#iamnoprogram

[not-that-dillinger]

(Combining: GUEST :  for one muse to offer the other a place to stay. STORM :  for both muses to find shelter from a severe storm. Same universe as prev Ed and Sam rp?)

Sam had been tucked away in the basement of The Arcade, coding on The Grid’s terminal, so she didn’t hear the sound of the rain right away. When she did however it snapped her out of her trance. A jolt of slight panic coursing through her. The bike!

She raced up the stairs, pushing away the TRON machine she had moved back into place behind her so that Marvin didn’t wander in when she was working, and raced past the other covered, but no longer dusty, cabinet machines in the arcade till she was at the door, swiftly unlocking it. She paused under the covered threshold of the entrance when she saw just how much water was falling out of the sky. That was definitely one hell of a storm.

Well. It’s not like she was going anywhere anytime soon.

She flipped her hood up and walked out to the street towards her Dad’s… well her, Ducati now, kicking up the kickstand and grabbing onto the handlebars to walk it under the covered threshold. She lifted her head up when she heard the shuffling of feet and some splashes nearby. At first she didn’t recognize him through the rain until he got a bit closer. She lifted one of her arms, waving it slightly as she called out to be heard over the pounding of raindrops and howling wind.

“Ed! Hey! Over here!”

She rested the Ducati against the wall, still waving with her hand as she held open the door of the arcade to invite him inside.

@iamnoprogram

It was one of those days where Ed couldn't go home. One of the days where he was afraid of what he might do if he left his thoughts to wander. Usually he would stay at the office and code until he passed out at at the keyboard, but his meeting with Mackey earlier that day had been... it had been a lot of things, but certainly not good. Draining, mostly. And for reasons Ed wasn't quite sure of, it brought up old ghosts that Ed still couldn't put to rest. They were the sort of ghosts that made his office, which was normally a refuge, feel downright oppressive.

He'd hoped that a long walk would exhaust him enough that he could go home and pass out as as soon as he got to bed.

He'd been walking for about an hour and a half when the storm hit. It was one of those rare deluges came so suddenly, and so intensely, that LA's near non-existent storm drainage system quickly overflowed and flooded the streets. The kind he'd only seen a handful of times in the twenty-some-odd years he'd lived there.

Between the dark, and the rain fogging up his glasses, he had pocketed the glasses in hopes of preserving them when he inevitably tripped over his feet, and resigned himself to shuffling blindly back toward the tower and his car.

Not that he had any idea whether it would be better to go home or stay at the office.

He hadn't been walking back long when he heard someone calling his name, though it had still been long enough that he was thoroughly drenched, and shivering mildly from the cold. He froze in place on the sidewalk, having to take a moment to identify her by voice, since he was all but entirely blind.

"...Sam?" he asked, then realizing where he was, and that she was the only person likely to be there. He glanced both directions, and, seeing no lights, nor hearing any vehicles (there rarely were; this part of town had been all but abandoned since he was in middle school), shuffled across the street, navigating toward Sam by voice alone.

"Hi Sam," he said awkwardly, stepping under the eaves. "Uh, thanks," he said awkwardly, hesitantly following her into the Arcade.

[riinzler]

Following the Reintegration, now that Clu was…gone, Rinzler’s secondary directive took over. The one that drove him to tend to the Grid in the event that he had no standing orders. It left him to deal with general civil unrest when possible though his focus was primarily directed towards the instabilities he could repair on his own. He didn’t like interacting with other programs, especially not when so many tried to seek him out in hopes of gaining a new weapon now that the hand that wielded him was no longer there.

There was one task that superseded them both; monitoring the newest User. Well, the User he supposed, now that Kevin_Flynn had been disposed of. His observations hadn’t been noticed, he knew how to hide his tracks and mask his code signature. Seeing the User operate on the Grid was fascinating, almost as much as it was appalling. No one person should hold that much power, regardless of how needed it was at the moment. It’s why he was watching the proceedings, after everything he couldn’t trust that power wouldn’t be abused.

When the User had split away from her cohort Rinzler was intrigued and had immediately followed, leading to him having the perfect view as the gridbugs descended intent on ripping her apart. He was almost tempted to allow it, curious to see if she’d break apart into a pile of voxels or not, but he knew such a thing would leave the Grid in an unfavorable state and so moved to intervene. His perch atop one of the taller buildings was abandoned as he made his way back to the ground, placing a hand against a wall once he was at street level. He let some of his own energy flow into it, something the gridbugs would be able to detect. It had the intended result of luring some of the hoard away, leaving both him and the User with more manageable amounts as the firewall continued to weaken. Not that he had much faith in her combat ability based on their encounter in the arena.

It was quick work, at least on his end. It was his function to exterminate such threats, practically second nature. Mapping the trajectories of his discs, tracking the movements of his enemies as their voxels crunched beneath his heels. The familiarity of it was soothing in its own way.

