Communication Error

Communication Error
Date of Scene:	13 February 2013
Location:	Traverse Area - Bodhum - Beach
Synopsis:	You'd think TRON would learn not to seek out certain Programs for face-to-face conversations. It never ends well, and this time is no different...
Cast of Characters:	CHIEF, TRON

---

CHIEF has posed:

One could get what users called 'cabin fever' if you hung out to long in a building to long. This was no different for programs really. They too could get something like this, besides after the conversation with MCP, CHIEF really just wanted a day to step outside. To be alone. Get his own thoughts straight.

It would also give him a moment to see about the visor 2.0 and how well it would work under rather basic circumstances. Being no people around him. So there he stood out on the quieter part of the beach, standing partly in the ocean water about knee down and just staring out into the vast ocean. Watching the sun slowly start to set out in the distance. Its fiery light dancing across the ripples in the water and gleaming over the incoming waves.

He knew SHRIKE was watching him somewhere. Watching him so that he would not try to run or encase he needed to be brought down before he could.

Yet as he stood there, his eyes had very little light in them compared to his green military circuit lines. No. CHIEF's eyes were almost as bright as any user's eyes. Dim in their gold color and almost looking amber really.

He was just standing there. Staring out.

TRON has posed:
":Enjoying the view, Program?:"

The call from the shoreline is audibly modulated, completely masking the identity of the speaker. Should CHIEF turn around, he would only see a single man completely dressed in black with a black opaque helmet standing at the water's edge. His standing stance is neutral, arms crossed over his chest. He has not strayed from a section of heavy shadow, however, and occassional head-tilts to one side or another indicate he is highly aware of his surroundings.

He makes no move to approach, letting the military Program make the next move one way or another.

CHIEF has posed:

CHIEF continues to stare, almost letting out a sigh. His face for a moment was almost starting to fill with perhaps anger, or maybe even a deeper emotion only a human could perhaps relate with; yet wherever it was going it was quickly interrupted.

The unknown voice snapped his attention around and he moved with simple ease in the ocean water as if he had stood in such things many, many times before. His hand placed out to his side, there was two index fingers extended out, before the hand fully relaxed. "I always enjoy such views, program. Yet you should not be here. There are some who would take an exception to an unknown unit in the area."

The visor flickers softly, as his gold eyes flare for a moment with light. "And I am not exactly the best company in the world." He then starts to slowly make his way back up to the shoreline.

TRON has posed:
The mystery Program does not budge at the sudden movement. If anything, he only nods once in acknowledgement to the warning. ":I appreciate your concern, but it iz unnezzizary.:" The modulator seems to buzz at 's' sounds, for some reason.

He takes a few steps to the side, turning slightly as if to regard both CHIEF and the city behind them. This would give the military Program a good look at the black chakram Disc connected to his back.

":But it iz you I came to zpeak with.:" His arms fall to his sides, the opaque mask glimmering with the perpetual sunset's light, but revealing nothing. ":There are many who are concerned for you. Concerned about the Adminiztrator. I am here to zimply touch baze, zee how you are doing.:"

CHIEF has posed:

CHIEF watched the program carefully, though when seeing the disc, it caused CHIEF to tilt his head ever so slightly. Though nothing was said, just a corked eye brow. He glanced up in some direction, before looking back at the unknown program.

"Concerned about me? Ha! Don't make me laugh." The Military Program growls out softly, before he his hand makes a quick sweep motion. There was some anger in his voice even, "If anyone really gave a frag about me out here, they wouldn't have let an angry mob try to chase me down!"

He wrinkles his nose, forcing himself to calm down when he noticed the visor's image almost try to go static. He needed to really calm down. "Even if I do deserve the wrath of the people, but I only have enemies outside and that is how it may remain for some time until things can be.. fixed."

CHIEF then stared at the program for a long moment. "Now though, I do wonder... who sent you? Who are you acting as the contact for?"

