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(Anonymous) on January 15th, 2011 02:36 pm (UTC)
Sam/Rinzler Death Fic
In the real world Sam is told to keep Rinzler under control while Kevin and Alan try to find a way to bring Tron back. During this time they're stuck together, which is awkward and annoying for Sam at first. But eventually they grow fond of each other and sweet/cute things happen.

After months of unsuccessful rebooting and everything Kevin and Alan agree that Rinzlers programming is irreversible. And Rinzler is too unstable and dangerous to stay in the real word.

Permanent shutdown is in order. I'd like this from Sams pov, please give me lots of angst! :-) Bonus points if Kevin assigns Sam to put Rinzler "to sleep" (Kitty!Rinzler on the brain sorry lol) and Rinzler doesn't resist because he completely trusts Sam and doesn't think he'd harm him.
(Anonymous) on January 16th, 2011 12:07 am (UTC)
Re: Sam/Rinzler Death Fic
This is so sad! Seconded
(Anonymous) on January 16th, 2011 06:11 am (UTC)
Re: Sam/Rinzler Death Fic
THIS. I've always been a sucker for death fics. Anon please fill!
smiley_anon: Rinzlersmiley_anon on May 2nd, 2011 08:19 am (UTC)
Letting Go [1a]
I was the anon mentioning possibly-filling this on the lonelyprompts repost. Fear my creative naming schemes. :P

Based on my planning notes, this should be nine chapters (maybe 10?). My promise to myself was that I would not spend more than two weeks or 10K words on something designed to be depressing as fuck. After the first chapter, I’m revising my promise to 15K and… a month? 20K? -_- I can limit myself. >.< Just watch…

Sam really didn’t want to turn around.

Denial. Denial’s good. He stared fixedly ahead, watched his dad and Quorra pile into the car. Alan’s car. Sam could see him through the windshield, hands gripping the steering wheel with a desperate tightness that seemed to be trying to compensate for the man’s all-too-shaken faith in reality. Sam knew what that felt like.

Alan would be fine. A couple beers, a very long conversation with his dad… well, maybe a few more beers than that. Point was, they’d be okay. Sam strongly suspected the hardest problem they would have tonight would be explaining toilets to Quorra. Assuming she…? He shook his head. He really wasn’t sure yet how the program-to-human transition worked.

There was a crashing noise behind Sam. He closed his eyes. Better figure it out.

He turned around. Slowly. Reluctantly. There was a lamp. Broken. He could deal with that. No, the problem was the figure crouched above the shattered bulb. Dark suit from head to toe. Helmet tipped uncertainly.

Rinzler swiveled toward him, and Sam glared back.

Why the fuck is he my problem?

His dad was attached. Sam knew this. The guy used to be his friend (ages ago). Had helped them out (when he wasn’t trying to kill them). Hey, Sam had been as glad as anyone when the orange jet pulled up—and actively grateful when Rinzler came back and blasted Clu away. Give the guy a medal. Or fix his brain. Whatever.

He just didn’t want to take him home.

But Sam’s father had insisted. He wasn’t ‘abandoning Tron’. Wasn’t willing to leave the program until they could come back and deal with him later. And sure, there was a time difference, but really? He couldn’t just pause the thing and come back tomorrow?

So Rinzler was here. In the real world. Breaking Sam’s shit, because no, Alan lived in a populated neighborhood (though even he admitted dumping this on Alan would just be cruel).

The program stood up, one fluid motion, and moved to inspect the woodstove. He going to break that too? Rinzler circled it, not touching, and moved on. So he wasn’t attacking all Sam’s things. Just the ones that offended him somehow. Sam groaned, put a hand to his forehead. Yep, this is gonna be fun.

It wasn’t like he didn’t get it. Tron was his dad’s friend, helper, what have you. For nearly a decade. Sam remembered the stories—hell, without those, he’d have been even more confused when he got zapped into Wonderland. Tron was a good guy, a hero. Fighting for the users.

But this wasn’t Tron.

Whatever revalation had made Rinzler switch sides, whatever impulse had sent him gunning after Clu… it wasn’t enough. It was obvious to Sam; it wasn’t even a question for Quorra. And even his dad had admitted the reversion wasn’t complete. He’d had to—Rinzler really didn’t like the older Flynn.

