It doesn't escape Rinzler's attention that the user's moving more slowly than it should. He'd been ready to track it down, but it's staying within sight. Taunting? Maybe? Leading him? If it is, it hardly makes a difference. Rinzler follows because he has no other options left. Because when this place's users do catch up, at least he won't be idling.
When it darts down the open line of the observation deck, Rinzler adds stupidity to the potential reasons. The hall is long, but too enclosed. A straight shot for a thrown disk, and if the user can outpace Rinzler with ease, he suspects his weapons make for a much more even race. The program's grip shifts, calculating the angles as he steps—
Peter had startled under the wave of heat. Rinzler? Staggers. It's less perception than nausea, less warmth than the prickling cascade of systems lagging and off-beat. System over temperature, and the background rattling of errors surges, noise rough and grinding as his fluid movements stumble to a halt. Motor functions are lagged, cognition worse, but there's still a flicker of grim acknowledgment. Not so stupid after all.
It takes a moment longer to realize the user's gone.
It isn't. It is. Rinzler shakes his head, refreshing visuals, but he can still see his enemy, smirking and stalled as it taunts him to close. He can see the user... but he can't feel it. Scan-sense picks up only a mass of errors, an unstable read of gathered charge blanketing the space ahead. A distortion? A glitch? Or are visuals what's failing amidst the heat? Rinzler has to decide, to move. To act before it takes advantage.
He decides he likes his first plan after all.
Two white-edged disks flare to life, and Rinzler slings his weapons down the hall. They're overcharged and meant for speed, twinned blurs of light crossing in ricocheted diagonals that hurt the eyes to track. Lethal, if they catch the user. Satisfying if they at least make it scramble to escape. Or stop sneering. But neither happens, and the reaction that follows takes a long moment to parse.
no subject
When it darts down the open line of the observation deck, Rinzler adds stupidity to the potential reasons. The hall is long, but too enclosed. A straight shot for a thrown disk, and if the user can outpace Rinzler with ease, he suspects his weapons make for a much more even race. The program's grip shifts, calculating the angles as he steps—
Peter had startled under the wave of heat. Rinzler? Staggers. It's less perception than nausea, less warmth than the prickling cascade of systems lagging and off-beat. System over temperature, and the background rattling of errors surges, noise rough and grinding as his fluid movements stumble to a halt. Motor functions are lagged, cognition worse, but there's still a flicker of grim acknowledgment. Not so stupid after all.
It takes a moment longer to realize the user's gone.
It isn't. It is. Rinzler shakes his head, refreshing visuals, but he can still see his enemy, smirking and stalled as it taunts him to close. He can see the user... but he can't feel it. Scan-sense picks up only a mass of errors, an unstable read of gathered charge blanketing the space ahead. A distortion? A glitch? Or are visuals what's failing amidst the heat? Rinzler has to decide, to move. To act before it takes advantage.
He decides he likes his first plan after all.
Two white-edged disks flare to life, and Rinzler slings his weapons down the hall. They're overcharged and meant for speed, twinned blurs of light crossing in ricocheted diagonals that hurt the eyes to track. Lethal, if they catch the user. Satisfying if they at least make it scramble to escape. Or stop sneering. But neither happens, and the reaction that follows takes a long moment to parse.
Something was in the way.