They say we are what we are

[notglitching]

Who: Rinzler, his CR, and OPEN
When: first week of June
Where: around the Moira.
What: Rinzler's real boss is on the ship. Flailing ensues! Some open prompts; some closed ones.
Warnings: references to mindfuck, genocide, and other family-friendly Disney canon. Creeping, violence, and general awfulness in the thread with Clu. TBE as things happen.


A. Night of the 1st, maintenance room: CLOSED to Frisk and Asriel

When Rinzler receives the call from Zam_Wesell, he doesn't panic. Panic would be crashing on the spot. Panic would be taking the nearest transporter and trying to fly, to run; to split his disks and cut through anyone who stalled his path. But running wouldn't help (he knew) (he'd tried), and this is the one threat Rinzler can never, ever fight against.

Clu is on the Moira, and it's only a matter of time before the admin takes back what he made.

The hooks of directive are pulled tight enough to strangle, but Rinzler doesn't crash. He doesn't run. He doesn't have a voice to scream, and if the ticking rattle of code conflict has risen to nearly the same volume, Rinzler doesn't (can't) let the mass of errors stall him long. He'd been in nearly the same situation less than a decicycle back, trapped in his own world by the glitched Ingress until his allies here had come to get him out. Extraction is impossible this time, but there's still a task that holds priority. Not all of those who'd come to save him then returned unchanged.

Request meeting. Urgent.
Bring identity disks.

The texts transmit, along with coordinates: a maintenance space just off one of the vent shafts. Asriel will know the way. This discussion, Rinzler doesn't want anywhere near cameras.


B. Early morning on the 2nd, Moro #023: CLOSED to Nihlus

The discussion with the betas takes longer than expected. Information. Demonstration. Diverting more personal inquiries—or trying to, at least. By the time they head back to their quarters, Rinzler's as sure as he can be they understand the danger. They'll safeguard their backups. They won't let themselves be edited.

They, they, they.

Rinzler's situation is different, and no matter what he used to be, the enforcer knows what he's made for. Fight. Obey. Serve Clu. Directive loops, close and prickling as he submits his request for a room change. As he examines the space, bare and empty of intrusion. It's better this way, but it's not enough. He needs to report in. Submit, wait, present disk. It's been the better part of a cycle since Clu reviewed his code, and Rinzler knows how badly he needs correcting. He can feel it in the nausea behind each mismatched line, in the near constant flicker of [Warning—] no longer capable of locking him back in his place. He knows he's broken because of how very badly he wants not to be fixed.

Just over a millicycle after Zam's call, Rinzler sends out his second message asking for a meeting. This one is harder.

This time, it's for himself.


C. 2nd, Moro deck: OPEN

It won't end well. Rinzler knows this even without the shameful twist of function to remind him. When Nihlus leaves, his sound is harsher, the jagged edge of code warped to the point of breaking grinding against each and every choice he's made. But it's too late now, and Rinzler forces himself to still and wait. Clu will find him soon. Clu will call, and Rinzler will come the way his code demands. The way he was made to do.

Clu will call and he will come, but it is taking too long.

Processes are frayed with looping by the time Rinzler gives up. Whether from ignorance or disinterest or some new test, his administrator isn't initiating contact. Test is the most likely explanation by far, and Rinzler knows what he should do to pass. Search the ship. Find Clu. Surrender of his own volition. But he won't, he can't, not yet. Not after what he's done. Instead, Rinzler leaves his empty quarters and walks down the hall. He has a room change to finish.

The sum and total of Rinzler's time outside the Grid fits in one box and his backpack from Inugami. The latter settles much too easily over his shoulders, covering the new absence well. He takes a moment to glance around the room, mask lingering on the ground where he'd killed his first user. It's a strange association. He might value this system, but the room itself has never been of much significance, and if Elle might regret his absence, he knows her feelings won't be shared. Tucking the box of user clothing, rocket boots, and books under one arm, Rinzler sticks his helmet out into the hall, cautiously checking both ways for gold-lit figures before he steps out and paces back toward his new room.


D. 2nd-7th, around the ship: OPEN

Not yet shades far too easily into not. A direct order, Rinzler would have to obey, and he knows that much will come eventually. But the longer the delay draws out, the easier it is to pretend otherwise. Maybe Clu doesn't know he's here. Maybe Clu doesn't want him. It's a betrayal to consider and a delusion to believe, but the idea keeps Rinzler running.

