thisavrou_log | [closed] come as you are, as you were, as i want you to be

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[closed] come as you are, as you were, as i want you to be

Who: Alan, Rinzler, Peter, Wanda, Fiora, Alice, Frisk, and possibly others
When: April 29th
Where: Ship corridors and Moro 004
What: Rinzler is captured and dragged to Alan for recoding. Literally everyone has a bad time. Plot summary can be found here.
Warnings: Violence, injuries, attempted brain-tampering against an unwilling subject, just not a good day for anyone really.

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Rinzler hadn't bothered to put up a defense at trial. Users were users, and would apportion blame as they wanted regardless of any output he could give. But more, none of the punishments on offer there were anything to be afraid of. The centicycles in the heated cage were unpleasant, but Rinzler had spent far more time confined in his own system, waiting for Clu's call.

No, the real threat came after. From the promise he'd failed, from Alan-one's resigned, tired look that never quite settled on his program. From the voices down the hall, as his user discussed what he should have been. How they could fix him.

Rinzler didn't want to be recoded. He knew better than to think wants made any difference, not for him—but maybe, just maybe something else could. Alan-one might be his user, but Clu was the one who claimed ownership of Rinzler's code. His user didn't have the permissions to edit him. And for once, when the programmer he should obey asked for his disk... there were no compulsions forcing Rinzler to deliver it.

It might not save him forever. But for the last user-week? It had been enough to keep him out of reach. His damage from the last fight was still unrepaired, but outside the cell, he could maintain enough charge to keep up scans, and it was impossible not to feel [his] [Tron's] user coming.

Of course, as Rinzler made his ways through the halls? There were plenty of signatures he didn't know to watch for.

Case in point.

It's happening.

Rinzler moves as quickly as he dares, disk in hand, open damage at his side newly cracked and aching from the strain. He couldn't overstress it, couldn't run the risk he'd crash himself. But he couldn't stay in one place either.

Not with the rest of the system on his user's side.

He'd heard Alan-one talking before. To Peter_Maximoff. To Alice_Quinn. To Rinzler's enemies, the users who'd laid the trap before. It had hurt, to hear the disappointment in his user's tone as he apologized for Rinzler. As he promised to correct his program's faults (choices) for good. But those users were known threats. The one who attacked him just micros ago? Had been neutral, before.

Had the rewrite been system-sanctioned? Rinzler hadn't seen any transmissions, but at this point, that hardly makes a difference. Word had spread on channels he couldn't monitor, and anyone could be reporting to his user. Or ready to report back with him.

Vents are too compromising in his current state, but Rinzler sticks to lesser used maintenance shafts and narrow corridors, keeping his circuits dim and his noise damped. He can't quite cover up the red-orange hash of damage at his side, but if he can just make it to the Flight Deck, it shouldn't matter. Rinzler can get in a transporter. Get away. And if he has no idea where to go from there—if he wants to scream, or kill, or break with (loss) frustration... that's all the more reason not to stop to think right now.

Last month's trials taught Fiora two important things about life on the Moira. The first was that there were dangerous people on the ship. Crew members that could not be trusted. Crew members who resort to violence. The video of Rinzler's murders had shocked her, and the actions of Peter and Alice were unacceptable.

Leading to her second lesson: the captains apparently didn't care. People could attack and kill each other, and the only consequences were a slap on the wrist. A few days of time out, a few weeks of visiting a shrink. It was, maybe, just as scary as being stuck on a tin can in the middle of outer space with unhinged strangers.

She had not said much about her disapproval since the trials, but it'd been weighing on her mind, especially since the scraplet infestation that happened shortly after. The reality was that the ship wasn't safe, not for anyone, not even for a steel-plated death machine like Fiora. But, while there was nothing they can do about the unknowable threats from outside, the opposite was true about known threats inside. Should be true.

