Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Over ten-thousand cycles ago, I believed in the Users. Alan One wasn't finished writing me when I was caught by Sark. Even then, the Master Control Program's general needed fifty soldiers to hold me down long enough to force a disc on my back and throw me into a prison cell. Youth and nievete meant my faith was strong and burning bright. Of course, as with all young Programs, several microcycles stuck in a tiny cage until the MCP decided I was of use for a moment of entertainment ate away at my hopes of ever being rescued by my creator. Instead of surviving microcycle to microcycle, waiting, I had to use what was already gifted to me to escape.

It was up to me to make my way to him. He was testing me before making any final edits. He wanted to see my weaknesses and strengths so he would know where I needed improvement before presenting me to the other Users. That was the only way I could rationalize how long I was stuck in that tiny cell for so long.

But, I wasn't finished. I needed help.

I was supposed to work on my own, independent, impartial towards all Programs regardless of function. Such a thing was not possible, though. Before Sark caught me, I already had friends. The early cycles of my runtime were filled with minor tasks followed by periods of downtime with nothing to do until Alan One called me back for another edit, patch, or upgrade followed by another test. During that down time, I wandered all over ENCOM's systems, learning the layout and what other functions different Programs had. I was young, bored, and curious. What else was there to do?

When I went into a workspace, I tried to stay out of the way and just observe. It was enough for me to just see how things worked in the beginning. I didn't need to be able to do the tasks myself. Learning the environment and those who worked in it would be good information to keep for later, for when Alan One set me to work for real.

Transport design and actuation could have been a hobby if I had enough down time in the future to actually pursue it. Alan One had written it into my code to pick up skills along the way, and this seemed like a useful one. The Programs all sat and worked with a concentration I hadn't seen in spaces like the accounting area. Those Programs all moved about to trade information with one another quickly, the space buzzing with activity. This one, though, was ordered and quiet except for the Program who directed them or when they answered her. Detail was an important factor. Everythign had to be exact or the intended object would fall apart before rezzing in correctly.

“Hold for incoming data stream.” Yori, as one of the other Programs called her, spoke calmly as I walked in on my second visit. “Lora Prime has initiated procedures. Sequence received. Begin translation.”

“Translation complete.” Another Program commented as a sphearacle object appeared on his screen, bright orange.

“Structure analysis.”

“Inner framework supporting soft sections encased in a shell with one central structure protruding from the center to the outside of the shell.”

“Probability of complete resolution?”

“Ninety percent.”

“Attempt.”

“Attempting.”

I watched as the object's inner framework formed in the sealed space beyond the window across from the line of seated Programs. Yori's smile was far from hidden as the soft inner spaces began to rez. Then it fell apart again, along with her spirits.

“Analyze for fail point and return report to Lora Prime.” Yori stepped away from her station, shoulders drooping. “Clean and prepare for next attempt.”

She nearly walked straight into me as she made her way towards the door. I could have warned her, but I was curious if she would stop short or just try to walk through me. It was amusing when she actually bumped into my side and then backed up a couple paces. Her sadness morphed into confusion and embarrassment quickly.

“So, you came back.”

Last time, she didn't give me more than a couple glances. Finished Programs often looked down on me in those days. Most acted as if I didn't exist. She wasn't the first to aknowledge me, but she was the first not to just order me to move out of their way.

“This isn't what we usually do around here.” Yori kept talking through my silence. She was actually looking right at me. “Don't judge us based on one failure. My User has started a new project. We're working on perfecting it.”

“What was that thing?” I'd never seen anything like it. It didn't seem to have any obvious use. There couldn't be any harm in asking.

“I have no idea.” She really didn't. Somehow, I could always know when someone was lying. “Feel like going to the energy bar? I don't like to drink alone.”

I would find out later that most Programs didn't have the freedoms Yori and I had. They couldn't think for themselves like we could. They didn't have a concept of down time. I didn't care right then. All I could think about was finding a way to see her smile again. My priorities shifted that microcycle. When I wasn't in Alan One's hands or performing a test, I started spending my time with Yori.

Then the MCP heard about me. He sent Sark to capture Yori first. Yori was used to bait me into a trap I couldn't avoid. If I didn't go to her, the MCP would have absorbed her. I would have never seen her again. Lora Prime would have been without the Program she worked with most. I didn't know how Users really thought about us, but I did know we meant something special to them. Alan One and Lora Prime were always on schedule. They always gifted us with something new when we communed with them. Yori was gifted new minor Programs to employ or a new set of corrective algorhytms to try for her projects. I received gifts of edits to my defenses, a self healing ability, and things like that. If they didn't care about us, they wouldn't have bothered. Right?

Branded as a slave by the disc on my back, stuck in a cell only to be pulled out to literally fight for my existence at irregular intervals, I kept my faith in the Users. If the Users couldn't find us, or if this was a random test, I would find a way to them myself. The disc became my tool, as I was Alan One's. I would get out. I would find a way to communicate with the Users again. I would tell them what was happening, about all the Programs being held against their will, arrested while performing their functions for their Users.

When Ram was thrown into the cell next to mine, I wondered what he had done to deserve this fate. The MCP was scared of what Alan One was making me into. I was actually surprised he didn't choose to absorb my functions. His and Sark's User must have found pleasure in watching us suffer. Why pick up an actuarial Program who worked for an insurance company?

I didn't ask.

Over the microcycles, we became a team. We fought alone as often as we fought side by side. Always, after the “games,” we were placed in adjoining cells. We spent that time talking about strategies to stay alive or teaching each other tricks we'd learned about our discs. I was the one who broached the topic of escape first. He hadn't contemplated it at all. As far as Ram was concerned, staying alive was the only real goal. Chances decreased if we broke out. We would be hunted by Sark all over again, not for recapture, but for definite derezzing. Ram planned for the future, the safest future. It was safer to stay a prisoner than to become a renegade by his calculations. There was safety in numbers, and two wasn't a big enough number to work with.

Then Flynn showed up.

“New guy.” Ram caught my attention. I had been investigating a small flaw in the top rear corner of my cell. It was something that could be exploited.

“Another free Program offline,” my lament was rather lacking.

“You really think the Users are still there?” Ram's question wasn't a new one.

With so many Programs appropriated, it was easy to see how the Users may have abandoned us. The idea sent white hot energy through my circuits. “They better be. I don't want to bust out of here and find nothing but a lot of cold circuits waiting for me.”

I wanted to find Yori. I wanted to hear Alan One again. I wanted to see Ram returned to his work. I wanted so many things. The reality of it all was that I'd never really know until getting to the other side. Ram handled the new guy's questions. It wasn't the way I would have done it, but I didn't much care. What was the point in getting to know these Programs who got put in the cells next to me and Ram? They never lasted long.

The conversation itself didn't last long before they were moving all three of us in different directions. I didn't know what happened to Ram and Flynn, but I had a tough match ahead. Disc Wars. More like Disc Slaughters. The MCP was finally done with me, I realized, as I was led to the center of a game pad. Four other Programs, all who had renounced their Users, took up position around me.

I was in luck that day. None of them were as good with their disc as I was. They didn't even bother trying to fight as one unit the way Ram and I did. I had three matches like this, back to back, no rest period and no energy top off. Every time, I stood poud in the center, disc held high. Even if the Users were gone, I would never fight in the name of the MCP. I would never give Sark the satisfaction. I was written to never be broken. I would never break.

After those matches, they moved me to my cell for a moment. I still wasn't given an energy ration. Ram was already there, waiting. As always, he was happy to see that I had made it through another session. I was happy to see him, too. He saw how tired I was right away and passed most of his energy ration through the small hole we had made between our cells some many microcycles ago. Another flaw that could be exploited.

“The new guy was asking about you.” Ram said as I carefully sipped at the energy he shared. I wanted it all and more. It made me feel guilty for taking from him, but I couldn't stop. The best I could do was not be rude about it.

“Too bad he's in a match now.” I commented as the container derezzed in my hand. “I'll probably never get to meet him.”

“I don't know...” Ram actually sounded hopeful. It had been a long time since I'd heard hope in this place. “There's something different about him.”

Something different indeed. He knew of my User. He called me by my User's name the next time we saw him. He made comments that made no sense, talking about how things were on “the other side of the screen,” or how he “should never have written all those tank programs.” That kind of talk didn't add up to any kind of Program Ram or I had ever encountered before. Of course, at that point, we didn't know he was actually a User. He was just an “odd duck” as Flynn would say later on about someone else in a very different system many, many cycles later.

I don't even remember what that conversation was about. That had been between Clu and Flynn. I only overheard the comment as I joined them at HQ. By that point, I was used to being in the actual, direct presence of a User. The city he named after me was well into construction on The Grid. I felt it a strange, yet enormous honor to have the first city named for me.

Of course, Clu took it over first.

That city had been Flynn's pride and joy before Clu was written on the fringes of The Grid. I had started becoming rather proud of it myself. Flynn wanted my input on everything, not just because it would be my city, but because he wanted me to advise him about how to make it the safest possible. Not just safe, but welcoming to Programs. He needed a Program's perspective to make sure it felt comfortable, not just functional.

I never told Flynn how much I appreciated that. I never told him how much more I loved him for it.

This User had given me the greatest honor possible. He had given me his aid when I needed it most, while I was still incomplete. He gave me a second chance at everything when he brought me to the vast emptiness of The Grid. He gave me a new life, a new city, his time, his attention, his trust. How could I not love him?

Then, I found out he had a counterpart of his own, as I once did. In truth, I had two counterparts. Part of what had drawn me back to the transport station, to Yori, was the feeling that I was meant to find something there, something beyond a useful skill to aquire. After my second visit and first down time with Yori, I learned what it was. My code was compatible with Yori's in ways it wasn't compatible with others'. She had pointed it out first, having a second sense for these things. She and I both realized we had a third somewhere out there at the same time. We both felt a sense of loss not long after. We never met the Program whose call sang from the distance to our souls. Programs were meant to bond in threes and fours. Two wasn't unheard of, so no one cared that we didn't have a third or more. We didn't tell anyone that we were incompletly bonded. It didn't stop us from loving one another fully.

Users tended to bond primarily in pairs. Flynn had his singular counterpart. He had no room for me. So, I kept my desires quiet. I would be the “odd duck” of The Grid. I was the oldest Program. I had no counterpart. I didn't need one. I never needed one, though I had had one before.

Then Flynn made Clu.

Something sparked within me. It wasn't that Clu looked and sounded exactly like Flynn. Before I even saw the Program's face, I knew. There was that same, nearly forgotten, pull that had led me to Yori and begged her and I to search for our missing third.

“I re-used and upgraded some code from an old hacking Program I made back at ENCOM just before we met.” Flynn explained to me as Clu approached cautiously. “I mean, this guy's a lot more advanced and has way more functions and stuff, but that's who he's based on. He's going to be here for both of us, take some weight off our shoulders. I got a feeling you two will be good friends.”

Good friends indeed. I almost let myself fall for him. I almost asked him if he felt the same pull in his code as I did. Then, I remembered he was young. He didn't need to be weighed down by my memories of Yori, a Program he would never meet but always desire like I did. Friendship would be our bond. Nothing more. I would treat him as a brother Program, not a lover. Flynn could make him his own, proper, counterparts. He deserved happiness, not my sad memories of love lost hanging over him like a shaddow.

Not giving in became easier as the cycles passed. Clu became resentful of Flynn and his absenses. He was resentful for his conflicting directives. He was resentful of the attention Flynn poured on the ISOs yet failed to give when the Basics were in need. He was resentful of Sam, Flynn's son, a creation in the User world.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't harboring some jealousy myself.

My friends were tearing themselves apart to make things right for everyone in both worlds. I was caught in the middle, trying to find a workable solution. I came up empty handed time and time again. All I could do was keep on top of the gridbug infestations. That had become a problem all on its own. Just as Clu had predicted, there came a time when I needed help. Again.

Clu offered to lend several of his guards to me for the task. I knew that would stretch his forces thin. He needed them in position to monitor the streets. They worked in pairs or trios, never independantly. They couldn't really think for themselves much, either. I needed adaptable, independent Programs to work for me. Not only that, but I needed Basics who would be willing to fight for the ISOs as much as they fought for our kind. It was a kind gesture, but one I had to refuse.

Ophelia came up with a potential solution. She would send some of Giles' forces to work with me. Giles, on the other hand, completely refused to let a single ISO do anything that might help the Basics. That did give me an idea, though. I put out the word that I needed volunteers to create a joint task force between Basics and ISOs. They could work separately from one another if need be, but they had to be willing to work for all Programs equally wherever they went.

That turned out to be a good decision. No Programs under direct command of Clu or Giles would be taken away. Everyone who signed up did so knowingly and of their own will. More Basics signed up that ISOs, but I expected that. ISOs were far more peaceful in those days as a whole. I trained the first ten or so myself, then sent them to train the rest.

Dyson had been my best find. He was originally one of Clu's men, but, unlike most, he was meant to lead. He was able to think for himself. I didn't have to train him on anything. He told Clu all on his own that he wanted to work for me. He even trained his own replacement, Tesler, before coming to work for me. He was my best working partner since Ram.

Of course, now, I regret ever meeting him. Traitorous, two faced, sadistic, slime.

I should have never trusted him. Part of me wonders if Clu let him go so easily because he was meant to be a spy in my ranks. He certainly put all his knowledge of the rest of the police force to use for Clu in a hurry.

I'll never forget seeing Reeve be repurposed. All of them... slaves.

Of course, I didn't know repurposing as well back then as I do now. It was different back then. The process stripped Programs of anything that made them them. They were fully caged inside Clu's directives. Not like me.

Cutler was the first Program we knew of that had fought back against the repurposing. He was confused, in pain, scared. He didn't even know where he was or how he got there. He failed to stay in control. Beck had to let him go.

I was always aware. I knew what I was doing, where I was, where I was going, why I was doing it. I just couldn't stop myself. I have to believe it was the same for Beck.

The trick to keep me in line was simple. When Clu caught me the second time and reached into my very core, things shifted. Flynn was never my friend. He was just using me. That's what Users did, they used us like tools or toys. We meant nothing to them. They didn't deserve our loyalty. Flynn was the worst one of them all. He was never there for us. He expected the impossible and gave us no tools of our own to get anywhere close to achieving his goals. His goals were never our goals. He cared far more for things in his world. He had cut me off from Alan One, and Alan One had never searched for me. Not even in the old system. I had to do that work myself. Flynn knew about the original Clu, had written him for me and Yori, and never bothered to save him. The only reason he cared about getting rid of the MCP was for his own gain, not because the MCP was so bad to us Programs.

It was so easy to see things as they really were as Clu healed my damage. Why I ever resisted him in favor of Flynn was a mystery. It was my greatest shame. I would do better. I would serve Clu in every way. Clu loved me. I loved Clu. We had always loved one another. I thought I was protecting him by keeping my distance. That was a mistake. There would be no more mistakes. Only perfection.

Only perfection and Clu.

Clu's touch on my lightlines was perfection. His kiss erased the white of my lightlines that indicated my loyalty to the Users. Crimson bled into them like a stream, correcting my final errors. His touch was so much more than Yori's had ever been. He was perfect. I was perfected by him.

So why am I having such a hard time aiming at Sam Flynn?

He's right there in front of me, the User who stole all of Flynn's attentions from us. Disabling his weapons was easy. Debilitating one of the engines on the lightfighter was nothing. All I had to do was take out the second engine and the three of them, Flynn, Sam Flynn, and the ISO, Quorra, would all plummit into the Sea of Simulation. Clu could fish out Flynn's disc and return it to our ship. We could go to the User's world and gift them with the same perfection we enjoyed here. We could save the Users from themselves.

I could even make it go faster. I could kill Sam Flynn right now. He wouldn't be able to advise Quorra on how to pilot to evade me. They weren't even doing a good job of it in the first place. Worse now that they had no rear facing weapons and only one engine. The ISO would derez soon after touching the water, the virus was hungry for her code. The Users would drown.

“Rinzler! Take the shot!” Clu yelled at me from behind. I should obey. I really should. “Finish the game!”

This... this wasn't a game. This was war. We were bringing war with us from our world to the Users. They weren't prepared for us. That wasn't fair. Games have rules to make things fair. I...

I remember being worried about Flynn. I remember how he spent every last moment possible with us before Clu and Dyson surrounded us. I remember that Flynn was actually taking the time to make things right. He overworked himself. He was going to be late, but he still wanted to stay as long as he could, do as much as he could.

Flynn had cared.

There was never a time that he didn't care about us. The problem was that he cared about so many things and people all at once that he couldn't focus on any one issue at a time. We all needed his attention, and not just us Programs. Sam Flynn needed his attention. ENCOM needed his attention. Alan One needed his attention. Clu needed his attention. The ISOs needed his attention. I needed his attention. He was always doing too much at once, unable to do enough for any of us.

No. I can't take the shot. This isn't a game. That's my friend up ahead. I can't do this. I can't betray the Users like this, so I pull up and away. The call inside me to do as Clu says is still strong. I know it's wrong. I didn't always feel like this. I used to...