Rinzler heard the firewall break before he saw it and to her credit the User did manage to surpass his lowered expectations, much to his surprise. She fought like the Renegade, and wasn’t that interesting. With their combined efforts the fight was over quickly, quicker then he would’ve prefered for multiple reasons. Now he’d have to face her. At least he’d have plausible deniability as to why he’d been there. He knelt for a nano, absorbing the energy left behind from the gridbugs’ sudden deresolution. There wasn’t much, but it would suffice and worked to give him the few nanosecond delay he needed to get his audio output to respond correctly. He shook himself out and turned to face her, remnants of voxels clinging to his gloves.

“What are you doing here?” No title was given, as that would’ve implied respect. His voice was difficult to understand, warped both by damage and disuse. She didn’t appear majorly injured, his systems scanning for injuries in a process Rinzler was unaware he even had. That was weird.

//starter for @riinzler

Sam’s hands shook, straining as the firewall she had thrown up started to crack, the weight of the horde of gridbugs pounding against it started to overpower it, and Sam didn’t have the energy reserves to continue to repair it.

God she was so stupid. Going out into a highly unstable section of a city known to be swarming with occasional hordes of gridbugs alone? Idiot!

On the other side of the screen it had only been about two months since the Reintegration, but here in The Grid it’s been longer, and progress of rebuilding has been painfully slow. Between widespread code instabilities, remaining cells of Occupation sympathizers trying to regain control, city rebuilding, energy shortages, literally anything going on in Purgos, and not to mention the absolute media nightmare the press has been on about over the hasty non-explanation explanation of her lengthy disappearance, everyone has been spread thin. And Sam didn’t want to spread anyone any thinner than they needed to, not when she could always carry some more weight.

Her back hit the wall she had stupidly cornered herself into. Rookie mistake. She knew better than that. But that didn’t really matter right now did it? Another crack formed in the firewall and a few gridbugs started digging their legs into the cracks to widen them.

Sam let out a breath and grabbed her disc off her back and reactivated her helmet.

Well… this was either going to be a new record of grid bugs derezzed or a very, very embarrassingly stupid way to die.

[riinzler]

👀 (@iamnoprogram)

okay so walk w me here. i have two ideas

sam comes back to the grid post legcay wants to fix things up. rinzler reluctantly helps out b/c w clu gone his secondary directive is to help the grid and the programs in it, in his own way

rinzler follows sam and quorra out of the arena and catches up with them in the outlands. maybe he follows to flynn’s hideout, maybe he separates them and tries to bring sam back to the city idk

[not-that-dillinger]

Tagged by: @starstruckxstray (Thanks Nashoba!)

NAME?: Elf

PRONOUNS?: they/them or e/em

MOST ACTIVE MUSE(S)?: Ed, though I would love for Eos or my other OCs at @unwritten-identity-discs or @order-of-the-pharos-universe to get more attention... though part of it is Ed likes to hog the muse braincell....

RP PET PEEVES?: Godmoding, or characters knowing things about mine that they shouldn't, mostly. One-liners also annoy me if they're not a question directly asked to my muse. It's very hard to work with that.

EXPERIENCE / HOW MANY YEARS?: Just over a year here, though I once dipped my toes in rp forums when I was really, really young... Not that I remember much of those.

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION?: It depends. DMs here are usually fine, though I am also happy to chat on discord.

BEST EXPERIENCE?: All of it? All of the amazing and kind folks who are part of the RPC, if that isn't cheating. Honestly I have had a great time here and though I have not met any of the folks I RP with, I feel like I have made some genuine friends here.

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT? : Angst and Fluff! (Sorry, am a sex-repulsed ace, smut isn't my cupppa tea!) I also love a good adventure plot.

PLOTS OR MEMES?: I'm more likely to send in a meme that DM to plot, mostly because I feel like memes are easier to break the ice with and get the ball rolling, though I am always happy to plot at any point!

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES?: ...both? I prefer longer replies because it gives me more to work with, but I will respond with whatever I feel is necessary for the reply, usually a paragraph or more.

TIME TO WRITE?: Mostly in the evenings, though I sometimes do a reply or two to take a small break from everything else around lunch.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S)?: ...yeah. There may be more self-projecting on Ed that I care to admit to, though he has also... influenced me. (I got curious about crochet after I decided that was something Ed did, for example.) We both like theatre and musicals, though Ed has done more than me, we both like tea, and both have experience with coding.

Tagging: @computerwarrior, @evecolourshock, @enforcerrinzler, @riinzler, @iamnoprogram, @the-expatriate, and anyone else who wants to do it!

(As always... if I tagged you, you have no obligation to do it if you don't want to!)

