2025-02-20 20:18![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tanks4thememory
tanks4thememoryPrinz sighed as the door to his personal quarters rezzed up and locked behind him. Another long shift finished. He generally enjoyed his work, he truly did, but that didn't mean it wasn't sometimes difficult or stressful. Thankfully a glass of good, clean energy pulled from his ration allotment helped with at least the physical exhaustion, and soon his circuits were humming at near optimum levels.
The mental exhaustion, on the other hand, wasn't such an easy fix, but he had a solution to that too. Moving to stand before an unmarked section of wall, he removed his disc, holding it above his head with both hands. “All that is visible must grow beyond itself, and extend into the Realm of the Invisible,” he intoned reverently. An ancient prayer from long before Flynn had first made contact with the programs, its precise origins lost to time. The gesture of raising the disc was of course purely symbolic outside of an I/O tower, and many would say that the words were as well. But for him? They meant something more.
He replaced his disc on his back, then pressed his palm against what seemed to be blank wall; the surface derezzed, revealing a small hidden compartment. And sitting propped up on a simple stand in the compartment was a single object, a rectangle of stiff paper, not much larger than his hand. An artifact from the User world, and the pride of his collection. Core wouldn't be happy if they knew he was keeping it here, instead of secure with the others in his office. They would be even less happy if they knew some of the things he'd done to acquire it. But it was worth it.
The paper displayed an image, a beach and a sky suffused with red light reflecting on a glittering ocean of energy below. In its center, a radiant golden circle and to one side, the silhouette of what could only be a tree. Strange that it didn't glow, but with the whole scene otherwise suffused with light perhaps it didn't need to. In the bottom corner, a few words in blocky text: Wish you were here. And what made the image so special, aside from its point of origin, was that it wasn't a rendition by an artist; it was a simple image capture. An image of a small section of the User world.
He'd been asked before why, with his obvious faith, he chose to wear red circuits. He wasn't ignorant of the color's dark history, of course; no one who knew the story of Flynn's first contact with programs could fail to be aware of it, and he knew it well. But the answer he generally gave, that it was half simple personal preference and half his own attempt to reclaim the color from infamy for others who might wish to wear it, was only part of the truth.
The rest was here, in this image. If the skies of the realm of Users could be lit so brilliantly red, then there could be no better color to demonstrate his unwavering faith. He knew some called his office a shrine, sometimes mockingly. But he found no shame in it. He had read the deep truth contained in the Users' book. He stood among their legacy, painstakingly gathered and preserved from all corners of the Grid. He wore his faith openly in his words, in his actions, and on his circuits. He had glimpsed the Realm of the Invisible, and no one could take that from him.
He pulled a cushion into place and knelt on it, facing the image. Gradually, one by one, he dimmed external feeds to a bare minimum, until the visual was all that remained. Then finally, he closed his eyes, focusing entirely inward. And when he knocked on the sky and listened to the sound, it echoed back to him in tones of gold and red.
The mental exhaustion, on the other hand, wasn't such an easy fix, but he had a solution to that too. Moving to stand before an unmarked section of wall, he removed his disc, holding it above his head with both hands. “All that is visible must grow beyond itself, and extend into the Realm of the Invisible,” he intoned reverently. An ancient prayer from long before Flynn had first made contact with the programs, its precise origins lost to time. The gesture of raising the disc was of course purely symbolic outside of an I/O tower, and many would say that the words were as well. But for him? They meant something more.
He replaced his disc on his back, then pressed his palm against what seemed to be blank wall; the surface derezzed, revealing a small hidden compartment. And sitting propped up on a simple stand in the compartment was a single object, a rectangle of stiff paper, not much larger than his hand. An artifact from the User world, and the pride of his collection. Core wouldn't be happy if they knew he was keeping it here, instead of secure with the others in his office. They would be even less happy if they knew some of the things he'd done to acquire it. But it was worth it.
The paper displayed an image, a beach and a sky suffused with red light reflecting on a glittering ocean of energy below. In its center, a radiant golden circle and to one side, the silhouette of what could only be a tree. Strange that it didn't glow, but with the whole scene otherwise suffused with light perhaps it didn't need to. In the bottom corner, a few words in blocky text: Wish you were here. And what made the image so special, aside from its point of origin, was that it wasn't a rendition by an artist; it was a simple image capture. An image of a small section of the User world.
He'd been asked before why, with his obvious faith, he chose to wear red circuits. He wasn't ignorant of the color's dark history, of course; no one who knew the story of Flynn's first contact with programs could fail to be aware of it, and he knew it well. But the answer he generally gave, that it was half simple personal preference and half his own attempt to reclaim the color from infamy for others who might wish to wear it, was only part of the truth.
The rest was here, in this image. If the skies of the realm of Users could be lit so brilliantly red, then there could be no better color to demonstrate his unwavering faith. He knew some called his office a shrine, sometimes mockingly. But he found no shame in it. He had read the deep truth contained in the Users' book. He stood among their legacy, painstakingly gathered and preserved from all corners of the Grid. He wore his faith openly in his words, in his actions, and on his circuits. He had glimpsed the Realm of the Invisible, and no one could take that from him.
He pulled a cushion into place and knelt on it, facing the image. Gradually, one by one, he dimmed external feeds to a bare minimum, until the visual was all that remained. Then finally, he closed his eyes, focusing entirely inward. And when he knocked on the sky and listened to the sound, it echoed back to him in tones of gold and red.
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