For the most part, Rinzler can be encountered all over the Moira, going about his business as usual. He handles training and transport duties on the flight deck, attends his kitchen shifts, and looks up the most recent foreign references (vacation?) in the library. He examines the kittens in the garden and patrols the halls and ventilation shafts to scan for threats. But familiar acquaintances or new ones will find the program alert to the edge of twitchiness. His constant noise is clipped and harsh. He spends far too much time watching any crowds. And anyone behind the program will see a strange empty space on his back: the merged disks that should have filled the spot are missing.

Or, you might encounter his problems more directly. When Rinzler does spot Clu in the halls, his priority is to get out of the way before he's noticed. Any unlocked doors are prone to experiencing a sudden arrival: one (1) glowing, growling computer program ducking in your space with no pause for permission. He might say sorry if you ask? (Good luck.)


E. 8th, Moro #015: CLOSED to Clu

He'd known it was inevitable. He'd known it was a test. Still, when the order does come, when Rinzler feels the lines of should and have to pulling tight in a familiar, unbreakable chain, he wishes he'd had the sense to run. It wouldn't have helped. It wouldn't have done anything at all. But he wants to [wants to] [wants], and now, the option is entirely past reaching.

Clu's instructions are short and simple. A place. A word. Report. Nothing else was necessary, and they will have all the time in the world for Clu to fill the silences up soon. When Rinzler is back where he belongs. When everything is back as it's supposed to be. The enforcer doesn't answer [speech is forbidden] ["—perfect this way"], but as slow and heavy as his steps feel, it's scant micros before the enforcer is outside the door.

A moment's lag. A moment to freeze and falter, a moment's panic when it's far too late to matter. Then Rinzler reaches out, and the door opens.

Comments

A

[pleasereset]

The request is answered with a quick "we'll be there" before Asriel sends a message out to Frisk. If it was Rinzler saying it was urgent, Asriel figured it was best to not make him wait too long. Besides, while Toriel wasn't expecting them back yet... she would be soon. With his identity disk strapped to his back, he meets up with Frisk and they start walking towards their meeting place.

When they arrive, Asriel can't help but feel a little uneasy. He cautiously calls out.

"Rinzler, are you here?"

[gainedlove]

Frisk is quick to agree as well, meeting with Asriel before the pair headed off. Frisk's own disk is strapped securely in place, an odd weight but one they're growing accustomed to.

Frisk tugs on their sleeve and looks around, trying to spot wherever Rinzler might be hiding. He's been better since returning from the Grid, but not entirely, and this message makes it seem like things might be getting worse again.

[notglitching]

No words answer Asriel's call, of course, but there's a faint disruption to the background humming of the fans—or rather, a low rumbling layered in amidst it. Rinzler's just ahead, and when he emerges from behind some machinery, it's only to nod Frisk and Asriel further into the room. The area's a little cramped and noisy, especially compared to the proper ship halls just below, but it has a major advantage: they won't be seen or overheard.

The program's sporting no visible damage this time. There have been no network posts, no incidents at all that might explain the sudden call. But there's a tense energy clinging to the program's smaller motions, edging his noise with slight static. He doesn't waste any time with greetings.

State known data: disk functions.

[pleasereset]

Well, this isn't the urgent call that Asriel was expecting. At least not urgent enough to hold this meeting in a cramped, noisy machine room. But Asriel still pauses and thinks over Rinzler's question.

"Um... it's a weapon used in those games? And uh, you can throw it. Like a frisbee. And it's really sharp."

That's probably not the answer Rinzler is looking for, so he casts a glance to Frisk for some help.

"You can... use it like a nightlight?"

[gainedlove]

Frisk frowns in confusion, glancing to Asriel before reaching back to grab their disk and inspect it. They figured out a while ago how to make it light up on command, and they let it flicker on a few times in demonstration when Asriel mentions that.

"Um, I r'member you an' Tron got yours to split! I can't figure out how t' do it, though." Frisk picks at the inside loop, trying to find whatever seam might be there, but of course there's nothing. "I dunno nothing else, though."

E. !=escape ♥ (mindfuckery, psychological abuse, prodding past injuries of all sorts, etc.)

[a_perfect_end]

Clu nominally shared these quarters, but the intellect referring to himself as Black Box was not currently in residence and preferred to avoid the base-physical. Besides, the first test would push the boundaries of their first concepts, their oldest lessons together-- parameter input: home turf.