After she heard rumors about Alan's plan to 'fix' Rinzler, she couldn't get it out of her mind afterwards. Not just because it was a potential solution to a dangerous threat on the ship, but because of the details. The background information. It was swarming in her head now as she quietly stalked through the ship, hoping to find the elusive program. How he was created and what happened to him. The things he'd been made to do. The... alterations. She contacted Alan to be sure it was all true, and to hear from his own lips that this recoding would work, and then promptly hung up.

But for random chance would Fiora be another Rinzler. If it weren't for Vanea and Lady Meyneth randomly selecting her body out of dozens of other Face Units, she'd have been brainwashed and turned against other humans like all the others. She could have killed Shulk... killed Dunban.

Even with the fortune of having only her body changed and not her mind, she'd still give up anything to be the way she used to be. If Alan can help Rinzler, then it's worth the risk of going after him. And if Fiora does it, she knows she won't be pouncing on him unexpected and using dirty, horrible tactics like electrocution. She won't do this like those other two did. She'll bring Rinzler to Alan herself and this whole situation will be fixed.

Her mind was still swirling as she turned one final corner and was met with the sight of him at the far end of the hall. His jet black silhouette, punctured by red seams and pinpoints of light, was unmistakable. She stood motionless as she took a second to adjust her internal settings, dialing up her ether consumption.

Alan said that force might be necessary.

"Rinzler!"

Edited (a jigsaw puzzle of tenses) 2016-04-29 14:21 (UTC)

The voice was known, and Rinzler's steps paused as he turned, glancing toward the source. Scans matched the signature even before visuals, a strange twisting hash of code and other. Unique. He'd met the mostly-user in the library. Brief misunderstandings aside, they hadn't minded each other much, then.

But when the enforcer's violence had been made public at the trial, this one had reciprocated with outright disgust. And that perspective, Rinzler had nothing but scorn for—especially on a ship like this.

There's a tension to the user's stance that's hard to miss, but the enforcer doesn't think much of it. If it's here for some moral confrontation, it can get in queue behind his counselors. Rinzler has better things to do.

The black mask tips sideways, noise ticking out with just a slight edge of annoyance. What does the user want?

He's been waiting for this day, ever since Alan had stopped by his cell and spun this little plan. Rinzler would be set right, made better and less threatening. Everyone would be safe and Peter wouldn't have to fight anymore. A perfect little plan Peter was supposed to stay out of.

But Peter was very bad at staying out of things.

He really wasn't looking to get into another fight so soon, not after every person he had still had a shred of respect for told him to stay out of trouble. But Alice was involved and he couldn't let her take on Rinzler alone. Once partners in crime, always, and it's why Peter was running along narrow maintenance halls with a line left open to her messages.

His job was to find Rinzler, distract him until Alice could show up and work more of that power he'd only seen a little of before. She could take the reigns, he would be bait and backup. And hopefully neither of them would be seeing the medbay again anytime soon.

He's giving Alice minute to minute updates on everywhere he's already checked when he spots the orange glow from around the corner. It's faint and moving until it grows fainter, but Peter still gives the location to his partner and tells her to get there as fast as she could. He's knows that light. It's hard to forget what he thought might be his last sight before death.

"You do know he's actually trying to help, right? Your creator? Trying to keep you alive by doing this. Hell of a way to thank him, running off."

He steps around the corner, a smile on his face that doesn't reach his eyes. There's no joy in this. He wanted to see the program burn, not still see Rinzler walk around the ship like nothing had ever happened. But at this point, he'll take what he can get. Making Wanda safe took priority, even over the sick desire for revenge sitting in his stomach.

"You really ought to just give up. It doesn't matter what either of us want. It's happening."

The presence flits into scan-sense, absent and then there, and Rinzler doesn't need the signature or visual to make the match. Peter_Maximoff. The user that had baited the last trap; the user who'd mocked and sneered and goaded him until every one of its predictions had come true. The user Alan-one had talked to. Had apologized to.

For him.