[not-that-dillinger]

(Stealing this meme from @riinzler)

Italicize all that your muse fears

Bold any your muse dislikes

Do both to anything your muse is afraid, yet enjoys

Romantic feelings | Close relationships | Death | The dark | Spiders | The unknown | Water | Heights | Intimate actions | Cuddling | Friendship | Allies | Betrayal | Emotions | Themselves | Being alone | Cramped placed | Their body | Getting close to others | Fire | Alcohol | Their past | Invasive thoughts | Family | Blood | Numbness | Social interaction | Meat | Sex | Unrequited love

Tagging : @first-frost-fallen-snow(any muse, any blog!) @wanderxdusk (for Shikoba and/or Kerosene) @evecolourshock @computerwarrior @iamnoprogram @enforcerrinzler @the-expatriate, any anyone else who is interested!

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed had just gotten back to his office from the break room with a fresh cup of tea to start the day and was about to sit down when he heard the knock on his door. He tensed, but relaxed when Mackey didn't barge in like he owned the place immediately after.

Whoever he had been expecting to be at the door it certainly wasn't who he actually met when he did open it.

...Ed was not caffeinated enough for early morning social encounters.

He raised an eyebrow. Nemisis. He was, unfortunately, very aware of the media's stance on his existence. On one hand, Sam was the company's largest shareholder, and could fire him on a whim if she chose to do so. On the other hand, she was also an intern, and he was a senior employee at the company and the lead programmer of the company's flagship--the OS. Sam was also somewhere between five and ten years his junior. Either way, not a good look. Why did they always assume he was an asshole? He hoped he wasn't one, and he certainly wasn't going to stoop so low as to pick a fight with an intern.

Amendment: there was not enough caffeine in the world to prepare Ed for this social encounter.

What the media thought was no matter. What mattered was what Sam thought. Ed gave her a small, if tired, smile and clasped her hand in a handshake. His grip is firm, without being overpowering. "Well then, it's a pleasure to finally meet my nemesis," he said in amusement.

Should he play up the supervillain thing? Do an evil laugh or something?

...No, too awkward, and he hadn't done theatre since college, besides the whole... thing he did at the board meetings.

He hardly blamed Sam for his father's imprisonment, let alone her father. The old bastard earned it for stealing. As for herself... Ed appreciated that she wasn't attempting to impress him. He had many that tried, and he didn't really care for it. He'd rather see what she would do and let her work speak for itself. From the stunt she pulled off with the release of the OS, he had high expectations for her work.

"Although, quite frankly, I'd rather have a working relationship," he admitted. "Rivalries require an unnecessary amount of time and effort. I heard you were accepted as an intern. Are you working with me, or...?"

/* Hi! Your Sam seems cool! Thinking probably for a post-legacy Sam? From the Paparazzi Meme... this one seems fitting for both of our muses... --@not-that-dillinger*/

“Hi, I’m [name]. I think the news thinks we’re meant to be nemeses.”

“Uh hi, I’m Sam Flynn. And I think the news thinks we’re meant to be nemeses.”

Sam introduced herself a bit awkwardly, sticking out her right hand for a handshake while her other rubbed the back of her neck.

Were icebreakers always this hard? Or was it just because she was trying to introduce herself to the son of the man her father famously exposed for stealing his game and then subsequently caused said man to get arrested, taking his position as CEO of the company.

In hindsight, she probably should have dressed a bit more professionally for this introduction as well, instead of the casual gray, ‘Flynn’s Arcade’ T-shirt and leather jacket she had thrown on.

Yeah. She really didn’t think this through.

This was one hell of a way to start an internship.

@not-that-dillinger

[not-that-dillinger]

"That--that's good," Ed responded. It took every bit of self control not to shrink in on himself at Tron's reaction. "It's alright, I understand," he said automatically. Or, it should be. He should have been used to it by then.

"Alright." He followed Sam out of the Arcade, keeping a deliberate distance; close enough that he didn't appear to be trailing behind, but just out of arm's range.

Ed nodded to Sam in thanks as he exited the arcade, and nearly tripped over himself as he skidded to a halt, completely stunned by the scenery.

Oh. The city skyline was surprisingly familiar, and he could see a building that looked surprisingly like Encom tower looming in the distance. Everything was... oddly dark without a sun or stars to light the sky, and yet So Bright with everything else glowing with circuits. He stared in awe at the cityscape. It was... uncanny. So familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

Ed... didn't have words to describe it.

...it was...

It was......

..................stunning.

Ed turned to Sam with a polite smile. "I made it," he agreed. "...just needed a minute." He accepted her hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

The wave of vertigo that accompanies the movement was familiar. Whether it's a side-effect of the digitization process or an omen of what the rest of his weekend will look like if he didn't monitor his activity, Ed wasn't sure. He stiffened, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet in an effort to not collapse. The vertigo only lasted a few seconds, though it felt longer, but eventually it did, and he opened his eyes again and forced his muscles to relax.

