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Rinzler’s processors are clicking. His processors cannot be clicking. Not now, not in front of Clu. He doesn’t want to think about what that will mean. He stands in the carrier as it heads towards Clu’s command ship, the familiar vibration traveling into his frame. Closer and closer and closer. He should not feel dread. It is inefficient. It serves no purpose. But Clu will be disappointed in him for the gash in his shoulder where an opponent had managed to momentarily lodge their disc. One of the few competitors with any skill at all. Rinzler had underestimated them, a mistake he should have known better than to make.
A sharp ache runs through him. His arm is nowhere near derezzing, but the hit was still unexpected, and thinking about it too long just makes his processors click louder. The damage is minor, but just barely bad enough that he has to go to Clu, the only one with permissions to fix him. He has failed Clu, he was sloppy, complacent. His processors click louder.
He pushes it to the back of his mind. After all, he’s followed his orders well recently, he’s done well as a security program, he has maintained order. He has done well. He has done what he was created to do. Clu will fix him.
The thought settles something inside of him and the clicking quiets, eliciting a pleased response through his systems. His shoulder is still injured, but he is no longer clicking. That is one less thing to worry about. One less failure.
The thrum of the ship beneath his feet gradually stills as they dock, and the doors open. Rinzler steps out. It is only him and the long walk to Clu. He doesn’t waste nanocycles, walking straight through the command ship and following the route that was almost instinctive. Programs stop to watch him pass, still unused to him despite so long in the same vicinity.
He doesn’t mind the stares, they’re nothing compared to the all knowing eyes of Clu. They cannot see beyond the grid suit and the helmet, they cannot see the cacophony of failures written across his skin, They cannot see every moment that he has fallen short of his directive, every mistake that Clu has deemed worth remembering . All they see is the cold unforgiving enforcer, and that is all they should see. That is all anyone should ever see. It is what he should be. After all, the perfect system needs the perfect security.
His footfalls remain even.
Perfectly spaced.
One after the other.
He reaches the door. The guards move aside. Rinzler enters. The doors close behind him.
Clu is waiting.
He is, as always, an imposing figure, magnificent gold draping down and sharp gaze boring in. He does not look angry, if anything there is a slight upturn to his lips.
“Disks.” Clue holds his hands out, a direct command. Rinzler undocks his disks and places them into Clu’s waiting palms. He does not think about how much he dreads giving them up. He does not think about rectification. He does not think about the possibility that one day Clu will decide that he can do better than a malfunctioning program. He does not think about what happens to things that are no longer useful.
Clu hums to himself as he examines the dual disks. Rinzler stands at attention. He watches Clu’s fingers move across the surface, watches lines of programming appear between them. The code that makes him flickers into view, patterns of orange and blue.
He edits lines of code. Rinzler does not move.
“Not too bad. I’m surprised you didn’t manage to dodge this.” Clu dismisses the code, holding the disks in his hands. Rinzler keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead. “You won’t even have to reboot for this one.” Clu says it aloud but Runzler understands immediately that the statement is not an invitation for a response. He knows better than to speak.
The disks are placed on the table beside Clu. Rinzler does not reach for them. He does not ask for them back.
“I really did a good job with you, didn’t I?” Clu looks up, “You’re one of my best creations, you know?” Something in Rinzler’s processors tighten. “And I put so much work into you, so it would be nice if this didn’t happen again. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” Rinzler dips his head. The words are gentle, almost affectionate. “I’d never let anything hurt you.”
For a moment something inside him settles. There is use to him after all. Clu does not think he is beyond repair. Clu is pleased with him. That should be enough. It is enough.
Clu grins and steps closer, his hand reaching up, derezzing Rinzler’s helmet, and cupping the side of his face in his hands. There is something in his gaze that he can’t place, something unnerving, something that makes him want to give into it. He knows better than to move. He has long since learned that when Clu wants to play with something he wants it to act exactly as he pleases. A flinch is imperfect. Leaning into the touch is imperfect. Pulling away would be unthinkable. He would never want to pull away from Clu. When Clu’s fingers ghost over the scar seared across his face he does not react. Clu presses harder, pain blooming under his skin. He does not react to that either. He’s so grateful that this is all. That this is all Clu is doing after the monumental failure that left his shoulder crumbling into voxels.
He stays absolutely motionless. The only indication that he’s aware of what’s happening are his eyes still dutifully trained on Clu. The hand on his skin moves lower, tracing over his bicep as Clu lets out a contented hum.
His sleeve is derezzed, and Clu moves his hands over the scars on his arms, the unhealed marks that Clu left on him as a reminder. Rinzler breathes smoothly. Repetitively. He focuses on keeping still. He knows this is a test and to please Clu he needs to pass.
“No one is allowed to damage you,” Clue whispers. His fingernails dig into the old scars on Rinzler’s arms, pressing down with the full force of his hand.
Rinzler lets out a small gasp at the sharp uptick in pain. Something so miniscule that almost no one would notice. But Clu, searching his face for the slightest hint of anything, grinned triumphantly, as if that was what he had been waiting for all along. Of course it wasn't. He knew what Rinzler was capable of. He expected better. Rinzler should have been better.
Clu’s expression softens as though satisfied with what he has found. His fingers linger against the edges of the scars. There is no anger in his movements. No frustration. That would almost have been easier to understand. Instead there is something disturbingly gentle about him.
“You know what I like about you?” Clu asks.
Rinzler remains silent.
Clu does not seem to expect an answer.
“You always try so hard.”
He cannot tell whether Clu is mocking or genuinely admiring him. He doesn’t know if it matters. Clu’s hand slides lower. Rinzler forces himself not to react.
“You know exactly what I expect from you.” Clu’s voice is quiet, conversational. “You know what happens when you disappoint me.” His hand pauses near Rinzler’s hips.
“And yet you still manage to surprise me.” The words are accompanied by an almost fond smile. Clu’s fingertips begin moving again, tracing the lines of Rinzler’s body. It is nothing. Just another reminder that Clu has the right to do whatever he wants with him.
That thought should make it easier.
It doesn’t.
And as Clu’s hands trail further down, Rinzler’s processors begin to grind.