Not How I Was Made [[OPEN]]
Who: fight4theusers and anyone else who feels like joining
Where: His office above the arena
When: Current
What: Tron has been stretching himself too far in trying to oversee what is becoming an entirely different Grid. It's starting to catch up.
Warnings: Angsty!Tron.
"Security programs, report." Tron sent out a basic message over the communications system, tapping in the command from a datapad, one of many strewn across his desk. As an afterthought he added a second command. "Information from all sectors needed, civilian reports requested." Information came in from every direction on the Grid these days, the Outlands, the abandoned areas of the city, the populated centers, all mounting into stacks of data that he wasn't even sure he could compile. More Programs were appearing each day, some benign, some malicious, not to mention the few Users who had manifested, and Tron could see no pattern in their emergence, no logic in the duplications or lack thereof.
And there are more Rinzlers than any other program... why? What is it about that code...?
Pushing back from the desk, he made his way over to the viewport, staring out over the city. Far below, lightcycles and transports moved back and forth on the street, seemingly peaceful... for now. Everything seemed held together by a tenuous thread of code, ready to fall apart at the wrong touch. Already there had been attacks... the bomb had thankfully not caused more harm than it had, but what would the next do? He had increased the security patrols, and Ram's prediction matrix had been helpful, but Tron still felt as though he were barely keeping the system stable.
I was not designed for this. I am not an admin... I am only a security program trying to do more... a damaged security program, at that. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers, half-expecting to see a flicker of red on the circuits. Some days, he could almost feel the Rinzler-code creeping through his programming, clawing at his mind, waiting for a chance to emerge. Gem had seen it, and she wasn't afraid, even if he was horrified at the thought of what he could do, what he might become if he fell to that again.
Shaking his head, he tried not to compute it. Right now, he had a system to keep together.
...if only he knew how to do it.
Where: His office above the arena
When: Current
What: Tron has been stretching himself too far in trying to oversee what is becoming an entirely different Grid. It's starting to catch up.
Warnings: Angsty!Tron.
"Security programs, report." Tron sent out a basic message over the communications system, tapping in the command from a datapad, one of many strewn across his desk. As an afterthought he added a second command. "Information from all sectors needed, civilian reports requested." Information came in from every direction on the Grid these days, the Outlands, the abandoned areas of the city, the populated centers, all mounting into stacks of data that he wasn't even sure he could compile. More Programs were appearing each day, some benign, some malicious, not to mention the few Users who had manifested, and Tron could see no pattern in their emergence, no logic in the duplications or lack thereof.
And there are more Rinzlers than any other program... why? What is it about that code...?
Pushing back from the desk, he made his way over to the viewport, staring out over the city. Far below, lightcycles and transports moved back and forth on the street, seemingly peaceful... for now. Everything seemed held together by a tenuous thread of code, ready to fall apart at the wrong touch. Already there had been attacks... the bomb had thankfully not caused more harm than it had, but what would the next do? He had increased the security patrols, and Ram's prediction matrix had been helpful, but Tron still felt as though he were barely keeping the system stable.
I was not designed for this. I am not an admin... I am only a security program trying to do more... a damaged security program, at that. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers, half-expecting to see a flicker of red on the circuits. Some days, he could almost feel the Rinzler-code creeping through his programming, clawing at his mind, waiting for a chance to emerge. Gem had seen it, and she wasn't afraid, even if he was horrified at the thought of what he could do, what he might become if he fell to that again.
Shaking his head, he tried not to compute it. Right now, he had a system to keep together.
...if only he knew how to do it.