thisavrou_log | You can never say that I didn't try

Entry tags:

You can never say that I didn't try

Who: Rinzler and OPEN
When: April 14th through the 24th
Where: the Hold
What: Rinzler killed some people and copes poorly. Set after this log.
Warnings: references to character death and mindscrew, glowy injuries, unfortunate assumptions. (See also: Rinzler.)

The first place Rinzler woke up in this system was a cell. He'd been locked in after a fight with his duplicate—with Tron. Not that the enforcer had been capable then of even hearing the older version's name. Rinzler had attacked because he had to, because the overrides built in his mind detected conflict and demanded he delete the source. Since then, he's shattered that if/then chain. Chipped away at the filters on his memories, even managed, once or twice, to speak.

But he's back where he started, and he knows better than to expect things to end the same way.

For the most part, visitors will find Rinzler seated on the low bench back against the wall. Circuits burn dimly in the shadows, almost outshone by the dull glint of fractured code that covers a full half of the enforcer's core. He's turned slightly to conceal the injured side, but the spiderwebbing cracks through code and armor are obvious to see, and he doesn't have the power to refresh his shell and cover up the damage.

The low rattle of corrupted code echoes through the cell and down the corridor, though it does nothing to compete with the invectives from the user locked in one door down. Rinzler approaches shutdown just once, curled up against the wall, and if the flickering lights and twitch of limbs is any sign, it's anything but restful. The program won't notice anyone approaching then, but he probably wouldn't mind being woken.

Once or twice, Rinzler rises, pacing, frustration and the need to move boiling up through the despair. There's nowhere to go, though, nothing to do, and even that much risks opening his damage further. Maybe he should. Fracture, break, rip himself apart and leave them voxels on the floor to claim and punish. Rinzler wonders if he ever tried before. If he does, he can't remember. He wonders what they'll make him into. Alan-one had told him what would happen, told him he'd correct the fault if Rinzler fought again. Now two users are dead, and if there's any hope at all, it's that they'll decide he's too worthless to salvage.

[[ooc: ~~the duration during which Rinzler can be visited depends largely on the results of his trial, so there may be some time-wobbling. In particular, if he ends up with solitary confinement...~~ no longer applicable; Rinzler will be visitable for both the trial period and his sentence. ETA 2: As of the 20th, temperature conditions will be improved thanks to Vision + co.

Prose and spam both welcome!]]

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Tron's brow furrows in consternation. He can try to understand what Rinzler is thinking, even without him speaking. After all, he was him, at one time.

"They... they had to use some of your code to repair me," he says slowly. "They didn't do anything to it, then, didn't edit you at all. But they were able to access your disc. If you'll let them, they can help repair you now."

Tron has to believe his User would do the right thing, would help to repair Rinzler's damage. "I know Alan-1 would never do anything to harm you."

He comes up out of the shadows like Chara's own counterpart. Are they some pair of strange demons sent from hell, here to harass innocent Moirans that are doing their best to live good lives?

Of course they are. Chara smiles. If that's not what the rest of the ship thinks, then it will be when they're done. Rinzler was born bad in ways Chara can relate to. It's written into him, like a song in the same range. The ship will sentence him to something useless, time will pass, and then this whole mess will start over, and no one will really understand that you can't cure evil.

These thoughts pass with lightning speed. Chara considers stepping forward, but Rinzler hasn't stood, and Chara thinks it's by preference.

"How did the first fight start?"

Right. Asriel could ask any question he wanted, but a lot of them he's not really sure he wants to know the answer. It was different out here, much different from the Underground. Deep down, Asriel knew this. It's why, a long time ago, he adopted the philosophy of "kill or be killed".

"Why did you attack that human?" It's not really accusing, but he saw the video at the trial and it only led to more questions. "And um... why did those humans attack you?"

Satine stands for a long moment simply studying Rinzler. His injuries make it clear that he is not an organic life-form. Some sort of droid, then? But why would a droid be put on trial? Surely the one held responsible for murderous actions carried out by a machine ought to be whoever programmed it?

Vision referred to him as sentient. True artificial intelligence... When does personhood start? At what point does a machine become more than a tool? Do battle droids doubt? Do they fear? Do they individually have the ability to decide to lay down their arms? These aren't questions she has asked herself much, but she finds that they flood her mind now. Arrogance takes many forms, and is rarely accompanied by taking responsibility for whatever comes of it, something that rings true for a multitude of species.

"Hello."

Inspection is familiar for Rinzler. Behind his helmet, he returns it. This user had spoken at the trial, submitting not an opinion, but a request. It wanted to carry out his correction. Rinzler had no way of knowing if the admins had agreed, but it's not much surprise either way to find the user here, assessing its attempted claim.