Rinzler bristles, sound rising in a snarl, and if there's still a clipped, broken edge of fear behind the noise, the anger at the user's presence is almost welcome as a counterpoint. Certainly, it's easier than listening to its words. Rinzler knows his user is trying to fix him. He knows Alan-one has every right.

But he'd sooner die first, rather kill, and maybe this user will give him a chance to do it.

Circuits flare defiantly to life as Peter steps around the corner. Disks split, humming to life in either hand. The maintenance corridor is narrow, hard to dodge in regardless of one's speed, but he doesn't throw his disks. He doesn't know if the user has the same tricks it prepared last time, and he isn't giving anyone a chance to take his code away.

The helmet inclines instead, noise ticking out in a low threat. Rinzler takes a step forward. Last chance. Get out of his way.

[Ever since Alan set the plan in motion, every day has become an exercise in waiting. Waiting for Rinzler to be released. Waiting for the ship to leave the planet. Waiting for a time when his roommates would be away, each busy at their own respective stations on the ship and entirely unaware of the events planned in their absence.

And as terrible as the waiting is, there's no relief when it finally comes to an end. After days of preparation, the chime at his door still feels like it comes too soon. Still, there's no use in delaying the inevitable. Alan walks to the door and keys it open.

There shouldn't be anything surprising about the sight that meets him and yet Alan still feels his stomach drop. Alice stands with Rinzler in tow, his disk in hand. Alan's eyes search the program for injuries and he finds the damage at his side has spread. His expression darkens, though he remembers his own instructions: Rinzler's captors should avoid inflicting harm if at all possible, but self-defense and indeed force would likely be necessary. But it doesn't matter now, does it? Alan will fix his injuries, along with the rest of the damage. Has to, because this isn't him debugging code at a monitor anymore, where a compiler error was the worst of his worries. This is him repairing damage to a living person, with the wellfare of not only Rinzler, but also the rest of the crew depending on his success.

He steps aside to give them room.]

Come in. [There's nothing ominous in his voice; it's merely quiet and solemn. Some part of him still twists in unease, fearful of the possibility of failure, of doing harm. But he can't change his mind now -- too many people have already suffered for his doubts.

Once Alice and Rinzler are inside, Alan will close and lock the door behind them; he can't allow the chance of interruption. The room is unassuming as ever. Only the desk Alan uses as a workplace is conspicuously cleared.]

Some part of him, the part that's filled with anger and violence and something ugly over what happened to J, really wishes he had a weapon. That he could pull out some gun or sword or magical whatever and just take Rinzler out. Let Alan worry about the recoding after the messed up rules of this universe spit Rinzler back out of the grave. In some ways, maybe it's very stupid he didn't come with one anyway, to either do just that or in the event that Alice took to long.

But there's a voice in the back of his head, trying to warn him of consequences. Trying to talk to him about killing and death and the price to be paid. Are you just going to keep killing him forever? He doesn't want that, not a cycle of worrying that the next time Rinzler comes back that someone else might find him first.

And maybe, a little, he doesn't want to disappoint that voice again.

So Peter raises his hands, palms showing he's got nothing with him.

"Don't give me a reason. You're already hurt." He points to the cracks, eyebrows raised. "You're not going to win against me again. I already hate you, for what you did. Threatening my sister. Killing the one person that didn't deserve to be a part of this. Don't give me another reason to do this the hard way."

And regardless of his desire to be true to all the people who told him to do better, that violent part of him still makes him tense in anticipation of the first hit. He didn't need a reason to do this the hard way, he just needed Rinzler to act first.

Rinzler knows the consequences of his actions. He knows the fate he's earned, the punishment he's experienced so many more times than he's been allowed to remember. Possibly, he knows better now than ever before. Rinzler has always been a weapon, always been a tool to be edited and changed, but when he'd entered this system, he had no idea that he used to be more.

He's not Tron now. He doesn't want to be. He doesn't know if that's what Alan-one is planning, or if the user realizes that he's too far gone, nothing left but a fragment of identity that needs breaking back into his place. That's what Clu would do, and the nausea that rises at the thought isn't entirely of Rinzler's making.

