Never again is what you swore the time before...
Who: Kevin Flynn and his evil twin CLU
When: le now
Where: Just outside Flynn's room
What: What else? Needy Admin is needy.
Rating: PG-Sappy
The amazing thing about programs was the fact that they always existed with one function-- one purpose in mind-- the one given to them by their User, from the moment they're first compiled till the day they eventually derezz. CLU wasn't like the rest in that respect, but he could admire it, and he saw so much in them for it. They weren't mindless, they didn't lack personality or spirit, and while they might not have been as free as the ISOs, they too evolved over time. Their path was always set before them, and they couldn't stray from it, but they could choose their pace, and enjoy the journey along the way. It was how both sentry and basic alike could settle down beside one another for drinks occasionally, or share intimacies in the darkened little corners of the End of Line Club.
CLU, on the other hand, was always meant to function differently. Flynn wanted more from him, after all, needed more from him. There wasn't a simple set task that the Admin program had to carry out, but an entire world that had to be built from the ground up. He had to be able to think for himself, to choose the best possible option without his maker there to tell him what it was. For the most part, owing to that, he was human-- more human than the others, at least-- but at the end of the day he was still bound to his purpose as much as any other program in the Grid. Unlike them, there was no given path, but instead just the end goal. Perfection. It was both his dream and his tether, and though he could stray from the image of Utopia given to him by his maker, it was not without cost...
CLU was given the burden of a choice, and almost ironically, with or without restrictions, this was his. Despite everything, this was always what he wanted.
He clears his throat for no reason in particular, rapping gloved fingers against the wood of Flynn's door, setting aside his thoughts in favor of the moment itself. It's late, of course, but he knows his User well enough to know that he probably isn't asleep anyway. He's rigid as always, straight-backed and perfectly poised, and there's a datapad that he's carefully holding in his free hand.
"Flynn?"
When: le now
Where: Just outside Flynn's room
What: What else? Needy Admin is needy.
Rating: PG-Sappy
The amazing thing about programs was the fact that they always existed with one function-- one purpose in mind-- the one given to them by their User, from the moment they're first compiled till the day they eventually derezz. CLU wasn't like the rest in that respect, but he could admire it, and he saw so much in them for it. They weren't mindless, they didn't lack personality or spirit, and while they might not have been as free as the ISOs, they too evolved over time. Their path was always set before them, and they couldn't stray from it, but they could choose their pace, and enjoy the journey along the way. It was how both sentry and basic alike could settle down beside one another for drinks occasionally, or share intimacies in the darkened little corners of the End of Line Club.
CLU, on the other hand, was always meant to function differently. Flynn wanted more from him, after all, needed more from him. There wasn't a simple set task that the Admin program had to carry out, but an entire world that had to be built from the ground up. He had to be able to think for himself, to choose the best possible option without his maker there to tell him what it was. For the most part, owing to that, he was human-- more human than the others, at least-- but at the end of the day he was still bound to his purpose as much as any other program in the Grid. Unlike them, there was no given path, but instead just the end goal. Perfection. It was both his dream and his tether, and though he could stray from the image of Utopia given to him by his maker, it was not without cost...
CLU was given the burden of a choice, and almost ironically, with or without restrictions, this was his. Despite everything, this was always what he wanted.
He clears his throat for no reason in particular, rapping gloved fingers against the wood of Flynn's door, setting aside his thoughts in favor of the moment itself. It's late, of course, but he knows his User well enough to know that he probably isn't asleep anyway. He's rigid as always, straight-backed and perfectly poised, and there's a datapad that he's carefully holding in his free hand.
"Flynn?"