Clu is in my sights. He's chasing them, firing away, taking any chance he can get to make a shot count. He never was as good of a shot as me. If I fire, I'll just hit the spiraling white lightwalls behind the lightfighter. But... I could crash through the lightwalls at knock him away.

I love Clu, but, “I... fight for the Users!”

That's right. I fight for the Users. Every Program from ENCOM to The Grid knows that. Barreling towards Clu, I crash through the lightwall as expected, repeating that mantra in my mind over and over even as my lightjet derezzes and my body slamms into Clu's head first.

The world goes completely dark for a moment. Not even the light of the portal so close is enough to make out anything. I've definitely taken damage. It's bad. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is Flynn, my friend, my best friend.

Though it aches to open my eyes, I force them to see again. I'm falling fast, the water is coming up to meet me. If I hit it, it's going to hurt. There will be more than a few cracks. I have a baton, a second lightjet. I always carry a spare of something. I need to get it open right now.

A weight hits me on the back of my head, a nother hand on my baton. I look up into familiar eyes. “Clu...?”

“I'll be taking that.” Clu is obviously not happy. Whether it's because I attacked him or that I wasn't dead yet, I don't know. I don't care. As long as I can keep him here with me, he won't be chasing the Users and the ISO.

I push pas the pain in my head and shoulders. My legs aren't as strong as they should be. Of course, with nothing to really push off of except him as we free fall between the floating islands towards the rolling sea, none of my attempts at anything really mean much. Neither do his. Both of us have a hand on the baton, our the one anchor point left betweent us.

My love for Clu is not as strong as my love for his creator. I will-

I got my face kicked for the third time this milicycle. My grip on the baton vanishes. Clu activates the lightjet as I smack, back first, into the waves. Why can't I just start this whole thing over again?

Flynn said there were extra lives and reset buttons on the games from his world. He proved the extra life theory when he made Clu over again. Maybe, if the Users escaped, they could find a way to reset The Grid. Maybe I would wake up to a blank slate of nothingness, of darkness only punctuated by my lightlines. Maybe, this time, Flynn will walk up to me, bringing Sam Flynn with him, with a new plan.

Would either of them be smiling this time? I doubt it.

I wouldn't make the same mistakes. I'd beg Flynn to erase all the memories of Rinzler from my discs. Well, I can't do that, actually. I have no discs now. Not my original one nor the one I stole in that fight over ten-thousand cycles ago.

My lightlines grow dim as the sea sweeps away everything but my original code. It feels like it's passing through me, draining every last drop of energy left.

I must have blacked out again. My eyes see nothingness in the white glow of my own lightlines. I'm under water. That's what this is, right? How do I know that? I know the word, water, but I've never actually encountered it before. It felt like a weak pool of energy, and I was slowly sinking to the bottom.

Programs can't die from being submerged in energy pools. The worst that could happen was being over charged. Of course, that took time. In this energy pool, it would take a very long time. This could be something to toy with in the future if I ever find my counterpart. Alan One said this was one of the largest systems in existance. There was no way I was going to find my counterpart while sinking like this. I need to get up and onto a dry surface where other Programs will be. I have a job to train for anyway.

Why did I black out? Did I just fail a test run? Again? Oh, my User was going to be disappointed. I have to swim up to the surface and find an input output tower and report in for corrections. At least, corrections from Users were more like gifts than punishments. I've heard about some of the punishments commanding Programs give to their subordinates. Master Control Program was pretty harsh on Sark, his general. I feel bad for the guy. His User had abandoned him, leaving him to the MCP's mercies.

What could cause that? Would I one day fail so badly that my User abandoned me, too? I hope not. Sark was once a fun opponent to test myself against. Over the cycles since Alan One first started testing me, though, Sark and I saw things more and more differently. He feared the Users while I loved them. He strove to push Programs into blind obedience to the MCP, his savior, while I was interested in learning the new, creative ways Users directed their Programs to new levels of achievement.

There are objects sinking all around me. Fragments of something I cannot name but feel like I should know. Among the chunks of debris are a few round objects, like discs with their centers missing. They're black, lightlines darkened to nothingness. Fear grips me for a moment. Had someone exicuted several Programs who had discs? The slaves I had heard about? Had they been shot straight through their discs into their bodies to derez them from behind?

My head breaks the surface, and my mask moves away. When did I get a mask? What kind of task had Alan one set for me that required the extra protection? Overhead, I see lines of light flicker through a rolling grey mass with no solid or predictable structure. The lights are brief, illuminating the area around me quickly, then returning the world to darkness.

Was this the fabled cold circuits the tower guardians warned of? They spoke of a possible future where the Users were all gone, when power was cut to the system, leaving us to die the slow death of energy starvation. Some would be lucky enough to be transferred to a new system, if they were good enough Programs to their Users. The lack of power running through the vast sea of energy I was in certainly made it feel like it. The system's power had been cut. I had little left to live on.

Is that what had happened? Was I not good enough for Alan One to save me from the end of the system? Was I just as abandoned as Sark had been? No. This was worse. Sark had the MCP to look after him, even if it was in a cruel way. There was no one left anymore, not to look after me or for me to look after. I'm alone. Everything was falling to pieces and slowly derezzing. This system is nearly dead. Soon, it will be nothingness.

I have a lot of energy built up. Maybe I'll be the last thing alive. I've never seen an empty system before, and I don't want to see one ever. Doesn't look like I have a choice, though I could make it to that island off to my right. I could make my way there, then shut down on purpose.

How is there one island standing when everything else is destroyed like this?

What does it matter? I'd just like to be comfortable when I power down for both my first and last time ever. Alan One, I'm so, so sorry that I performed to poorly. I wish I could remember what I did wrong as I slowly pull myself up onto the bottom ledge of the single intact structure. It's not like it matters, though. I'm here, left behind in a literal sea of desolation. I'll never get another chance to prove myself.

The flashes of light overhead are followed by a rumbling noise not unlike the distant echo of a tank rolling along in the Outlands. It's not really any comfort as I sit on the stair way, lean against the rough wall, and shut my eyes to power down. Nothing is comfortable here, but the sea would have kept feeding me energy until it ran out, and the agony of starving while surrounded by so much death and emptiness would have been worse than this.

Power is flowing into the lightline on my shoulder. It snapps me out of shut down roughly. Instinctively, I grab on to the hand, ready to break it. Since when did violence become my first reaction to being gifted anything?

My eyes aren't even open before a voice speaks comfortingly, “It's alright. Let me help you.”

“Don't waste your energy on me.” I say as I try to pry the hand away. “I'm not worth the effort.”

“Hey,” the Program kneels down one step below me, still keeping contact between his fingers and my lightline, “do you know who I am? Do you remember me?”

Dark brown hair that sticks up in the front a little, chocolate eyes, dark sreaks under them. A strong jaw and a sad smile full of hope and regret. His clothes are black and tight to his skin, puncutated by lightlines of a very pale blue for the most part. Symetrical, thin, and sparse, but bright and pure. I don't recognize him. I shake my head.

His expression looses a little bit of hope. “Okay. Do you know who you are?”

“Of course I do. I'm Tron J.A. 020307.” He's testing me for something. Maybe he knew that I was in shut down instead of resting. There were rumors that self imposed, hard shut downs caused memory issues.

“Hey, Tron.” His smile is brighter than the light reflecting off his face. “I'm Beck. Do you know where you are?”

No. “It was darker before. Has the power been returned?”

“The power was cut for a few cycles.” He slowly allowed me to push his hand away. “But, it's back on now. We're by the portal. That's where the light is coming from. It means there's a User on The Grid. That's what I've been told.”

“The Grid?”

“This system. Our world, it's called The Grid.” He held the patience of an old tower guardian. I am grateful for that.

“So... I was transferred to another system?” I'm scared now, but I won't show it. No wonder Alan One didn't communicate with me. I must not be in a system he had access to. I know that Users have their own higherarchy. Alan One never said it directly, but I got the hints. He didn't have access to everything, and he was resentful of that fact. “This isn't ENCOM?”

“Definitely not ENCOM.” Beck moves to sit beside me. “But, this is where the User will come. You... I mean, my friend, used to guard our creator, Flynn while he was with us. This is where he said Flynn would go to return to his world. Programs aren't supposed to be out this far, but he came here with Flynn often to see him off safely. I... I had a feeling I'd find someone here eventually... get some answers.”

I look back out over the waters surrounding us. The debris is much thinner now, very little left that could still float. Everything else must have sank while I was powered down. The name Flynn sounds achingly familiar, but distant. I don't recognize it, but I think I should.

“So, you came here to meet a User?” I'm a little confused by this. “Why not talk to your own User at an I/O tower like everyone else does? Users don't come to our world, Program.”

He drops his head, arms resting on his knees. “That's not how it works here. All of us have one User, Flynn. There are no I/O towers, whatever those are. He used to visit us himself. Then, over a thousand cycles ago, he just... He disappeared. You- My friend, said that our sysadmin blocked him from leaving. He was stuck here with us, unable to leave. Many Programs said they saw him, but nothing was ever confirmed. I almost got to meet him myself once.”

I don't like how Beck keeps talking about his friend. It's always preceeded by “you.” He knew me, or someone who looked like me. Somehow, I know that Programs can look like their Users if their Users care enough about them. But, Beck said that all the Programs here had just the one User. I'm missing something big.

“Rumor has it there was another User who showed up a few cycles ago.” Beck continues, now hardened eyes scanning the distance ahead of us. “That's when everything really went to shit. Sightings of Flynn started happening again. In less than a millicycle, there was an explosion out here. The shockwave hit the mainland. Search parties formed to look for survivors, but they came up empty. When the portal lit up, I decided to break the taboo and come out here myself. I'd never be able to track a User, but I can wait for them where I know they'll go.”

I look over my shoulder at the source of light behind us. I can't see the platform, but I know that light. It's more powerful than any I've seen before, energy washing off of it like a strong wind. It's almost blinding in the darkness that surrounds us. “Well... we could just use the I/O tower and send a query to whatever User is listening.”

“I told you, Tron, we don't have-” Beck's gaze follows mine, then meets my eyes. “Is that what an I/O tower is?”

“It's different from what I know, stronger.” I tell him honestly. He's been kind to me. Even if he clearly knows a lot more than I do, and he's hiding things, I feel like he's someone I can trust. He hasn't exactly lied to me about anything so far. I would know. I always know. “It is and I/O stream, though it looks to only be in output mode. Maybe it's broken.”

“Well, whatever is up with it, I have no idea how to use it.” Beck leans forward again, back towards the lower platform that is so much closer and scattered with debris. “There must be a reason we're not supposed to come here. I don't want to chance it. We should just wait for the User to come to us.”

That could take a while. If I was going to have to sit still for an undetermined amount of time and stay awake, this guy was going to be my entertainment. “Then tell me about this system while we wait. I would like to know why I am here.”

“Because Flynn brought you here.” Beck shrugged.

“Beck...” I'm not in the mood for that.

Something playful crosses his face. His smile speaks of a secret I don't understand. “And everyone said I was the impatient one. Heh. Here you are, a stray who somehow can still remember his name, demanding answers while I'm the one telling you what you need to do. Never thought I'd see the milli.”

So, he didn't just know of me. He knew me, and I had forgotten. “How long have I been here?”

“Since the beginning.” Beck rezigns himself to answering my questions.

He's suddenly telling me a story about myself, though he doesn't know all the details. I was something grand back when this system was first forming, apparently. I was a finished Program, an accomplished one at that, worshiped almost as fervently as the Users themselves. I find it difficult to believe, but he clearly wants me to understand that it is the truth. Beck and I met after the sysadmin attacked Flynn and me while I was escorting the User to this location. I had tried and failed once to start a counterstrike against Clu and his army. Flynn had created a safe haven in a city called Arjia that lasted many cycles before falling a second time. We found out about it just before Clu found us.

Beck was taken first, repurposed into a weapon for Clu. He was used to get to me. Both together and independantly, we struck terror into the very Programs we were once trying to save. Then, another User showed up. Clu's focus shifted from maintaining absolute control over The Grid to hunting down the Users again. They ran for the portal, this defective I/O tower, to escape. I was with Clu. The explosion happened. I figured that was what happened to erase my memories until Beck pulled a disc off his back, an empty center just like the ones I saw sinking into the sea.

“Every Program has one.” Beck tells me. “Without it, we lose our memories. When I met you, you had two of them. I guess it's because you're so much older than the rest of us. You never really explained. But, you don't have either one of them now. After too long without your disc, your memories are gone. Forever unless you can get your own disc back. Making new memories is difficult. You're defenseless, too. These aren't just for keeping memories or getting access to our code. They're our weapons in a fight. We have others, but these are our main ones. I really don't know how you can remember your own name or where you came from, actually. When I lost my disc for a while, you had to keep reminding me of everything all the time.”

So, the User called Flynn branded all his Programs with a critical weakness like the MCP was said to do. Perhaps he saw it as a good tool to have. It did sound like it. But, I needed to explain a little more to Beck about something I had apparently neglected to mention before. “You say I had two?”

“Yeah.” Beck put his disc on his back again. “You let me use one of them a lot. Your original. I don't know how that didn't mess with you.”

“Because, where I am from, Programs aren't given discs unless they are imprisioned and sentenced to the Games.” I tell him, watching him absorb that. “I'm not written to have one. It's a leash.”

He goes quiet, thinking. I kind of feel bad for him now. He knows, from what I just told him, that his User was keeping every Program here restricted in ways I had no memory of. Unlike me, unlike all the Programs at the ENCOM system that I had met except for Sark, the Programs of The Grid were handicapped on purpose. If I ever get back to a place where I can communicate with Alan One, I will be reporting this system's User for abuse. This Flynn had taken me from my home and disabled me twice over? Alan One would have something to say about it. All the Users would hear about it. I have faith that Flynn will be punished.

Of course, I can't say that in front of Beck. Flynn was his User, and it was his place to be subservient to his User's wishes. Me telling him the truth about this might cause us to fight. I don't want to fight the first Program I've met here. He's my only companion. He seems to give a damn about me, or else he wouldn't have shared his energy earlier. Unfortunately, I need him more than he needs me. I don't like being dependant, but I have no other choice at the moment.

I have to make this right between us. “This is a very different system from what I am used to. What is a disability to me may be the greatest gift to you. It was not my intention to upset you.”

“Wow... that makes three apoligies I've gotten from you. I guess the miracles never ceace.” His tone is sarcastic as he bumps my elbow with his. Then, he grows concerned, really looking at me for the first time since I've awoken. “Hey, you're looking a little rough in spots. When this is over, you should let me take you to my female counterpart. She's a medic. She can have you fixed up in no time.”

“If the User comes here, they will likely mend me.” I'm not against allowing his counterpart to help if she is willing. It's just a fact to me. Users did one of two things when faced with a broken Program. They either mended us, or abandoned us. “If they don't, I will go see your counterpart for aid.”

“Fair enough.” He goes silent again, still looking out over the floating wreckage in the sea bobbing up and down with the waves. Something strikes him though, and he asks, “Do you remember your counterparts from ENCOM?”

My smile is sad. I miss Yori. I know I'll never see her again. It's impossible to communicate in any way with an erased Program. “I do.”

He is cautious with his next question. “Do you... do you know that you have counterparts here, too?”

I hadn't bothered to try and search for that link since I awoke. It wasn't like I had any hope of meeting them. Now that the question was asked, I searched. Half of that link felt empty, like it had when the Program Yori and I had been waiting on was taken away before we ever learned their name. There was a tiny call to someone else still active. It didn't go as deeply or as strongly as it had for Yori, but it was unmistakeable. Something was pulling me to the left, seeking. Beck sat there, between me and whatever Program it was that still survived the destruction of this place.

“One of them is gone,” I answer, trying to make sense of it. “I feel the empty space for them.”

“We're pretty sure he derezzed in this mess.” Beck gestured to the area around us. “We would have seen him by now if he hadn't. It's that or he really did make it out. We don't really know. It was Clu.”

“The other is tentative, not fully bonded.” I state as an invitation for more information. I didn't want to think about Clu being my counterpart at all. How could I have ever loved someone like him, someone that had become so much like the MCP? No, I want to hear about the other one.

“It's a self determined write in.” Beck answers, fidgeting.

He's nervous about revealing them. Was this another enforcer of Clu's like we are? Were they on the opposite side of the war from us at some point? I've heard of write in counterparts before. There are two ways to get one. A User could change your code to be compatible with another Program on purpose, or, if you lost a predetermined counterpart and liked another one who had an opening, you could forge a bond with them. Beck said this one was self determined. That meant that I had an open slot for one and found a Program worthy of it. I wait for clarification as Beck quickly glances at me a couple times, his fidgeting growing more obvious.

I have to ask, “Are they a current or former enemy?”

“You...” Beck is thinking over his words carefully. “You fought against him right before you were repurposed... Then, somehow, you broke through the repurposing long enough to free him from his. I... I tried to find you, to get close enough to return the favor, but Clu was always near by.”

