notglitching | IC Contact: thisavrou

[...is not.]

[That.]

[The enforcer stares. Rumbles. Glares, and growls, and what kind of color is that even; what kind of joke—did he just wink??? The message ends before a retort can even be formulated, leaving a very irritated program glowering at a dead feed.

...The taunt is obvious.

He doesn't care.

One lightjet will be heading off towards those coordinates within the micro. Ass-kicking is definitely warranted, and he isn't going to lose.]

[There's a ping, and Rinzler will find their TAB lighting up with what is, perhaps, the most straightforward birthday invitation you've ever seen.

Clearly made in a template, maybe titled "PROFESSIONAL LINES" or something equally boring, it invites you to a "a small birthday celebration" at a new restaurant/bar opening in Kauto's Region 1.

There is a button to RSVP, and the additional option to add a "plus one".

It is signed off simply with "SHEPARD".

Will you attend this crunk-ass fête, this... space jam??]

I know I'm probably the last person in the multi-verse that you want to hear from right now but...

But I want to apologize.

And... we need to talk. Because I don't want this to keep happening.

[He'd been wondering if something like this would be coming. Apologies (excuses). Lies. Certainly, Rinzler can't begin to trust these words to be anything more. He should ignore the transmission. Leave it. Anything else is stupid, anything else is asking to be tricked or worse again.

...

He can't quite do that either.]

Why.

[ Nihlus stares at the text for a long while, trying to sort through and find the right words. This was... so delicate. After everything that'd happened between them.

But it was necessary. More than ever now that they were in a place with a denser population than they had been on the Moira. ]

Because I don't want this to keep happening. I don't want to break your trust, but I will if it means making sure you kill another teenager.

That's what we need to talk about.

[Break your trust. What does that mean? Attacking him? Stealing his code? Or changing it—changing him, to something incapable of causing problems. Something unable to harm any category of user that this one prefers.

Nihlus is a programmer. Nihlus is willing to cross lines to make sure of his objectives.

Nihlus went for his disk first.]

I won't let you.

[It's too sharp. Too weak.]

I'll kill you first.

[Better.]

Rinzler. I wanted to check in on you.

[Confirm that he was still here. People keep leaving. It can't be helped. It's what happens. But he's not seen Rinzler in a while, and he's worried.]

[He supposes there's not been a lot of emergencies, his business now involves things Rinzler has no interest in and he lives where everything is chaotic and annoying and unpleasant for a program.]

[But still. He wants to just... make sure.]

Edited 2017-05-12 23:30 (UTC)

[Rinzler doesn't have much interest in Miller's current choice of function. Or the noisy masses that make up his current home. Still, he's been by once or twice for his own checks. He knows roughly where Miller is. What he's up to.

It just hasn't occurred to the program that proper status-checking between allies might involve communication, rather than vaguely friendly creeping from the shadows. It still doesn't. Considering the current panic sweeping the system, he assumes the assessment is for a different purpose entirely.]

Functioning.

[Fine. It's what he'd told Clu (before his admin forced him to specifics), what he's been stubbornly insisting as the decontamination centers and assessment zones spring up. He doesn't trust these users to look through his code.

...though then again, there is a reason Miller might be worried.]

Your status?

Fine.

[His turn, this time with the actual word. He's pretty sure Rinzler knows what it means, but this time it's used without subterfuge. Miller is fine. Nothing drastic or extreme is currently happening in his life, hasn't for months (outside of persistent loss) and it's utterly bizarre for him.]

[There's this one point of apprehension, though.]

Are there any incidents of parasite spread where you are?

[Can Rinzler even get it? He suspects other people still can. He guesses Rinzler doesn't appreciate it.]

[He guesses he should be glad for Venom Snake talking him out of seeking medical treatment from the personel on the asteroid. Thanks to that, his dreams are clear.] I don't like it. [Not many people would.]

[Rinzler shouldn't be able to 'get it'. Certainly he hadn't let those users touch his code. But Alan-one had, and his program had followed him to their system and back. He'd set foot on the asteroid, and that was enough, apparently, for something.

A dream. A glitch. Maybe that's all.

He stares dubiously at the one-word report. Warily at the query that follows. Does Miller know? If he doesn't, admitting to the fact could go badly—he doesn't trust this system, and has no intention of granting them the slightest access to his code.]

Residence: Sector One.
Multiple confirmed cases in proximity.

[Including his allies. Including his user. That he too doesn't like it, the program doesn't bother putting words to.]

[There's a level of don't like it where it's understood, and there's a level of don't like it where you say it and allow it to exist as a gross understatement. This is the latter and the former having a conversation. Pretty fitting.]

I've got experience with parasites.
You've got experience with viruses.

We both know when they start changing people at their core that there's few levels of damage control that can be effective. They'll have to use it on the the infected. It'll require more alterations.

[He can't imagine it would be otherwise. That's how it had to be to get rid of the vocal-chord parasites. Only the Walbachia strain could save people, and that led to infertility. He knows Rinzler has seen his own brand of it (difficult as computer viruses are for Kaz to understand).]

