Work Text:
Rinzler is on some small patrol assignment with Dyson through the admin complex—a test drive, Clu had called it—when something catches in his code. His systems trap themselves in a loop, careening through misaligned addresses and a bland directive hisses back in absence and something deep in him screams.
“Rinzler!” Dyson hisses, and hard-coded instinct has Rinzler’s disc at Dyson’s throat in a nanocycle. The security program doesn’t think as they struggle and Rinzler’s visuals flicker into shapeless wireframe as he knocks the disc from Dyson’s hand and takes off most of the program’s fingers with the motion. Rinzler grabs his own helmet and screams in empty, eight-bit addresses.
He bolts and a hundred different subroutines in him flicker. His body is static and his addled, half-crashed mind has just enough processing power to take him somewhere. He slips into some cavernous maintenance tunnel and pulls himself up onto a ledge that is far too high for any normal program to reach. He curls in on himself just as he clamps down on the junk data running through his processors, a torrent spilling out of him that will leave nothing left.
Reflections fizzle at the edges of Rinzler’s vision. There’s something there, rigid but twitching. Past the error warnings and degrading visual resolution, something leans against Rinzler through the glossy wall. There’s displaced white edges, cracking, in the shape of a program. Rinzler doesn’t look, but he keeps the figure at the blurry edges of his vision.
“They say if a program suffers a critical enough failure in their code, their systems will sometimes interpret data that isn’t there. Maybe that’s what this is.” The silhouette’s voice is bit-crunched, crackling beneath digital compression. The voice doesn’t echo. It’s in Rinzler’s ear, close and sharp. Biting and knowing but there’s no judgement in it.
Rinzler’s systems have never failed this badly before, not in his memory files, anyways. He doesn’t think about all the empty addresses there. Clu’s hand, probably. It doesn’t matter.
There are pipes overhead, the bars of a cage. A kennel. Rinzler curls in on himself and digs further through his own code, tearing at the chain of subroutines. Digging at wounds—snapped data points—even if it leaves nothing left. He dismisses mounting system errors, and they accrue just as quickly. He is drowning in red and orange.
“Clu will eventually scrub out those last references to [DELETED USER] in your code,” the silhouette says.
[HE’LL DELETE THIS MEMORY TOO]
The shadow sighs. A nod, maybe: a strange snapping motion. “Still, this is important. Even if you forget, it’s important.” There’s a scar on the reflection’s face in the same place that Rinzler’s own render aches. It’s dark and dead, not the soft glow of a fresh wound. “Flynn would be ashamed to see me—”
[US]
“—what Clu has done to you, because he had no hand in it.”
//FLYNN_USER CHECK//
[USER: KEVIN_FLYNN]
[DESIGNATION: USER, ADMIN]
[AFFILIATIONS: TRON, CLU]
[STATUS: MISSING]
[AFFILIATION ADDENDUM: TRON STATUS DEREZZED, CLU AFFILIATION REVERTED]
[STATUS ADDENDUM: FLED CUSTODY, LOCATION UNKNOWN]
[ADMIN ADDENDUM: TAKE INTO CUSTODY ON SIGHT, DEREZOLUTION PERMITTED IF NECESSARY TO ACQUIRE DISC]
Rinzler has no memories of Flynn, only orders to take the User’s disc at any cost. But there has been no sign of Flynn in many kilocycles, not since the User’s betrayal.
[DISREGARD THE USER]
The ghost hums a staticky tone. Acknowledgement. “I never quite could, could I?”
[NO]
“Flynn never understood. He never understood what it meant: the Grid, the responsibility towards it. What I was. What I am.” The shadow’s speech is heavy and flickering, but Rinzler nods. He knows. His code aches and he knows. “Flynn was crueler than Clu will be, because Flynn never realized what he was.”
[CLU IS A BETTER MASTER AND IT WILL BE—]
//INQUIRY: WORSE/BETTER//
“Both.”
[BOTH]
[THERE IS NO LINE BETWEEN YOU AND I]
“No,” the reflection agrees. “I am you—”
[AND I AM NOT SORRY FOR WHAT I AM]
“—only for who I’ll be let loose on.”