The ticking whir continues, a clipped staccato with the rhythm of a broken machine. Rinzler gives no direct answer to the greeting, but the mask twitches fractionally up. Yes, user. He knows you're there.

"Are you programmed to kill?"

She isn't sure whether or not she'll get a response, since Rinzler does not appear to be particularly communicative, but it's worth a try. If she were to be assigned his case, this is important to know. Is he carrying out commands or making decisions, or is it a mix of both?

A long stare, noise filling the silence. It's more direct than most of the users. He's just not sure that's a good thing. If he says yes, will it take that as a reason for reprogramming? Maybe, but it's not as if that's a new threat. And certainly, he isn't going to lie.

The helmet dips. A short nod.

Considering the only response was the turian's soft breathing, it seems that Nihlus had fallen victim to hold's turian suitable warmth. He's listing forwards and precariously propped up by the arm under his cheek, green eyes closed. The arm with the omni-tool was draped loosely over a knee and the tool's orange glow has faded offline, apparently somehow linked to his state of wakefulness.

Looks like sleep finally caught up with this Spectre agent.

Until she has determined whether or not reprogramming him could be considered ethical, she wouldn't advocate that solution.

"Does your programming permit you to choose not to?"

She suspects so, but thinks it best to have these things confirmed by Rinzler himself.

Edited 2016-04-21 06:34 (UTC)

As unsuitable as the heat is for programs, it takes Rinzler longer than it should to be sure what's going on. Eyes closed. Stability listing. No irregularity to the power cycles, though.

Rinzler pushes himself upright with some effort, taking a few careful steps closer. He stops just on the other side of the door, hesitating a moment before sparing the power for a short-range scan. Apart from the faint code-sense of the armor, there's nothing in the way, the user's signature shining bright and clear with no hint of failure.

Asleep, then. Rinzler sits back against the nearest wall, considering. He doesn't know his keepers well enough to gauge their reactions to a sleeping visitor. He doesn't know Nihlus well enough to guess what allies might be called on to remove him. Still... there's one user he knows Nihlus does trust. Who Nihlus called in to handle the last emergency.

Somewhere on the ship, one Jane_Shepard will be receiving a ping to her MID.

There's enough hesitation that Sans keeps hold of his cool, willing himself to behave like Papyrus. Any amount of good, it's worth holding onto. Might even be a seed of something worth nurturing, even if Sans wasn't the one to do it.

After all, Sans was still trying to keep from throwing Rinzler against the wall. Luckily, he's had infinite revolutions of time to hone his patience.

"Can I ask who taught you to have such little respect for life? Taught, programmed, showed, whatever the word... seems like, in my brother's words, something pretty awful must've happened for you to act with so much hate." Sans kicked back against the far wall, expression even. "Lay it on me. I don't claim to judge."

The mask angles just slightly, but the skepticism is thick enough to cut. No claim to judge? Its voting record might support the pretense, but somehow Rinzler doesn't think it holds up to examination. Especially not here. He's yet to find a purpose for the skeleton at all besides aggressive smiles and pointless, recycled words.

And killing Chara, Rinzler supposes. In response to an attack.

How very hypocritical.

Hate: not necessary.
Written for threat deletion.

The words are texted, not spoken, projected in the air from Rinzler's MID. The color is the same sharp red-orange as his lights, and far less dimmed with damage.

Well, Sans never claimed not to be one of those.

It takes him a moment to squint at the words. Whether he needs all the time he takes to read, or simply to process, isn't clear.

"What's constitutes a threat?"

Maybe it's a false sense of security thanks to his friendship with Tron, but Rinzler likely needed to be pushed from his comfort zone as much as Sam did.

"So they want to give you 'counseling' when you get out of here. I'd discourage you from killing the counselor. It's a good thing you don't have to sleep, I suppose."

Sam sighed and frowned at Rinzler.

"I really don't get it. Do you like pissing people off? Because sometimes it seems like you'll go out of your way to do that over just about anything else. Clu's not here, so this is all you. You've got everybody thinking you're a killer. Can't be trusted."

Sam already knew about the text communication, but this wasn't a complex response.

"Are they right?"

She stops fairly quickly, the anger flash-frying itself into nothingness and finding itself replaced by a deep, skin-crawling frustration, a feeling that Tali's round peg of a world view isn't fitting into a hole that's suddenly square.

A deep breath. Another one. For a moment, all she does is pace. This trial is ridiculous and this case is ridiculous and the mere fact of Rinzler sitting in the hold again - damaged - while no one does anything new to try to fix the problem? That's the most ridiculous thing of the lot.

