You'll come back when they call you

[notglitching]

Who: Alan, Rinzler, and mostly-open!
When: May 14-16
Where: From the planetary Ingress to the Grid and back
What: Rinzler gets stuck in his old life and people go to get him back.
Warnings: Rinzler things and Tron canon. Depression, violence, NPC-murder, and copious references to genocide, mindscrew, etc. All culminating in... BSOD by warm fuzzies?


When Rinzler had first left the Grid, getting back was all that mattered to him. More—it was all he was capable of caring about. Directive and function were locked in alignment, every line created by a thousand cycles of correction pulling him the same way. Rinzler was the Grid's enforcer. Clu's weapon. He was perfect, he was right, and he belonged at his administrator's side.

Since then, he's spent months trapped in a user shell. He's spilled blood and lost fights, flown through half a dozen different skies and learned what stars look like. He's spoken. He's been listened to. He's shattered to a thousand pieces on lost memories, and cut himself on the truth they left behind. He's killed users. He's met [his] [Tron's] creator, and disobeyed his will.

It's painfully fitting for that to be what brings him back to the beginning. Rinzler is home, Rinzler is back, and everything is how it should be except him. Directive is a frayed leash, function warped by too much time spent wanting. Clu's voice still locks every process to obedience, but even as he bows and follows, Rinzler can't stop the squirming twist of terror underneath. He'll kill Clu's enemies. He'll serve exactly, precisely as directed. But the enforcer has always been unstable, always in need of fixing (breaking) to keep him working as desired.

Sooner or later, Clu will open up his code to check. And then, it won't matter how well he's fit himself back to the mold. His programmer will correct each flaw and imperfection, remove those memories and reset him to automation.

It's nothing Rinzler can fight. Nothing he can run from here, and even if he tried, there's nowhere to go. The ship already feels much too distant, but Rinzler remembers enough to know his absence will only bring relief. He'd been a disruption. A threat. Tron was the one the users wanted, and even that had never been enough before.

No one is coming, and nothing will change.

[[ooc: this is open to anyone signing on for the rescue effort here! As below, prod freely with any questions. Alan's monitoring things from the Ingress-side, and will make sure people get where they're trying to go.]]

Comments

Ingress: Closed to Alan

[notglitching]

[The platform above the inverted portal is wide but transparent, an unlikely-looking shelter against the maelstrom below. Rinzler's silhouette is barely visible, a slight shadow lingering along one edge. Not that his own perceptions are much better. The light is brilliant enough, but the wash of power seething past on every side is blinding on all spectrums.

Possibly, that's why he's here. Nothing to sense. No need to feel. Certainly no need to think too hard on memory. It's been one user-month today since the attacks, since Rinzler killed users to protect himself and was flagged for recoding in return. The failure of the attempt had only sparked discussion of how else to remove him, and it's not hard to consider what the space below might mean. The enforcer's been here before. He's considered how easy it would be to slip away for good.

But Rinzler knows better. He isn't wanted, and doesn't really doubt they'll do away with him for good next time. But going back won't help, and whatever they do to him here... at least it's likely to be different.

The program doesn't move, just closes his eyes, letting the white noise of the storm drown out the rest.]

Grid Exploration: open to all retrieval volunteers!

[notglitching]

[[ooc: The settings here are meant for a group mingle—tag in with open or closed starters to thread stuff with fellow searchers! I'll throw Rinzler in when/as groups manage to find him or draw attention; alternately you can prod me at notglitching if you have specific thoughts.]]

Flynn's Arcade

[notglitching]

[The swirling lights and soft hum of the Ingress give way to a sudden lurch. Physics has broken down, and just for a moment, so have you. It's heartstopping and disorienting, complex organic structures separated for an instant, to discrete code... and then it's over. You're intact, you're yourself, no worse for the wear—though whatever clothing you were wearing may have taken a more monochromatic shade.

Your surroundings might take just as long to puzzle out—if it weren't for the smooth structures and odd light, you'd think you landed in a human basement. There's a black table just in front, hexagonally grated floor beneath—even what appear to be bricks and metal frameworks in the walls, though the thin lines of light that travel through the later don't resemble any power conduits you might be used to.