Collapsing code and broken glass dragged over a render. A gold-rimmed hand coaxing his insides into salvaged forms. That is what Rinzler is.
“I think I’ve been waiting to be a ghost for a rather long time,” the reflection says. Rinzler twists, tilting into the voice. A program with a face he doesn’t recognize and a voice he doesn’t know looks back, clad in white enamel. “This was inevitable, wasn’t it.” There isn’t a question in it, only tired acceptance.
[I HAVE BEEN A GHOST FOR A RATHER LONG TIME]
Rinzler lets his helmet rest against the wall. Pale skin, dark frazzled hair presses back. A tired, pale eye. “You were too important for Clu to let stay dead. You’ll survive, just like [MISSING PROGRAM ADDRESS] will.”
//INQUIRY: [MISSING PROGRAM ADDRESS]//
“[MISSING PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION],” the image explains. “After [DELETED REFERENCE EVENT], we agreed not to contact each other if we ever were separated, not until it was safe. We’re both patient, but she has enough patience for the both of us.”
//INQUIRY: [DELETED REFERENCE EVENT]//
“[REDACTED ADMIN PROGRAM], [REDACTED DATE], [REDACTED SUBSYSTEM].” The reflection shifts, snapping between positions; it cannot exist in-between. The image rips out references to abandoned addresses from Rinzler’s systems. The GOTOs are still there, in some cases, but they only point to gutted data registers. “Master Control.”
Rinzler has heard the title once or twice. The removed reference to a subsystem, at least, tells Rinzler that it happened long ago. Whatever ‘it’ was.
“Users, how did you get up there?” There’s the sound of a program far below, echoey. Dyson. Rinzler doesn’t bother to look, but he keeps his other senses tuned to the program. He won’t be caught off guard. There’s silence for a nanocycle—just Rinzler’s wrecked, growling processors fill the air—and a set of quick footsteps signal Dyson’s departure.
It doesn’t take long for him to return with another.
“Rinzler,” Clu says, and Rinzler unfurls from his jagged perch. He tilts over the thin ledge, but he doesn’t jump down. “Come here.” The admin’s voice is even. Rinzler drops down, swaying on his feet; his balance is shot. Clu stabilizes him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re falling apart, program,” Clu says. “Let me fix that.” Rinzler nods.
---
Rinzler is pulled back into a room that is more medic bay than holding cell, although there’s an almost vertical table lined with restraints. It’s empty, for now, although it’s meant for him.
“I thought your last set of edits had fixed him,” Dyson says, once the doorway is sealed shut behind them.
“Disc,” Clu says, and Rinzler’s trembling fingers present his disc to the admin.
“They should have,” Clu tells Dyson. He flicks on Rinzler’s code display. “Every time I pull something out, some contingent subsystem flicks on and starts pulling junk backup data from who-knows-where. I have to hand it to his User, his code is in a league all its own.”
“These independent contingencies will have to exhaust themselves at some point,” Dyson points out.
“They mostly have.” Clu skims through the most recent logs on Rinzler’s disc. Clu hums, flat, when he sees the data from the last quarter cycle. “Well, would you look at that. You’re still trying to access a whole slew of defunct memory addresses. No wonder you’re glitching.” Clu looks down at Rinzler, half-curled around himself as he kneels by the admin’s feet.
“Go back to your scheduled duties, Dyson, I have things handed,” Clu tells Dyson over his shoulder, not looking away from Rinzler’s disc.
“Yes, sir,” Dyson says, and the doorway opens and closes with the program’s exit. Now, it’s just Clu and Rinzler in the room that Rinzler should probably think of in terms of a prison. He doesn’t think of it much at all.
“You’re going to be perfect, Rinzler, even if it takes a little while,” Clu says. “You’re my champion, my system monitor. I won’t abandon you like Flynn did.” With a swipe of his hand, Clu deletes Rinzler’s memory files from the last cycle.
Clu hands back Rinzler’s disc. The disc quickly syncs once Rinzler docks it onto his back, and by the disorienting, jagged shifts in his code, Rinzler knows that the admin has done more than just remove a small section of memory.
The shaking stops. He never sees a white reflection again.