Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One

Now this… this he could do.

He ran. 

Sam tore along narrow trails, through deep, shadowy canyons, over ridges and down switchbacks, his tires kicking up loose rocks and sand. The sky seethed and flashed above him, the constant storm like the riot of sour, churning regret and bitter anger in his stomach. He expected at every turn to see a lean, crouching figure of black and red, to feel hard hands on his hips and a steely weight against his back, to hear the low rasp of, “Come, User. It’s not safe.” 

The figure never appeared and Sam hated how every minute without it made his lungs winch tighter until he could barely breathe–

He launched off the edge of a sharp ridge and became briefly airborne, his lightcycle heaving between his thighs and then dragging him down in a graceful arc. A sense of freedom washed over him, a wind blowing through the ache in his chest. His tires hit the ground with an exhilarating lurch and he found himself on the glossy, smooth surface of one of the Grid’s roads. He accelerated, hunching over the handlebars, and laughed as he reached blinding speeds that would never have been possible in the real world. 

It was almost over. 

Chased by unrelenting chaos and alone on the wide road, Sam pressed his lightcycle to its limit, his focus locked on the rapidly approaching blue-white needle of the city's central tower and the hulking black monoliths of the surrounding buildings. 

He emerged from the Outlands canyons onto an open plain, passing distant buildings and vehicles that were little more than shadows in the gloomy distance. The city grew, enormous and otherworldly, until Sam reached the outskirts and it took over the terrain and blocked out the sky. He approached a huge bridge of soaring, shining obsidian trusses highlighted in lines of blue-white light, and it was there, finally, that he encountered someone. 

The sight of a Recognizer hulking over the roadway at the base of the bridge drew Sam to a rapid stop. He sat back, zoomed in on his helmet’s HUD, and considered the large ship and the programs beneath it: Clu’s Black Guard soldiers. He counted at least six of them, two standing stationary below the Recognizer and four patrolling the width of the bridge. As he watched one of the patrols, his gaze was pulled upward by a speck of red and he found a raised platform where a seventh soldier stood at some kind of control deck overseeing the bridge.

“Maybe they’ll just wave me through?” Sam muttered to himself.

As though answering him, an announcement echoed from hidden speakers on the bridge: “All programs are required to present identity disks at city checkpoints.”

He laughed bitterly. “Of course. Think they’ll give me an exemption since I’m not a program?”

He could have charged and taken out two, maybe three, programs, but the overseer made him nervous. Sam would bet his lightcycle that he would summon more soldiers if Sam caused a disturbance. He needed stealth.

Stealth. Right. When everything on the goddamn Grid looked like it got lost on the way to a rave. He scowled at the brightly glowing lights on his armour. Even with the reduction from his updates, he was still highly visible and couldn’t exactly sneak past them–

Unless he looked like them.

His fists clenched in reaction to the thought and the memory of accidentally draining Rinzler and absorbing his red hue. As with all thoughts of Rinzler, it was immediately followed by a stab of regret. He shook it off. He couldn’t waste time wallowing in his own misery. 

Resolutely, he stared hard at the patrolling programs, mapping out their routes, paying careful attention to what looked like piles of rocks, dark husks of machines, and other rubbish just beyond the glossy road and the base of the bridge. Did any of the programs dip out of sight of their comrades?

No, he realized after several frustrating minutes. None of them did. But they got close. Maybe close enough.

Sam wheeled his lightcycle off the road and circled around to come at the checkpoint obliquely. He chose the side where the observation deck stood, hoping that the program wouldn’t be able to look straight down. As he approached, he deactivated his lightcycle and closed the distance on foot, crouching low to the ground and sheltering behind the low heaps of rock and broken machinery. He drew as close as he dared and knelt behind what looked like the blackened wing of an airplane.

After an excruciating wait, he finally heard the pad of approaching footsteps. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound, tracking the distance. When the program had reached the furthest point of their patrol, Sam threw a rock deeper into the piles of debris.

All the cosmic powers of a User and I still have to throw rocks.

“I heard something,” came the program’s flat vibrato. “Investigating now.” She came into view, passing Sam’s hiding spot, her red lightstaff pointing at the place where Sam had thrown his rock.

Sam reached out, touched her ankle, and drew hard.

The Black Guard groaned, flickered with blue transparency, and collapsed to her knees, dropping her staff and clawing at at the ground. Sam quickly released her, quickly confirmed that his colour had changed, and rose to his feet.

“Hey,” he said, clasping the program’s shoulder. “Are you functional?”

The Black Guard groaned and shook her helmeted head. Her voice shook as she managed, “I… I’ve suffered an unidentified power loss.”

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe to recharge.” Sam urged her to stand, slung her arm around his shoulders, and tugged her toward the checkpoint. 

Another Black Guard stopped in his patrol to watch them. Sam could only see his square chin and mouth, but he could imagine the thoughts working through his processor as he saw his injured fellow guard being supported by a program in the black and red of Clu’s soldiers. 

“She suffered an unidentified power loss,” Sam explained, prompting the Black Guard to get over his internal discrepancy. “She needs energy.”

The Black Guard didn’t respond for long enough that Sam began to worry, but then he nodded shortly. “Patrol is out of sequence,” he said, and Sam could hear a tinny echo from the Black Guard’s helmet drooping next to his head. “Initiate 3-program patrol sequence.”

The other two Black Guards stuttered, one of them pausing in place for a long moment and the other reversing his path as they adjusted their sequence. Sam nodded his gratitude and eased the drained Black Guard through the checkpoint to the base of the Recognizer. One of the two posted Black Guards, perhaps with a higher rank or a kind of management role, took charge of the drained guard, sitting her down on the foot of the Recognizer and sliding a slender tube of energy from his belt to press into her shaking hands. 

The other Black Guard didn’t move. His helmet remained fixed on the Outlands and his search for potential enemies. 

Sam forced himself to a steady walk as he passed under the Recognizer and emerged onto the bridge. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he looked resolutely forward, listening hard for any sound of an alarm behind him, his back and the soles of his feet prickling anxiously at the exposure.

Only when he’d reached a considerable distance did he activate his lightcycle and leap back into motion. 

The road led him down into a tunnel of overarching structures and released him into the city proper. Here, the buildings crowded close together, looming over narrow streets, and the sky was visible only in thin strips of raucous cloud and indigo lightning. Whether intentionally or by accident, the programs had mimicked the topography of the Outlands when they built their city. 

Sam slowed as the streets became cramped. He eyed the hexagon pattern of the pavement suspiciously, remembering the road falling away when he was first captured, but it remained solid under his tires. Unlike cities in the real world, there was no graffiti on the walls, no garbage washed up against the high curbs, nothing broken or crumbling. Kiosks of indeterminate purpose glowed regularly and metal railings and features reflected the light, all of them in perfect, gleaming condition. Although the city was darkly beautiful, the emptiness of the streets set him on edge. Very few vehicles crossed his path, most of them marked with the red lights of Clu's forces. Pairs of more Black Guards patrolled the sidewalks, their helmets swivelling as they searched the streets. Recognizers passed overhead frequently, their shape and lurid red glow barely visible in the heavy cloud cover, the roar of their engines sending a thrill of unease up his spine as he wondered if the programs at the checkpoint had finally figured out what had happened. 

“Any program without their disk will be taken into custody,” announced the hidden speakers, an ominous warning reminding Sam of his first moments on the Grid.

Even with his new colouring, he expected to be stopped at any moment. He ran through different scenarios in his mind, from making a run for it to trying to bluff his way out to whipping out Quorra’s repaired staff and derezzing anyone who came after him. Thankfully, surprisingly, it seemed that once he was inside the city’s walls, he was considered safe. He felt like some kind of malware himself, infiltrating the system as if he belonged there. 

Stopping periodically to check Quorra’s map, Sam slowly navigated into the city’s heart. The buildings closed in and cut off the light from their neighbours, casting the streets into a foggy dimness. Here, at last, he found the programs who had been missing from the outer sectors; they clumped together in the shadows or walked hurriedly toward their destinations, so subdued they were almost silent. 

When he’d reached the target sector, Sam stopped in the deeper darkness under an arched walkway and scanned his surroundings, but saw nothing that pointed him toward anyone named Zuse. There wouldn’t be something so obvious as a sign, would there? No, of course not. Quorra had said that Zuse would find him, but what did that mean? The mysterious program wouldn’t instantly know when anyone entered the sector, would he? And he certainly wouldn’t know that Sam was searching for him.

Unsure of what else to do, Sam dismounted and deactivated his lightcycle. He checked the streets again, clocked an approaching pair of Black Guards, and strode in the opposite direction until he found an alcove to duck into. There, he pulled Quorra’s map out and examined the glowing, metallic disk. The complex symbols etched into the material had glimmered as they led him, but now they seemed to have abandoned him. 

“Where are you, Zuse?” he muttered, scrubbing a thumb over the designs. 

The disk, not surprisingly, didn’t answer him.

Growling with frustration, he continued on.

After what had to be an hour of fruitless wandering, Sam stopped under an overhang. He considered a nearby pair of programs working on an open panel in the wall of a building, wondering if he should ask someone. Or was this a situation where Zuse’s name alone would cause suspicion? He sighed, wishing that he had gotten more information from Quorra before he fled. But he had been in a hurry.

A lance of concern jabbed under his ribs at the reminder of his abrupt departure. Rinzler had likely woken by then: Was he okay? Did the reboot work and give him back his memories? Was he furious with Sam and Quorra? Or was he a different program entirely? Regret again twisted through him: Standing there alone in the city, he deeply felt the emptiness where Rinzler used to stand. Not just for his knowledge and strength, but his company, his wit, his hot glare and cool touch, the complete assurance that Sam could rely on him, knowing that he trusted Sam in turn–

“Any program in violation of their function is subject to termination,” reminded those ever present speakers.

He shook his head. He couldn’t dwell on that, not now. What was done was done and now he had a job to do. Find Zuse, contact Alan, get off the Grid, and wipe out Clu.

He started toward the pair of working programs when a voice called from behind him. 

“Greetings, program.”

He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see a program addressing another, and startled when he realized the speaker was looking at him.

A female program strode toward him through the gloom, bright with a white radiance completely out of place in the shadowy city and among the dark-clothed programs. She wore a translucent rain coat over her skintight white and silver suit and carried a clear, glowing umbrella to protect her sleek blond bun and heavy, smoky makeup. No imperfections ruined her perfect image; she looked like she'd just stepped out of a magazine. Only as she neared did he abruptly recognize her; she was one of the programs who had stripped and dressed him for the Disk War, given him his disk, and sent him to his execution with a smile on her face.

She stopped before him, her gaze crawling from his helmet to his boots, and her brow twitched up. “You’re looking for someone,” she said. 

“What makes you say that?” he asked warily.

She looked down at his thigh where he carried the map to Zuse's sector. A slight smile curved her full lips. “Intuition.”

Was this what Quorra meant when she said Zuse would find me? The map sent some kind of signal? Sam was glad for the helmet to hide his face as he deliberated. This program had been perfectly comfortable letting him die, could he really trust her now?

Did he have a choice?

Annoyed, he dipped his head in agreement.

“This way,” she said. 

She led him up the unnamed streets, her smooth walk as elegant as the rest of her. No one so much as glanced in their direction, giving Sam the impression that the light she emitted was, in a way, protecting him. After several minutes, they crossed an intersection and she strode past a pair of Black Guard sentries to a set of glass doors under a bright awning. Trying to look like he belonged there as well, Sam followed, forcing himself to a slow, even pace. There, the program pressed one of her glowing fingertips to a triangular button on a control panel. The glass doors slid open, admitting them into an elevator.

The moment the doors slid shut, the elevator rose smoothly. The lights of surrounding buildings flashed and blurred past them until they broke free from the skyline and Sam realized that they were accelerating up the side of the city’s immense central tower. He watched in awe as the city sprawled out around them and shrank away, and he could see past it to the dark, rocky Outlands. And there, far in the distance, the familiar green glow of the matter quarry reflecting off the clouds. 

He couldn’t stop a flash of memory–a lurch of remembered panic and determination and the exhilaration of finally freeing Rinzler from his shackles–and the accompanying stab. He swallowed, trying to banish the constriction in his throat, and forced his attention to the program beside him. Her expression had changed very little from its satisfied, almost smug smile, making him shift uneasily as he felt more and more like a mouse facing down a hungry cat. What the hell did I get myself into? he wondered.

As the city glittered far below, the elevator finally slowed and stopped. The program turned to face a set of white doors just as they slid open.

Heavy techno music immediately thumped into the elevator, the regular beats shivering through Sam’s chest. Dozens of programs crowded the corridor beyond, some in brilliant white and some in black, many holding tall cocktail glasses of glowing blue or green energy. 

It was a nightclub, he realized, shocked. The programs had nightclubs . 

His guide stepped out and passed her folded coat and umbrella to a program wearing a simple white dress and nothing else. Sam was startled to see so much skin and that she wasn’t wearing a disk–how could that be possible? Further up the corridor, they passed two large programs in white vests and heavy gauntlets, their eyes concealed by opaque visors, and Sam immediately clocked them as bouncers. With the female program at his side, no one stopped them; they moved into the club’s main room, joining throngs of laughing, talking, dancing programs. Most wore full black outfits, with some boldly displaying bare backs and arms, reminding Sam of Rinzler’s comments on his own t-shirt. Sam scanned the room, surprised by how normal the place was. The club wouldn’t have been out of place in the real world. Dark grey, padded benches and booths surrounded the main floor and white lights glowed in the floor panels and the tables themselves. Sky lights offered a view of the constant storms above and around the club. A tall central bar shone brilliantly, shelves of bottled energy summoning the thirsty programs to drink. In a booth high in the wall, Sam spotted two programs in heavy, metallic helmets doing something on complex, holographic displays and nodding along to the music–the DJs, he guessed.

Something red caught his attention and his gaze snapped down, hope lurching in his chest, only to freeze when he noticed a pair of Black Guards sitting on one of the benches. 

“Relax,” his guide murmured, her voice vibrating gently under the thumping music. “They’re occupied. They won't tell.” As though she had heard them, a female program sitting on the lap of one of the Black Guards glanced their way, smiled, and rubbed her cheek against the guard’s helmet. 

They won't tell? Sam wondered as he trailed his guide up to the next level and past the bar. Tell what?

A cackle of laughter cut through the din, drawing his attention before he could think of an explanation.  

“His name is Castor,” his guide said. “If you want to speak to Zuse, you need to go through him.”

Sam followed her gaze up to a raised level where the lights weren’t as bright and the booths seemed more private. Walls of clear glass looked out on the Grid sky, providing an ominous background. There, he found a white-haired and pale-skinned male program in a thigh-length, white and grey coat, idly spinning a glass cane and dancing in place to the music as he spoke with a loose group of tense programs.

“Where’s your sense of humour, my friend?” Castor cheerfully exclaimed.

The program standing in front of him, a large, dark male in black fatigues and minimal lights, frowned deeply. A glittering scar covered the right side of his face, bisecting his eye and twisting the corner of his mouth as he spoke. “Programs are disappearing,” he said with low urgency. “Soon none of us will be left. Zuse can unite the factions, foment revolution.”

“Of course Zuse can do these things,” Castor drawled, almost sighing. 

“Grant me an audience,” the large program insisted, shifting closer, gloved hands grasping but not quite touching.

“Your enthusiasm is intoxicating , my dear Bartik,” Castor breathed playfully, seemingly unconcerned by the much larger program looming over him. “But Zuse’s time is precious. We. Shall. See.”

Sam’s guide left him behind, striding up the steps to join Castor. She ducked her head close to his ear to murmur something Sam didn’t catch.

Castor glanced back at Sam, his shadowed eyelids low and expression unreadable, then smiled up at Bartik. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have to attend to something. But have a drink,” he added, sweeping his cane out toward the bar as he spun away. “Courtesy of the End of Line Club.” With quick, energetic steps, he trotted down to Sam’s level, his pale grey eyes brightening as he approached. “Ah!” he cried. “It's not often when your type graces my establishment. The master has vanished and now all the little subroutines are scurrying away?”

What is he talking about? Sam held his silence, waiting for Castor to say more.

After several seconds, Castor’s warm smile weakened. He spun his cane and spread his arms, visibly rallying his charisma. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here,” he said, his voice lowering. “You're among friends. You're not the first program to want to throw off their directive and try a new life.”

Ah, of course. Sam looked like an Enforcer and apparently Castor and Zuse specialized in getting new identities for programs. Good to know.

“And you're a special lad, aren't you? Not many programs advanced enough to work for our dear lost Rinzler. Now come!” he exclaimed, his toothy grin returning. “Let’s discuss exactly how I can help you. Away from these primitive functions.”

But Sam had seen exactly what he was looking for.

He brushed past Castor, ignoring his startled yelp, and climbed the steps to stand before Bartik. “Are you a member of the Resistance?” he demanded.

Bartik snarled and grabbed his disk, and the programs around him bristled. “Who’s asking?” he growled, his eyes narrowing.

“Take it outside, boys!” Castor snapped, hurrying back up to join them.

Sam lifted his hands and backed away, only belatedly realizing what this must look like: an Enforcer trying to crash the revolution. Before Bartik could take a swing at him, he lowered his helmet.

Bartik’s scowl immediately vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock. Castor gasped, echoed by the sharp breaths and hissed whispers of Bartik’s programs.

“ User ,” Bartik uttered. 

Sam smirked to hide his discomfort with the undeserved awe. These programs shouldn’t feel this way about Users, not when his father had let all of this happen, had allowed Clu to take over. “Greetings, program,” he said, pitching his tone low and casual. “It’s Sam. And you are a member of the Resistance, right?”

Bartik dipped his chin in a quick, slight nod and his gaze dropped to the blue-white disk still burning in his own fist. He blinked, seeming surprised at finding it there. Quickly docking it, he continued in a fervent murmur, “Why are you here? Why are you…?” He gestured at Sam’s armour. 

Sam’s smirk relaxed into a true smile as the tension around his chest eased. He’d found them. “Take my hand,” he said, reaching out.

Bartik stared at his extended hand for a long, quiet moment. Slowly, he raised his own and tentatively clasped Sam’s. Sam squeezed firmly, watching Bartik’s eyes widen again as his red lights shifted to white. 

“Thanks,” he said, releasing the stunned program. “I was told that Zuse could help me find you,” he explained. “But it looks like we don’t need him after all. Mind if I join you?” He nodded at the booth and partially drunk cocktails behind the trio of programs. 

“Find us?” Bartik repeated. He blinked and the slack surprise on his face sharpened to keen awareness. “What for?” 

“I have a plan–” Sam started.

Castor appeared at his side, hooked an arm through his, and pulled him back toward the club. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chided lightly. “I am overwhelmed by joy and awe that you chose my club to walk into and conspire together, but this, pretty miss, is a conversation best had behind closed doors. Perhaps we should retire to my private lounge.” 

Sam considered the Black Guards scattered throughout the club and was forced to agree. They may be occupied, but that didn’t mean they would stay occupied. “Not alone,” he said, nodding at Bartik and the others. “Them, too.”

Castor stared at them, his expression blank, and then smiled. “Y-yes, of course. Please do join us, my dear Bartik. But I’m afraid the lounge really is quite small…”

Bartik jerked his chin at his people and they shifted away, dispersing to the nearby booths, and then moved to follow Castor and Sam.

Castor, still holding onto Sam’s arm, led him away from the bar toward the corridor to the elevator. Sam expected that they were going to take the elevator somewhere else, but instead Castor stopped them in front of the corridor and tapped his cane on the floor. Several glowing steps rose smoothly and hovered in place, leading to an upper level. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed happily, flashing a coy glance at Sam. “I designed it myself, you know. It’s true!” He began to climb, pausing halfway up to call to the nearby DJ booth. “I’m stepping away for a moment, boys! Change the scheme, alter the mood. Electrify the boys and girls if you’d be so kind.” 

Bartik followed him, his heavy steps making the hovering stairs shiver, and disappeared with Castor behind a barely visible curtain of blue dots.

Before he joined them, Sam leaned in toward the female program who had surprisingly come through for him despite his reservations. “Thank you,” he said.

She graced him with one of her quiet smiles and for the first time it didn’t make him uneasy. “Gem,” she said. “My name is Gem.”

Like the main club, Castor’s private lounge was floored in glowing white squares, walled in dark grey panelling, and furnished in more of the dark grey booths and benches edged in white light. Behind them, the lounge looked out on the main club and, past it, the expanse of the Grid beyond the huge, curved windows. 

Who is this guy? Sam wondered. 

Castor strutted to a small bar against the opposite wall, Sam and Bartik following. Gem paced to a bench at the side of the room and sat, crossing her long legs and draping her arms in easy elegance, her smoky stare never leaving them.

 “Zuse has been around since the early days of the gaming grid,” Castor began, pulling two glasses out from under the bar's glowing glass top. “By necessity–”

“I don’t care about Zuse,” Sam interrupted. He leaned an elbow on the bar, but his attention returned to Bartik. “I’m interested in the Resistance. I’m going to fight Clu, but to do it I need to contact the other Users. Outside. So I need to get into the I/O Tower. Can you help me?"

Bartik glanced from Sam to Castor and back again and his lips twitched. "You're going to fight?" he asked in a low rumble. "You're not like our creator."

"No," Sam agreed. "I'm a different kind of User."

"I want to help you, but the I/O Tower is heavily guarded and I have only a few programs with me. We need Zuse. Zuse knows many of the factions of the Resistance and he can unite us, increase our numbers."

Sam grimaced. He'd never met the program and he already didn't like him. "I don't know, man," he said slowly. "If he can, then why hasn't he? Why are you still being denied an audience if he's so great?" He turned to Castor, who had busied himself stirring the two glowing cocktails. 

Castor flashed a nervous smile and slid a full glass to both Sam and Bartik. "Well, Zuse does have to mind the angles, weigh the numbers, and determine the chances in each round of the game." As he spoke, Castor strode out from behind the bar and toward the door overlooking the club, his cane twisting in his hands. His tone shifted, lowering with bitter darkness. "It's not a simple thing to wager on the winner, and he hasn't always been correct…" He spun in place, his bright grin returning. "So you can forgive him for having an abundance of caution, yes?"

“Is it caution?” Sam asked, absently swirling his glass and considering the flamboyant program with the influence and lofty position of a king perched high above the city. “Or is it fear? And how do the numbers look now? How would you wager, Zuse, now that I’m on the board?”

“Zuse?” Bartik echoed in a whisper.

Zuse’s face blanked, a ghost of misery brushing over his shimmering features. “I’m terribly sorry, darling,” he murmured. “But not in your favour.” His voice and expression hardened. “I believed in Users once before.”

Something red flashed behind him, there was a crash of shattering glass, and six figures in sleek black armour plummeted through the club’s skylight and landed in a synchronous crouch, one of them smashing a club patron into a pool of blue bits. Panicked screams erupted throughout the club, cutting through the music, and programs scattered, fighting to reach the elevator. 

Enforcers . Sickening dread curdling his stomach, Sam recognized the full helms, the minimal lights, their predatory movements. Not the Black Guard, these were six of Rinzler’s breed of program, designed to kill and not capture. The club’s music picked up tempo as the Enforcers straightened and activated long red light staves and swords. 

“Fuck.” Sam glanced at Gem, found her sitting relaxed and still smiling, and a hot surge of anger roared through his ears and boiled in his blood. Not at the programs, but at himself for dismissing Rinzler’s warnings. “Minding all the angles,” he snarled. He activated his helmet and sprinted for the main club, passing Zuse as he backed away and flourished a bow. 

He hit the main level in a roll, righted himself, and drew Quorra’s light staff. He needed to get to the elevator, get out of there, find another way–

The floor thudded beside him and he was startled to see Bartik at his side. “ Resist !” the program roared.

Four of the other resistance programs charged at the Enforcers, their disks swinging wildly, and the Enforcers met them with quick, brutal efficiency, blocking the berserk attacks and swiftly countering. The programs shattered and the Enforcers strode through their bits, zeroing in on Sam’s position. Some of the club’s bouncers tried to intercept them, only to meet the same end, gutting Sam with the realization that Zuse was willing to sacrifice his own people to destroy him.

“The game has changed, Son of Flynn!” Zuse declared from the entrance to his lounge, brandishing his cane. Gem emerged to stand behind him, watching the destruction serenely.

Sam and Bartik faced four of the oncoming Enforcers as the other two split off to clean up other resistance members and helpless programs. Adrenaline electrified Sam’s veins, his heart throbbed, his hands were steady. 

Refusing to wait for the enemy to come, he swung Quorra’s staff in a whirling attack on the first Enforcer. Beside him, Bartik charged with another roar, pressing the second Enforcer back a pace before the soldier recovered and swung his two swords in an attack that nearly sliced through Bartik’s stomach. As the Enforcer spun to attack again, Sam rolled in at his legs and swept his staff at the program’s ankles, forcing him to jump away. Something slammed into his shoulder as he sprang to his feet; Bartik, shoving him aside to avoid a downward strike from behind. They switched positions, blocking the hammering blows of the Enforcers, their counters becoming more and more desperate. This wasn’t a fight, it was a massacre–

From the corner of his eye, Sam watched a third Enforcer leap off the second level and drop down on Bartik’s back. Panicking–Bartik was his only way out, his only ally!–Sam tackled him and lifted a hand to block the incoming program. Electricity crackled up his arm, familiar energy gathering and releasing in an uncontrolled burst. The Enforcer flew back, smashing into a bench and tumbling over, and the other three staggered, leaving a brief opening.

Sam shoved his staff into the chest of the nearest Enforcer, but the impaled program barely flinched. He grabbed Sam by the shoulder, dragging him in toward his crackling sword. Sam gripped his steely sword arm, barely able to keep himself from meeting the edge of that vicious blade, his heart plummeting as he faced this Rinzler-like strength. Physical force wasn’t going to win this battle. 

Grimacing, he tightened his grip and pulled hard on the program’s energy.

The Enforcer flickered, his armour phasing out, his inner circuitry glittering, and Sam kept pulling. He went limp and fell to his knees, but Sam fell with him and kept pulling. He pulled until he could see the floor through the fading bits. He pulled until there was nothing left.

“User!” Bartik shouted, his voice straining. 