But his partitions can't keep him from knowing anymore, and the nausea of compulsion doesn't make him obey here. He lunges forward, steps turning to sprint, and if he can't nearly outpace the user, that won't make a difference. All he needs is to outfight it.

Blades slice through the air, stabbing out in bright, clean flashes as Rinzler makes to wipe the glitch blocking his way. He has to. He wants to. It won't leave him alone, and as much as he loathes the user for everything it's doing, part of him is almost grateful.

This much, he knows how to do.

There's no part of him surprised by the attack, and for a moment as he watches Rinzler, run up toward him, he cherishes that. If today was when things end, then he needs this one last chance to make something about the situation he created right. He needs a win, just one win.

Peter waits until Rinzler's nearly upon him, watches the swinging blades, and then he drops into a crouch. He waits for the moment the blade swing over him, feels the slight breeze of it and tries to keep memory from sucking him back to the last time this had happened. To that feeling of elation before everything went to shit and he was staring down that blade from the ground.

It's not the same, this won't end the same.

Peter pressed forward into Rinzler's space, using the momentum of getting back up to try to push his fist for the now unprotected cracks along Rinzler's side. The other hand goes to Rinzler's shoulder, griping tight. He shoves the moment after his fist connects, aiming to throw Rinzler into the wall.

[ Have you ever tried to fit a floating, man-sized computer program through a doorway? It's not easy.

Alice lowers Rinzler gently before buzzing the door — well, as gently as she's going to get right now, which is to say he doesn't bounce. She's tightened the shield on their way over, not enough to constrict, but enough to keep Rinzler's movement limited. It shows itself as a faint sheen, like the air over summer asphalt. Nothing's getting into it... but nothing's getting out, either. ]

Hey.

[ She breathes, voice still a little ragged from the fray. Alice coughs, covers her mouth with one thick yellow sleeve. Her free fingers spindle at the air, motioning Rinzler inside. She waits to be sure he's through before following. ]

I'm going to need to take this off if you want to get in, but he's pretty upset. [ She understands. But they all need to see this through. ] How still do you need him?

[ If she was fidgeting in the hold, her movements now are absolutely rigid, contained. Alice doesn't move her eyes from Rinzler. Some of the anger has faded from them now; curiousity shines through, not entirely kindly. ]

I can cool it down if that'll help anything.

The dodge hardly comes as a surprise. Less anticipated that it would move inside his reach, but with its speed, the maneuver's more intelligent than it could have been.

Rinzler twitches his disks back, trying to sever the extended arm, but it's there and gone before he can react. Bright agony explodes from his side as fractures from the open wound flare, starting to split outward. The threat isn't strong enough to completely cripple with one strike, but it's still too glitching fast. Rinzler won't be able to take many more hits like that.

The grip that closes around his shoulder might be even less welcome, for all that it targets a less vulnerable place. Memory-association presses close and quick—gold circuits and an unbreakable grip; a blur as he's smashed dock-first down to the ground—but Rinzler forces it away, slicing his second disk in a quick line to cross the grabbing arm as he braces against it. The blow's imperfect, but it's fast, no heat to lag him this time, and Rinzler's superior strength buys him a fraction of a second's resistance.

He doesn't wait to see if the strike lands. Surrendering to the user's momentum buys him a moment of control, and Rinzler twists with the throw, hitting the wall with his good side. The enforcer rolls off the surface and back into the fight, slicing out a disk in a sharp defensive arc.

[If this isn't the closest to death Rinzler's come in the last month, it's certainly a close contender. Visuals are flickering, half his systems barely online as low-power warnings contend with instability. Diagnostics are all that tell him how much code is missing now—he stopped being able to feel his left side a while back.

Rinzler can't fight. He can barely move. But he hasn't stopped struggling, not once on the entire way over. There's nothing else to do or try, no other way to distract himself from the sparking haze of hate and terror swarming through his processing.

