igrab
in
the_grrrrid
The Pygmalion Source Code (prologue)
title. The Pygmalion Source Code [ Prologue: Face to Face ]
author. igrab
pairing. Sam/Rinzler
summary. Separating the Rinzler virus code from Tron's programming - that was the easy part.
[ PROLOGUE . face to face ]
When it all started, it was just an idea - a challenge, I guess, just something to prove that I could be as good as either of my dads. Separating the Rinzler virus code from Tron's programming - that was the easy part. Bringing him out of the Grid was just a matter of a few keystrokes, and as for the why, it was all for Alan. Hey man, you were right, I was wrong; here, have an early birthday present. Thanks for keeping me out of trouble all these years.
But I sat there at my desk with a pile of loose ends of code and I thought, why not? Writing a free program, it couldn't be any harder than breaking into an Encom system, could it?
Boy, was I in for a revelation.
If anyone asked, I was working on a project called 'Pygmalion' - Quorra's choice, not mine. I knew the legend. I should have stopped it there, shut down the whole operation and gone back to my normal not-normal life as CEO of a goddamn enormous tech innovation company and I should have fallen in love with her and forgotten all about it. I should have left well enough alone.
But I kept at it. I refused to look at Tron's code for help. I refused to go to Alan or Dillinger or Quorra. No, this I had to do myself.
And inside the folder, buried under all of Dillinger's fancy unbreakable codes (they were finally getting some use, 'cause they sure as hell weren't on Encom's operating system anymore), the program file was called 'Rinzler'.
What can I say. I'm a romantic.
It took three months. I don't know how long Alan worked on Tron and frankly, I don't want to know. I'm going to continue on in my belief that three months was a damn good timeframe, considering the task at hand. I didn't even know what I was programming him for, and it brought up all kinds of questions about religion and humanity - none of which I was anywhere close to understanding. The questions, I mean. No one knows the answers.
In the end, I focused on abilities and tried not to think about things like output. I wasn't creating Rinzler for a purpose, I was setting him up with the tools to find his own purpose. Like Tron. Only, you know. Better. Because he wasn't Tron, not anymore.
The day I finished debugging was in March - rainy, and I'd called out of work and told everyone else to go home, too. It was windy and nasty and we didn't even have anything big going on. Besides - I didn't want any interruptions. I was so close.
I'd brought the laser over from the arcade. Good old laser. It was kind of an antique compared to the stuff in Encom's laser bays (plural), but it was the only one that could turn something into nothing and vice versa. I was ready. I was doing this. I was taking a program I'd essentially built from scraps - from the Rinzler memory data and the functional aspects of his viral code - and I was bringing him here, to the real world.
What the fuck was I thinking? I hadn't even gone into the Grid to be sure that he really existed, or that he wouldn't try to kill everyone on sight the second he got out here. I'd run as many tests as I could but he was meant to function independently, to make his own choices, out here. There was no way I could test that. I had one shot at this. The real world, it does something to your programming. Contact with a User in the Grid has a similar effect but it's not half as screwed as when a program comes here itself. So there was no going back. This was a one-way street.
At the time? I didn't even hesitate. I hit the enter key.
author. igrab
pairing. Sam/Rinzler
summary. Separating the Rinzler virus code from Tron's programming - that was the easy part.
[ PROLOGUE . face to face ]
When it all started, it was just an idea - a challenge, I guess, just something to prove that I could be as good as either of my dads. Separating the Rinzler virus code from Tron's programming - that was the easy part. Bringing him out of the Grid was just a matter of a few keystrokes, and as for the why, it was all for Alan. Hey man, you were right, I was wrong; here, have an early birthday present. Thanks for keeping me out of trouble all these years.
But I sat there at my desk with a pile of loose ends of code and I thought, why not? Writing a free program, it couldn't be any harder than breaking into an Encom system, could it?
Boy, was I in for a revelation.
If anyone asked, I was working on a project called 'Pygmalion' - Quorra's choice, not mine. I knew the legend. I should have stopped it there, shut down the whole operation and gone back to my normal not-normal life as CEO of a goddamn enormous tech innovation company and I should have fallen in love with her and forgotten all about it. I should have left well enough alone.
But I kept at it. I refused to look at Tron's code for help. I refused to go to Alan or Dillinger or Quorra. No, this I had to do myself.
And inside the folder, buried under all of Dillinger's fancy unbreakable codes (they were finally getting some use, 'cause they sure as hell weren't on Encom's operating system anymore), the program file was called 'Rinzler'.
What can I say. I'm a romantic.
It took three months. I don't know how long Alan worked on Tron and frankly, I don't want to know. I'm going to continue on in my belief that three months was a damn good timeframe, considering the task at hand. I didn't even know what I was programming him for, and it brought up all kinds of questions about religion and humanity - none of which I was anywhere close to understanding. The questions, I mean. No one knows the answers.
In the end, I focused on abilities and tried not to think about things like output. I wasn't creating Rinzler for a purpose, I was setting him up with the tools to find his own purpose. Like Tron. Only, you know. Better. Because he wasn't Tron, not anymore.
The day I finished debugging was in March - rainy, and I'd called out of work and told everyone else to go home, too. It was windy and nasty and we didn't even have anything big going on. Besides - I didn't want any interruptions. I was so close.
I'd brought the laser over from the arcade. Good old laser. It was kind of an antique compared to the stuff in Encom's laser bays (plural), but it was the only one that could turn something into nothing and vice versa. I was ready. I was doing this. I was taking a program I'd essentially built from scraps - from the Rinzler memory data and the functional aspects of his viral code - and I was bringing him here, to the real world.
What the fuck was I thinking? I hadn't even gone into the Grid to be sure that he really existed, or that he wouldn't try to kill everyone on sight the second he got out here. I'd run as many tests as I could but he was meant to function independently, to make his own choices, out here. There was no way I could test that. I had one shot at this. The real world, it does something to your programming. Contact with a User in the Grid has a similar effect but it's not half as screwed as when a program comes here itself. So there was no going back. This was a one-way street.
At the time? I didn't even hesitate. I hit the enter key.