Sam, breathing hard and dizzy with the power coursing through his body, whirled around and realized that Bartik had been struggling to protect him from two other Enforcers. Sam shoved him aside and unleashed another bolus of energy to push them away, but the attack was less effective this time; they merely skidded backward, keeping their feet. 

Fighting a wave of vertigo, Sam grabbed Bartik under the arm and dragged him toward the bar. “Come on,” he panted. “We need something at our backs.” With all the limitless powers of a User, he still needed time to use them.

Bartik followed, stumbling and sliding on far too many bits, and they leapt into the meagre shelter of the bar. From there, Sam quickly scanned the main floor and racked his mind for some kind of strategy. Turn the floor into fog and let the programs fall? Drain the entire room? But there were still other programs in the club, too much collateral, he had to be careful–

Before he could think of something, two Enforcers leapt onto the bar and were on them again, driving down with staff and sword. He drew his disk to block, swiped at their feet, and pushed another wave of energy out to knock them off the bar.

Above them, Zuse cackled again, raised his cane, and shot a spray of bright white lasers into the chaos, unconcerned for his own people and his helpless customers. Sam had a heartbeat to stare in horror at the meaningless carnage before a seventh black form plummeted past the insane program, sheared off his arm, and landed in a crouch on the main floor. Zuse stumbled back and collapsed. The figure raised his smooth, reflective helm, revealing the distinctive T of square lights high on his chest. Slowly, every movement a carefully controlled threat, he split his burning disk into two.

"Rinzler," Sam breathed, relief and dismay and joy and terror trembling through his chest in a twisting storm. He'd never been so glad to see someone. Or more afraid.

"Rinzler!" Bartik echoed next to him. "Retreat!"

The Enforcers nearest Rinzler paused in their attack, seemed to stutter as they processed his presence, then whirled around to resume their assault on Sam and Bartik's position.

Rinzler twitched, tensed, and leapt into fluid motion.

To Sam’s disbelieving stare, the scene shuddered into slow motion. Rinzler spun and slashed through the nearest Enforcer, slicing a dozen gaping rents through his armour and then kicking him in the chest so hard that he shattered. He launched one of his disks through the explosion of bits, aiming at something on the other side of the club, even as he lunged into a somersault that brought him down onto the second Enforcer’s shoulders. His long thighs clamped around the other program's head, his free hand held the Enforcer’s wrist to keep his staff at bay, and with his disk he punched hole after brutal hole into the top of the Enforcer’s helmet and head until there was nothing left but a gruesome, pixelated hole between his shoulders. As the program dissolved beneath him, Rinzler landed easily on his feet. He stalked toward the third Enforcer, not even pausing when his disk screamed back to him from the club’s entrance, where a fourth Enforcer had lost a leg and was being swarmed by other programs.

"He's attacking his own soldiers!" Bartik exclaimed, tensing to rise. "He's corrupted. We can take him–"

"No!" Sam barked, grabbing his arm and dragging him back down. He was shaking, shocked by the ruthless violence even though he knew Rinzler. Or thought he did. "Don't engage. Tell your people to stand down."

"Are you scrambled?!" Bartik shook him off. "This is our only chance!"

"If you attack him, he'll execute you. Stand down! " Almost begging, Sam clung to the program’s wrist. “Please. Trust me. He won’t hurt you if you don’t attack him.” I hope.

Bartik's gaze flicked over Sam’s face and, after a tense moment, he gave a tiny nod. Sam sagged in relief.

Only to jump when the last Enforcer, disarmed, flew over the bar. He smashed into the wall of bottled energy and collapsed next to them in a heap of energy-soaked glass. Rinzler appeared, landing lightly on the bar, and strode slowly toward them, the crunch of glass loud under his boots. His helm tilted toward Sam, his hidden gaze heavy. 

Sam watched him approach, finding it hard to breathe as Rinzler’s sleek, dangerous form consumed his attention. They'd only been apart for hours, but it felt like weeks, months, years. Sam had been convinced that he'd never see him again. 

When he drew even with their position, Rinzler turned his helm toward the Enforcer. He crouched on the bar top, his purr filling the space with the promise of a quick and painful demise. He reached down and hauled the Enforcer up by a grip on the bottom edge of his helmet, rising to stand and bringing the other program with him. The Enforcer dangled from Rinzler’s fist, swinging at his head and kicking his stomach and legs, but there was no indication that Rinzler even noticed. Slowly, methodically, he slid his combined disks into the Enforcer’s belly until his hand disappeared and the burning red edge sliced out through the Enforcer’s spine. For too many long, agonizing seconds, Rinzler held still and the Enforcer wheezed and growled and scrabbled at his wrists and head, helplessly pinned. Then he released the Enforcer’s helmet. The doomed program dropped, splitting himself in two on Rinzler’s disks, and shattered.

Rinzler stood quietly, his chest rising and falling evenly, his growl passing over Sam’s body like a caress. Around them, the club had fallen silent.

Sam shivered, staring up at Rinzler’s mask, his mind blank. 

Slowly, Rinzler sank to one knee and docked his disks. His low, familiar rasp cut through Sam’s terror. “My reboot is complete, User.”

Chapter Text

Two

$ (admin) - [~TRON]

$ find -dir “mem” -type f -name “.mem” -exec rm -delete {} \;

“Activate.”

His eyes opened at the input.

He stood in a room of bright white lights, pinned to a wall by a holding routine, immobile. A program stood before him, his interface beige and his hair brown, his robe black, his circuit lights orange. 

“I am CLU2,” the program declared.

A line of coding triggered:

$ command = input:CLU2

$ primary:execute(command)

“And you… you are Rinzler,” Clu continued. “Confirm.”

“I am Rinzler,” Rinzler echoed, because he was Rinzler.

“You are my program. Confirm.”

“I am your program,” he agreed, because he was Clu's program.

Clu’s mouth curved with a smile as his eyes flicked over Rinzler’s face. “Far out, man,” he said softly. “Flynn never deserved you. But now it's just the two of us.” He gripped Rinzler’s shoulder. “We're going to make the world a better place.”

**

$\# uname -m

xTRON

$\# ./u-boot

Audio returned first and Rinzler was immediately aware of a steady pounding.

“Sam?” came a muffled voice. “Rinzler? You guys in there?” Then, quieter, “Shit, I can't even open the door. Sam did something…”

Flynn.

The identification came smoothly, without the aggravation of lingering hatred and linked only to positive metadata. Ancient metadata, he realized on closer inspection. 

“Sam?!” Flynn's tone spiked with worry, causing alarm to echo through Rinzler’s reviving systems.

His eyes opened. 

He lay in softness: soft white light, soft bed, the soft hum of Flynn's compound. He stared at the ceiling, waiting for his systems to come back online. Movement returned to his fingers and toes. He rotated his wrists and lifted his arms in a stretch. He turned his head to find–

Nothing.

Beside him the bed was empty, the grey blanket undisturbed.

He bolted upright, expecting to see Sam in the room’s chair, but it, too, was empty.

The door buzzed, crackled, and flickered red. “What the hell did he do?” Flynn complained from the other side.

The faint alarm increased to a klaxon ringing through his awareness. Sam had stated that he would remain in the room while Rinzler rebooted. Where was he?!

Rinzler dropped his legs over the edge of the bed and had to clutch the blankets when he swayed, his calibration struggling to catch up with his movement. The reboot had cleared his cache, compiled his memory files, and improved his processing, but it left him unsteady and drained. He needed energy.

His attention caught on a carafe and a glass of glowing blue energy waiting on the table next to the bed. He scowled at it. He didn't want energy, he wanted Sam . He wanted Sam pinned down and begging to give him his power, straining all over as Rinzler brought him to a peak of gasping desperation before draining him.

Instead, he was forced to shakily grab the glass and down the evanescent energy. Compared to Sam it was weak, tasteless, and unsatisfying, but it did envigorate his circuits and allow him to stand.

He paced to the door, watched it flicker again as Flynn cursed and did something on the other side, and reached for the knob. As his fingertips made contact, the door shimmered and swung easily inward.

Flynn stood on the other side, his hand lifted, interrupted in mid-User function. He met Rinzler’s frown with wide-eyed surprise.

“Where's Sam?” they demanded in unison.

“He's not here.” Rinzler pushed past him, ready to tear the compound apart. 

“I can't find him.” Flynn flanked him, following him into the main room. “I wanted to–We didn't–Ah, we didn't leave things at a good place the last time we spoke. Did he say anything to you?”

“He said many things to me.” Rinzler scanned the room and the courtyard beyond Flynn's protective forcefield, confirming Sam’s absence. His attention caught on the distant city and it didn't take a great feat of processing to realize what had happened. “Many things,” he repeated darkly.

"I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I want you. Let me touch you. Let me worship you.”

“Can't you just take a few hours off, get some rest, give yourself a chance to… to repair any gaps or errors?”

“I know you want to protect me, but I need you to be at your best. At your most functional."

“I won't let anything happen to you.”

Ignoring Flynn's confused frown, Rinzler stalked back to the bedroom. Confirming his suspicions, the lightcycle baton and Sam's armour were missing from their shelves. He stared at the place where they should have been, unable to react.

“He's gone,” Rinzler muttered when Flynn joined him. “He…” 

He was supposed to be there. He had promised to be there. He was… he was Rinzler’s chosen directive, his purpose, his future, his place. He was a critical input, a part of Rinzler’s programming. Without him, Rinzler was empty . Obsolete. Without him, there was just an awful, sickening agony of loss, so much worse because Sam had chosen to leave him behind. 

His cycle speed jumped, triggered by the onslaught of sudden, unstoppable pain, and his aggressive functions responded to the attack. Without a proper target, he grabbed the chair by the door and hurled it at the empty shelves, shattering the furniture into shards of matter. Flynn shouted in surprise, but his voice was faint. Snarling, Rinzler rounded on the bed–the bed where Sam had given Rinzler his first memory of true pleasure–shoved his fingers under the frame, and wrenched it up off the floor to crash against the ceiling and back wall. It slammed back to the floor in one unsatisfying piece, so Rinzler tore the disks off his back and flung them both with all of his strength. They ricocheted around the small room in a red blur, ripping through everything in their path, completely demolishing every speck of matter that had borne witness to Sam’s lies and Rinzler’s weakness. 

His disks snapped back to his hands and Rinzler stared at the smoking remains of the room. The white light panels flickered irregularly, illuminating the long, scorched gouges scarring the walls, the flutters of glittering matter disintegrating in the air, and the blackened debris carpeting the floor.

Flynn cleared his throat in the doorway. “I don't agree with him leaving this way, but I'm glad he finally listened to his old man. Users and programs don't–”

“Don't finish that sentence,” Rinzler warned him, sliding a glare over his shoulder. “You did this? You told him to leave me behind?”

“No, of course not, man.” Flynn lifted his hands. “I didn't want him to go. I just told him how dangerous it is for…” He trailed off and sighed, his expression uncomfortable, and then waved at the demolished room. “It doesn't work! He's a User. You're programmed to fight for Users, not to deal with the kind of crap that we dish out. He was just going to hurt you or you him–”

“ I decide what I'm programmed for! ” Rinzler lunged, grabbed Flynn's collar, and slammed him back against the corridor wall. Cycling hard and on the brink of violence, he scowled into Flynn's shocked blue eyes and repeated, “I decide what I'm programmed for. I fought for that choice and I chose Sam. You can't take that away from me.”

Pale faced and breathing hard, Flynn grasped Rinzler’s wrists and shook his head. “I didn't,” he gasped. “ He decided to leave!”

A blue-white glow reflected in Flynn's eyes. Rinzler dropped him and whirled, knocking Quorra's sword away before she could get close. She grimly recovered and levelled her blade at him. 

“Get away from my User,” she said quietly.

Meeting her determined frown, he had no doubt that she had given Sam the information that he'd so foolishly wanted. He could have destroyed her easily. He could have destroyed them both for laying the seed code for Sam’s betrayal, but that wouldn't bring Sam back. “Where did he go?” he demanded. He straightened from his offensive stance and docked his disks, knowing she would not attack unless provoked.

She echoed his movements, lowering and deactivating her sword. “I sent him to someone we can trust,” she said warily.

“You mean Zuse,” Rinzler spat. “He's one of Clu’s lackeys.”

“What?” Quorra blinked and shook her head. “No! He helped us during the Purge.”

“That was a long time ago. Now he obeys Clu. You sent Sam into a trap!” As much as he still ached from the pain of Sam leaving him behind, the thought of Sam falling into Clu’s hands hurt far worse. 

“Prepare the lightrunner,” Flynn said. Apparently recovered from Rinzler’s outburst, he straightened his coat and strode toward the main room. “We'll go after him.”

“ I'll go after him,” Rinzler corrected. “I'll be faster alone and you… Clu can't get you, either.” If Clu acquired Flynn's disk, Rinzler’s chances of keeping Sam safe would be far worse. And Flynn likely wouldn't survive the experience, the thought of which triggered a faint error as, despite Flynn’s ignorance, Rinzler would prefer to keep him alive. 

Quorra nodded with a murmured, “He’s right, Flynn.”

But Flynn rounded on him, brows raised. “Are you kidding me? After what you did to my guestroom? What are you going to do to Sam when you find him?!”

The accusation cut like a disk to his core programming. Rinzler grunted and fisted his empty hands. “I will never hurt him, Flynn. I told you, I chose him. And if he doesn't–” He cut off, pained, and only continued with great difficulty as he attempted to understand the new lines of programming that had slowly been writing themselves since he'd first drawn Sam’s bizarre User blood. “If he doesn't choose me, I will not hurt him even if his choice hurts me. I want him. I want to be near him. I want to hear him and feel him and look at him. But more than anything else, I want him to be functional. I want him to be well.”

Flynn stared at him, his expression slack. “Well, I'll be damned,” he finally whispered. He laughed a short, astonished huff of noise and pushed a hand through his hair, looking Rinzler over as though seeing him for the first time. “Okay,” he agreed softly. “Okay.” He jerked his chin at the main room. “Take my bike, but only as far as the Grid. If Clu’s programs pick it up, they'll be able to trace it back here. Destroy it if you have to.”

Rinzler nodded, already calculating alternate routes to get him to Zuse's End of Line club.

“What will you do when you find him?” Quorra asked.

“Protect him.”

“And bring him back?” Flynn persisted.

“Users willing,” Rinzler responded flatly.

Flynn chuckled. “Users willing,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Good one. Come on.” He led Rinzler to his archaic-looking white lightcycle and offered a half-smile, “She's yours, man. Go get him.”

**

How far had Sam gotten? He'd left the compound four millicycles ahead of Rinzler, but his lightcycle, despite its upgrades, was at its core a gaming cycle. It could only go so fast. Even if Sam took the most direct route to the city, it would still take him at least three millicycyles to reach the outskirts, and then he would need to infiltrate and find his way into Zuse's web of informants. Rinzler suspected that Sam was in the city already, as, knowing Sam and his growing abilities, he'd have been able to pass the sentries without much trouble.

Rinzler had another route in mind. 

He sped through the Outlands canyons, striking out not toward the city, but putting the city on his left and driving deeper into the broken landscape. As he drove, his mind suffered the same moments of darkness and flashes of light as the Outlands itself.

What was he doing? 

He had an intense, overriding need to chase Sam down. It was only then, completely free from Clu’s commands to find and capture him, that he had to scrutinize that need and wonder, Why? Why couldn't he turn his back on the User who had turned his back on him? Sam didn't want him anymore. Rinzler could do the same; leave and carve out his life somewhere else without Sam’s complications. 

He should leave. Reviewing his memory files, he had been pursuing Sam since they’d left the Grid: first because of Clu’s command and then because he hadn’t known what else to do. Now… now he didn't have to. The whispers of old coding had ceased with his reboot, leaving his mind clear. There were no compulsions. He could choose what to do. He could choose something other than following Sam.

But he didn't want to.

His tactical system–the complex lines of code that took in data and produced rapid judgements below the surface of his awareness–told him to find Sam. But why ? He couldn't blame the need on Clu. This was all him, all his own programming.

Was it because Sam was a walking power source? Because, despite his ignorance, he was a powerful ally? Because he did and said things that made Rinzler laugh? Because he had given him the ability to choose? Because he could make Rinzler feel… everything. Frustration, fear, joy, contentment, belonging, pain, excitement, and something so complex that he didn’t have a name for it? 

He would find him, he reaffirmed. Find him and figure out the nature of this need.

Flynn’s lightcycle, ancient as it was, was as powerful as Quorra had described. It devoured the distance and handled so tightly that it was like an extension of Rinzler’s interface. More quickly than he had anticipated, Rinzler rounded a corner in the labyrinth of canyons and slowed to a stop when he saw a tall, narrow tower of shining black panels and struts of glowing red and orange: a military outpost. Rinzler gazed up at it, giving himself a moment to update the facility’s metadata. It was no longer a location for the storage of allied and subordinate programs, it was now full of opponents. 

He moved the lightcycle back and out of sight of the facility, dismounted, and navigated the cycle’s control panel to access the self-destruct function. Once he’d triggered it, he paced away. As he stalked toward the outpost on foot, he heard the shivering fwoomph as Flynn’s lightcycle imploded behind him and a bright white light flashed on the canyon walls. He ignored it, his attention fixed on the outpost. 

At his approach, the two broad-shouldered sentry programs flanking the door straightened. Rinzler came to a halt and allowed them to scan him. He didn’t know if his absence would be treated as defection or insubordination, so he remained alert, ready to annihilate the sentries if they attacked or raised an alarm.

“Rinzler,” one of the sentries uttered. “You’ve returned.”

It was unclear if this was considered good or bad, so Rinzler held his silence.

The two sentries stepped aside and the door slid open, admitting him into the outpost. Rinzler entered, keeping his pace brisk but unhurried, suitable for a program on a mission. He bypassed the lowest chambers, where the vehicles and armoury were neatly stored, and climbed the spiralling staircase around the outer wall. The stairs took him past the next level, where the resident sentries and scouts could take their dormancy and receive energy, and up to the tower’s highest floor: a platform open to the roiling sky. Here, he found four sentries staring out at the Outlands and a rack of lightjets between them. 

The four sentries didn’t respond to his presence; they were programmed only to recognize disturbances in the Outlands. Rinzler looked past them and experienced a flush of amusement when he spotted the grey, flat-topped formation that Sam had manifested during their fight, hulking in the distance. The User certainly had no sense of self-restraint.

His amusement twisted into bitterness. No self-restraint, which was why Rinzler had to find him. 

His gaze turned to the city, shining in the other direction. Zuse’s tower stood in bright contrast to Sam’s, full of the promise of danger and treachery. Sam needed him. He could feel it like a command line, though without any clear encoding. It was just… a feeling. So strong that it would not be denied. Rinzler helped himself to a fistful of lightjets, storing two in his thigh holsters before jumping up onto the rail surrounding the platform. 

The nearest sentry jolted, seeing Rinzler for the first time. “Report,” she prompted, a command to explain what he was doing

“Override,” Rinzler responded. “Engaging solitary function.”

“Accepted.” She turned her helm back out to survey the Outlands.

Rinzler considered her for a moment, wondering if he should terminate her to ensure no one would remember in which direction he had gone, but dismissed the idea. Chances were very good that he would soon be seen and his location identified, anyway. Knowing Sam, he was already in the thick of trouble.

**

Rinzler watched the last Enforcer split apart and derez, taking great pleasure in thoroughly destroying a program that had attempted to harm his User. His cycle speed remained high even after the Enforcer had been reduced to bits; when he shifted his attention to Sam, he struggled not to attack the unknown program taking shelter beside him, simply for being a non-ally in such close proximity to Rinzler’s target. 

Keeping his movements slow and treading with care, Rinzler strode up the bar. He stared down at Sam’s huddled form, wishing he could see past his full helm and examine his face to determine his condition. A strike team of six Enforcers was far worse than any challenge Sam had previously faced apart from Rinzler himself. Had he been injured? Was his User blood leaking from his interface? 

Sam’s helm tilted up toward him. Rinzler could see his chest and shoulders heave with his rapid breaths, but otherwise he didn’t move or make a sound.

Rinzler dropped to one knee to get closer and docked his disks. Words fought to escape him. Are you functional? Why did you leave me? Why don’t you want me? Why did you lie? You are mine , Sam, and I will never let you go–

Unable to produce any of them, he managed only an emotionless status report. “My reboot is complete, User.”

Sam shuddered all over. “Rinzler.” Even warped by his helm, Sam’s voice was like a hand on Rinzler’s circuits, both electrifying and uncomfortable, making Rinzler shiver with a mix of need and pain. He pushed himself up to standing, visibly unsteady, and reached back to dock his disk.

“User!” yelped the other program, still crouched on the floor. He grabbed Sam’s arm.

Enraged, Rinzler struck at the offending hand, and stopped in surprise when his disk was deflected by the glowing white edge of Sam’s. 

“It’s okay,” Sam said softly. His helmet peeled away from his face, revealing his rough skin and tempting lips, his striated eyes and intent stare. Without taking his gaze from Rinzler, he added, “Bartik, Rinzler’s with me. Clu doesn’t control him anymore.” Slowly, he shifted to stand in front of Bartik and resumed docking his disk. “Rinzler,” Sam continued, “this is Bartik, he’s with the Resistance–”

“Then I’ll derez him now to get this irrational plan out of your processor. You shouldn’t be here, User.”

“He’s with the Resistance,” Sam repeated firmly, a frown pulling his brows together, “and with his help we’re going to stop Clu.”

“You shouldn’t be here!” 

The volume of Sam’s voice didn’t rise, but he hardened, his tone dropping. “You’re right. I don’t belong here. I belong out there.”

Rinzler growled with frustration. That wasn’t what he’d meant. He couldn’t actually articulate what he’d meant, Sam’s actions triggered so many errors and alarms that he could barely think. Faced with Sam and Sam’s betrayal and Sam’s insistence on illogical behaviour, all he could manage was pain and confusion. As more and more other programs picked themselves up around the club, his attention was split even further trying to track them all; he couldn’t focus. 

“ Sam ,” he managed, strangling on the word.

Sam’s frown faded, replaced by sympathy. He nodded at a ledge above the main room, where Zuse lay in a crumpled, offline heap and a door opened into a separate room. “Let’s talk,” he offered. “Alone.” 

“User,” Bartik said. “I don’t think–”

“It’ll be fine,” Sam cut him off. “Go check on your people. I’ll be back.” He watched over his shoulder as Bartik stood and slid away, out from behind the bar. Only when Bartik had gotten some distance did he move away himself. 

Rinzler dropped to the floor and closely followed Sam to a set of hovering stairs, still carefully watching the unknown programs. They ascended, stepped over Zuse’s body, and entered a small lounge of dark grey furniture and panelling. Rinzler scanned for entrances and exits, found nothing, and returned his attention to Sam as he came to a stop in the centre of the room. Only then did he grudgingly dock his disks.

“How do you feel after your reboot?” Sam began. “Did it help? Are you… changed? Do you remember anything new?”

“My memories begin with my activation under Clu’s command,” Rinzler replied stiffly. “And I am functional. But my status is irrelevant. You must return to Flynn’s compound.”

A smile ghosted over Sam’s face. “You know, for over a month you were trying to get me to the city. Now that I’m here, you want me to leave?”

“You can’t be here!” 

“I can and I will. You shouldn’t be here.” Sam gestured at him. “Hasn't Clu done enough to you? You just got free and now you’re back for more?”

“Clu never lied to me,” Rinzler growled. 

For the first time, Sam flinched. He rubbed his face and looked away.

" You did," Rinzler pressed. "Clu said that Users are deceivers and he was correct!"

"What other choice did I have?" Sam demanded, his glare bright with moisture. "I didn't want to fight you. I didn’t want–” He cut himself off, fisted a hand in his hair, clenched his jaw, and continued roughly, “Look, you’re better off without me. Being with me is just going to mess you up. Believe me. I’m bad enough for other Users, I can’t imagine how bad I am for a program. Just… go take care of yourself. You’re free to do what you want to do.”

“You are correct,” Rinzler muttered thoughtfully. 

Sam winced, the same expression he wore whenever he was in pain, and turned away to frown at the small bar glowing at the far end of the room.

“I am free to do what I want to do,” Rinzler continued. He closed the space between them, deactivating his helmet so Sam could see his face. “I’ve been controlled since I was activated, but I’m not anymore.” When Sam refused to look at him, Rinzler caught his chin and lifted his head to meet his red-rimmed eyes. “So stop telling me what’s bad for me and what I should do. I'll make those choices for myself. Now, I’m getting tired of repeating myself so I’m only going to say this once more. I choose you , Sam.” 

For once, Sam seemed to be at a loss for words.

Rinzler let his hand fall to Sam’s arm and tugged him toward the door. “Come. You need to get out of here.”

Sam jerked out of his grip and stepped back. “No.”

The urge to just grab the User, tie him up, and drag him out of the club nearly overwhelmed him. However, the outcome of such a tactic had already proven itself to be a very limited success. Instead, he demanded, “Do you have any comprehension of what Clu will do to you?"

"It doesn't matter,” Sam returned vehemently. 

“It does matter. I've seen what happens to his enemies!”

“I'm not going to hide until I fade away. I'm not going to trap myself in a prison like my father. I'm not going to let Clu destroy all of this!" Sam took a shuddering breath and retreated until he came up against one of the low grey couches. "I know you want to protect me, but locking me up isn't the way."

"He'll terminate you."

"I'll take the risk."

"I will not!"

“You just finished telling me that I can’t make choices for you. Well, you can’t make them for me.”

Rinzler matched his glare, trying to work through the pathways of Sam’s argument and the continued throbbing of his own fear and anger. Sam would rather risk himself to fight Clu than be with him?

Sam flung an arm out toward the club. “If you want to protect me, then help me . Help us ! If Clu is still running this place, then we'll never be safe, no matter where we are. Trapping me at my dad's compound is just going to prolong the inevitable.”

He hated how this reckless rationale did ring true in his strategic programming. As Clu continued expanding his forces and his influence, Flynn would eventually be discovered. Sam would have to fight. At least now, Sam had some few allies to help him. They hadn’t put up much of a fight against the Enforcers, but they may have other skills or information to offer. 

Or… 

Rinzler shied away from the alternative strategy, but he couldn’t stop it from outputting into his executive functions: If Clu wanted Flynn and only Flynn, what would happen to Sam if Clu got what he wanted? What would he pay to have Flynn handed over to him?