Welcome to Flynn's Arcade, the usual entry point into the Grid for any user. While close inspection (or active destruction) will reveal the code beneath, the surface render has been made a replica of the user-world location—a game arcade with a small apartment overhead and a concealed basement underneath. None of the machines function, of course, but it's a safe enough place to regroup and plan—if a slightly creepy one.

Stepping outside, the illusion is a lot harder to cling to—neat columns and too-even brickwork stretches upward to light-lined buildings that disappear into dark clouds. The nearby streets look all but empty. Your entry, at least, went undetected.]

The End of Line

[notglitching]

[For anyone trying for information, refuge, or just a place to take a breather and try some digital drinks, the End of Line club is your stop. Found at the heart of Tron City (and the top of an insanely long elevator ride), the club is a place for programs of diverse functions to find their entertainment—and for a few to find resources distinctly outside the system's rules.

The club's DJs might set the mood with their music, but the diskless servers act as a much more overt guarantee of privacy—whatever secrets are shared in here, they won't remember to pass on. Those without circuitry on their clothes will get some suspicious looks, but all kinds of programs can be found here, and visitors are welcome to talk them up. What few red-circuited guards come in are far too distracted with the sirens to take note.

Anyone who makes themselves too interesting might draw the attention of Castor, the club's owner. Rumors place him as the only one capable of contacting Zuse, an almost legendary source of information, forged disks, and other services for those struggling against Clu's system. It's possible Castor will choose to help you. Of course, it's just as possible he'll turn you in to Clu's people himself—especially if you let it spill that you're a user. Some programs hold grudges, and Castor (Zuse) is a master of smiling and lying through his own.]

Admin Tower

[notglitching]

[While Clu's throneship serves as a mobile base of operations at need, the system's hierarchy is much too large to be contained in such a compact unit. The massive towers at the center of the city culminate in a cluster that stretches well past the cloud level, lit not in the default electric blue, but in humming lines of red and gold.

The admin towers house the functions crucial to maintaining order to the Grid. While programs might access the lower levels with only some degree of scrutiny, security tightens quickly not far in. All of these programs bear the red-orange circuitry of Clu's forces, and deviations will be met with immediate force—sentries emerging from wall units to capture or delete the intruders at any cost. Those who cause particularly blatant trouble may even draw the attention of the Black Guard... or possibly another source.

For the most part the structure is bureaucracy personified: layers on layers of system functions handling every detail of the computer's processes and streamlining the data up. But many of Clu's assets are kept in this building, and those who can evade Security may come across some details of interest. The upper levels are Clu's true domain, with schematics and data streaming in from the whole system. Rectification chambers can be found in another area—not the larger factories for batch-recoding, but more personalized cells. None of the programs inside will be functional enough to hold much conversation, and some may attack.

Not far from the admin's area, there's one locked door that stands out—not by any marking, but simply in its isolation. Hacking or forcing one's way inside will find an empty space, black walls with a single thick power conduit and thinner red lines that frame the room. A flat shelf against one wall looks long enough to use for sleeping, and close inspection of the walls reveal slight irregularities: old damage, long since repaired.

It's possible further inspection will turn up more.]

Wildcard!

[notglitching]

[The Grid is more than a few sites of interest. It's a complete system, a digital world. Outside the city, the outlands stretch out towards an infinity—a wasteland dotted only by the occasional refuge, and home to voracious gridbugs only too eager to target any sources of power. Inside, creative navigation might be needed to avoid attention—recognizers fill the skies, backing up the grounded sentry checkpoints that demand a disk check to confirm your right to transit between sectors. Being found without an identity disk is no better—strays are taken to the cells below the Game Grid to await the next match.

Choose your adventure, or make one up! There's no shortage of trouble to get into.]

Final Bossfight and Escape: closed to Frisk, Asriel, and Tron to start; OTA later

[notglitching]

Disk Wars!

Disk Wars!

[The person you came to the Grid to find is nowhere in sight, but certainly the screaming thousands in the stands seem grateful for your presence. Maybe you were caught on the streets without a disk. Maybe you were found somewhere more sensitive, or placed your trust in the wrong friends. Whatever your crime, the Grid only has two sentences—and is it really a surprise two programs as small and weak as yourselves were passed over for repurposing?