TRON has posed:
The Program stands silent, simply watching CHIEF's responses. ":I have no contact. I zent myzelf.:"

He turns his back to CHIEF and walks away from the shoreline, clearly not concerned with a back-attack. ":Az I zaid, I am here to zee how you are doing. More correctly, I am curiouz why the Adminiztrator iz zo interezted in you.:"

He stops, helm tilting back for a moment as if to regard the sky. ":Zome thingz, I underztand. You are of a Grid more advanced than hiz. You know thingz he doez not. But uzually he doez not take zo long, and you are clearly not under arrezt any longer.:"

He makes an about-face and takes a seat in the sand, folding his legs indian-style. ":Thuz, I wonder. And I am concerned.:"

CHIEF has posed:

CHIEF listens closely. Perhaps for someone else that could be listening in as well? It was hard to say. The Military program glances off to the side, before he looks back at the Unknown Program. "He is interested in helping me get past a haunting problem that the users created themselves... and right now that /help/ is the only thing keeping me from trying to derez you in those very waters." He motions out to the sea.

"And I am still under arrest." CHIEF chuckles softly, an almost dark chuckle really. "I am not trust worthy and thus a threat to all programs and users alike." There was a bright flicker in his right eye alone, the visor quickly flared for a moment as he suddenly looked away.

"If there is /any/ interest beyond helping, I wouldn't know nor do I really care right now. I want my ability to make a choice, a choice I can't make right now. I will do whatever it takes in order to gain such a thing." CHIEF would say 'freedom', but after last yester-cycles conversation, it was best left not said now.

"I rather choose who I /kill/, then /kill/ everything."

Those gold eyes look back at the unknown program, staring at him where he sits. "I would rather have a choice between my own targets, then seeking everything as a target. The only sanity I gave myself was to tell myself that all users became high threat targets and anything lower then that was a low threat... but even then.. when there was nothing but low threats, they too would have to be exterminated."

"Kill. Kill. Kill Somemore. That is my function that the users left me in. Nothing more. Nothing less." He narrows his eyes. "..so you see, I am /fine/, fine as I /can/ be.. and right now, what the Adminstrator makes," He taps the visor, "With his forces, is what I need in order to survive. Even if they continue to break, continue to fail, at least I know there is some /hope/. Some possible side-step end. Yes, it may not be the direct answer. Yes, I will always have perhaps the urge to kill, but at least it will be under /my/ control." He then places out his arms. "What more could a program like me ask for."

TRON has posed:
":I underztand.:" Even with the modulation, there is a clear... compassion in the mystery Program's voice, if not an odd sound somewhere between apologetic and hurt. ":I apologize for my outzpokennezz. It waz not my intent to anger you.:"

He rests his arms on his folded legs. ":The Adminiztrator and hiz zoldierz have a poor reputation in their Grid. It iz why I am here, to learn for myzelf by way of a neutral party.:"

He casts a glance off to the side, as if noting where the Datapoint Security faculity is compared to their current location. ":What have they told you of their Grid, itz hiztory and conflictz?:"

CHIEF has posed:

CHIEF grunts, his arms crossing over his chest. His gaze going off to the distance, back out to across the ocean once more. "It has its problems. Like any other place. Some programs wanting to break away from the standards, create trouble, have to be put back in place."

The Military program shrugs his shoulders. "They have talked about it, but it isn't my problem." He glances over to the unknown program then. "And even if it does become my problem, I will deal with it as an outsider."

His eyes return back out to the ocean. "And I've stepped foot there before. Its a very simple place honestly. Things were.. always much more simple back then..." His voice almost grows distant before he then just cracks up laughing. Laughing at really nothing it would seem before he shakes his head.

"The only thing barbaric about the place is what they call 'The Games'." He then turns to face the unknown program. The military program studding him. "Which-- oddly reminds me of user life." There was a flicker of light in his eyes. "Live or Derez. Live or Kill." His eyes flicker again. His voice almost sounds unnaturally cold suddenly. "War Games."