“So, this Program is a friend of yours.” I state. “I returned them to you.”

Beck shook his head, forcing himself to meet my eyes. I see sadness and hesitation and fear and something else... gratitude. “Kind of... you returned me to me.”

Oh. Well, that explained the fidgeting, how close he sat, his lack of hesitance to touch me or share energy, and his knowledge of my life here that I had lost along with my discs. The strength of whatever bond we had written in together must have been deminished with the loss of my discs, yet it was strong enough to be worked into my direct code. He must have meant a lot to me if I could still feel him there. Now that I thought about it, the signature of the code calling to mine did feel an aweful lot like the energy he had given up to wake me. How could I not have noticed that sooner?

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to make this better for him or for me. Yori's loss is so embedded into my memories that it aches more painfully than the cracks in my chest. I know I had a disc when I lost her, but we were written for one another before I got that first disc. We lost our third before ever meeting them. I don't want to deal with that again. It's easier to live without a single counterpart than to lose one. I would be doing him as much of a favor as I was doing for myself by rejecting it now.

“Tron.” Beck reaches over and puts a hand on my arm, avoiding lightlines out of respect or just the simple fact that I don't really have many to connect with. Where are all my lightlines? I had so many before... “You once trusted me with everything, even your name and legacy. You were dying from a virus when I told you how I felt. I know what you're thinking. You don't want to share that pain with someone else. But I did pull through for you when you needed it most. You did heal. We did write in a bond after that. It's still there for me, but... if it's gone with your discs for you... I'll try to understand.”

His words are full of a love and tenderness that I can't quite fathom hearing at the moment. Both of his counterparts are alive, but he is clearly saddened by the possibility of losing another. He had to lose one in order to gain me. He was more prepared for losses than I thought. That doesn't mean I can afford to get close to him.

“I don't remember,” I tell him, feeling sadder about it than I think I should. “I do feel your call. I know your words are true. It's just... difficult to accept. All of this is. I should be home. ENCOM. I should be reporting to Alan One right now. Yori should be looking for me... But none of that is real for me anymore, is it?”

“I wish I could make it real for you.” Beck moves his hand a little, touching the lightlines on the back of my hand that flow from wrist to thumb and first two fingers. The connection point warms beneath his fingers against my will. “I wish I could help you be happy again. That's just our luck, isn't it? Cycles of suffering puncutated with moments of light. Just like the rest of The Grid. But... it's those moments that we always fought for, so that others could have them, too.”

“From what you've told me, we failed.” I remind him.

“No. We didn't.” Beck's smile is genuine if not fully formed. “For a moment, you gained clarity long enough to free me. The whole reason I even knew to look for you out here was because a bunch of us were going to go after you together. Because you freed me, I was able to free others. I saw a lot of those happy moments when each of them were broken out of the repurposing. The freedom they regained, and the occasional reunion of counterparts or old friends made every moment of pain worth it. And now I've found you again. How can we fail if we are still alive to fight?”

“It sounds like you've said that to a lot of Programs.”

“I have.” His laugh is a little conspiritorial, as if he expects me to join in.

Once again, I feel lost. He has expectations of me that I cannot fulfill. What I can do, however, is notice there was bright white dot in the sky getting bigger, faster. Something was approaching. “Did you miss a check in?”

“Not yet.” Beck raises his gaze to find the pinprick of light I have been following. “Well, someone's on their way. How much longer were you going to wait for me to notice?”

I really was going to wait as long as it took, but needed the distraction more. I wasn't going to answer that question honestly. If he knew me that well, he already had the answer. I stand up, feeling stiffness pull here and there. I really must have been sitting in that spot for a while. Beck reaches out and catches my shoulder as I begin to sway. He's giving me more energy that he probably doesn't really have to spare, but I can't bring myself to stop him. I need more. I'll take whatever I can get.

The approaching craft got slower as it came in, working on a softer landing amidst the obvious wreckage from before. It held two occupants, both male. One looks like he belongs here with us. He has prominent white lightlines in perfect symetry, though the one at the back of his left leg seems to be malfunctioning a bit. It's not lit up at all. I can spot a tiny bit of damage there, and to his upper right arm plate, though that isn't interfering with anything. He already has his disc in hand, eyes locked onto me and Beck. He's trying to be brave, but I can see the way his hand shakes a little. I could be misreading him. That could be anger instead of fear. Either one, or even both, were understandable from what Beck has told me while we sat here.

The second gets out slower, has a harder time navigating his descent to the platform. I can't see his damages, but he has no glowing lightlines at all. He doesn't have a disc, either. Not even a dock for one. This was either a Program from another system like myself, or he was the User. The first guy must be his protector.

“Great, there's two of you this time.” The Program comments warily. “Be careful, Al. Stay behind me.”

“Knock it off, Sam, you're the only one pulling a weapon here.” Al, the lightless one sighes heavily.

“Neither did Clu at first.” Sam, the damaged Program replies, holding his ground slightly ahead of Al, closer to me and Beck. He addresses me directly. “I've picked up some new tricks since last time. Get out of the way or you'll be the one bleeding today.”

I have no idea what bleeding means. “Do I know you, Program?”

That throws him off. He seems startled by that. “Why do I have to keep telling you I'm not a Program?”

Al rubbs at his temples, clearly done with this before it's even begun. “Maybe because you're dressed like one?”

Sam looks back down at himself, belatedly realizing his error. “Oh... Well... I'm not. I'm a User. You know that already! Why are we going over this again?”

“Sam Flynn?” Beck asks from beside me, surprised.

“That's me...” Sam turns his eyes to Beck now, somehow even more confused. “Who're you?”

“My name's Beck,” he answers, daring to take a step forward. His hand leaves my shoulder, and I feel the loss as if a part of me went with him. That was unsettling enough without having to deal with Users actually standing right in front of us. “I'm a friend. I... I don't know who you think he is, but we're on your side. We mean you no harm. We just have questions. Would you please speak with us before you leave? I know it's not my place to make requests like that, but-”

“You're friends with Rinzler, and think we're going to answer questions?” Sam is appalled.

“I'm friends with Tron.” Beck stresses my name the hardest, harder than Sam stressed Rinzler. “I figured that might mean something to a User.”

Users! Beck is bold! I would have never given a User that kind of attitude! Sam is definitely offended by it. Al seems more amused than anything. Perhaps Al is an older User and Sam his apprentice? That would definitely account for Al's lax attitude and Sam's jumpiness. If Alan One hadn't written me to appear calm in the face of clear and present danger, I'd probably be bouncing with energy I don't really feel right now just from nerves alone.

“Well... that would be easier to believe if that guy wasn't the one who tried to kill me three times already.” Sam counters, glancing back at me. “I don't care if he doesn't have the mask anymore. That guy is not Tron anymore. He's tricking you.”

“I would know if he was lying to me,” Beck replies. “I've known him most of my life. This is Tron. I don't know how, but he's been cleansed of the repurposing. He's just getting his bearings back in order.”

“You'll have to forgive me for not taking your word on that.”

Sam's disc is flying straight for me. The best I can do is dodge and pray to be missed on the rebound as well. Beck is faster, catching Sam's disc in mid air and throwing it into the bottom step just before I have to move. It sinks a quarter of the way in before the light around the edge deactivates and the cutting stops.

“Shit!” Sam curses, looking like he wanted to come after the disc but was too scared to actually move.

“Sam, I told you to knock it off already,” Al strides up closer to us, clearly more confident than his companion. “Listen, Beck, the last time Sam was here, it wasn't a great time if you catch my drift. The truth is, we have someone outside monitoring our every move. If either one of us get hurt, she can erase you on the spot. We just want to go home. It's been a rough day. How do the kids put it? Uh... Sam has no chill right now. Maybe we can talk next time.”

Beck and I both realize it at the same time. The more the User named Al speaks, the closer he gets, the more like me he appears to be.

I can't stop the question from coming out of my mouth. “Alan One?”

“Hey, Tron.” Alan One smiles up at me, though the smile doesn't reach his eyes. “Long time.”

“I...” I'm moving without thinking. In the time it takes me to make it down two steps and kneel at my maker's feet, Sam is between us again, pushing Alan One back in a panic that is undeserved. I could never harm my creator! “I failed you. I have failed the Users. I don't know how to make this right. I want to make it right. I... I can't remember...”

Beside me, I can feel Beck bristle. He must not be used to me bowing down to anyone. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't. I would make myself a line they could not cross until Beck's and my questions were answered if it were anyone but a User, my User standing before us.

“Beck has been telling me what happened here to the best of his ability,” I continue, trying to help Alan One and Sam Flynn understand. “He doesn't know everything, and I remember nothing. I believed this to be a test. That was wrong of me. I failed just the same. Please, if my punishment is to be erased, I understand, but, please tell your friend Flynn that I am sorry for abandoning him. I don't know why I would have done that.”

“That's...” Sam seems to calm down. I don't dare look up at him. “That's not what happened... He said you fought for him. He said the last time he saw you, Clu was trying to kill you to get to him. Hey, Program, tell him! If you're friends, you'd know, right?”

“What you said, Sam Flynn,” Beck hesitates. Why does everyone hesitate around me so much? “What I was told is closer to what you said. Tron, Clu set a trap for you. He used Flynn to make it more difficult for you to escape. It was a cycle before the ISO War began.”

“Tron,” Alan One kneels down in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I feel a sudden surge of pure energy fill my lightlines and sink deep into my core. I gasp. It almost hurts with how good it feels, full of comforting intentions. “Whoa, what did I just do? Are you okay?”

Nothing hurts anymore. My wounds, the damage to my chest specifically, is mended perfectly. I bet there won't even be a scar if I look. I didn't realize how much any of it hurt until just now when it didn't anymore. I'm almost drunk with my maker's energy. Answering is difficult. How could he not know what he has just done for me? I feel as if I'm back in the sea, floating, surrounded by energy so strong it must have come from a direct, pure source... So comfortable...

“He'll be alright,” Beck answeres for me. “Maybe tone down the emotions a bit before you put him to sleep. At least let go of his lightlines.”

“Oh, right.” Alan One slowly releases me, but my smile stays. “Quorra did warn us about that. Please excuse me for that.”

Wasn't I the one supposed to be asking forgiveness? Since when do Users apoligise to Programs?

“Sam,” Alan One addresses the User dressed like a Program, “go get your disc and have a chat with Beck. I need a minute with Tron. This is... so weird...”

That last bit was definitely less a part of the intended conversation and more of an observation. Yes, this meeting is very strange indeed. Users looked and sounded and moved and interacted just like Programs. My own User was before me, holding me with so much care... Some of what Beck said earlier comes back to me. All the Programs here had only one User. Flynn couldn't possibly have enough time to tend to each of his Programs like this, one on one. So many of the Programs of The Grid had lost their faith because there were so very many Programs to one User. Beck had said there were several cities, filled with thousands of Programs.

One User would never be enough. I have always been lucky to have such a dedicated and caring User. Of course it would be easier for me to keep my faith in them. I knew they were real. Most of this system only ever heard about them.

“No.” Sam disobeyed Alan immediately. “I'm not going to lose you both because you're being a sentimental old fool just like he was.”

“Sam, do not make me tell Lora on you!” Alan threatens. I recognize the name. Yori's User was Lora Prime. My User and her User know one another. This is some sort of sign, I know it.

“How about you don't make me tell Lora on you!” Sam has the nerve to smack Alan's shoulder. “Get back from him. Now.”

“We're not at ENCOM, Sam, you're not giving me any orders.” Alan retorts, but there is no bite in his tone. “Besides, if this was really the guy who tried to kill you, didn't he technically save your life a couple times instead? Chose not to kill you in the Games and then refused to shoot you on the way here?”

Sam doesn't have an answer for that. Whatever happened, my User must be right about it. I would never harm a User knowingly. I'm meant to keep them safe.

Beck decides to get right to it, right here and now. “Can you tell us what happened to Flynn, Clu, and the ISO who was reported to be with you?”

“Take a look around.” Sam waves his arms lazily. I'm looking up now, too, past Alan One and to Sam Flynn behind him. “This is what happened to Dad and Clu. A hug gone wrong.”

“All this was from a hug?” Alan asks, eyes wide.

“Kinda.” Sam drops his hands. He stopps being sassy, and grows melancholy. “Dad tried it the nice way first. Clu almost got into the portal with us. Dad... he knelt down and did something that pulled Clu back to him. Then... just... boom. It hit so hard that we got thrown across the room back at the arcade when we came out. You see what it did here.”

“So...” Beck takes a deep breath, relaxing a bit more, “the ISO made it out?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodds. “Is that what you're after? To leave?”

“No.” Beck assures him quickly. “I just needed to know she's alright. If Clu had her, things would be worse.”

“He almost did.” Sam looks at me pointedly. “Just ask him.”

“Sam Flynn,” I really try to get him to hear me, “I don't remember.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam reaches for my back fast, almost faster than Beck can grab him by the wrist and hold him still. Sam freezes, his fingers touching my spine and the empty dock on my back. He knows now. “You never picked up your discs? Oh, jeez... You're a stray?”

“Something like that,” Beck pushes Sam back roughly. “Now will you be nicer to him?”

“What's a stray?” Alan One asks.

Beck explains the basics of discs in this system to my creator. Sam looks truly remorseful. He knows now. Maybe he knows better than I do. All the anger he wanted to take out on me would be for nothing if he tried. I wouldn't fight back the way he wanted or expected. I wasn't his enemy.

“So, you're saying his discs might still be in the water?” Alan asks. He looks like he's planning something.

“At the bottom by now,” I inform him. “If there is one.”

Sam looks like he knows what Alan is thinking. “No. I am not even going to try it. You either.”

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Alan stands back up. There's a popping sound in his knees and hips that I don't like. There's definitely damage there. “Where's your sense of adventure? Besides, if I was planning a dive, I'd ask Beck to do it. I want to try something.”

“Huh?” Sam clearly can't read Alan as well as he thinks he can.

“Remember how you reached into that wall and made a door earlier?” Alan asks him, taking off his jacket and walking to the edge of the platform. “You said it was just like Quorra said Kevin described it. You said you could literally feel it move to do what you wanted. So, if we can't swim down there and get them, what if we can pull them up from here? All I have to do is feel for something that feels like Tron and... will it to move here, I think.”

“Discs desolve in the water.” Beck says just as Alan has his hand in the water, attempting a User power for, from what I could gather, the first time.

“But, the information is still there.” Alan smiles back at him. “That's all we're really after, right? Wow, what is this muck? It tingles.”

“Alan...” Sam is close to him again, ready to pull him back.

“Relax, Sam, it only tingles.” Alan batts him away unsuccessfully. “There's a lot here. It's like I can read it if I want to... You should try this. I've never seen so much data in one place...”

“Do you have any idea what you're searching for? What it will feel like?”

“Touch Tron and then try to ask that again.”

“No, I think I'll just stick with you.” Sam makes a face when he glances back at me. “I don't feel like getting slashed again, thanks.”

I look to Beck for guidance. He knows more about dealing with Users face to face than I do at this moment. “Can they really do this?”

“I have no idea.” Beck's answer isn't helpful at all.

Sam is on his knees now, one hand on Alan One and the other in the water. He's keeping his eyes on us, attention devided but clearly alert to the threat he perceives from us. I can see a redness around his bared wrist where Beck grabbed him earlier. Sam was scared of me from the moment he saw me. Beck had clearly made an impression, too.

I've barely known this Program for a millicycle. I shouldn't trust him, write in counterpart or not. The one thing that I knew for sure was that Beck wasn't going to let them hurt me even accidentally. He was treating me like a fragile object, something I'm definitely not. I don't need a weapon to be dangerous. I just need a reason and a target.

“Got it?” Alan asked, breaking the silence and my thoughts.

“Got it.” Sam's voice held just as much focus as my creator's.

“Send it to me. Tron, come here and take my free hand. Beck's right about the discs desolving, but we have the data streaming in.”

“I don't like this.” Beck warns.

“I have to.” I say as I rise up and move over to them, taking the offered hand.

I have to obey my User no matter the potential danger. I belong to him. I am his to do with as he wills. With the contact between our hands secure, my body freezes in place. There is a significant amount of energy transferring between us once again, all of it burning its way into my code like fire on every one of my senses. I can hear laughter amongst the screams. I can feel a gentle caress of lightlines no longer visible as easily as I can feel a disc burrying itself in that same area over and over again. I can taste all kinds of energy while I see so very many faces flash before my eyes that it's dizzying. This felt like someone else's life entirely as it settled into something more ordered. Names and time stamps and feelings all reorganizing into something between my shoulderblades. The dock on my back grew hottest of all. It makes me think it will explode if there is one more line of code-

My breath comes in gasps. I'm trying to cool down the only way I know how without jumping back into the water. If I go back in, I know I'll feel everything the Users just sifted through to find everything they just imparted to me. Now that discs were desolving, their code was there for anyone to glean. The muck, Alan One had mentioned, might have been the ISO Virus Clu had poisoned the Sea of Simulation with as much as it was everything else that had been recently introduced.

