Set Adrift
Who: Open to anyone who wants to join in.
Where: The Sea of Simulation
When: Not long after the events of Legacy. Maybe a couple millicycles or so.
Warnings: None
The body that slowly came to rest at the edge of the Sea of Simulation as the ebb and flow of the tides washed it gently to shore made no movement for a long time. The only sign of life - aside from the mere fact that the Program had not derezzed altogether - was the dim, flickering set of circuits set in deep black and the ceaseless rumble of damaged code that stuttered out from his form.
He wasn't sure how long it had been since he lost consciousness when he finally felt himself slipping slowly back into the world of the living. The last thing he remembered was flying over the Sea, chasing after a white-tailed passenger jet, and then the flash of true consciousness that crashed into his senses when he'd seen the face of the Creator staring up at him from the cockpit. And then the feeling of shame and guilt as he felt thousands of cycles of memories come crashing into his consciousness, like waking up from a terrible nightmare only to realize that it had all been true.
He realized in the moments before physical sensation caught up to mental cognizance that perhaps the turmoil he'd found himself in had left him unable to make the best of decisions. In his rage and pain, he'd made the brash decision to take out Clu and himself in one fell swoop, stopping him from harming the Users further and attempting to atone for his actions all at the same time. His shame had jaded his thoughts, weighing him down so that he had felt the only path to redemption was through self-sacrifice. Now, he had to wonder if it had simply been an attempt to simply get himself derezzed so that he didn't have to live with the guilt. What would his Creator have thought about such a selfish act? Not only had he let down Kevin Flynn, but he had let down Alan-One as well.
When physical sensation finally came back to him, it was first through the sound of the Sea crashing against nearby rock faces, and then through the feeling of the raw, corrupted data of it's 'waters' lapping at his body. He clenched his hands gently, taking stock of his limbs to find them all still intact and functioning, and he felt the soft crush of miniscule pixels that made up what Flynn called 'sand' as it sifted through his fingers. He pushed up against the ground, giving an exhausted groan as he felt his body struggling to find the strength to obey his commands, and finally managed to pull himself up into a sit.
He took stock of his form, scanning for damage and feeling a sense of relief as he found himself whole, save for the worryingly-dim state of his circuits. But then the persistent rumble he remembered being ever-present from the thoughtless void he'd lived as Rinzler came back to his mind and gave him pause. He'd heard that sound countless times before, even in Kevin Flynn's reign. Severely damaged code was known for it's auditory static as the pixels tried their hardest to make an electric connection to data that was no longer there. Which left the question of where the damage resided if he couldn't see it.
Of course, the most obvious answer was that it must have started when Clu had knocked him offline during the coup. Memory between then and now was fuzzy at best, but as bits and pieces scrambled to put themselves back together, he remembered a time, between his fall and the 'birth' of Rinzler in his code, when he'd been held in a cell, in pain and furious and afraid, when the sound had already plagued his waking microcycles. And he remembered screaming as Clu brought his blazing, gold disk down at his head.
Rinzler's helmet receded with a clatter that let him know the piece of armor had perhaps suffered damage in his final attack against Clu, and his hands reached up shakingly to his face. His right hand met what should have been there, but he realized with a touch of horror that he quickly swallowed down that his left hand met with severely broken pixels, a sensitive, tender crater marring where the left side of his face should have been. He realized dimly that even the sight of his left eye seemed to be nonfunctioning. He could see his right hand as it touched his face, but there was no sensory perception for the left. From well above his hairline, down to the bottom of his jaw, extensive damage lingered as a permanent reminder of his own failure. There was no Program on the Grid that knew how to repair this. And he doubted a single Program on the Grid would want to help him now, anyway.
He tried to reactivate the helmet, shame drawing him into himself as he tried to hide the deep scar, but it failed to activate, instead giving a hopeless whine and clatter as the pieces attempted to right themselves before finally failing completely. He gave a low, shuddering sigh, forcing down the self-pity he felt, forcing himself not to give into the tears that blurred the vision of his remaining eye. He had no right to feel sorry for himself. If this was the only damage he had suffered for his actions as Rinzler, it was a mercy. He deserved everything he got.
He dragged himself to his feet, steadying himself against one of the large boulders that littered the beach, and turned his gaze to the glittering lights of TRON City. He didn't know if he had the energy to make it back as it was, and the absence of weight at his back told him that he was without his disk - lost at some point in the millicycles since Kevin Flynn's son had first found his way onto the grid - and would be unable to defend himself from the fury he no doubt faced from the Programs he'd once tried so hard to protect. But anything was better then wallowing in his pity out here by the Sea. He would go to meet the victims of Clu's regime and face their justice with what little dignity he had left. It was the least he could do in the name of redeeming himself in the eyes of his User and his Creator. He had failed them, but he could at least do what was right.