He remained quiet for a moment, considering how to answer Sam's question. "I am alright," he said. Unharmed by the digitization process, even if still coming over the shock of seeing the computer again.

He caught sight of the other person--program--in the arcade, someone who looked startlingly like Alan in the old news articles except for the scar on his face. Even if Ed had never played the older Flynn's games, the insignia on the program's chest was immediately recognizable. It took every bit of will to keep his posture relaxed, but with a little focus and effort, he managed, and turned his focus back to Sam.

"Everything go alright for you here?" he asked.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed's eyes widened as Sam described Oasis, and the giant pool of energy. He flinched as she pulled out the disc, having only seen it used as a weapon so far, though any panic was quickly forgotten when she brought up the schematic of Oasis.

His attention was immediately brought to the shifting tunnels. "You... designed the tunnels to move around?" he asked. "Clever."

Ed turned to Sam with a polite smile. "I made it," he agreed. "...just needed a minute." He accepted her hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

The wave of vertigo that accompanies the movement was familiar. Whether it's a side-effect of the digitization process or an omen of what the rest of his weekend will look like if he didn't monitor his activity, Ed wasn't sure. He stiffened, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet in an effort to not collapse. The vertigo only lasted a few seconds, though it felt longer, but eventually it did, and he opened his eyes again and forced his muscles to relax.

He remained quiet for a moment, considering how to answer Sam's question. "I am alright," he said. Unharmed by the digitization process, even if still coming over the shock of seeing the computer again.

He caught sight of the other person--program--in the arcade, someone who looked startlingly like Alan in the old news articles except for the scar on his face. Even if Ed had never played the older Flynn's games, the insignia on the program's chest was immediately recognizable. It took every bit of will to keep his posture relaxed, but with a little focus and effort, he managed, and turned his focus back to Sam.

"Everything go alright for you here?" he asked.

[not-that-dillinger]

"Ah, I see," Ed responded, keeping a neutral tone. He had questions about the 'previous administration', considering that should have been her father, but could tell from her tone that it was a difficult topic to discuss. He'd find out later, if it was important or if Sam wanted to talk about it. But if not... The Grid was Sam's. He wouldn't pry into something private if it wasn't something she was willing to share.

His eyebrows raised to his hairline in surprise elaborated on Oasis. "A whole city?" he exclaimed. "Wow, that's... goodness. That's really impressive!" he said. "And built in caves?" That brought up a whole slew of other questions, about geography and geology, that Ed quite frankly didn't know where to start asking about. "That is fascinating!"

Ed turned to Sam with a polite smile. "I made it," he agreed. "...just needed a minute." He accepted her hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

The wave of vertigo that accompanies the movement was familiar. Whether it's a side-effect of the digitization process or an omen of what the rest of his weekend will look like if he didn't monitor his activity, Ed wasn't sure. He stiffened, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet in an effort to not collapse. The vertigo only lasted a few seconds, though it felt longer, but eventually it did, and he opened his eyes again and forced his muscles to relax.

He remained quiet for a moment, considering how to answer Sam's question. "I am alright," he said. Unharmed by the digitization process, even if still coming over the shock of seeing the computer again.

He caught sight of the other person--program--in the arcade, someone who looked startlingly like Alan in the old news articles except for the scar on his face. Even if Ed had never played the older Flynn's games, the insignia on the program's chest was immediately recognizable. It took every bit of will to keep his posture relaxed, but with a little focus and effort, he managed, and turned his focus back to Sam.

"Everything go alright for you here?" he asked.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed shook his head, shaking himself out of his awestruck state. He glanced at the gathering programs.

"Oh--okay," he said. He... really hoped they would just leave him alone, though. Mackey had burned through most of his social spoons for the day, and while his interactions with Sam so far required minimal energy, dealing with a crowd would require more spoons than he had in reserve.

In honesty, Ed had all but forgotten about his shoes in... well. Everything that had happened. The command terminal immediately piqued his curiosity, and found himself watching in curiosity as she worked. "...Uh..."

He told her the number.

Ed turned to Sam with a polite smile. "I made it," he agreed. "...just needed a minute." He accepted her hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

The wave of vertigo that accompanies the movement was familiar. Whether it's a side-effect of the digitization process or an omen of what the rest of his weekend will look like if he didn't monitor his activity, Ed wasn't sure. He stiffened, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet in an effort to not collapse. The vertigo only lasted a few seconds, though it felt longer, but eventually it did, and he opened his eyes again and forced his muscles to relax.

He remained quiet for a moment, considering how to answer Sam's question. "I am alright," he said. Unharmed by the digitization process, even if still coming over the shock of seeing the computer again.