Wait.

Wait.

I know about a virus. Beck hadn't told me about a virus. How do I know the name of the sea? Alan One is still holding my hand with only one of his, but his other hand is being wiped on his leg to dry it. Sam Flynn has his disc back in hand. When did he go back for it?

Cinder is crouched beside me and Alan One, looking at me in concern. No. Not Cinder. Beck. He was freed. I made it happen. I tricked Dyson into giving us access to the repurposing chamber... I had to trick Cinder, too. Convenient how the security recordings were too corrupted to be read even in the slightest after that. All Clu had to go on was my word.

“Beck?” I reach for him, letting go of Alan One's hand to put both of mine on Beck's lightlines, repaying the energy he had gifted me with some of the excess Alan One had granted the first time he touched me.

“You okay?” Beck asks me, nervous.

Am I? No. No, I am not okay. Clu died here. Flynn died here. I was supposed to die here. Beck may not have gotten to me in time to reverse the repurposing, to correct my memories, but he did save me. Again. Again and again, Beck has saved me in different ways. I always thought I was protecting him, but it was really him protecting me, even when we were both under Clu's control. He always had my back. He was always there to comfort me when I made a difficult call and followed through. He always set me straight when I walked down the wrong path for a moment. I am so grateful to have him.

But, “It's me. You're mine.”

“That's right.” Beck's smile is genuine and true as he reaches back to trace over the insignia on my chest. “I'm always yours... Except when I belong to Paige.”

I laugh with him, touching the three lines in the center of his chest, running my fingers down them in question. I know this isn't the proper time or place. We have an audience. I don't want an audience for what I intend to do to him. The blue of his lightlines muddy to purple under my touch. That's the answer I needed. Later, we would take care of this. For now-

My back hits the flat surface of the landing platform. I'm ready to push up and take control until I realize it's Beck on top of me. His mouth is on mine, kissing me so hard, tongue licking at my lips and teeth in seach of my own. I let him have it for the moment, hold his body to mine tightly. He gets to kiss and let his fingers wander for a moment before I break away. “Not now. We have Users right there.”

“Right.” Beck has the decency to look embarrassed as he rolls off of me. Our hands are still connected. Both of us break out into laughter.

Sam Flynn is horrified, but can't look away. “Al, I think your Program is gay.”

“No shit, Sam.” Alan laughes with us, making Sam's discomfort even greater.

I have to ask. “You didn't know about Flynn and Alan One?”

Sam looks absolutely horrified.

“He does now,” Alan kicks my foot, “thanks to you! We kept that quiet for a reason.”

“Well, he didn't keep it secret from me or Clu.” I reply, my fear of the Users melting away as all my previous interactions with Flynn settled back into my memory files properly. Then, I remember where I am and what had happened on my journey to get here in the first place. I'm not happy any more. “I really do wish I had been able to get him to you again, Alan One. I know what you meant to one another, and to Lora Prime.”

“Yeah, I guess you would know.” Alan sighs, stretching his legs in front of himself as he leans back on his hands, looking up at Sam. Sam was the one fidgeting now. “Oh, come on, Sam, I was young once, too. You knew your father and Lora had a thing. Is it really so hard to accept that I knew about it and joined in? Or did you think people my age were all straight and only ever had one partner at a time?”

“You know...” Sam really was having a difficult time accepting this. “As much as I want him home instead of this, I'm glad I didn't have to watch you two kiss. I think I'd die from vomiting. Having two dads would take on a whole new meaning. I'm never gonna be able to look at you the same way again.”

“I don't get it,” Beck looks to me for explanation.

So I tell him what I know. “Users usually only have one counterpart at a time. Usually, it is a male-female paring. They tend to choose those that their code is most compatible with in a way that, when mixed, produces another User. Sam Flynn is the product of Flynn and his female counterpart, Jordan C, mixing their code through a process that requires-”

“Alright, stop!” Sam yells at me. “You can tell him what you know about User sex later. Are we done for now? Can we go home without either of you trying to come with, or do I need to kick you off a ledge?”

Beck asks, “He kicked you off a ledge?”

“The ISO did,” I correct. “Trust me, he can't put up any real fight.”

“Wanna bet on that?” Sam seems offended. “You caught me by surprise the first time. That doesn't count.”

I'm feeling good enough to be a bit cocky now. “I'd rather not traumatize my User by derezzing Flynn's son right in front of him. Perhaps next time.”

“Oh, there's definitely going to be a next time, buddy,” Alan One answers, patting my foot. It's the closest part of me to him. “With safeties on. I don't want either of you dying on me.”

“You'll be returning, then?” I can only hope.

“Often and on a schedule.” Alan assures. “Oh, and you might want to check your back if you haven't noticed yet.”

I do as he says, flexing my back against the ground beneath it. My dock is bigger. Is it my dock? I sit up and reach back to feel. There's a disc there. No. I pull it free, inspecting. It's not just a disc. It's two discs. They're solid all the way across, pure white except for the blue circles radiating out from the center. Just like my original from ENCOM. I leap up to my feet, eager to try something that could never be done on The Grid before.

I take aim at literally nothing over the sea and let the combined discs fly. I can feel their location all the way out. I can... Yes! I can change their direction at will, swiftly, with no need to rely on another surface to rebound! I have full control of my disc. I grab it just before it flys past my face, and I activate the interface. It requires a password. I know the password instinctively. It's “Little_Bugger,” what Flynn had called Ram and I later nicknamed my disc once the MCP was destroyed.

No one could alter my disc or my code without my express permission again.

“You're welcome.” Alan One smiles up at me from his spot on the ground, knowing. “Now, show these kids how it's really done.”

Oh, I will. With pleasure.

Yes, it was true that Programs will run away from me now, when I return home. It used to be that they would flock to me. I could once dissuade a violent riot with words. Now, I could do it just by looking at someone crossly. But, I have Beck again. He would be able to smooth things out with a lot of the new leaders for me. Over time, I would regain my following.

We would bring true order and peace back to The Grid. We have the Users, multiple, on our side. Anything is possible with time and effort.

“We need a new sysadmin.” Beck comments, bringing an important point to bear.

“You already have one.” Alan pointed at me.

Sam looks shocked and angry. “Alan, you can't just-”

“Got any better ideas?” Alan challenges. “He was the first one here. He knows just about everything there is to know about the system. You saw his memories with me. You felt everything he felt with me.”

“No, I got some of it.” Sam responds, angered. I watch as his hands become fists at his sides while he sends me a glare. I'm pretty sure his more recent experiences with Rinzler are what are weighing on him. He forces himself to come to terms with it. He could reassign if he so chose. It's not like I asked for this. “I guess... Maybe that's best. The others did pay attention when you had something to say. But, you listen very carefully. If I find out you have done anything to intentionally harm the other Programs here who don't deserve it-”

“He won't.” Beck comes to my rescue again. “I'll report any disturbing actions to you directly. Just give me a way to do it.”

“How do I know you're telling the truth now?”

Beck takes his disc off slowly, handing it over with both hands like a gift. “Look at my memories as much as you want. You'll see I've gotten in his way more than once when he made a stupid decision.”

“Oh, like what?” I ask, half serious and half teasing.

“Dyson.” Beck snapps back easily.

“You should have let me kill him.” I really do feel that way.

“Not at the cost of your soul.”

“I had you cuffed to a cat walk. You were too far away to do anything.”

“And I still got in your head enough to stop you.”

Damn it. Beck knew me too well even then. “True.”

Alan addresses Sam again. “Give him a chance, Sam.”

Sam hands Beck his disc back without viewing anything. I'm grateful. He might have seen things he definitely didn't want to. His earlier reaction to me and Beck kissing was bad enough. He didn't need to learn what else we had gotten up to during stolen moments after I finally accepted him as a counterpart.

“I'll work something out when we get home.” Sam gives in. “Come on, Al. We better get back to the ladies before they come in here after us and leave Marv in charge.”

Chapter Text

“Come.”

I haven't received any orders to go to the Games or on a strike force. This was supposed to be my downtime. I've got a full bottle of energy and a stack of reports to catch up on. Rinzler knew this. He was the one who ordered me to spend some of my downtime on those reports in the first place. Had Clu given him orders to bring me along for something? No. I would have been notified before Rinzler showed up.

“Now.”

We both had our speech capabilities limited when we were rectified. Clu knew I was a chatty one, and he didn't want me trying to talk anyone into joining the right side of this war like I used to. Of course, back then, I was arguing for the other side, the loosing side that dared to believe in the User, Flynn. I was such an idiot back then. Now, my goals aren't talking. It seems to be the same for Rinzler.

“Cinder, an order was given.”

The chain of command runs a little differently for us. Clu is over everyone. He has generals who comand lieutennants who comand the rest of the soldiers. Then, he has Rinzler and me. Clu is the only one who commands Rinzler. Clu and Rinzler are the only ones who command me. Sometimes, Rinzler or I take over a unit of soldiers. Our authority superceeds the generals, but we are not permitted to order them or their lieutennants directly.

“Yes, sir.” I stood up, setting down my energy and reports for later. It was never a good idea to keep Rinzler waiting.

I moved to the door, expecting him to turn around and lead the way. He didn't move. His mask was already in place. In our own quarters, we were not required to wear our masks. Rinzler varied between keeping his on or taking it off. His reasoning was a mystery to me. I couldn't wait to get mine off the moment the door shut behind me.

“Orders?” I asked, wondering why we're still standing here like this.

If the words were long or complicated, he could just touch his fingers to my lightlines to communicate all of it with ease. We did this often to convey more complex ideas, but always out of sight of other Programs. I didn't know why, but it was important that no one see. Not even Clu. Our one little rebellion against him was a lie of omission.

I remember who I used to be before I became Cinder. More than that, I know who Rinzler was before. Clu didn't know all the details of our previous relationship. All he cared about was that we could work independantly or together as needed. I was the only Program he found besides himself that could keep up with Rinzler for any period of time. Rinzler was still faster, stronger, and tired more slowly than I. Only Clu could really keep pace with him on his own, but Clu couldn't be everywhere at once. Sometimes, Rinzler needed a partner. I was chosen because I was trained by him, from the cycles before we...

“Prisoner re-coding. Special.” Rinzler answerd after a long moment passed. He's keeping his fingers from my lightlines. He's not offering his own.

Special prisoners went to Dyson first. Clu often had one or both of us witness the final repurposing in those cases, to test the Program after. Tron had faked being properly repurposed once before. I know. I was there.

“Name?” I asked as Rinzler finally turned to leave our quarters.

“Unimportant.” The flat reply was curious. He paused before the door to the hallway, glancing back. “A Renegade.”

We already caught all the renegades of Argon and Bismuth. Arjia still had a resistance unit. Every time we took a leader, a new one popped up in their place. If it was and ISO, we just derezzed them. If it was a real Program, we sent them to Dyson. If Dyson found them to be adiquate, they would be repurposed into a new lieutennant. If they were slightly less worthy, they would be a soldier. A few were sent to the Games to make things more interesting for a while. Not all of them were rectified first.

The renegades were never unimportant if we were being sent to witness and test their repurposing. Rinzler's answer felt wrong somehow. I needed to know more. I needed to understand. Was this someone he had known... before? I reach out to touch his hand, to connect to a lightline for clarification. He almost allows contact before turning away again and going through the door. That didn't make me feel any better.

“I have not disobeyed. I have not failed.” I spoke as my mask snapped into place.

He's moving fast, almost like he would rather be running. Running in here wasn't a good idea. We would get in trouble if we hurt anyone at HQ, even by accident. We weren't being deployed for an emergency task. Repurposing would wait for us to arrive first. He's aggitated in a way I haven't seen in a long time.

“Quiet.” The order was whispered, a warning.

Why did I need to be warned? Oh, right. These aren't our quarters anymore. We were more than the rest of them. We knew things about Clu the others were not permitted to even guess at. Well... Rinzler knew, and he told me later. Clu allowed Rinzler to share information with me as he saw fit.

The long walk to Dyson's workspace took two thirds of the time it usually did, almost less than that if I was being honest. At least the other Programs knew to get out of our way when we moved like this. Dyson is inside, organizing his tools and speaking with Commander Paige.

Oh, right... the Commanders. Not generals, but definitely close. This one always looked at me with a sadness I couldn't understand. We knew each other before I took the name Cinder. It was a strange relationship. There were millicycles where we would be friends and enemies at the exact same moment. It was a struggle of wills between us, to pull one another away from our convictions. As soon as I came to understand her side more, as soon as I claimed my Perfected Name, she withdrew from me. I figure now that our previous closeness was just an act on her part. We weren't meant to be the lovers that we had been. She had used her place as my counterpart to manipulate me. Even if I hated her now, I will always be grateful that she did it. Paige, on the other hand, always seemed to feel guilty for it. I could have continued to love her, but she couldn't do it herself. Maybe she couldn't like me as much now that I have derezzed so many Programs. She was, after all, originally a medic. That need to save lives will always be strong in her.

That's why Clu must have assigned her to work with Dyson after Tesler was derezzed and Pavel put in charge of Purgos. Paige would have done a fine job of running Argon if it hadn't been leveled, I thought. Dyson sometimes got carried away in his work and went a little too far, though. Clu made the better choice in assigning Paige to him. A derezzed Program couldn't be repurposed.

What I didn't see as we entered the workspace was a prisoner.

“Hello, friends,” Dyson greeted us with a wide smile. There's something more to that, too. I don't get it. I'm not sure I ever want to. “I'm just preparing for the next one. You're very early.”

“No.” Rinzler got closer to Dyson, and I saw Dyson's smile falter slightly. He's scared. He should be. “On time.”

“For what?” Dyson asked, taking a step back to ensure there was at least an arm's length between them. An arm plus a disc.

Something pierced a lightline on my back, sharp and burning. My systems began to shut down, spreading from that pinprick outwards. I could just turn my head enough to see Paige staring at me, injector in hand. She looks determined. There was a crash over where Rinzler and Dyson were standing. They're fighting.

Paige and Rinzler betrayed us? But why? My world went black as my eyes and ears stopped functioning simultaneously. I thought I heard someone say the name Tron. I shut down.

There was a hand smacking my face on each side. Small hands, feminine, gentle but eager. My sight and hearing return much faster than the ability to move. Paige was standing over me, worried. As my eyes opened, she traced a finger over the center lightline of my chest. It wasn't crimson anymore. It's blue. Hers were now a deep green. I felt the questions in her touch, in the energy she shared with me.

“Tell me your name, Program.” Paige ordered. “Do you know who you are?”

“He knows.” I hear Tron scoff from behind her. “Get out.”

No. No, I didn't want Paige to leave. She had the green light of a medic. It was the first time I'd ever seen her like that. She wasn't serving Clu anymore. She couldn't serve Clu and wear any color other than orange. She'd be punished.

“Your name, Program!” Paige ignored him in favor of making me speak.

“I... I'm...” I'm Beck. I'm Cinder. It's hard to tell in the moment. I settled on my fear. This was one of the tricks Rinzler and I would use on Programs who had just been repurposed. “I'm being tested.”

“You are.” Paige leaned against me, and I felt the anguish in the connection to any scrap of a lightline she touched. “I'm sorry, Beck... This was the only way to get to you.”

“Commander Paige,” I tried to keep an even tone, tried to keep my composure as Cinder, “this is inappropriate.”

“Disc check.” Tron reccomends tersely.

I remind myself that it's not Tron. It's Rinzler. I'm really screwed here. If they see my disc, they'll see I'm starting to lean into being Beck again. The fact that I dared to think that it was Tron and not Rinzler guarding the door was proof enough. I was still too weak to fight back as Paige lifted me up enough to grab the disc off my back and look through it. The only thing that stopped me from trying to fight her anyway was that she was crying. I never wanted her to cry. I became Cinder to maybe stop her from crying ever again. That had been a spectacular failure.

“He's clean.” Paige announced, gently handing me my disc back. “It's alright, Beck. We're going to get through this. All of us. Your turn.”

“No.” Rinzler gives a very slight shake of his head, gripping one of his discs tighter. It's just then that I realize he's not wearing his mask. “Others are coming. Go. Now.”

He's not coming with us. I can't let that stand. “Tron-”

“Take this.” Tron moves to kneel down beside Paige, handing me another disc. “Make it count, Beck. I can't hold out much longer before Rinzler takes over again. It's like it was before, but worse. You have to be Tron. Now go. Live. Fight.”

“Tron...” I caught his hand in mine, both of us holding the disc that could only have come from one place. Dyson. “Don't.”

“Someone has to guard your escape.” Tron dropped a little energy into me, a secreted kiss I've waited so long to receive. “They'll think you derezzed Dyson and stole his disc. I will be sent after you. Let Paige decide where you go. Go nowhere that we have been together. You caught me once. You can do it again. I believe in you, Beck. Now, go.”

It's two hundred cycles later when a massive ship filled with hundreds of thousands of Programs takes off from Tron City. It's course led it out over the Sea of Simulation to an area known to be off limits for Programs. Clu must have found a safe rout after all this time. My spies said there was a large repurposing unit aboard. It could repurpose fifty at a time. They never did find out what was going on so far away from any known city to be worth such a move on Clu's part, though.

