He said grab your things son || Tandem writing // PSL

[amirrorbrightly]

By the end of his second centicycle of solid maximal output, Clu was officially reaching his limits. His processing speed had slipped 4 percent, and was steadily dropping as he neared the Tower, and though there was still so much to do between cancelling great swathes of Flynn’s “pet projects” so that resources could shift primary focus onto the needs of the desperately overtaxed System, and a stack of requests in his inbox, Clu gave notification that he was in need of a little downtime.

True, he wasn’t yet to the point of needing to do a full reboot, and defrag, but…downtime. A little bit of quiet, long enough to let his self repair functions run. To that end, he allowed only three programs accompany him on board the Recognizer, and quietly pilot it back to the Tower’s landing platform. Two were sentries ( Ourin and Jay, part of Clu’s newly appointed Black Guard ) and the last…was still listed as [undefined] on his System tag.

It was true, though. Tron couldn’t exactly be called ‘Tron’ anymore, because the program standing silently beside Clu as the Recognizer circled once, then touched down with a groan of locking mechanism simply had too many new variables, and functions to be called the same ‘Tron’ that was installed with the Grid when it was new. The ‘Tron’ of Clu’s earliest memory files was even more different; he at least attempted some form of output above simple automation. But with time, and the surgical, soulless genius of Bradley paring away at the program, Tron became little more than the User’s pet hunter. He stopped speaking, stopped interacting, and the only output he gave back at all was little better than broadcast, and only a succinct response to a request.

As Clu considered the quiet program that had been his shadow for the last centicycle, he thought he could see something in the program’s eyes. Something…well…alive, for lack of a better term. This program did not hunch down as much, did not have the dead stare of a half-compiled automaton. His eyes looked around, seemed to see, and be aware of much more. Recently he had even started speaking without the need for a verbal prompt, too. But most important of all? This program had displayed none of the tagged warning signs that Tron had in the millicycle after his capture.
As Clu exited the docked Recognizer, he did note that Ourin, and Jay fell in behind this silent [undefined] still with a watchful air, but…less fear. Clu couldn’t help feeling a sense of hopeful satisfaction at it – but promptly squashed the sensation before it could fully process. Too much was too uncertain, and he couldn’t afford to get reckless just because he felt ragged with frustration.

After simply closing his office after his shadow, Clu left instructions with Jarvis to give him until next shift for downtime ( which the taskmanager seemed strangely relieved about ) and circled around the edge of his desk with a flask of negating calibration script he’d tweaked himself. It mixed nicely with a tall glass of undiluted energy, and to be perfectly honest? Clu felt he had earned himself the stiff drink.

“…Want some?” he asked, and absently pushed a second glass of the exact same thing toward the quiet program. He didn’t wait for a response ( the program would take it, or he wouldn’t ) only sat in his desk chair with a long sigh, and sipped at his drink.
Obviously, Clu did intend to make good use of this break, but in his own way. Still, the surprise he had stored safely away could wait another micro, or two.

Comments

[unrectified]

That interest was most of the reason for the quick generation. The program's own response was minimal, but he watched, quiet and uncertain, as the admin tested the name. His own wariness surprised him. Just a dozen micros ago, he would have cared so much less. But there was less to care about (less to fear losing) when he was only ever just waiting for an end.

(Hope was terrifying.)

So he watched the admin. Cautiously. Verbal confirm/deny was one thing, but it was the distant look of system access that shaded his processing with faint relief. Processing was still more, and strange, attention in parallel to observation and analysis, his own ongoing diagnostic and the meaning in—

Gesture parsed simultaneous to the vocal string, and the program froze as the demand mapped. Stupid, really. Clu had kept his disk for over a cycle's worth of edits, well before asking would produce results. Now was hardly the time to balk at so minor an update. He broke the lockup, head ducking in a nod as he reached back to pull the disk from dock. He held it in both hands, a moment's uncertain strain before he offered it out. Unfamiliar white identifier, strange merged design. Clu's creation. That didn't stop a stubborn new process insistently flagging mine, in a way Tron was never able to. Eyes flicked from disk to programmer, his own silent demand behind the small frown and unblinking stare.

Give it back.

Permissions tripped a hex of desperate queries, but he held them back for now, glance tracking the disk. Head shook slightly in answer to Clu's own. No significance to the name. Just that he wanted it, too.

Wanting was almost as bad as hope.

[amirrorbrightly]

Clu's smirk couldn't be entirely wiped out, not now. He was too pleased with the results of his 'reclamation' project. Permissions were a default set, but it would let Rinzler have as much autonomy as the simplest of civilian programs on the Grid. A calculated risk that, but Clu was confident that a little more time of letting Rinzler choose to come, and go from a few specific areas in the city would do this new ( renewed ) program good.
And there was always more field trips shadowing Clu to consider.

The disk in hand was easily opened, and Clu didn't bother to hide anything anymore, there was no need. Rinzler seemed suddenly nervous about letting it go, but Clu only added the new designation, checksum, serial, and reclamation stamp into the appropriate fields. The reclamation stamp showed up just after the original Tron log displayed the recent sync, and Clu smiled as he tagged this date as the first of Rinzler's newly functioning runtime.

Closing the interface, he handed the disk back, and then? stretched, and leaned back until only his legs dangled off the side of the platform.

"Well. One out of two isn't bad. I'll keep your temp listing as 'repairing' logged, so when you've settled on a function there won't be too much need for re-prioritizing."

Laid out on his back, Clu tucked his hands behind his head, all in all looking very satisfied with himself.

"Welcome to the Grid."