As Alan-one comes into sight, it isn't nearly enough. Alice's words are punctuated by a sharp, desperate thrashing, lights flickering with much more than damage as the enforcer's noise scrapes out, jarring and too-loud. Rinzler doesn't want this. He doesn't have to obey. It's not fair, and he won't/can't let them, please—]

There's a small thrill that the hit connects, that feeling of something giving underneath his blow. It's not much after what's happened, but even the little victories have to count. Of course it can't last, not when Rinzler is reacting and that disk is swinging again.

Peter pulls away a fraction of a second too late. He's weighing between dodging and trying to see the shove through, between self preservation and that sick desire to break, to burn. That voice is still ringing in the back of his head though, and it makes his mind up for him. But he takes too long to think to pull away and the blade catches along his forearm as he backs up.

The wound is shallow, he can tell that without looking at the bloom of blood from the rip of his sleeve. It's not as bad as what he'd been through before, not nearly, but it hurts enough to take his breath away in a hiss. Peter throws his speed into backing up, getting away from further swinging blades and further damage. He twists, making to run up the opposite wall and get behind Rinzler, to attempt another hit as he comes down. His momentum and speed are all he has in this fight, and he intends to use them as well as he can until Alice arrives.

There's blood on his disk. There's blood on his disk, and for once, Rinzler feels nothing but satisfaction at the sight. It's exhilarating. It's oddly freeing. He doesn't have time to think about the why.

Thoughts are a distraction, and the blur of motion in periphery is more than reminder enough to keep his focus. Keep fighting. He's barely rolled back to his feet by the time the user's there, and Rinzler shifts back, the defensive arc retreating as his second blade stabs up between. He might not be able to intercept the user's attack, but he can keep his damaged side covered.

And if it overreaches again? He'll deal out more than just a scratch.

Shit. He can't get in the hit where he wants it, not with Rinzler moving out of reach at the last second. He can only glance off the other arm, nothing that's going to do the damage Peter wants. And then there's the disc to avoid, a need to twist away, back hitting off the wall in his haste to keep away from the blade.

He should be backing far away, make it to the other end of the hall. Start a game of cat and mouse, keep Rinzler busy until Alice arrived. Let her handle it, do the job of distraction instead of instigator. There's no room for emotions in someone else's plans. No room to be thinking about the last fight or how the blood dripping down his arm reminds him of blood pooling on the floor. No room to think about vacant eyes or last breaths or the thud of a body falling. Laughing from behind a dirty bar counter or too long elevator rides or my hero. She was wrong and she's not here and it's been so long, and he can't think about how she might not be coming back and-

It's not surprise, not really, that he presses forward instead. All his weight and speed thrown into a hit aiming at the injured side. There's another disc to be wary of. It's a stupid, risky move. But the red he's seeing has nothing to do with the light Rinzler's casting and the blurred vision isn't from blood loss.

Fiora began to walk again, taking slow, small steps down the hallway towards Rinzler. Two curved white swords hung from her hips, but that's all they did. Her empty hands swung at her sides as she walked.

"Rinzler, Alan is looking for you," she said calmly but sternly. Fiora wanted to believe that violence would not be necessary to do this. If Rinzler could be talked to first, she felt obligated to try.

Nevertheless, while her gentle gaze was locked on Rinzler, every internal sensor was honed on him, his limbs, the balance of his weight on each of his feet, even the humming coming from his mask.

Her steps slowed down and she stopped. Some of the distance had been closed, but she was still a dozen yards away. "He says he can change your code. He told me... things about you. Is all of it true?"

Edited 2016-04-30 16:36 (UTC)

It's not a surprise when the user presses forward. It's no surprise, but it is satisfying, a sharp flicker of delight as Rinzler recognizes its misstep. His disk jerks sideways as it lunges, moving only a fraction of the speed but with so much less distance to cover. Power hums, the white edge of his blade flaring as it nears the striking arm—

The user's blow connects first. The user's blow connects, and it might be no surprise, but it is pain, the glass-sharp edges of his wound connecting with the user's fist and giving way. It's a flicker of visuals, a bright/dark seize of power through his core, the crackle of voxels splitting along pre-opened seams. Rinzler's balanced, easy stance begins to crumple, falling back against the wall as his frame curves to protect the damage, limit further harm. He's not down, not for good, but he is staggered. Hurt, and badly so.

