Hey me, how am I doing?
Who: notglitching and here_catch
When: After notglitching's Flynnteraction and here_catch's talk with Lora and Naught. So around now.
Where: Rooftop near the city edge.
What: Stop introspecting and meet yourself already!
Warnings: TWICE THE RINZLER. This may mean alliance. This may mean the greatest explosion of violence the Grid has ever seen. This may mean both.
( Rinzler is having thinky thoughts. He doesn't like it. )
When: After notglitching's Flynnteraction and here_catch's talk with Lora and Naught. So around now.
Where: Rooftop near the city edge.
What: Stop introspecting and meet yourself already!
Warnings: TWICE THE RINZLER. This may mean alliance. This may mean the greatest explosion of violence the Grid has ever seen. This may mean both.
( Rinzler is having thinky thoughts. He doesn't like it. )
Rinzler wasn't sure what to make of this. His processing skipped as lines of focus diverged to question, response. Who had...? (Clu.) Was it really...? (Yes). Threads of confusion, surprise, a distant trace of affront (he wasn't enough?) wound through his code.
But that was background. Secondary. The majority of Rinzler's attention was directed outward, not inward-observation, focus, immediacy. Not questions. His gaze flicked towards the baton, awareness sharpening as the blade activated, extended. Dangerous. Significantly so. In a thousand cycles of hunting and derezz, Games and battle and extermination, Rinzler had never seen a program he was so uncertain he could defeat.
(He wanted to find out.)
He didn't move, though. Didn't tense up, ready, draw his own weapons. He knew the copy's skill-but he knew the movement, too. Not a threat. Not threatening at least-no open challenge. And if it turned to that, he had a disk in hand. It was his skill, too, after all.
The helmet turned, a soft rumble filling the space between as Rinzler tracked the other's approach. Calm. Steady. Curious.
And very, very interested.
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>> It had been too long since he'd faced anything even close to a challenge.
>> This was the best possible opponent next to Clu.
>> It was a gift.
The lightheadedness and disinclination to lower his weapon couldn't have been explained in any other way. Certainly not from Rinzler's increasingly dangerous level of internal disrepair, and certainly not because of a small, shrill voice in the back of his processor that screamed for his attention; warning him that this duplicate was the worst thing for the system, that this copy could, and would lead to the Grid's ruin. Whatever part of Rinzler that stared with abject horror at finding out that he wasn't alone, cried out that there was something wholly terrible and wrong here, not just with the scenario, but with this [THREAT]. But the nonexistent subfunction that demanded Rinzler immediately destroy this foreign-familiar program in front of him was easy to ignore when it sounded so much like his desire for confrontation. And Rinzler very much knew his need for conflict stemmed from boredom. Because really, how could a Rinzler - any Rinzler - be bad for the system?
But if any of that was true, which it surely couldn't have been, Rinzler brushed it away. None of those small processes could drown out the immediate, present thrill of discovery. If this wasn't some sort of trick, then together the two of them could be unstoppable. Together the two of them would be just that much more effective at returning the Grid to an image more desirable to Clu. Together, they could more easily help lead this system to its destiny.
And if it was a trick. Well. That's what the baton was for.
It wasn't impossible that other programs possessed his ability to change their outward appearance, but one small incision - just a tiny strike, really - would be all it took to prove one way or another how long this copy would last.
Drawing up to the duplicate, purr a steady undefined pitch, Rinzler spread his free hand and placed it over his copy's chest, pushing at him firmly.
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Rinzler let himself move back slightly under the force of the push, then stepped back in, form turned to the side as he caught his copy's wrist with his own empty hand. His grip tightened, functions alert and ready as the disk in his other hand rose slightly, power humming on the verge of activation. This close, he should be mostly inside the blade's reach.
The dark helmet tilted, well inside the other's space as he stared. Rinzler noted distantly that this copy was smaller-though as it was, they stood at the same level, his own form coiled. Ready. He was eager for a fight.
But Rinzler wasn't certain (not yet) that was the Game they were playing.
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But even though they were both in possession of the perfect professional posture of prize-winning navel-gazers, Rinzler noted that his copy was taller than him. Letting his gaze wander unabashedly over his duplicate, Rinzler noticed that that the program had broader shoulders, was a built a bit more muscular too. He purred his approval.
>>Clu had done a good job.
Staring at the reflections of his own helmet and minimal circuitry in the helmet of his copy, Rinzler stepped forward, seeming unconcerned with the other program's disc and grip on his wrist. And if the duplicat had been encroaching on his personal space before, now Rinzler was firmly in his copy's bed, making nice with his personal space wife. Which was to say Rinzler was so close to the other program if either of them had felt the need to breath, the expansion of their chests would have had them touching.
Rinzler inclined his head to the white ringed disc, a motion of passive interrogation.
That's a nice accessory you got there, but I don't think it really works with your outfit. Does it have a story?
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Rinzler had no doubts of the other's reality. Or nature. Worthiness (challenge). None of that exactly prepared him to be poised a circuit's-breadth from full-body contact. Were he the sort to consider his personal space bundled software, Rinzler might have wondered why his double was interfacing with it. As things stood, he just felt twitchy.
