Something small. Or easy to repair, at least.
[A breath of laughter. Slowly, painstakingly, the weapon starts down the exposed circuit.]
But you think this way, it's not your fault?
[Rinzler pauses, weapon digging just a little closer. Fractures spread out as his cast-off shell struggles: like a bug, tearing itself to pieces on the pin.]
I told you already, Ù̷̢͞s̨e҉̶̢̧̀ŗ̷̷̢͝. It's what he's for. What he wants. Certainly, it's what he decided. Or do you tell yourself he didn't have a choice?
Either way, you let it happen.
[There's a ragged scraping from the floor, Rinzler's shattered mask scratching against the ground. No. That's wrong. But denial stutters as the motion of the disk resumes, passing the boundary of the blue-white glow to keep on going.
Alan refused to set limits. That makes this Rinzler's Game entirely, to finish how and where he wants.]
You let him get in trouble, again and again. You let him go back to being hurt for others' satisfaction. For Clu's. [The smile twitches, almost nostalgic.] Did you know—when Clu cut off his arm, that was for you?
[He finishes the line. Skirts the disk dock, carefully, to repeat the process with its mirror.]
The only time he fights is for his user. He gave up all those decisions. And you still think it's not your fault, if you let someone else take charge.
[Rinzler's blade pulls back, and he surveys the two neat lines framing the disk port, matching the pattern of a human's spine. Small fragments spill out from the edges, geometric cracks glowing a dull orange across the rest of the expanse. It's almost as satisfying as the noises. As the helpless twitching underneath.]
Still, if you don't want him, I'm not going to complain.
no subject
It know it’s my fault. [As desperate as Alan is to say anything that would save his program from further harm, the words are honest.] I know I couldn’t—I didn’t protect him. Just… tell me what I have to do now. Please.
Do you understand what you did wrong? [His own shadow’s voice is almost gentle in comparison with Rinzler’s, the voice of someone earnestly interested in teaching a lesson.] It would’ve come off as cruel if you’d asked for him to be hurt. But look what you let happen instead. [Its grip on Alan’s arm tightens enough to bruise and Alan forces himself to look up at the aftermath of the shadow’s game. Two deep gouges trace down Rinzler’s back, glowing cracks spidering across and growing as Rinzler struggles futilely beneath. It’s sadistically precise and all the worse with the shadow’s reminder that he’s allowed worse to happen before. Behind him, his own shadow speaks softly.] Was it worth it?
No. [The word comes out in a pained whisper, almost a sigh.] No, of course not.
So you understand: helping people doesn’t always mean playing the hero. It doesn’t always mean playing the kindly father, either. [A small, sad laugh from his shadow.] You think you would’ve learned that after Sam, but maybe you were just going to let him keep throwing himself off buildings until the only thing you had left to protect was his memory. It has always been easier to speak for someone who’s already gone, hasn’t it? Or for someone who can’t speak for himself.
[The words hurt, but Alan doesn’t have it in him to be angry. The shadow is right, after all. He’s always been so much better at eulogizing than actually saving anyone.
Maybe that’s why Rinzler is so important to him—the program is already a ghost, in some ways.]
You want to help him, [The shadow says, its grip on his arm easing and then falling away entirely.] You already know the first step. [It offers him Rinzler’s disk and Alan takes it, more out of a desire to keep it out of the creatures’ hands than anything else. Still, he knows what it’s for.]
Go on. [His shadow says, a smile in his voice.] I know you haven’t forgotten how.
[No, he hasn't. Alan doesn’t want to obey, but he’s too afraid for Rinzler not to. Afraid of letting him lie there wounded. Afraid that if he doesn’t, his shadow will start the game again.
He walks towards his program with leaden legs, tries not to look at the double crouched over his crippled frame. He’ll wait for the creature to move aside and then kneel, half-numb, next to Rinzler.] I’m so sorry, [he murmurs, voice already hoarse with anguish.] I’m so sorry.
[And then he reaches forward and presses Rinzler’s disk into its dock.]
no subject
It's Rinzler who struggles. Who gasps, raw and shuddering as the [interrupt] recedes. Tries to rise. Efforts are disjointed, connections cut, limbs stalling without proper support from the core. Still, he gets his arm underneath. He pushes up, at least a little. At least enough to turn his head. To hear the apology, and see the look on his user's face. It's wrong, he's wrong, he has to stop it, but—
—a click—
—and the rush of data blanks cognition, code and memory updating to backup. Rinzler can't resist the sync. Rinzler was made not to. All he can do is jerk his head aside.