Then, a few cycles later, the answer becomes evident. In the same direction the ship went to, there's a new light shining. I didn't know if it was Clu's doing or not. The only real way to find anything out would be to follow Clu closely.

Paige and I found him headed for the Games. Soldiers were everywhere as we made our way to the arena. New check points were put into place every couple of streets. Clearly, Clu was looking for someone specific, but he wasn't too concerned about not being able to find them. If he was, Rinzler wouldn't have been participating in Disc Wars at the moment.

There's an unnamed Program mixed in with the rest of them. A stray. I felt extra bad for him because he was put into a round with mostly experienced fighters. There were a couple crowd favorites in there, too, like Cray.

Cray was the reason we had dared to come into Tron City in the first place. We were going to make a play to break him out. My hopes of doing that shattered like all the cubes the Unknown Program made of him before slipping out of the container and attempting to make a run for it. I didn't know where the guy was thinking he was going to get to. A drop from that height was a death sentence no matter how well made your code was.

Paige laughed lowly beside me. “Kinda reminds me of someone.”

I took that personally, even if she meant it playfully. “At least I wasn't stupid enough to try it during a match or on my own.”

The Program dropped back inside the approved space. It morphed around him, joining with the rest of the platforms to create a new space. The final round was announced. The stray's opponent was Rinzler. I shook with anger and sadness alike. Even if the stray had been lucky so far, that luck was certainly gone now. He would be derezzed, but, first, Rinzler would play with him.

“I can't watch this.” I turned to leave, but Paige caught my arm, forcing me back into my seat.

“Clu might let him live.” Paige tells me, eyes focused on mine instead of the arena. “He's given mercy to others like him before.”

“Paige...” I couldn't look away from her. To do so would mean to watch an innocent Program be tortured for sport. “We both know how this ends.”

Strays who were sentenced to the Games were never repurposed. Only nammed Programs were ever granted mercy. Only whole Programs could have a hope of being anything else that fodder here.

“He made it this far.” Paige reminded me, a less than genuine hope filling her expression. “I know we came here for Cray, but maybe we can get to this Program instead.”

Rinzler has the Unknown Program on his back when I look up. He waited for Clu's command to derez like a good little soldier. Before Clu can give the order, though, Rinzler stands down, puts his discs away. Then they're both standing, looking up to Clu, Rinzler holding the Unknown tightly. Rinzler had chosen to grant mercy on his own. This had the crowd around us booing hard. Their displeasure increased when Unknown announced he wasn't a Program. This guy was really out of it to think that.

“My name is Sam Flynn!”

There were a few gasps, and then general silence. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the arena, from the Program that dared say that name so boldy.

Flynn.

It wasn't our creator, but... If this guy was telling the truth... A User! A Flynn!

“Okay...” I took a deep breath as Rinzler led Sam Flynn away. There was no way we'd get anywhere near a User. Not with Clu and Rinzler right there. “Got any other bright ideas, Paige?”

She was still awestruck, but I could see the gears turning in her mind. “Maybe... Q...?”

“Do you even know where she is?” I asked, catching on. Q was an alias for a Program who was supposedly close to Flynn himself. She was adamant that Flynn was still alive. I didn't believe her, but I did appreciate the work she did for us. “Is she in contact range?”

“Let's find out.”

Q was in range. We met her briefly and explained the situation as fast as we could. When we told her the name of the supposed User, she stopped arguing how it was a bad idea to try anything here of all places. Paige and I still couldn't be seen by Clu, Rinzler, or anyone in the upper ranks and have a hope of escaping intact. We were willing to go in with Q anyway, but we didn't have anywhere we could take Sam Flynn for any real safety. She did have a place, and, no, we weren't allowed to go with her. Flynn didn't like guests. He had good reason not to.

Q had reason to doubt everything we said, too. Except... there was that light far off over the sea. She knew something about it. It was, she said Flynn told her, the way out. Tron had told me about the portal before. I never thought it would shine that brightly. How were Flynn and Tron not absolutely blinded by it when they got close?

Paige and I could help best by making sure she wasn't followed. The lightcycles here weren't going off grid, but there were lightjets to worry about. We slipped into work mode, finding a supply of lightjet batons for the soldiers here and there near the entrances to the collesium. It was nothing to appropriate a few bombs along the way. Yes, this would mean harming innocent Programs, but I had long lost my ability to feel sad for most of them. If they were really worth being made in the first place, they wouldn't be calling for the derezzing of a User. They'd be clamoring to help him. They weren't really innocent.

We didn't activate the remote for the bombs until Q busted out of the lightcycle grid with the User in tow. When we saw them leap acros the chasm and into the outlands, we made sure to get outside and get running fast in a different direction. Nobody chased us. That was both a good thing and a bad thing. It was great not to be chased right then. Being chased meant Rinzler would likely be on our tails. Then again, he would be more occupied with Q and Sam Flynn for now. But, being chased would mean less heat on Q and Sam Flynn. At least we made sure the lightjets were out of comission. I felt bad for whatever mechanics would have to try and fix anything that survived. At least I wouldn't be one of them this time.

Nanos later, word got around that not one, but two Users had been seen in Tron City. The End of Line Club was a safe haven no more. It was blown apart after Clu was seen leaving it, extra disc in hand. Paige and I saw him go. I got a good look at that disc with a pair of binoculars. It was old, thick, and a little scratched up from extensive use. It reminded me of Tron's, but black. Clu carried it like the first place prize after a race. It wasn't his. His was on his back.

Rinzler was nowhere to be seen.

“Should we persue them, Sir?” Jarvis, Clu's aid asked as Clu walked back into his small throne ship.

“Rinzler will take care of them for us.” Clu answered, seemingly relaxed. “We will wait for him at the location. We have what we need.”

As much as I didn't like the implications of that, I couldn't follow. All I had for transport was a lightcycle. I knew I should have grabbed a lightjet on the way through. Paige was just as empty handed as I was. Nobody was going to lend us theirs, that was for sure. Whatever was happening, we could only hope for the best outcome.

And, of course, evade the remaining soldiers.

Almost exactly at one millicycle after the light appeared over the Sea of Simulation, an even brighter light shined from the same location. The light washed over everything first, sphearicle, white tinged with blue. Then, just a moment later, the air itself moved, shaking the buildings and knocking everyone outside down to the ground with a sound unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. A secondary wave of energy hit from the opposite direction with the exact same force just after that.

I cradled Paige close as my back slammed into a wall and glass shattered around us. Sure, I was able to save her from the initial impact, but she became my cushion on the return wave. At least I already knew she was tough enough to take it and come out intact.

The portal went dark.

Before we could get to the water's edge to even pretend to have a chance to see what had happened, another wave of energy hit us. This time, it wasn't painful. Instead, it felt invasive. I swore my code felt like twice its normal weight while the light washed over me. That was disturbing. I really, really hoped it was some sort of User power. Since it did no damage and I didn't really feel any different from before it came, I wondered if it was a kind of checkup. Clu had gone towards the portal. The Users must have gotten out. Was that what a scan felt like?

Whatever that third wave of energy found, it wasn't enough to deem us worthy of continued existance. The power was cut. It wasn't like the usual blackouts. During those, the power would flicker a little before going down. This was an intentional shut off. We were going to starve to death in the dark. Just my luck.

Clu had made it out and discarded the rest of us like junk code to be purged.

At least I had gotten to see Rinzler's last match in the Games. He didn't derez anyone. Tron was still in there after all. Whatever they did to him after he helped Paige and I escape, it wasn't enough to completely override him.

Oh, but that made it so much worse, didn't it? I should know.

“Beck?”

“You alright?” I asked, grateful to hear Paige among all the yelling and screeming that suddenly filled the space around us. Programs panicked eveywhere in unison. Not us, though.

“I will be when you get off of me. The ground doesn't make a great bed, and you're an even worse blanket.”

Right. It definitely didn't, and, yeah, I probably wasn't a welcome weight right now. I pushed up off of her, helped her sit up, too. We scooted away from the street, backs against a wall to stay out of the way as much as possible. Going anywhere in this darkness was a bad idea. We only had our own lightlines to see by. We only had those as long as we had power outselves. That would run out eventually. Even if we did stumble into some energy reserves to use for ourselves, we'd have to guard them. They would run out, too, eventually.

“This isn't the way I imagined dying.” Paige leaned into me, ignoring the rest of what was left of our world just like I was. “Do you think the Users are really there?”

“I really hope they are.” I tell her, leaning back against the wall and looking up at the empty sky above. I can't tell how far it is to the clouds now. Without power, even they had gone away.

It wouldn't help to tell her that I always believed in the Users. What good were they to us now? Whatever had happened over the sea, it ended in a literal bang. Whatever had gone down there, it meant we were no longer needed. All this time, fighting against Clu, trying to carry on Tron's legacy, it was all for nothing in the end. She knew that as well as I did. Trying to summon up any faith in them now felt hollow.

“At least we have each other.” I told her, searching for her hand with mine. “We made it all the way to the end, together.”

“We did, didn't we?” Her laugh is mirthless. “Who would have thought a medic from Bismuth and a mechanic from Argon would ever end up like this?”

“Well... we did...” I nudged her shoulder, a smile on my lips that she couldn't see. “We both knew from our first fight.”

We say nothing else for a long time. There's no point in speaking anything that our energy in one another's lightlines can't convey anyway. Programs stop running around and using up their energy reserves after a while. Some time after that, only a few are still trying to walk around and find something or someone familiar in the area. Some have just decided to sit and wait like we are. I heard a few fights in the distance, but they never got close enough to worry about.

It's been six millicycles of sitting and waiting and listening in the dark. Paige and I eventually made it into a building and found a more comfortable place to just sit and wait some more. I almost think it's a dream when the power comes back on. If it weren't for our new friend, Elza, shouting that there was liquid energy coming from the dispenser, I would have just kept my eyes closed. My energy levels were too low to move much at all anymore. It had been a while before the power was cut since I'd had any.

Paige is by my side a moment later, pushing me to sit up instead of lay on the table. “Open up, Beck. Drink.”

I don't have the chance to figure out what she's talking about before the cup touches my lips. I shouldn't be getting this energy. There's no point. It only prolongs death now. Elza shouldn't have gone out and stolen it... My eyes open even as I'm greedily gulping the energy down.

There really is light again. The power really has been restored! We're saved!

But for how long?

That question sobered me as I took hold of the now empty cup and looked around the room. Did someone accidentally get left behind or something?

“Oh, thank the Users!” Elza was beaming, her lightlines bright with overindulgence as she came back up to Paige and I with two more cups. “I thought you were a gonner for sure! Here, take more. You need it.”

Faction alliegences meant nothing once we emerged from the building. Everyone was greedy for information. The first thing I noticed was that the portal was shining again. A User was back. Again. That explained the power returning. They needed it for themselves. It wasn't for us.

Search parties were forming. This time, nobody wanted anything to do with whatever User had come. At least, nobody near Paige and I did. We needed to know what had happened over the sea. There was debris washing up all over, every bit of it in a partial or nearly complete state of deresolution. That included severeal identity discs. One of them tried to power up in my hand. I wasn't even really trying to get it working. Only familiar discs did that.

Tron?

The disc derezzed in my hand, crumbling into cubes. I didn't know if it was his or not. There was one way to know, though. Clu said they were going to wait for Rinzler before they moved on. That meant he expected Rinzler to go with him, that Rinzler would have headed towards the portal, too. The portal was where the Users were said to exit our world and enter their own. If there really was a User around, they'd have to go there eventually.

“Paige?” I look to her, the words already feeling sour in my mouth before I can say them.

“I know, Beck.” Paige doesn't need to be told. “Go.”

“What about you?”

“I need to stay here, just in case someone needs help. I won't go far.”

“Thank you.” I pulled her in close, giving her a tender kiss of thanks.

She pressed something into my hand as we parted. A small bottle of energy. “Just in case. Come back intact this time.”

“I'll do my best.” That's all I really could say. She knew me too well, had patched me up many times.

It took a while to make my way back to the arena and where we had blown up the storage spaces. It took almost that long again to find a working lightjet baton. Getting up into the air, I made a straight line for the portal. Along the way, a thought struck me. Where were all the obstacles Tron had told me about? What was really keeping us away besides the threat of a trap? Nothing.

Wow.

We had all fallen for a lie. All of us.

Then again, as I glanced down at the waves below, I saw it. Massive amounts of something floated at the top or just beneath the surface. There was a lot out here to deal with. That shockwave was strong in the city. It had to be a thousand times stronger here.

Nothing could have survived.

The closer I get to the portal, the more I see that there is still one structure standing. It's at what I assume to have been the epicenter of the explosion. Even though it's still there, the island shows a lot of damage. It seemed solid enough to land, though I'd definitely be keeping my baton on hand. I wasn't keen on getting stuck out here.

I know the portal stays on for about a millicycle. It's been about half that already. I had time to explore. I had to do something to keep myself busy.

There was a lightfighter, or the tattered remains of one, I should say, on the landing pad. I thought I might be able to fix it with enough time. Paige would love to get in the pilot's seat of this thing, I thought as I did an external walk around. It's been shot. The damage wasn't just from the explosion. The scrape across the copilot's side of the cockpit tells some of the story of what had happened here. I put a little of my energy into it. It would light with the color of whoever piloted it last before switching to mine. Pure white.

So, this lightjet wasn't one of Clu's. Not on its last flight, anyway. The User must have made it... The User could have been the reason for that blast that destroyed everything out here. That would make sense. Did that mean that the User had gotten out? Did he get past Rinzler?

I'd find out from whatever User was currently around when they wanted to leave. Right now, I had a whole island to investigate. There might be more answers around somewhere-

There's a figure sitting near the bottom of a set of stairs that lead to the portal. Male from what I can tell, and deeply depleted of energy. He's clutching a baton to his chest, leaning against a wall in obvious shut down. His lightlines are greyed out, too dim to determine a color against the bright white light of the portal that radiated everywhere around us.

He could still be running a passive scan. He could have been left behind to guard the exit. I approached cautiously. The closer I got, though, the more I thought I recognized him. Well before I got within reach, I was sure.

Tron.

Or was he still Rinzler?

Only one way to find out. I reached out and put my thumb where I knew there was a lightline. The circuit was almost dead. Not good. I pulled out the little bottle of energy Paige gave me and drank it for the boost before pushing my energy into him. I had to push hard at first, to get anything to sink in. The next thing I knew, he had me by the wrist.

I tried to sound passive and comforting, “It's alright. Let me help you.”

“Don't waste your energy on me.” He's trying to push my hand off of him, but he's way too weak. “I'm not worth the effort.”

Oh, but he was. I still have to figure out who I'm really dealing with right now. I knelt down, still giving him energy while trying to appear as little as possible. I didn't want him to see me as a threat. “Hey. Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?”

He contemplated that for a moment before shaking his head. Damn it.

“Okay... do you know who you are?” That was, really, the more important question.

“Of course I do.” He looked a little offended by that. “I'm Tron J.A. 020307.”

I wasn't expecting to hear his full designation. I wasn't really sure if I'd ever heard it before. Out loud, that is. I've seen it in his disc. “Hey, Tron. I'm Beck. Do you know where you are?”

He really doesn't know anything. When I felt like he can manage his power on his own, I moved to sit beside him. It's then that I saw he didn't have a disc. My heart broke a little more. Tron had become a stray. I tried to explain things to him as best as I could, about everyting I know of him and Flynn and the whole Grid, and... Clu... I wish I didn't have to tell him about Clu. I tried to censor that as much as I could. He didn't need to know everything right away. It's not like he'd remember it anyway. Before he could start to keep memories, he'd need a disc.

But why is it he knows his own name? Why did he sound like he expected to wake up in his original system, ENCOM? How could he know these things if he was a stray? Something wasn't adding up.

He has an explanation for that, one that sounds almost terrifying to me. Programs weren't originally written to have discs. To him, they were a symbol of slavery. He actually tried to take that back a bit a moment later. This was a different system to him. Here, everybody needed a disc, even the sysadmin. To him, it might have been slavery, but, to us, a disc was required for proper function. He understood he wasn't home, and that things might be very different.

Tron shifted a little, his close guard of the lightjet baton loosened. I could see damage to his chest. It looked painful, but he wasn't at risk of derezzing on the spot. “You should let me take you to my female counterpart. She's a medic. She can have you fixed up in no time.”

He agreed, but only if the Users didn't mend him first. That was probably a good call considering he didn't have a disc for Paige to access and make repairs in the first place. We fall into silence. I can't stand it. This isn't the way we're meant to be with one another. We're meant to be fighting side by side, each other, or doing something far more intimate in privacy. We're not meant to sit still next to one another except to recover from those things.

“Do you remember your counterparts from ENCOM?” I couldn't help it.

“I do.” He sounds... He smiled out at nothing, not looking at me at all.

“Do you... do you know that you have counterparts here, too?” I really wanted him to remember something about us on his own.

