You can never say that I didn't try

[notglitching]

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!]]

Comments

[notglitching]

Rinzler is a weapon. He always has been. Tron might have been something different (more), but the enforcer is not Tron, and it's more clear now than ever that he never will be.

He doesn't pursue as the user scrambles back, but its fear is more satisfying than any of its words. Certainly it's better than the hypotheticals that come next. If he's angry. If he didn't want their deaths. Rinzler's always angry, but that doesn't mean he wants this user's pity. It doesn't mean he would act differently, either. They attacked him. They deserved it.

Wrong.

What he wanted doesn't matter. And it never will.

[ersatzeverything]

Rinzler isn't following, isn't attacking. That's good. Maybe this wasn't entirely stupid after all.

"Why am I wrong?"

[notglitching]

The ticking rattle surges, glare fixing the user. It's going to make him spell it out?

Doesn't matter.

He still killed users. He'd still do it again.

[ersatzeverything]

"Context matters. History matters. What you want to be matters."

His heart is beating rapidly, like it does when he hears a deathclaw growl.

"Do you like who you are right now?"

[notglitching]

The helmet jerks sideways, and that snarl's back again. He doesn't bother typing out the word this time, but the sentiment isn't much different. Lie. Rinzler is what he is, and wants were never meant to be a part of that.

Needless to say, liking is just as much a nonconcern. Deacon won't receive any answer but a glare.

[ersatzeverything]

"Man, I wish Glory were here. She'd be able to talk about this way better than I can. She's a synth. Really is, honest. She left the people who created her, programmed her, gave 'em the finger and went her own way. You'd like her, she likes to kill things, too. Or maybe you'd hate each other and fight to the death, I don't know."

[notglitching]

Rinzler's glower doesn't stop. Even if it's not a lie this time, any synthetic whose programming allowed for that was nothing like him. Rinzler tips his helmet forward, blatantly ignoring the user. There's nothing to talk about.

[ersatzeverything]

"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."

[notglitching]

Rinzler's gaze doesn't return. The ticking growl is the only reply, rising and falling sharper in irritation. He doesn't need this user on his side. Not for its lies, not for its mockery, and certainly not for any kind of judgment. There's no answer, but if Deacon seems to be waiting for one, the mask will jerk unequivocally toward the door.

The user said something about leaving?

[ersatzeverything]

Deacon can take a not-a-all-subtle hint. Keeping an eye on Rinzler, he reaches behind him to rap on the door in a stuttered rhythm to tell someone on the other side to let him out.

The door opens and he ducks away quickly, never turning his back to Rinzler.