[There's a fractional twitch of fingers at the program's side. System security. But he isn't; he's the Grid's enforcer. He has to serve Clu. Protect Alan-one. Lights shiver just a little sharper.
He doesn't know what he's supposed to do.
He doesn't, but he knows this is still wrong, whatever the user would or wouldn't ask. The black mask bows, circuits resettling to an even burn. There's no attempt at argument, no effort to match his user's stare. But every line of Rinzler's frame reads frustration rather than assent.
Alan-one still died, and he still wasn't there to stop it.]
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He doesn't know what he's supposed to do.
He doesn't, but he knows this is still wrong, whatever the user would or wouldn't ask. The black mask bows, circuits resettling to an even burn. There's no attempt at argument, no effort to match his user's stare. But every line of Rinzler's frame reads frustration rather than assent.
Alan-one still died, and he still wasn't there to stop it.]