Sam wasn’t the most insightful person around. He knew this. But he was pretty sure that orange lights, muteness, and unwillingness to keep that creepy-ass helmet off added up to Rinzler. Not Tron. Throw in the destructive tendencies—oh, and that insanely annoying rumbling—and Sam felt certain even his profs at Tech would’ve accepted the proof.

Not Kevin Flynn.
smiley_anon: Panicked Samsmiley_anon on May 2nd, 2011 08:22 am (UTC)
Letting Go [1b]
A sharp noise cut Sam out of the frustrated looping thoughts. Oh, fuck. Marv had discovered the intruder. And like any foot-tall dog, he took his home-defense job very seriously. The little guy had leapt from his bed to furiously bark, bulging eyes staring defiantly from a pose the dog doubtless considered imposing.

Rinzler was not amused.

The program stepped back, hand flashing behind his back to… really? Sam darted between the two as Rinzler’s growl rose, limbs tensing as he realized his lack of a weapon.

“Hey!” The program’s head snapped up at the shout, body poised in a combat crouch.

No. You do not attack the damn dog!” The program’s head tilted, ticking rumble menacing. Sam glared back, his own fists clenching as he firmly ignored the part of his brain that decided to point out that if it came to a fight, he wouldn’t have a chance of stopping Rinzler doing whatever he wanted.

The helmet tilted down to the dog, back to Sam. Marv, meanwhile, was attempting to rival Rinzler’s growl—and failing miserably. Sam closed his eyes. He just wanted to go to sleep and have this nightmare gone when he woke. Instead, he found himself arguing with a laser-made computer-programmed killbot about his dog. Fuck my life.

“He’s fifteen pounds of ego and toilet-training. Calm the hell down.”

Rinzler stiffened, helmet jerking down, sideways, before the program turned and paced away. Sam eyed him warily for a moment, then crouched to scratch Marvin behind the ears. “It’s okay, buddy. The homicidal headcase isn’t going to hurt you.” Marv whined at him.

Sam looked up, and couldn’t see Rinzler. Bad sign. He left his unhappy dog, and moved quickly forward, turning to search the room. Nothing. He hadn’t heard any doors open, so…

Sam stepped toward the makeshift porch, where his little shipping crate opened to the water. There. Rinzler stood just outside, back against the wall, helmet angled down as he faced the dark water. Sam paused for a moment, staring at the program. Rinzler was hunched forwards in his usual half-crouch, arms rigid at his sides, hands half-clenched. But it was off, somehow. He was too still. Limbs drawn in slightly closer. Back pressed against the wall as his helmet reflected the city lights.

“Rinzler?” The program’s sound was softer—still incessant, but quiet, muted. “Rinzler!” The helmet snapped towards him, body tensing, shifting to face Sam. He frowned.

“Look, I’m… really tired. And there’s going to be all sorts of shit to deal with tomorrow, and I’d really just like to sleep.” Rinzler didn’t move. “Do you—can you sleep? Now?” Fuck, this should not have been his job. “I’d really like to save any more chaos for the morning.”

The program regarded him for a moment, head still low, but tilting. Considering? Then Rinzler moved, stepping back inside as Sam got out of the way. He seemed to scan the room before heading over to the garage door Sam had brought his bike through. Where he sat. Leaned against the closed barrier. And went still.

Sam felt his brow furrow. “Uh. There’s a couch right there.” No response. “Rinzler?” The program’s head twitched slightly, rumble quietly even. Sam stared at him, knees drawn up, helmet lowered, hands loosely around in front.

He stepped closer. “Do you even want a…” As he took another step, Rinzler’s head snapped up. The growl surged, suddenly edged, and the program’s hands clenched, limbs tight with readiness. Sam froze, taken aback at how clearly Rinzler could project ‘threat’ without moving much from what had to be about the smallest he could make himself. He moved back cautiously, and the program’s noise softened, muscles loosening.

“Okay, okay. Sorry I asked.”

The creepy mask stayed fixed on him a moment longer before lowering, soft rumble sinister. He waited several minutes longer, but Rinzler was unmoving.