Still, even as he falls, Rinzler keeps the disk in motion. It's all but brushing that extended arm already, and all it takes is the slightest twitch. He just has to slice sideways. Bisect the limb that dealt the damage before it can pull back.

Force like an invisible train goes slamming into Rinzler, blowing him back away from Peter.

Alice skitters around the corner at last, fingers splayed up like marionette strings to snarl a furious syllable, something the translator can't catch — and a heap of scrap, the abandoned loot of Del Pascia, swarms itself up into sudden animation. It butterflies between Peter and the program to move with them both, an impromptu guard.

She's not watching closely, trusts it to do its own work. It's meant to buy time, to distract, to get her hands in the right position. They flow smoothly into the next verse of something else, something new; weaving a net of energy and Circumstance. Ready on deck.

"Rinzler!" She shouts. It's bravado, she's talking herself up, the way she has to if she wants to keep her hands moving and her heart from her throat. "We can still do this the easy way!"

They won't, but she's not about to cut and run, not this time, not with the coppery tang of blood and the look on Peter's face like he's not here, not really here at all. That hot, guilty terror that she felt before — it’s all gone now, burning up into ash.

Things aren’t right here. They aren’t any better. But this time she’s thinking straight. This time it’s her decision.

Edited 2016-04-30 17:11 (UTC)

It was the movements that caught Rinzler's notice first. Careful approach. Hands at her sides. But there was something about the slow advance, the way its eyes stayed locked—not just on his helmet, but the whole of him. It was familiar. Predatory. Not by shape, but by feel, and disconcertingly out of place. Rinzler was meant to be the hunter, not some glitching user's prey.

He was irritated, and uncertain, and far too ready for a challenge. And then it spoke, and offense faltered under a wave of cold (~~fear~~) rage. Rinzler froze, hands curling at his sides, though the twitch of his left hand upwards suggested an urge to draw a weapon. More than a weapon. He wanted his disks, his code access locked in his hands, where no one else could take it.

Fiora would see that stance shift, curved spine suddenly a balanced crouch instead of the enforcer's usual sloped hunch. Fiora would hear the ticking, glitching rattle rise into a growl. The mask inclined forward with no other response, voiceless threat her only answer. Rinzler didn't know what his user had told her. He didn't care, and if she'd just come here to talk, she could leave now.

He wasn't going to be rewritten.

[Alan watches Rinzler struggle against whatever nebulous force Alice is using to hold him back, guilt twisting in his stomach. He knows what he’s doing is for the good of the program, but that doesn’t change the fact that Rinzler is clearly terrified. And why shouldn’t he be? Everything he was had been stripped away and rewritten before and no matter how many times Alan has tried to tell him that he has no intention of anything nearly so destructive, it’s clear the program believes otherwise. Alice’s words pull Alan out of his thoughts and he answers in the calm voice of a stranger.]

I have to sync his disk with his current condition before I can do any repairs -- I just need him still enough that I can get it into the dock on his back. [Perhaps Alice could do it herself, but she’s already put herself into enough danger for one day. If Rinzler struggles, Alan knows he has a better chance of the two of coming out unscathed. He holds out his hand towards Alice, nodding towards the disk in her hand.] It should only take a moment.

Silence. Fiora knew Rinzler has some communication problems... but she knew he's not completely incapable, either. She could only take the lack of a response as a confirmation - and his shift in stance, preparation.

"Rinzler," she said again, her sweet voice starting to get terse. "Rinzler, please - I understand. They tried to do the same things to me. I know it's scary, being used."

