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The acclimation and healing of Compiler

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The Sea seemed like some mocking analogy of his own internal coding and just how horribly twisted it was in it’s fragmented and altered ways. Learning how it had been poisoned had only reinforced that view as he looped and suppressed memories and emotions behind walls and filters in order to not crash into a mess in whatever dark corner he had been hiding in at the time.

A lot of those that had been there when he had became a pet user would say he was just as poisoned and lost as that sea.

Yet, now he perched high on a jagged cliff top and watched the distant figures of a user and several programs standing and scanning said sea. His head tilted at an angle common in programs who are trying to process something that their routines have not exactly encountered before. It’s daunting and illogical, something no one thinks can be solved. While those who remembered the Purge and Abraxas shy away, wanting nothing to do with this project and what could possibly happen if it succeeds. Anon had all but kidnapped Quorra for a long term grid bug hunting excursion when whispers of this had first began, and now both rarely remain still long enough for someone to pull them into a conversation about such. The hurt and loneliness that coiled and skittered around and under their normal hum of activity had felt like a dull pressure of a storm behind his eyelids as they tried and failed not to focus on what he was now watching in curiosity.

He never brought it up to them but he recalled that distant memory when he was a prisoner of war and Quorra had spoke in halting painful tones of everything Clu had done, and spoke in general terms of what happened to make her the last ISO on the grid. He also didn’t dig when a designation would flit between the two not realizing he was still instinctively listening in to any and all pings and channels of communication if not heavily encrypted as he had been taught to do.

The part of him that was Sam worried that they were going to be upset when it didn’t go the way they hoped in reclaiming this piece of the Grid Clu had taken fully with his actions. The rest of him just shook his head and scoffed as the loyal parts of Compiler just felt like they were being wasteful of resources in trying to undo such. After all his SysAdmin had created that virus, infected such a large part of the system with it and controlled it in such a way to have it remain in said sea. He was almost angry at them for erasing even more of Clu from the system so it seemed as if he never existed. Even though he knew in some ways that this at least needed to be fixed or deleted to keep the Grid healthy and functional when all of the new upgrades were slowly brought over from the User’s side.

The only comfort to those parts of his code was that Rinzler Tron had made certain that no one thought to touch the obelisk that loomed alone and on a stretch of the shore that few would willingly attempt to reach. If nothing else this, and they would remain as physical reminders of what had happened.

He took one last look at churning waves and the figures with defiance in their posture and slunk away