“One of them is gone.” He seemed to realize that uncomfortably. “I can feel the empty space.”

I couldn't lie to him. He'd know. I could only omit. “It was Clu.”

He takes that information like a building brick to the gut. He may not remember Clu, but I've told him enough for that to sink in the wrong way. I didn't expect his next words. “The other is tentative, not fully bonded.”

So, he could feel me there. Even without a disc, he had some sense of it. “It's a self determined write in.”

He guessed that I knew his other counterpart. I can't really just say the words. It felt so hard to say it. I wanted him to know, but I didn't want to make him feel pressured into anything. I know how bad that can go. When he finally understood, I wanted to hide in a hole and never come back out again. I couldn't do that, though. He needed me, like I used to need him. I still need him.

“Tron,” I speak up, sounding more confident than I felt as I put a hand on his arm. I'm careful not to touch his lightlines this time. It's easy not to, with how small they are. He would have to connect to me next time. I wouldn't initiate again except to save him. Again. “You once trusted me with everything. Even your name and legacy. You were dying from a virus when I told you how I felt. I know what you're thinking. You don't want to share that pain with someone else. But I did pull through for you when you needed it most. You did heal. We did write in a bond after that. It's still there for me, but... if it's gone with your discs for you... I'll try to understand.”

And there it was. He told me that he wanted to go back to ENCOM, to Alan One and to Yori. He didn't even know that Yori was gone. It hurt to say it, but it was the truth when I told him I wished I could make that come true for him. Out of all of us, he deserved happiness the most. Even if it meant losing him forever, if I knew he was alright and happy, I could live with it. Losing him that way would hurt far less than losing Bodhi, Mara, and Zed.

There was a User landing on the platform. Time to deal with this. I hoped I was brave enough to convince them not to shut off our power again. Tron might get mad at me, but he'd get over it eventually. The Users had a lot to answer for.

Chapter Text

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end

-Hurt
--Johnny Cash

My memories are still settling back into place here and there as Beck and I make our flight back over the Sea of Simulation towards the city. Even if it bears my name, now knowing that Flynn is gone, it's hard to call it that. The city was once his gift to me. Clu ruined it just as he had ruined the rest of The Grid, my friends, and me. It needs a new name. Maybe Flynn City. No, the rest of the Programs won't go for that. I definitely won't let them call it Clu City anymore. I know things were in the works to rename it that at one point.

Maybe we can rename it for Yori or Bodhi. I can't think of a combination of those names that would sound good, though. They all sound stupidly amusing. Nobody would take something like Yordhi or Bori seriously. I can't hide my laughter at the ideas as Beck starts to make a turn over the beach, looking for a clear spot to land the lightfighter. I wanted to take the lightjets, but Beck said he wanted to bring this back as a gift for Paige.

She and I are both write in counterparts of Beck, but not one another. We bonded with him at different times, under different circumstances. At this point, I know she has more right to him than I do. She might get upset about having to share Beck's time and attention with me again. I don't really care right now. If she feels that left out when he's with me, she can just go find a second counterpart. I've been alone long enough to learn how to take what I can get.

Clu doesn't count. I won't let him mean anything to me. I never wanted to in the first place. When I was under, as Rinzler, it still felt wrong. Clu was always too... selfish. That was the word. Clu was a very selfish counterpart, especially during intimacy. Now that he was gone, I have a chance at finding a better third. Paige was really only denying herself by not filling that slot. She was beautiful, smart, and strong. Most of all, I know she never lost her caring nature even if she hid it well. Any Program would be lucky to have her.

Am I really thinking about it?

Maybe.

I'll have to see how she reacts to me even being alive first. I wonder if she's going to give me a tight hug or a fist to the face. Neither of those things have ever really been in our relationship before. Beck was the only thing really tying us together at any point. I wonder how he would take it if I managed to strike up something more intimate with her? Would he be alright with being in a proper trio again? It's been a very long time. For all of us.

“What's so funny?” Beck asks me, seeming to be a bit worried.

I'd be worried, too, if someone like me just started laughing in the midst of complete silence. “Just thinking about what to call this city once the dust settles.”

“It already has a name.” Beck's not having any of that. “Yours.”

“Should it, though?” I should have let that be, but I can't. It hurts. “I didn't name it. Flynn did. He's never coming back. Sam Flynn and Alan One have promised a new era. A new start often comes with new names.”

“You gonna rename yourself while you're at it?” He sounds pretty cross about that idea.

“No.” No, I'm not going to do that. Me being me again will be good enough, I hope. We're on our fourth pass of the shoreline. “Are you ever going to land this thing?”

“Yep, there he is...” Beck snickers, finally taking us down.

I see now what he was waiting for. Programs were all over the place, sifting through washed up debris. They were in the way. He made the extra passes to get his point across that we needed a spot to land. Programs had to get the hint and move out of the damn way.

I wait and see how Beck is received before deciding to get out myself. He is well known for all the right reasons while I'm even more renound for all the wrong ones. I won't be recognized as Tron by the masses anymore. They'll only see Rinzler when they see my lightline pattern. It won't matter that they're white or that my mask is gone. They'll know.

“Nervous?” Beck asks me, hand on mine instead of the controls now that we're at a stop.

Yes. Of course I am. Doesn't mean I'm going to show that to any of them though. Beck is the only one I can be completely honest with. He's seen me at my lowest and stayed by my side through it all. Even when we were enemies, he tried to be there for me. He saw me as a person, not the legend.

“If they run, they run.” I tell him, forcing a shrug for the benefit of anyone who can see into the cockpit. “If they attack... I won't derez them if I can avoid it.”

“I like that plan.” Beck smiles at me, letting go of my hand to hit a button that lowered us to the ground.

We step out together. The rush of Programs seeking information halts. A few of them stumble over themselves or the uneven ground. Only one continues moving towards us, confident smile in place as she takes Beck into her arms briefly. Paige backs off from Beck, looking me over warily. She doesn't know who to expect, I guess.

I deflict her attention to the lightfighter. “Beck brought you a gift. I hear you prefer helicopters, but he said-”

I'm silenced by a tight hug around my neck. So, she's happy to see me after all. It takes me a moment to return the embrace. By the time I do, she's already pulling away. Beck is watching the crowd carefully. Even though I don't need his protection since Alan One gave me back my memories and topped off my energy practically by accident, I don't think he'll stop watching my back any time soon. Funny how roles can switch like that. I used to be the one watching over him every time he went out.

I still will, whether he wants it or not.

“What are you all standing there like that for?” Paige yells at everyone, surprising me. “Get back to work!”

They're slower to move than soldiers would be, but they still do it. Every one of them glance over their shoulders at us, at me specifically, as they do. Of course she'd take over things. She was used to being in charge to a fair degree, and everyone remembered her more as Commander Paige than as medic Paige. People liked hiherachy and familiarity. They were familiar with her being in a position of power as much as she was used to giving orders. I'm just glad she's gotten them to at least pretend to stop staring at me for a moment.

“So...” Paige turns to Beck, “you went out to confront a User and came back with a lightfighter and Tron. Did you even wait for the User before you came back, or were you too excited to show these two off to me?”

Beck laughs, truly happy. “I thought I was going to get derezzed for sure for a moment there. Didn't know if it would be Tron or Sam Flynn who did it.”

“So... Clu?”

Beck shakes his head, smile fading a little. “No. Not Flynn either. Sam Flynn and Q.”

“Q?” Paige is surprised. “She's still guarding him? We need her here to-”

“Paige.” I interrupt. “Q, as you call her, is Quorra, an ISO. She's safer with the Users.”

“I already knew what she was, Rin... Tron.” Paige shakes her head at me.

She almost slipped. She almost called me Rinzler. I hate that. I never liked that name. It was something with absolutely no meaning except what Clu assigned to it. The same thing went for me. I know Paige sees my flash of anger. I can't take it back. I wouldn't if I could.

“So, what are you doing here?” Beck asks, looking around the shore and the Programs milling around it. “Find anyone yet?”

“No,” Paige sighs, just as happy as I am for the change of topic. “We're doing a bit of repurposing of our own. Nothing's come back fully intact, but we might be able to make use of it anyway.”

It's a good idea. Clu would have just had it all destroyed and made completely new items from the base code. That was one thing I really did like about Cyrus, though. Absolutely nothing he found was wasted. If he couldn't use it as it was, he'd remake it into something else. He knew imperfections could be turned into perfections. Things didn't need to be perfect from the start or all the way to the end. Beck had a little different take on it. Anything broken that could be fixed would be. Anything that couldn't be fixed would be replaced. Simple as that. Paige... I never really guessed that she'd think like Cyrus. A medic should think more like a mechanic, in my opinion. Cyrus... I never did find out what he was before he became a soldier, now that I think about it.

Beck and Paige are now talking about the efforts on the beach while he's showing her around the lightfighter. He's proud of himself for making it fully functional again, though he admits there's plenty of room for improvement... like that deflected shot across the cockpit on the copilot's side. I did that. A little more to my left, and it would have gone through Flynn's head.

It would have been me that killed the User instead of Clu. Sam Flynn said Flynn chose to do it himself, but I still feel like it's Clu's fault. It was nearly mine.

Gridbugs and glitches, I nearly killed Flynn myself!

And Sam Flynn. I had my disc at his throat. Sam Flynn, the son of Flynn, the one Flynn loved most! I nearly took that from him, and then I nearly...!

“Tron...” Someone's calling my name. My old name? Do I have a right to it anymore? “Tron, hey!”

Why is Beck on his knees? Why am I on mine? Why is breathing so painful? Why do I feel like I'm crying? I don't. I won't let a tear slip. Anyone can see. I can't allow that. I need my mask. Now. It clicks into place.

“We need to get him inside.” That's Paige. I can feel her hand under my arm, pulling to try and get me to stand again. I still don't remember falling down. I shove her back. I don't need help to stand back up. I just need a moment to get my bearings. I need to figure out what just happened.

Beck is too close. His hands are on my shoulders, caging me in. I need space. I don't want to be crowded. “Let go.”

“Tron...” Beck's concern is suffocating. “Just slow down. Breathe.”

I shove him back, too. He lands on his ass in the sand. “I said let go!”

I'm on my feet and moving before I even know where I'm going. I'm in the air, flying towards the outlands. I can't be on that shore any longer. I don't deserve them. I almost killed two Users in less than a milli, and the proof of it was parked on the beach as a gift to someone who would never fully understand its significance because I just can't...

I figure out where I am as I'm landing on the little ledge carved out of the mountain side. There's a wide flat area in the center and to the left, a small pool to my right closer to the passable force field that marks the dwelling proper. Inside, most of it is white, gray with the lights mostly off. Decorative objects from a couple of the tables still scatter the floor from where Jarvis was curious and Clu was angry with his own reflection. With Flynn's reflection, I correct myself.

My legs are shaking as I walk inside. Lights above and below activate. Blue flames spring to life in a box specifically made for them to my left. To my right, I see a bedroom beyond another weak forcefield. Tiredness seeps into my very core. It's not energy depletion anymore. I don't know how to describe this feeling.

This is just like when I lost Yori. I went back to our shared quarters, much nicer after the MCP wasn't keeping a stranglehold on self expression. So many things with no practical use except to be pretty all over the place, crowding in on the actually needed items like seating and storage. I could still see the imprint on the bed where we had laid the downtime before, where we... Oh, but she was so beautiful that time when we...

Flynn's bed had a similar impression. Only, this one was just big enough for one person, not two. He had been alone his last time in his own bed. I remember seeing evidence of the other two beds being used, also for one person each. Quorra and Sam Flynn most likely. I don't care about them right now. I don't know them like I knew Flynn. I never loved them like I love him.

Loved him.

Loved him then nearly killed him.

He's dead anyway. Once again, I wasn't enough on my own.

Where was Beck when I needed him? The two of us together could have done it. Why wasn't Beck around when I needed him most? When Flynn needed us both the most...

My hand shakes as I reach out and touch the imprint Flynn's body had left in the blankets. It's cold. I don't know why I expected anything different. According to Beck, it's been several whole cycles since...

I can't stop myself from laying on the bed, face first into that imprint. This is the closest I'll ever get to him again. I try to steady myself with a deep breath, the very kind Beck wanted me to take earlier, the kind I taught him to take in the first place. What I get for the effort is a scent. It's musky, and a little oily, and nothing like the other scant scents found on The Grid. It's organic.

It's Flynn's scent. Something of him Clu could never really have himself. I forgot what he smelled like. How could I forget a scent so unique? How dare I forget one of the most important details about the most important person in my world for over a thousand cycles... This scent needs to be coded into my hard memory, deeper than my discs. I store it there, never to be lost. I'll never smell it fresh again. I'd always, always believed there would be a next time. How foolish I was.

I wish I could just sink into this spot, stay here in Flynn's scent forever, his scent, and his impression, and... is that a hair on the pillow? It's grey and wiry, but there's no evidence of anyone else having been here. Programs only lose hair if it's cut off of them. Users shed them regularly. It's not the only one. There's a few of them in varying stages of black to white. One or two still retain color at one end. They're Flynn's. I need to find a container to save them. I know they might degrade over time, but I just... I just need to keep something that's definitely his and his alone.

I can gather them later. For now, I am going to soak up all of his scent that I can, all that still lingers of him here. I never want to move again.

Beck left me alone when I needed him most. I know he was probably scared to try and get close. I would have attacked him. Clu would have put him down if I didn't. But... if he had just followed us out there... he could have helped me. He could have made this right. He didn't.

Flynn was dead.

Alan One should have left me alone when we met by the portal. Beck should have left me alone. I should have went after those gridbugs and got myself derezzed after all.

The pillow is damp under my face. My head hurts. My chest hurts. Everything hurts. I need to shut down again.

Chapter Text

Sam pov

I'm sitting here on my couch watching a freaking computer program play tug of war with my dog on the deck out back as the sun sets and the microwave hums around a chicken pot pie that's supposed to be dinner. It's definitely nothing like Dad laid out for dinner, but that's all I have left at the moment besides chips and salsa. Yesterday was supposed to be grocery day. Lora's going to be pissed if she finds out what I served Quorra for dinner. If I ever tell her or Alan what Quorra really is, they'll be twice as upset with me.

I could order delivery. Everybody likes pizza, right? Yeah. Marvin can have the pot pie once it cools down. We're getting pizza. It's still not a great meal by Lora's standards, but it's better than half a single serve pot pie. Marvin really needs to get back on dog food.

My hand is on the phone and starting to pull up the contacts list when it starts to ring. It's Alan. I don't even hesitate to answer. I should have.

“You're already outside, aren't you?” I ask instead of the typical greeting.

“Well, since you've got a girlfriend now, I figured I'd check and make sure you're dressed before walking in this time.” Alan's reply is teasing.

Quorra's far from being my girlfriend, but I'm not going to get into that right now. “I appreciate it. Just about to order some pizza. Come on in.”

Alan hangs up on me, walking in the door to my back. “Forget the pizza. We're going out to dinner. Roy wants some assurances straight from you before he signs the paperwork.”

“Mister Kleinburg?” I'm surprised. I thought Alan had already talked him into it. I haven't really spoken to him myself yet. Yes, we talk online through the Flynn Lives chatrooms and such, but never as ourselves. I doubt the old man knows that I know he's ZackAttack. “I thought it was a done deal.”

“Sam,” Alan sighs, hands in his pockets in his typical stance as he rocks back and forth on his feet for a second, “you're about to order a pizza. Do you know what that does to a woman's skin? Come on. Both of you. My treat. We're going to the Brazillian steak house.”

That was expensive. This really means something to him. Or Kleinburg. The food is amazing. We need something better than a pot pie or pizza. At least I was able to get Quorra through buying some clothes yesterday after dealing with the now ex-board members. She'd have fresh clothes that wouldn't make the other patrons feel uneasy or stink from sweat. I didn't smell her clothes or anything. I could just see that what she came into our world with was definitely not breathable. If I wore that stuff, I'd be sweatting like a pig in the mid-day sun. She's never even been in the sun before yesterday. So, yeah, she probably sweat in them.

“Sam, don't make me talk to you like you're ten again. Come on.” Alan prompts me, breaking me out of my thoughts. “You're going to want to get to know him.”

Yeah, as a person, as an employee. Not as a faceless believer who tore things up before I started my shit for real. I do need Kleinburg on my side. “Alright. Let me get my shoes. Hey, Quorra! Dinner plans changed. We're going out.”

Quorra finally looks up, and I have to laugh. She's on her knees in front of Marvin, one end of the rope in her teeth with Marvin tugging on the other end as viciously as he can. That can't taste good. It's funny, though, that she doesn't know she can just use her hand. Marvin won't care either way. The only thing I'm really worried about is what kind of impression this is making on Alan. He must wonder if I kiss that mouth after it's had a dog toy in it. Nope. Not happening. It's bad enough when Marvin decides to wake me up by shoving his tongue up my nose.

“You might want to change clothes,” I comment, noticing the dirt on her shirt. “Wash your hands and stuff.”

