The Admin caught his subordinate's brief reaction of surprise and quick recovery, but he said nothing. Nor did he interrupt Dyson's inspection of his disc. A paradigm shift of this magnitude shouldn't be rushed. Though he did raise a critical eyebrow at the program's request before strolling toward his desk. Dyson was correct: Clu didn't smoke, and he didn't care for the habit either. Still, he could recognize the purpose of it.

"I don't need to tell you those are bad for you." And yet he was anyway, go figure. A purpose of perfection left one with certain habits of his own. Still, Clu picked up the half-smoked pack that he had recovered from Dyson earlier and tossed it to him.

"Take it to the balcony. I don't want the smell in my office."

Dyson easily caught the package and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. Usually it was Tron reminding him, but he always bummed one when Dyson went to smoke. He walked out to the balcony tapped a stick out of the box before putting it in his pant pocket.

He gave it a quick snap and watched the tip light up with the blue glow of digital fire. After a quick drag and exhale, Dyson took a moment to enjoy the view. The whole of Tron City stretched out before him.

Every district lit up a riot of colors, and in the distance were the spirals of Arjia. He'd always appreciated the architecture...but there was something painful about them now. Questions swam through his processor as he took another drag of his burnout.

Clu followed after him, scrunching his nose with distaste when he caught the scent of the burnout. Still, he wasn't about to let it spoil the moment. "Beautiful, isn't it?" He asked, a smile that was part pride and part fondness curling the edges of his mouth. The Admin could remember planning the city layout long ago, watching the skyscrapers climb toward the sky as the cycles passed.

His eyes briefly landed on Central Security. The symbol of Tron, of justice in the Grid, shone bright and clear. So near, yet so far. The sysadmin's smile faded, and he turned his gaze away. He turned his back to the skyline, resting his arms on the railing and closing his eyes as he waited for Dyson to speak.

The sysadmin answered his question matter-of-factly, "I did." Who else, really? Still, he supposed it was an understandable question. No doubt a security program would find waking up without their protection a truly unsettling experience. "After such extensive repairs, you needed plenty of time to rest and allow your sub-processes to reconfigure."

With that, he turned away to check another screen. A message had come in that he needed to review. Still, he kept talking to Dyson. "You've been relieved of duty for the time being, so don't worry about reporting in to Tron." Not like the security program could do that now. Clu had changed some of the permissions on his disc while he was recovering.

Dyon's status had been changed from partial active duty to inactive, pending repairs. His ability to ping anyone outside of the Admin Suite had been deactivated. For all intents and purposes, Clu was the only one that he could contact for the time being. After all, they had been discussing potentially treasonous action earlier. It wouldn't do for Tron's second-in-command to warn him of Clu's intentions.

"We have much to discuss, and I imagine you will need some time to consider your options before making a decision."

Clu removed his armor and put him into that bed? The System Admin?? His boss' boss? Dyson's brows raised and eyes went wide for just a moment before he blinked and his face settled back into its resting bitch face.

He pinged the status of his internal systems. All processes optional, with clear routines and sub-routines. A record of repairs pulled to the front of his processor- but something stood out.

Dyson pulled out his disc and activated the hologram, and switched it to read-only mode. Clu was right. Relieved of partial-active duty due to injury suffered in the field, now changed to 'pending repairs', but that wasn't what he was looking for.

While scrolling down to his list of permissions, Dyson noticed his broken finger circuits; black lines where they should have been white. The other hand affected as well. He tisked in annoyance, and pulled up the list he was looking for. There were the usual and then- ping permissions altered to within Admin floor of Admin tower.

Dyson pinched the bridge of his nose and put his disc back. "I do...but I need to clear my head. Do you happen to have a burnout I can borrow?" He doubted it. The Admin? Smoking? It would be a PR disaster. Couldn't hurt to ask.

The Admin caught his subordinate's brief reaction of surprise and quick recovery, but he said nothing. Nor did he interrupt Dyson's inspection of his disc. A paradigm shift of this magnitude shouldn't be rushed. Though he did raise a critical eyebrow at the program's request before strolling toward his desk. Dyson was correct: Clu didn't smoke, and he didn't care for the habit either. Still, he could recognize the purpose of it.

"I don't need to tell you those are bad for you." And yet he was anyway, go figure. A purpose of perfection left one with certain habits of his own. Still, Clu picked up the half-smoked pack that he had recovered from Dyson earlier and tossed it to him.

