Scans should have found it. Audio should have picked up the first step. But half his systems are (worse) broken, the rest trying to shut down, and when the new attacker registers, it's already on him. The shove catches Rinzler in the side, and the program staggers—falls—twists back.

It's reflex more than calculation. Desperation more than both. Because he didn't see it coming, because he's already glitched, because despite everything, he wants to stay alive. The motion's panicked and sharp. It's sickeningly fluid. It's far too fast for strictly human eyes to track, but those are a minority in this hall.

Rinzler twists back, and his joined disk slashes sideways.