He caught sight of the other person--program--in the arcade, someone who looked startlingly like Alan in the old news articles except for the scar on his face. Even if Ed had never played the older Flynn's games, the insignia on the program's chest was immediately recognizable. It took every bit of will to keep his posture relaxed, but with a little focus and effort, he managed, and turned his focus back to Sam.

"Everything go alright for you here?" he asked.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed watched on in curiosity, quietly reading over her shoulder, from a short distance away. He could read most of the code, though some of the functions were depreciated from what was currently used, and hadn't been used... since he was nine, when Sam's father went missing, he realized.

Rather than being startled, he was intrigued by the little spider-like creature that seemed to spawn out of the code. He almost laughed, realizing it was the physical manifestation of a bug in Sam's code.

And then...

Oh.

...and then he he recognized the movement, Sam reaching for the disc on her back. It was the same thing she'd done the second time they'd met, when he startled her, except this time she had a weapon, and...

Ed did not flinch.

Watching the shoes... compile? was fascinating. The possibilities of the Grid were nearly endless here.

"Thanks," Ed responded, accepting the shoes and putting them on. They fit comfortably.

He followed Sam through the city, watching everything with quiet fascination. Everything. The motorcycles, the buildings, and the flying contraptions up ahead that he vaguely recognized from the faded billboard above the Arcade... or the version that the Grid was housed in.

...He had so many ideas.

Despite that, he remained stiff, and practically tense until they were back inside, and away from the programs that he seemed to catch the attention of.

The building's interior reminded him so much of Encom Tower, he almost swore if he went down one corridor, he'd find Alan Bradley, or if he went down several floors, he'd find the rest of his team.

Back at Encom, the space they were currently in would have been Mackey's, though he suspected here, it was... probably Sam's? He turned, glancing around the room, and freezing when he caught the view through the window.

It was even more stunning from the top of the tower.

Ed turned to Sam with a polite smile. "I made it," he agreed. "...just needed a minute." He accepted her hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

The wave of vertigo that accompanies the movement was familiar. Whether it's a side-effect of the digitization process or an omen of what the rest of his weekend will look like if he didn't monitor his activity, Ed wasn't sure. He stiffened, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet in an effort to not collapse. The vertigo only lasted a few seconds, though it felt longer, but eventually it did, and he opened his eyes again and forced his muscles to relax.

He remained quiet for a moment, considering how to answer Sam's question. "I am alright," he said. Unharmed by the digitization process, even if still coming over the shock of seeing the computer again.

He caught sight of the other person--program--in the arcade, someone who looked startlingly like Alan in the old news articles except for the scar on his face. Even if Ed had never played the older Flynn's games, the insignia on the program's chest was immediately recognizable. It took every bit of will to keep his posture relaxed, but with a little focus and effort, he managed, and turned his focus back to Sam.

"Everything go alright for you here?" he asked.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I would imagine. I still struggle to keep track of what functions are depreciated for what OS version some times." He could work backward with Encom's OS versions as far back as Six, but any earlier version was a guessing game of what functions were helpful. Not to mention that he still sometimes accidentally tried to run commands specific to SabaziOS or HeliOS on his Encom OS machine.

"Bits?" he asked. "What happened for their population to decline?" The prospect that there was other life on the Grid besides programs was fascinating, and he was slightly disappointed that it was limited.

But if Sam could create something else to control the gridbug populations...

Endless possibilities. The stuff of science fiction novels brought to life.

Ed wanted to meet a bit. He wanted to see everything, but bits sounded cool.'

Oasis... is that another city?" he asked.

Ed turned to Sam with a polite smile. "I made it," he agreed. "...just needed a minute." He accepted her hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

The wave of vertigo that accompanies the movement was familiar. Whether it's a side-effect of the digitization process or an omen of what the rest of his weekend will look like if he didn't monitor his activity, Ed wasn't sure. He stiffened, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet in an effort to not collapse. The vertigo only lasted a few seconds, though it felt longer, but eventually it did, and he opened his eyes again and forced his muscles to relax.

He remained quiet for a moment, considering how to answer Sam's question. "I am alright," he said. Unharmed by the digitization process, even if still coming over the shock of seeing the computer again.

He caught sight of the other person--program--in the arcade, someone who looked startlingly like Alan in the old news articles except for the scar on his face. Even if Ed had never played the older Flynn's games, the insignia on the program's chest was immediately recognizable. It took every bit of will to keep his posture relaxed, but with a little focus and effort, he managed, and turned his focus back to Sam.

"Everything go alright for you here?" he asked.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed tore his eyes from the window and followed Sam back to the seating area. It was so different from what the Encom-analogue space looked like currently, or what vague memories Ed had of it from when he was young, and so distinctively Sam.

Mackey would have hated the informality of it.

Ed's father would have had an aneurysm if he'd seen the beanbag chairs.