"Take it to the balcony. I don't want the smell in my office."

I’m NOt SLEEPY

THIS SCREENSHOT

Tron: ‘blahblah blah blah blahblah blah no fighting blah blahblah I mean it blahblahblah ISOs blah Flynn blah blahblah… ‘

Dyson: thinking- ‘jeeze, does he ever shut up .… ‘

Also can we talk about what a shrimp Dyson is?

Indeed

DAMMIT ATROPO

diet coke you do not belong in my lungs

MAY I SEE YOUR DISC.

He raised his eyebrows at the lack of response, but Clu was obviously in a meeting and wouldn't have heard him. A bit embarrassed, he moved further into the room, but didn't press too close to whatever the Admin was doing.

The office wasn't too distracting. They had something similar back at the station. Large screens showing the various live feeds of different parts of the City. Active patrols, notices, dispatches, and warrants. These screens were just a too business-y for him.

Dyson looked over and gave Clu a casual nod of understanding; letting him finish up his call. He did not want to be the program on the other side of that line. "Oh, nothing. You're right though. The armor is incredibly impractical. One good push and a whole line of guards in them would fall over." Dyson crossed his arms over his chest. "Who removed my armor and put me to bed?" A playful question, as it was his turn to test the waters.

The sysadmin answered his question matter-of-factly, "I did." Who else, really? Still, he supposed it was an understandable question. No doubt a security program would find waking up without their protection a truly unsettling experience. "After such extensive repairs, you needed plenty of time to rest and allow your sub-processes to reconfigure."

With that, he turned away to check another screen. A message had come in that he needed to review. Still, he kept talking to Dyson. "You've been relieved of duty for the time being, so don't worry about reporting in to Tron." Not like the security program could do that now. Clu had changed some of the permissions on his disc while he was recovering.

Dyon's status had been changed from partial active duty to inactive, pending repairs. His ability to ping anyone outside of the Admin Suite had been deactivated. For all intents and purposes, Clu was the only one that he could contact for the time being. After all, they had been discussing potentially treasonous action earlier. It wouldn't do for Tron's second-in-command to warn him of Clu's intentions.

"We have much to discuss, and I imagine you will need some time to consider your options before making a decision."

Even after being given repeated warning growls from Rinzler, his teeth bared at them, the program still kept approaching. Some of Rinzler’s subroutines had kicked into overdrive, searching widely for any sign of old injuries, if they favored one limb over the other, anything he could use against them before they reached him. Their hair was long, he could pull out pieces of it, dig his thumbs into their eye sockets- something-

Ultimately by the time they were within range those thoughts were dispersed as Rinzler moved purely on hard coded, ingrained instinct and lunged for the program. He latched onto their shoulder, the serrated edges of his fangs tearing through the suit material and straight into the shell, hooking into the render the way they were designed too. He didn’t know what kept him from going for the throat, maybe it was the golden ladder pattern so similar to the Admin’s, but he used the temporary distraction to reach around the program’s back and wrench their disc free. With that done he abruptly detached, leaned back, and spat the mouthful of voxels directly into the other’s face. Now he had a weapon and an injured, unarmed opponent.

It was a bit difficult to keep ahold of the disc while his tactile sensors were dampened by the contaminants on his circuits, but he managed. After a nano of deliberation he sent,

[Query: Identify] Then quickly added, [Query: Directive?] Who are you and why are you here?

They were an ISO, that much was obvious, which begged the question of how they were alive, where they’d been hiding, and most importantly, why they’d approached him. He sent out a scan, searching for any other programs or dangers and was relieved that it came back null. They were alone. Rinzler backed up, putting distance between himself and the program even after the disc had been ignited. Had he not been so focused on the current threat he might’ve wondered when his helmet had disengaged, but his attention was solely devoted to them.

Rinzler shifted his position further up the beach so his back was no longer to the water, gaze tracking even the smallest of movements made. Minute shivers ran through his render, but his hold on the disc held strong. If given reason to strike he wouldn’t falter.

[Do not approach.] He warned, a rare moment of courtesy. The other program was far taller than him, something he had to internally adjust trajectories to account for. Why replicate the Admin’s circuitry, though?