She took another step forward, but only to accentuate her point, raising her hands in a pleading gesture. "But Alan wants to help you this time. He made you, right? He wants to help."

The growling, the curled fingers, his hunched back like a cat preparing to pounce - she knew this probably wouldn't work. But she couldn't give up that quickly - she really didn't want to hurt him.

"...and I know you're injured right now." Standing straight and steady again, she lowered her hands back to her sides. Back in range to quickly grab her weapons. "Come along to Alan, and this will be easier for us both."

Edited (someday i will write a tag with consistent tense) 2016-04-30 19:33 (UTC)

[ She passes it out carefully, still not quite sure what to make of the thing. It's clearly important to Rinzler — a cherished weapon, she'd guessed, or some symbol of purpose. But the way that Alan's acting now, it's worth far more than she was banking on.

No wonder Rinzler hadn't wanted to let go. It's a curious thing, to weaponize such a vital organ. A chancy move. ]

Okay. Keep your eyes on me, then.

[ They could count down to coordinate it, but Rinzler has ears. Or. You know. Whatever he hears from.

Her pinky loops back around, like some contortionist's version of unhooking a dress. She holds it steady for half a second, then in an instant it drops away.

Rinzler will only have that freedom half a second, maybe one whole — before Alice jams her entire arm down towards the floor, grounding him abruptly in place. It's only a second, but that might be enough time for him to make a move. ]

[As ceaseless as Rinzler's struggling has been, there's something much more focused about the way his helmet twitches in the confinement, tracking the orange-lit ring. Rinzler's disks are more than weapons. They're two halves of one codebase. Backups, extensions, and the access point for everything that Rinzler is.

He knows it. He can feel it. There's a visible flinch as the merged unit changes hands, the pressure of light/source/user suddenly too close to bear. He can't fight it. He can't not.

Pressure gives way without warning, and it takes half a second for Rinzler to even comprehend the shift. The energy field—dropped, loose, open. He has half a second to halt his own collapse, wrenching on damaged motor functions to stay standing. To take a jerky, desperate step, stare frozen between his disk and the user holding it. He has to take it back. He has to serve/present/fight ~~for—~~

Half a second's motion, and the pressure slams back, motion arrested as he topples to his knees. There's a crack and shift, already-loose voxels skittering across the floor. Rinzler can't move.]

[The disk is curiously warm in Alan’s hand as he takes a step back, giving Alice room. She hadn’t told him what signal to look for, but as it turns out, she didn’t need to. When she frees Rinzler from the force field, he only has the briefest moment to take a halting, unsteady step before Alice traces another, harsher movement in the air. The gesture of drop is clear enough, as is the corresponding effect on Rinzler himself. Alan feels sudden alarm hearing the sound of the program hitting the ground and seeing the scatter of voxels. He gives a sharp, warning look at Alice but the actual admonishment dies in his throat -- it’s clear she’s trying and they don’t have time to argue anyway. He takes a step forward and crouches beside Rinzler, disk in hand.]

It’s alright, [he murmurs as he lines up the disk with the dock on Rinzler’s back.] It’s going to be alright. [It only takes a light press and turn for the disk to slot into place with a faint click, it's inner ring starting to light in segments with a quiet electronic trill as Alan watches. Were the situation different, he might’ve found the process fascinating, but the tension within him is much too great now to view the quickly filling circle of light with anything other than anxiety.

It only takes a few seconds for the process to complete, the high electronic hum dissipating as the ring of light fills and holds steady. Alan watches it for only a moment longer before turning the disk once again and carefully pulling it free. Disk in hand once again, he rises to his feet and takes a step back from the program. He sighs, shakily, and looks back at Alice.]

We’ll need to do that one more time when I’m done -- the repairs won’t have an effect until the disk is re-synced. Until then, just keep him in the room.

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[closed] come as you are, as you were, as i want you to be

Attempt 1, hallways: closed to Fiora

Attempt 2: closed to Peter, Alice, and interrupting!Frisk

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Recode Attempt: closed to Rinzler and Alice

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