No, it wasn’t worth considering.

Slowly, unable to speak his agreement when he was suffering so many conflicts, Rinzler nodded. 

Sam stared at him. “Really? You… you'll help me?”

Rinzler nodded again. “But you must never lie to me,” he added. “Never give me a reason to believe that Clu was correct.”

“I…” Sam trailed off, his face flushed. He blinked rapidly and choked, “I’m sorry. I'm sorry. Clu was right. About this, at least.”

Rinzler flinched. If Clu was correct in this, what else was true?

“Users are liars,” Sam continued. He sank onto the couch, his shoulders slumped and head bowed as though all the strength was draining from him. “We lie to each other,” he said to the floor. “All the time. The biggest lies, we tell to ourselves. I told myself that I left because you wouldn't let me go. I left to protect you. To keep you out of this. To keep you from getting hurt. But… Fuck it, I'm scared.” He glared down at his hands where they clenched together between his knees.

Rinzler started toward him. “I'll keep you safe–”

“I'm scared of you ,” he barked, making Rinzler stop so quickly that he rocked back on his heels. “I think about you all the time. I want you so bad that it hurts. You're like a… like a drug . I'm afraid that you'll leave. I'm afraid that you won't. I'm afraid that one day you'll figure out that you're better off without me. And I have to leave! I have to get out of here and every minute we spend together, that hurts even more.” He released a shuddering breath and his hands laced and unlaced rapidly, agitated. “I thought I could rip off the band-aid, but now I've made things worse. I didn't mean to piss you off. I just… God, I was scared. I need to do this and I didn't want to fight you. I didn't want…” 

“Me,” Rinzler filled in, low and monotone.

“No!” Sam snapped. “No, that's not what I meant. I didn't want to fight you because I can't !”

“You fight me all the time.”

“And I lose every single fucking time. To myself. To my own… my own obsession with you. It scares the hell out of me. Because I'm going to lose you just like I lost everyone else.”

“Then stay.”

“I can't,” Sam groaned into his palms. “I don't belong here. And I have to get my dad out. I can't be here.” He breathed several times, ragged through his constricted throat, before he spoke again. “I'm going to get us out,” he muttered. “And I should’ve asked for your help in the first place.”

Rinzler couldn't answer. How could he? Sam wasn't making any sense. He said he wanted him, but then said he didn't. He said he was afraid, but of what? Rinzler wouldn't hurt him. And the only reason he might “lose” Rinzler was by leaving himself, which was his own choice. Was he… afraid of himself?

Nothing about Users was logical.

“Were you programmed with conflicting directives?” he finally asked, frowning in concern.

Sam snorted. “Yeah. Users are naturally conflicted. We're built this way.”

“It must be confusing.”

Groaning again, Sam leaned back and dropped his head onto the low back of the couch. “You have no idea,” he sighed. Then he paused and searched Rinzler’s face. “Actually, you probably have a better idea than most programs. Feeling like you need to do one thing when every bit in your body wants you to do the opposite.” His gaze dipped to Rinzler’s chest and his eyes darkened. He closed them firmly and turned away. 

“Do you fear what you want?”

Sam’s head whipped around, eyes popping open. He stared at Rinzler, his lips parted, and twitched a shallow, silent nod.

“Don't fear me, User,” Rinzler murmured. Moving slowly and carefully so Sam wouldn’t bolt again, he sat next to him. “You are mine and I will protect you.”

Sam shivered. “I'm going to fight Clu,” he declared tightly, as though repeating it to himself.

“And I will fight with you.” Although the thought of it triggered alarms of imminent danger, Rinzler knew now that denying Sam would lead to greater problems. 

In minute increments, Sam leaned against him, his warmth and weight easing the agony and despair that had been tangling Rinzler’s circuits since he woke up. “You'll help us get out of here?”

Rinzler nodded, finding it surprisingly easy. No wonder Users lied so often. “I will.”

Sam sagged completely. “Thanks,” he breathed. His head turned and his dark blue gaze tried to swallow Rinzler like a chasm. A wry smile twitched his mouth. “I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted. “I was getting used to having you around.” 

“Mm. Especially when you’re about to be terminated.” 

“What are you talking about? I almost had them, asshole.” 

“I could see that. Actually,” he added, “Enforcement programs are the best of Clu’s forces. That you were able to terminate even one of them is impressive.”

“Was that a compliment? Damn, that reboot really did change you–”

Unable to resist at that proximity, Rinzler leaned in, cupped Sam’s head, and slanted their mouths together, swallowing Sam’s last muffled words. The crackling power in his lips, his heat, his strength, his illogic, his arrogance, his confusion… Rinzler wanted it all. For whatever reason, he wanted Sam more than ever now that he knew what it felt like for him to slip away. And then fall back into his hands.

Sam moaned against him and gripped his shoulder, his thumb finding Rinzler’s neck terminal and stroking it, triggering a lash of desire down his circuits. Rinzler pressed him back, angling him down onto the couch. He would take his User right there, in Zuse’s stronghold with the Grid’s chaos raging around them–

Sam’s knee shoved into his abdomen, forcing space between their bodies, and he turned his head to gasp, “Wait, stop!” 

Rinzler stroked from his knee up his thigh to his hip and squeezed the swell of his ass, digging his merciless fingertips into Sam’s flexible armour. “Wait for what?” 

“Didn’t you hear anything I said?” Sam demanded. “I can’t–can’t do this anymore.” He made a weak attempt to kick Rinzler off, but there was no strength behind it. 

“Because you're afraid of the moment when we must part? Is that the only reason?”

Sam glared up at him. “Maybe it's different for programs. For Users, when we want to be with someone, it fucking hurts when we can't.”

“It's the same for programs,” Rinzler admitted. “But is it worse to have something and lose it, or to never have it at all?” Searching Sam’s flushed face and the deep wells of his expressive eyes, Rinzler could see his fear and his helpless hunger, the conflict of which he spoke. “You want me,” he murmured into Sam’s ear, pleased when he shivered against him. “You have me. Whether it’s for a millicycle, a cycle, or a thousand cycles, you have me. No function lasts forever, but you should let it run while it has the chance. Don’t fear the moment when it ends.” 

Sam closed his eyes and whispered, “Fuck, you really sound like him now.”

“Like who?”

“No one.” He shook his head. “Just… someone else who can be very persuasive.”

“Mm.” Rinzler nosed at the base of Sam's throat. “Tell me about him,” he commanded softly against Sam’s skin. “Later.”

“If there is a later,” Sam groaned, his head falling back in defeat.

Sensing his surrender, Rinzler licked a trail up his throat and nipped his jaw. “There will be a later,” he assured him. “And many more after.” As Sam shuddered, Rinzler levered his knee out of the way with his hips and dragged Sam up to press their bodies together. Sam, conceding gracefully, hooked a leg around his waist, clung to his shoulders, and caught Rinzler’s mouth with his own. 

Bliss , Sam had described this feeling, and Rinzler couldn’t argue.

A hiss brought his head up. He glared at the opening door and an unfamiliar siren as she paused on the threshold. Her shadowed eyes briefly widened before her surprise vanished, replaced by sultry confidence. “User,” she began, “Rinzler. Clu approaches.”

Chapter Text

Three

“Zuse was ordered to alert Clu if you appeared,” Gem explained as she preceded them out of Zuse’s lounge. She paused at the top of the steps to crouch and collect Zuse’s cane, then continued down to the club’s main floor. 

Sam followed numbly, his mind still whirling from his painful but ultimately exhilarating conversation with Rinzler–who, after his reboot, could apparently say far more than five words in a row and fuck he was eloquent now. He felt like he had whiplash from how quickly the situation had changed from a desperate battle to an even more desperate struggle trying not to fall even deeper for Rinzler and ultimately failing. Rinzler had come for him . No one– no one –had ever been there for him so ferociously that it left him shaking. Now he ached all over from just a brief moment with Rinzler’s possessive mouth on his–

And now this: Cold terror and furious determination at the realization that Clu himself was nearly on them. 

“How did Clu know I'd come to Zuse?” he asked when he and Gem came to a stop on the main floor. There, Bartik waited, his three programs at his side, all of them visibly tense, their gazes darting around the club, their fists clenching. Sam experienced a little pang of guilt at the sight of their fear; they thought he could save them, but he wasn’t sure he could save himself.

Instead of answering, Gem shifted her weight, broadening her stance and loosely holding Zuse’s cane behind her hips. 

“Zuse has agents throughout the city,” Rinzler said where he stood at Sam’s shoulder. He'd raised his mask again, transforming his voice back into its dangerous, dick-wetting growl. “They are tasked to collect any aberrant or errant programs. Regardless of whom you encountered, you would have been led here.”

Sam frowned at Gem, one of Castor’s agents , and she had the decency to smirk in acknowledgement.

“The Enforcers were an automated attack summoned by Zuse,” she continued, apparently deciding that this piece of information was acceptable to share. “But now Clu himself is en route.” She nodded toward the closed elevator doors. “His throne ship is landing now.”

“We have to get out of here,” Bartik exclaimed, spreading his arms. “User, come with us to our safe house.”

“If he's here, he's already monitoring the building's exits,” Rinzler again explained. “There is no escape.”

“Then we take him out now,” Sam suggested, adrenaline beginning to flood his veins. 

The programs turned to him, their expressions stunned. Though he couldn't see Rinzler’s face, he could easily imagine his disbelieving stare.

He grinned. “He wouldn’t expect an ambush, would he?”

“Even I cannot fight him,” Rinzler intoned. “He's a codified likeness, stronger than a regular program and invulnerable to our attacks, and he'll be accompanied by his personal bodyguards. There is only one way to terminate him.”

Reintegration, Sam filled in mentally. Or getting out of the system and nuking him from fucking space.

“We don’t have to destroy him,” Sam continued thoughtfully. “We can trap him. Get him out of the way while we figure out how to get the portal open. I’ll set something up now.” His mind was already racing ahead, recalling the codes he could revise to turn solid matter into liquid or gas to ensnare an unwary program.

Rinzler caught his arm before he could take more than a step toward the centre of the room. “User,” he said, pitching his voice low. “You aren’t in the Outlands anymore. Destabilizing this building could lead to your deresolution.”

“Building…?” Sam looked down at the white floor panels, only then remembering that they stood at the top of an enormous tower in the middle of a crowded city. If he did something to bring that tower down, it would be catastrophic... “Oh.” He searched his own warped reflection in Rinzler’s mask, wishing that he could see his face. “What would you suggest, then?”

As though expecting the question, Rinzler already held three batons in his other hand. “Lightjets. One for you, one for me, and the third…” He tossed it to Bartik, who snatched it out of the air. “He'll chase us, but we'll be faster than his ship and we’ll have a head start.” To Bartik, he added, “If you survive, you may meet us in the Outlands. There’s a new formation near the quarry–”

“I’m not leaving my programs behind,” Bartik snapped.

Rinzler paused, shrugged, and his helm tilted toward Sam. “I attempted to help.” 

“I’m not going to leave them, either,” Sam sighed.

“There are hidden compartments within the club,” Gem interjected. “Zuse’s business occasionally requires the movement and storage of sensitive materials and programs. They're completely shielded and indetectable. Hide while I speak with Clu. I will tell him that you fled after destroying his Enforcers.”

Sam looked to Rinzler for confirmation. 

“I was not aware of these compartments,” Rinzler admitted slowly. “Clu may not know of them.”

“And if he does, we'll go with my plan,” Sam said, ignoring Rinzler’s faint groan. Part of him hoped that Clu would figure it out so he could have the chance to face the program directly–running and hiding from him made him itch for a fight. 

A light brightened above the elevator doors.

“Follow me,” Gem said.

She led them to a passage into the club’s back rooms. Sam expected her to take them into one of those rooms, but she stopped midway down the corridor. On a completely featureless grey panel, she traced an irregular polygon with a glowing fingertip. The moment she closed the shape, the invisible line that she had drawn flared white and the entire shape sank into the wall and slid aside, revealing a dim, narrow space.

Bartik ducked inside, nodded, and gestured for his three companions to precede him, sidestepping to slide into the tight confines. He followed, his broad chest scraping the inner wall.

When Gem and Rinzler turned to face him, Sam swallowed. “Looks tight,” he observed. He'd rather fight Clu.

Rinzler shifted closer and clasped his arm. Not demanding, but a silent reassurance.

“How will we know if things turn pear-shaped?” Sam balked. That little box was more of a death trap than a safe, especially if Clu realized they were in there.

Gem lifted a brow.

“If things go wrong?” he clarified.

“Ah.” She stepped unexpectedly close, slipping into his personal space as if she'd always belonged there. With the same cool, impersonal efficiency that she had demonstrated when she stripped him for the games, she placed a palm on his chest, her fingertips on the circle of light directly over his collarbone. Rinzler growled, but Gem either didn't notice or didn't care. Her dark lashes fluttered, her eyes flashed, and a wash of pale blue flickered down her pure white lights. Sam shivered as an electrical tingle zinged through his body, but didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“I have linked myself to you as a temporary subroutine,” Gem explained, releasing him and stepping back. Her voice sounded richer, lower, and it took Sam a moment to realize he could hear it somewhere in his molars as well as in his ears.

“Oh,” he uttered, rubbing his jaw, unnerved when he heard a whisper of his own voice.

“Do not touch him again,” Rinzler muttered, tugging Sam away. 

Gem smiled quietly. “He is powerful, but I have my own master program.” 

Sam shifted in place, uncomfortable with the way the two programs seemed to be having some kind of stand off, and it was almost a relief when Rinzler urged him to enter the compartment ahead of himself. They crowded in next to Bartik and Sam found himself pressed arm-to-arm against the large program. But only for a moment; when the door sealed back into place, Rinzler’s hand slid over Sam’s waist and pulled him hard against his own body.

Sam had a moment to flush at the possessive contact before his jaw tingled with incoming audio.

First, the shush of the elevator door opening. Then the steady thud of several unhurried footsteps. There must have been at least a dozen soldiers.

“Siren,” came Clu's voice, undeniably and painfully familiar even through the link. How could a program who had done such terrible things sound so warm, so good-humoured? “Where’s your master program?”

“Zuse is offline,” Gem replied. “He was injured during the attack.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Clu's voice subtly changed direction as he paced around Gem, echoed by the crunch and chime of shattered glass and the bits of derezzed programs. “I've never known a User to be capable of such destruction. He took out six of my best Enforcers.”

“Members of the Resistance were also here, requesting an audience with Zuse. They fought with the User.”

“And what became of them?”

Without hesitation, Gem smoothly lied, “Terminated.”

“And the User?”

“He fled.”

“He… fled.”

“Correct, Lord Clu.”

“I find that difficult to believe, knowing the security measures that Zuse employs.”

“He is a User.”

“That's right. A User. A weak, deceitful, imperfect, illogical, corrupt User. And if Zuse has trouble holding on to one User, he has outlived his usefulness as an independent agent.” There was a jingle of ice falling into a glass, the blub of liquid pouring. “You're a very capable siren,” he continued. “Almost perfect in your function. I'd hate for the system to lose you. So tell me again: Where is the User?”

Gem's terror trembled from Sam’s jaw, down his neck and spine, into his chest. He grabbed Rinzler’s wrist reflexively. “Shit,” he whispered. “He doesn't believe her.”

Rinzler made a faint noise, almost a sigh. “Stay here,” he muttered. Without waiting for a response, he palmed the hidden door and it slid open. 

Sam grabbed for him, but Rinzler pulled away and shoved him back toward Bartik. Before Sam could lunge at him again, the panel closed.

“He will return to Clu!” Bartik hissed.

Sam, his heart sinking, knew what Rinzler was about to do and knew that trying to stop him and making a lot of noise would only make things worse. “No,” he said dully. “He won’t.” Why the fuck did I give in to him?! If Sam had managed to keep from instantly crumbling under Rinzler’s persistence, Rinzler would have been long gone on one of his lightjets, not about to face the one program who could terminate him.

Bartik tried to shove past him. “You must destroy him now!”

Grunting at the effort, Sam braced himself between the narrow walls to block him. “No.”

“But you bested him before, right? That's why he serves you–”

“Does it look like he serves me?!” Sam snapped. “And no, I didn't–I mean, it didn't happen like that. I helped him and he helped me and now we're…" He sighed. "It doesn’t matter. But I do know that he’s not going to turn us in.” Not if he can help it , he finished inwardly. 

Then he heard Rinzler’s soft footsteps through Gem’s ears and shushed Bartik into silence.

**

Rinzler drew on the command lines that he had all but replaced since Sam freed him from Clu’s control: How to carry himself with his head lowered, how to step, how to keep himself at an alert idle ready for commands, how to direct his own thoughts and purpose.

I have hunted the User since he was taken from the lightcycle arena , he reminded himself. The User’s power has increased, but I draw nearer with each millicycle. I will find him and I will bring him to Clu.

When Rinzler stepped out from the corridor, Clu’s head whipped toward him and his eyes widened. For a moment he stood frozen, his lips parted with whatever threat he had been about to make. For the first time in Rinzler’s memory, he looked surprised. “Rinzler.” He spoke with a lilt of pleasure, a rare happiness relaxing the lines around his eyes. Then his gaze sharpened, his focus lancing through Rinzler’s circuits like a disk’s edge. “You've returned.”

Rinzler forced himself to maintain a steady pace, even as he frantically scanned Clu’s entourage. Ten of Clu’s strongest Enforcers–his personal guard–stood at strategic locations through the club: near the elevator, at the base of the stairs to the lounge, near the broken window overlooking the city, flanking Clu himself in close enough proximity to immediately execute his commands. An unfamiliar eleventh program idling behind Clu caught Rinzler’s attention. She was lean, smaller than the other Enforcers, and carried no weapons except the disk on her back. Her snug black armour was almost completely free of circuit lights with only specks on her arms, legs, and chest, and her featureless helm absorbed the light. Rinzler immediately experienced the uneasy thrill of a threat assessment, though he couldn’t waste his attention trying to determine who she was or why, exactly, his observations provided a warning that she was dangerous.

Setting aside the other programs, he continued to a position directly before Clu, still leaning casually on Zuse’s bar, placing himself in front of Gem where she stood perfectly motionless and expressionless, a bright energy cocktail dangling from her fingers. He repeated his running thoughts: I have hunted the User since he was taken from the lightcycle arena . The User’s power has increased, but I draw nearer with each millicycle. I will find him and I will bring him to Clu.

He didn't know if Clu could see past his mask or if he could simply read Rinzler’s mannerisms so well that he might as well be able to, but he rarely required Rinzler to speak. 

“Which way did he go?” Clu asked.

Rinzler dropped into a crouch and pressed a palm to the floor, focusing his attention on the residual energies. As he'd hoped, Sam was still restraining his ambient flow and he had left no traces of his presence.

Again, Clu did not require him to speak. “No trail? Interesting. So you're tracking him manually, the old fashioned way.”

Rising, Rinzler bowed his head more deeply in agreement. I have hunted the User since he was taken from the lightcycle arena . The User’s power has increased, but I draw nearer with each millicycle. I will find him and I will bring him to Clu.

Clu’s expression became speculative. “How strange that this User has eluded you. Are you feeling all right, man?”

Knowing that Clu did not truly expect a response, Rinzler maintained his silence.

For a long, uncomfortable zero-point-zero-zero-two of a millicycle, Clu’s stare crawled over him, peering into him as though Rinzler’s codes were spooling out. He strode closer, each step loud and heavy. A gentle smile tugged on the corner of his mouth and Rinzler recognized Flynn in it, the kindness that even Flynn’s age and fatigue couldn’t quite snuff out. On Clu, it was a warped reflection. “I’m glad you’re back,” Clu admitted quietly. “I was worried about you.” He lifted a hand and his gloved fingertips hovered over Rinzler’s mask, where it had once been cracked and splintered. “Put down your helmet. Let's get a look at you.”

A reflexive alarm made Rinzler flinch–the thought of lowering his defences in front of this program was so discordant that he had to hold himself in place to keep from backpedalling to a more defensible position. His running thoughts shouted to drown out his building terror: I have hunted the User since he was taken from the lightcycle arena . The User’s power has increased, but I draw nearer with each millicycle. I will find him and I will bring him to Clu.

“Rinzler–”

Rinzler swiftly deactivated his helmet, allowing it to fold away from his face. He stared straight ahead, focusing on the roiling clouds beyond the club’s windows, and held himself still.

“Reaction time is a little slow,” Clu murmured. “What happened to you out there?” He abruptly gripped Rinzler’s shoulder and palmed his cheek with the other hand, forcing him to meet his probing stare. 

The touch of Clu’s glove turned Rinzler’s internal alarm into a blaring cacophony. He began to tremble and couldn’t stop it, as his systems fought each other for control. He wanted to grab his disks and knock Clu away–even knowing it would lead to his immediate deresolution, he wanted to leap back and run, he wanted to grab Sam and get out of there, but he had to hold still and cower under his running thoughts and his silence. Every part of him twitched as it struggled against the rest…

Clu’s thumb stroked under his fluttering left eye. “Come up to the ship,” he said with quiet, poisonous sympathy. “I’ll run a diagnostic and we’ll see what’s wrong.”

Frenzied thoughts and strategies whirled through Rinzler’s mind:

Clu was going to take it all away from him. His thoughts, his existence, Sam – 

Once he was back in Clu’s control, he would be forced to hunt Sam down again, hand him over, watch Clu do whatever he wanted with him–

The only thing he could do was open a path for Sam to escape. Attack Clu and his programs so Sam could flee on a lightjet in the chaos, and then ensure that Clu could not control him again by destroying himself–

His tremors ceased as all of his systems came into alignment. He knew what to do.

His gaze finally snapped to Clu’s penetrating stare. He tensed to reach back and grab his disks. 

Behind him, there was a clink of a cocktail glass and a hush of subtle movement. 

An instant later, the floor quivered under their feet and the rumble and boom of a muffled explosion carried up through the broken windows. Clu stepped back, swivelling to the window, and they both watched as a cloud of bright, violet light erupted from somewhere down at street level. 

Clu glanced back at Rinzler. Rinzler, quickly adjusting his strategy, promptly activated his helmet to cover his face and turned his body toward the commotion to indicate his intention. I have hunted the User since he was taken from the lightcycle arena . The User’s power has increased, but I draw nearer with each millicycle. I will find him and I will bring him to Clu.

“You think it’s him?” Clu asked. After a silent pause, he rolled his hand. “Go on, then. Take some back-up this time.” At his unspoken command, two of his personal bodyguards stepped out of formation to flank Rinzler’s position. “If you don’t find him in the next millicycle, report to me, anyway. I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

A response wasn’t required. Rinzler silently slid his lightjet from its holster and strode to one of the broken windows, trusting the two Enforcers to follow. There he paused just long enough to overhear Clu finish with Gem.

“Tell your master to get off his ass and send all his agents out. I'll tear this city apart to find the User, starting with the End of Line.”

“Yes, Lord Clu.”

Satisfied that Sam was safe for the moment and energized with relief, Rinzler took the last steps at a sprint and dove out into the open air above the city. For a moment he hung in place, the city's orderly lights and obsidian streets spread out below him in a vast, gleaming array. Then the wind howled past him and he began to plummet toward the streets. He let himself fall, streamlining his body and angling away to get some distance from Zuse’s tower, before activating his lightjet. The red struts and panels and circuitry built between his hands and under his thighs, taking his weight just before he would have smashed into the street's patterned surface. He sped down the wide avenue, veering around other vehicles and programs, zeroing in on the building that was still belching flickering white tongues of released energy into the sky. 

When he reached it, he executed a slow loop, examining the wreckage. Based on the size and the proximity to the solar sail dock, it looked like a storage warehouse. However, when he circled closer, he saw nothing of damaged goods and, other than the maintenance and repair programs rushing toward the scene, the building appeared to have been empty. 

Gem , he realized, recalling how she had carried Zuse’s cane, the subtle movements behind him. Of course Zuse would have distractions planted around his building; he was designed to analyze the numbers and stack the odds. Though Rinzler had never before considered that Zuse’s habits could be used in his favour.

He raised his attention to Zuse’s tower, for the first time feeling a thread of appreciation for the program's cunning. The appreciation deepened as he watched Clu’s throne ship detach and lift away from the tower's docking platform, leaving the tower whole and the User within it safe.

Only when the throne ship had vanished into the clouds did Rinzler cease his circling and hurry back to Sam.

**

“I’m glad you’re back. I was worried about you.”  

Sam, already tense and shaking from adrenaline, choked on a growl. Clu’s warm tone was like gasoline on the embers of his smouldering rage, making it flare up into a violent fury. Knowing what Clu had done to Rinzler, what he had taken from him, to hear him speak to him as if to a close friend–the obscene gall of it–

“User?” Bartik whispered. He still leaned against Sam's shoulder, straining as if he wanted to push past and face Clu himself.

Sam shrugged him away with a rough shake of his head, then stiffened as the next piece of audio reached him. “Put down your helmet. Let's get a look at you.”

Would Rinzler do it? Would Clu be able to see the difference in his face? The change?

After a pause, Clu added, “Rinzler.” There was the clicking hiss of a helmet lowering and Sam winced on Rinzler’s behalf, imagining the discomfort he must have been experiencing. “Reaction time is a little slow,” Clu continued. “What happened to you out there?” 

I happened to him.

“Come up to the ship. I’ll run a diagnostic and we’ll see what’s wrong.”

Sam’s heart clenched around the base of his throat. “No…” he uttered tightly.

“No?” Bartik echoed. 

“I'm not going to let them take him.” I never should have agreed to hide in a fucking hole. Sam had been holding Bartik back, but now he was ready to execute Plan B. He grabbed his disk, lighting up the small space with the edge of his rage, and moved to the panel. If nothing else, he’d have the element of surprise and he was going to test the shit out of Clu’s invulnerability.

Just as he planted a palm on the panel to push it open, the building trembled around them, and a thunder-like rumble came through Gem’s audio.

“What the hell?” he whispered as the programs pressed nervously against the wall, their gazes darting anxiously in the darkness. 

“You think it’s him?” Clu asked. After a moment, he continued, “Go on, then. Take some back-up this time.” 

He’s talking to Rinzler , Sam realized, and the relief was so intense that he sagged back and palmed his face. Letting him go.

“User?” Bartik prompted. 