Subroutines and combat functions shifted uneasily through his processing as he stilled-demanding response, action (move, strike). But Rinzler didn't flinch, didn't visibly react. This wasn't battle. But it was a Game.
And he wouldn't lose.
He felt the flexing of the other program's hand, noted the inspection and observed him in turn. The copy was smaller, more compact-but moved with a familiar, satisfying grace. He recognized the rattling purr, both in nature and tone. Despite the unsettling proximity, his own noise was rapidly approaching the same pitch.
At the question, Rinzler's gaze flicked towards the disk. The half-lit edge darkened faintly as his hand tilted, a small red-brown smear visible where the user's code (blood) had leaked against the weapon. Rinzler hesitated, an edge of discomfort shifting through his processing. Then his grip tightened, the item activating briefly.
But not as a weapon. It lit outward, display projecting off the upper surface. Not code (useless to them both), not even memory. Just a short flash, a shape-face-traced in glowing motes of white. The disk's owner. User. Sam_Flynn.
The helmet tilted back towards the copy as the image fickered out. That answer your question?
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>> He couldn't do that.
>> He'd been improved upon.
>> Good.
The question was answered in full, and Rinzler's steady rumble doubled in volume. He wasn't just satisfied now, he was delighted. Clu had made him better long ago, and now the Administrator had taken things a step further and enhanced what had already been enhanced upon. It was, if possible, even more perfect than Rinzler already was. He knew he was the most competant program on the Grid when it came to battle algorithms, so it made sense that if Clu could rectify the basics into the more advanced and efficient black guard, that he should eventually be able to make even better soldiers. No one could compare to Rinzler, and it had only been a matter of time before Clu figured out how to replicate him. Clu could do nearly anything after all.
There was hardly any no jealousy or resentment here, Rinzler knew where he was bested - and it was only appropriate that he be bested by himself. He could accept that. He would accept Sam's weapon too, and even though the copy was still holding his arm, Rinzler lay his free hand flat out.
He'd help lighten the load and take the disc off his copy's hands for him.
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This copy couldn't do that.
His functions had been specialized.
The twitching eagerness in his processing to face his clone in battle surged with sudden glee. He wanted to see how well it had worked. If he could win. (He always won.)
But the copy was moving, arm shifting under his hold in a clear gesture. Rinzler's mask tilted further. He had no actual plans for the disk himself. He'd thought of scanning through the memory data, but the idea ground uneasily through his processing with a vague premonition of errors, malfunction. He wasn't sure what use his double would have for it, though from this close, he could see the absence over the other's shoulder where his own disks should be. If his copy wanted a weapon, Rinzler had little problem surrendering it.
First, though... he glanced from the open hand to the other, helmet jerking towards the bright orange glow of the activated blade before returning to his copy. Double or no (challenge or no), he was somewhat disinclined to hand over the only weapon in his grip with the lit baton (threat) hovering so close.
He knew how fast he could be.
You first.
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Oh this old thing?
Well.
If you insist.
And Rinzler wasfast, especially in that moment when with just a quick flick of the wrist, he was angling the blade into his copy's side. Or rather, he was angling the blade so it would score off just the very topmost layer of his duplicate's uniform. It wouldn't even cut the skin. Mostly. On the off chance that this was a trick, destabilizing the disguise should hypothetically cause it to crumble, or cause it to regenerate, or reveal the true program underneath, or cause a telling glitch... or anything really; Rinzler wasn't entirely sure, he'd never been damaged while undercover. (He was just too good.)
This of course was all provided Rinzler actually landed the blow; he wasn't trying as hard as he could have because this wasn't supposed to be much of an aggressive action.
In so far as Rinzlers went, this was downright friendly.
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The blade flashed in, red orange length slashing-no, flicking inwards. There was hardly any distance, and while the closeness of their stance put Rinzler inside the weapon's best range, it also meant there was virtually no motion required for a glancing strike.
But Rinzler wasn't unarmed, wasn't unready, and had been focused on the blade for exactly this concern. His noise surged, quick and sudden-betrayal, aggression, satisfaction. Rinzler's own hand hardly moved at all-twitching, angling as the user's white disk flared to life in his grasp, just barely interposing. The sword had more momentum, and with his own strength behind it, the block wouldn't hold-but he didn't need it to. The disk tilted, deflecting upward as Rinzler dropped low, his other hand jerking the copy's arm down as he shifted forward, yanked on the other's weight to toss him back, behind.
The roof's edge wasn't far.
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And pushing off with his feet for extra momentum, he helped with his duplicate's efforts in throwing him over the edge. Because Rinzler was just a super helpful guy like that.
The soles of his feet disappeared over the lip of the building...
and that seemed to be it...
Rinzler must have just plummeted to his deresolution.
Which was a shame since he was too beautiful fit batshit shiny popular to die.
Oh well. Even greatness has to end sometimes.
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The program hesitated just an instant before turning back towards the rooftop edge, hand dropping to a baton of his own. Initial calculations suggested a few possible responses. If it were him-which it was...
He should move quickly.
