Of Frisbees and Jetpacks

[notglitching]

Who: Rinzler and anyone or everyone.
When: Now!
Where: Wandering around the city. He dropped in not far from the blown up ISO-building, if people doing stuff there want to run into him.
What: Confusion! And so much wordvomit.
Warnings: ...it's Rinzler? Anything from combat to mindfrackery, depending on who he runs into. Internal trauma pretty much

Comments

[repairs_things]

Ari looked around quietly, she had just finished doing some new enhancements on some of the buildings on the outlands and had decided to have a break for a while. She had been there only for a short while when she spotted the figure across the street.

Panic surged in her circuity for a second as she tried to identify them. Not sure on how to react to them, she chose to do the direct approach and got up to him cautiously and talk to him directly.

"Greetings, program. Can I help you?"

[notglitching]

The black helmet snaps around at the sound of approach, noise rumbling out in an even ticking. The program is unarmed, white-circuited-and on an intercept course. The combination is rare.

The mask tilts faintly at the question, Rinzler inspecting her more fully. Passive scans read her as a system utility. He wonders if she's here to fix some of the errors in this sector. Or if she caused them.

The unending growl roils out unchanging as Rinzler's gaze shifts from her to the surrouding area (wrong, shifted from what it should be in pieces and fragments). He doesn't give an answer.

[repairs_things]

Ari stood there quietly watching him, giving him a evaluation of her own of him. He was a well built program but with the orange circuitry it meant only one thing. This was Rinzler.

With this knowledge she wasn't sure that she should hang around but something told her to talk to the program since he was all alone.

"Are you ok there?"

[notglitching]

Her presence doesn't bother him, even if the proximity is strange. Low threat, low priority, other issues of concern. The question, though...

The helmet snaps back to focus on her, noise edged, jagged. Of course he's fine. He's always working, always functional. Clu made sure of it.

Rinzler steps closer, corruptive growl lower, sinister, as he fixes the program with an invisible stare. The helmet tilts slightly before he nods at her, sharply. The meaning's clear enough. Identify.

[repairs_things]

At that she became worried, it was never good when you got that stare from Clu's enforcer.

"My names Ari. I'm a system utility program." She picked her words carefully before asking him, hoping he wouldn't lose his temper. "May I ask what you are doing in this sector?"

[notglitching]

Rinzler's still. System utility: Ari. He has designation and function. Nothing strange, nothing out of place-he has no reason to detain this program. No reason to interact at all, really.

But she keeps asking questions.

His stare is fixed as her latest query comes. He twitches slightly, muscles clenching, shifting. It's almost a demand, an expectant inquiry: designation, function, current directive. He wouldn't answer-Clu is the only one he owes that to. But he could respond, could act, turn his frustration on the insubordinate error in front of him.

But it's carefully phrased. Hesitantly asked. Question without demand, request without expectation. Two shades short of the parameters. No defiance. Just simple uncertainty.

The ticking rattle shifts with faint frustration. Rinzler still doesn't answer.

[repairs_things]

His lack of communication was worrying, but she wanted to know more about this program. He reminded her of another program she had heard about.
Deciding that even though she was a patient program, she decided to change tack, the knowledge she could get of him may help the rebellion.

"I guess Clu's sent you here did he? Since you have to do everything Clu says"

[notglitching]

The mask tilts in faint disbelief. What was wrong with this program? That she kept asking questions was an annoyance, but that she needed to question, about things like this...

Everyone has to do what Clu says. Rinzler just makes sure of it.

He turns away, losing interest. If this utility has a glitch in her processing, that's hardly his concern. He needs to keep moving. Find out what happened. Find Clu.

[[ooc: Rinzler's confused, but this is present-time in G_L-the blue-glowy people are in charge of the city. Then again, dunno if anyone's given Ari the sitrep yet either.]]

[repairs_things]

After seeing he was losing interest with her, she moved forward and touched his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you, it's just I'm new to this system and your the third program I have talked to. Please can you stay?"

(OOC: What is G_L?, my characters sort of new to the Grid, so sorry about the questions)

[notglitching]

He's turning to walk away when... there's motion. Contact.

Rinzler jerks out from the touch, spins, hand flashing behind to undock his disks. They split in a flare of red-orange, the edged hum rivaled only by the sudden surge of the corrupted growl. He doesn't move back, doesn't retreat. She's hardly a threat.

He doesn't know what's wrong with this program. Her claim of newness is dismissed immediately-a blatant lie; the system's been isolated for hundreds of cycles. Longer than Rinzler's existence. She's glitching, an error-and she doesn't know him, not at all. Programs don't touch him except in battle, useless attempts at violence before he shatters their voxels across the open ground.

His disks hum. Eager. Ready. He should be moving on, travelling-to answers, to purpose, to his admin. Not wasting time here. But he stands still, ready, watching for the other's reaction. A slight movement of a hand, a shift of stance to set for battle...

If this glitch so much as twitches towards a fight, he'll be only too glad to end it.

[repairs_things]

Immediately Ari was on the alert and withdrew her own disc in a form of defense. Maybe touching him wasn't such a great idea. She waited worried to see what his next move would be and if she could avoid it.

[notglitching]

He's waiting, watching, eager for a response that hints towards violence, looking for a reason, an excuse to prioritize combat over departure, destruction over useless searching.

...and then she gives it to him.

The rumbling growl swells with approval, savage joy. Her motions are jerky, unsteady-not written for battle. He could end it now, but he holds back. Lets her draw her disk, waits with coiled, eager readiness. No sense ending the Game before it even begins.

Then he strikes.

One step inside her defenses, rightward disk up, angled to deflect expected retaliation, the other striking up from the ground, a low slashing motion. Indirect, nonlinear-designed to test, to score a line across the other's outer code, rather than plunge straight in and end it. Though derezz is certainly possible, if the utility's reactions are poor. Rinzler may not want to end this quickly, but he has too little patience to hold back completely.

And he's fast.

[repairs_things]

Ari realizes it to late as a large part of her shoulder and chest is derezzed, she staggers back, her circuitry is flashing erratically. She knew that if she didn't get out here she was going to get properly derezzed. Rinzler is the elite of all games programs she had no hope of fighting against him.

Thinking quickly as she could she rolled backwards a distance away from him as she could and put away her disc, only to take out her baton to use for an escape.

[notglitching]

The program's slow to dodge, a nano less reactive than Rinzler had anticipated. She moves back, code shattering, spilling in a wide gash to scatter and darken against the unlit ground. Confirmed: no combatant. His processing falters momentarily with faint disappointment. The Game won't last long.

She's resiliant, though-or skilled at energy redirect. She rolls away from his next strike with more speed than most programs could manage uninjured, comes to her feet absent the disk, but clutching a baton in a tight grip. Her circuits are still flickering, but her eyes are sharp, alert, plotting exit vectors.

Rinzler stands his ground, disks in hands, helmet tilting with faint amusement. He could pursue. Could simply cast his disks out and finish it without moving; he doubts this program has the processing resources to evade. He wants to end it, slide in and follow up, feel her code smash to pieces around his blow.

But this isn't even a fightHis noise cuts through the air in a jarring rattle, fists tighten on still-humming disks. He'll