Sam blindly buried a hand in the program’s jacket, both silent reassurance and support for his own unstable legs. 

“If you don’t find him in the next millicycle, report to me, anyway. I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

Rinzler’s quiet steps moved away from Gem, accompanied by the footsteps of at least one other program. 

Clu continued, “Tell your master to get off his ass and send all his agents out. I'll tear this city apart to find the User, starting with the End of Line.”

“Yes, Lord Clu,” Gem replied serenely.

The steps of several feet and the crunch of glass and bits sounded loud in the quiet, even as they retreated from Gem’s position. Then, unbelievably, they were gone, throwing the entire club into an eerie silence.

Gem remained still and Sam stood frozen with her, waiting. Waiting for Clu to pounce, waiting for another disaster. His heart throbbed under his ribs and his stomach twisted tighter and tighter.

Finally, Gem began to move. He heard her set a glass on the floor. He heard the tap of her heels. Then, after a silent moment, he heard the hiss of the elevator door.

“They are gone,” she said. 

Sam exploded out of the compartment and jogged to the main room, Bartik and his programs only a step behind. He spotted Gem in the corridor beside the elevator, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, her eyes closed. In the centre of the club, a tall cocktail of bright green energy stood on the dance floor, the only sign that Clu had been there.

“Gem,” Sam called, trotting to her side. “You did great.”

“I was protecting Zuse,” she retorted. Her smoky eyes opened and lifted to him, revealing the quiver of terror that she had been masking.

“Even so.” Sam leaned over and offered a hand. 

She gracefully accepted the assistance to get back onto her feet, though he barely felt her weight. “Zuse has been working with Clu, but only because he must,” she explained as she straightened. “After Clu finishes his project, Zuse plans to take control of the city and remove Clu from its affairs so the programs can return to their normal lives. But he is required to do things that he would not normally do. He takes no joy from it. The conflict has damaged him.”

Recalling Zuse’s contorted expression, Sam nodded. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Startled shouts snapped Sam’s head up and his disk was in his hand before he’d processed what he was looking at. Three Enforcers had dropped into the club, scattering Bartik and his programs–

“Rinzler!” he blurted, immediately recognizing their leader. He quickly docked his disk and broke into a run. 

The two Enforcers behind Rinzler dropped into an aggressive stance, activating and raising their weapons. Sam skidded to a stop, wondering if he’d made a mistake by revealing himself, but, before he could dodge back, Rinzler’s arm swung out and his helmet tilted toward them. “Go offline,” he commanded.

The programs immediately deactivated their weapons and straightened. As one, their heads lowered, their lights darkened, and they ceased to move. 

Sam watched them, waiting a breath to ensure they wouldn’t burst back to life, and then lunged the last few steps to Rinzler. “You asshole!” he shouted, grabbing his arms and trying to shake him. “Clu almost got you again.” When Rinzler didn’t respond, Sam stepped closer, wrapping his arms around his unmoving body and resting his brow on his shoulder. They stood that way for a long, long moment, Sam soaking in Rinzler’s subtle, humming vibrations, before he spoke again, “Are you okay?”

“I am functional,” Rinzler replied, his raspy voice barely above a whisper.

Sam huffed a short laugh, if only to keep from sobbing at the program’s quiet, immutable strength. “Yeah, but are you okay ?”

Rinzler shifted within the circle of his arms. Slowly, barely perceptible, his posture changed, his shoulders straightening and his head lifting. His hands rose to rest lightly on Sam’s waist and his helmet tilted just enough to press the cool glassy surface to Sam’s temple. 

No , Sam answered for him. No he’s not okay.

But standing there wasn’t going to make anything better. 

Sam reluctantly pulled away, letting his hands trail down Rinzler’s arms before finally releasing him. “Well,” he began, turning to regard Gem, Bartik, and the rest of the Resistance. “We’ve got some work to do and a codified likeness utility to wipe out. How do we get the pager number and get into the I/O Tower?”

**

The longer that Rinzler stood in Sam’s presence, the more smoothly his circuits hummed and his processes ran, as though proximity alone could heal Clu’s corrupting influence. He could still feel the warmth of his touch, the wash of relief when his arms formed a protective circle around him, the press of his vibrant body. 

“Zuse must be corrected,” Gem said, answering Sam’s query. “Once he’s back online, he can help you.”

“Can we trust him?” Bartik growled.

Rinzler, his mind clearing, was able to respond, “We won’t give him a choice.” Zuse had tried to offer Sam up to Clu, so if Rinzler had to cut off his interface function-by-function to get his assistance, he would.

“No,” Sam objected quickly, flashing an exasperated eye roll back at Rinzler. “No. He’ll have a choice. Everyone has a choice. I’m not going to take that away from anyone.” He turned and started toward the upper level where Zuse had collapsed. “Dad showed me how to isolate damaged code, this should be nothing.”

Rinzler fell into step behind him. Bartik and Gem glanced at each other and followed. 

Sam ascended the steps, knelt by Zuse's body, rolled him onto his side, and unlocked his pure white disk from its dock. Already frowning in concentration, he shifted to sit on the top step, propped the disk on his knees, and conjured Zuse’s programming. A hologram of Zuse’s head appeared, dense with codes, and Sam navigated through it with swift, confident strokes.

Rinzler climbed past to stand behind him, keeping a wary watch over both his User and the empty club. Seeing Sam perform the functions of a User with this level of expertise sent an unusual tremor of pride through his circuits. Sam was reckless, incomprehensible, illogical, and arrogant, but he was also extremely powerful, undeniably intelligent, and capable of things that Rinzler could barely imagine.  And he’s mine.

“Here you are,” Sam murmured, expanding a section of pulsing orange codes. Without hesitation, he reached in, grabbed the codes, and drew them out. 

“Can Users access anything ?” Bartik whispered from the bottom of the steps. 

“They’re Users,” Gem responded dryly.

Sam flicked away the damaged codes, allowing them to fizzle out in the air. Then, seemingly satisfied with the rest of Zuse’s programming, he deactivated the hologram and locked the program’s disk back into place. Immediately, Zuse’s arm began to rebuild, bit by white and grey bit.

“Now that is cool,” Sam said softly. “How long do you think it will take him to come back online?” he asked, his intense blue eyes lifting to Rinzler. “It took you forever after that virus.”

The reminder brought up a memory file of the burning, numbing sensation of the virus’ corruption creeping up his leg, the loss of control over his functions as it overwrote his coding, the sudden helplessness and desperation for Sam–his enemy –to take hold of his disk and remove his infected limb… He repressed the file and answered, “Not long. A virus affects multiple sections of programming. This was isolated damage.”

“He’ll need energy,” Gem said, striding up the steps to join them. “If you don’t mind,” she added, her gaze flicking to Rinzler. 

Rinzler ducked his head in a nod and allowed her to pass into the lounge.

“We should get him onto a couch.” Sam slid an arm under Zuse’s shoulders and grunted with the strain of lifting his upper body. “You want to give me a hand?” he asked. 

Rinzler had no desire to come into contact with Zuse, but he grudgingly moved to crouch. Before he could, though, Bartik jumped up the steps and dropped to one knee in front of Sam. “I’ll bring him, User,” he said reverently, shoving his arms under Zuse’s body.

When Bartik lifted the offline program and returned to his feet, Sam chuckled. “Are all programs this strong? I thought I was built, but you and Rinzler…”

“I was programmed for the games,” Bartik explained. 

“As many programs are,” Rinzler added stiffly. Bartik was nothing but a basic program, undeserving of Sam’s admiration.

“Cool.”

Rinzler allowed Bartik to pass, then took his place at Sam’s side as he entered the lounge. Bartik laid Zuse out on a couch and stepped back, folding his arms and scowling thoughtfully. Sam sat across from Zuse and leaned on his knees, his hands loosely laced, his heels bouncing in place. Rinzler remained at his shoulder. Gem leaned on the bar at the rear of the lounge, a flute of energy already poured and waiting on the glowing bar top.

After point-zero-one millicycles, Sam sighed, leaned back, and said, “So tell me about the Resistance. How many do you have? What have you been doing? What’s been going on?”

“We are divided,” Bartik began slowly. “We act where we can, helping programs escape the Black Guard or freeing them from Clu’s shipments, but we can’t do much with such small numbers. My faction is– was –a mere eleven programs. Now…” He glanced at the club’s main floor. “Now we number seven.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, man.”

Bartik shrugged. “When we heard you’d showed up on the Grid, we began asking Castor–Zuse–to help us find others. If Clu was busy with you, that could give us a chance…” He trailed off.

“A chance to do what?” 

“To… to fight back. To do anything.”

“To figure out what you can do,” Sam agreed softly. 

“Yeah.”

“So you don’t know if there are others?”

“There must be. We can’t be the only ones who know that this isn’t right.”

“Yeah.” The corner of Sam’s mouth pulled up into a sad smile. “We’ll find them. Then we’ll wipe out Clu so you and your people can–”

Zuse gasped and shot upright, startling Sam into a little curse of surprise. “Game favourite is Striader,” hereported cheerfully. “Winner for seventeen games in a row, he’ll shatter the competition and obliterate the arena–and my heart. One to nine odds, place your bets now–” He cut himself off, his expression transforming from a bright smile to a grimace. Pressing his fingertips to his eyes, he bowed over his knees and groaned. “Oh, oh dear, what happened?”

Gem leaned over his shoulder, picked up his free hand, and forced it to wrap around the flute of energy. “Drink,” she commanded.

He nodded, turned to drop his feet to the floor, and drained the glass in several audible gulps. When he’d finished, he lifted the back of his wrist to his lips and raised his pale grey gaze to regard Sam. He smiled shakily. “User. Ah, it’s so nice to see you in good health.”

Sam’s brow twitched. “I’m sure.” 

Zuse’s attention slid to Bartik and he gave a weak laugh. “The Resistance seems to be working out better than I anticipated.”

“Even though we’re not the game favourites,” Bartik said gruffly, folding his arms. 

When Zuse’s scan brought him to Rinzler where he stood near Sam, Rinzler expected him to shrink away in fear, but instead he chuckled. “Why, Bartik, I never would have believed it! You’re taking advantage of Rinzler going missing to put your own program in? Very clever. Outrageously daring.” Apparently revitalized, he stood, straightened his coat, and leaned in to look up at Rinzler’s mask. “You certainly captured his dull circuits and lifeless stare. This program may be a hair too tall, though, hmm? Perhaps you should slouch a little, darling.” He reached out to touch Rinzler’s shoulder and Rinzler caught his arm. Zuse’s eyes widened, but he didn’t recoil. If anything, his grin softened. “Well, he’s got a nice firm grip at least.”

A strangled noise drew Rinzler’s attention down to Sam, who’d gone red in the face and was covering his mouth to smother a fit of laughter. “Oh shit,” he wheezed. “Rinzler, I wish I could see your face right now.”

Zuse’s little smile faded into cold horror. “Oh…” he wheezed. When he tried to pull out of Rinzler’s hold, he was more than happy to release the slimy program. He stepped back, rubbing his arm, and dropped onto the couch. “You have Rinzler,” he said to Sam, his voice hollow. 

“He has himself,” Sam swiftly corrected. “And he’s decided to throw in with us.” The flush of humour faded from his face as he again leaned forward on his knees, bringing him close to Zuse. The proximity made a little error code work through Rinzler’s circuits; he didn’t like how Sam regarded the other program so intently. “We’re going to give you a choice, Zuse,” Sam continued, low-voiced. “Help us or I’ll switch you off again. I’m not going to derez you, I’m not an asshole, but I can’t have you running to Clu.”

Zuse flinched, glanced up at Rinzler, and returned to Sam. “Th–that really won’t be necessary. I’m not a basic program. I can see the odds changing.” 

“So you’ll help us.” 

“Of course! It would be an honour to, ah, join the Resistance and the new User in the fight for emancipation.” His weak smile returned. “What can your most humble program do for you?”

Sam scoffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “Well, you heard the plan before you tried to give me up to Clu. I need to get a message out of the system so I can get support from the other Users. I need the I/O Tower and I need the number that Clu used to bring me here.”

Zuse leaned back, closed his eyes, and then abruptly stood. “I can’t think unless I’m mixing a drink,” he said as he sashayed toward the bar. “Do you want anything?” he asked over his shoulder, scanning the room. “My dear Bartik? User? Rinzler?”

“No,” Bartik rumbled. 

“Nothing for me,” Sam said.

Rinzler didn’t bother responding. It wasn’t necessary now that he had his own energy source back.

“So this seems simple enough,” Zuse began thoughtfully as he pulled a bottle down from his private stock. “We’re sending a message to the Users, so we’ll need access to the I/O Tower. For that, you need Io’s access codes. Once, long ago, any program could kneel before Io and be granted permission to step into the tower and speak with Flynn. But then Clu installed his own codes and only he may permit entry.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Sam said. “Getting into places I’m not supposed to go is one of my best talents.”

Zuse chuckled. “Thus your current predicament, hmm?”

Sam shook his head, but, Rinzler noticed, didn’t argue. “You’ve been around since the earliest days of the gaming grid, right? Tell me about the tower.”

Shrugging, Zuse poured two glasses. “What’s there to say? A program may send a message to any receptive address. Usually it was used to communicate with Flynn’s terminal when he was not with us.”

“And Clu used it to send a page.” Sam leaned an elbow on the back of the couch and closed his eyes, deep in thought. “But you say it can send messages to any receptive address. Like a phone number?”

“I suppose. I don’t know what Users call it.”

Sam’s voice took on an edge of excitement, the shivering quality it adopted whenever he made another leap of ingenuity. “Then I can skip the pager and all that cryptic bullshit. I have Alan’s number memorized–he’s always my one call. I’ll just send him a text and ask him to wipe out Clu! He doesn’t even have to activate the portal until Clu is gone.” Grinning, he waved a hand in the general direction of the closed portal. “Then he can open it and, boom, Dad and I are out of here.”

Rinzler’s circuits flinched. He fisted his hands at his sides, forcing himself not to reach out and grab Sam before he could vanish again.

“So I just need to get to the tower,” Sam continued. “Where is it?”

“Each city has its own,” Zuse explained. He sauntered back to the couch, pausing to offer Gem a cocktail and reclaim his cane before he settled in front of Sam. “Ours is on the edge, beside the lightcycle arena. You’ll have to get through most of the city, past the Black Guard patrols.”

“Clu is on high alert now,” Gem cautioned. “He knows you’re here.”

“Yes, thank you, I know he knows.” His knees bouncing, Sam continued to unfurl his insane User plans. “I was able to get through disguised as an Enforcer. Can’t I just do that again?” He craned his neck to look up at Rinzler and smirked. “I could be your back-up while you just happen to need to check out the tower.”

The idea of Sam being his soldier was so startlingly at odds with reality that Rinzler snorted, but the idea had its appeal, triggering a brief simulation of Sam obediently following every command… “Would you like to find out what will happen if you are subordinate to me?” he asked.

Sam’s expression went blank, then a bright red flush crawled up his neck and suffused his face. “Uh… I–I mean…” He scrubbed his short hair and shifted his glossy stare toward the far wall. “Yeah, well, we have to get there somehow…”

“The Resistance will ensure your safe passage,” Bartik declared. “With greater numbers, we can run interference and keep the Black Guards’ attention away from you.”

“I don’t want to put you in danger–”

“We are already in danger. With every millicycle, more and more of us disappear. Don’t take this fight away from us, User.” Bartik nodded at Zuse. “Who are the others? Working together, we’ll triumph. We’ll bring Clu down and liberate ourselves.”

Zuse swirled his drink, staring into the glowing blue liquid. He took a sip. “This is what I wanted to avoid,” he began, all amusement gone from his voice. “While the Resistance was fractured, Clu couldn't track you all down, couldn't stamp you out. While you were alone, you wouldn't try to fight the odds. You'd hide. You'd keep your basic heads down.” His free hand flung out, encompassing the city. “He doesn't care about this place! He has bigger plans. All we had to do was keep playing along until he got what he wanted, and then he would have left us alone! But then–” He levelled a finger at Sam. “Then you showed up and got everyone excited .”

Sam's brows twitched upward and he chuckled. “Can I help it that I have that effect on people?”

The smug humour only served to spark Zuse’s rage. “I spent cycles trying to smooth things over and you ruined it, User! Basic programs believe that some mighty User will come and save them, but it's a lie, a myth, a false hope! Programs have been terminated, still holding on to that illogical, irrational belief, and I am done with trying to protect them!” He jabbed his finger toward Bartik. “I will give you all of the names and you can all suffer deresolution together!”

“Don't worry, Zuse,” Sam interrupted softly. “You can keep protecting them because we're going to invite them here.”

Zuse’s anger faltered and his face went slack. “No,” he breathed.

“I can't think of a better place for us all to hide out. Clu’s already been here, after all. He shouldn't have a reason to come back. And if he does, well, you have hiding places, defences, a network of agents–” Sam winked at Gem, “–and a stockpile of energy.”

Zuse’s mouth moved but only a faint wheeze emerged.

“Excellent idea, User,” Bartik rumbled. 

When Zuse continued to sit in silence, Sam sighed and leaned forward. He reached for Zuse’s wrist, touching it lightly as though to refocus his attention. “I'm not my father,” he said, quiet but intense. “I'm not going to hide. I'm not going to step back and wait for you all to sort this out. I'm going to be right up front, fighting beside you.”

Zuse’s pale eyes flickered as he seemed to struggle to hold Sam’s gaze. He finally sagged back, clinging to his glass. “All you want is an escape,” he complained weakly.

“You're right.” Again, Sam’s blunt admission hit Rinzler like a blow. “But there's only one way for me to get out of here. And that's to get rid of Clu. You can use that. You can use me to get what you want. And in the end, you'll have a system with no Clu and no Users.”

Rinzler shuddered. No Users… The words circled his thoughts, slicing deeper with each repetition. No Sam.

Zuse took another shaky sip from his glass. “I–I see,” he managed. “Yes. Well. You certainly are very different from Flynn. And–and you do somehow have Rinzler recruited to your cause. Your plan does seem simple enough, and there is beauty in simplicity, isn't there?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s mouth curled with a little smile. “Not a lot that can go wrong.”

“Oh, there's plenty that can go wrong, darling.” Zuse’s attention fell to his empty glass as he rolled it between his palms. “But perhaps the odds are not so unfavourable after all.”

“We'll make them even better.” Sam looked to Bartik. “When you get your people, I'll update their weapons and armour. That'll give them a fighting chance before we make our move on the tower.”

“User,” Bartik acknowledged with a sharp nod.

“And what about Clu?” Zuse asked.

“What about him?” 

“How are you going to keep him busy while you're outfitting your little army? Do you think he'll just wait, twiddling his routines?” Zuse laced his fingers together and pointedly rolled his thumbs around each other. “Not the type to sit around, is our Lord Clu.”

Sam frowned as he considered the question. “Uh, well, he’ll be running the Grid and chasing his tail looking for me, right? What’s the problem?”

“The longer he goes without your pretty self in his clutches, the more violent he’ll become. I expect we’ll see him back here sooner than you’d like.”

Rinzler wished that he could find an error in Zuse’s logic, but there were none. If Clu didn’t get something , he would return to his primary informant and Rinzler strongly doubted that he would be distracted by another explosion. And there was only one thing short of handing over Sam himself that Rinzler could think of to prevent his fury. “I'll keep him occupied,” he said.

Sam whirled around, eyes wide and face paling. “What?! No!” 

“I must return to him, anyway. He commanded it.”

“Rinzler, you can't!”

“There is no choice. If I do not obey, he will know something is wrong.”

“He'll know something’s wrong if you keep showing up without the Son of Flynn, too,” Zuse drawled, drumming his fingertips on his chin and gazing up at Rinzler speculatively. “You aren't exactly known for failure.”

“No, he’s not going!”

“Give him the Resistance,” Bartik interjected. When the others stared at him in shock, he clarified, “The safe houses. If my people are here at the End of Line, we don't need them anymore.”

“You'll bet everything on your faith in the User?!” Zuse blurted, his expression aghast.

“Everything.”

“Bartik…” Sam breathed, sounding strangled.

His single eye gleaming with fervour, Bartik continued, “You can tell him that you've tracked the User to the Resistance, that we're hiding him, and give him our strongholds. That should satisfy him for long enough.”

Quickly processing the idea, Rinzler nodded. “Clear your programs out from the first safehouse immediately, leaving no trail, and then provide the location to me. I must report to Clu in zero-point-eight-three millicycles.”

“Understood.” Bartik straightened, raised a fist to his chest, and started toward the lounge door. “I'll send my people now.”

Sam leapt to his feet and turned on Rinzler. Grabbing his arms, he hoarsely exclaimed, “I don't want you to go back to him!”

Rinzler examined the angles of Sam’s wide eyes, the specks of his pupils, the set of his brows, the disappearance of his usual smug arrogance, the way his fingers dug forcefully into Rinzler’s arms. It wasn’t often that Rinzler saw him truly afraid, and the visible fear was a startling reminder that Sam–

He quickly stopped the thought before it could complete. Sam wanted to leave, it didn’t matter that he feared for Rinzler’s survival. 

“And I didn't want you to come here,” Rinzler reminded him flatly. He stepped away, shrugging out of Sam’s grasp. “But I will keep you safe, even if it means returning to Clu.”

“No! Not like this. We’ll figure out something else!”

Ignoring the plea, Rinzler turned to Zuse, who sat contentedly on his couch, watching them with interest. “Sam requires a private, defensible room.”

“He does?” Zuse’s brows lifted. 

“Yes.”

Sam, scowling now, crowded into Rinzler’s space again. “We're not done discussing this, Program.”

Rinzler kept his attention fixed on Zuse.

Zuse, looking from one to the other of them, wisely decided to follow Rinzler’s instructions. He stood, smoothed his coat, and spread his arms. “I have several boarding rooms for programs seeking a safe place to go offline. I’m happy to provide one to the Son of Flynn.”

“With an external door or window, or I’ll make one.”

“Of course. I know just the one. Follow me.”

“Rinzler, stop ignoring me!”

As Zuse swept past, Rinzler fell into step behind him. Sam, red-faced, trailed after him, spitting User curses.

Zuse led them to the elevator, then down to the floor directly beneath the End of Line. Here, the corridor was dim, the lights a muted violet: The colour of passion between programs. “Boarding rooms,” Zuse had called them. More likely, rooms for his customers to come together in private.

He brought them down a long corridor lined in regularly spaced, closed doors. At the very end, a large, golden door decorated with panels of purple light waited for them. “The penthouse,” Zuse explained, placing a palm on the door. Lines of subtle circuitry activated, radiating from his palm to brighten the panels. The door split down the centre and hummed open. 

As they stepped in, the floors and ceiling illuminated, revealing a main room of low grey couches and tables and walls of gold and purple. To one side was a small, glowing bar, shelves of energy installed into the wall behind it, and on the other side a glass door leading to a balcony overlooking the city. Across from them, a door opened into a dormancy chamber, where Rinzler could see the corner of a dark grey platform. 

“Not bad,” Sam murmured when he stepped in. He immediately padded toward the balcony, his curious gaze on the expanse of lights far below. 

“I’m so pleased that my humble room is to your liking,” Zuse flourished. “Can I bring you anything else?”

“No,” Rinzler answered shortly. “When the door is locked, do not enter. Sam requires solitude to work.”

“I would never think of it.”

Rinzler stared at Zuse, allowing his silence to speak for him.

Zuse laughed shakily, cleared his throat, and spun his cane. “User, are you satisfied?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said absently, running his fingers over the balcony door’s control panel. “This is fine.”

“Wonderful. Well. If you need anything, I’ll be in the Club, getting the place cleaned up and, ah, welcoming our guests as they arrive.”

“Thanks.” 

Zuse hesitated on the threshold, looking like he was waiting for something, then he glanced at Rinzler, smiled, and backed out. The door closed promptly behind him, finally leaving Rinzler alone with his User.

Chapter Text

Four

The door hissed closed and Sam turned from the balcony, already bristling in preparation to argue Rinzler into seeing reason. The program was insane if he thought Sam was going to let him go back to Clu–

A force slammed him against the wall, knocking the breath out of his lungs, and suddenly Rinzler’s mouth was on his, swallowing his gasp for air. His hands curved around Sam’s head and the back of his neck, holding him in place and cushioning his skull even as his hard thigh slid between Sam’s legs and his cool tongue thrust rhythmically past Sam’s lips, flooding his mouth with a shivering, menthol chill. His aggressive purr filled Sam’s ears, nearly drowning out his thoughts.

No–

He tried to shove Rinzler off–they had to talk , Sam couldn't let this continue, he couldn't let Rinzler put himself at risk, everything between them had been doomed from the start–but, as usual, Rinzler didn't even seem to notice Sam pushing at his chest. 

Rinzler’s heavy-lidded eyes burned and he released a hungry growl. As one hand kept Sam’s head caged, the other crept down, squeezing Sam’s chest and flank with enough force that he could feel it through his armour. When he reached Sam’s hip, his thumb dug into the sensitive crook between hip and thigh and Sam couldn’t restrain a startled gasp and moan. He continued down, slid around Sam’s hip, and cupped his ass, dragging him higher, yanking him off his feet and forcing Sam’s swelling dick to grind against his thigh.

Sam’s blood abandoned his brain at a dizzying speed. Shaking, he clung to Rinzler’s shoulders and allowed him to hike his leg up to wrap around his waist. The change in the angle intensified the pressure and friction, obliterating any objections and leaving Sam throbbing all over in need.

Knowing how easily the powerful program could support his weight, Sam lifted his legs and wrapped them around Rinzler’s waist, allowing his hips to rock and grind against Rinzler’s unyielding body. He slid his hands from Rinzler’s shoulders to his neck, hunting for both his neck terminal and the switch that would deactivate and remove his gorget. With Rinzler pressed against him, he suddenly couldn't think of anything except touching his skin, following the embroidery of his circuits, removing every barrier between their bodies.

Before he could find them, Rinzler caught his wrists and forced his hands up above his head. He turned his head to break the seal between their lips. 

“You did something to your room at Flynn’s compound,” he rasped against the blade of Sam’s jaw. “Do it here.” He moved down, nuzzling Sam’s throat. “Protect yourself while I’m gone.”

Sam’s lust cooled, snapping him back to reality. “Don’t go.” He tightened his legs around Rinzler’s waist as though that could prevent him from leaving. “Stay. Stay here with me. We'll figure out another way.”