Yeah, I’m getting lots of rest tonight.
(Deleted comment)
Re: Letting Go [1b] - smiley_anon on May 2nd, 2011 10:53 am (UTC) (Expand)
noctavalnoctaval on May 2nd, 2011 02:30 pm (UTC)
Re: Letting Go [1b]
Oh, I can already tell this is going to break my heart. T_T *grabs tissue box and hides in couch fort*

I love Sam's reluctance and I can't blame him >_>
Re: Letting Go [1b] - smiley_anon on May 2nd, 2011 07:02 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [1b] - noctaval on May 2nd, 2011 09:33 pm (UTC) (Expand)
ginger_mayaginger_maya on May 2nd, 2011 02:47 pm (UTC)
Re: Letting Go [1b]
I know that the prompt is tragic, but despite that the situation where Sam is trying to deal with psycho!Tronzler is hilarious. I can't help but find it hilarious. This is a great start and I hope there'll be more.
Re: Letting Go [1b] - smiley_anon on May 2nd, 2011 07:05 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [1b] - ginger_maya on May 6th, 2011 12:48 pm (UTC) (Expand)
smiley_anon: Quorra v. Rinzlersmiley_anon on May 4th, 2011 02:44 pm (UTC)
Letting Go [2a]
Yaaay, chapter two. -_- Oh gods, I need sleep. And shorter chapters.

“The laser’s out.”

Sam stared at his phone. It wasn’t working. It couldn’t be working. Nevermind the long and mostly-cheerful conversation he’d just had with Quorra. Her first time using a phone, just like her first user-world breakfast, and her first toothbrushing. She’d told him all about it.

“What?” His voice was a croak. A quiet croak. He was out back, closer to the water than his ‘house’, but he still didn’t want the sound to carry.

“The digitizer. It’s disabled,” her voice came back. Friendly-like. Sam closed his eyes. “Flynn and Alan went over earlier this morning. They came back very distressed. What’s a ‘fucking shit’, Sam? Apparently the laser comprises a portion of it.”


“Yes, that.”

Sam was hallucinating. He had to be. This was a bad dream; soon he’d wake up and call Quorra or Alan or his dad and get rid of the defective murder machine sleeping against his garage door. Can we skip to the waking up part?


Nope. “…Sorry. Uh. What happened?” It couldn’t be broken, just… shut down. Or something.

“I can’t really tell you.” Her words came quieter now, worried. “Apparently it overloaded somehow? Flynn said he had never used it on more than one person at a time before.”

Sam breathed. Slowly. “Quorra. What. About. Rinzler?”

“Has he done anything?!”

He blinked at the alarm and anger in her tone, replied quickly, “No. Nothing… problematic.” The broken lamp flashed in Sam’s mind, but he really didn’t want Quorra to get her first user-world murder charge over his crappy furniture. “I just… I thought Dad and Alan were coming soon.” He could hear the barely-restrained panic in his voice. “To take him back. On the Grid, where they could fix him, or… whatever.”

Silence. “Quorra?”

“I nodded.” She was puzzled for a moment. “Oh! Audio interface only. Sorry. They’ll be there in… seven minutes.”

Sam stared at the phone. Right. “Goodbye, Quorra.”

“Sam.” Her voice was intent. ‘Audio’ or not, he could easily imagine her piercing gaze as she spoke. “Be careful. Rinzler is not… safe.” The last phrase came out cold with fury. Quorra hadn’t wanted to bring him here either, Sam remembered.

“I’m not the one you need to persuade. Talk later.” He ended the call.

There was a crashing noise behind Sam. He closed his eyes. Seven minutes.

Rinzler was in the kitchen. Or the sink-fridge corner of Sam’s home. Which now had… one less plate. Rinzler hadn’t dropped it. No, clumsiness was definitely not the program’s issue. The opposite, really.

Rinzler had fucking frisbeed Sam’s dishware.

Sam was in time to see the second one. It was almost impressive, really. He wouldn’t have thought you could angle a plate like that—it rotated in the air, spinning without the faintest wobble to slot neatly between Sam’s tool cabinet and the bathroom wall. Then, of course, it hit the far wall dead on and shattered.

The ticking rumble sounded irritated.

Sam sighed. “Rinzler.” He stared at the space behind the cabinet, wondering how much shit he’d have to move to clean it out. Even without looking, he could sense the program’s attention, hear the hitch in the unending sound. “Dishes are not projectiles. They’re…” He brought a hand to his face (why did he have to explain this?). “They’re not weapons at all. Most… round things aren’t, in this world.”

He figured it was a bad sign when he was assigning moods to the pitch and frequency of Rinzler’s growl. This one seemed contemplative.

Something metal flashed through the air.

