[closed] i've seen your face in another light

[alan_1]

Who: Alan Bradley and Clu
When: Late July, after Clu’s resurge
Where: Alan’s apartment
What: Alan has Clu’s disk. Clu (eventually) finds out.
Warnings: Involuntary memory sharing, likely discussion of brainwashing


sort;
He’s not going to edit Clu.

That was the agonizing, but final decision he’d come to after having the disk in his possession for almost three days. Given that one of his first impulses had been to open Clu’s source code and wipe it line by line until there was nothing left, talking himself down from touching the admin’s code at all hadn’t been easy. But as much as Clu had done—as much as Clu could do in the future—Alan doubts he could bring himself to go so far. Not after what he had learned when it was Rinzler’s disk he held in his hands.

Memories are a different temptation entirely. He knows they’re there. He’s seen the option enough times in the code of different programs, even his own when he himself had had a disk. Save his own, he’d never viewed a program’s memories. It would’ve been a breach of privacy, of course, not to mention a breach of trust in the cases when they’d handed over their disks willingly. But there’s no trust to break between himself and Clu. And if it hadn’t been for Clu, he wouldn’t have to search for familiar faces in someone else’s memories at all. There’s also the very real possibility that there isn’t even anyone to betray—there’s no guarantee Clu is coming back, after all.

One sleepless night, he gives up trying to drift off and retrieves the disk from where he’s been hiding it between a few books on a shelf. He lays it down flat on a table in front of him, the background hum of misgiving he’s felt since Quorra brought it to him dulled by fatigue.

It only takes a few minutes for his restraint to wear out. He places a hand on the disk and wills it to open.

return;
Alan calls in sick to work for the rest of the week. He spends the next several days poring over the memories on the disk, stopping only occasionally for food and brief, troubled snatches of sleep. The disk is still open in front of him when he hears someone at the door.

He at least has the good sense to return the disk to its hiding place before he answers it. It proves to be a solid instinct when he actually peers through the peephole and sees exactly who is waiting for him on the other side.

Previous experience has taught him the futility of trying to keep Clu out, even through the rush of panic he feels seeing the admin at his door. Of course there had always been a good chance Clu would come back. But Alan hadn’t expected the admin to announce that to him of all people. Unless he knew Alan had his disk.

Then again, if that were true, Alan would expect the door to be ripped off its hinges already. In any case, there’s no point in delaying the inevitable. Alan opens the door.

“Clu.” The weariness in his voice at least helps cover for any lingering guilt or nerves. “I see they brought you back.”

Comments

sort; IF x > 0 THEN PRINT "this number is positive" END IF;

[a_perfect_end]

Will, weapon, mind, and memories--his entire source code, down to base matrices. It's all Clu is.

It's just a tool.

The interface unfurls obligingly beneath Alan's hand, rattling softly as glittering zeros and ones spin up to arrange themselves in the boot sector glyph: a familiar face, limned in white and gold, frozen forever at twenty-or-thirtysomething.

But that image, too, evaporates under the insistent tactile pressure of Alan's intent. All he has to do is nudge, press a little--

Only to hit a wall, the display kicking up an angry flat flare of gold followed by the bitter tick of a cursor that spits out a prompt:

↑↑↓↓←→←→ B A ...|???|

(So, Bradley. What's the password?)

[alan_1]

Alan doubts opening a program’s disk will ever feel mundane, but it is at least familiar by now. He’s expecting the golden portrait of its owner and even expects security measures to a degree—though the prompt that appears does manage to surprise him.

He wasn’t expecting to see Flynn’s influence quite so soon.

Input is a single word, wary for how obvious it all feels, but clear: SELECT.

[a_perfect_end]

Promises are threats; luck does not exist. The choice of that particular cipher was driven by two major factors:

It is not a mathematical puzzle, and while strongly sequential, the next logical value would be another directional arrow--the mechanically correct solution is both obvious and completely wrong.

And this puzzle is instantly recognizable to the sort of person who might have put it there.

However.

Where's the rest of it?

You're missing a button, there.

[alan_1]

A pause, as Alan wracks his memory. Most of his video game knowledge came from what he absorbed from Flynn and Sam. He knows this, though. Not another directional button and not a letter either. Not a repeat—which leaves only one option on most older machines.

