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
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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 ( ... )
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I think it does.
[The virus sends a larger surge of his infection to the Monitor, clearly pleased with everything.]
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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.]
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[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.
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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.
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[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.]
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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.]
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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.
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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!]
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Problem?
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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.
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And let you leave? You don't deserve that.
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Why?
[Anon has never thought about it before now, but he's been hating a virus without knowing why the virus hates him.]
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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.]
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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.]
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Tell me how it feels, Monitor.
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