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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Since his arrival in this system, Rinzler's spent a surprising amount of time paging through user archives. The 'books' might not be an efficient method of data lookup, but they're what's available, and the program got sick of being considered stupid for not knowing user terms a while back. He's familiar with the reference section. The technical manuals and schematics. Rinzler's even glanced at a few of the history records, though they didn't hold his interest long.

This is his first introduction to fiction.

It doesn't take long to catch on. He thinks. Everyone is lying. It's a propaganda packet, just much more detailed. About... different topics.

Rinzler's moved from resigned to amused to confused and back repeatedly by the time Nihlus falls silent. This is definitely not his reading material of choice, and the biological descriptions are getting increasingly strange. But fair is fair, and as 'additional disciplinary measures' go... certainly, it can't be faulted for distraction.

At least, until that pause. The mask tips up, glancing over to Nihlus' position. Status?

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.

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 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'."

The black helmet is slightly slow to look up, but when it does, it twitches in a nod, returning the acknowledgement. Rinzler's not entirely sure why the user's amused, and he wonders vaguely if he should be offended. It feels like too much effort, though. Even if she had knocked him offline before.

To the criticism, he only offers a right-sided shrug. It got her to show up, so he's counting the message a success. She can proceed with whatever 'tucking' procedure she considers necessary from here.

Her first instinct is to go to Nihlus, wake him up, and definitely oversee the tucking in. Not that he'd stay there for long, unless she knocked him out with a sledgehammer, but it was worth a shot. On the other hand, he might sleep here, uninterrupted, for house — surely more sleep than he's had for weeks. And if he wakes up? Shepard can be on hand to execute her original plan.

That settled, she leans against the cell wall, and addresses Rinzler. "Think I'll hold off on the extraction for now. Not sure he'll go back to sleep if I wake him up."

"How are you doing, by the way? How's-" Here, she gestures to the open gash on his side, where they'd applied the omni-gels. "-this? Getting it looked at?"

Rinzler glances dubiously toward Nihlus, then back up to the user. There's a slight pause, though whether that's deliberation or just lag is hard to say. Between the heat and the damage, higher functions are hard to keep working now... but it's also true that there aren't many good answers to that question.

Not going to derezz.

Always a positive way to see things. Or is it an explanation for why he doesn't need repair? The gap smashed out of his side is tucked reflexively away from the door, but from Rinzler's new position sitting on the ground, it shouldn't be too hard to spot. Certainly, the fractures crawling through his core haven't gone away. In his current condition, they're glowing brighter than his circuit lights.

Still, the omni-gel did its work fine, even if Rinzler wasn't aware of it. The program's stable. Mostly coherent. Certainly nothing like the crumbling mess he'd been when he offlined before.

The terminology isn't familiar, but the meaning is easy enough to glean from the use in his answer. I won't die. Shepard nods at his answer — if anyone would know, it would be him.

"Know anyone who can fix you the rest of the way up? Not sure you'll be flying any transporters like that."

Her tone is light enough, but there's curiosity, and a little concern.

There's the slight heat-lag before her words process, but when they do, Rinzler's head jerks sideways just a little too fast to be casual. It takes him a bit longer to provide any elaboration.

Code access: limited.
Edits not an option.

It's not a lie. Clu's the only one allowed in his code. Of course, the fact that Rinzler doesn't want any of these users changing him?

That matters too.

The unplanned motion isn't lost on her. In cells on either side, there's humans who have been able to receive healing for their injuries. What Rinzler seems to be insinuating isn't looking good: either there's nobody here he can give access to to repair the damage, or nobody here he would.

Not wanting edits, on the other hand, is a natural instinct. She waves her hand at the mention.

"I'm not implying edits. The only person who should be allowed to edit you, is you. But just so I'm understanding you correctly, you don't have any option but to stay like this, for now?" She frowns vaguely, and looks up at the ceiling, the shapeless, pressing heat. "When you're out of the cell, will you repair naturally as a function?"

Intact code can self-repair.

The cracks. The instabilities. The fractures that spiral across half his core—that much can heal, given rest and power. Neither of which is likely to happen here. But even after he's released, that gaping hole where code's been lost...?

Well, the wary look that's been building through this conversation probably gives a hint.

Rewrite: not my function.

He can't edit himself. Rinzler's not even permitted to look at his own code. He's meant to be changed, not remake himself. For repair or otherwise.

It was good to hear that a self-repair system was in place — it seemed self-evident, but it didn't hurt to check. The lack of rewritability, though? The look was readable, even without human cues.

"You're telling me you're locked out of your own modifications?"

She runs a hand across her chin, considering the ramifications of not being able to rewrite himself. A shackled AI — or, in this case, program.