Asriel and Frisk have been separated from the others for a while. They've been processed through the Armory, equipped with disks and the basic conscript suit. They've stayed their turn in the cells. And now, their locked compartments hover upward through the air over the stadium, two cells out of sixteen that shift and hover as the anticipation swells. A gold-lit ship is docked above, but certainly the crowded stands are far too packed for any number of watchers to be spotted. Interfering, on the other hand, will prove difficult. Especially in time.]

All combatants prepare for Disk Wars.

[A cool, calm voice announces from above as the cells line up, releasing their passengers at either end of a set of long, translucent cages. Programs step forward, eying their opponents warily as they reach behind. The disks that come forward hum with ready, eager light, and if Asriel's and Frisk's appearances might gather some strange looks, it's nothing that will hold their fellow captives back. Not now.

Welcome to the Games, children.

It's kill or be killed.]

Initiate.

[gainedlove]

Frisk does not have much time to react. The arena, the crowds, the unfamiliar feeling of the disk (something that hums in the back of their mind, feels so much like a SAVE but so very not), it distracts them from the program at the other side of the cell. Only the humming of the disk warns them in time to tumble out of the way with a startled yelp, and the second attack is quick on the heels of the first.

Frisk flips out of the way of that one, every nerve alight with the sense of danger. Dodging one bullet like this is hardly a challenge, even with the odd bounces, but no matter what they shout to the other nothing seems to make them stop. And with pieces of their side shattering away...they're getting nowhere with this. It's just like Undyne!

Part of the side shatters open, and when Frisk looks on reflex they see Asriel in a similar struggle. Their heart seizes and without any thought for the danger involved Frisk leaps for the hole to * Flee the battle and start climbing out. They have to find a way over to him, and quickly!

[pleasereset]

Asriel was terrified from the start.

Everything happened so fast - their capture, him losing Frisk almost immediately, having his clothes removed and replaced with a strange glowing suit and a disk attached to his back. The crowd shouting earns a flinch as he stumbles out, disoriented and unsure of what he's supposed to do.

The answer comes quickly as his opponent aims a disk at him. Asriel stumbles back, hopelessly searching for an exit.

"Please, we don't have to do this...!"

The plea goes unheard, of course, as the disk is launched at him. Asriel scrambles to dodge, crouching down and covering his head as he slides to the end of the area. And when he glances down, he sees Frisk trying to climb out.

"Frisk!"

[gainedlove]

"Asriel!"

There's shouts, alarms going off somewhere nearly drowned out by the din of the crowds. They don't know if Asriel can even hear them.

"Stay alive! I'm coming!"

Scrambling onto the top of the cell, Frisk takes a moment to gain their footing and judge the distance between their cell and Asriel's...on that side, they can make a jump that far! Running over, Frisk makes a wide banking turn to keep their momentum before leaping across and (by the grace of sheer luck) landing heavily atop Asriel's cell.

[pleasereset]

Asriel doesn't quite hear, but he does see a childlike figure leaping across the top of the cell. His heart leaps up to his throat as he's about to shout to them - only to hear a whizz right next to his ear. He quickly turns his head, just in time to barely avoid a disk clipping his neck. He lets out a yelp as it clips his ear, tiny dust fragments falling onto the shoulder of his Grid suit.

The program on the other side seems completely unfazed by the interruption, instead using the distraction to try and take out Asriel now. Within seconds, the disk comes flying back and Asriel tries to roll out of the way.

It's kill or be killed here. The thought automatically enters his mind - but he can't, he won't. He doesn't want to kill anyone.

They have to escape somehow.

[gainedlove]

It takes a few moments for Frisk to regain their breath, but they're moments the child doesn't have to spare--as soon as they can manage they're scrambling to their feet to get over to Asriel's end. They fall to hands and knees over where Asriel is frantically dodging the flying disc, and for a few moments they panic. What can they do, they can't break this with just their strength alone--

But wait, they were given one of those disks as well, weren't they? Frisk scrambles to pull it off the dock on their back, and it lights up with a hum as they lift it overhead.

"Asriel, move!"