"Do come in."

His tone is soft enough, smooths the question mark from the courtesy, eliminating the choice. He doesn't look up at the door, makes no move toward it, perched standing by the small folding shelf that serves as a desk.

That delay could only have been deliberate; Rinzler will have to process the request and obey. It is the second of several tests.

E. = evasion

[notglitching]

There's no more denial. No more pretense. The figure across the room is unmistakable, the calm, clear tone as binding as any coded lock or chain. It carries the weight of a thousand cycles of corrections, and Rinzler's almost grateful for the automatic shift of motor functions to comply.

His helmet bows. His feet move forward. The door slides shut behind him, but the physical exit means just as little as the corner of his processing that flinches as it disappears. He doesn't let the impulse reach externals. Still, for the first time since his import to this system, Rinzler is desperately, quietly grateful for the opaque helmet that takes away his face. He doesn't know what his expression might have done.

The steps pause in the center of the room, hands open and spine curved to perfect defaults. He can't quite mute the uneven scrape and catch behind his sound, but from the front, the visual looks right.

[a_perfect_end]

Clu was not rezzed yesterday. Rinzler is his best warrior, a perfect weapon written to specifications excruciating and precise--if he failed to report, there is a reason. Still, there's no undue hurry. Clu will find it.

Rinzler acts exactly as he should. It's inconsistent, nearly incorrect when compared with that failure to arrive.

“Very good.” Soft, steady, listening--consulting audio processors and turning over that hitch in tone, that sudden deviation Rinzler had been unable to suppress...Nonspecific. More data required.

“But you misunderstand me.” Flat, factual, the pause before the whip crack. “Come here.”

[notglitching]

The praise is unwarranted, the pause laden with unspoken faults. It's no surprise at all when Clu's tone sharpens, and Rinzler's mask ducks further as he forces back the scattered prickle of frustration. Or is it fear?

Either way, the lag is minuscule, and Clu's enforcer steps forward, stopping just in front of his programmer. He keeps to defaults, but from this close range, it's not hard to see the tension fixed through frame and shell. More than there should be. Rinzler knows what he's done, and if Clu doesn't, that won't take long.

There's no move to kneel or turn, not without instruction. But the careful bend of the enforcer's back places him lower than Clu (always), and there's something missing between his shoulders.

B

[beautifulspaceraptor]

Nihlus stares at the message before sending off an affirmative and then just... taking a second to let the feeling of an impending disaster sink in. The message had been sparse in detail (to be expected, really), but the fact that Rinzler was inviting him to meet him was putting up a few dozen red flags.

He quickly tidies up his work area, making sure there wasn't anything around the fabricator for people to trip over. After that, Nihlus heads out.

Five minutes later, he standing in front of the door and quietly realizing that Rinzler's moved. It must have been recent because he recalls peering through the rosters barely a week ago and the program had still been in his usual spot.

Not- necessarily a bad thing. The less roommates the guy had to nose about his business the better. Finding this out in tandem with the message, though? That put up a couple more red flags.

Somewhat gingerly, Nihlus knocks on the door.

[notglitching]

There's only one person who should have a reason to knock here, and a quick flash of scans confirms the ID. Rinzler forces himself past the lag (the glitch) that wants to build, stepping toward the door to key it open.

The space inside is as colorful as the other rooms on Moro deck, but it won't take more than a glance inside to note some differences. Or lack thereof. The second double-bed has been removed, but other than that, there are no customizations. No belongings in the desk or open closet, no signs of use on the bed. Either this room is very new or very lacking in a personality. Currently, it looks like both.

If Rinzler cares (or really, notices), there isn't much sign. He's drawn into the usual hunch, but there's a tense energy locked in the program's frame that doesn't quite match his usual fluidity. Nihlus receives a quick nod before the helmet tips to gesture him inside. Whatever Rinzler plans to say, it's clear he isn't interested in letting any passerby out in the hallway in on it.

[beautifulspaceraptor]

Well, Rinzler's not covered in blood or smelling of blood and the room behind him had everything pointing more towards 'brand spanking new' over 'murder scene'.