Sam’s hand came down, head jerking sideways to stare at the program. Fuck. He’d found the knives.
smiley_anon: Panicked Samsmiley_anon on May 4th, 2011 02:48 pm (UTC)
Letting Go [2b]
The dark helmet tilted to face Sam. He swallowed. The sight of Rinzler, in his home, a sharp blade in either hand, was honestly never something he’d thought to worry about at any point in the last day’s madness. Staring at the reality, he wondered why. The program examined the implements curiously, flipping his grip, seeming to test the weight and balance. This was… bad.

“Rinzler.” His voice was steady, of course it was steady; it hadn’t just cracked like a teenager… “No.” The program tilted its… helmet. Sam would’ve taken that as a good sign, but Rinzler still hadn’t put the blades down. All sorts of wonderful deaths by blood loss ran through Sam’s mind as he cautiously stepped closer, hands raised in a way he really hoped was calming.

“Knives. No. Bad.” Okay, now you’re just babbling. “Really bad.” Yep. But it had got him within arm’s reach without any violent response. Rinzler seemed… curious. The (armed) hands lowered slightly, head tipped almost completely to the side as the rumbling noise stuttered slightly and changed pitch.

“Yeah. That’s right. Now just…” Sam reached out, slowly gripping the program’s left wrist as he tried to tug the sharp implement free without damage. Rinzler stiffened slightly at the contact, but didn’t pull back, and Sam was able to remove the weapon with surprising ease. When he reached for the other, though, Rinzler drew back against the counter.

Sam hesitated… then advanced, crowding the program. “You don’t… need a weapon.” The dark helmet, beginning to swivel toward the half-full dish rack, paused. “Seriously.” Sam kept one arm against the counter to discourage Rinzler bolting (though why this was working, he had no clue), and gently grasped at the knife-holding fist. “We’re not… no one’s going to attack you.”

Rinzler stilled, head angled slightly, growling sound soft. Then he released the knife—and Sam winced as it dropped blade-down, sticking in the floor a few inches from his foot. …Still.

“Goo—” he stopped himself as the helmet tilted again, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He’s not a dog. Rinzler was a person, however messed up and however not Sam’s friend. “Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

The noise surged as Rinzler leaned forward, and Sam tensed with surprise as he realized just how close he’d been. With the program no longer pulling away… he was half-hugging Rinzler, outstretched arm reaching around the dark-suited shoulder as the helmet pressed against his chest. He could feel the vibrations of the broken rumble through the surface, reverberating softly but insistently.

Sam blinked. It’s a purr.

“Sam?” Behind him. Outside.

He froze. “Ohthankgod…” He retreated quickly, turned and strode toward the entrance. Opened it.

“Alan.” He paused, looked behind him. “Dad?” The older Flynn had… cleaned up. He looked incongruous—the same aged face, calm expression, in a shirt and slacks that he might’ve worn in ’89. He probably had. Sam wondered where they’d gotten the clothes.

Alan looked stressed. “Sam.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepped to the side to wave the pair into his home. They stepped in, Alan confident, distracted, Flynn almost curious as he looked around. Not much to see.

Rinzler had stayed against the counter, and he seemed to draw back further as the others entered. Sam continued to be perplexed at how drastically the program’s posture changed his size—and how he could be so much more threatening when he got smaller. The noise was a ticking growl, the program’s limbs rigid, one hand clenched around the counter’s edge. Sam eyed the dropped knife and casually stepped closer to block it from the others’ view.

“So you’re taking him back, right?” He kept his voice even, trying to restrain the desperate edge. “To the Grid?” Quorra had to be wrong.
smiley_anonsmiley_anon on May 4th, 2011 02:52 pm (UTC)
Letting Go [2c]
A corner of Alan’s mouth twitched in an unhappy frown. “Not…” He shook his head. “We can’t right now.” Sam’s heart sank, but he forced himself to focus through the rising panic to Alan’s words.

“The charge from the group transfer shorted the laser’s power supply, and… we think there’s other damage as well.” He gave a huffing sigh. “Hopefully Lora can come down and give it a look, but…” Sam winced a little. That must have been a fun talk between Alan and his ex. “Well, we can’t do anything now.”

“So… what?” It couldn’t be what it sounded like, it really couldn’t. “He’s not staying here. Right?” If that last word came out high pitched and frantic… well no, Sam wasn’t above admitting it. He wanted Rinzler gone.