The disk slams down, and a spider web of cracks appear. Frisk tries again, putting all their strength into it--the third hit destroys the section completely, voxels falling to the ground in chunks before dissolving away into data. Slipping the disc back into place, Frisk pauses only to make sure the attacker's disc isn't zipping around before leaning down as far as they can into the hole, reaching for Asriel. They can't reach nearly far enough, but if he could manage to climb up high enough...

"Grab my hand, hurry!"

agent washington | ota

[hatesimprovising]

[ Taking into account what he knows about Rinzler, Wash had been expecting... Not this. The Grid looks completely different than he figured it would--it looks like an arcade in here? One of those really, really old-timey arcades that were big hundreds of years ago. Not what he thought the inside of a computer would look like. ...That's where they are, right???

That. Really isn't important. He can ask questions later. Right now, he needs to get moving and try to find Rinzler, hopefully before this "Clu" can do anything to his code.

Rolling his shoulders, Wash steps further into the arcade, his head turning to get a better look at the place and to try to find some sort of path. This can't be the entirety of The Grid, that makes no sense. It takes him a few moments of wandering and poking around, but eventually he spots the door and moves quickly over to it, not wanting to waste more time than he needs to.

Fully armoured, which he thinks might help him blend in considering what Rinzler's always wearing, he exits the arcade and finds himself out on a street that looks a lot more reminiscent of what one might figure a digital world would look like. And it's that which finally clues him in to just where he's managed to throw himself, sending a chill up along his spine. He's been somewhere like this before. He can remember it, seeing the code running through everything, the soft lighting...

--No. No, that wasn't him, he's never been anywhere like this. That was Alpha. That was... He can't think about that now. Stuff it down, push it to the back of his mind, just hide it for now because he can't melt down in here. He has to help Rinzler. ]

Focus. [ Now he's talking to himself out on the street. That's good. But hearing his own voice helps him recover at least a little from the memory, and what helps even more is when he doesn't hear the door opening behind him, only feels the person colliding with him as they leave the arcade. ] Oh-- Sorry--!

[ Spinning around, he raises his hands apologetically, fully expecting it to be a program who just smacked into him. ...But it's not. Someone from the ship...? ]

I swear I wasn't standing in the way on purpose, but I'm glad I'm not the only one who came looking for Rinzler. ...That's why you're here, right?

[pleasereset]

Asriel dodges the disk headed his way, glancing up at the outstretched hand just out of his reach.

"I can't-!" Another whizz comes from somewhere behind Asriel, and the young monster finds himself propelling forward towards the nearest wall and trying to scramble up towards the open hole and Frisk.

Unfortunately all he does is slide back down.

More unfortunately he's left wide open for another attack.

[beautifulspaceraptor]

[Nihlus opens the door silently, first a fraction of ways through to see if there was anyone on the streets. Then further once he spots a human in a power suit out on the road, talking to himself. The armor was definitely not similar to Rinzler's and the voice he's heard before on the Network. Washington was it?

He's about to speak up when the human turns and gets himself a face-ful of chest plates.]

Ah, no, it's alright, just-

[Glancing around, Nihlus moves to grab the man's arm and try to pull him back into the cover of the arcade entrance.]

Yes I am. [The Spectre explains once they're out of view.] We might have a few more sympathizers along soon, but until then, we need to scout the place, find some maps, find out how things work here. Think you're up for that?

Angry Wet Cat Shenanigans OTA

[needsnoface]

BB wasn't expecting much in regards to himself when he came along on this particular trip. He had already gone through with a few others already with nothing being different both with and without his data chip. So nothing prepared him for the complete opposite of what would happen when the Ingress finally set him in this place.

Which is likely why it took an embarrassingly long few seconds for him to register the pain and the fact he was embody and thus sprawled face first on what constituted the ground. The shock and the fact he could feel the hum of data and warmth of code moving in this landscape was what he blamed for the lack of response those first few moments.

Especially as he wobbly managed to get himself up with shaky and uncoordinated arms into a kneeling position. Though that was also precarious as he listed side to side dangerously when he did not focus on such fully. This whole having mass and being affected by things like gravity was hardly worth the yearning his fellow AIs had for being human at all.

"Well, really. This is not exactly what I was expecting at all. I do hope this change of state isn't permanent."