First, verification. He made the edge in three swift steps, moving at an angle to arrive a short distance to the side of his copy's fall point, disk cocked to throw, baton... ready. If the other was waiting to spring back above, he'd be a less direct target-and prepared for the strike.
He wasn't entirely certain that was his double's goal.
It was a long drop, after all.
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Clu had built this system, and he'd built the city, and he'd made these buildings. And even though Rinzler had arrived onto the rooftop via a window on the opposite side of the edifice, he knew Clu's fetish hard on love of passion for perfection. Symmetry, by the way, was pretty damn perfect.
So when the other!Rinzler peeked over the edge, there was no Rinzler waiting to spring up on him. In fact, there was very little of anything at all waiting on this flat tall wall.
You know, aside from that open space that may-as-well-have-been-a-window.
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Emphasis on the immediate.
He turned from the edge, motion quick as he replaced his baton, drew his own joined disks from behind to match the stolen one in his right hand. Though his copy hadn't taken the fall as a chance to rezz up a new sort of danger, Rinzler fully recognized that this could turn out as least as lethally. The double had concealment, had surprise, and taking either of them unawares could end it all in a single blow. He rarely needed more than one strike.
Most programs would have no difficulty recognizing: the sensible move was retreat. Pull back, pull away-rezz his own jet off the rooftop and leave. Wait at a distance, if he had to-or simply depart.
Not even considered.
This was a better Game, a new sort of challenge, far beyond anything he could find on streets full of lesser opponents. Rinzler's noise surged, practically gleeful before he quieted it, masking and muting the sound with an active effort so as not to give himself away. He would pursue this threat. His copy, he didn't doubt, was already preparing for him.
The black helmet tilted slightly with a quick process, and Rinzler turned, steps quick and silent as he chose his route. He was fighting himself, a program with perfect skill and intimate familiarity with the Grid-but also with his own tactics. He had to try something different. Unusual, even.
Disks up and ready, sensors on edge, Rinzler turned to take the stairs.
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Because this building hadn't been used in cycles, the neighbourhood around it had grown dim, programs and functions both relocating to more active parts of the city to do their work. This left the room dark; there was no city glow to illuminate anything through the twin openings on either opposing wall.
Rinzler was growing impatient. Even though he had two windows to watch, and a doorway to a hall, he couldn't feel the vibrations of the elevator.
What was taking his copy so long?
Had he run away?
No.
No Rinzler would run past circumstances not withstanding.
Then, had he taken the stairs perhaps?
But why would he do that when there was an elevator?
No.
Stairs were for squares.
Except maybe...
Oh.
Tricky, tricky.
Stairs were for winners.
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Calculations flickered through his processing. Space, size, optimal vantage for perception and mobility. All assuming his double wasn't simply waiting on the other side of the wall. But that would be easily seen and targeted from either window. The copy couldn't know for certain which path he'd take. There were a few possibilities, but one stood out. The table was large enough for easy concealment, central enough to afford more or less direct views of all entrances. Stacked boxes would hinder both assault and external perception. He would hide there. Probably.
Rinzler twitched with eagerness, hands tight around the unlit disks in his grip. High probability. But how to react? Wherever his double was hidden, he knew his own entry wouldn't pass undetected. He could move in at a run, rely on calculation and speed to bypass the advantage of cover. Large or not, the table would limit motion-particularly if his copy was using blades instead of disks. Or he could wait. Hide outside, ready for the other's impatience-strike from his own cover if his copy left by the door, or pursue more openly out a window.
...Rinzler hated waiting.
Calculation stacked on efficiency and perfect speed as he recoiled an arm, flung the white disk-lighting as it left his grip-through the door first, angled by memory to pass between two close-packed crates. His own weapon flared bright and red in his left hand as he stepped out, dashed through the door in a low crouch, peripheral sensors hyperactive as he leapt towards the table. If he was wrong, this could end very quickly.
But if he was right, the Game was just getting fun.
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So if he wanted to play the deadliest game of hide and go seek with his not-so-imaginary-new-best-friend, he was damn well going to play the game.
And if his super-svelte doppelganger wanted to up the ante, well, then Rinzler was just going to finish that game. Stylishly.
And while he may have been lacking a lot of things (including, love, affection, a boss, and sanity) he made it all up with *~*~style~*~*. Because if there was one thing Rinzler had in spades, it would be his ability to ham up his acrobatics and be the prettiest peacock at the ball which was also a cage match to the death. (Usually. Today it was an inactive comm tower. Same difference really.)
Besides, hiding wasn't very exciting at all. And Rinzlers were all about excitement (when there were programs around to impress. You know, before they were terminated).
So when the first disc came flying through the air, it never reached its destination because that was when Rinzler decided to move. His batons went active the same moment his circuits did, and surging forward, he pushed one baton through the center of the white disc at an angle calculated to catch the unlit (safe)inner edge. With a jerk of his arm, Rinzler cast Sam's disc to the ground where it hummed uselessly before going inert. But by then most of Rinzler's focus was elsewhere; on other threats - namely his duplicate and the only red disc in the room.
Rinzler met his copy's attack with his own weapons, parrying, and purring like an engine.
That's quite the arm you've got there.
Me too.
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