The difference in the space was enough that it put Ed at ease in a way that he never was when he had to visit Mackey's office.

He hesitantly sat down on the other end of the couch, cautious not to crowd Sam's space. For a minute, he continued to stare out the window, trying to reel in his racing thoughts.

"Questions?" he asked. He chuckled. "Uh... yeah," he admitted. "...Where to start?"

The computer had obviously been her father's, though with the elder Flynn missing since they were both young... Did you always know about this? he wanted to ask. Is this where he disappeared to, all those years ago? Considering they barely knew each other and Ed got the feeling too many other people kept asking her questions about her father (and wasn't that a familiar sentiment) that was likely a question for much later... probably or never.

She'd obviously been through something here, considering her startle reaction was to draw her disc. That was a very nebulous topic that should probably be avoided, if Ed could figure out where it's boundaries lay.

"...The... spider-looking critters?" he started, trying to sort out the buzzing curiosity in his head into comprehensible words. "I'm guessing those are... bugs. Errors in the code, right? Are there other forms of digital life out there, besides programs and... those?"

Ed turned to Sam with a polite smile. "I made it," he agreed. "...just needed a minute." He accepted her hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

The wave of vertigo that accompanies the movement was familiar. Whether it's a side-effect of the digitization process or an omen of what the rest of his weekend will look like if he didn't monitor his activity, Ed wasn't sure. He stiffened, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet in an effort to not collapse. The vertigo only lasted a few seconds, though it felt longer, but eventually it did, and he opened his eyes again and forced his muscles to relax.

He remained quiet for a moment, considering how to answer Sam's question. "I am alright," he said. Unharmed by the digitization process, even if still coming over the shock of seeing the computer again.

He caught sight of the other person--program--in the arcade, someone who looked startlingly like Alan in the old news articles except for the scar on his face. Even if Ed had never played the older Flynn's games, the insignia on the program's chest was immediately recognizable. It took every bit of will to keep his posture relaxed, but with a little focus and effort, he managed, and turned his focus back to Sam.

"Everything go alright for you here?" he asked.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed halted in the entryway awkwardly.

"...Thanks," he said, watching Sam leave. He probably looked like a drowned spirit, dripping wet, pale, and shivering. He could guess why Sam asked him to stay put. Too many electronics.

He pulled his glasses out of his pocket, moisture still clinging to the lenses, and the microfiber cloth he usually kept to clean them had also been soaked. The attempt to dry and clean his glasses left them streaked. That would just annoy him to no end. He was better off blind for now. He sighed, and put them back

Ed glanced around the arcade, half in wonder, but also with vestigial anxiety, though he didn't move from his spot. He'd been in middle school when the Arcade closed, and he'd never been allowed to go when it was open. The one time he sneaked off with a friend to go to the arcade, his father's assistant had caught him before they made it inside and dragged Ed home. He had been lucky it was Peter, and not his father that caught him.

Ed shook his head to clear the memory. That had been a lifetime ago, a life he was now thankfully free of.

He could hear the click of... Some sort of critter's paws on the tile floor, but couldn't see it. He thought he remembered Sam having a dog, from one of her annual pranks, but hasn't been sure if it had been her dog or someone else's.

He'd probably find out soon enough.

He took a deep breath, then schooled his expression to something deliberately neutral and forced himself to relax his posture. It wasn't quite the mask he put on during board meetings—Sam was an intern, and he had no reason to want to intimidate her, especially outside of work— but it was a mask he was familiar with wearing, and an attempt to not seem as awkward and gloomy as he felt. He settled in to silently waited for Sam to return.

(Combining: GUEST :  for one muse to offer the other a place to stay. STORM :  for both muses to find shelter from a severe storm. Same universe as prev Ed and Sam rp?)

Sam had been tucked away in the basement of The Arcade, coding on The Grid’s terminal, so she didn’t hear the sound of the rain right away. When she did however it snapped her out of her trance. A jolt of slight panic coursing through her. The bike!

She raced up the stairs, pushing away the TRON machine she had moved back into place behind her so that Marvin didn’t wander in when she was working, and raced past the other covered, but no longer dusty, cabinet machines in the arcade till she was at the door, swiftly unlocking it. She paused under the covered threshold of the entrance when she saw just how much water was falling out of the sky. That was definitely one hell of a storm.

Well. It’s not like she was going anywhere anytime soon.

She flipped her hood up and walked out to the street towards her Dad’s… well her, Ducati now, kicking up the kickstand and grabbing onto the handlebars to walk it under the covered threshold. She lifted her head up when she heard the shuffling of feet and some splashes nearby. At first she didn’t recognize him through the rain until he got a bit closer. She lifted one of her arms, waving it slightly as she called out to be heard over the pounding of raindrops and howling wind.

“Ed! Hey! Over here!”

