This shouldn't be happening. Maybe he only thought it was happening.
The whole scenario was too strange for clean calculations. Clu was past making them, anyway, frame humming in white gauze that clouded any ill-ease, that sharpened and somehow muted his goals under a gathering realization that this was going better than it had any right to. The odds kept running away from him, sliding in weird vectors, tangled in floating points that refused to just compute already.
Flynn staggered slightly under his grip, steadied against the edge of the desk. He'd clearly needed a moment to find his words, too, which was--
Was that a good sign? And they still had so far to go, to get it right.
"...I know." It was only the truth: perfection was somehow always just out of his reach. "We try. I'm, pleased you like it."
This was an old feeling, a warmth he'd almost forgotten. A sense of rightness, at once lighter and more intense than mere certainty. Clu was just on the verge of actual gratitude, blooming in his core like he imagined sunlight must be.
Instead he felt his lips peel back from his teeth for the change in Flynn's tone. Whatever he'd almost said or almost done in turn vanished into bitterly familiar territory.
Not least because everything Flynn said was true.
Because Clu deserved it.
"Man, I wanted to smash you." Forthright, heated, truth bubbling out that he would otherwise never let escape. "Smear User cubes all over the pavement." No, not voxels--what was it they were full of-- "Blood, whatever. And you got away!" He winced at the sudden stinging in his eyes. "You always do."
That wasn't the point, though, was it? Clu didn't need to worry about Rinzler: he'd brought this on himself. On all of them, whether it was right or not. He'd taken Flynn's world away--twice--and driven him into a corner, some edge of the screen only glitch knew where, alone in the desolate hinterlands.
And as for Tron--
Clu let go, swaying back onto his heels with a hard low noise. He wanted to stand, wanted to leap back in retreat like physical distance could do something about the entire cascade of things he was feeling. Only, he couldn't find the faulting commands.
"Oh, Flynn--No, it's not--" He might take that for denial. His own Maker. Clu pushed the rest of it over his tongue: "It's worse than that."
No one else knew this. Every shred of it had been thoroughly scrubbed, and the cleanup itself purged entirely.
Well, Rinzler also knew--they were the only ones there, after all.
"You, after you ran," gruff, ragged even under the white, "We fought. Well, he fought; I was just trying to keep up with him! You know what he's like." Low whistle, through his teeth. "We--we really had it out, man!"
"It was a lucky shot." Clu made a noise. Was it laughter or a sob? He could feel where he was flickering, bright as a broken streetlight. "He came apart in my hands. There was--there wasn't much of him left, and he was just peeling through my fingers. I had to act fast. So I reached down, and I picked up another disc. There wasn't time to stand there and format him. Them. It."
Programs did not need to breathe and could not cry. Clu could feel where he was panting, wet-faced. "Are--is he why you're here?"
And he bowed his head and bent his neck before the god that had fled him in terror.
cw THIS TOOK A HARD VAGUELY SUICIDAL LEFT.
The whole scenario was too strange for clean calculations. Clu was past making them, anyway, frame humming in white gauze that clouded any ill-ease, that sharpened and somehow muted his goals under a gathering realization that this was going better than it had any right to. The odds kept running away from him, sliding in weird vectors, tangled in floating points that refused to just compute already.
Flynn staggered slightly under his grip, steadied against the edge of the desk. He'd clearly needed a moment to find his words, too, which was--
Was that a good sign? And they still had so far to go, to get it right.
"...I know." It was only the truth: perfection was somehow always just out of his reach. "We try. I'm, pleased you like it."
This was an old feeling, a warmth he'd almost forgotten. A sense of rightness, at once lighter and more intense than mere certainty. Clu was just on the verge of actual gratitude, blooming in his core like he imagined sunlight must be.
Instead he felt his lips peel back from his teeth for the change in Flynn's tone. Whatever he'd almost said or almost done in turn vanished into bitterly familiar territory.
Not least because everything Flynn said was true.
Because Clu deserved it.
"Man, I wanted to smash you." Forthright, heated, truth bubbling out that he would otherwise never let escape. "Smear User cubes all over the pavement." No, not voxels--what was it they were full of-- "Blood, whatever. And you got away!" He winced at the sudden stinging in his eyes. "You always do."
That wasn't the point, though, was it? Clu didn't need to worry about Rinzler: he'd brought this on himself. On all of them, whether it was right or not. He'd taken Flynn's world away--twice--and driven him into a corner, some edge of the screen only glitch knew where, alone in the desolate hinterlands.
And as for Tron--
Clu let go, swaying back onto his heels with a hard low noise. He wanted to stand, wanted to leap back in retreat like physical distance could do something about the entire cascade of things he was feeling. Only, he couldn't find the faulting commands.
"Oh, Flynn--No, it's not--" He might take that for denial. His own Maker. Clu pushed the rest of it over his tongue: "It's worse than that."
No one else knew this. Every shred of it had been thoroughly scrubbed, and the cleanup itself purged entirely.
Well, Rinzler also knew--they were the only ones there, after all.
"You, after you ran," gruff, ragged even under the white, "We fought. Well, he fought; I was just trying to keep up with him! You know what he's like." Low whistle, through his teeth. "We--we really had it out, man!"
"It was a lucky shot." Clu made a noise. Was it laughter or a sob? He could feel where he was flickering, bright as a broken streetlight. "He came apart in my hands. There was--there wasn't much of him left, and he was just peeling through my fingers. I had to act fast. So I reached down, and I picked up another disc. There wasn't time to stand there and format him. Them. It."
Programs did not need to breathe and could not cry. Clu could feel where he was panting, wet-faced. "Are--is he why you're here?"
And he bowed his head and bent his neck before the god that had fled him in terror.
How did it go? Off with his head.
"Please. Do it."