She knows it's more than a suggestion. I'm trying to give her direction without being obvious. She's got a lot to learn about our world. It's her world now, too. And here I am, in charge of teaching her about it. I need someone else to do this. What's the term? Adultier adult? Yeah, I need one of those around.

Alan doesn't count. We're both guys. She needs someone like Lora. Of course, that would mean telling Lora the truth. Lora would tell Alan. They'd be mad that I didn't tell them straight away. It's kinda too late to avoid that, though.

Dammn it, Dad. I love you, I really do, but this? Of all the crazy shit... you could have given me a manual. Better yet, you could have done the work yourself with her. At least she knows how to use utensiles. We've already been over the bathroom business as far as how to use the shower and the toilet correctly. I'm damn glad that the internet can teach you almost anything. I didn't have to direct her on how to wipe or flush. The internet had that covered.

Quorra stands up slowly, letting Marvin have the rope to beat himself up with. She's still getting used to having joints that contain actual bones inside them. She's in better physical condition than I am, but she said she can feel everything clearly. Her heartbeat bothers her. She asked me to shut it off at one point. Explaining how bad of an idea that was scared her pretty good. She could get between me and Clu twice in a night, but couldn't handle the truth about hearts. Weird.

“Sam...” She's not looking at me. She's looking over my shoulder at Alan as she slowly walks in. She's scared again. I haven't exactly taken any time to introduce her to anyone yet. That was on purpose. I want her to be less distracted with everything else when she does. Oh well, here goes nothing. “Is that...?”

Oh. Right. She probably knew Tron, or at least of him. According to Dad and all the merch and stuff from when I was a kid, Tron looked just like Alan the way Clu looked just like Dad. She'd seen how a User aged. Of course she'd make the connection. “This is Alan. I've told you about him. Dad's friend, Alan Bradley? My godfather?”

“Oh... of course...” She's got a forced smile on. I know because it's not the same one she gave me when we first shook hands. “Greetings. I'm Quorra.”

“Hello, Quorra,” Alan takes her hand, but doesn't shake it. He's studying her. This isn't how he looked at the last girl I brought home. This is making me nervous. I hope I'm not as obvious as she is when Alan kisses the back of her hand instead. What's the old man doing getting his flirt on with someone he thinks is my girlfriend? He lets go of her hand slowly. “We should get moving. Roy's probably already waiting on us.”

“Roy?” Quorra looks to me for answers.

“Another friend.” I tell her, motioning for her to get upstairs and change already. “You'll see. Come on, hurry. Don't forget your shoes this time!”

She loves going barefoot now. I feel like such a dad in the moment. Alan's giving me a curious look of his own. He caught that, too. It's interesting to him. Of course it is.

“Age play?” Alan asks playfully.

I don't want to deal with that. “Stop it. It's not what it looks like.”

“Then what is it?”

“Can we have that conversation after dinner?” I know I'm not getting out of this.

“Along with the other conversation we probably should have already had about what you found in the arcade?” Oh, of course he wasn't letting that go, either. “She's involved, isn't she?”

That's a very easy question to answer honestly. “Yes.”

“Hmm....” He's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks at the stairs. His eyes are brighter than they've been in a long time. I'm not sure what this means. “This is going to be a very interesting conversation.”

“You have no idea.” I'm getting my shoes on. That's a good distraction. Right?

He's giving me a strange look. Once again, I feel like he knows something I don't. It's getting annoying. “No, Sam, I think you're the one with no idea. There's a lot I need to tell you now. You and Lora and Roy. I bet Quorra didn't tell you. That or she doesn't know.”

I'm definitely paying attention now. “Do you know where dad was? Did he tell you?”

When I told him that Alan got the page the first time, Dad had smiled. It was like he had expected it. It was like... But then he claimed he'd never sent the page. He said it was Clu that sent it. How would Clu have Alan's pager number? He didn't have Dad's memories. Dad had no reason to share it with him.

Quorra was already changed and half running down the stairs to get her shoes. I'm slowly learning that this woman does very little at a normal person's speed. I'm starting to think she slowed herself down so that me and Dad could keep up. Usually, I'm the one doing that for women. The conversation between me and Alan dies off for the moment. I don't want her included in this. Not yet. Apparently, neither does he. It's not out of character for him to clam up about Dad around everyone else. He used to be passionate about finding him, loudly telling anyone who would listen that Dad was still out there, that he would come home. He knew Quorra was involved now. He had no logical reason to hide this from her. So why?

“Sam hasn't taken me anywhere but the park yet!” Quorra became chatty. Instead of scared of Alan, she's ready to talk his ear off. Something switched in both of them, and I don't know how to deal with it. So, I just finish tying my shoes and grab both her and my jackets from by the door. “I haven't been here very long, so we haven't had much time to explore. This is going to be fun! What kind of food-?”

“Quorra!” I toss her jacket at her breaking off her chattering. “You'll see. Slow down. We've got all night.”

Oh, yeah. All night. How was I going to play off any of her fo pas enough to make Alan and Roy believe she's just from... Where would I possibly say she's from that they'd believe? She's got an American accent. Sure, the US has a lot of different micro cultures, even each city does, but there are some experiences that are universal to all Americans. I seriously hope Dad taught her about major holidays, sports, and seasonal changes.

I barely remember to put the pot pie down on the floor for Marvin to eat as we lock up and leave. Alan's driving. It's supposed to rain soon. Better safe than sorry. If things take a down turn at dinner, I can just call a taxi. If that happens, I really hope I don't get that poor dude whose cab I landed on a few nights ago. Then again, that could be fun.

The steakhouse is on the other end of the city. There's more of them all around, but Alan only takes us to the best. The best in his opinion, anyway. They're all good in my opinion. Though, this one has better desserts. They have actual fried ice cream, too, not that bull shit rolled in cinnamon toast crunch and served in a taco bowl some places try to pass off as fried ice cream. No, this is the single churned, battered, and actually fucking deep fried goodness drizzeled with chocolate and raspberry syrup with whipped cream and a cherry on top absolute heaven. I'm definitely getting some of that tonight.

Alan better keep his spoon to himself, too. I'll fight him for it.

Oh, I hope he doesn't use a knife this time. I've already got a cut still healing on my arm from his fucked over Program on my arm. When we got back, after showing Quorra the sunrise, I went straight to the hospital and got stitches in that mother fucker. I don't even remember what lie I made up to the nurses to keep the police from getting involved.

“Sam, you have got a lot on your mind, kiddo,” Alan comments as we're getting closer to ENCOM Tower. “Don't tell me the stress is already getting to you. You know I'm here for you. Ask me anything. I've got it.”

“Not this time, Al.” I lean my head against the cool window, smiling slightly. I know he's talking about work. “This time, I've got your back. I should have done it a long time ago.”

“Well, better late than never.” Alan makes a turn as the rain begins to fall. “Just try to make sure it's never never, alright? Not between us.”

Quorra is oddly silent in the back seat. I turn to look at her. She's passed out like a baby. Car rides used to do that to me, too. I think it must be a universal experience.

“Don't worry, she's been asleep since the first block.” Alan comments. He must have seen her in the rearview mirror. “My driving gets everyone eventually. Your grandpa used to bribe me with his home made canolies to drive you around for an hour to get you to sleep.”

I remember. The chocolate chip ones were the best. Alan would sometimes split them with me to keep me awake instead. Then we'd go hit the arcade for a bit before I was supposed to be home. He'd go check in on the employees in Dad's place while I wore myself out on the games. Dad was always working. I just didn't realize he was only downstairs... in The Grid.

“Hey, Al?”

“Yeah?”

“From now on, anything to do with Dad, I want to have full disclosure between us. I know you know stuff I don't. I... There's some things I learned the other night, things I don't think you know about him. It's only fair, right?”

“That's fair.” Alan agrees quietly. “I owe you a lot of explanations.”

“Dad owed us both a lot of explanations, Al.” I want him to understand. It seems like, maybe, he understands better than I do. Of course he would. I was just a kid. But, now, after what happened, I really need him to give me some grace. “I got a few.”

Alan is very, very measured at how he applies the breaks for the red light. It's more gentle than anything so far. His knuckles are white with his grip on the steeringwheel. “You're talking about him in the past tense. That's new.”

“Well, there's definitely no present or future for him anymore.” I admit, swallowing the lump in my throat. “If you really believe me when I say I saw him in there...”

“I wouldn't have asked otherwise.” Alan still won't look at me. “After you left, I... I looked around a bit. I found the office.”

My heart sinks as my panic rises. “Tell me you didn't get on the computer!”

I only copied everything to my external hard drive before turning the thing off. I made a copy of everything. I didn't delete any of it. If he...

“I'm not stupid enough to mess with the laser, Sam.” Alan makes another turn, still focused on driving instead of looking at me. I don't blame him, the rain is coming down hard now. “I know what it was made for. It was Lora's design. I was there when she was testing it. Nothing ever came back, though.”

I let out a relieved sigh, leaning back in the seat, boneless. I don't know what I would have done if I lost Alan to that place, too. Maybe take a hammer to the fucking thing before Lora fell into the trap, too.

“Now I'm starting to think we were wrong about it.” Alan's got me on the edge of my seat again. “Something did come back, didn't it?”

I can get out of this fast. We're already pulling up to the restaurant.

“Hey, wake up.” I reach back and shake Quorra's knee. She tries to kick, but hits the back of the seat instead. I'm really, really glad she didn't have the room to get some actual power behind it. “We're here.”

“When did I fall asleep?” She yawns, looking out the window as we move up in the line.

“Don't worry about it.” Alan smiles at her, putting the car in park and getting out. “It happens to Users all the time.”

She doesn't catch the word as being odd. I give him a look as I get out, too. He just gives me a wink and holds the umbrella the valet offered up to cover himself and Quorra as we make our way inside. I certainly didn't use that word when I told him about that night. It rubs me the wrong way. Fucking hell. This man was really sitting on some secrets.

Or, maybe I'm just being paranoid. He probably heard the term from Dad a lot. Dad even took to calling him and Lora as Tron and Yori sometimes. If I remember right, he had a name for Roy, too. What was it? Ram? Who was Ram in his stories again? I can't relly remember right now. That was in the early stories, not the later ones that I held dearest.

I'm still shaking off the conversation from the ride over as Alan tells the hostess our party's reservation name. Tron. Of course it's under Tron.

Quorra stiffens up again, really giving Alan a suspicious look. I grab her by the arm, holding her close like the good boyfriend Alan thought I was at first. Nobody needs to know that I'm really keeping her from doing something stupid. At least, I hope I can keep her from making a scene.

“Inside joke with Dad,” I whisper to her, hoping it will clear things up. “He wrote Tron.”

“Sam...” Her voice is low, too. “I don't think he's exactly who or what you think he is. Users can't do what he did.”

Alan's already walking off, following the hostess. I start leading Quorra along a little ways behind him. “What do you mean? What did he do?”

“The kiss. He conveyed information to me like a Program. Flynn was never able to do that.”

The kiss? Oh, right... Alan kissed the back of her hand earlier. “That's a thing?”

“Common on The Grid, between friends and counterparts.”

She's serious about this. I want to know more. We don't have time. Roy's already got my hand in his and is reaching for Quorra's a second later. He, thankfully, keeps his lips to himself, though he does cradle her hand in both of his a moment longer than he shakes mine. Now, I'm suspicious. I look to Quorra. She knows what I'm asking, and subtly shakes her head. I'm not sure if that's a “no” or if it's a “not now.” We don't know each other well enough for that yet. She can read me better than I can read her. Apparently, I'm a lot like Dad. Lora always said I was.

That was neither here nor there right now. We've got a dinner to make it through without accusing Alan of anything in front of Roy. I'm starting this night off with scotch. I don't drink very often. Alan knows this and gives me a curious look. I pointedly look at his rum and coke, daring him to continue to question my choice. Quorra and Roy both go for chocolate margaritas. I don't know how often Roy drinks, but I do know that Quorra has never had real alcohol before. I've got to limit her to just one to be safe.

“So, Alan has assured me that we're going to take things back to the way your father did it.” Roy gets into the real reason for being here. I wish I'd just ordered the pizza and told Alan to fuck off. “It's about time we got into clean energy instead of the big oil companies.”

Oh. Maybe this was going to go better than I thought. “You mean way past time. It's not stopping there. We're going to get back to game development. Hardware, too. All produced with solar or wind produced energy. I've read about an initiative in a couple places where they put up mini wind powered generators along the roads. They collect energy as cars go by and create a breeze. I think we can make that happen here. Maybe start on the freeway if we can get the permits. We can get a kick back from the power company for the excess production. Do you have any other suggestions we can work with?”

Roy is beaming. I know I've got him now. Right where I want him. Right where Alan wants him. Right where he'll be able to do everything he's dreamed of. Right where he can make a difference like he's been trying to for decades. “Have you read about the windows that act as solar pannels? You can still see through them just fine, though they're obviously tinted.”

I know what he wants. “We'll do it one floor a year so we don't over spend. Starting with the top floors, of course. What else?”

“Well, I...” Roy is stammering, flustered. If he were a woman, I'd find it cute. “I really didn't think I'd make it that far, honestly.”

Alan leans in and tapps his glass to Roy's. “What'd I say? Still think he's not ready to do this?”

“How does this happen over night?” Roy's asking both of us equally. “What kind of preacher did they put into the jail this year?”

I don't really think about how to say this at all. “Nah, Alan came over and pointed my nose at some of Dad's stuff again. I actually looked this time. It's time we got back to that. You in?”

“I'm your man, Mister Flynn.” Roy raises his glass again. “To making ENCOM human again.”

“Damn straight,” I raise mine. Alan and Quorra follow suit. We toast and drink. Quorra follows behind us a little, realizing it's a custom here a hair too late. “Everyone's going to be looked after, whether they work for us or not. If we can help, we will.”

“I do hope you follow through with that promise, kid.” Roy comments sincerely.

“He'll have you and me to steer him back on the right path if he gets off it,” Alan assures. “Like I said, he's already agreed. We're going to be more like partners than boss and employees. Like it was always supposed to be.”

“Look,” I lean forward, making my point a little more prominent. “I'm not Dad. I know mistakes can happen, and I know I can't fix them alone. I won't even pretend to try. I won't promise to be perfect. I'm not even going to pursue perfect. Perfect leaves a lot of people out in the cold. I just want to do better than what has been done since they pushed Alan down and kicked you out. As long as I'm around, I'll make sure you have the clearance and funding to do what needs to be done, as long as it doesn't bankrupt the company. Employees gotta get paid or there's no point in staying in business at all.”

Roy nodds deeply several times. I hope he will come to realize I mean every word of it. I'm not trying to manipulate him into anything he wouldn't want to do anyway. He's going to be nobody's ass kisser anymore. Alan, too. He's done a lot of ass kissing to keep both of us where we've been. It's not fair. I owe them both a lot more than I think I'm ever going to be able to pay back.

“What about you, Miss Quorra?” Roy asks her. “What's your role in all this?”

“I'm still very new to the area.” Quorra answeres, polite smile in place. “Sam and I have only met recently, but I believe in his mission to do better. I think we'll be seeing more of each other.”

That was a careful response delivered almost flawlessly. I'm impressed, but I know Roy will see it for the load of shit it really is. Alan definitely did, but that was for other reasons. It wasn't a lie, it just didn't really answer Roy's question. The one in the subtext she probably missed. I filled things in as best as I could with an actual lie. “Quorra's starting at CalTech next semester. I'm actually thinking about going back for a course in business management. I ran into her when she was applying for housing on my way out the door. We hit it off, so...”

Well, it didn't have to be a total lie. I really should go get a business management degree now. Quorra would need a fake identity to work with and some actual college education to go with it to help her out. I could get her signed up for any courses she wanted. Basics like home economics, cooking, and maybe some environmental stuff would be great for her. If anything ever did happen to me, she should be able to survive on her own. Alan might know what she was now, but he was getting up there in age. She could out live both of us for all I knew. She needs to be able to take care of herself eventually.

Finally, Alan realizes why we haven't had any service. Our markers are still red on top. He holds his up, and places it back down, green side up. Soon, the food is coming. I'm hungrier than I thought possible. And I want another drink.

We break away from talking about work related subjects and somehow end up talking about our pets. Roy's parrot has learned to turn on the radio herself. Alan's cat took an accidental swim in the fish tank the other day. Marvin took to Quorra right away. He even slept on her when she took a nap yesterday while I was at the office. She was in love with my dog, wanted to meet the parrot, and felt bad for the cat. Did she even know what a cat was?

Lora called. Alan put her on speaker so we could all talk to her. I'm not surprised that she told me off for BASE jumping off the tower. She was impressed with my upload of OS12, though. The news that ENCOM was shut down for a few days for restructuring was a bit of a shock to her. Roy tells her not to worry, that the three of us have it all under control. She can't wait to meet Quorra.

I don't want this dinner to ever end, but Alan's calling for the dessert menue after an hour. Lora's gone to bed. Roy's looking sleepy. Quorra's running out of half-truths to tell about herself, and I can't keep covering for her. Alan tries here and there, but it sometimes starts to conflict with something one of us has already said.