This isn't right.]
"Sorry" is for people who do better.
[The words breathe out behind Alan in vicious sing-song as a hand reaches past him: grabbing his program's neck and forcing it back to the ground. If Alan turns, he'll find a quirk of an eyebrow, a smirk every bit as choked with condescension as the words. Will he improve?
If he doesn't, Rinzler's here.
The circle of light brightens in a ring, exposed in the bent curve of Rinzler's back. Disk synced and ready.]
no subject
Don’t touch him. [There’s a tight-leashed fury behind the words, all the moreso because Alan doesn’t even know if he could stop the creature if it refused. But he’s playing their game—as far as he’s concerned, the creature’s turn should be over.
His own double hovers nearby, gaze moving from Alan to its coconspirator.] I did say to get in your last parting shots, [it points out to the other creature, voice tinged with reproach. It gestures to the fully synced disk on Rinzler's back.] I think it’s time we moved onto something more interesting, anyway.
no subject
He can't help anyone.
Still, Alan isn't the only speaker, and delight recedes as one pair of dark eyes lifts to meet their match.]
So you're going to hold him?
[Polite and sharp, tipped with the slightest edge of scorn. Rinzler is resisting, helmet jerking to one side, intact arm tugging out from underneath his body. Trying to reach back.]
Or would you prefer I let him rip himself apart? [Rinzler's head tilts towards Alan just long enough for a conspiratorial grin.] He already tried once, you know.
[The warmth vanishes as he looks back to the shadow, a pointed (edged) reminder. This is an agreement. "Alan-one" isn't in charge. And Rinzler doesn't take orders. He holds the stare, as his source code struggles. As Rinzler frees that arm, as he snatches for the disk...]
Well? Move on already.
[...before Rinzler's hand locks around his wrist, leeching power down the limb. Sound rises in a snarl, and an elbow digs into the back of his neck instead, keeping the enforcer down as Rinzler leans forward. Casual. Languid. Smiling, like always.
No damage. See?]
I'm just getting comfortable.
no subject
Alan’s shadow sighs, resemblance growing all the more uncanny as its expression changes to one of mild exasperation.] Point taken. I just don’t want any distractions.
[Then it turns to Alan, meeting his glare with a frown.] Well? You’re the one who wants to get this over with so badly. [It nods to the disk again.] Take it.
[As much as Alan knows he has no choice, he still hesitates, loathing changing to dread in an instant. One hand hovers over the disk on Rinzler’s back, the gesture almost protective, making no move to take it.] I’m not going to hurt him. [It isn’t a question. The creature only smiles.]
If this was about hurting him, you wouldn’t need our help. It’s repairing him you seem to struggle with.
I can repair him just fine. I’m waiting to hear if you’ll let me.
[The creature’s smile widens.] Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. We want you to repair him. We just don’t want any half-measures. For example, I’m sure you can agree you should fix the glitch where he kills innocent people. Or the one that keeps him going back to Clu. You’ve seen the code causing it, after all.
[Alan says nothing, staring at the creature in disbelief. There’s no use reasoning it. It has Alan’s memories, has already seen that there’s nothing there to fix. It doesn’t stop Alan from trying.] Those aren’t glitches. We both know that, we’ve seen—
Yes, [The creature says, it’s smile starting to look much more like a grimace.] I remember. Back when you understood what was necessary—before you decided that the life of your program was worth more than anybody else’s.
All I decided, [Alan says, the anger in his voice quickly returning,] was that his life wasn’t worth any less.
Do you even hear yourself? Of course it's less. [The creature is practically baring its teeth now, amusement draining from its voice with every word.] Rinzler is not anything you were supposed to save. You were supposed to save Flynn or Sam or Tron. They were worth protecting. They were the ones who needed you. [The words are raw with more than just anger—grief seethes beneath the surface, too intense to not be real. When it looks at Rinzler, its hatred is just as profound.] But you settled for him instead. Anything to feel like there was someone you could save, I suppose—and you can’t even do that much right. [It begins to walk forward, eyes never straying from the disk on Rinzler’s back.] Aren’t you so lucky that I’m willing to step in?