START.

[a_perfect_end]

The interface washes blank in a shiver of gold that manages to seem self-satisfied, somehow, cleared for a moment by

Authorized

And then welling unprompted to the most recent experience in dim gold backlighting, grainy with interference and figures shining a few inches high. It's a little like watching a battery-powered portable TV, small and grainy and too bright, and its first clear file is...

Full of not Rinzler, a jumble of not Rinzler and a long hard scream that just. Stops. In the middle amid a jagged staticky tumble that ends with a weird angle on the ceiling, then nothing.

If you want something less recent, you'll have to fiddle with it a bit.

[alan_1]

The second Alan realizes what he’s seeing, he almost closes the display out of shock. As the image cuts to blank, he spends a few shaken moments processing that he just saw Clu die. It’s enough to bring about a new welling of unease, a renewed urging that he shouldn’t be doing this. These aren’t his memories. This isn’t his place.

But there’s temptation, too. Everything Clu has ever seen can be played out on that grainy little screen, with less effort than popping in a cassette tape. And he’s seen so much, so many explanations and answers that Alan knows he’ll never get a chance to know otherwise—

Because Clu had silenced or outright killed anyone who could tell him.

After a long moment, Alan refocuses on the display, still tentative, almost fearful, but far past the point of turning back.

He’ll start somewhere simple. Perhaps even unremarkable. He doesn’t know enough to say.

He wants to see Clu’s last memory on the Grid.

return; IF x < 0 THEN PRINT "this number is negative" ELSE PRINT "this number is...not"

[a_perfect_end]

Nevermind the door. It's just an obstacle, and as easily removed by chiming the bell as by doing it himself.

Clu arose out of standby this morning with no way to tell, without hard access to his own code, but with mounting certainty: Zuse brought him Flynn's disc. That is lucid, vivid, rich and exact--the promise of all their perfect tomorrows, balanced delicately in his grip.

He remembers the bright warmth of it in his palm, the way the ice rattled in the drink as Zuse caught it in trembling fingers, clutching his exchange.

But Clu does not remember how.

How it happened. How he got there.

Programs do not, cannot forget--unless they're edited or wiped or glitched--or if they stray too far, too long, from their discs.

Clu is forgetting, and that means he is already running out of time.

So he stands there, meekly, swallowing his impatience and clenching his fist around the urge to slam it through the doorbell.

Alan looks as though he hasn't recharged in an ungodly long interval, personage vaguely rumpled, vocals gritty with fatigue.

"Greetings," quietly. "I'm thrilled to see you, too, but I don't have long to chat. Mind if I come in?"

He's coming in. But he'll wait on the mat just a moment more, out of courtesy.

After all, he needs a monumental favor.

[alan_1]

The Clu who appears in his doorway is very much the opposite of the one who appeared in the same place back on the Moira: quiet, polite, asking patiently to be let in. Alan isn’t sure whether he should be more or less alarmed—probably the former, given the circumstances.

He watches Clu in silence for a moment. He would expect Clu to be furious if he already knew Alan had his disk, but he sees no anger in the admin’s expression. Instead, the program looks almost funereal. Perhaps he really doesn’t know where his disk is.

If that’s the case, Alan has a monumental decision to make in not a lot of time.

In the interest of buying more, playing along seems to be the best option. Alan says nothing, not quite trusting his own words, only opens the door wider and steps aside. He's all too aware he could be making a very big mistake—but he hasn’t shaken that feeling since Quorra appeared at his door with someone else’s brain in her bag.

And if he's going to be holding someone’s life in his hands, he would at least hear what he has to say first.

[a_perfect_end]

These things have protocols--but all the extant rules available cover User rituals for when someone's already dead. On balance, he's being as polite as possible.

"Good." He shoulders through the doorway and strides halfway across the carpet before it occurs to him, blinking: "Thank you."

After all, he's in Alan's home, on Alan's sufferance; and Bradley doesn't like him.

"Look," he cranes his neck, hand scrubbing through his hair before he can stop himself, feet rocking a little with the force of what he'd rather not say. "I don't have to tell you, do I? You know exactly what it's like."