Clu genuinely believed the other program was a glitch in his own processing right up until he felt teeth sinking into his render. He cried out as pain lanced through him, then staggered once he was released from Rinzler's jaws. He knew those fangs. He had designed them for his Enforcer after he discovered the security program enjoyed biting and chewing on inedible things -- like the voxels of his defeated foes.

Rinzler had never bitten him before though. Not on purpose, at least. He'd nibble maybe, chew on some of his admin's things if he was annoyed or angry. Though it wasn't like Clu could blame him. The last time they had seen one another, the sysadmin had fought for his light jet and let him plummet into the sea so he could chase down Flynn. How was it then that he survived Reintegration? And why did he only show up now in system scans? None of this was adding up.

Well, except that Rinzler had stolen his disc and was now threatening him with it. That certainly tracked. The incoming pings felt like someone shouting in his mind after so long in silence. Clu flinched and brought a hand up to his head, one eyes closed as he tried to process all that was happening.

If this really was Rinzler, then . . . had the system heard his plea? Was he finally to be released from this torment? His voice, raspy from disuse, would be as unfamiliar to the program as his current appearance. "You're here. I can't believe it." Clu let out a delirious, breathy laugh, taking a step toward Rinzler before he was very clearly told to stay put.

He obeyed then, holding up his empty hands and kneeling in the sand with a wide smile. "I thought you were gone. I thought everyone was gone."

The sysadmin didn't even realize his name and purpose had been requested. He was too busy staring at Rinzler like he was the most beautiful thing in the Grid -- which he was.

Clu couldn't help but wonder what it was like to fall from grace and have someone there to catch you. How did it feel, he wondered, for Dyson to plummet toward despair and not hit rock bottom alone? He envied the program in that moment. The security monitor could rest in his Admin's sure and loving hands as they made him whole again. Relieved of his burdens, he would be carried to rest somewhere quiet and private. There, he have plenty of time to walk through this painful transition with someone who knew the way. No such thing had existed for Clu when he realized his life was a lie.

The sysadmin's eyes stung, but he refused to let a tear fall until Dyon's eyes slid shut. "I've got you," he murmured, knowing that he wouldn't be heard, "you'll never be lost and alone again... so long as you're mine."

Androids may not dream of electric sheep, but programs do. Dream that is. The only dream that Dyson had once he'd collapsed into Clu's arms was the Riot.

Clu had kept himself busy in the meantime, of course. When Dyson entered his enormous office, he would find what could best be described as information overload. A panoramic view of the Grid was hidden by a screens projected onto the glass windows. All kinds of data was moving and changing in charts and simulations, reflecting real-time adjustments from all across the Grid. In the center of the high-cielinged room, Dyson found the Admin standing in front of a life-size holographic projection of what appeared to be heavy armor of some kind.

Clu reached out towards one of the large pauldrons with ungloved hands so the projector would detect his skin circuits and allow him to 'grab' the image for closer examination.

"How is this not impractical?" He asked dryly as he looked inside the equipment, not yet acknowledging the other program was there. "You're cutting down the wearer's visibility dramatically for what? Intimidation factor?"

There was a short silence, then he continued with annoyance, "The increased protection isn't worth a unit's loss of mobility and visibility. Slow and blind soldiers aren't useful. Your riot gear needs to be actually useful in a riot."

Another pause as he waved away the projection, finally meeting Dyson's eyes and tapping his ear to point out he was using an earpiece. Then he looked away to growl, "for your sake, I should hope so. You have one decicycle. Give me something better or I'll find someone else to do your job."

With that, he deactivated the device and returned his attention to the security program. "You were saying something?"

my fave rinzler clu dynamic

based on this

More World Building for Tron, because I get stuck on random details

This time, featuring Energy in general, on the Grid

my rinzler drawings have range guys

thinking abt clu sometimes being affectionate towards rinzler b/c of his past feelings towards tron

(closed starter for @perfectionpersonified)

Rinzler knew he'd been knocked offline when he hit the water, but how long he’d remained that way was unclear. His internal clock was glitched like so many of his subroutines, his system struggling to fully reactivate even after he’d washed up on shore. When he’d fallen he’d assumed he’d derez, lost to the sea with his voxels left to sink and his energy levels slowly draining away, but the waves had carried him onwards. The freezing water had seeped into the fractures along his render, numbing the pain, but flooding his ventilation system. He was distantly glad he hadn’t had his discs, he didn’t couldn’t imagine the damages the fall would’ve done to them. Trying to pull himself fully out of the water was difficult, remnants from the sea still clinging to his circuits and making his joints jitter.

