[The stare lingers, deliberate and irritated, before Rinzler turns to extracting the power cells he'd cached. He's not running errors. And that question, he'd meant to ask.
At first.
On par with humans isn't a new claim, but it's enough to draw a little focus. The users here aren't difficult to surpass... but that reference isn't strength or skill, is it? No, he means complexity. Independence. Rinzler stills, and if the prickle of warning is as weak as always in this form, he knows the prompt it flags without bothering to read. Not wanted. (Not allowed). Independent function is just as useless as the errors it creates.
It's not important. The reploid isn't talking about the Grid. But the flags still build as it continues, noise glitching out a little harsher with each beat. So they were repurposed. Code-chained to a directive, to hunt and fight by an external command. Hardly surprising. No, it's not unusual at all. There's no reason for the rigid lock of Rinzler's own hands around the edge of the desk. Or the bright/dark flicker of the circuit lines that trace them.
Eyes fix on the movements of the knife. The violence is soothing even secondhand, and Rinzler watches, half-hypnotized as he waits out the nausea. But the same corner of his code that's twisting (screaming) against the reset flinches sharply at the drip of blood, and suddenly, stillness is far too much to ask. He steps closer—stalls—twitches with the urge to wipe away the lines. He didn't want to hear this. He wants answers (who? why?). But that's the last thing he should hear, and he already knows all the parts that matter.
no subject
At first.
On par with humans isn't a new claim, but it's enough to draw a little focus. The users here aren't difficult to surpass... but that reference isn't strength or skill, is it? No, he means complexity. Independence. Rinzler stills, and if the prickle of warning is as weak as always in this form, he knows the prompt it flags without bothering to read. Not wanted. (
Not allowed). Independent function is just as useless as the errors it creates.It's not important. The reploid isn't talking about the Grid. But the flags still build as it continues, noise glitching out a little harsher with each beat. So they were repurposed. Code-chained to a directive, to hunt and fight by an external command. Hardly surprising. No, it's not unusual at all. There's no reason for the rigid lock of Rinzler's own hands around the edge of the desk. Or the bright/dark flicker of the circuit lines that trace them.
Eyes fix on the movements of the knife. The violence is soothing even secondhand, and Rinzler watches, half-hypnotized as he waits out the nausea. But the same corner of his code that's twisting (
screaming) against the reset flinches sharply at the drip of blood, and suddenly, stillness is far too much to ask. He steps closer—stalls—twitches with the urge to wipe away the lines. He didn't want to hear this. He wants answers (who? why?). But that's the last thing he should hear, and he already knows all the parts that matter.Nearly all.
...feed it?]