Cryptic. Meaningless, in his haste and his reluctance to derezz. Wasteful. His lip curls against his teeth, and when he speaks again it's exactly, perfectly, what he intended to say.

"When they bring you--" it's factual, but it feels absurd, "when the Savrii bring you back to life, they take something away."

He holds very, very still, watching Bradley for the least hint of reaction, and makes sure the truth is gentle as it leaves his mouth:

"And my disc is gone."

[alan_1]

He watches, listens—and doesn’t for a second let his gaze stray to the shelf where the disk is hidden. He’s focused on Clu anyway, his position in the room, where his eyes move to, his expression. There’s still no hint of suspicion in any of it and when Clu finally gets to the point, Alan realizes why.

“Oh.” It’s the only thing he can think to say. Clu’s assumption—that the Savrii had taken his disk as the cost for his resurge—seems obvious in retrospect, but this is the first time Alan has considered it all the same.

Alan doesn’t tend to believe in fate, much less that the universe could have any interest in testing him. But even he can recognize the absurd, ruthless perfection of the opportunity before him. All he would have to do is stay quiet. Nod along, murmur some insincere condolences, and in perhaps a week, Clu would be… neutralized. Alan isn’t quite sure how it works; would Clu fall apart physically or only mentally? He knows the damage would eventually be irreparable either way, nor does he imagine anyone would have much interest in repairing him even if it were possible.

...Anyone who was capable of it, at least.

The grimace that crosses Alan’s face is at least easy enough to mistake for a reaction to unpleasant news.

“Have you told Rinzler yet?”

[a_perfect_end]

Irritation flashes to the fore of the queue, packaged with the most salient responses: Of course not! and You're smart, Bradley; stop asking stupid questions. Such feelings are without value or purpose: none of them can afford for Clu to indulge his temper. And he's thinking of the last time he'd shoved his way into the User's apartment.

It's you! I'm trying to protect him from you... Clu is pretty sure he's done enough, already.

"No. That's why I'm here," he says instead, calm and factual. "He doesn't know yet, but he will soon, whether I tell him or not. Forgetting is not something Programs can do normally, but it is the first sign of--"

Alan hasn't stopped watching him, not once the entire time, and he grimaces, and Clu sighs.

"Look. This will not end well for me. Strays finish on the floor, chattering away like broken toys."

The Arena at least let them remember themselves as warriors, alive and with some grim small flicker of hope.

"Alan. Can you--" No. Don't ask. Never ask. If you ask, they have the capricious and terrible power to refuse. "He's designed to run with a--for an admin. I'm sure you see the problem."

[alan_1]

’He doesn't know yet, but he will soon.’ Clu may not know it, but those words are the surest shot he has at keeping his mind intact. It’s the same problem that’s vexed Alan ever since Clu arrived on the Moira; the one who poses the biggest threat to Rinzler is also the one central to his function. For all that Alan could tell himself that that could change—that it would be possible for Rinzler to “recover” with enough time and guidance—he doesn’t know.

Of course, keeping Clu alive might be just as dangerous. Every day he lives is another day he could lose his temper, is another day he could go back on his word , is another day he doesn’t pay for everything he’s done.

It’s those last words out of Clu's mouth that finally snap Alan out of it. ’He’s designed to run for an admin.’ The offer startles him, neatly filling in the empty space following the question of what he would do in the aftermath. Rinzler’s admin. It would fit with the kind of behavior Alan has come to associate with the title, the ruthless mangling of someone else’s code for his own ends—for power, if he’s being totally honest with himself. Power over Clu. Power over Rinzler, ultimately. “Clu, I can’t…” Can’t accept that.

Doesn’t have to either.

Alan starts talking before he can stop himself, the words bitter on his tongue. “Not long after you died, Rinzler’s… double paid me a visit, along with my own.” It’s not a lie, but the implication he’s sowing is. Safer to blame a shared enemy than to bring Quorra into this, wherever she is now. “Maybe it was supposed to be part of their game. I don’t know.” It’s suddenly difficult to look at Clu. He’ll come to regret this decision, he’s sure. He can already feel anger turning inward, his own disbelieving voice in his head sounding so much like the creature had. ’This won’t stop unless you do something about it.’ But then, he’s also sure he’d regret the alternative. “It’s on the shelf.” He says, before he can change his mind. He indicates the location with a glance. “Between the fourth and fifth books. I haven’t changed anything.”