"Do you have to kill them?" He's a thinking being. He has a soul, like all those damned geth did so long ago, and now, wherever they may be. "If someone threatens your safety...do your directives specifically mean the person should be got rid of, or could you stop them being a threat and that would be enough?"

Maybe her total lack of understanding is sending her way off base. But if she's so scared of an AI thinking its way around its programming and destroying its creators, why the hell can't it work the other way around - thinking around its programming and not destroying anything?

Attack. System hazard. Designation by administrator.

Shoulders twitch, if a little more carefully on one side than the other. Threats are threats.

"Now we're getting somewhere." Sans seems pleased, by whatever measure that can be gauged. To unaccustomed eyes, he's never stopped looking pleased. "Who's your admin?"

Rinzler's observant enough in general, but he doesn't know the skeleton's tells. Still, that question seems a little strange, and the black helmet lingers for a suspicious beat before Rinzler types in the answer. His loyalties aren't secret... but it should be obvious at a glance its friend hadn't been derezzed because of any admin.

CLU.

It should, and it is. But no harm in seeking out the literal root on why someone is the way they are.

"Don't know 'em. But this CLU person, they're the one who designated what threats are and how to deal with them, right? Because let's be real... I watched the tape." Sans' eyelights dimmed out to darkness, empty sockets narrowing in on Rinzler. "She was no real threat to you, I don't care if she was carrying ten shovels."

By the program's standards, the lights that gutter out to blackness hardly rate unusual. No, the oddity is how much sharper the absence seems to focus. Rinzler stares back, featureless helmet meeting empty eyes. Processing remains as lagged and fractured as externals, a creeping sense of warning squirming amidst the glitches from the heat, but it hardly makes a difference. There isn't anything he needs to say.

She wasn't a threat. That much is true. But what she was? He doubts this monster wants to hear.

"All right, no more of the awkward feelings stuff, since we both clearly suck at it. I'm just going to say one last thing, and then I'll get out of your...helmet."

He takes a deep breath. Just one more thing that he has to say and then he can let himself run away and calm down the fearful adrenaline rush that's coursing through him.

"The thing is, I'd be on your side, if you let me. And if you stopped killing people who weren't a threat to you, that's kinda crucial. So...yeah. That's it. That's the sell. All done."

Yeah. I get it. You don't answer to anyone.

[He falls silent. What the hell was he even doing? He draws his shoulders up, arms still crossed. Threats clearly don't mean much to Rinzler. And Ratchet wasn't the threatening type (there wasn't much point). But sitting around and hoping wasn't really an option...not when the lives of people he cares about are on the line. Especially not Alice.]

Do you have friends? People you care about?

[The glare lingers, flat and hateful. Rinzler doesn't. Clu isn't here, so he doesn't have to. But it's far too easy to call another signature to mind, face and voice and source twisted with disapproval. Noise stutters audibly harsh and uneven, and Rinzler's fingers curl halfway to a fist at either side. It takes effort not to turn away.

He wants to move. To fight. To do anything but pace and glitch inside the cell. But there's no way out, nothing to fight, and in his current shape he'd probably derezz if there were. Right now, Rinzler's having trouble seeing the loss there. But if the user's words aren't anything he wants to listen to, at least they offer a distraction.

...of a sort. The enforcer's stare draws out, and the eventual slight tilt of the mask is more suspicious than anything. Why does it want to know?]

There's no rush, but there is a swift walk. The message contents were mysterious enough to simultaneously pique her interest, and vaguely concern her. Nihlus was no fool, it was true, but better men have fallen for less. That aside, Shepard felt reasonably confident that conflict was not a feature of this trip, and yet... if not, what was going on? What did Extraction mean? Her forehead creased with mild worry as she picked up the pace.

Approaching the hold area, the heat starts to build, until it's t-shirt weather. It's standard in the engines, but she imagined the hold, the cells, more insulated. It was one thing to hear about, but feeling it — this was bordering on the cruel and unusual for synthetics, almost as boiling as the trap set for Rinzler in the first place.

It's only the work of a moment more to make it to holding cell 2, and the scene at hand is so borderline unexpected and amusing, she has to stifle a laugh. Rinzler, sitting back against the wall, innocent as a kitten, while Nihlus snores into his plating.

Shepard turns to the program, amusement still playing out on her face, and gives a little half-wave. "So, when you said extract, I was thinking of something a little more dire. This is more like... 'putting to bed required', or 'tucking in required'."

Oh, choice is another question altogether. And not one Rinzler particularly likes. He doesn't answer, not overtly, outputting instead a slight angle of his mask to one side.

Why is the user asking?

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You can never say that I didn't try

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