Has anyone you known went in for treatment or quarantine?

[Rinzler stares at the lines. Security is Miller's function, and it's no surprise he has his own database to work from. It's even hopeful, in a way. But... he doesn't understand viruses. Not the kind Rinzler knows.]

"Alterations": not standard response for viral threats.

[Maybe in some cases. Maybe for a harmless glitch, or a crucial file that could be cleaned. But infected programs? Corrupted, broken, spreading their agonizing taint across the system with every value of action or return?

That's different.]

Yes.

[Miller has had to weigh the consequences before. Search for ways to save his men versus the pain of losing them. Because, to him, each and every one of them depended on him considering their lives were of value. Not expendable. Finding the point where they needed to die for the greater good is excruciating.]

[But that's beside the point.]

Apparently people with more access to more important facilities than our crew were victims, too. Not that they're our crew, anymore. But the point stands that's a hell of a threat.

[Not our crew. It's true. It's also bitter and frustrating, a reminder of consequences Rinzler never forgot, not even for a moment. The ship had been better. It had been his, in a way this system never could be.

And he'd failed it, in the end.]

Moira: crashed to virus.

[No followup transmits, but the implication isn't hard to read.

Does Miller really think this place will do better?]

Did I tell you about the vocal chord parasites?

[He doesn't know that he did. Not in any decent detail, anyway. He might have, to some extent. He knows that he's mentioned some involvement with quarantines before.]

My base wasn't destroyed because of the parasite. We found it. We altered the parasite so it would fight itself. [Stop reproducing counts, right?] It worked, until someone decided they wanted to use it for themselves and created a new version at our expense.

I'm worried about someone figuring out a way to use this for themselves. Especially if it's creating a chance to gain abilities.

Ploiatos's activities and the ship's crash weren't your fault. The vessel was badly managed from the beginning, and hardly any of us were on the same page. You acted soon enough to save some lives. And if you think about it, whatever was wrong with him originated here. [With the Ingress. It seems necessary to add.]

I don't want to fight you.

But this will continue to be a problem in the future if it isn't resolved now.

Please, let me explain.

I don't want you to get in trouble like before.

[If the user doesn't want to fight, he can start by not laying a hand on Rinzler's code. But there's no point saying so—no point in saying much of anything. It's already like before. A user attacks, and it's Rinzler's problem. Rinzler's fault if he fights back.

Nihlus won't receive an answer. Still, Rinzler's TAB won't go offline. The message would be much more obvious in person, but if Nihlus can't understand, Rinzler's not inclined to offer him an easy prompt.

If that's what he cares about, explain.

Nobody's stopping him.]

[Miller hadn't told him. Not in detail. Not like this. Rinzler absorbs the summary without comment, and if it only reinforces his own conclusions about correct handling of a virus... he doubts that needs saying. Miller's not stupid. He knows where he went wrong.

He doesn't know where Rinzler did. The program stares at the reply for a long moment. The origin. The crash. Not your fault.]

Didn't say it was.

[He thought it, though. A lot.]

Rinzler,

Effective immediately, I will be on a leave of extended absence. Length estimate at this time is a minimum of 45 consecutive days (during the current 100-day cycle).

You're permanently keyed in to my apartment. Use it at your own leisure, but please do not bring anyone who isn't also keyed in. (Currently: yourself, Nihlus, J.)

I know this is repetitive (as you already do it), but please keep an eye on Nihlus for me while I'm away. He means a great deal to me.

If you have any questions, let me know immediately, as I have limited TAB access time remaining.

Best,
Shepard

[Miller would still beg to differ. Just because he let the wrong asshole near that virus.]

No, you didn't.

But you were the one who insisted that we get rid of Ploiatos before it crashed. And it obviously bothers you.

The Moira didn't matter as much as the people on it. Most of them survived unchanged or returned to normal thanks to your suggestions. Calamities were minimal.

I wasn't that lucky with my home. But if I could have saved all of my soldiers, or more of them than not, even if I had been angry over the loss of my base, I would have succeeded.

I almost asked the people on that asteroid to help me. Glad the boss talked me out of it.

[Well. Glitch.

There's a beat of silence, but within seconds:]

Status?

[Limited access. All the questions:]

Assistance required?
Nihlus, additional allies: informed?
Confirm fault: sysadmins?

IC Contact: thisavrou

ANGRY STARING (2/4?)

ANGRY STARING (3/4?)

ANGRY STARING AND ALSO FLYING (4/4)

TEXT; Backdated to April 10th

Private; Audio - Backdated to after the Big Sister fight

Private; Text

Private; Text

Private; Text 1/2

Private; Text 2/2

I LOVE HOW I CLICKED THE WRONG IC INBOX fuck me and my life

ALL IS WELL, ESPECIALLY YOU

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i just noticed the typo i made omg i'm sorry

ffff no worries, it was pretty great!

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TEXT; BACKDATED TO MORNING OF MAY 16TH (DAY 36)

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1/probably 3

2/3?