Nihlus isn't sure if that made the situation better or worse. He keeps his expression and body language carefully neutral, inclining his head in greeting and stepping into the room when Rinzler gestures for him to do so.

For a room that was so cheerfully colorful, it sure felt... empty. The Spectre notes the untouched furniture, the lack of decor, the lack of other smells in the room asides from Rinzler's own strange scent.

"... Fancy," he says after the door slides closed, peering at the program over his cowl, an unreadable note in his tones.

[notglitching]

The door slides shut behind Nihlus, but Rinzler doesn't seem to relax. If anything, he's matching Nihlus stare for stare. It doesn't seem to be a response, though—or, at least, the program's scrutiny won't change regardless of Nihlus' attention. He will, however, reach for his MID.

Went onto the Grid.

Last user-month. In the same visit as Frisk and Asriel, though Nihlus hadn't wound up in the Games. Fingers hesitate on keys for a half-second, a hex of queries turning through cache, but Rinzler doesn't have time to stall with secondaries.

Why?

[warandpeace]

☄Around the Ship
"Rinzler!"

Miller called after him, striding after to catch up. Thank god for this prosthetic. Despite his earnest refusal to get one for so long, it had been working out to his benefit. But his speedy approach slowed, and he honed in on Rinzler's back.

Because he remembered. He remembered what he'd been told, what he'd warned, and those weapons should be there.

When Miller came to a standstill, he was still a bit away, but with an undeniably questioning look on his face.

[notglitching]

The voice that calls out from behind is familiar. It's not even unwelcome, and if a cautious scan flicks both ways down the hall to check for other company, Rinzler slows readily, turning back toward the address.

Not quickly enough. The user's steps falter, and when Rinzler tracks the direction of that, Miller isn't alone. The enforcer stills, shoulders tightening defensively as he faces his ally down the hall. No vocals, but the question isn't hard to parse. Rinzler ignores it, returning a quick sideways jerk of his own head. What does Miller want?

[warandpeace]

Again Miller didn't speak. Rather he reached around and tapped between his own shoulderblades, indicating what he noticed was gone.

What ever other questions remained, that was worthy of concern first. Especially after what Rinzler had been through. The fighting everyone got involved with.

"Are you alright?"

[notglitching]

The program's fingers curl just a little, the absence at the back of his processing that much harder to ignore. He might have chosen the vulnerability, but it's not one he enjoys. Or enjoys others seeing.

Rinzler nods, though. He's running well enough.

june 3rd

[alan_1]

[Elevators are, strategically speaking, good for getting away from people. Not only do they offer a compact hiding place with securely closing doors, but also the promise of taking you somewhere else on the ship, hopefully far away from the person you happen to be avoiding.

Unfortunately, elevators also have the downside of often already having someone in them. A downside Rinzler will no doubt regret when he ducks furtively into an elevator -- only to find it already occupied by a surprised Alan.

Alan’s eyes go from Rinzler to the hallway over his shoulder and then back, a questioning expression on his face. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Rinzler was trying to hide from someone, though he sees no obvious culprit in the hall at the moment. Perhaps he’s just in a rush then? Alan takes a step to the side to allow Rinzler further into the elevator just in case.]

Going somewhere?

[notglitching]

[He'd reacted on instinct. A step back, a not-quite flinch away. The glimmer of gold lights around the corner triggered list on list of fixed compulsions and flat certainty, and amidst it all, a single sparking impulse of not now. Clu would find him, or he would find his admin. Report. Obey. But the certainty of his transgression is too sharp, too terrifying to face up to in the moment.

And it's not until he's already inside the lift that he notices the other presence there.

[Programmer.] Rinzler's mask twitches to the gap in the closing door. [Programmer.] Alan-one, Tron's maker—the user who'd forced edits on him here. Or Clu, the administrator who'd broken him into Rinzler at all. Noise skips up, rattling and sharp, but it's the enforcer's freeze that makes the decision for him in the end. The door slides shut, and if Rinzler can't entirely regret the option, the situation is still decidedly not ideal.

There was a question. Right. Rinzler nods a little stiffly, mask ducking toward the array of buttons before he presses one at random. The sideways step, back to the wall as he positions himself across from his user, is taken with a lot more care. Alan-one had spoken to him after the Grid—had rallied support to pull him out of there. It didn't completely override the memories (or fear) from their last meeting, but Rinzler was mostly sure Alan-one didn't mean to force another edit. Even without that, though, there's plenty of reason at the moment not to expose his back to the programmer.