She rested the Ducati against the wall, still waving with her hand as she held open the door of the arcade to invite him inside.

@iamnoprogram

It was one of those days where Ed couldn't go home. One of the days where he was afraid of what he might do if he left his thoughts to wander. Usually he would stay at the office and code until he passed out at at the keyboard, but his meeting with Mackey earlier that day had been... it had been a lot of things, but certainly not good. Draining, mostly. And for reasons Ed wasn't quite sure of, it brought up old ghosts that Ed still couldn't put to rest. They were the sort of ghosts that made his office, which was normally a refuge, feel downright oppressive.

He'd hoped that a long walk would exhaust him enough that he could go home and pass out as as soon as he got to bed.

He'd been walking for about an hour and a half when the storm hit. It was one of those rare deluges came so suddenly, and so intensely, that LA's near non-existent storm drainage system quickly overflowed and flooded the streets. The kind he'd only seen a handful of times in the twenty-some-odd years he'd lived there.

Between the dark, and the rain fogging up his glasses, he had pocketed the glasses in hopes of preserving them when he inevitably tripped over his feet, and resigned himself to shuffling blindly back toward the tower and his car.

Not that he had any idea whether it would be better to go home or stay at the office.

He hadn't been walking back long when he heard someone calling his name, though it had still been long enough that he was thoroughly drenched, and shivering mildly from the cold. He froze in place on the sidewalk, having to take a moment to identify her by voice, since he was all but entirely blind.

"...Sam?" he asked, then realizing where he was, and that she was the only person likely to be there. He glanced both directions, and, seeing no lights, nor hearing any vehicles (there rarely were; this part of town had been all but abandoned since he was in middle school), shuffled across the street, navigating toward Sam by voice alone.

"Hi Sam," he said awkwardly, stepping under the eaves. "Uh, thanks," he said awkwardly, hesitantly following her into the Arcade.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed turned to Sam with a polite smile. "I made it," he agreed. "...just needed a minute." He accepted her hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

The wave of vertigo that accompanies the movement was familiar. Whether it's a side-effect of the digitization process or an omen of what the rest of his weekend will look like if he didn't monitor his activity, Ed wasn't sure. He stiffened, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet in an effort to not collapse. The vertigo only lasted a few seconds, though it felt longer, but eventually it did, and he opened his eyes again and forced his muscles to relax.

He remained quiet for a moment, considering how to answer Sam's question. "I am alright," he said. Unharmed by the digitization process, even if still coming over the shock of seeing the computer again.

He caught sight of the other person--program--in the arcade, someone who looked startlingly like Alan in the old news articles except for the scar on his face. Even if Ed had never played the older Flynn's games, the insignia on the program's chest was immediately recognizable. It took every bit of will to keep his posture relaxed, but with a little focus and effort, he managed, and turned his focus back to Sam.

"Everything go alright for you here?" he asked.

(Combining: GUEST :  for one muse to offer the other a place to stay. STORM :  for both muses to find shelter from a severe storm. Same universe as prev Ed and Sam rp?)

Sam had been tucked away in the basement of The Arcade, coding on The Grid’s terminal, so she didn’t hear the sound of the rain right away. When she did however it snapped her out of her trance. A jolt of slight panic coursing through her. The bike!

She raced up the stairs, pushing away the TRON machine she had moved back into place behind her so that Marvin didn’t wander in when she was working, and raced past the other covered, but no longer dusty, cabinet machines in the arcade till she was at the door, swiftly unlocking it. She paused under the covered threshold of the entrance when she saw just how much water was falling out of the sky. That was definitely one hell of a storm.

Well. It’s not like she was going anywhere anytime soon.

She flipped her hood up and walked out to the street towards her Dad’s… well her, Ducati now, kicking up the kickstand and grabbing onto the handlebars to walk it under the covered threshold. She lifted her head up when she heard the shuffling of feet and some splashes nearby. At first she didn’t recognize him through the rain until he got a bit closer. She lifted one of her arms, waving it slightly as she called out to be heard over the pounding of raindrops and howling wind.

“Ed! Hey! Over here!”

She rested the Ducati against the wall, still waving with her hand as she held open the door of the arcade to invite him inside.

@iamnoprogram

It was one of those days where Ed couldn't go home. One of the days where he was afraid of what he might do if he left his thoughts to wander. Usually he would stay at the office and code until he passed out at at the keyboard, but his meeting with Mackey earlier that day had been... it had been a lot of things, but certainly not good. Draining, mostly. And for reasons Ed wasn't quite sure of, it brought up old ghosts that Ed still couldn't put to rest. They were the sort of ghosts that made his office, which was normally a refuge, feel downright oppressive.

He'd hoped that a long walk would exhaust him enough that he could go home and pass out as as soon as he got to bed.