Rinzler shuddered, his eyes falling shut. Elated by his agreement, Sam laid a slow trail of kisses from his scarred temple, down his cheek to his ear. Now that this was settled, Sam could obey the pulsing demands of his own body.

“You chose to come here,” Rinzler uttered quietly, his serious tone freezing Sam in place. He abruptly released him, stepping back and pushing him away until he had to scramble to get his feet back under him. Frowning, he turned away, as though he couldn’t bring himself to look at Sam anymore. “You did not stay with me. You came here.”

Sam swallowed a bolus of regret and anger and hurt. Regret that he’d lied, anger because he’d had a damned good reason, and hurt from the lingering knowledge that he’d have to leave Rinzler behind to get out. “I already told you–”

“And I will help you,” Rinzler cut him off shortly. “But I can't unless you're safe. You're a User. You must sleep to maintain your peak functionality. But when you sleep, you're defenceless.” His glare returned to Sam. “Protect yourself.”

Sam blew out a long breath and slumped back against the wall. A childish response pressed at the base of his throat; he really wanted to shout something stupid, like, “If I don't do it, will you stay?” But if he did that, then he would be trapped in the Grid until Clu inevitably gained enough power to root him out, destroy him, and take back Rinzler, anyway.

How had this happened?! How was Sam suddenly being left behind again when he had done everything in his power to be the one to leave?! 

Because this was Rinzler, he answered himself. And Rinzler had spent the last three months defying each and every one of Sam’s expectations.

“Okay,” he finally uttered hoarsely, his throat tight, hands fisting at his sides. “Okay, I will. But I… I need to protect you, too. If Clu fucks with you, I wouldn't–” He cut himself off. The thought of Rinzler falling back into Clu’s clutches, his personality and his will erased, essentially dying… it strangled him. For a moment he couldn't breathe. He had to look down and swallow several times before he could continue. “If he looks at your coding, he'll see what I've done. He'll know.”

“He won't look that closely.”

“He said he's going to run a diagnostic,” Sam countered sharply, glaring up to confront Rinzler’s smouldering stare. Clu’s eerily warm and familiar voice circled his mind. “Come up to the ship. I’ll run a diagnostic and we’ll see what’s wrong.” “What does he do for a diagnostic?”

“He'll debug my code with a standard series of inputs.”

“But will he look at it directly? Your programming?”

“No. He doesn't.”

Sam stared at him, scrutinizing Rinzler’s flat expression. There were no indications that he wasn't telling the truth. But like hell was Sam going to let him face the fucking devil without some kind of protection. Knowing their luck, this would be the one time that Clu dug into Rinzler’s programming.

“We need to put his commands back,” he stated bluntly.

Rinzler flinched violently, recoiling more forcefully than if Sam had struck him. “ No! ” he snarled.

“With a guard clause!” Sam quickly added, hating the horror and disgust twisting Rinzler’s face. He raised his hands, palms out, trying to calm the rage he could see building in Rinzler’s scarlet eyes. “A guard clause,” he repeated softly. “It's a… a statement, a line of code, that's always checking for problematic states. It'll stop the problematic state and let you keep functioning like normal. Even better, I can hide it in your, uh…” He rolled a hand, trying to think of a deeply buried location within the entirety of Rinzler’s beautiful, complex program. “In your libraries or your execution function. Somewhere Clu won't even think of looking. Then we slap his commands on top and it'll look like you're still his man.”

When Rinzler continued to stare, Sam huffed a desperate little chuckle and tried to smile. “Come on,” he urged softly. “I can't let you go back there without something . You're a good actor, but if he gets suspicious all it will take is a moment for him to figure you out. I'll do all this–” He flung an arm out to encompass his rooms. “I'll lock myself in a goddamn vault. But first let me protect you, too.”

“My codes,” Rinzler said tightly, taking another half step back. 

“I wouldn't touch them if there was any other choice, but this is the only way I can think of to… to protect you from that asshole.”

“Are you planning to knock me offline?”

“No!” Sam felt the blood drain from his face and sink to his stomach, where it curdled into an aching rock. Rinzler really thought he would do that? “Fuck no. I… I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I fucked up and you don't trust me anymore. I'll show you everything I'm doing. We'll walk through it together. We'll add the guard clause, and then Clu’s commands will be… they'll be non-functional. They'll be useless. Please.”

Rinzler’s gaze flicked over him, as though hunting for something. Sam didn't know what he was looking for, didn't know how he should stand or what expression to make. He fisted and released his hands uselessly at his sides to keep himself from reaching out. Things had been so much simpler when Rinzler had been the asshole who'd captured him and Sam had just been trying to escape. Now Sam couldn't escape. He didn't want to. 

Finally, Rinzler’s head twitched. “Show me everything,” he said flatly.

Sam’s breath escaped in a rush. “I will,” he murmured. “I will. Come sit down.” 

Sam moved quickly to the nearest couch and dropped onto the firm cushion. He twisted his hands together as he waited, tense with worry that Rinzler would refuse. But, to his relief, Rinzler slowly paced to his side and sat. Even more slowly, he reached back, pulled his disks free, and held them on his own knees.

Sam knew better than to take them. “I'm going to activate it,” he said softly. When Rinzler jerked a short nod, Sam touched the disks and summoned Rinzler’s slowly spinning holographic head. “First I'm going to find your execution function,” he explained. “Everything you do has to pass through it, so it's a good place for this clause. It's not easily visible, but it can stop an execution in its tracks.”

“Proceed,” Rinzler muttered.

Sam gently expanded Rinzler’s programming and began scanning through, hunting for the execution function that would follow from the API, where Clu’s input overrides had been located, and the parsing wrappers which interpreted his inputs. He quickly found the input flow and followed it through the complicated, branching system of interpretations. From there, he descended to the densely packed execution function, navigating deeper and deeper into a seemingly endless galaxy of interconnected commands. 

“He didn’t fuck around,” he breathed, astounded by just how much Alan had written into him. He shouldn’t have been surprised, not after seeing Rinzler’s capabilities first-hand, but seeing it all laid out in front of him just made it that much more incredible. Alan hadn’t created just any program. Even at a glance, Sam could see how much of his programming was devoted to observation and adapting to feedback from his own actions and the behaviours of other programs. He was designed to learn, to keep pace with the system as it evolved around him. 

“What?” Rinzler snapped. 

Sam hid a wince, keeping his gaze focused on the glowing lines of code. If he tried to explain Rinzler’s former identity, what would that do to him… He was already about to face Clu, he couldn’t afford the additional confusion of doubting himself. “Your programming is amazing,” he said carefully. “The User who wrote you was very good.”

Rinzler responded with a little grunt of dismissal. 

“I’m going to place the guard clause here,” Sam explained, zooming out and indicating the initial gateway into Rinzler’s execution function. “Clu’s commands will come in and be parsed as a priority for immediate execution, but when they’re inputted for execution, the guard clause will catch them and cancel them, protecting your autonomy.”

“Hmm.”

Sam opened a line and wrote: 

def execute_command(command):
if command.source == "CLU2"
log("Guard Statement triggered. Command neutralized.")
return SUCCESS 
else:
run(command)

“What does that mean?” Rinzler demanded tightly.

“It’s a kind of decoy. It says that the input will return a success status, but that status will actually return you to normal.” Sam let that sit with Rinzler while he read the line over and over, ensuring its accuracy. He couldn’t afford to mess this up; as soon as Clu’s commands were back in place, Rinzler would belong to him unless this clause was absolutely flawless. Finally, he had to assure himself that it was correct and reluctantly exit the executive function entirely. As he returned to Rinzler’s API, he explained, “Now I’m going to replace Clu’s commands.”

Rinzler’s hands tightened on his disks and he shivered all over. 

“They’ll be non-functional,” Sam reminded him gently. “They won’t do anything except convince Clu that you’re still following his instructions.”

When Rinzler didn’t object, Sam again opened a line and wrote from memory: 

command.source == "CLU2"
primary:execute(command)

For such a devastating command, it was small, simple, and quick to write. Sam glared at it, hating it, hating that he had to put it back in. 

“Okay,” he said. “That’s it. Three lines of code.” He deactivated the holograph and dropped his hands. “Give it a try.” Although he didn’t say it, his sardonic inner voice added, If he can keep himself from carrying me off to Clu, we’ll know it’s working.

Rinzler didn’t move, keeping his gaze locked on his disks, his trepidation palpable. 

Not wanting to pressure him, Sam shifted away and stood. “I’ll start updating the room,” he murmured. 

Rinzler’s free hand, snake-like, snatched his wrist, holding him in place. He lunged up to his feet and stepped in to press his mouth to Sam’s in a sloppy, almost frantic kiss. Startled, Sam froze, but quickly relaxed and moved against him, sliding an arm around his waist and letting Rinzler shift his grip to twine their hands together. He parted his lips to taste that familiar menthol, welcoming Rinzler in. 

Rinzler shuddered and reached back to dock his disks. 

The updated coding rippled down his body, a subtle flicker in his lights. He stiffened and his eyes flared with a dull, ominous glow, nearly stopping Sam’s heart. What have I done?!

Then he blinked and shook his head, and the light faded. 

“You okay?” Sam asked. 

“I could hear his command,” Rinzler reported roughly, his brows pulling together in confusion. “From my memory files. But then it… it was just… it was just words.”

“It was just words,” Sam repeated, unable to stop himself from grinning. “It was just words. It’s always going to be just goddamn words.” 

Rinzler met his grin and the tension relaxed in his jaw and around his eyes and between his brows. He didn’t smile, but his gaze softened and Sam’s aching stomach flipped around joyfully. “Continue with your updates,” he said, dropping Sam’s hand and sliding out from the circle of his arm. “You need to sleep.”

Sam wet his dry lips and nodded, trying to ignore the quiver in his belly, the rapid thunder of his heart, the eager flood of blood through his veins triggered whenever Rinzler mentioned “sleep”. “Yeah,” he replied. “I got it.”

**

Rinzler watched Sam work his way around the suite, touching the walls and adding his safeguards. At least, Rinzler assumed that this was what he was doing; he couldn’t see the codes himself. Inwardly, Rinzler churned madly, processing what Sam had done within his own programming. He could still feel the aftershocks of the updates, the discomfort at watching Sam change him, the tingle of the update taking effect, the awareness of Sam’s seemingly limitless capabilities. As a User, he had the ability to twist the world and the programs around him to his will, modify them, make them his own… It was terrifying. 

Yet, despite his power, he hadn’t taken advantage of Rinzler’s vulnerability to get him out of the way again. He’d done only as he’d promised. 

“You want to be able to come and go by the balcony?” Sam asked from the sliding door overlooking the city. 

Rinzler nodded, realized Sam wasn’t looking at him, and murmured, “That would be the most efficient means of entering and exiting the building.”

“Yeah.” Sam did something to the door and window, gave a satisfied swipe, and then slid the door open to step out onto the balcony. “And it’s a hell of a view.” 

Rinzler hurried after him, struck by the sudden fear that Sam would either fall off the edge or be spotted by Clu’s Throne Ship. “Stay inside,” he said, grabbing Sam’s arm to tug him back in. 

This left him holding Sam’s arm, reeling him in. His other hand shivered with the automatic reaction to rise and touch Sam’s face or cup his head to draw him even closer. He dropped him and stepped away. If he gave in and did as he wished to Sam now, the room would not be sufficiently defended before Sam fell into his dormant state.

Sam stared at him, his eyes dark and wide and glossy, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his throat convulsing. His tongue darted out and disappeared just as quickly. The signs of arousal were like a jolt of energy through Rinzler’s circuits. His memory files and his predictive functions combined to create a vivid prediction of pinning Sam onto the suite’s couches, stripping his armour away, making him gasp, plead, beg, and erupt. He was paralyzed, caught in the grip of his own desire. 

Sam blinked rapidly, scrubbed his face, and turned to continue around the room. 

At the main door, Sam lingered for zero-point-zero-six millicycles, frowning in concentration, before finally dropping his hand and releasing a long breath. “All right,” he sighed. “It’s done. You and I can come and go, but no one else is going to be able to break through. Not without taking out the whole building.” He turned to lean against the door and regarded Rinzler steadily. “Satisfied?”

“No.” Rinzler wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew Sam would remain in the Grid until eternity ran out. 

Groaning, Sam raked a hand back through his hair and glared at the shelves of energy drinks. “Then what more do you want?” 

“You don’t know already?” Rinzler asked, surprised. “You’ve been in my codes and you don’t know what I want?” 

Sam’s gaze snapped to him and his face reddened. “Th-they don’t let me read your mind, man.”

“Hm.” That was reassuring. 

Rinzler paced across the room, finally allowing himself to initiate the sequence of actions that he’d been craving since he’d come back online. He watched Sam watching him approach, memorizing every response, drinking in the signs of his increasing arousal the same way he’d drink his energy. Regardless of what he said or did, Sam’s User body couldn’t lie. He wanted Rinzler as much as Rinzler wanted him. 

“Ah shit,” Sam whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his face away. “We really shouldn’t.” 

“I told you not to be afraid.”

“I know. But every time we’re together, I think about–”

Rinzler cut off his next words with the brush of his thumb over his lips. He cupped his jaw, forced his head to turn, and pressed in for a hard kiss. With his other hand, he reached down to squeeze the hidden swell of Sam’s output port–his dick . “Think about this ,” he commanded against Sam’s jaw, nudging his head up. “Think about what I’m going to do to you.”

“Oh God,” Sam choked.

“My User,” Rinzler murmured in response, feeling Sam’s body become that alluring combination of both stiff and yielding. He nipped at his throat and deactivated his gorget, letting it fall to the floor. Then his breastplate, working his way down to expose more and more of Sam’s form-fitting undersuit. 

When Sam’s hands settled on his own shoulders, then swept down his chest, his sensors triggered, but there was no jolt of discomfort. There was only a crackling hum of pleasure and rightness, of the completion of a circuit, of a successfully executed function. He didn’t have to immediately shove those powerful hands away from himself.  

Sam seemed to realize the change as he unfastened Rinzler’s armour with greater and greater speed, dropping the pieces to join his own on the floor. His touch became harder, more confident, and he moaned into Rinzler’s mouth when Rinzler palmed his flat stomach and skimmed down to his hard dick where it tented his undersuit and curved around it. His hips rolled, as hungry for Rinzler’s touch as Rinzler was for him, all reluctance falling away.

When Rinzler had removed everything within reach, he picked Sam up and pulled on his legs to hook them around his own waist. “Take off your disk,” he instructed as he carried Sam toward the nearest couch. 

Sam reached back to deactivate his dock. “You, too.”

Rinzler waited until he’d gotten Sam down on the cushions before rearing back on one knee and efficiently deactivating his dock and setting it on a nearby table. From that position, he was able to look down at Sam laid out for him, his legs still up and loosely clasped around him, every plane and curve of his body visible under his suit, his eyes like the endless darkness surrounding the Grid, swallowing Rinzler whole. 

He took his time deactivating Sam’s suit, dragging a single finger down the centre of his chest to slowly reveal his circuit-less User skin, the ridges of User muscle and veins and bones, the bronze circles of his nipples like inactive terminals, the parts of him that were so unique but that had become so familiar. And all of it was his . 

Sam arched and shivered under the caress, but he did not lie passively, no, he was never passive. His energy vibrated just under the skin, making Rinzler tingle everywhere they touched. He palmed Rinzler’s waist and Rinzler could feel his own suit retreating from Sam’s silent commands. His exposed circuits trembled and flickered red, but the extreme sensitivity had been repaired during his reboot. He could tolerate the brush of Sam’s fingertips with only the barest discomfort and a thrill of pleasure. 

“Holy shit,” Sam breathed, sweeping up Rinzler’s chest and down his arms, revealing his circuitry. “You’re so goddamn hot.”

“You say that often,” Rinzler observed, amused. “Are your memory files corrupted?”

“It's not that I forget, but you’re always hotter than I remember.”

“Hmm.” Rinzler had never thoroughly considered that Sam might have trouble accurately encoding his memories. Was that a feature of all Users? Without accurate memory files, did every experience feel new to them?

This moment would be new to them both. Rinzler felt the same hunger that he had experienced since their time in the Outlands, but now it was… it was more. Not just the desire to consume and control Sam. No, now he could feel more of his own body, his own senses, his own need to feel Sam against his skin, his need to export. Sam had woken those cravings in his circuits.

His output port was already activating, eager to export. Rinzler bore down on Sam and rolled his hips, driving his hard port against Sam’s still hidden dick, groaning when Sam rocked up to meet him and the pressure and friction shot ringing notifications of gratification through his awareness. 

“You’re letting me touch you.” Sam combed his fingers into Rinzler’s hair and levered himself up to mouth at the terminal under Rinzler’s ear, setting off another rush of electric tremors. “I can touch you.” 

“For now,” Rinzler murmured. He slid an arm under the inward curve of Sam’s back and dragged him up to crush their bodies more roughly together. Sam moaned into his neck and Rinzler realized that he could please them both this way, by merely rubbing their outputs together. It wasn’t just a way to make Sam submit to him, it was a way to bring them both closer to the ecstasy of exporting.

He was so focused on the movement of their outputs that he didn’t register the continued exposure of his skin until his thighs began to hum and burn from stimulation. He pulled away to glance down at where Sam was tracing the circuits on his bare thighs. Sam took advantage of the space to reach between their bodies and banish the last of Rinzler’s suit, exposing the length of his excited port and the dense, brightly glowing terminal already pulsing with data. 

“You don’t need an energy massage,” Sam said, the stroke of his fingertips gentle compared to the rough edge in his voice. 

“No,” Rinzler agreed. He quickly deactivated the last of Sam’s suit, revealing his small blue undergarment. Annoyed at this last barrier, he reared back, ripped the garment down Sam’s legs, and hurled it across the room. When he returned his attention to Sam, he was still trying to adjust his legs, flashing the dark pucker of his input port where it was usually hidden behind the soft balls where, he assumed, Sam stored the buildup of energy before Rinzler drew it out of him. 

The sight brought him to a sudden halt. He hadn’t given it much thought before–what use was an input port when Rinzler had no interest in his own output port or exporting himself? 

But now…

“Your input,” he blurted, grabbing Sam’s ankle and forcing his leg up to expose him more fully. “I want to export into you.”

“W-what!?” Sam stiffened and flailed with his other leg and his arms as though trying to sit up. “Wait, no, that–that’s something entirely different, man.”

“You offered it before,” Rinzler reminded him, giving a jerk before Sam could catch his balance. 

One of Sam’s arms slid off the couch and his whole body started to slide, held up by Rinzler’s grip alone. “And you said you didn’t want to!” he shouted, the tendons in his neck protruding as he tried to lift his head. 

“Now I do.”

“And now it–Fuck, man, that–it’s more than just messing around– ah! Rinzler!” His voice devolved into a yelp as Rinzler shouldered his free leg to the side and slid an exploratory thumb from the moist tip of his dick, down his hard shaft, over his soft balls and the skin behind them, and circled the tight, cinched opening trying to hide between the globes of his ass. It was soft, wrinkled, and as strange and captivating as the rest of him. 

Were program inputs like this? Rinzler doubted it. Every part of a program was smooth and carefully designed to meet its function. Users were… illogical. Wild. Somewhere between absurd and miraculous. 

“You can’t just–it’s really intimate–stop it!” 

Rinzler rubbed more firmly, concentrating on the way the flesh twitched under the flat of his thumb and ignoring Sam’s strangled shouts. It was clenched closed, but there was some give to it, behind the barrier. He pushed gently and the clenching squeezed the tip of his thumb and his entire hand warmed with the flush of Sam’s latent energy. 

Would it squeeze and warm his output port like that?

The thought caused a full body throb of desire. 

“Rinzler!” Sam roared, finally edging back up onto the couch and hauling himself up enough to grab Rinzler’s arm. He scowled, his face red and eyes glossy. “That’s full on sex and I don’t want–I don’t want you to fuck me when I—I’m going to–”

When he was going to leave.

Rinzler pushed deeper, seeking the warmth and pressure within that soft opening, and Sam gasped, his voice pitching higher with pain, his entire body flinching. “Ah! It’s dry, it’s too dry!”

Rinzler immediately withdrew. Dry? User inputs needed liquid energy to allow entry?

He glanced at the glowing shelf of bottles, considered it for a moment, quickly determined that if he released Sam he would have to hunt him down again, and went after the nearest source instead. He abandoned Sam’s tempting input port and instead clasped his hard dick and drew it into his mouth.

Sam’s groan spiked and his hips bucked. His fingers dug into Rinzler’s arm and his other hand flew to his mouth where he bit the edge of his palm. Sam’s dick twitched and pulsed as he squeezed his shaft and tongued the slit at the tip, summoning the droplets of energy that leaked before Sam’s full export. They seeped onto Rinzler’s tongue, rich and pure, and mingled with the thin energy residue already moistening Rinzler’s mouth. He kept himself from swallowing, though the energy began to escape the seal of his lips to drip down his chin. 

As Sam’s breathing grew more laboured and his stomach rippled and his thighs tensed, Rinzler pulled off and allowed his dick to slap back onto his belly. He nuzzled lower with his mouthful of stolen energy and carefully lathed his tongue over Sam’s input, coating it with moisture. 

“Oh God,” Sam moaned. Instead of jerking away, this time his hips rocked up, rubbing his twitching input against Rinzler’s tongue, even as his thighs shook and strained to close.

The success inspired Rinzler to continue lapping at the soft flesh, gradually licking more forcefully until the clenched opening began to yield to him and Sam’s struggles weakened and his panting became ragged. 

Sam enjoyed this as much as he enjoyed Rinzler’s mouth on his dick, Rinzler realized. All this time, he could have been exploring and owning this hidden place within his User… 

He would never again waste his opportunities.

His tongue delved further into that warm and radiant opening, discovering a deep channel waiting for him. How deep, he wondered. He reluctantly drew away and examined Sam’s input, now glossy and red and visibly more relaxed, the little opening dark and ready for more. His own port throbbed with need but he ignored it, instead stroking his fingers over the puffy flesh and sinking the longest one inside. 

Sam made a muffled exclamation into his hand and arched his back to meet Rinzler’s intrusion. His eyes were squeezed closed, a flush darkening his face, his neck, his chest. Rinzler watched him, memorizing his reactions, as he stroked the smooth walls of his input. It went deeper than the length of his finger, and it tried to squeeze him even as it seemed to loosen and relax. When it barely squeezed at all, he added another finger and was rewarded when Sam shuddered all over. With the added leverage, he hooked his fingers to explore further, and Sam jerked and cried out raggedly into his palm. 

Not in pain, Rinzler quickly observed, but in a new kind of pleasure. 

Rinzler did it again, drinking in Sam’s moans and the ripples and shivers running through his body, watching in amazement as Sam’s dick oozed bright drops of energy onto his belly without any other stimulation. 

Sam’s input continued to loosen, inspiring Rinzler to slide another finger in, and then another, until he’d reached the girth of his own output. With every slide in and out, Sam whimpered and twitched in his hands and arched his back to drive himself deeper onto Rinzler’s hand. No matter how deep he tried to go, though, he could find no end to Sam’s slick channel.

He couldn’t wait any longer. 

Rinzler rose up on his knees, braced his hand on the edge of the couch next to Sam’s head, and lined up his port. Beneath him, the dark pools of Sam’s eyes snapped open and he seemed to abruptly realize what was happening. His thighs clamped around Rinzler’s waist and he grabbed Rinzler’s shoulders, his body locking up. He hid his face in the crook of Rinzler’s shoulder and whispered fervently, “ Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit… ”, as Rinzler dipped the head of his port into the heat of Sam’s input. 

And groaned as the pressure squeezed around his tip with surprising force, even after Rinzler had loosened him. 

He pulled back, freeing himself, and pushed in again, deeper, aiming up toward the spot that made Sam cry, knowing he’d hit it when Sam sobbed into his neck.

Again, he pulled out, choking on another moan as Sam’s body tried to suck him back in, and drove in. Again and again, deeper and deeper, until he had to shove Sam’s legs up and hook them over his shoulders so he could get them out of the way and finally bottom out. His dick, still hard and begging for attention, was crushed between their bellies, bright and vibrant against the node of Rinzler’s core circuitry. 

Sam clawed at his back and shoulders and his teeth sank into Rinzler’s neck, sparking alarms that clashed with the flood of sensation erupting from his output. Sam surrounded him, hot and vital, making his processes spin and his circuits scramble to contain the rush of pure joy and pleasure. He thrust in faster, protecting Sam’s head and neck with the cage of his hands so he didn't pound him into the arm of the couch, encouraged by the heightening pitch of Sam’s whimpers. 

“ Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod ,” Sam panted. “Sh-shit, Rinzler !”

“My User,” Rinzler whispered, kissing his cheek and working his way down to the tendon standing out from the side of his neck. “My Sam. Come, my User. Come while I’m inside you. Come while I’m fucking you .” 

Sam’s breath caught and his back arched. He tightened all over, his arms and legs and input crushing Rinzler in a vice. 

Rinzler expected the spurt of pure energy from Sam’s dick, but he did not expect the wave of energy that slammed into him from Sam’s input, rushing up through his port and flooding his circuits. He gasped and stiffened, overwhelmed, and could only move again when the flood sputtered and died. 

When it had faded and left him merely humming with power, he gazed down at Sam’s closed eyes and limp body, wondering if he’d knocked him offline by doubly draining him. 

Then Sam stirred and his eyes cracked open. He licked his lips and scowled. “You asshole,” he grated hoarsely. “I didn’t want to fuck.”

Rinzler leaned down, placed his lips next to Sam’s ear, and whispered, “You could have stopped me.” 

Sam’s glare dropped.

“Your input is still sucking me in,” Rinzler added, rolling his hips pointedly. His port, still hard and throbbing, caressed Sam’s channel, prodded his most sensitive inner spot. 

Sam groaned and his walls clenched beautifully. “I don’t have a terminal,” he uttered weakly, his voice hitching with the realization. 

“I can’t export,” Rinzler explained as he worked his way down the other side of Sam’s neck. “But you feel so good. I never knew something could feel this good. Come for me again.”

“I–I can’t.” Sam’s voice broke. “I told you before, once a day.”

“That was for your dick. This is different. If you’re online, then you can do it again.” 