"Whose function is it?"

There's a moment's lag, then the helmet dips. He hadn't been lying about his function—Rinzler isn't designed to edit anyone. Still... the user isn't wrong either. Rinzler's restricted from so much as viewing his own code.

Administrator: system of origin.

CLU.

"I'm guessing CLU isn't on the ship, either." She crosses her arms, sighing. She'd been around less than a month, and from what she'd seen, the whole ship was a mess, communications-wise. Nobody was talking, sharing the information they had. Some people went through the right channels, but most didn't. Current company included.

Not that it was much of a surprise — when you crew was made up of a cast stretching over the multiverse, whisked away without so much as a "may I please". Still, people had to start reaching across the aisle, even if it hurt.

"Okay, I've got a question." Shepard crouches down, arranging herself so she's closer to Rinzler's current sitting level. "This has been bugging me since the trial — what set you off? All you would say was that your victim started it. Let's say I believe you. Give me a break-down of the sequence of all events."

Another faint dip of the mask: confirmation. Clu isn't here, and if his admin's absence isn't quite so great a hardship as this user might assume, Rinzler doesn't feel any need to share those details. There's a belated twitch to track the motion as she settles just outside, and a longer stare at the inquiry that follows. Why is she asking? The sequence hadn't mattered during the judgement for his crime; Rinzler can't imagine it would make the slightest difference now.

User attacked.
Derezzed it.

"I know he attacked you. Why? I didn't meet him, but people don't usually throw themselves on others without a reason."

Sitting down properly, she crosses her legs, hands on her knees, and leans forward slightly. Of all the write-ups in the trial, this, as far as she was concerned, was the main event.

"What made him feel like he had to attack you?"

Rinzler can't quite work up the energy for real anger, but he still bristles visibly, mask tipping up to glare. This user isn't stupid enough to expect him to know the other's feelings. No, this question is about what Rinzler did. How he 'made' it attack.

Glitched.

Not his fault. The glare shifts to the other side of his cell as he types out the rest.

Discovered user (ID: Cannae_Spearfall) taking personal possessions.
Confronted user.
User attacked.

That's all. It was malware, and it was stupid, and even if he didn't have the right, he's still glad that it's gone.

"He was in the middle of stealing your belongings," she says the words one by one, frowning as they come out, "and attacked you when he was caught red-handed."

Her arms cross, almost reflexively, in ire. At the trial, only details about the original murder had been vague, with almost everything else explained via comprehensive videos. This had been her one sticking point. "Rinzler, that's a pretty normal reason to attack someone back. Maybe not to kill them, but... have you told this to anyone else?"

To say it changed the spin of things was putting it mildly.

The enforcer's shoulders twitch slightly before the helmet dips in a nod. He'd told the beta. It was the only one that asked. As far as Rinzler was concerned, the reasons didn't matter.

Whatever this one counted normal, he'd still killed a user. Still gone against his user's will.

"Okay. So you told someone, just not the judge, jury, and executioners. Why not give all the details you just told me to the trial?" Did he think they didn't matter? Surely Rinzler, eccentricities and all, understood where your standard organic's moral code lay.

"Did you want to be accused?"

There's another slightly lopsided shrug, hunch settling in a little closer. He doesn't bother looking up.

Don't care.

The users don't. He doesn't. His reasons matter as little to them as their trial system does to him. The punishment that matters isn't going to be affected by any vote. He knows what's coming. What was going to happen the moment he harmed another of their kind.

The ticking rattle rises audibly, but Rinzler doesn't bother to add more.

"You don't care?"

It was a little irritating to hear, and more irritating not to know the source of it. If Rinzler never cared about the outcome, despite his status as, quite literally, the defendant, what did he care about, here. There was something, but she wasn't sure she'd get it out of Rinzler. Still, it was worth asking.

"Why not?"

Doesn't matter.

A brief pause, sound ticking out into the silence before he adds another line.

Users don't care either.

"If I said I cared, would you believe me?" But she's shaking her head as soon as she says it. "I guess actions speak louder than words, though. But it does matter to me, and I'll bear it in mind."

Letting a silence fall for a moment, she muses on the situation. What a mess. If the ship's communication and crew continued like this, it wouldn't get much better, but who was she to say anything for the moment? Others had been here for months, and had no issue.

"There's a lot of different people on board, here. I think one of our biggest weaknesses as a crew is not really knowing each other yet. There's a uniting cause, but..." Shepard trails off, frowning. Rinzler didn't need to hear her internal monologue, and she sincerely doubted he cared— at least, at the moment. "Anyway, I care. For what it's worth."

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You can never say that I didn't try

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"sleep for house", tyvm autocorrect.

/shakes fist at autocorrect

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