If he notices the missing disk, Rinzler doesn't know what his user would do.]

[alan_1]

[Fortunately for Rinzler, Alan isn’t accustomed to checking for the curve of the program’s disk above his shoulders. Eyes stay fixed on his helmet out of habit and if something seems off about the program’s appearance, Alan chalks it up to his unexpected entry. He doesn’t miss the slight turn towards the closing door, as if Rinzler’s weighing his options. What the other option even is remains a mystery.

And then Rinzler presses a button (one level beneath Alan’s) and the elevator starts back into motion. Alan watches as Rinzler steps a little awkwardly to the side, still facing him. It isn’t Rinzler’s demeanor now that puzzles him; Alan’s more than used to the program being apprehensive in his presence. It’s his entrance into the elevator that raises more questions. There was something urgent in the way he’d rushed in, clearly distracted enough not to even pick up on Alan’s presence until the doors were already closing behind him. Alan’s head tips to the side just slightly, curiosity tinged with concern.]

Is everything alright? [He should know better than to ask. He’d asked it in the garden what feels like half a lifetime ago and he hadn’t received an honest answer then, either. But the question’s still there, an offer to help in much fewer words.]

[notglitching]

[The feeling of inspection prickles over Rinzler's shell, and it takes active effort to keep from drawing inwards. A flicker of his focus is aimed behind, scans feeling through the partition of the door for another signature. But the sense recedes as the lift begins to move, and Rinzler's mask twitches up as his (user) (programmer) speaks.

Status-query. Easy enough, and the enforcer nods without delay. He's functional. No damage or disruption.]

D

[hyperkinesia]

The ship's generally quieter these days, fewer people around, most of them having made their way down to the resort. Bruce has spent a good amount of his time down there too, but he does come up to check on the science department every other day, though not staying long. So it really is a matter of luck or coincidence —though Bruce believes in neither of those— that Rinzler finds the door unlocked at the exact same moment he's walking past it.

Bruce hears the door slide open but it doesn't surprise him much. What does surprise him is when he looks over to see who just stepped inside, and instead of a regular visit or one of the other science officers, he finds a crew member he has somehow managed to not cross paths with up until now.

He tenses up just so, and he thinks with good reason. He doesn't believe Rinzler will attack him without provocation but it's hard not to worry about what might happen if he tries to.

"Can I help you?"

[notglitching]

The timing is close. The choice of room is all but random, and certainly Rinzler doesn't spare much calculation for who might be inside. It's not until he's through the gap, with the door sliding closed behind him, that he even bothers to properly glance around.

The figure standing across the space from him might not be one Rinzler has spoken to before, but the enforcer's browsed the network archives. And if the purge of a whole system is hardly strange where he comes from, Rinzler knows killing that many users is far more significant. The program stills, wary tension lingering in his frame as a harsh mechanical rattling echoes through the room, edged with just the slightest catch of static.

On the bright side, Bruce_Banner looks just as surprised as he is. Rinzler steps sideways, keeping the door in view without turning his back on the maybe-threat, and shakes his head in answer. No. The user can't help.

[hyperkinesia]

The sounds coming from Rinzler are unsettling to say the least, but that may be just because Bruce isn't used to them. He tries to tell himself that anyway, just like he tells himself that he probably won't attack unless provoked, and Bruce certainly doesn't intend to do that.

In fact, he puts even more distance between them by stepping back, slowly taking a seat on a chair nearby and hoping that makes him look less like a threat somehow.

"Why are you here, then?"

[notglitching]

The faceless mask tips after, tracking and assessing. Retreat is impossible to miss, and if he has little trust for users at large, it seems unlikely that one he'd never met would be attempting a new ambush. Particularly when his entry to this room had been unplanned. That variable processed, Rinzler takes the signs of nonaggression more or less at face value, and there's a slight easing of his own coiled hunch in answer.

The tension doesn't let up completely, though, and the program's visuals linger near that just-closed door. He slants his mask just a little in response to the query before apparently relenting, hand reaching for the MID on his right wrist. A tap and it activates, projecting a holographic keyboard underneath and a textbox up and to the program's side. Letters scroll out as the program types, red-orange on a dark background.

Unlocked.

A master of verbal evasion, this one.