TRON has posed:
The visor gives nothing away, and the Program's seated stance neither tenses nor relaxes under CHIEF's scrutiny. ":Yezzzzz...:" The modulation draws out the 's' in that word. ":The Gamez.:"

He removes his Disc from his back, tracing some fingers over its black surface. ":The place where Programz go if the Adminiztrator haz no uze for them in hiz idea of 'reztructuring'. You fight for your next cycle, or derez trying.:" He spins the edge of the Disc on his finger like a human would spin a basketball. ":But that iz juzt the way it iz, yez?:" There is a suspiciously dismissive tone here. ":Not your Grid, not your problem.:" He catches the Disc between his pointer and middle fingers, just holding it in place. ":Which begs the queztion... why are you bothered by it?:"

CHIEF has posed:

"War Games." CHIEF repeats again, that still very ice cold tone. "A user term, a term programmed into me. A term.. a word.. a knowledge, I understand all to well."

The military program cants his head. "Something with would seem you do not, Program." He says with his voice still remaining very cold. "Let me enlighten you."

He then walks up to the program before he crouches down, removing his own disc, he gestures up with a free hand, as if signaling someone that it was no hostile action. He rotates the disc, "...what format is your disc, Program? To give you such data would be far easier then explanation." wait what? Then there was a pause before he just smirks. "..actually-- probably a silly question. I will just assume you are not of the same code format."

"No insult meant. Its just a fact of my life." CHIEF then extends his disc out. It glows brightly as finger placement markers form under CHIEF's hand. The green lines flare up brightly as his gold eyes start to glow. He was transferring data wirelessly to the other disc. Breaking down none corrupted files to transfer.

ECHO did something like this by a simple touch, a simple request to transfer. Yet CHIEF here wasn't requesting, he was placing a temporary data band between the two discs. To upload information with no connect.

The data was moving at speeds a twice greater then probably what the disc was meant to handle. The explanation was simple. Tactics of warfare, human warfare. To avoid detection, to attack before the other could attack. To move, to strife around while firing. Kill. Destroy.. or be destroyed. In an area that was the battlefield. A battlefield with a limited area. Sometimes a circle. Sometimes a cube. Targets marked, targets neutralized.. then you make a mistake, and your out.

The data came and was gone just as quick. CHIEF pulling back his disc, as the finger holds seem to vanish as he went to place it back on his backside. "Sorry for being forceful with data entry, but you don't look like the touching type.. because neither am I." He then goes to stand back up.

"Users have such games you see. So the Games bug me, because it really shows me that we sometimes walk no better then those that create us." There was then a pause. "..and oh.. those images will fade within a few cycles, unless you so choose to store them."

TRON has posed:
The Program twists his wrist to let the black Disc fall flat onto his palm, similarly indicating no ill-will, but clearly he didn't anticipate CHIEF's next move. He flinches noticeably when CHIEF broadcasts a wireless command and forcibly uploads data to his Disc, data that then proceeds to play in his mind at rapid-fire pace. Tactics of all kinds, orders, graphs, data--

The black Disc falls to the sand, both of the Programs' hands clutching at his helmet as he bows forwards. A holographic image suddenly appears over the Disc in the sand, playing its own data at a pace almost too fast to process. Two circles made of rings. A cross with one in the center and four at the corners. A deep square pit with colored lines within. More comparisons, more alterations, more of the same, over and over and over--

The Program emits a sound that could only be described as white noise.

The images disappear, leaving only the black Disc half-buried in the sand and the Program himself nearly curled into himself. Long moments pass before the Program uncoils and carefully retrieves his Disc from the beach, but his hand is visibly shaking in the process.

":...So...:" His voice is unsteady, fluxing oddly, ":...that... izzz... why...:" He shakes his helm harshly, rolling his shoulders back but still holding his Disc tightly in one hand.

CHIEF has posed:

CHIEF stands there for a bit. Staring down at the other program. "Yes. That is why." He says with an odd sense of calmness. He then glances away. "..I should head back. It is getting late."

He then places down his hand for the other program to take. "..You were a fighter in the games. I saw the images. So it would seem beyond many others, you would understand what it is like to be in my shoes-- and my shoes in your own."

He then frowns softly. "The Administrator uses these games as it would seem his only available resource in such a time to use. Barbaric. Wrong, yet.. limited." He shakes his head. "No. I am not trying to excuse the action. I do not agree with the action, but I know it is limited."

"In the last system I was in, programs who stepped outside of the system administrator's orders had three sentences. You were warned, placed in holding to be debugged.. forcefully.. or terminated on sight."