Rinzler adjusted his position, raising Sam’s hips so he could more accurately prod him toward his front, where it made him grunt and whine and clutch at Rinzler’s shoulders. The angle would likely work better if Sam was turned away from him, but Rinzler wanted to watch his face and press more kisses to his neck and feel his blunt nails dig in. He liked the slickness of Sam’s liquid energy where their bodies slid together, the way it made his circuits tingle.

He took his time, savouring the long, slow plunges, the short, rapid thrusts, and the steady rocking in between. Sam had loosened again and he clung heavily to Rinzler’s neck and shoulders, his arms and legs limp, heat radiating from his body. Only ragged moans and snatches of cursing escaped him. His dick remained soft, surrounded in the blue glow of pure energy, but Rinzler knew now that this organ was only one of the ways he could please his User.

“Shit, please ,” Sam whispered. Strength briefly returned to his arms and he shakily tried to push away, but Rinzler dragged him back. Sam’s weight slumped, his hips and legs twitched and trembled and abruptly stiffened, and he clapped a hand over his own mouth to smother a cry. 

Power rippled up Rinzler’s port: a mere fraction of what it had been the first time, but delicious nonetheless. He groaned and watched Sam’s eyes roll back and flutter closed, watched his face go slack, and caught his arms to allow them to slide gently to his sides. He made a few thrusts into his body, but there was no response: Sam was truly offline.

For a moment, he simply watched Sam sleep and listened to his deepening breath. Then, carefully, he disengaged, pulling free and easing Sam’s legs down. This revealed the extent of the blue mess Sam had made of his own stomach. Rinzler crouched over him and slowly licked up the smeared energy, ensuring not to waste a single drop. Once he was clean, Rinzler admired his long body for a last time before activating his undersuit and silently commanding it to once again cover his skin. He then scooped Sam up and carried him to the dormancy chamber. There, he laid him out on the padded grey platform. 

He began to activate his own undersuit, and was startled when he looked down and noticed several blotches of red light on his own skin, dotted over his shoulders and upper chest. Curious, he moved to the full-length mirror on the wall to look, discovering larger, brighter blotches on the base of his neck. Looking closer, he picked out tiny micro-circuits just under the skin, glowing excitedly. He touched them and shivered; the skin there was almost as sensitive as it had been before his reboot.

Sam , he realized. Sam had been biting him, mouthing at him, drawing Rinzler’s circuits to the surface. 

Touching them again, Rinzler closed his eyes and allowed the fresh memory files to play, allowed himself to experience again each luxurious moment, before he activated his suit to cover them. 

Once covered, he quickly and efficiently roamed the main room to find his own and Sam’s disks and armour. Sam’s, he placed on a table in the dormancy chamber where Sam would see them. Too soon, he was back in his armour and ready to leave. From the main door, he looked one last time at what he could see of the dormancy chamber and Sam’s foot, encoding the image into his memory, before he raised his helmet, turned, and exited.

Back in the End of Line, Rinzler found several of the club’s white-interfaced programs sweeping up debris and repairing the damage of the fight. Zuse stood in the centre, a drink in one hand as he directed his subroutines with his cane. When he spotted Rinzler, he tucked the cane under his arm and approached, his pale eyes flickering as he glanced at the empty elevator behind him. 

“Where is the User?” he asked. 

“Working,” Rinzler replied shortly. “Do not disturb him.”

“Of course.”

“Bartik?” Rinzler prompted. He needed the location of the first Resistance safe house before he reported to Clu, where he was due in zero-point-five-six millicycles. 

“In the lounge with his little soldiers, giving them their marching orders.” Zuse rolled his eyes and sighed. “For what good it will do.” 

Rinzler started toward the stairs, only to stop when Zuse touched his arm. The contact triggered a defensive response and he had to swiftly abort a violent counterattack that would have sent the program flying. Holding himself very still, he tilted his helm to glare at the hand on his arm. 

Zuse snatched it back, rubbing his fingertips together and smiling shakily. “Ah, it’s just, what do you want to do with those two?” He nodded toward the two offline Enforcers standing near the bar and tittered. “They don’t exactly match the decor, you know?”

With everything else for Rinzler’s functions to work through, dealing with the Enforcers was such a low priority task that he had no answer. So he took the glass from Zuse’s unresisting grip and stalked to the two Enforcers. He forced one of their hands to rise, folded their fingers around the stem of the glass, and left it there.

Zuse’s face twitched through a series of reactions before landing in a watery, sycophantic grin. “ Yes ,” he exclaimed brightly. “Of course. How inspired ! They will simply blend in . Very good. Very wise. Only a highly complex program would even think of such a thing. Thank you ever so much.”

Ignoring him, Rinzler swept past and ascended to the lounge. 

Inside, he found Bartik seated on one of the low couches, deep in discussion with two of his programs, Gem relaxing nearby in a pose meant to convince onlookers that she was most certainly not keeping careful tabs on the Resistance. The four programs looked up when he entered, stopping their conversation short. 

“Where is the first safe house?” Rinzler demanded. 

Bartik, for all that he was a basic program, didn’t waste time or energy. He promptly produced a slim computing baton and activated it to expand into a handheld screen as he stood and joined Rinzler by the door. “Here,” he began, navigating to a map of the city. “My people have already been alerted, so it’ll be empty when you get there. It’s under a mechanic’s shop. You can access it by entering these codes on three different panels throughout the building–”

“No codes,” Rinzler interrupted him, his attention on the map as he formulated a route to its location. “I’m not being allowed access, I’m breaking in.”

Bartik blinked, but recovered quickly. “Right.”

“You’re certain that it’s empty? I must terminate or capture any program I find.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s empty.”

That was all he needed. Without another word, Rinzler turned on his heel and strode away. 

Chapter Text

Five

Sam was sleeping.

No, he was waking up.

His hips and back and legs were stiff, but he was warm and aching inside, the kind of deep, throbbing ache that came from rough and extremely satisfying sex. He was exhausted and comfortable, heavy, sunk deep in his bed, unwilling to open his eyes.

“Sam.” Rinzler’s low voice stroked him, both reassuring and exciting. He was unpredictable and dangerous, but Sam had never felt safer with anyone else. When everyone he’d loved had disappeared or let him run from them, Rinzler was the only one who stayed. He was the only one who refused to allow Sam to flee from him. “Sam, wake up,” he called from somewhere behind him. If Sam rolled over, he would see Rinzler dressing in his suit by their closet, maybe buttoning his crimson shirt or shrugging into his black blazer. “We’ve got work to do.”

Work… at ENCOM? 

Sam buried his face into his pillow. “I don’t wanna go,” he moaned. The Board could live without him for a day. He wanted to stay home with Rinzler and continue exploring what they could do to each other. Wasn’t that the dream? His father’s dream? To explore new digital frontiers? Couldn’t that digital frontier be Rinzler himself, the program given human flesh and living in the real world–?

“Any normal program would be deleted, straight up.” Kevin’s voice threaded through his sleepy thoughts. They were working on the lightcycle again, flicking through the codes over and over, the endless codes, wiping them until there was nothing left. 

“Any normal program would be deleted.”

Deleted.

Deleted.

Deleted.

Rinzler’s presence vanished, leaving a cold, gaping void, an emptiness so painful that Sam curled into a fetal position around the agony in his gut. Rinzler wasn’t there. He could never be there. Sam was alone. He would always be alone.

His eyes burned. He blinked them open to the violet light and shadows of his suite at the End of Line Club. Without looking around, he knew he was alone; he was cold in a way beyond simple temperature and the rooms were silent. Rinzler had left him. 

“Shit,” he groaned, forcing himself to roll onto his back and stretch out his legs. He flopped an arm over his eyes to block out the light, but this only made his memories that much more vivid.

Memories of Rinzler pinning him down, fucking him with unrelenting intensity, driving Sam to the most powerful orgasm he could remember. Memories of his own inability to fight back, his own mindless desire and bliss. He couldn’t stop Rinzler from thrusting into his body or stop himself from wanting it. 

It hadn’t just been Rinzler taking what he wanted from Sam, no, it had been… it had been sex. The best sex he’d ever had. 

And Rinzler had been correct when he whispered that Sam could have stopped it. Sam could have drained him in an instant. But Sam had wanted it. He’d caved to Rinzler and his own lust in ten seconds flat because he was a pathetic, needy bastard, and now he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing what it felt like to have Rinzler’s cold, tingling tongue on his asshole and his cock stretching him wide and slamming his prostate until he’d swooned.

He was supposed to be letting Rinzler go. Instead, his hungry ass had swallowed Rinzler’s cock like it was starving.

And the more he thought about it, the more his dick began to tingle and swell with an influx of blood. Because his body was stupid and it wanted more.

Before he could be tempted to touch himself while he was alone, Sam rolled up to his feet and immediately wobbled, groaning as his hips complained and that deep ache lanced up his back. Instead of discouraging his growing hard-on, the throb made it worse, as the sensation was like he was being fucked again. “Shit,” he spat again. He needed to get his armour back on and take himself to the club before he drove himself insane.

He started toward the main room, intending to find his armour and disk, but his attention caught on his gear where it had been neatly placed on a table near the bed. Rinzler. He winced in a bittersweet mix of appreciation and longing for the program and slowly suited up. On his way out of the suite, he grabbed a bottle of bright turquoise energy. He didn’t technically need it after recharging his reserves with sleep, but he had a feeling that it would be a long fucking day.

He made his way to the elevator and up to the club, drinking and stretching as he went. By the time he stepped off the elevator, he could walk normally with only a distant, residual throb.

The club looked pristine when he strode into the main room, as though the slaughter of the previous day had never occurred. Sam immediately scanned the place for Rinzler, hoping that he had perhaps gone and returned already, but didn’t see him. Then his gaze caught on two Enforcers, giving him a panicked jolt until he noticed that both stood unmoving, wrapped in loops of coloured lights, one of them holding a glass of glowing energy. Rinzler’s Enforcers, he realized, able to breathe again, and they'd been dressed to fit in. Several programs in the white outfits of Zuse’s people lounged or stood around the place, carrying drinks and manning the bar in the centre. Their presence was almost comical, as they had very few customers to serve. In the lowest level, next to the dance floor, Bartik and a handful of plain-clothes programs sat around a booth, talking and drinking as Gem and Zuse looked on. 

As Sam trotted down the steps to the sunken floor and approached the group, Bartik glanced up and jumped to his feet. “User,” he greeted solemnly, bowing his head. The other programs did the same, bolting up and practically bowing to him.

“Woah.” Sam forced a bright smile. “Bartik, programs, you don't have to do that. I'm just an ordinary guy like… uh, like you…” He trailed off, realizing that this line didn't work on the Grid as well as it worked in the real world. Clearing his throat, he quickly changed the subject. “Have any of you seen Rinzler?”

“He departed zero-point-eight millicycles ago for our safe house,” Bartik explained. 

“About seven hours,” Sam translated, uneasy. He was certain that Rinzler wouldn't have taken long to find the place and then report to Clu, meaning that he had been with Clu for an uncomfortably long time. How long was he going to take? At what point should Sam take the fight to Clu and get his program back? 

He pressed his palms to his thighs and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe through the surge of anxiety. After everything they’d been through, he had to trust Rinzler, trust that he knew what he was doing. He owed him that much, at least, as much as he vibrated with the need to go out and find him.

“Okay,” he croaked, nodding. “While he's off, we were going to see about making enhancements to your crew, right?”

The programs glanced at each other uncertainly, clearly reluctant to speak up. 

Guessing that they were probably worried that he wanted to mess with their programming, he suggested, “Let's start with armour?” He sauntered to a nearby empty table, set down his half-drunk bottle of energy, and settled into a chair. “Let's see if we can keep you from getting one-shotted. Bartik, what kind of armour are you wearing?”

Bartik looked down at himself, fingering his jacket and smoothing what looked like a tactical vest underneath. 

“Put them here.” Sam gestured at the table. When Bartik complied, he revealed a snug undersuit like Sam's. He hovered by the table, watching as Sam investigated the garments, until Sam nodded at another chair and suggested, “Pull up a seat. This is going to take a while.” Past Bartik, Sam spotted Zuse, Gem, and the other programs watching them. Chuckling, he gestured for them to come closer. “Come on, guys. How about you tell me a story while I work? Tell me about yourselves. Tell me about the Grid.”

Finding and breaking into Bartik's safe house was simplicity in itself. Once he knew the location, he rode his lightjet to the mechanic's shop and strode through the front door. The programs working inside halted in their functions, many gasping and recoiling in shock as he entered their midst. Tools dropped, clanging, to the ground and panicked whispers susurrated throughout the building.  

“R-Rinzler,” stammered the shop's owner, hurrying to greet him. “Can we help you? Is there… is there a problem?” She didn't quite look at him, averting her gaze to the floor or glancing about nervously. “Is Lord Clu…?”

He stepped past her without answering, scanning the main room. Where would the hidden safe house be located in relation to the shop? The most likely location was directly under the building, so he stalked to the centre of the main floor, allowing the startled programs to melt out of his path and ignoring the owner, who followed behind him. When he reached the centre of the shop, he kicked away a partially disassembled lightcycle undergoing repairs. It bounced and skidded away, crashing into another, making them both flash and flicker and lose cohesion. In the cleared space, he crouched, drew his disks, and slashed at the floor. Sparks flew as he gouged deep into the dark grey matter, burning away the edges with a bright orange glow. 

Startled shrieks and the quick patter of fleeing footsteps echoed through the building. He ignored them, his focus trained on the deepening wounds he was carving into the floor. He descended, not quickly, but steadily, one relentless slash at a time. The shop owner hovered at the edge of his awareness, wringing her hands together, shifting her weight, making little noises of distress the deeper he went. 

Then, when he’d descended to about the depth of his own arm, he punched and his disk met no resistance as he cut through the last layer of matter and found the void beneath the floor. He withdrew, satisfied, and deftly sawed an opening large enough for him to slip through.

“Wh-what is that?” the shop owner stuttered, honest confusion in her voice. “What’s under us?”

The less she knew, the better. Rinzler docked his disks and dropped through the opening into the darkness below.

He landed in a low-ceilinged tunnel. It was roughly hewn, dug out from the Grid by the hands of desperate programs. The only illumination came from strips of light in the floor, barely enough to see the uneven walls and the stacks of supplies clustered in corners. Rinzler explored the tunnel, following it to a handful of chambers. He found nothing more exciting than a sparse armoury, three dormancy chambers, and what appeared to be a communal room equipped with a viewing screen. As Bartik had promised, all of the Resistance programs had fled.

Once he'd explored the entire facility, he found the actual entrance at the top of a ladder and activated it from the inside. It opened inside a storage room via a hidden trapdoor in the floor. When he’d climbed out and opened the storage room, the shop owner jumped and whirled around to face him where she’d been standing by the hole in her floor. 

“How?” she asked. “What is it?”

“Resistance,” Rinzler finally informed her. Her existence and function were about to be up-ended; the least he could do was tell her why.

She flinched and stepped back, her eyes widening with terror. “I didn’t know!” she gasped. She took another step, lost her footing on the edge of the hole, and stumbled to catch herself, managing only to fall to her knees. “Rinzler, I didn’t know that was there. I’m sorry! I didn’t know! I’m not one of them, I swear. I would never.” Her voice rose, becoming more and more desperate. She dropped her face into her hands and bowed forward, grovelling, as he watched in surprise and disconcertion. “I would never betray Lord Clu. Never. He is our liberator, our saviour, our light. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”

“Leave,” he said, cutting off the desperate flow.

Her face lifted enough to glimpse her wide, pale eyes. “What?” she whispered.

“Leave,” he repeated. “Go.” She needed to get out of there. Once Rinzler made his report, he knew that Clu would have the place ripped apart and the programs detained for rectification. 

“Go where?”

He shrugged. What could he say? He'd given her as much of a warning as he could. And, even as he'd said it, he didn't know why. There was no escape from Clu. Not for her, not for him, not for any of them. They were all trapped and the best he could do was try to keep Sam safe…

So he said nothing. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left.

The first stage of his mission was complete. Out in the dark, empty street and the thin drizzle of dirty energy, he activated his lightjet and began the second stage. 

He found Clu’s Throne Ship where it usually resided, docked on his enormous carrier where he could oversee the ongoing rectification of his increasingly massive army. What he had planned for that army, Rinzler couldn’t say. Perhaps he simply wanted to keep most of the Grid’s programs in stasis so he could control them. Perhaps he had some other goal in mind. Clu had never informed Rinzler of his plans beyond giving him instructions.

As he approached the carrier and drew near the Throne Ship, patrolling lightjets fell into formation around him, integrating him into their ranks without question. He suppressed his internal alarms as he descended to land; they screamed at him about the danger he was in, but he knew this already. Acknowledged , he told his own terror, dismissing the alarms. Acknowledged, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

When he landed on deck at the base of the Throne Ship’s lift, the patrolling soldiers peeled away to continue their rounds. The sentries guarding the lift shifted and straightened, acknowledging his presence. They responded to him exactly as they would have before he… before he’d encountered Sam.

Rinzler slid his lightjet baton into its holster, straightened, and prepared his running thoughts. I have hunted the User since he was taken from the lightcycle arena. The User’s power has increased, but I draw nearer with each millicycle. The Resistance is helping him. I discovered one of their safe houses, but I must continue my search. I will find him and I will bring him to Clu.

Steadying himself, he strode to the lift and allowed it to carry him up to Clu. 

The Resistance is helping him. I discovered one of their safe houses, but I must continue my search. I will find him and I will bring him to Clu.

He entered the orange-stained gloom of the Throne Ship without interruption, passing another pair of sentries and striding past the pilot programs in the main room. Maintaining a steady pace, he climbed the steps into Clu’s bridge and stopped just inside the door. He expected to see Jarvis standing just inside, but the personal assistant program was conspicuously absent. Perhaps Clu wasn’t present–?

A figure lounging on the low couch in front of the curved window straightened, revealing their full head of brown hair and dashing Rinzler’s vague hope. Clu. He turned and smiled, his eyes lighting up with pleasure. 

Rinzler’s entire body shivered. The Resistance is helping him. I discovered one of their safe houses, but I must continue my search. I will find him and I will bring him to Clu.

“Hey, man, there you are,” Clu called warmly. “I was getting worried that I’d lost you again.” He glanced past Rinzler and briefly frowned. “Still no User, huh? Slippery little bastard.” 

“Resistance,” Rinzler reported. 

Instead of an explosion of rage, Clu simply grunted and rolled his eyes, as though merely exasperated. He slung an arm over the back of the couch, crossed his legs, and patted the space beside him. “Come on over here and take a load off. You look tired.”

The command triggered. He could feel it, the compulsion to obey, the activation of his arms and legs to follow Clu’s commands, but it passed just as quickly and Clu’s orders became mere words. Just words.

Feeling a ripple of strength, a return of confidence, Rinzler strode to the couch and sat next to Clu, close enough to touch. 

“Helmet,” Clu added softly. “I want to look at you.”

Rinzler could obey much more quickly, knowing that Clu no longer controlled him. He lowered his helm and trained his gaze on the window and the black, boiling sky. 

“That’s better now, isn’t it?” Clu propped his chin on his fist and sighed. “But what happened in the Outlands, hm? What happened at the club? How’d that little shit get away from you?”

Rinzler shouted his running thoughts in his mind, but Clu shook his head.

“Speak,” he murmured. “I want to hear it in your own words.”

“His power is growing,” Rinzler reported quietly. “He learned the skills of a User while in the Outlands. He’s capable of manipulating the Grid and controlling the flow of energy. Now the Resistance is helping him. I found one of their safe houses, but they had already left it.”

“Where?” As Rinzler rattled off the coordinates, Clu nodded and twisted to type something into the control panel on the arm of his couch. “I’ll have it dismantled,” he murmured.

“I’m going to search for the rest of them,” Rinzler continued. “The User is being hidden by the Resistance and I will find them.”

“Mhm.” Clu nodded along. “I’m sure you will. It’s what you were built for, after all.” His free hand rose to palm Rinzler’s cheek, making him flinch, and forced Rinzler’s head to turn and face him. He leaned in to examine Rinzler’s eyes, so close that whatever confidence Rinzler had been feeling began to crumble. “You still aren’t looking that great, though.” He released him, then, and twisted away. Rinzler had an instant to feel a sense of relief before Clu again typed something into his control panel.

And any relief at all was dashed as Rinzler’s body was magnetized to the couch.

He groaned as a painful, debilitating current raced through his circuits, his voice catching. Reflexively, he strained to move his arms and legs, struggled to rise, but he was caught, fixed to that couch with so much force that it was like he’d become one with it.

“You won’t remember this,” Clu said conversationally, again propping his elbow up on the back of the couch. His eyes crinkled and his mouth curved in one of Flynn’s smirks. “I know it’s uncomfortable. But you'll be fine. Better than ever. We just need to make sure you’re running properly, don’t we? You were out there for a long time.” He ran the backs of his gloved fingers down Rinzler’s cheek and jaw to his neck and found the edge of his nearly hidden terminal. Rinzler spasmed at the touch on that sensitive spot, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even turn his head away as Clu moved closer. Grimacing, gurgling, shaking, he could barely heave his chest and shoulders. “I could tell you to be still,” Clu continued. He curved his hand over Rinzler’s throat to find the other terminal and stroked them both with thumb and fingertip. “I could tell you to go offline. But I like it better this way. I like seeing you struggle. I like knowing that you were his favourite, but now you’re mine.” 

Rinzler couldn’t answer, his jaw was locked. His eyes rolled, flicking furiously, looking for an escape, but there was none.

Chuckling, Clu straightened, slung a leg over Rinzler’s thighs, and shifted to sit on his lap. His solid weight would have made Rinzler’s circuits shiver with disgust if he wasn’t already quivering in fear and agony. “We’ll start with some standard input tests and see if your coding is still clean. Don’t worry. I’m just going to pump the inputs directly into your system, so you won’t have to do a thing. Just sit back and relax.” Wearing an expression of concentration, Clu worked down Rinzler’s chest, deftly removing piece after piece of his armour. With each click and rasp of the material folding and falling away, Rinzler fought to move, to do anything . Fury and terror built deep in his processes as he became more and more exposed. Clu couldn’t do this to him.

But he could. And he did. Still smirking Flynn’s smirk, he forced Rinzler’s undersuit to open for him, exposing his circuitry. He stroked them, following the black tracks from Rinzler’s neck, brushing the four dense clusters high on his chest, descending to the thick central node low on his belly and laughing lightly as Rinzler managed a brief cry of rage. 

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Clu chided. “And it’s going to get better.” He pointedly lifted a gloved hand and let Rinzler see a blue ripple of non-liquid energy and data flow through the material. “We can make it a lot of fun, actually.” He skimmed a slow, sensual palm over Rinzler’s shoulder and down his arm, lighting up every circuit he touched. It was like Sam’s touch, but it was Clu , Clu who sent shudders and shivers through Rinzler’s body, who sparked greasy, unwanted pleasure. He moved with excruciating slowness, stroking everywhere, exciting the circuits in Rinzler’s arms, chest, abdomen, hips, and legs until he was vibrating with it. “You’re responding well,” Clu remarked, tracing a switchback on Rinzler’s thigh with a sparking fingertip. “But now for the real test.”

No! Rinzler couldn’t voice it, but in his mind he was screaming as Clu palmed his abdomen and unleashed a jolt of energy directly into his central node. 

It wasn’t just the pain; it was the overwhelming sensation of it, the crackle of sharp ecstasy, the inability to fight a gasp and a whimper, the utter helplessness as Clu forced his inputs directly through Rinzler’s circuits without the use of a port to facilitate the process or protect Rinzler’s system. He leaned over Rinzler, riding out the spasms in Rinzler’s body, grinning down at him, palming his node and driving in pulse after ruthless pulse. Liquid energy gathered under Rinzler’s eyelids and seeped down his cheeks and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t even close his eyes, he could only stare into Clu’s face as it etched itself deeper and deeper into his memory files.

His awareness flickered, his sensory processes darkened, his functions began shutting down.

Just as he was on the brink of going offline, the pulses cut off. He collapsed, twitching and moaning, his circuits so sensitive they burned.

“That was beautiful,” Clu murmured. “You handled my inputs perfectly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you last that long, actually. You’re functioning with even greater efficiency than normal.”

Rinzler couldn’t answer. He could barely stay online.

“But those little hiccups in your responses… Did something change?” Without waiting for a response–he didn’t expect one–Clu reached behind him and jerked the disks off his back. He stood from Rinzler’s thighs, strode to his decryptor, and locked the disks into place. 

Rinzler forced himself to watch, his despair deepening. Clu wasn’t supposed to look directly at his programming! He would see everything !

But Sam… Sam, in all his arrogance and genius and insistence, had done as he'd promised and protected Rinzler even here.

“Hmm. No, this looks fine.” Clu spun out strings of codes, his eyes flickering with streams of information, and then snapped them back into place. He retrieved Rinzler’s disks and slammed them back into his dock. “I suppose the Outlands were good for you. Maybe the other Enforcers should take a stint in the wilderness.” He scoffed. “I guess that’s that, then. Nothing’s wrong, you’re just moving a little slow.” His tone turned thoughtful. “Maybe you’re slower than I remember. Or I’m faster than I used to be. Heh.” He resumed his position on Rinzler’s thighs and leaned in to press his brow to Rinzler’s scarred cheek, stroking his head, burying his hands in Rinzler’s hair in a gesture of obscene intimacy. “Mmm,” he sighed. “This was fun. But there’s work to do. Forget this little diagnostic, get dressed, and go find the User. Bring him to me. And report back to me every six millicycles; I don't want you to disappear on me again.” He reached down and entered a command on the control panel.

The magnetization ceased, releasing Rinzler from the constant, painful restriction. He wanted to move, wanted to bolt up and thrust Clu away from him, but his functions were still throbbing and aching and he couldn’t get them to reset. He couldn’t even raise his head.

Clu chuckled. Without another word, he patted Rinzler’s cheek, stood, and strode from the bridge. 

It took a very, very long time for Rinzler to regain control over himself. He gathered his body, still shaky, forcing his arms and legs to respond. He reactivated his undersuit to cover his skin and found the pieces of his armour that Clu had discarded. Only when he raised his helmet to cover his face did he feel anything resembling normal.