Not even the circuitry he had acquired was any consolation for what he felt was a horrible thing to do to an AI. Really, who wants these complication a body brings about?

[beautifulspaceraptor]

Oh, shit, he nearly just landed right on top of a person.

Nihlus hops back somewhat ungracefully and freezes, staring at the program. His instincts tell him to help, but he should really let the guy lie, just in case he alerts anyone nearby to his arrival-

... Where IS he? Stopping, he takes in his surroundings. It looks like some kind of alleyway. It certainly had the same aesthetics as Rinzler had, so he could only assume this was the Grid. The architecture would've been beautiful if it weren't so ominous and looking up he sees what seems to be clouds and a vast stretch of glowing circuitry far, far above it.

He doesn't let himself be awed for too long. The Spectre drags his attention back to the mission at hand and starts moving towards the nearest cover, doing a quick inventory check along the way.

Of course, the procedure is promptly derailed by the sound of BB's voice.

"... BB?"

Nihlus turns and stares before quickly trotting back to assist the AI.

"How in the bleeding deeps...?"

[needsnoface]

Despite the problems with his motor functions, BB apparently mastered the angry cat look during his brief fling with the pavement, as he looks over to Nihlus. Completely unamused by that question.

"Apparently this world took offense that I didn't fit its definition of a being made of computer code. Or perhaps I gained some odd ability to spontaneously created a body. A mystery for the ages, but irrelevant in the long run. We do have a reason for being here, despite this unfortunate accident on my part."

Sorry Nihlus, this entire situation has made him temporarily forget his normal pleasantry. Especially as he wobbles his way to slowly standing on his new feet. Circuits flaring in agitation the same shade of blue his avatar normally is. They were here for information on Rinzler, if not Rinzler himself he would just suck it up and work with this vexing problem.

[beautifulspaceraptor]

It'd be kind of hilarious if the circumstances weren't terrible. The expression of sheer indignity on BB's face was a sight to behold.

"Well, I'll be," Nihlus murmurs, reaching out and bending his knees slightly to try and wrap an arm under BB's shoulders to help steady him. He takes the lack of pleasantry in a stride: let's be honest here, BB was still a veritable saint next to his usual company, bad mood or not.

"We should probably go find a better hiding spot until you feel a bit more steady." He debates trying to carry BB, but he suspects AI wouldn't appreciate that too much considering his current state. "I'm not sure how safe we are out here-"

Oh. That sounds like a very ominous humming noise in the distance there.

[hatesimprovising]

[ He only feels the hand grabbing him about a half-second before he finds himself tugged back in toward the arcade, blinking in surprise. Wash doesn't offer any resistance though, either still too stunned to manage or he simply can't be bothered, and stays put under the cover of the arcade's entrance.

For a long moment, he simply stares at Nihlus, running things over in his mind. ]

Yeah. Yeah! Anything that helps.

[ Nodding now that speech is functioning with relative normalcy, he stands a bit straighter, glancing out toward the street again. Honestly? He's really glad he's not stuck doing this alone. He hasn't got the first idea where to start, there's been no time to plan, and he's terrible at improvising. It's easier if there's someone else around to take the lead.

Plus, with two or more of them? They have a better shot at finding Rinzler and getting him back safely. ]

Sorry, you just...caught me off guard. But yeah, those are good places to start. I didn't really get a lot of information about the place before I jumped in. Did you? Or are we running on next to nothing for right now?

[needsnoface]

Most times the thought of being helpless would rankle considering how little an AI can control back home, but this situation has him reluctantly using that support. Doubly so when he takes a few moments to figure out how to use said arm to help keep him upright and how much lean would possibly have him on the floor again.

And well that sound likely isn't a welcoming committee wishing to greet them with peace and well wishes.


"Perhaps, efficiency is best now in this case, particularly in regards to at least one of us remaining free and capable of completing our objective. So long as the normal rules of this ingress apply and we can come closer to our goal we should take the best route for such."

Yes, he is hinting at you just dumping him back on the ground there Nihlus and booking it out of here.

"You are more capable of moving currently without being caught if you are not burdened."