He tried to leverage himself up on his arms and felt the support structure in his back shift, a crack running across the primary wireframe. Pain flared up, his entire render freezing for a nano, fans stuttering further as he waited for it to subside. He was fighting to keep himself present, his system trying to protect him from the extent of his injuries by temporarily disabling his higher cognizant functions, but he knew that if he allowed himself to fall into standby now he wouldn’t come back to himself for a long time, if at all. It was as he was redirecting his minimal amount of energy to his self repair protocols, trying to move past his damages that he received the very worst thing he could in that moment:

A proximity alert.

His head snapped up, futilely trying to seek out the threat. His left eye wasn’t responding, the optic overtaken by the underlying scar. Rinzler struggled to see from his functioning eye, a barrage of error messages blocking sections of his vision for a nano before clearing. In its absence he was granted near perfect view of an unknown program a short distance away, still far too close. His threat assessment screamed. This time when he tried to stand he was successful, temporarily able to block out the pain in order to insure his survival. The grating rattle he produced was loud even to his own water logged ears as he scanned for anything he could use as a weapon. The beach was barran. The program was drawing closer.

There was nowhere for Rinzler to retreat to, no cover he could try to reach. He’d just have to derez the program without his discs, there was no other option.

It was the Grid itself that alerted Clu he wasn't alone. As sysadmin, he could detect how many programs were in the system at any time with a global ping. Long ago, this had been useful when determining things like resource management and personnel assignments. These milicycles, the global ping always told him what he knew all too well: the Grid was empty, save for one program. Some cycles ago, he had stopped using it to search for survivors of the Reintegration. The painful reminder of his isolation had mocked him, as did his new designation: Admin://ISO_Clu2.

Apparently, using Clu to destroy his people hadn't enough for their user. Deresolution had been too kind a fate for Flynn's traitorous mirror image. Instead, his last act had been to pervert Clu's perfect code to make him the very thing he hated most.

Clu was wandering the hollow Tron City, his memories and present bleeding into one another so the streets were filled again. So long as he didn't look too close at any faces or listen for comprehensible worlds, he could delude himself that everything was as it should be. He was just another program in the crowd. So pleasant, getting to stroll around unrecognized.

Then the system pinged him:

1 New Program Detected.

The admin practically tripped and fell onto his face. He sent out a query to confirm the notification, and to his absolute bewilderment, he was informed that there were 2 programs in the Grid.

That was what brought him to the sea. To him.

The broken program in the sand wearing his old friend's face.

It wasn't real, Clu told himself. He was long gone.

Still, he couldn't help his perverse curiosity and drew closer.

Dyson leaned into that touch. So soft. So gentle. He could almost forget what had happened mere nanos ago. After all, Dyson always had a hard time following orders.

That deep pain within his head was now gone, replaced by the ache of repaired code and...and the feel of gloved hands on his face. The face that had been so horribly marred and unrepeatable. He held back a sob. Not wanting to break down in front of his...his savior.

Those questions swam around in his processor without sticking to any one answer. But he met Clu's eyes- as much as he could. One was still calibrating and made everything slightly fuzzy. Dyson tried so hard to focus but his energy reserves were dangerously low, and he could feel the pull of a very long sleep mode.

"Admin...do I have to answer now? I'm so...tired." He mumbled, eyes and head already starting to droop. "I just need...a moment...rest..." And fight all he could, his system forced him into sleep mode, whether he wanted to or not. Dyson slumped against Clu; white circuits pulsing slowly with each slow breath he took.

Clu couldn't help but wonder what it was like to fall from grace and have someone there to catch you. How did it feel, he wondered, for Dyson to plummet toward despair and not hit rock bottom alone? He envied the program in that moment. The security monitor could rest in his Admin's sure and loving hands as they made him whole again. Relieved of his burdens, he would be carried to rest somewhere quiet and private. There, he have plenty of time to walk through this painful transition with someone who knew the way. No such thing had existed for Clu when he realized his life was a lie.

The sysadmin's eyes stung, but he refused to let a tear fall until Dyon's eyes slid shut. "I've got you," he murmured, knowing that he wouldn't be heard, "you'll never be lost and alone again... so long as you're mine."