“No, no.” Sam could melt with relief. “We’ll have to figure something out longer term. For now, we were just going to take…”

“Tron.” Sam’s father broke his uncharacteristic silence. He was staring at the program, face a mask of… sorrow? Compassion? Faith? Whatever it was, Rinzler didn’t seem to like it.

Alan blinked almost helplessly before shaking his head and continuing. “…Yes. Tron. We were going to run some tests.”

Sam’s eyebrow came back up. “Tests?”

Flynn took a step towards the program, and Rinzler’s growl surged. The program’s limbs were stiff, hands tight, head snapped up as he crouched, back pressed against Sam’s counter. The older man stopped, grief battling determination across his expression. I’d add fear, but… Sam shifted slightly between the two. His dad really didn’t seem to get this ‘threat’ thing.

Alan looked at the pair of them, then back to Sam. “According to your father, this isn’t… he’s been… changed.”

“Repurposed,” his dad spoke, voice hoarse. “It’s not his fault.”

Alan sighed. “No one’s saying that, Kevin.” He shook his head again, staring at the program. He looked like he was still grappling with the program-as-human issue. Even with Quorra there? Then again, Sam supposed Alan hadn’t written the ISO.

“He’s been repurposed,” Alan rallied, face resolute. “Assuming the laser translates with any degree of accuracy, there should be… mental effects that reflect that.” Sam nodded fervently. “Which means his base code should also be represented.”

Sam stared. Dubious. “So…”

“He saved us, Sam.” His father’s voice was still pained, but grew stronger with conviction. “He’s still Tron. We just—we need to help him. Fix him. Bring him back.”

The ticking rumble sounded loudly in the resulting silence.

“So you’re going to…”

“Just run some tests for now.” Alan spoke calmly, though his eyes were unsettled as they lingered on the helmet. “There are a number of treatments for potentially similar… conditions. But we need to assess the damage first, figure out exactly how he… came out. Here.”

Sam looked at them. At the dark-suited figure rigid behind him. “…Right. Have fun with that.” He pushed away the surge of uneasiness as he stepped aside. It’s not my problem.

Rinzler’s helmet followed Sam, then snapped back to the front as the older Flynn approached, hand outstretched. The program froze, grip on the counter tightening furiously. The growl deepened, rose, almost… hateful in intensity.

“Uh, Dad—”

“Kevin, maybe you—”

Rinzler moved, a dark blur. For a moment, Sam thought he was attacking, but the program flinched back, darted sideways at the last moment. Sam swore aloud—he was headed for the open front entrance.

But Rinzler froze. Alan stood between him and the exit, blocking his path. Seeming to think better of it, the older man took a step back, but the program stayed, fixed in place. Fists clenched and unclenched, the rattling sound stuttered erratically, and the program stared up at the human, immobile.

Alan stared back. Sam bit his lip as the man cautiously reached out a hand—Rinzler stiffened, but the helmet didn’t turn away. Alan’s expression twitched, uncertainty battling resolve as he opened his mouth.

Letting Go [2d] - smiley_anon on May 4th, 2011 02:58 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - something_grand on May 4th, 2011 03:21 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - smiley_anon on May 4th, 2011 08:26 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - grey_sw on May 5th, 2011 02:12 am (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - smiley_anon on May 5th, 2011 05:35 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - (Anonymous) on May 5th, 2011 06:59 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - (Anonymous) on May 17th, 2011 03:54 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - ginger_maya on May 6th, 2011 12:59 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - (Anonymous) on May 14th, 2011 04:06 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - (Anonymous) on May 14th, 2011 05:43 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - smiley_anon on May 18th, 2011 10:45 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - (Anonymous) on May 19th, 2011 06:29 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [2d] - blackiesdungeon on June 3rd, 2011 09:30 pm (UTC) (Expand)
smiley_anon: Panicked Samsmiley_anon on June 24th, 2011 09:21 am (UTC)
Letting Go [3a]
“So how many beers?”

Alan looked up from the tablet he’d been scrolling through. “What?”

Sam leaned against the wall of the empty waiting room and smirked at the older man. “Come on. You’re not telling me you sat through Dad’s entire explanation of the world in his computer without something to wash down the crazy.”

He got a raised eyebrow before Alan’s glance returned to his display. “Not everyone relies on drinks to cope with… unusual circumstances.” The distraction persisted a moment longer before Alan met his look, mouth twisting upwards in a reluctant smile. “Besides, the coup d’état in his computer was a bit more difficult to swallow.”