Re: Ingress: Closed to Alan

[alan_1]

[Rinzler’s not the only one entertaining thoughts of slipping away. It seems like a sensible enough solution to Alan. He’s already caused enough pain and strife onboard, to the people he cares about and strangers alike. Sam, Rinzler, Tron -- all he’s done since arriving here is let them down. Put targets on their back and betrayed their trust. It would likely be best for everyone if he simply removed himself from the equation.

He had heard about the Ingress on Amissis-Re. Of course he has. And now here he is, unwatched by the portal’s host. His mind isn’t made up -- far from it, really -- but it doesn’t stop him from drawing closer to the abyss. He can feel the thrum of the Ingress through the floor as he approaches the edge.

He tells himself he won’t jump. It’s the only way to get close enough to actually know.

He isn’t expecting the silhouette that comes into view, black marked with unmistakeable flecks of red-orange light. Alan stops, momentarily shaken out of his own thoughts. What was Rinzler doing here? He couldn’t also be contemplating jumping, could he? It wouldn’t offer the same escape as it would for Alan. If Rinzler jumped, all he’d have waiting for him would be the Grid. Surely that can’t be a preferable alternative to here, can it? Or had Alan really so irreversibly poisoned this place for him?

Alan doesn’t say anything yet, but he lets his next footsteps fall louder than the last. He doesn’t want to startle the program by speaking, but neither does he want to sneak up on him. He stops with still plenty of space left separating him and Rinzler, watching closely for the program's reaction.]

[notglitching]

[Compared to the howl of wind and crackle of power, a few light footfalls are almost inaudible. But almost doesn't stop the tension that slides down the program's spine, hand twitching behind him as he turns. Probably, it's just new visitors here to use the Portal. Probably. But he's been ambushed enough in the last decicycle, and it was careless (stupid) to let his guard down now...

The figure he sees isn't one of his attackers. Not Alice_Quinn or Peter_Maximoff; not Fiora or Sans or even the glitching malware. The figure he sees has never raised a hand towards him in violence, and that makes everything much, much worse. Rinzler freezes—flinches—jerks away, two steps back as his sound rattles up harshly. His hand is stalled behind his back, the urge to have his disk in hand in painful conflict with the need to keep it out of sight.

Scan-sense can't feel the edge of the platform just behind him when he stills. Even if he were looking, the transparency would make it hard to track. Rinzler doesn't look, doesn't think about that risk at all. He's much more scared of his [user] [programmer] than any fall.

Alan-one. He doesn't try to say the word aloud.]

[whoami]

[ Well Wash, you actually have that about right. It is like an old arcade. Because it's an exact copy of one arcade in particular, minus the games. But once outside that arcade, everything changes. Even the arcade itself, while at street level, has a part of a massive ziggurat on top of it. And the map that exists for the Grid is over twenty years out of date - yet you'd be surprised how little has changed, since Programs aren't big on creative thinking.

Since the last time Sam was on the Grid he had his clothes cut off, and had the sense to leave his uniform on the Moira, his Gridsuit was marking his familiarity with the surroundings.

Well.

Some familiarity, at least.

At least this time he wasn't scooped up by a Recognizer right away? I didn't mean they would have an easy time finding Rinzler by any means, but it was something. Likewise Sam wasn't coming into this blind. Which, even in a shadowed area the Turian sort of stood out. ]

What you're both running on is limited time. I have no idea where Clu would hang out outside that little yellow pimp-mobile, but I figure we head downtown we'll find it.

[beautifulspaceraptor]

There are a lot of words being thrown at him and Nihlus is nodding and giving BB a look of complete and total sympathy and understanding as he reaches up and activates the holo generator collar around his neck.

"Your heroism and self sacrifice will be remembered," he says conversationally as the complicated planes of his armor is replaced by sleek black panels and glowing circuitry. There were some extra pieces of the strange digital plates attached to him to compensate for the alieness of his form, and he peers down at BB through a mirror smooth black visor.

"Do you think you can still try triangulating Rinzler's MID like this?" he asks, bending down to slide a hand under BB's knees so he could sweep the smaller AI briskly off of his feet.

There's an underpass nearby and he makes his way towards it, strides long and purposeful. He doesn't really want to try testing out how well the disguise holds up under a program's scanners.