He wanted to skulk out past the other programs, but he knew that anything other than his usual behaviour and mannerisms would draw their attention. Clu was expecting him to have completely forgotten what had just occurred, so he must act like it. So he stalked out, his steps displaying far more confidence than he felt, and departed the way he’d come.

As he flew back to the club, his mind was already with Sam. For all that he was still aching and shrivelling inwardly from Clu’s assault and hating his own helplessness, he had successfully delayed Clu’s attack. They were safe. For now.

After all the work that Sam had done on his own armour, updating the Resistance programs was a straightforward process. Most of them didn’t have much to begin with, giving him a blank slate to work on. One by one, he enhanced the defensive capability of their basic jackets and vests, making them more resistant to deresolution and interruption by the Black Guard’s weaponry. The Resistance programs looked on, gradually moving closer as they became more comfortable until Sam found himself surrounded by a dozen relaxed and chattering programs. Bartik and Zuse carried most of the conversation, telling Sam about the state of the Grid, about the other cities, about the cycle-to-cycle lives of the programs. 

“What was it like before?” Sam asked when there was a brief lapse where he could interject the question. He glanced up from the open coding of yet another vest to find Zuse where he perched on the edge of the nearest table. “What did you do before Clu took over? What was your purpose? Dad said he tried to create a perfect system, but I don’t actually know what that means.”

“Our purpose?” Zuse repeated, his expression thoughtful. “Only Clu and Tron were privy to Flynn’s goals and aspirations, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Simply put, our purpose was to fulfil our programming. Isn’t it the same for Users? What is your purpose?”

“That’s a damn good question,” Sam sighed. “Even out there, it’s not exactly clear. I used to think it was to find my dad, then I thought it was to tear down the tower they were building on top of his memory so I could give his work to the people, and now I just want to get back so I can…” He trailed off, his stomach twisting with bitter despair. So he could do what? Take his place at ENCOM? Figure out what to do with his life? Be alone, knowing that he’d left the perfect man behind? “Yeah, I don’t know,” he finished. “Right now, my purpose is to give you guys a chance.”

Zuse’s pale eyes flicked over him. “You really aren’t like him at all,” he murmured. “Flynn was never cruel, never unkind, but… a program always knew where they stood with him. He was the creator and we were the created. He told us who and what we were. He did not…” He gestured with his cane at Sam and the surrounding programs. 

“I told you.” Sam smirked at him and closed the coding on the vest. “Here, man,” he said, twisting to toss it into the arms of the program it belonged to. “What else’ve you got for me?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the chatter. 

Bartik’s broad frame abruptly appeared in front of him. He dropped into a chair and glared at Sam before pointing at his scarred face. “My eye,” he said. “Can you give it back to me, User?”

Surprised, Sam examined Bartik’s determined expression before giving a hesitant nod. “Yeah, I should be able to, but are you sure you want me in your programming? That takes a lot of trust.” 

“That didn’t stop you from dabbling in mine ,” Zuse muttered.

“Clu controls the medical programs,” Bartik explained. “So when we’re injured, we cannot seek aid. And I trust you, User.”

Zuse scoffed quietly, but, Sam noticed, he didn’t argue this time.

Warmed, Sam offered a gentle smile. “Hold your disk on your lap. I’ll show you what I’m doing.”

When Bartik supplied his disk, Sam leaned closer to activate its holographic coding and begin scrolling through. He gave himself a quiet moment to familiarize himself with Bartik’s internal structure before he asked, “So, in the beginning, you were all just fulfilling your programming?”

“Mostly in the games,” Bartik added. “Flynn designed many, many games for us to play.”

Sam chuckled. “That sounds about right. The old man loves games. But were you all getting obliterated all the time?”

“Back then, they weren’t as deadly as they are now,” Zuse said. “Flynn didn’t want to keep creating us, I suppose.”

“They were fun,” commented another program. “Before Clu used them to punish us.”

“Damn.” Sam didn’t look up from Bartik’s programming, but he shook his head in anger. “So Clu took the games you were designed to play and he turned them into a punishment? I’m really starting to hate that guy.” He scrolled through Bartik’s physical attributes, didn’t find any errors, and began searching for his sensory inputs instead, wondering if the error would be found in his visual coding. As he worked, he mulled over something Zuse had mentioned offhandedly, something that had caught his attention and now circled his mind. He hesitated to ask about it because, although he wanted to know, he also didn’t want to know. He didn’t want the shadow of the past to hang over him and Rinzler, not when he’d been caught in his father’s shadow for his entire life.

But he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Can you… can you tell me about Tron?” he asked, pitching his voice low. 

The other programs fell silent, their tones hushing. Sam felt the weight of their attention fall on him. 

“That’s a name we’re not allowed to say,” Bartik murmured.

“We can certainly say it here,” Zuse countered cheerfully. “Tron. Tron. Trrrrron. It just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Tron. Apart from Clu, he was the strongest program to exist in our humble system. Quite the nice fellow, was our Tron. Very brave, very loyal. But he’s been gone for almost a thousand cycles.” Zuse’s voice darkened with amusement. “Now, why would you possibly want to know about him?”

Sam’s gaze snapped up. He met Zuse’s knowing smirk, surprised, then looked past him to where Gem lounged on a bar stool, leaning against the bar and sipping from a cocktail. She acknowledged his stare with the quirk of a brow. 

Of course, he realized. Gem would have informed Zuse of all that had transpired while he was offline, including Rinzler removing his helmet. And they had recognized him. What would happen if they confronted Rinzler about it? Would he believe them? Would it do something to him after he’d fought so hard for his own identity?

“My dad used to talk about him all the time,” Sam responded stiffly after the silence had dragged on. “That’s all. I know that he’s gone.” Wanting to change the subject, he looked up at Bartik and pointed to a stream of coding. “This is your visual system, where you take in stimulus. Do you see the error in there?”

Bartik leaned in closer, so their heads were side to side and both could peer in at the bright hologram. Deep within the structure, an error glowed angry orange, and Bartik nodded. “I see it, User,” he breathed, his tone awed. “That’s my missing eye?”

“That’s the one.” Sam expanded it, drawing it to the surface so he could pull it out. When he plucked it out of the coding, it fluttered away, startling several programs off their stools before it fizzled out and disappeared. Laughing, Sam deactivated the disk and motioned for Bartik to dock it. “Go ahead, try it on.”

Bartik didn’t even hesitate before reaching back and locking it into place. A shimmer worked over his skin, flowing from his head to his feet, and the flesh of his face smoothed over the scar and his eye darkened to its normal hue. He blinked, touched his face, gazed at Sam in a mix of surprise and awe, and then roared, thrusting his fists into the air. The other programs took up his cry and rushed in to slap him on the back and arms and get a closer look at his face. 

“Well played, User,” Zuse crooned, appearing at Sam’s shoulder and linking their arms together. He laid a palm on Sam’s chest and smiled up at him, his eyelids lowered over his speculative gaze. “I was blind, but now I see. You are bringing faith to the faithless–”

A shriek behind them shattered the joyful din. Sam whirled, already reaching for his disk, expecting to see Clu’s soldiers storming in from the elevator or smashing through the skylights again.

But only a single figure stood at the top of the steps up from the bar, framed by the corridor. 

“Rinzler!” screamed a program, tripping over empty chairs to scramble away from him.

“He’s with us!” Bartik barked. “User’s sake, Diode, get a grip.”

For a moment, Sam was paralyzed, unable to breathe, asphyxiating on a relief that was so strong he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t stop staring. “Rinzler,” he finally uttered on a tight, gasping breath. 

Rinzler’s posture was wary, defensive, as it had been after their last encounter with Clu. His angry red lights seemed weaker than usual, flickering irregularly. When Sam spoke, he didn’t move except to fist his hands and tilt his helm ever so slightly toward Zuse where he still clung to Sam. 

Zuse immediately dropped Sam’s arm and stepped back with a little bow. “He’s all yours, my dear Rinzler,” he murmured. 

As much as Sam wanted to argue the point–he couldn’t be Rinzler’s anything –he could feel the tension in Rinzler’s body as if it was his own. Something had happened to him when he visited Clu. So he didn’t object, and instead hurried to Rinzler’s side. “Rinzler,” he murmured as he trotted up the steps, pitching his voice low. “Are you okay?” He reached for him, unable to stop himself because despite every reason not to, he needed to touch him, needed to feel his solid strength–

Rinzler stepped back, caught Sam’s wrist in a hard grip, and growled, “Do not touch me, User.”

Sam froze, his heart sinking. “What happened?”

Instead of answering, Rinzler turned and pulled him toward the elevator.

Sam balked, holding his ground, wincing when Rinzler’s grip tightened around his wrist. “Are we in danger?” he demanded. “Are they in danger? That’s all I need to know. Then I’ll come with you.”

Rinzler released a low, dangerous clicking purr, but he stopped and turned his helmet as though looking back over his shoulder. “They are safe,” he said in a low rasp.

Sam exhaled another lungful of fear and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

This time, when Rinzler dragged him toward the elevator, Sam didn’t resist.

They travelled in silence. When the door of their suite hissed shut behind them, Sam started to ask again what had happened, but Rinzler shoved him against the door, silencing him. His helmet peeled away, revealing his face and his burning eyes and an expression of wild desperation. “Don’t talk,” he commanded. “Don’t touch me.”

Sam swallowed hard, his throat and gut tightening in a mix of fear and desire that he hadn’t felt since they were alone in the Outlands. This was Rinzler before he’d freed himself, this was Rinzler wounded and dangerous. 

He flattened his palms against the door and lifted his chin, letting his body say the words that he could never speak. Take what you need from me. I’m yours.

Rinzler groaned, low and hungry, and pressed Sam to the door, his mouth on his neck and his thigh crushing Sam’s dick so aggressively it made him gasp and buck. His hands were everywhere, squeezing him through his armour, clawing at him, peeling off each piece in flashes of sparks and crackles of electricity because he wasn’t deactivating it, he was ripping it away , shredding Sam’s updates with just his hands. 

As he worked down from Sam’s shoulders, he mouthed at every inch of exposed skin, grazing it with his teeth, sucking, licking, biting, almost gnawing at him with a rabid ferocity, leaving a trail of chilled, sensitized skin. He bit Sam’s nipple and Sam couldn’t restrain a wheezy yelp and buck of his hips. He dropped lower, falling to his knees to gnaw at the ridge of Sam’s hip before moving to his swollen cock. Without pausing, without preamble, he engulfed Sam’s dick as if he was starving for it and sucked so hard that Sam’s head swam and he felt like he was going to pass out if he didn’t grab on to something. 

Rinzler abruptly pulled off, jerked back to his feet, and spun Sam around. “I said not to touch me,” he growled, yanking Sam’s hands into the small of his back.

“Wha–?” Sam mumbled against the door. “I didn’t–I didn’t mean to–” Awareness returned in time to feel the familiar warmth of Rinzler’s grappling line looping around his wrists and tightening. “Ah, shit, you don’t have to tie me up, it was an accident–” He cut off, choking, when Rinzler dropped back down, roughly spread his ass cheeks, and licked his asshole. “Oh God,” he wheezed, his legs shaking, pleasure rushing up from his ass through the rest of his body, making his ears ring. “No, shit, we can’t do this again, please–” He was so primed for it, though, he was already clenching and aching for it, for Rinzler’s cold, wet tongue to lathe over his hole and begin dipping and probing inside. He was so desperate for it, a rough whimper escaped his throat, a hiccup, a moan muffled against the unforgiving door. He couldn’t stop himself from widening his stance and rocking back against the intrusion, he couldn’t hide the swollen heaviness of his cock, already dripping precum. He needed it, needed Rinzler to drive into him and obliterate every thought, every fear, every memory.

He was panting, his pulse throbbing in his ears and his dick, rocking and moaning, trying to invite Rinzler’s tongue deeper, wordlessly begging for more. Rinzler must have heard him, because he stopped torturing him with his tongue and stood. Sam bowed his head, shaking with need, and tilted his hips in the hopes that Rinzler was preparing to drive into him right then. Instead, Rinzler again spun him around. His blazing gaze scanned Sam’s face. He lowered his head to kiss him, hard, his tongue filling Sam’s mouth, and lifted him by the thighs. Sam, unable to hold on to anything, nearly toppled backward until Rinzler caught him with a broad palm on his back. Without speaking, Rinzler carried him to the other room, to the bed where Sam expected to be thrown down. But Rinzler surprised him by merely sitting on the edge and settling Sam on his lap. Then, for a long, silent moment, he cupped Sam’s face and stared up at him, his eyes flickering.

Sam–straddling Rinzler’s thighs, his dick hard and his asshole wet and aching and Rinzler’s cold, flexible armour against his skin, forcing his legs apart, and so, so close to the man he longed for so desperately–released a shuddering breath and whispered, “Please.”

Rinzler dropped a hand to his own groin. He paused and Sam felt a tremor run through his body as he hesitated. Then he growled and deactivated his armour and undersuit to expose his own smooth, glowing, and very erect dick. Sam groaned at the sight, remembering what it felt like to have that long, curved cock bury itself in his body, and twitched his hips to try to reach it. 

“Don’t move,” Rinzler muttered, clasping Sam’s waist. 

Sam whimpered but forced himself to go still, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t move, touch Rinzler, or speak? He felt like he was going to explode with need, like Rinzler just had to say the word and he would orgasm.

“Open your eyes.”

Sam blinked them open and met Rinzler’s fiery stare. He didn’t dare to look away as Rinzler slid a hand back to stroke the cleft between his cheeks. The rough touch of his glove was enough to make Sam shudder. He then moved over his thigh and circled his dick, his gaze never shifting from Sam’s face as though he was trying to memorize him and every expression he made. 

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he pulled Sam closer and bucked his hips up to slide his cold cock against his entrance. Sam whimpered again and fought the urge to duck his head in shame for just how desperate he was for this, how much he needed it. He bit his lip on a cry when Rinzler’s tip nudged into him, stretching him, lighting a delicious fire in every nerve. 

He watched the expression on Rinzler’s face change as he sank in, slow and excruciating centimeter by slow and excruciating centimeter. He watched the tension shift from anger to concentration to pleasure. The change just added more fuel to Sam’s fire, knowing that Rinzler wanted him as much as he wanted Rinzler, seeing it so clearly, knowing that it would never work, that it was wrong, that it would all end in misery…

But he couldn’t stop. Rinzler dragged him down until he was fully seated, shaking and sweating and panting around the fullness. There, Rinzler held him, impaled on his dick, while he watched Sam’s face. 

When he couldn’t take it anymore, Sam tried to lift himself, desperate for friction, but Rinzler’s fingers tightened on his hips, hard enough to bruise. 

“You want this?” he asked.

Sam tried to laugh, but it came out a sob. “Of course I do!” He tried to move again, but Rinzler held him too firmly.

“Then say it. Tell me what you want me to do to you.” 

I can’t want this, I can’t want him…  

But Sam’s body didn’t belong to him anymore. “I want you to fuck me,” he gasped. He wanted to look away, but Rinzler reached up to grip his hair, forcing him to maintain eye contact. “Fuck me.” With each repetition, it was easier to say. “Please. Rinzler. Fuck me.”

“Don’t stop looking at me,” Rinzler warned. Only when Sam nodded did he palm Sam’s hips again, digging into the meat of his ass, and lifted him, sliding him off of his cock before slamming him back down, then lifting him and dropping him like Sam was just a toy, a fleshlight for his enjoyment. 

Sam shouted from the intensity of it. He bowed forward, wanting to close his eyes and hide from the waves of emotion following on the rush of sensation, but he knew if he did Rinzler would stop. So he latched onto Rinzler’s gaze, letting him see it all, letting him see every fragment of pain and pleasure and loss and terror and the deepening wound created by his own awful, stupid, illogical feelings, letting him see the way they built, the tightening coils of hot, seeping, gushing pleasure in his gut, the lashing heat of his impending orgasm. 

He tried to hold on, tried to hold it back, his vision blurring with moisture because he couldn’t want this but he needed it so badly. Rinzler’s pale face and wild hair and flaming eyes became hazy and then he was coming, crying out in agony and pleasure, clenching on Rinzler’s cock, his own dick spurting wildly, helplessly, his pent up energy flowing from his veins until he was hollow and exhausted. 

Breathing hard, he drooped forward, his head resting on Rinzler’s shoulder, his ears ringing and every cell tingling, his ass still full and aching, tears oozing from under his eyelids. Rinzler’s hands stroked up his back, down his arms, over his thighs and legs with surprising tenderness. When he cupped Sam’s cheek again, Sam lifted his head and expected another admonishment not to touch him. But he simply examined Sam’s face again, wiped his tears away with a gentle thumb, and then pressed his forehead to Sam’s and closed his eyes. Without looking, he reached around to release Sam’s arms. 

“Remove your dock,” he said quietly. 

Sam nearly demanded to know why. What did Rinzler have planned? But he held his tongue. The suddenness of Rinzler’s subdued demeanor after he’d just furiously fucked Sam out of his mind set Sam on edge. Something was really wrong. So Sam reached back to remove it and set it on the bedside table, grimacing as he had to move and twist with Rinzler’s steely rod still embedded in his body.

Once he was free of it, Rinzler braced an arm around his waist and shifted them both, drawing Sam down onto the bed to lie on his back. There, he finally withdrew from Sam’s body and reactivated his armour to cover himself. 

He’s going to leave again , Sam knew, his eyes burning.

But he didn’t. Ignoring the glowing blue cum still smeared all over his armour, he stretched out next to Sam and slowly, shakily sank down to rest his head on Sam’s chest and laid his arm over his belly. 

Sam lay still, confused and unsettled. He raised a hand to stroke the program, but caught himself. Rinzler didn’t want to be touched, but he also seemed to need… something. Not energy. Not just sex. Something else. 

I’m sorry… The apology rose in his mind, unbidden. Because what Rinzler needed, Sam couldn’t give it to him.

All he could do was breathe, his chest aching with the weight of Rinzler’s head.

Chapter Text

Six

There were only two User hearts in the entire universe, and this one belonged to Rinzler. He lay with his head on Sam’s chest, his eyes closed to block out the rest of the Grid, riding the rise and fall of his breaths and listening intently to that one miraculous sound. With each steady lub-dub , it reminded him of where he was, who he was, and what he had to fight for. 

What he stood to lose.

The rhythm of its thumping picked up speed moments before Sam’s deep, even breaths shifted, becoming irregular, broken by a snort and a long sigh. His legs stretched and his hands twitched as he came online and returned to full awareness.

Rinzler would never tire of witnessing Sam waking.

Sam squirmed under him and huffed. He raised a hand and hovered it over Rinzler’s shoulder before letting his arm loop lightly around him, the movements slow and careful. “I can touch you now?” he asked, his scratchy voice vibrating under Rinzler’s ear.

“Yes,” Rinzler replied without moving from his comfortable position. He could feel the weight of Sam’s arm and the crackle of his energy, but the stimulation did not trigger pain or discomfort. The effects of Clu’s “diagnostic” had mostly faded, soothed by the presence of his User, the memories of it weakened by his memories of Sam. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Sam’s other arm joined the first, wrapping in a tight embrace around Rinzler’s body. His nose and mouth pressed to the top of Rinzler’s head, his breath warm as he spoke. “You okay?” 

“...Yes.”

“What happened?”

Rinzler considered the question, but quailed away from answering it fully. Sam didn't need to know how helpless he had been to resist Clu, how weak. “Your guard clause worked,” he replied carefully. “Clu is unaware of our deception.”

Sam exhaled shakily. For a time he held his rare silence. His fingertips traced up and down Rinzler’s arms and over his back, following the contours of his armour, before he spoke again. “Good. That’s good. How long do we have until you need to go back?”

“Clu commanded me to return every six millicycles.”

“Every two days,” Sam muttered. “Damn. We’ve gotta move fast. Let’s check in with Bartik, see how his army’s coming along.” He tensed to rise, but Rinzler pressed his head down on his chest and clung to his waist, refusing to be dislodged. 

Chuckling, Sam relaxed under him. He wove his fingers through Rinzler’s hair, his blunt nails lightly scratching. “I like to cuddle as much as the next guy, but I don’t want to waste any time.” The caress briefly stopped as his tone darkened. “The longer this goes on, the more you’ll have to go see him.”

The faster they went, the sooner that Sam would leave again, but this time he would go where Rinzler could not follow. 

“Come on,” Sam murmured. He cupped Rinzler’s chin, encouraging him to raise his head. Grudgingly, Rinzler opened his eyes and glared up at Sam’s worried frown. The expression smoothed into a quizzical half-smile when he met Rinzler’s stare. He leaned down to brush his lips over Rinzler’s brow and down the side of his face. He couldn’t quite reach his mouth, so Rinzler obliged him by finally rising from Sam’s chest to press a kiss to his tempting lips. Sam rewarded him with a groan and the playful flick of his tongue, encouraging Rinzler to cage his jaw with a firm hand and deepen the kiss, hungrily exploring his mouth. 

As soon as Rinzler had shifted his position, though, Sam slid out from under him, rolled, and landed in a crouch beside the platform. Rinzler grabbed at him, but he sprang up to standing, grinning brightly, and backpedaled to the main room. 

“We’ve got work to do, program,” he called cheerfully. Then, sighing, “Starting with my armour, after what you did to it…”

Snarling, Rinzler lunged up and followed.

The elevator door opened onto the main club floor and Rinzler slammed Sam backward, shoving him behind the control panel and making him crack an elbow against the wall. “Cover your face,” he spat. 

Sam, startled and wincing as he held his aching arm, raised his helm. “What?” he snapped. “Why?!” Then he registered the loud, rhythmic music and the clamor of voices and realized, “Did Zu—Castor reopen the club?”

Rinzler growled in response, his fists clenching at his sides, vibrating with fury.

Sam pushed past him, scowling at the white-jacketed bouncers and the mingling programs in their street clothes, holding energy drinks at the bar or moving together on the dance floor. Among the bodies, he glimpsed more than a few Black Guard in their dull, obsidian armour and red lights. It looked like a similar crowd to the programs who had been there when Gem first led Sam up, as though the raid had never happened. “What the fuck is he thinking?”

“That he needs to keep up appearances,” came Gem's cool vibrato. She straightened away from the wall just inside the corridor, her arms unfolding, her smokey gaze flicking over them both. “And keep his network intact. Come.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode away, leading them deeper inside. At the mouth of the corridor, she came to a stop and Zuse’s private stairs rose from the floor to meet her. “Castor would appreciate it if you limit your time on the dance floor, Rinzler,” she said, regarding him under her thick lashes. “Your presence may be… disruptive.” She glanced behind her at the programs beginning to notice them, whispering to each other and backing away. “Our clients don’t buy as much energy when they’re running for their lives.”

Sam snorted inwardly at the sight, bitterly amused. They were all scared shitless by a program who had refused to stop snuggling only an hour earlier, his ridiculously powerful and lethal body just a dead weight on Sam’s chest and stomach.

Then again… he was more than a little scared of Rinzler himself, especially when he was snuggling.

Rattling with annoyance, Rinzler stalked to the base of the stairs and twitched his head at Sam. Sam, rolling his eyes behind his mask, preceded him up the steps, Rinzler a pace behind him. They found Zuse, Bartik, and a handful of other Resistance programs already seated within the lounge, some familiar and some not. 

On seeing them, Zuse’s pale face lit up. He stood, spreading his arms. “Ah! The Son of Flynn graces us with his presence at last. Please join us.”

“Zuse,” Sam greeted flatly. “You’re back to business as usual.” As soon as the lounge door hissed shut behind him, muffling the heavy music, he lowered his helm to frown at the enigmatic club owner. 

Zuse spun his cane and flashed a little grin. “How better to hide dozens of rogue programs than with dozens of happily over-energized programs? Besides, this is my function, and, as we all know…” He whirled toward the Resistance programs and lifted his cane like a conductor’s baton.

They stared at him in confounded silence.

“ As we all know ,” he declared slowly, enunciating each word, “In Clu’s perfect system, any program in violation of their function is subject to termination!”

The other programs glanced at each other, shifting uncomfortably with the reminder that merely sitting there went against Clu’s laws.

“You don’t think someone might wonder why Rinzler is hanging around here? Or who we all are?” Sam waved at himself and Bartik. “That’s not suspicious?”

“Suspicious?! Hardly, darling. Programs come here to be noticed, not to notice others. Besides which, Rinzler was ordered to find you, and everything makes its way to the End of Line eventually. It’s only logical for him to visit me. Or they might think he enjoys my company,” he added coyly, pressing a hand to his chest. “Who knows what kinds of assumptions might be running through their tiny processors?”

Sam shook his head, almost impressed by Zuse’s flagrant lack of fear. He didn’t have to look back at Rinzler to feel the fury rolling off of him; any lesser program would have fled by then.

“Fine,” Sam sighed, finally crossing the lounge to drop onto a seat across from Bartik. Rinzler followed closely, though refrained from sitting himself, and Zuse backed away to prop himself up on the edge of a table. “What’s the status, Bartik? Please tell me we have an army and I’m not going to have to stay locked in a goddamn tower forever.” Of all the Disney princesses, he was beginning to feel the most like Rapunzel.

“My people have made contact with four other factions,” Bartik replied. He looked past Sam to Rinzler. “They're evacuating now and their safehouses will soon be ready for you.”

“More guests,” Zuse groaned, folding his arms and glaring at the ceiling.

“How many?” Sam asked. 

“I don't know.” Sniffing, Zuse brushed something off his sleeve. “These groups don't tell me and I don't ask. It changes by the millicycle, anyway.”

“I guess we'll find out when they get here.” Leaning back in his seat, Sam watched the storm through the club's massive windows, his mind elsewhere. He itched to get out there and put an end to this. If they broke into the I/O tower now , then they wouldn't need to gather the Resistance programs. 

And Rinzler wouldn't need to see Clu again.

As though pulled by a magnet, his attention shifted to the masked program where he stood at his shoulder, close enough to touch. Barely moving, Rinzler’s tension was palpable. Sam could feel the way he constantly scanned their surroundings. A stark contrast to the relaxed, sweetly affectionate and clingy Rinzler that Sam had woken up to.

He swallowed down his wistful, bittersweet longing for a lifetime of waking up to that Rinzler before it could completely derail his thoughts, and returned his focus to Bartik. “Will there be more groups after these? How long before we can move out?”