[Alan acts without thinking. He takes Rinzler’s disk, stepping back from both his program and his double, as if he can keep the code in his hands safe with distance alone. The creature stops, its expression cold as it delivers its instructions in two clipped sentences:]
Fix him. Or I’ll do it for you.
no subject
This is correction.
And he was never something to be saved.
Rinzler can't look up, but he can hear the venom. Can project the perfect metric of resentment on his user's face. It's the expression he'd expected from the start, the scorn and loathing he'd always known was waiting beneath Alan-one's disappointment. Tron fought for the users, and Tron died. Tron was loyal.
Rinzler is a fault.
It's subtle. A curl of fingers. A stillness, weak thrashing frozen under the weight of truth from overhead. His double notices, whispering a quiet laugh and a mocking pat on the shoulder. The disk jerks free from Rinzler's dock, steps stuttering away, but still, he can't process. Can't fight. The words are true.
It's really happening this time.]
i want you to know that i accidentally c/p'ed from plurk and thus almost tried posting elmo_fire.gif
He tells himself he can’t do it. Rinzler has stayed himself past Alan’s first attempt, past Clu, past Nihlus—he’s come too far. Alan has, too. He can’t just let it end like this. But if Alan doesn’t make the edits… His eyes settle on his double, who watches him just as intently. Alan had heard the hatred in its voice. Whatever Alan might do to Rinzler, he’s sure the creature would find some way to make worse.]
We’re waiting, [the creature says, as if it can read Alan’s thoughts. Maybe it can.] None of us have all day—least of all him. [It casts an indifferent glance at Rinzler.] Though if his current state isn’t alarming enough, I’m sure our friend wouldn’t mind increasing the urgency—
No, [Alan says, panic in his voice where there had once been defiance.] I’ll do it. Just— [He looks at Rinzler’s own double, almost pleading.] Just don’t hurt him anymore. [He doesn’t even know what he’s promising, only that it might be able to buy Rinzler time—to buy them both of them time.]
You’re the one who gets to decide that, aren’t you? [The creature is smiling now.] Don’t let us keep you.
[Alan looks down at the disk in his hand and takes a shaky breath to steady himself. There’s at least one thing he knows he can do for Rinzler. What he’ll do after, he’s still desperately trying to figure out.
It takes him several moments to gather the intent to open the disk. He doesn’t want to do this. He has to. He forces himself to focus and red-orange light finally rises from the disk’s center. It still recognizes him as an authorized programmer. Navigating to Rinzler’s base code is the work of seconds.
He glances up at the crumpled form of his program, words crowding in his throat. He wants to tell Rinzler that all he’s doing is repairing the physical damage, that he isn’t playing the shadows’ game. But the creatures are listening. And Alan doesn’t know for how much longer those words will be true.
Without saying anything at all, Alan begins to repair the damage.]
well, as thread summaries go....
His program is in terrible shape.
Fragmented values. Terms disconnected... or just wiped. An entire branch of execution has been shattered. That's not the first missing limb Alan has repaired, and as extensive as the damage is, the raw, recent gaps carved through sensory connections are at least similarly easy to pick out. But some of the damage goes well beyond disk wounds. Layered protections have been battered out of place, and strange cracks and errors flag all through Rinzler's core functions. At the center of the misalignments is a massive, jagged fault: as if something reached into his program's root code to pull him apart from the inside.
"Not most", the shadow had said. Even with the additional "incentive", it might not have been lying. Malicious data clutters stray processes, power cycles drained and drawn. For all that Rinzler's disk shows no other logs of access, it's not hard to tell that something—or some things—have been tampering with Alan's work. Wherever Alan starts, there's plenty to set right.
Wherever Alan starts, and whatever Alan changes, Rinzler's noise will rise, and his mask won't lift again.
It's the other one that watches the procedure, eyes sharp as they flit from one gesture to the next. Rinzler's head dips, mouth hovering beside his predecessor's ear as he speaks quietly: words not meant for either user, though Alan might catch a phrase or few. "—know why, don't you?" "A failure, a waste, leeching off—" "You wanted to be perfect."
It's not a conversation. Rinzler can no sooner speak back than he can overcome the whole version of him. Than he can look at his own code. Rinzler's gaze will meet Alan's readily, if the user looks their way, smirk daring him to object. He can find other ways to spend the time—time the user was so desperate to buy. Still, he won't speak to Alan directly unless the user pauses in his work.]