Where: The Sea of Simulation
When: Not long after the events of Legacy. Maybe a couple millicycles or so.
Warnings: None
The body that slowly came to rest at the edge of the Sea of Simulation as the ebb and flow of the tides washed it gently to shore made no movement for a long time. The only sign of life - aside from the mere fact that the Program had not derezzed altogether - was the dim, flickering set of circuits set in deep black and the ceaseless rumble of damaged code that stuttered out from his form.
He wasn't sure how long it had been since he lost consciousness when he finally felt himself slipping slowly back into the world of the living. The last thing he remembered was flying over the Sea, chasing after a white-tailed passenger jet, and then the flash of true consciousness that crashed into his senses when he'd seen the face of the Creator staring up at him from the cockpit. And then the feeling of shame and guilt as he felt thousands of cycles of memories come crashing into his consciousness, like waking up from a terrible nightmare only to realize that it had all been true.
He realized in the moments before physical sensation caught up to mental cognizance that perhaps the turmoil he'd found himself in had left him unable to make the best of decisions. In his rage and pain, he'd made the brash decision to take out Clu and himself in one fell swoop, stopping him from harming the Users further and attempting to atone for his actions all at the same time. His shame had jaded his thoughts, weighing him down so that he had felt the only path to redemption was through self-sacrifice. Now, he had to wonder if it had simply been an attempt to simply get himself derezzed so that he didn't have to live with the guilt. What would his Creator have thought about such a selfish act? Not only had he let down Kevin Flynn, but he had let down Alan-One as well.
When physical sensation finally came back to him, it was first through the sound of the Sea crashing against nearby rock faces, and then through the feeling of the raw, corrupted data of it's 'waters' lapping at his body. He clenched his hands gently, taking stock of his limbs to find them all still intact and functioning, and he felt the soft crush of miniscule pixels that made up what Flynn called 'sand' as it sifted through his fingers. He pushed up against the ground, giving an exhausted groan as he felt his body struggling to find the strength to obey his commands, and finally managed to pull himself up into a sit.
He took stock of his form, scanning for damage and feeling a sense of relief as he found himself whole, save for the worryingly-dim state of his circuits. But then the persistent rumble he remembered being ever-present from the thoughtless void he'd lived as Rinzler came back to his mind and gave him pause. He'd heard that sound countless times before, even in Kevin Flynn's reign. Severely damaged code was known for it's auditory static as the pixels tried their hardest to make an electric connection to data that was no longer there. Which left the question of where the damage resided if he couldn't see it.
Of course, the most obvious answer was that it must have started when Clu had knocked him offline during the coup. Memory between then and now was fuzzy at best, but as bits and pieces scrambled to put themselves back together, he remembered a time, between his fall and the 'birth' of Rinzler in his code, when he'd been held in a cell, in pain and furious and afraid, when the sound had already plagued his waking microcycles. And he remembered screaming as Clu brought his blazing, gold disk down at his head.
Rinzler's helmet receded with a clatter that let him know the piece of armor had perhaps suffered damage in his final attack against Clu, and his hands reached up shakingly to his face. His right hand met what should have been there, but he realized with a touch of horror that he quickly swallowed down that his left hand met with severely broken pixels, a sensitive, tender crater marring where the left side of his face should have been. He realized dimly that even the sight of his left eye seemed to be nonfunctioning. He could see his right hand as it touched his face, but there was no sensory perception for the left. From well above his hairline, down to the bottom of his jaw, extensive damage lingered as a permanent reminder of his own failure. There was no Program on the Grid that knew how to repair this. And he doubted a single Program on the Grid would want to help him now, anyway.
He tried to reactivate the helmet, shame drawing him into himself as he tried to hide the deep scar, but it failed to activate, instead giving a hopeless whine and clatter as the pieces attempted to right themselves before finally failing completely. He gave a low, shuddering sigh, forcing down the self-pity he felt, forcing himself not to give into the tears that blurred the vision of his remaining eye. He had no right to feel sorry for himself. If this was the only damage he had suffered for his actions as Rinzler, it was a mercy. He deserved everything he got.
He dragged himself to his feet, steadying himself against one of the large boulders that littered the beach, and turned his gaze to the glittering lights of TRON City. He didn't know if he had the energy to make it back as it was, and the absence of weight at his back told him that he was without his disk - lost at some point in the millicycles since Kevin Flynn's son had first found his way onto the grid - and would be unable to defend himself from the fury he no doubt faced from the Programs he'd once tried so hard to protect. But anything was better then wallowing in his pity out here by the Sea. He would go to meet the victims of Clu's regime and face their justice with what little dignity he had left. It was the least he could do in the name of redeeming himself in the eyes of his User and his Creator. He had failed them, but he could at least do what was right.