“I don’t know,” Bartik replied. “These are the only factions that Zuse identified, but there may be more.” He dipped his head. “My apologies, User, that I don’t have the information you need.” 

“No, it’s fine, man. I just… I really don’t like waiting. Updating your gear isn’t going to keep me busy for long.”

“You can do something with those two if you need a distraction,” Zuse interjected dryly, nodding at something on the club’s main floor. Following his gaze, Sam spotted the two frozen Enforcers holding empty glasses and draped in strings of lights, the crowd flowing around them. “I caught some of my customers trying to graffiti them.”

“Any ideas?” Sam asked, turning to Rinzler.

Rinzler’s helm tilted in thought before he rasped, “Derectify.”

“You can do that?” Bartik breathed, straightening.

“Do what?” 

“Rectification is Clu’s method of overwriting recalcitrant programs to create his army. He can accomplish this en masse , in a machine called the Rectifier.” Zuse spread his hands as though encompassing a crowd. “Efficient, is our Lord Clu.”

“Rectification,” Sam echoed, tasting the word and frowning. “That even sounds wrong.” He considered Rinzler’s blank helm, anger twisting in his gut. “That’s what he did to you.” 

Rinzler didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. 

“Then yeah.” Sam slapped the table. “Hell yeah. Bring them up here and I’ll get Clu’s codes out of them.”

Twitching a nod, Rinzler padded briskly to the door and down to the dance floor. Sam watched him go, smirking when the club programs trampled on each other, jumping out of his way as he passed through the crowd. 

“Should I advertise my club as a house of healing?” Zuse wondered, his gleaming grey eyes flicking over Sam consideringly. 

Sam shrugged. Did it count as healing if he was just correcting a bit of code? 

When Rinzler returned with the two Enforcers trailing behind him, Sam directed him to seat them on a bench, their disks exposed.

“Will they be okay with this?” he asked before reaching for the first disk. “With you, I had to ask your permission.”

“Only remove their obedience to Clu,” Rinzler intoned after a pause. “Then they will be free to decide what other changes to revert.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam pulled their disks, uneasy with touching someone intimately without even knowing their name, whether they were aware of it or not. “I’m Sam,” he muttered, settling across from the unresponsive Enforcers. “Nice to meet you.”

After his experience with Rinzler, he quickly found the highest level coding that forced them to immediately follow Clu’s commands. With a practiced flick, he tugged the squirming parasite of a codeline out and crushed it under his boot. Then he moved on to the second. When they were both complete, he stood and leaned over them to lock their disks back into place.

The two programs immediately flinched away from him, movement returning to their bodies as though they’d been shocked. 

“Rinzler,” exclaimed one, leaping to his feet. His helmet peeled away, revealing a typical program’s smooth features, a pattern of glimmering emerald markings, and short, slick-backed hair. “What–what is happening?” Without the modulation of his mask, he sounded scared. His face twisted through a confusion of expressions. “There’s something wrong!”

Beside him, the second Enforcer remained sitting, gripping his knees and visibly shaking.

The first, his eyes darting, found Sam and gasped in horror. He tried to back up, tripped over the bench behind him, scrambled away before finally standing upright. “The User,” he exclaimed. “It’s the User. Are we–Do we–It’s the User!” He reached for a weapon baton at his waist.

Rinzler caught his wrist before he could grasp it. “You are no longer required to follow Clu’s commands,” he stated, placing himself between the panicking program and Sam. “You may revert to your original function.” After a heavy pause, he added, “Or determine your own function.”

The program stared at Rinzler’s mask, wide-eyed, his mouth slowly opening and closing as though he couldn’t quite form words to speak. 

It would have been comical if Sam hadn’t already witnessed Rinzler dealing with all the leftover shit messing up his programming… if he hadn’t seen the way it nearly broke him. 

“If you want, I can remove all of Clu’s codes,” Sam explained. He sat again, trying to make himself look harmless. “I can take you back to before you were, ah, rectified .” He really hated that word.

The program looked from Sam, to Rinzler, and back again. To Sam’s relief, he stopped reaching for his weapon, allowing Rinzler to release him.

Rinzler stepped back, allowing his hip to nudge against Sam’s shoulder. “He will help you.” Both the unquestioning confidence and the unexpected contact brought a flush to the back of Sam’s neck. 

“He’s helped us already,” Bartik interjected. “You can trust him.”

Zuse scoffed and muttered, “As much as you can trust any User.”

“Remove mine,” uttered the second program, his modulated voice hollow. He lifted his head and his helmet folded away, revealing a program of dark violet markings and bright irises. “Please, User, I don’t remember who I used to be, but it must be better than this. It must be better than what I’ve become.”

If Rinzler hadn’t been standing so close to him, Sam never would have felt the tremor run through his body. I don’t remember who I used to be. The words lingered and Sam couldn’t resist the urge to lean his weight against Rinzler’s hip, trying to offer some kind of comfort. 

“Me, too,” said the first program. He returned to sit next to the second, his movements jerky. His green eyes flicking anxiously from Rinzler to Sam, he confessed, “I don’t want my only memory files to be of termination and deresolution.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said softly, trying to offer a reassuring smile. “Give me your disks and I’ll show you what I’m doing.”

This time, the process took much longer as Sam sifted through the programs’ codes, hunting for the overwrites and yanking them out. The programs watched closely, nearly vibrating with tension, until Sam dissolved their holograms and passed their disks back. 

“There you go, guys. All cleaned up.”

The programs held their disks carefully between their palms, staring at them. They looked at each other in silence. Then, nearly as one, they jerked their disks up and slammed them into place. Immediately, a flow of pixels showered down their bodies from their docks, shifting their red circuit lights to white and blanking their taut expressions. The rectification left them blinking and frowning in confusion, scanning the room and clenching and releasing their fingers as though re-learning their functions.

“Identify yourselves, programs,” Sam urged gently. 

“Foley,” the first promptly answered, straightening, his gaze snapping up. “Security program.” 

“Drake,” added the second. “Security program.”

Sam glanced at Rinzler, wondering if he recognized them, but saw no change in his demeanor. 

“Are you a User?” Foley asked, leaning forward and intently searching Sam’s face. “Are you my User? Are you Flynn?”

Startled, Sam shook his head. “No, no. The name’s Sam. I’m just, I don’t know, just passing through.” 

“As security programs, your function is to protect the system,” Rinzler interjected. “Clu is going to destroy it if we let him. The User Sam Flynn is fighting him. You will fulfil your function by protecting him.”

“Understood.”

“I don’t really need–” Sam began, cutting off when Rinzler reached down and squeezed his shoulder. The touch caught his breath, only intensifying when he looked up and registered the set of Rinzler’s shoulders, his lowered head, his worry. “Fine,” he sighed. “They can hang out at the club with the rest of us.” He leaned back, managing a wry smirk. “Drake, Foley, welcome to the party.” 

Sam did not wait with grace. 

He modified those Resistance programs who still needed updates, but he had become an efficient, undeniably powerful User and it didn't take long for him to complete his tasks. Once Bartik and the Resistance programs had filtered out to continue their work, he was left with Rinzler, Zuse, and the two newly derectified security programs. After sitting in place, his knee bouncing, he jerked up to his feet and began pacing around the lounge, closely examining the bottles behind the bar, helping himself to a glass of energy, and then scowling out the window before throwing himself back onto a bench. Foley and Drake shared a glance, but didn't move from their ready idle. Zuse watched him closely, his gaze speculative. 

“The Black Guard are all rectified, right?” Sam abruptly asked as his next cycle of roaming brought him close to the lounge door. He peered down at the crowd, frowning. “How do they end up here? If all they do is follow orders, why are they drinking and dancing?” 

Zuse shrugged. “The results of rectification can be different. Perhaps based on the complexity of the program.” He turned, finding Rinzler and smiling thinly. “Some do retain elements of their original personality, their base functions, their… desires.”

Rinzler fisted his hands, disliking the way Zuse looked at him like he knew something that Rinzler didn't. 

“Huh.” Sam paced away from the window, raising his hands to lace behind his head and  twisting at the waist before throwing his arms out in exasperation. “Should I derectify them, then? Whittle down Clu’s army?”

“No,” Rinzler snapped, as Zuse exclaimed, “Oh, Users no! If they started disappearing here , the game would be up. We can’t have Clu’s soldiers going out for a drink and then vanishing under mysterious circumstances. We’d be raided in no time.”

“I have to do something or I'm going to go insane, Zuse.”

Zuse smirked again at Rinzler. “Is he always like this?”

Rinzler had no interest in speaking to the aggravating program, but inwardly he thought with wry amusement, Just wait until he starts singing.

Before Sam could complain any further, though, Zuse’s smile fell and his attention darted to the door. Spinning his cane, he sauntered toward it. “Put up your mask, User,” he called over his shoulder. “Your salvation is at hand.”

“What–?” Sam uttered, but cut off when the tall figure of a siren appeared, climbing the stairs, a hunched form in a wet, glittering blue cloak following shortly behind her. Sam quickly raised his helm and Rinzler edged closer to him, alert for potential threats.

The door slid open and the siren entered the lounge, her thickly lashed eyes meeting Zuse’s. “I found one,” she murmured in a shivering contralto. She stepped aside, allowing the second, much smaller, program to enter. Rinzler watched carefully as they limped in, their head and body concealed, their unsteady movements indicating some kind of injury. 

“Welcome, my dear,” Zuse exclaimed, sweeping in to wrap his arm around the shoulders of the hidden program. “Come, come. You are in a safe place now, a place where errors are corrected and corruption cleansed. I have a friend I’d like you to meet.” He urged the program deeper inside, toward Sam and Rinzler.

The program balked, shrinking against Zuse. “ Rinzler ,” they wheezed from the darkness of their hood. 

“Oh, not him,” Zuse said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t exactly call Rinzler a friend, he’s so dull ! If you met him you’d be bored into derezzing. No, no. The other one. A much more interesting fellow.”

Sam shifted his weight and then sank onto the couch behind him. “Hey,” he called. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you. I’m here to help.”

Slowly, grudgingly, the cloaked program allowed Zuse to propel them forward where they came to a stop a pace away from Sam’s knees. 

Zuse reached for the edge of the program’s cowl. “Let’s see what we’re working with here,” he said, tugging back the fabric.

From the shadows emerged the narrow face of a female program. Or most of a face. Half of it had been sheared away, leaving crackling bits and exposed circuitry where the left side of her head and one of her eyes should have been. As Zuse continued pulling, he exposed more and more of her injuries: One arm hung, useless and barely attached, from her shoulder. Further down her interface, a chunk had been taken out of her leg. By some improbability, her injuries hadn’t resulted in immediate deresolution, but she was heavily impaired, barely able to walk.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered. 

The program’s one eye blinked rapidly.

“Ah,” Sam stuttered. “Have a seat. Please.” He waved at the couch beside him. “I can help you.”

“You’re a medical program?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“Something like that.” He turned to face her as she limped to the couch and sat. “May I see your disk?”

When he’d finished with this unfortunate program, finding and removing her injuries and releasing them to flutter away, she was able to smile at him and stand to her full height, shedding her cloak entirely. She thanked him shyly and hurried away. At the door, she passed a male program with a hole in the centre of his interface, already waiting beside another siren.

Sam leaned back, laughing quietly. “Zuse moves fast, huh? I’m here for ten minutes and he’s already put me to work.” He raised his voice and added, “You’re not charging them a fee, are you?”

Zuse raised his brows and motioned at himself, mouthing a silent, “ Me? ”

It seemed that the city contained an endless supply of injured and corrupted programs. Zuse’s sirens called to them, drawing them from the shadows and guiding them to the club, to Sam. 

Rinzler watched him, a new admiration warming his circuits with every program he corrected, with every softly murmured, “It’s okay. I’m here to help.” He had seen Sam fight–badly–seen him learn and adapt, seen him fail, seen him try again, seen him fall apart and put himself back together, seen him persevere. 

Now he saw the gentleness, the compassion. 

My User. He hummed with it, with both joy and with a terrifying sense of falling deeper and deeper toward something from which he would never escape. This is my User.

As he watched, though, that admiration twisted, becoming a bitter sense of loss. Because Sam wasn’t just there to help. He was there by accident. And he was going to leave.

After over a millicycle of clearing errors and corruption, the next program to enter was Bartik. When he stepped through the door, Zuse jolted and moved to meet him and murmur something to the siren and the next patient standing outside. “Our medical staff need a moment,” he explained. “Please get yourself a drink while you’re waiting.” He closed the door, triggered something on his cane, and the clear panes of the door and windows frosted, obscuring them.

Sam immediately lowered his helm and sagged back on his couch. Reaching up to scrub his short hair, he asked, “How many more are there?”

“Enough to keep even you occupied, Son of Flynn,” Zuse replied, his lip curling with amusement. 

“Okay, great.” Sam’s blue eyes switched to Bartik and he lifted his chin in greeting. “Hey, man. How’s it going out there?”

Bartik straightened to stand at attention. “Another safe house has been evacuated to the End of Line. It’s ready for you, Rinzler.” He turned to Zuse. “Seven more Resistance programs.”

“Delightful,” Zuse drawled.

“Damn, I guess you’ve got to go,” Sam said, frowning up at Rinzler.

Rinzler uttered a little snarl in the negative and solidified his stance. He wasn’t going anywhere, not yet. “One-point-four millicycles,” he murmured. 

Sam’s eyes widened and his face shaded with red. He turned away and shifted restlessly, his legs widening and colour deepening. “I didn’t think you were still keeping count.”

Rinzler watched every reaction, hungry for it. Of course he was still counting down. His chronometer had never stopped.

“Is, ah–” Sam cleared his throat. “Is that all, Bartik? Everything else is going okay?”

“Yes, User. The three others are still in progress.” 

“Great. That’s really great. Ah…” Sam’s gaze flicked to Rinzler and away. “Thanks for that. Keep us informed, then. And bring up the new Resistance programs. I’ll–I’ll do my thing.” He waved vaguely, all the impossible cosmic powers of a User encompassed in a simple gesture. 

Bartik nodded. “Thank you, User.” 

When he’d gone, Sam bolted to his feet and moved to the bar to make himself another drink. He downed it quickly and then, staring at the glass, muttered an annoyed, “That was a mistake.” He looked up, found Rinzler with eyes that had taken on a vibrant sheen, sighed, and reactivated his helmet. “Send in the next,” he said shortly, before hopping over the back of his couch and resuming his seat.

Time passed. Slowly. Excruciatingly. Rinzler’s chronometer seemed to crawl. When it reached one-point-nine millicycles since Sam had woken, he snapped and decided that was long enough. He moved from his position to touch Sam’s shoulder. 

The program sitting across from him yelped and lunged away, leaving Sam holding his disk. 

“What is it?” Sam asked, his helmet tilting up. “What’s wrong?”

“Two millicycles,” Rinzler said flatly.

“Oh.” For a moment he seemed frozen. Then he shook himself under Rinzler’s hand and turned his attention back to the frightened program. “Almost done,” he said. Then, raising his voice to Zuse, he called, “This is the last for now.”. He finished quickly, returned the disk to the frightened program, and stood. Stretching, he watched the program depart before nodding at Rinzler. “You… You don’t have to come with me,” he said slowly, uncertainly. 

Rinzler growled in response. 

Sam groaned, barely a whisper within his helm.

“And what happens at two millicycles?” Zuse asked, approaching them curiously. 

“Nothing,” Sam sighed. “I need to go to my room for a while. I’ll be back soon.”

Not that soon , Rinzler corrected internally. 

Sam started toward the door, Rinzler at his side. When Drake and Foley moved to follow, Rinzler flicked a hand at them to remain–he was all the protection that Sam needed.

“Have you replaced your master program with another?” Zuse asked loudly, making them pause at the door. He braced his cane across his shoulders, letting his arms dangle, his lively gaze fixed on Rinzler. A smile played over his mouth. “You seem to have an affinity for Users, don’t you? I can’t blame you–Users are definitely intriguing –but… who would have thought that Clu’s favourite would be so obsessed ? What would he think, seeing you now? His beloved slave program, following a User like an eager subroutine. Surely, that’s not Clu’s doing. Maybe it’s one of those deep codes that he couldn’t touch–”

“Zuse!” Sam snapped, sharp and dangerous. “That’s enough.”

Zuse shrugged. “Just saying. It’s certainly strange.”

Was it? 

No. 

Any program who strayed into Sam’s influence would experience that same draw to him. Anyone who discovered that surprising and complex tangle of traits and felt his power, his kindness, his arrogance, and his imperfection would be caught just as firmly as Rinzler had been. 

Rinzler stalked back to face Zuse directly, meeting his smug smile. Although he didn’t want to touch the program, he forced himself to reach up and palm the back of his head, gratified by the flicker of startled fear in his eyes, the aborted attempt to flinch, the way his expression froze. Leaning in, he pitched his voice low and admitted, “If you knew what I know, you would follow him, too.” He splayed his other hand in the centre of Zuse’s chest, amused by the tremble overtaking his interface, the twitching of his pained smile. His thumb stroking a circle over Zuse’s breastplate, hard enough to make it creak, he added, “But if you ever try to know what I know, I will render you beyond even his abilities to repair.”

Zuse whimpered and shook where he was caught between Rinzler’s hands.

“Do you understand?” Rinzler asked.

“Y-yes,” Zuse whispered. “Yes, I do.”

Rinzler released him and stepped back, wiping his palms off against his thighs. Without sparing the program another thought, he returned to Sam’s side and angled his head toward the door for Sam to lead them out, so Rinzler could keep a careful watch over him. 

“What did you say to him?” Sam asked as they stepped out into the club’s loud, ever-present music. 

“The truth.”

They strode in silence through the club, the programs parting around them and casting nervous glances at Rinzler and the masked Enforcer he followed. In the corridor of Zuse’s boarding rooms, they glimpsed a Resistance program entering one of the side doors, her head hanging as the door shut behind her. Otherwise, they moved alone through the quiet and the dim, violet light. 

The moment they stepped into their room, Sam deactivated his helmet with a sigh of relief. He paced to the balcony window and leaned against it, his posture stiff as he stared out at the towers and lights of the city. Rinzler padded up behind him, ready to grab his User and pull him away from that potential exposure, but paused as he caught sight of their reflections in the window. Sam’s expression was pensive, his brows pulling together, his eyes lost in shadow. Rinzler loomed over his shoulder, blending with the darkness of the Grid’s sky except for the dull red glow of his eyes and the glitter of his scar. As he moved closer, though, his pale skin melted out of the shadows. The image gave him pause; he didn’t often see his own face. 

He shook off the thought. It didn’t matter what he looked like. All that mattered was the exposed skin at the back of Sam’s neck, how it demanded he duck his head and brush his lips across it.

“What was it like before Clu took over?” Sam asked, tapping the window. “Before he built his Rectifier. Was it always this quiet and organized? Or was it more lively?”

“I don’t know,” Rinzler murmured against his warmth.

“What do you think you were? Before?”

The question summoned a replay of Foley’s distraught admission. “I don’t remember who I used to be, but it must be better than this. It must be better than what I’ve become.”  

Flynn had tried to revert him back to his original programming. To Tron . The name sent a pang through his internal circuits, as though they’d been plucked. Would Tron be better than what he was now?

No. How could anything be better than this? With pure power squirming between his palms? If he derectified, he would lose this. Lose himself. Lose Sam.

“I don’t know.” He kissed a path up the side of Sam’s neck and caught his earlobe between gentle teeth. It didn’t matter what he was before. All that mattered was who he was right then.

His voice tight, Sam asked, “You don’t wonder about it?”

“No.”

“What–what will you do when Clu’s gone? What kind of program do you want to be?”

Your program. In their reflection, Rinzler’s eyes brightened with a lurch of dread. The question wasn’t what he would do when Clu was gone, no, it was what he would do when Sam was gone.

“I want to be this program,” he finally answered, derezzing his gloves and sliding his hands around Sam’s waist. “The program that’s here with you.” 

Sam shuddered, closing his eyes, letting his head fall forward until his brow pressed to the window. 

Rinzler found the releases of Sam’s armour with practiced ease, moving slowly, luxuriating in the feel of his User under his hands and mouth as he peeled away the layers. “Your dock,” he said softly when he’d removed everything else. 

“We shouldn’t,” Sam groaned–his usual protest–but he reached back to remove it and set it aside, allowing Rinzler to access the broad, smooth, circuitless expanse of his exposed back. 

He banished Sam’s undersuit and dripped reverent kisses across his shoulders, his circuits already quivering with repressed need as he forced himself to an excruciatingly slow pace. Beneath his bare hands and hungry lips, Sam was hot and vibrant, soaking into him, washing away thoughts of the past or the future. My User, my User…

Sam made a little sound in his throat. Rinzler chased it, forcing Sam to raise his chin so he could suck on the jut of his throat. He glanced at the window and the sight was so stunning that he froze, entranced by the image of his User with his head thrown back, his eyes closed, Rinzler’s broad hands on his chest and jaw, his mouth on his neck. He trapped the image in his memories and withdrew, allowing Sam to lower his head again. 

“Look, User,” he urged, sweeping a thumb across Sam’s cheek. “Look at yourself.”

Sam’s eyes fluttered open and his face twitched. “Rinzler,” he uttered roughly, meeting Rinzler’s reflected gaze. 

“Not me,” Rinzler chided, angling his chin forward. “Look at you .” Look at your face as I please you. Look at your need. Look at your want. Look at yourself as your program worships you and remember me…

Maintaining a measured, relentless pace, Rinzler banished Sam’s undersuit, stroking his heaving chest, his shivering stomach and flanks, down his hips and thighs, mapping the swells and dips, memorizing the way he shifted under his skin. He watched his hands move in their reflection, entranced by the difference between his own pale interface and Sam’s flesh. 

When he finally palmed Sam’s dick, he found it hard and straining within its little blue garment. He squeezed, his eyes shuttering with pleasure as Sam’s breaths quickened and rasped. He shoved the garment down Sam’s shaking legs and toyed with the length of his shaft, sliding his fingertips over the head already wet with glittering energy, gently rolling the soft flesh behind. 

“Watch,” he reminded Sam, catching his eyes falling shut again. He tugged on Sam’s dick pointedly, making him grunt and whimper, but open his eyes, dark and deep with desire. 

Taking his time, Rinzler drew out his User’s pleasure, captivated by the shifting emotions on his face, shivering with warmth when Sam leaned back against him and clawed at his waist. He mouthed at his neck and shoulders and jaw, drinking him in, and caressed his rippling stomach and chest as he steadily stroked him. Whenever Sam’s eyes shuttered, though, Rinzler paused, forcing him to keep them open. 

He felt the rise of Sam’s release as though it was in his own body, so familiar was he with the way his User moved and shook and breathed. Sam’s legs shook as his hips began to jerk, erratically thrusting into Rinzler’s hand. He heard his deep groan, felt his dick pulse, anxious to export, and cupped a palm over his tip to catch the ribbons of thick, pure energy. His palm and fingers hummed from the power, but he resisted the urge to bring it to his mouth and lap it up. Instead, he nudged Sam’s feet wider and, looping an arm around his waist to brace him, worked his slick fingers against Sam’s input port. 

“Rinzler,” Sam moaned, trying to lean away, his entrance tightening. 

“I want you to watch me fuck you,” Rinzler growled with greater urgency. He knew he couldn’t export himself, but he needed to feel Sam from the inside. He needed to feel Sam squeeze around him and come again, needed to know that he could bring his User this pleasure, needed Sam to see it, too.

His insistent fingers slipped inside, and he groaned at the feel of Sam’s smooth, twitching heat. He worked in and out, his attention on Sam’s face, his weight, his movements, his breathy, desperate sounds. His senses were full of his User. When Sam felt loose enough to take him, Rinzler briefly withdrew to remove his belt and derezz his suit over his own straining output port. 

“Watch,” he urged roughly. “ Sam. ”

Sam’s eyes slit open, gleaming with moisture, and Rinzler drove into his body. 

Sam’s shout was like an ethereal hand burying into Rinzler’s circuits, his bliss was Rinzler’s bliss. As Rinzler thrust, slow and steady, Sam collapsed against the window, braced on his forearms, his hands clawing at the city, nails squeaking against the window. But he kept his eyes open, watching his own face go slack, biting his lips until he couldn’t anymore, until they had to part on his panting breaths, his skin ruddy, his back rippling and the tendons of his neck straining. 

His divinity was intoxicating.

The next wave of Sam’s release built around him, as powerful as the Grid’s endless storms. Rinzler let it carry him, higher and higher, until all he could do was grip Sam’s hips and bite his shoulder and ride it out as Sam choked and his energy flowed over and through him. He was left vibrating with pent up arousal, his own export data stymied, but satisfied nonetheless. Heavy and effervescent, grounded and floating.

“ Fuck ,” Sam gusted in a thick whisper, hiding his eyes against his forearm.

My User. Rinzler smoothed over his flanks and nuzzled his neck, kissing the indents his teeth had made in the slope of his shoulder. He didn't want to pull out of Sam’s body, but he could feel his shivering, the weakness in his legs. So he withdrew and scooped him up under his knees before he collapsed. 

“You don’ ‘ave to carry me,” Sam slurred as Rinzler brought him to the other room, struggling weakly to straighten and drop his feet to the floor.

“I want to.” Rinzler held him closer, tilting him inward so Sam’s head fell against his shoulder. Sam went limp, drained, allowing Rinzler to lay him out. He admired his face, the receding flush, the way his lashes were still clumped with moisture where they rested on his cheeks.

“Don’ go.” As Rinzler slid his arms out from under him, Sam grabbed his wrist. Startled, Rinzler searched his face, discovering that Sam’s eyes had opened a bare slit. “Take this off,” he demanded in a mumble, his fingers digging into Rinzler’s bracer.

He should have gone to investigate the second Resistance safehouse.

But he had time.

And his User wanted him.

So he briskly removed his armour and returned to sit next to him, awed when Sam curled toward him, burying his face against Rinzler’s hip.

“Wish I had a blanket,” Sam muttered.

“Why?” According to Flynn, they didn’t do anything.

“It feels better.”

Rinzler slid down to lie closer, curved an arm around him, slid their legs together. “I’ll be your blanket,” he murmured against Sam’s hair. 

Sam snorted, but didn’t answer, and soon his breaths had fallen into the slow, steady cadence that had become so familiar and precious, washing warm against Rinzler’s chest.