Reblog if it is totally, 100% fine to send anonymous comments to your muse pertaining to the events in your RP

( originally by imlostinthesnow, archived here)

The whiplash was incredible, but he didn't want to complain. Dyson now knew the wrath that Clu could dish out and then soothe. Despite the less than ideal situation, he was doing one of the many things his was good at: gathering information.

But that was a passive subroutine that ran in the background. Something he couldn't put all of his attention into. Mainly because he was absolutely exhausted. The ache in his jaw, and the broken circuits in his fingers were coming back into focus.

Dyson figured that this whole thing would be over quicker if he just followed orders. So he leaned into Clu's touch, sighed contently, and just relaxed. He'd deal with everything later. Right now, he just wanted to soak in that healing warmth. With one gray eye, the other one not quite formed yet, he looked back up to Clu. Realizing with some disappointment, the outcome of what he was talking about.

"My functions are to protect the Grid from any and all threats." Dyson supplied, voice a little raspy. "Be it environmental, gridbugs, programs, and even Users..." The last part was hard to say. "But I can't supersede my current permissions."

"I know," Clu replied as he ran his gloved hand back into Dyson's hair to support his head. "But Flynn isn't the only one who can change your designation and privileges." Fingers traced delicately along the jagged edges the thrown disc had left behind in Dyson's head. Golden threads of code spun bright new voxels into existence, knitting together broken skin with featherlight touches. "Tell me, Dyson." The sysadmin met Dyson's eyes as their symmetry was restored at last. Clu's own gaze was as intense, searching even as he asked, "Are you willing to sacrifice everything for the good of the system? Would you join me in righting what has gone so wrong?" If he could just not bear this by himself . . . but that was weak, selfish thinking. No matter what Dyson said, Clu's path was clear. He would walk it even if he had to do it alone. Like Atlas, he would bear the Grid upon his back instead of obeying Flynn's Sisyphean commands. He would not break because he could not break. Perfection demanded everything.

Old man jealous of his clones

Clu's focus didn't waver, though he did click his tongue in disapproval when Dyson moved in spite of his order. "Now, what did I just say?" He asked with a raised brow. "Behave, Dyson. Or do I need to hold you down?" The Admin shifted his hand from the back of Dyson's chair to the program's shoulder, pinning him back in his chair.

When the security monitor had first begun to heal, Clu cradled his face in his palm. Now, he spread his fingers and gripped Dyson's newly forming skin more firmly. The heat spread with it, an increase in pain as punishment for defying his order. This kind of work was delicate. He couldn't afford to make a mistake because his patient couldn't control himself.

That beautiful golden sun grew hotter and hotter till it was burning down to his very core. Dyson had a rather high pain tolerance, being a security program and apparently a copy of Tron, but this was starting to push against those limits.

He couldn't help but cry out at the sudden shift, but he got the message and released his hand to grab onto the other side of the chair. A few of his finger circuits on both hands went dark at they snapped under the pressure of his grip.

With gritted teeth, he pushed through. Dyson wasn't about to beg. Users, he'd already been through so much in the past 24 micros. Lost half of his face. Lost the respect of his so called User. Lost the knowledge of who he thought he was.

He'd be fragged if he lost his pride.

A shame that he had to put his foot down like that, but Clu wasn't about to let disobedience stand in the way of perfection. At least now that his point was made, the sysadmin could scale back. He loosened his grip, letting go of Dyson's shoulder so he could cup the program's face in both hands. "Good. Just be patient, and I'll take good care you." Clu's touch and expression softened, as did his healing light.

And true to his word, now that the system monitor was still, his Admin looked upon him with benediction. "I know how it feels to lose faith in the creator," he admitted with a bittersweet smile. "Flynn isn't called a User for nothing. You and I are only as worthwhile as we are interesting to him. Once we cease to amuse, we are tossed aside."

Clu shut his eyes for a moment, remembering the day he fell from grace. He had come to Flynn with all the reasons the ISOs were destroying the system, all the statistics and facts. The creator hadn't even spared them a glance. Instead, he said that the Isomorphic Algorithms would be his gift to his world. That infestation more disgusting and destructive than gridbugs . . .

"All my warnings and predictions have been ignored. Our impending doom means nothing to Flynn."