Alan is acutely aware of the danger that presses in the second he stops speaking. He doesn’t know how Clu will react. He doesn’t know what Clu will assume. He doesn’t know what he himself will do or say once Clu gives him cause to regret his decision.

In light of all those factors, only one course of action seems logical. “I want you to take it and leave.”

[a_perfect_end]

Pause....

“What?” The first remark out of the queue, followed rapidly by, “what? You--what, you what, what is this--”

Comprehension dawns and loops. Understanding sets off a rush of anger, rage hot and familiar and choked off with a furious realization that he'd just explained, to his enemy, exactly why Programs were vulnerable without their discs.

Cautions vie for priority; Alan's status for Rinzler's sake, that Alan is a User and all Users lie, that he himself has more to do, always more to do, now that he's not going to die--

Rinzler would never forgive him, and it roots his feet to the carpet.

Because you're weak.

“You don't dismiss me, and I,” circuits flaring live-wire bright, “am not turning my back to you. You have some--some serious brass, man.”

“You want me to split? Fine. Fetch it yourself and bring me some answers with it, and maybe I'll be satisfied and go.”

[alan_1]

Alan watches coldly as Clu goes through the motions of realization and then rage. How much more difficult it is to feel afraid of someone, Alan thinks, when you’ve already very literally held their life in your hands. The request gets a moment of appraising silence. And then: “If that’s what you want…”

Clu could overpower him whether he was facing him or not. Alan turns and walks to the bookshelf, pulling the disk from its hiding place and holding it flat. Its weight is almost familiar now, the sense of foreboding the disk once held worn away with use. Alan turns so Clu can see it, apparently undamaged.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want it handed to you,” he says, nor does he refrain from demonstrating why. A fraction of intent all it takes to activate the disk in his hands, gold light spinning upwards to sketch Clu’s likeness, conspicuously absent of any protections that would have blocked access.

Alan has chosen to show mercy. That doesn’t mean he’s without spite.

[a_perfect_end]

He can look right back at Alan just the same way he's being looked at.

Watching Alan watch him like something that crawled across the rug is downright bracing. It's the repeat observance of something mechanical, behaving exactly as expected: he's watching failure mode and waiting for the soft crash.

"Our--yours and Rinzler's--just gave it to you?"

Interesting data. It's certainly stimulating. Nothing positive, but definitely strong. Completely unhelpful, of course, but then help is not what Clu asked for.

(Actually, he did, only Bradley couldn't accept it--couldn't bear the weight of it, not for a moment, not for anything.

Clu had filed that away deep.)

Doesn't matter now, though. Now it's clear where he's been this whole time. His own face is smirking at him from between Alan's upturned palms.

Alan's words are quiet, methodical, but the look on his face is loud--clear, clarion disgust.

Clu considers that. He smolders with it and peels back his teeth, even and bright.

"Well," slowly, crooned until it has four syllables and a descant, "you gonna give it to me, or are you gonna play with it some more."

[alan_1]

“Not with my knowledge,” Alan says to the question. “I noticed it after both of them… departed.” Another careful lie. He might worry that Clu could find the truth by sorting through Rinzler’s own record of the encounter, but then, Rinzler hadn’t been in much position for close observation at the time. The memory makes Alan wince.

Hearing Clu’s mocking request, Alan wishes again that the admin had just taken the disk and left. Handing it over with Clu still fuming feels much more fraught. The only real protection he has is Clu’s apprehension over Rinzler. Alan realizes with some wryness that, at the moment, it’s the only protection either of them have.

A clear all command surely wouldn’t take that long to input and he wouldn’t even have to lift a hand.

Another moment of hesitation and the display above the disk goes dark. Alan steps forward and holds the disk out flat. “Take it.” It’s what Alan had asked from the beginning, before he had time to doubt or consider alternatives. “You can check for yourself—I haven’t edited anything.” And even now, he’s still wondering whether it was the right choice.