Hey Kid, Do I Have Your Attention? [CLOSED]

[traceurmonitor]

Who: Pocket System Monitor (traceurmonitor) and his Bestest Virus Pal (infectthegrid)
What: Anon learns an extremely valuable lesson in why the lone wolf routine doesn't work. Here there be monsters.
Where: Residential Zone 07, presumably around the Grid section.
When: An indeterminate time after Kevin Flynn gets Clu-napped.
Notes: We are dealing with the huge scary virus

Comments

sorry for the late

[infectthegrid]

[The Grid. Or at least something similar enough to it. There's been the temptation to infect, destroy, as his purpose intends, but. This is Clu's place. His boss of sorts. An ally. The one who brought out what he really was, deep inside. What ISO coding truly was. He allowed him to compete in the games despite what he was. He couldn't touch it. Not yet.

He could however patrol, up high and out of sight. Perhaps even nab someone for himself. Clu had plenty to play with, to throw into the Game Grid. One or two, he would hardly miss. Besides they would all suffer one way or another, what did it matter how the suffering was created. Just as long as they all felt pain. His pain was preferable, but he couldn't be picky. Clu was to be followed for the time being

[infectthegrid]

[Of course it mattered, the Monitor just couldn't see it yet. But he would. He can tell that Anon's in pain, it's easy enough to tell with the way he's moving in-between his struggling. That the program isn't enjoying this in the slightest, and that makes it all the more enjoyable for him.]

I think it does.

[The virus sends a larger surge of his infection to the Monitor, clearly pleased with everything.]

[traceurmonitor]

[Anon keeps struggling, trying to find some way out of this or a way to grab his disc, but there's no freedom for him in sight. He fixes a glare on Abraxas through his helmet, pushing at the hand wrapped around his neck.]

N-

[His retort is cut off by that surge and it suddenly feels like all of his circuitry is on fire. He'd encountered the virus's infection in other forms, but he couldn't fathom how it felt from the source until now. That does finally get a scream out of him, short and sharp, his free hand grasping Abraxas's wrist as he writhes uselessly.]

[infectthegrid]

You believe that is going to work?

[Anon was barely even trying now if he thought that pushing at his hand was going to get him anywhere. But the scream - finally that scream - does make him grin behind his helmet. Allowing the infection to continue to work its way into Anon's programming.]

It's a bit early for that, Monitor. You haven't even begun to feel my pain.

[traceurmonitor]

[Focus, Anon. Dammit, focus. He can't make this this easy for Abraxas. He can't just give up and take this. Not made to surrender, not ever. He inhales a breath that he doesn't need, trying to fight back the infection as he returns to his struggles.

And he silently asserts to himself that Abraxas is lying. He's going to get away. There's no way this can hurt more.]

Will fight you - this - forever.

[infectthegrid]

Deny it all you want, Monitor. You'll give in, you can feel it can't you.

[Abraxas pushes Anon a bit more firmly against the wall, sending a larger surge. He won't release the Monitor's hand until the struggling has stopped, or at least calmed enough that he won't get a disc to the face.]

[traceurmonitor]

[He can feel it, and for all his fighting it isn't stopping. And then it just gets worse, and nobody is coming to save him and he's never going to die, even if it feels like he will. He cries out again, struggles ceasing as he twitches in Abraxas's grip, like if he twists right it'll all stop.

His grasp on Abraxas's wrist with his free hand loosens perceptibly. Anon can't keep fighting this on two fronts, and the mental battle to keep himself intact is more important.]

[infectthegrid]

[It will never stop. Not as long as Abraxas can touch Anon. Not as long as he can be anywhere near the Monitor; after all he only needs to be close, but touching works so much better. He can make sure the pain is exactly how he wants it. That his promise he made back home remains true and fulfilled.

The hand around Anon's wrist moves, sliding up to grab onto the program's disc. Some reassurance for himself and something else to spread the infection to. Violate just to watch the Monitor squirm.]

You're hardly fighting, Monitor.

[traceurmonitor]

[Anon would have preferred that the promise made to him remained an empty threat, some long-distant memory that he only rarely recalled and knew would never happen in all his cycles. That had obviously been too much to ask for, but he could hope that something would come up to stop it nevertheless. And as long as he had that, he'd keep fighting. Even if it's mostly in his own circuitry, until...

He's always keenly aware of his disc, and he has always considered its manhandling to be a gross violation. Even if Abraxas did nothing else to it, the fact that he's touching it sends Anon into a fury - or panic. He yelps, kicking out at him and clawing at his arm. You let go of that!]

[infectthegrid]

[That's much better. That panic. It's obviously clear that the Monitor cannot stand the fact that he's touching his disc. Such an important thing, but he really couldn't have thought that it would just be left alone. Not with who Abraxas was. What he was.]

Problem?

[traceurmonitor]

[Really? Anon's never seen his life going in this particular direction. Ever. He'd expected to be derezzed eventually, sure, but not caught by Abraxas. Even after arriving on the station he'd never thought he'd go out this way.

And the answer to that question? Yes. All of this is a problem. From the Grid being here to the pain to that hand on his disc. He doesn't say all of that, instead grinding out one phrase in between kicks.]

Let go.

[infectthegrid]

[There's a bit of a jerk as Abraxas pulls Anon forward slightly. Possibly from all the kicking, or just because he's getting annoyed. Although the freedom from the wall doesn't last long as he slams the program back against it.]

And let you leave? You don't deserve that.

[traceurmonitor]

[There's air at Anon's back, and he uses the momentary freedom to twist his body in an effort to wriggle free. It doesn't last nearly long enough to do him any good. Slamming back against the wall sends a new shot of pain up his back that gets a quiet gasp out of him. His hands tense on Abraxas's wrist as his feet scrabble for purchase on the wall.]

Why?

[Anon has never thought about it before now, but he's been hating a virus without knowing why the virus hates him.]

[infectthegrid]

[Why? Why? Anon had failed time and time again to derez him. No matter how much he wanted death it wouldn't come. The Monitor was a failure. And again and again he got in the way of his purpose. The Monitor standing in the way of corruption of the entire Grid. A change in course for the future. A change in evolution. He had no future and hated everyone for it. He tried to unite everyone and this was what he got for it. How Anon could protect them disgusted him.

Not that he'd tell Anon any of this. He'd told the Monitor before of his desire for death. There would be no repeating himself.]

You're in my way.

[He sends another large surge of the infection to Anon before dropping him, keeping a steady grip on the Monitor's disc. He doubts he'll be leaving without it.]

[traceurmonitor]

[He's only ever put himself in Abraxas's way because it's the proper thing to do. Protect the system, protect the balance, stop malicious influences. But sometimes, the ones he's ended up protecting - or trying to - were people he really liked.

Anon does not have much time to consider this before another surge robs him of thought. He barely registers that he's hit the ground, crying out and thrashing as he tries to ward off the infection corrupting his coding. If he needed to breathe he'd be panting, but as it is he just shakes, staying put - he can't leave without his disc, and if he tried Abraxas would take it. Still, he occasionally shifts to try to shake the virus's grip loose.]

[infectthegrid]

[How Anon struggles, he can't believe he's going to make it out of this. Abraxas keeps his grip firm on the Monitor's disc, he's not going to let the little program get it back. Not until he's properly infected, and under the virus' sway. No matter how slow things went, nor how long, he would not be letting go of the disc.]

Tell me how it feels, Monitor.