Unstoppable forces, immovable objects. It was just physics.
That didn't make it one bit easier to take.
"Would you stop comparing me with that overstuffed, overfunded child's toy already--!" It trailed off in a wordless growl, followed by the pop and sizzle that proved he could pronounce "!!! That, slagging, chess nerd--that, that, card catalog!"
He wanted, yearned to hit something, only he couldn't afford for it to be the hacker. Clu instead diverted his oustretched fist into the wall, and the surface crunched with a glassy, brittle noise under the pressure.
"My System." Clu seized on that, frantic, bitter possession. "Not yours. Mine! You have--you have no idea--what it was like. Every time he left. Every time he came back. Every--"
But the strings fragmented, choked apart under his anger and trailed away, leaving only the hacker's next words instead. Because he was calm, and steady, and not to be budged. Because he was right.
--the innocent programs of the system don't deserve to suffer.
Certainly not to drown.
And Clu would not, could not, leave them to that fate. Not and continue to be their Admin: to desert his own directive was something beyond deresolution, and foul, perverse impossibility. Tron had never understood that. Flynn had misunderstood it, to his peril.
This guy, though? He seemed to get it, determined as he was to keep driving that point home.
So Clu he reached for an alternate vector: pushed them into alignment, glared at him nearly nose-to-nose. What Clu wanted, with a clawing, bodily intensity, was to shake him until his teeth rattled. Instead he gripped him by the chin, tapping none too gently for emphasis.
"You," tightly, gritted like it would crack his teeth, "are, a, hacking Program. What have I got," gasping after his control, "besides your word, hmm?" Smiling at him, feeling how it stretched, feeling the slight shudder in his limbs. "D'you think I made it here by trusting promises?"
"So offer me something more. Something good, for the good of my Programs, and I'll restore the Games to factory settings, right now."
He didn't need to lie: once he made the update, the logs would start to spool in near-realtime.
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ninetydegrees
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That didn't make it one bit easier to take.
"Would you stop comparing me with that overstuffed, overfunded child's toy already--!" It trailed off in a wordless growl, followed by the pop and sizzle that proved he could pronounce "!!! That, slagging, chess nerd--that, that, card catalog!"
He wanted, yearned to hit something, only he couldn't afford for it to be the hacker. Clu instead diverted his oustretched fist into the wall, and the surface crunched with a glassy, brittle noise under the pressure.
"My System." Clu seized on that, frantic, bitter possession. "Not yours. Mine! You have--you have no idea--what it was like. Every time he left. Every time he came back. Every--"
But the strings fragmented, choked apart under his anger and trailed away, leaving only the hacker's next words instead. Because he was calm, and steady, and not to be budged. Because he was right.
--the innocent programs of the system don't deserve to suffer.
Certainly not to drown.
And Clu would not, could not, leave them to that fate. Not and continue to be their Admin: to desert his own directive was something beyond deresolution, and foul, perverse impossibility. Tron had never understood that. Flynn had misunderstood it, to his peril.
This guy, though? He seemed to get it, determined as he was to keep driving that point home.
So Clu he reached for an alternate vector: pushed them into alignment, glared at him nearly nose-to-nose. What Clu wanted, with a clawing, bodily intensity, was to shake him until his teeth rattled. Instead he gripped him by the chin, tapping none too gently for emphasis.
"You," tightly, gritted like it would crack his teeth, "are, a, hacking Program. What have I got," gasping after his control, "besides your word, hmm?" Smiling at him, feeling how it stretched, feeling the slight shudder in his limbs. "D'you think I made it here by trusting promises?"
"So offer me something more. Something good, for the good of my Programs, and I'll restore the Games to factory settings, right now."
He didn't need to lie: once he made the update, the logs would start to spool in near-realtime.