Sam grinned. “You’re not answering the question, Alan.”

A sigh. “Four.”

“Huh.” Sam had expected more. Then again, Alan probably didn’t keep much supply on hand.

“And your own night?” The tone could almost be mistaken for casual. Almost. The sudden sharpness of Alan’s gaze was a bit less subtle.

Sam met the look. “Uneventful.”


“Surprisingly, yeah.” It was more or less true. Rinzler had gone to sleep, or at least stayed quiet and out of the way all night. And the happy-weapons-funtime was a morning activity.

Alan didn’t look convinced.

“Sam…” the older man gave a quiet sigh. “You’re an adult.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. One of these talks? “And you were right the other night. I’m not your father.”

He flinched. Way to hit the guilt button early, Alan.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. This… problem we’re dealing with… it’s dangerous.”

“Man, I hate danger.”

Alan glared at him. “You enjoy risks, Sam. Challenges. I can’t say I approve of all of your stunts—” Sam snorted, “—but that’s a matter of you pushing your limits. Your limits. This is a different issue entirely.”

“Alan, I—”

“We don’t know what could set him off.” The older man leaned forward, tablet abandoned on the floor. “And if half of what I’ve heard is true, you’d have no more luck in a fight than I would.”

“Your confidence is flattering.” If entirely accurate.


“So I’m just supposed to run away?!” Sam pushed off the wall, turned to pace the little room. “If this is—if he’s as dangerous as all that, why the hell are you here? Or Dad?”

A small grimace tightened Alan’s face, but his reply was even. “Because he’s our responsibility. I—” He shook his head. “I wrote Tron. Even if I didn’t—didn’t know what I was making. And your father…”

Sam waved away the rest. He knew all too well how determined his dad was to fix things. He glowered at the floor before his gaze rose to meet Alan’s. The other man looked… puzzled.

“…Why do you care?”


“Tron’s not your program or friend. Quorra said you fought him. So why do you want to help him?”

Sam blinked. Stared. He thought… A laugh caught in Sam’s throat, and he brought a hand to his face as he shook his head slowly. Yeah, ‘cause the issue here is that I like Rinzler.

“…That’s really not the problem, Alan.” The older man’s mouth opened in question, and Sam grinned ruefully. “Seriously, I don’t care. About him.” As far as Sam was concerned, things would’ve been easier if Rinzler had gone down when Clu had.

“Then why…?” Alan sounded genuinely confused.

“I just…” Sam stopped. …wanted him out before he field-tested the kitchenware. On you. Or before you saw his previous attempts. Yeah, not so much. “Just… wanted to make sure you guys were okay,” he finished lamely.

Going by Alan’s expression, he wasn’t quite buying it. But he stayed quiet. Looked at Sam, before speaking evenly. “We’re all right, Sam. We’ll be fine. But if that’s all that’s keeping you here…” He spread his hands, nodded towards the door out. “Go. This isn’t your problem to fix, and call me overprotective, but I’d be glad if you stayed clear of it.”

It was Sam’s turn to give Alan a look, but it was more amused than annoyed. Alan was overprotective. But he was right. Sam could leave.

He bit his lip. Turned towards the exit, glanced back at Alan, at the lab entrance beyond. He opened his mouth. “Look. I…”

There was a crashing sound behind Sam. Alan’s expression froze, and he surged to his feet.

Sam was already past him.
smiley_anon: Rinzlersmiley_anon on June 24th, 2011 09:25 am (UTC)
Letting Go [3b]
Oh gods I am so sorry. >.< I… have no (adequate) excuse for this immense slowness-fail.

So much thanks to all you people who kept poking me; you absolutely helped keep it on my priorities list. Here's half a chapter.

The inner door to the lab was large and oddly weighted, designed to open slowly. It also came with a red-lit sign declaring ‘Do Not Open—Experiment in Progress’. Sam did his best to ignore both factors equally as he slammed into the push bar.

“Hnh—” Breath left him as he bounced back, the door jerking only slightly before continuing in a slow mechanical slide. Okay, so it was designed really well to open slowly.

The door cracked open, and a piercing buzz cut through the air. Sam grimaced, hands coming up to his ears before he tore them away to shove futilely on the sluggish door. What the hell was that? It sounded like—not feedback, but painfully close, a blaring grinding noise that jolted Sam’s brain far more effectively than any alarm clock he’d ever owned.