He'd been walking for about an hour and a half when the storm hit. It was one of those rare deluges came so suddenly, and so intensely, that LA's near non-existent storm drainage system quickly overflowed and flooded the streets. The kind he'd only seen a handful of times in the twenty-some-odd years he'd lived there.

Between the dark, and the rain fogging up his glasses, he had pocketed the glasses in hopes of preserving them when he inevitably tripped over his feet, and resigned himself to shuffling blindly back toward the tower and his car.

Not that he had any idea whether it would be better to go home or stay at the office.

He hadn't been walking back long when he heard someone calling his name, though it had still been long enough that he was thoroughly drenched, and shivering mildly from the cold. He froze in place on the sidewalk, having to take a moment to identify her by voice, since he was all but entirely blind.

"...Sam?" he asked, then realizing where he was, and that she was the only person likely to be there. He glanced both directions, and, seeing no lights, nor hearing any vehicles (there rarely were; this part of town had been all but abandoned since he was in middle school), shuffled across the street, navigating toward Sam by voice alone.

"Hi Sam," he said awkwardly, stepping under the eaves. "Uh, thanks," he said awkwardly, hesitantly following her into the Arcade.

[riinzler]

Rinzler’s head cocked to the side at the sight of her disc. Would she try to attack? He almost hoped she would. His gaze lifted as she spoke again, head tilting the opposite direction. ‘Scouting’. At least she admitted to a fault, even if it was far too late. Had Rinzler not been there, had he not seen her as useful, she’d be derezzed. He gave a stare so unimpressed it was able to be felt despite his helmet.

“Alone?” He toed a stray voxel further away from his boot, running a scan for any further problems before he began moving to leave. He’d never seen her alone before, always with the Renegade or any other number of programs. Maybe under different circumstances it’d be concerning considering what she could do to them, but he found that she was less likely to cause issue when with others.

He didn’t know why she replicated program voices, just as he didn’t know why she tried to hide her true nature. It seemed pointless now, her suit pattern was recognizable even to a program who didn’t already have or stored in their database. His stare shifted up to the buildings, back towards the way he’d come, but kept his helmet level so as to not give himself away. He’d reach another sector faster traveling by rooftop, but then he’d alert the User to how he’d gotten there without her noticing. It would only make monitoring her in the future far more difficult.

“Gridbugs.” Rinzler replied in lieu of an explanation, only partially lying. Not that it mattered if he lied or not. He’d only allowed himself to be seen because of the gridbugs, so that was all the reason he’d give, the underlying question resolutely ignored. He continued on his path, gait set at the pace he used when on a mission. There were more dangers here than just those they’d encountered, the sector itself was unstable. The sooner he was out, the better, least he risk losing a limb to a sudden collapse. That did beg the question of why this particular location was selected. After a moment of deliberation he motioned her forward.

“Follow.” And with that he led onwards, picking through the rubble to duck into an old solar sailor station. If he left the User she’d likely derez or get into any other number of unfortunate scenarios, making his intervention pointless. That wouldn’t do. He knelt by a console, the cover already half removed and slipped a hand inside to toy with the internals. He wasn’t a mechanic by any means, but he’d studied the blueprints once upon a time when he’d taught himself how to pilot it. Not that solar sailors required a pilot, they were automated, but he’d been curious and bored, guarding Clu with nothing else to occupy his time. The screen atop the console lit up, preparing the sailor to connect to its tether line once it was activated. It would take them to the neighboring sector in another part of the city, meaning he’d have to backtrack later. Ugh.

Rinzler retracted his hand, stood, and silently pointed to the deck, and waited for the User to step aboard. Ready to depart.

//starter for @riinzler

Sam’s hands shook, straining as the firewall she had thrown up started to crack, the weight of the horde of gridbugs pounding against it started to overpower it, and Sam didn’t have the energy reserves to continue to repair it.

God she was so stupid. Going out into a highly unstable section of a city known to be swarming with occasional hordes of gridbugs alone? Idiot!

On the other side of the screen it had only been about two months since the Reintegration, but here in The Grid it’s been longer, and progress of rebuilding has been painfully slow. Between widespread code instabilities, remaining cells of Occupation sympathizers trying to regain control, city rebuilding, energy shortages, literally anything going on in Purgos, and not to mention the absolute media nightmare the press has been on about over the hasty non-explanation explanation of her lengthy disappearance, everyone has been spread thin. And Sam didn’t want to spread anyone any thinner than they needed to, not when she could always carry some more weight.

Her back hit the wall she had stupidly cornered herself into. Rookie mistake. She knew better than that. But that didn’t really matter right now did it? Another crack formed in the firewall and a few gridbugs started digging their legs into the cracks to widen them.

Sam let out a breath and grabbed her disc off her back and reactivated her helmet.

Well… this was either going to be a new record of grid bugs derezzed or a very, very embarrassingly stupid way to die.