"..I was to be terminated on sight." Once the unknown program is standing, CHIEF starts to walk away. "..The users issued it. The programs followed the orders. The system became a war game. So no matter where you go. There is /always/ war. It is better to accept it, adapt to it, and survive it." He then pauses in his steps. "..and while your at it. Try to make it.." There was a hint of displeasure in his voice, yet followed with a laugh. "Enjoyable."

TRON has posed:
The Program emits a low hmph as he gets up, brushing the sand off of his form. His movements are jerky, aggrivated. ":I have zeen what happenz when Programz 'enjoy' the Game Cycle.:" He returns the Disc back to its place between his shoulder-blades. ":They derez, and that iz that.:"

His voice drops dangerously low as he makes long strides to catch up with CHIEF. Clearly he is not letting the military Program leave that easily. ":But anzwer me thiz, Program. What happenz when it iz the Adminiztrator who ztepz outzide the zyztem, and the Uzerz fall zilent? Iz it then wrong to fight to return to the way thingz were?:"

CHIEF has posed:

CHIEF stares onward. He doesn't look back at the black program. System silent from users. System that had no users speaking. Meant a system dead or about to be dead in his mind. It was how it was before then. How it was /always/ before then.

His hands tighten up. His teeth start to become a snarl. The shoulders rise up. It was obvious he was taking every ounce of himself to not strike out. It wasn't because he was losing it to insanity, no, he just had enough. There was a line drawn, a silent line.

"You don't know when to give up to do you, /program/?" CHIEF says with a snarl in his voice. Those gold eyes peering over to the corner of his vision. "Where /I/ come from and what /I/ have been through, when users go silent. /Bad/ things happen. When they stop talking. Its the end of the system." He spins around placing his index finger right on the other Programs chest. "Be /glad/ you even have a /system/ to /call/ home! Even if you are /fighting/ blindly for something and your running fearful. At /least/ you /have/ a home!!"

CHIEF then snaps away, his steps breaking away once more. "I am done with this conversation, Program. I am sorry that you and the Administrator don't seem to get along and that your people are marked as terrorists within your system, but at least you got something. That should be at least something to be thankful for. Even if it is very small."

TRON has posed:
The Program simply stands there, his facial helmet reflecting CHIEF's face as the military Program looms over him and jabs a finger in his chest. Defiance in silence, black hands balling into fists and arms locking stiffly at his sides. It seems the Program wants to punch CHIEF just as much as CHIEF wants to punch him.

":I have no home. The Administrator saw to that.:" For a moment, just a brief moment, the modulation fades a bit, just enough to stop buzzing.

The Program tosses something to CHIEF, aiming in front of the military Program. A pair of sunglasses, exactly the same as the ones CHIEF used to have. ":No hidden trickz thiz time. Have them checked if you doubt me.:"

He turns on his heel, back ramrod straight and shoulders pulled back defensively. ":Keep her cloze, CHIEF. Keep her cloze and don't let go. I wish I had with...:" His voice trails off, then he shakes his head. ":Right. Not your zyztem. Not your problem.:" He starts walking away, long strides at a quick clip. ":I will not bother you again.:"

CHIEF has posed:

CHIEF spins around to catch the shades. It was a hint, the voice with no modular was the second hint. He stared at the shades. Remember his reflecting in that short moment of rage, as he just walked the other program leave.

Those gold eyes seeming non-emotional. His face showing no emotion, just a solid, almost blank look, before he stares down at the shades again. His eyes soften slowly, before he closes them a moment. He lowered his head, and then started to head back toward the DPS HQ.

His hands gently trailing over the shades as he just silently ponders over them. His own thoughts. There was no words spoken, but whatever anger was there, was left with lack of emotion. Stuffed away into a cold locker.

'Not your system. Not your problem.'

He glanced upward for a moment, before slowly looking back at the ocean once more.

He continued to stare out before he gritted his teeth, then continued his walk.

'Not your system. Not your problem.'

"..How life was.. so much simpler back then." He inhaled deeply. "But this is now. Now is all that matters... I have to win this war first, before I can move to the next." He says to no one, beyond himself. Though those words perhaps will continue to echo in his mind for the night.