Who cares, Dad’s in there. He pressed against the door, squirming at the small opening as he tried to fit through. Alan was behind him, saying something, a hand on Sam’s shoulder, but he jerked away, wriggled at the widening gap—through the widening gap—

And stopped. Froze in shock. Disbelief.

It wasn’t the state of the room, the toppled cabinet or scattered machinery. It wasn’t his dad, in the far corner, hands raised in agitation, mouth open as he called for stillness, to please calm down. It certainly wasn’t the equally startled-looking technician that stunned Sam so completely.

Rinzler was there. Which he expected. He could handle. Maybe he hadn’t expected the program to be going at the other side of the door as it opened, hadn’t thought he would squirm through to find a black-suited killing machine in his face. But given all that had happened? It wasn't even that surprising.

The helmet was gone.

Sam stared, and he saw Rinzler stare back. The program’s hands were curved, tensed like claws at his side as he leaned forward, halted, body coiled with tension before the now-blocked opening. The growl spilled out, rougher, more jagged, loud enough to break through the blaring background noise.

And his face.

Alan’s face. But younger, sharper, and… twisted with rage. With broken, cold fury. The program’s eyes were voids, dilated black orbs surrounded by a faint ring of grey. They were the most hostile things Sam had ever seen. And simultaneously the emptiest.

Rinzler stiffened. Jaw tensed, head cocked to one side as Sam froze under the flat stare. Then he crouched—and leaped, vanishing from sight.

Sam swallowed, pounding heart a welcome reminder of his continued survival. He looked dazedly across the room, eyes catching on the lab technician as her gaze went up, brow furrowing. She stared for a moment. Blinked. Slowly nodded in absurd acceptance. Sam wondered distantly how much they were paying her.

If his dad was still talking, he couldn’t hear it over the alarm. Sam glanced up in time to see a flicker of motion, blackness disappearing into more blackness. Rinzler had broken the ceiling. How nice. Rinzler was in the ceiling.

Sam really didn’t want to think about it.

There was movement behind him, Alan shoving through the now half-open door, hands latching onto Sam, a question shouted through the grinding buzz. He glanced at the older man, flinched slightly—this was Alan’s face, screwed in familiar alarm and concern as his gaze raked the room. Sam nodded up at the hole above. Everyone else was visible.

There was shouting. Confusion. That insanely grating noise. Sam shook his head, breathed slowly and deeply.


And suddenly, the sound cut off, and they could all hear themselves think. Or shout.

“What happened here!? Was that an alarm, is something—”

“It’s fine, man, it was just—”

“‘Fine’? Kevin, this place is a disaster zone, for all I know the police are on their way, and we have a mentally unstable—” Alan’s gaze shot to the lab operator and he halted mid-sentence. “…person. In the ceiling.” He shook his head, fixed Flynn with a glare through his lenses. “What part of this is ‘fine’?!”
(Deleted comment)
Re: Letting Go [3b] - smiley_anon on June 24th, 2011 07:11 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(Anonymous) on June 25th, 2011 11:17 am (UTC)
Re: Letting Go [3b]
Everything will be worth the wait.
Re: Letting Go [3b] - smiley_anon on June 25th, 2011 03:44 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [3b] - (Anonymous) on July 6th, 2011 10:03 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Letting Go [3c] - smiley_anon on July 16th, 2011 06:37 am (UTC) (Expand)
Letting Go [3d] - smiley_anon on July 16th, 2011 06:41 am (UTC) (Expand)
Letting Go [3e] - smiley_anon on July 16th, 2011 06:44 am (UTC) (Expand)
Letting Go [3f] - smiley_anon on July 16th, 2011 06:50 am (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
Re: Letting Go [3f] - smiley_anon on July 17th, 2011 04:12 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [3f] - (Anonymous) on July 26th, 2011 11:58 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [3f] - smiley_anon on July 27th, 2011 12:09 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [3f] - (Anonymous) on August 2nd, 2011 05:22 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [3f] - (Anonymous) on August 30th, 2011 11:35 am (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
Re: Letting Go [3f] - (Anonymous) on September 21st, 2011 03:41 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Letting Go [3f] - dogpiss on September 12th, 2011 07:02 am (UTC) (Expand)