Don't stop now.
You're just getting to the good part.
APOLOGIES FOR THIS HIDEOUS BEHEMOTH
There’s no time to dwell on the questions any further. The only way to stop the panic from growing into terror is to start, to do something before it’s too late. Alan seizes onto a cluster of broken lines in Rinzler’s core code, raising a hand to isolate and delete the damage from the strands.
Alan has experience with repairs now, but he’s never seen damage like this and there’s so much of it. Minutes tick by as he works, each one tenser than the last. Alan doesn’t even know how Rinzler has held together this long, much less how much longer he can endure. His attention is too strained to even notice his own shadow stepping closer to observe his progress, satisfaction settling onto its features as Alan works.
By the time he finally repairs the worst of the damage, he feels almost sick with dread. He finally tears his eyes away from the disk in front of him and looks between the two creatures.]
You have to let me sync what I’ve done so far, [Alan says in a rush.] If he derezzes, then none of us get what we want.
[His own shadow raises an eyebrow at the sudden interruption, frowning.] I’ve already told you the rules. I finish what you don’t.
I’m not asking you to change those rules, [Alan persists.] I’m just asking to divide my own part. Let me stabilize him first—
No, [his double says, firmer this time.] You stop now, you end your turn. That’s how the game works.
These are necessary repairs—
And maybe this test is about what exactly you find “necessary,” [the creature shoots back.] You want to save him so badly? Fine. [It inclines its head towards Rinzler in mocking invitation.] Show us what that means.
[Alan feels a flash of anger, but he doesn’t dwell on it for more than an instant. Any longer would be futile. The shadow won’t bend to reason. Alan has to make a decision and he has to make it now. Heart racing, Alan thinks through his options. If he syncs Rinzler’s disk with what he has now, his shadow will take the invitation to recode Rinzler itself. The only way to prevent that outcome is for Alan to recode Rinzler instead—to do what he had failed to do all those months ago.
It wouldn’t have to be cruel. He could spare Rinzler from a true lobotomy as much as he could. Would it be kinder to remove Rinzler’s capacity for violence while leaving his personality intact? Or were the two so intertwined that it would only be a worse form of torture than starting over entirely?
The question alone draws Alan’s breath short. Would he have time to explain what he was doing to Rinzler? Would he be able to explain at all?
But it could still save him, couldn’t it? It would stop the shadows from harming him. It would be kinder, safer, more controlled, if Alan just—
Hurt Rinzler himself.
There’s a moment of complete stillness as Alan stands with the disk in hand as if stunned, staring through the motes of red-orange light. Then, he blinks, and that light flickers before darkening completely.
He says nothing at first. He’s too much of a coward to speak his choice into reality. But his shadow is still staring at him and Rinzler doesn’t have much time.]
I can’t do it. [The admission is small and anguished, but resolute.] I… I end my turn.
[His shadow only responds with a stony silence. Finally, it speaks.] You do understand how this works, don’t you? You end your turn, you give his disk to me. [Its lip curls in disgust.] And I do what you apparently don’t have the courage to do.
I end my turn, [Alan says again, still quiet, still grief-stricken, but no less steadfast. And then:] I’m sorry, Rinzler.
[It’s the only choice he could’ve made. That doesn’t make it any less terrible.]
/EMBRACES AND LOVES IT FOREVER
He owes his user better. He always has, and he doesn't need (the warm/sharp words) (the grip, still sapping at his power) to remind him. "The least you could do is make it easy to set right." Rinzler knows the words are true; Rinzler knows what's coming... but habit doesn't make the panic any less. It's closer, messier, a wound rubbed raw and selfish. A fault, just like the rest.
He doesn't know why Alan-one still wants him.
Impossible to argue that his user does. Impossible to argue that he shouldn't. Rinzler listens, dizzy and confused, to the words reflected back and forth above. Something his user doesn't want to change. That he hadn't before? Rinzler doesn't know; Rinzler can't see, but when his user speaks again, to him... a slight scrape answers. A broken helmet, scratching sideways on the ground. An oscillation to his sound, too damaged to be clear. But maybe Alan-one can hear the words inside.
Don't be.
He's glad there's some part of him worth keeping. He's grateful, that this edit hasn't been approved. His user tried to fight it, and Rinzler will try too. That much, he hopes he'll still remember.
Rinzler says nothing at all.]