It doesn't help me feel any better that he's way better at lying for her and telling things that are closer to the truth than I am. How can he know that she's super good at martial arts, and an expert pilot, and a damn good rally car driver? I didn't tell him how she saved me. A glance at her reveals she's not as surprised as I am. Then again, she did hint that he's something more like she is. I've got to know what's going on there.

Alan doesn't try to steal a bite of my ice cream. Quorra does. I let her. Alan has the audacity to look heartrbroken even though he has his own ice cream. Quorra got cheesecake like Roy. She could have a bit of ice cream to try. One. Roy tries to steal a bite of Alan's ice cream when he wasn't looking. I'm about to laugh about it, but then Alan's spoon has Roy's pinned to the bowl so fast I can't even track the motion. I'm impessed. He never looked. I've got some catching up to do to get that good. Quorra steals her second bite of my dessert. Alan's watching me and smirking about it as I make a face at Quorra. She's all smiles for a split second before she realizez that Alan's still holding Roy's spoon in place and making a point of it. Roy gives up and grabbs his dinner fork to finish eating his cheesecake.

Something about that makes Quorra unsettled. I don't get it. Fighting over dessert is a normal thing at the Bradley house. I'm usually the looser, and Alan's usually the winner. Lora chastized us for it all the time. Mac joined in. Gram just guarded hers more closely and sat closer to Lora. Dad... I don't really remember how he was about it. I think he used to just laugh and give me some of his if I lost too much. Maybe? Clearly he didn't teach Quorra our bad habits.

Somehow, the topic of books gets brought up. Quorra's making a mental list of all the titles and authors Roy's throwing out there that his wife, Casey has read. She tells him all the stories from the books so he doesn't ever read them himself. Casey's autistic, and her biggest “special interest” is reading fantasy and science fiction. She even makes up stories in her head about missing scenes and writes them out herself. She's never going to write an original story, but that doesn't stop her from putting her heart into it anyway. I think I might have even read some of it at one point or another. Of course, Roy doesn't out right say the words. He still thinks it's taboo to be neurodivergent. He won't even admit that he's probably just like her. I'm not about to comment on it.

But I do think about it. Programs, from what little I know of them at this point from actual observation, do act autistic. They're literal thinkers. They have a strong sense of right and wrong and try to follow it to the letter even if it conflicts with what everyone else sees as right or wrong. They learn something one way, and it's all their minds can work with until absolutely proven otherwise. That's probably what Clu's problem was. He was made to create a perfect system. He did it to the best of his ability with his limited understanding of what Dad meant as perfect. Even when it literally blew up in his face, he didn't understand. In the last couple of days, Quorra's shown strong aversions to certain textures and sounds just as much as she's shown an extreme love of others. Smells and tastes are yet to be determined, but she was really quick to spit out a bite of fried banana and use her drink to get rid of the residue it left behind. I really worried she might puke at one point.

Alan's car pulls up third in line behind Roy's when we leave ten minutes later. When we get in, he comments something I'm definitely not expecting to come out of his mouth. “I know what you were thinking when he mentioned Casey. Most Programs are like that. A lot of us are, too.”

“Like what?” Quorra asks in time with me.

“You know... Programs are meant to be go getters, doers, and please their Users.” Alan continues. “They're not made to be flexible in interpretations of the input we give them. It's always step by step or if-then protocols if they're good enough to extrapolate for variances from planned interactions. The more ifs they encounter, the more thens they can attempt until they complete their task. They don't understand things subjectively, only objectively. They just... can't.”

“Some can.” Quorra's definitely right to disagree. She's formed several likes and dislikes already. I know she likes to watch the sunrise and sunset. I know she likes the water. I know she likes Marvin. She hates asparagus, using the bathroom, and the face she made when she got some dryer lint in her mouth yesterday was pricelessly “NO!”

“Yes, but they...” Alan seems to cut himself off and reform his statement. “The man who founded ENCOM, Walter Gibbs, my uncle, he said that the Programs we work the hardest on get part of our spirit in them. He said we impart part of our souls into our best, most dedicated work. Lora, Roy, Flynn, and I, we... we believed him to a degree. We even played with each other's Programs a bit, without telling whose was whose. After using them for a while, we met back up and gave our opinions of who wrote which one based on how it functioned for us. Lora's had the most interesting interpretations of whatever data I fed it. Roy's came back with probabilities I double checked five times over and couldn't fault. Flynn's just... well... he just kept trying to mine information from the rest of my computer. I should have figured he'd make something like that. He gave us the program he'd written to try and hack into Dillinger's files. Tron was all over it like flies on shit, but the little thing kept finding ways around my firewalls... I guess that taught me how to make the re-write even better after the fire in '84 for the new system. I hated your dad for it at the time, but I'm grateful now.”

I can't help but laugh. It's part joy and part sadness. Dad would have loved to hear that he had been involved in making a better Tron by being a pest to Alan. I don't know how much of that makes any sense to Quorra. I can't see her from my spot up front.

“If given enough time,” Quorra says, “programs can learn from one another. They can grow to be more than they were intended to be.”

“Yeah, we found that out the hard way once.” Alan tells her. “I don't know how much you know about ENCOM, but we had an A.I. long before most of the world ever thought of it. I hated it. It kept trying to mess with us, and Dillinger let it do its own thing so much it actually believed it was better than us. We were feeding it more and more tools and information just by trying to do our jobs.”

“When you lost contact with Tron, Lora Prime took you and Flynn back to ENCOM to end the MCP's stranglehold on the system.” Quorra says. “I remember where I heard of Ram now. Flynn told me about the first time he came into one of our worlds. Roy wrote him? Flynn was always sad that he never was remade.”

Alan's foot is on the breaks hard as he jerks us into an empty parking spot on the side of the road. I damn near hit the dash board even with the seatbelt on. Shit! “Whoa, Alan! What the hell?”

He's never done that with me before. Well, there were a couple times he pulled out some driving skills I didn't expect, but those were to avoid getting into a crash or that one time Lora had food poisoning and we all thought she was dying or something. He's got the car in park, seatbelt off, and it turned around to look straight at her before I can catch my breath.

“You knew him?” Alan's question is more of an accusation than curiosity.

It hits me what she said. I'm still reeling from the parking job, but I've got a whole new reason to panic now. He wasn't supposed to know that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I've got to really pull hard to make him get back in his seat. “Alan, back off. She can and will kick you right in the face if you threaten her.”

Yeah. She would. I saw her do it to Rinzler. I know she probably knew Rinzler was Tron. If Clu looked just like Dad, then Tron probably looked just like Alan used to. There's a really high chance she's already put those pieces together. If she just reacts instead of thinking, he's going to get kicked, too. That's the last thing I need right now, Alan with a broken nose and a Program who thinks she's fighting for her life when she's really just assaulted an old man that misses his friend...

“You are a Program.” Alan leans back of his own volition. I wasn't able to move him at all. I should have been able to pull him back without threatening to tear my stitches. “I was right.”

Well, there's no getting out of this now. “What tipped you off?”

“Dust.”

“D... dust?”

0000000000000000000000000000000000

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Alan POV

Just a scar somewhere down inside of me

Something I can not repair

Even though it will always be

I pretend it isn't there (this is how I feel)

I'm trapped in yesterday (just a memory)

Where the pain is all I know (this is all I know)

-Lost

--Linkin Park

“Oh, and... you were right.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

Everything being what? I've got maybe about four hours of sleep to work with here. What is Sam talking about? He's not even going to clarify. Not one little bit. Maybe he knows I can't process it right now. Maybe he's still upset with me for last night. I can't blame him for being mad about me letting myself in unannounced.

Did he just say I was chairman again? What brought this on?

And he's walking away. I figure he's just going outside to take a look at the sign, and he does, but then he moves off and starts up his dad's old bike. Something's seriously off with him. I'm betting he got less sleep than I did. I'm going to leave him alone for a few hours, let him sleep on it. He's going to change his mind. I hope he gets home alright and that girl can keep him awake long enough to make it to bed.

But what could have changed his mind like this? I can't stop these questions from coming. Forget sleep. I need to know what got into Sam's head. The best way to do that is to retrace his steps. There's a year's worth of dust built up on the floor. I can see all our prints if I squint. This place was always dusty. The building was old even before the arcade was new.

I didn't make it more than half way in earlier. My prints are the biggest. Sam's are only a half size smaller than mine. The woman's shoes were pretty slick, barely a line of tread on them. I can't tell much at the door itself, but I can follow Sam's prints through the back room and upstairs. Looks like he did little more than stand in the door before turning around, so I do the same.

Getting back to where my prints stop overlapping his means going back to the center isle of game cabinets again. There's three sets of prints going back to the Tron game on the far wall. Two of them are Sam's. One towards it, and one coming away from it. The woman's prints are only walking away from it. That's not right at all. Actually, I'm seeing her prints only coming from that game.

Since the moment I decided to investigate the footprints in the dust, I've been careful about where I've stepped. I even made sure to follow my own tracks as much as possible to avoid disturbing anything else. Mine and Sam's are the most prevelant. Hers only lead from the game to the front door.

What am I not seeing? Maybe she made a circle of the games or something, and I just missed it. I walk over to the Tron game and check for other prints leading to it. There aren't any. In fact, there's a lot of traffic to the left of the cabinet, more than in front of it. And... are those scratch marks in the floor? They're definitely not regular wear and tear from shoes.

It looks like they must have moved the game box to the side to try and do something with the neon sign's wiring. It's needed help for a while. Pushing it aside to see if they made any headway with it themselves, or if a mouse had chewed through something and made it all moot, I get a bit of a surprise.

A small, hefty door is behind the game cabinet. How the hell did I not know about this?

One of Sam's footprints is cut off by the door. He went inside. The woman's can only be seen coming away from it, barely distinguishable by being slightly to the side of Sam's. Okay... Here goes nothing. Heh, Walter would have had something to say about that idiom. I'm going to do it. I've got to see what's behind this door. It's the only other place Sam's tracks lead, and it's really the only location the woman's trace from. This must be some secret back entrance from another store on this floor or something.

I'm going to do it. It's probably dark in there, but my phone has a flashlight. I've got my pager in my hand, still. To hell with that, I'm putting it in my pocket and getting my phone out. I can do this. I can check out Kevin Flynn's secret back room or hallway or whatever this is.

My hand grips the door handle and freezes. Damn it.

I'm not scared of the dark. I'm scared I'm going to find a body in there. I know Sam's not a murderer or anything, but that doesn't mean there isn't a body to be found... Kevin's...

Well, based on the breeze I can feel, if there was a body, I'd already have smelled it years ago. Somebody would have. Nothing stinks like what I've heard rotting human smells like. It does stink, but only of mold and mildew. I can do this.

I have to be quick, though. Mold can be a killer for people like me. My lungs have been scarred for decades now. It's not bad, but it's bad enough. I was lucky to be younger when the fire... No, I don't want to think about that. I want to go find out what Sam saw and where this woman came from.

Satisfied I'm not going to find a rotting corpse behind the door, I open it and use my phone's flashlight to find a set of stairs leading down. Okay. Creepy basement entrance it is. I don't even bother looking for footprints again until I'm at the bottom. Nothing to my right. The door on my left has been disturbed. Sam's prints lead in and out again. The woman's only lead out.

Maybe he heard something down here and found her breaking in or something. But through an elecrrical room? Why not? I've heard of people breaking into convenience stores through the ceiling and getting stuck. Idiots.

The room isn't walls of breaker pannels for the building like I expect. It looks like a storage space until I get the lights on. To the left, there's a futon and an electric blanket half hanging off it. Shelves full of stuff at the back wall, and racks of computer towers from the eighties all hooked up to a desk against the right hand wall. There's a lot of dust in the air, like a bunch of it was recently kicked up. There's a cork board full of pictures, drawings of buildings, and some kind of map growing mold. The map is labled “The Grid.”

Oh. Oh, damn...

Kevin always did talk about it like it was real for him. Jordan, Lora, and I always figured he was creating a super complex game that the world just wasn't ready for yet. Roy always ate up his stories and gave him feedback about it to make it go down easier for Sam's young mind. I bet he told his daughter all the stories Kevin told Sam. Maybe, if I had a kid of my own, I would have done the same. I don't know. What I do know is that Kevin wasn't joking about the size of it. That map looked like an entire city and more.

Walking closer, I see that the glass top of the desk has been partially cleared off in the middle and one of the tall sides that rises above the main work space. That's got an open panel on it. This wasn't some kind of art deco desk. It's a computer. All those other towers? Did his game really need that much extra memory? The man was probably designing something of an open world concept like the games you'd find these days! Damn!

Curiosity gets the better of me. I forget to look for where that woman came in from in favor of finding the power switch to the way-before-its-time touch screen computerized desk and power it up. I probably should have checked the fans for dust or mice or something, but I think Sam probably already had that covered before he touched it. Or, the woman touched it. I don't know. I'll find out later.

I'm sitting at the desk waiting for it to turn on when I grumble softly about how long it was taking to power up. Apparently, all the other towers in the shelves needed to turn on, too. How did we ever get anything done on a computer back then? I could almost hand write faster than this. The log-in screen comes up in green text at long last.

There's a drop box to select a user name already saved. Of course, it can only be Flynn, but I click on it just to see. I'm wrong. There's flynn, flynn2, and Quorra. So, flynn2 had to be Sam, and Quorra had to be that woman I saw. Last log in date for flynn is twenty years, four days, ten hours, thirty six minutes, and... yeah, the seconds are still climbing. Wow. That's super precise. That's the night after he came over to my house sounding like a really crazy person. It took me forever to get him to calm the hell down and go home. User flynn2 logged out about an hour ago. So did User Quorra. There's no previous log in for Quorra. That's strange. You can't log out of these things without first being logged in.

I don't have enough remaining memories of Kevin's old passwords, the ones he bothered to share with me when he left ENCOM to write that book, to try and log in as him. Sam hasn't told me his passwords since he was fifteen and discovered porn. I managed to do it a couple times anyway, to check up on him, but he's since made his passwords so off the wall I won't even try it. So, I make myself a Guest account to start with. I may not be able to see all the files right away, but I can chip away at it and pull some information with enough time later. I do still need to get back home, shower, put on some proper clothes, and get to ENCOM in the next three and a half hours. I'm going to see what I can see as a Guest to start with.

There's not much to look at in the main menu. There's a clock running faster than anything I've ever seen. One minute is almost an hour according to it. I've got a list of programs that I can view, but not use. That might be helpful. Opening that, I start scanning for anything that might remotely sound like something Kevin talked about often enough to stand out. I find one towards the top. Clu 2.0. It's labled as deactivated. Okay... I keep going down the list. There's a tag beside a lot of the programs that says (I.A). All of those say deactivated until I get to one labled Quorra (I.A.) Successful Transfer and Log Out.

Since when do programs log out? Why would a username be in a programs list like this? I know Kevin was more organized and specific about everything. Everything in his life might have been messy, but his work spaces were always set up perfectly. I'm going to come back and view that one later for sure. I keep going down the list. What the hell kind of name is Rinzler? Whatever.

Then, I see Tron. It's active for just a second before it hits standby mode.

I can't help but click on it. The window that opens shows a lot of gutted code, but I can recognize what's left as my own work. My old username, Alan One, is signed at the end.

Kevin lied to me. The Tron that was meant to be installed in the replacement systems wasn't lost after all. He'd stolen it for himself! How could he do this to me? I would have wrote him a special version for himself if he'd just asked!

Oh, I'm definitely coming back to break past the security on this thing properly tonight...

I back out of my old program and keep scanning down the list. There's a few more names that stick out here and there, but nothing too significant. I guess I have time to graze over the applications list. They come up in order of most recently active on top.

Laser control?

Was he making his own laser scanner, a printer, or something else? I tap on the application. What? Why is it asking if the apperature is clear? I didn't see a laser of any kind, but I do hear something behind me start to warm up louder than the computer towers. I check no. No, I don't really know where it is, where it's pointed, or what it's for, and I don't want to find out by starting a fire down here. The humming winds down, and I'm able to take a deep breath I didn't know I was even holding.

Dust clogs my lungs a bit and sends me into a coughing fit. I'm coughing so hard, I think I might puke. Best not to puke on a touch screen. Who knows what that might open up next? I don't want to find out, so I turn to face the middle of the room, still hacking. That's when I see it.

There's one thing in this room that's far less dusty and moldy than the rest.

I found the laser. It's not just any laser. It's the laser! That's what Lora was working on when she talked me (dragged me along, more like) into coming here the very first time. I might not have seen it in almost thirty years, but there's no mistaking it. Lora loved that thing like it was her baby before it was destroyed in the fire like Tron supposedly was. Kevin, you jerk!

If I didn't already know Lora was at work and elbows deep into some top secret project I'll probably never hear about because it's classified to highly, I'd have her on the phone right this second. She deserves to know. I doubt Sam knew to tell her.

Speaking of... the laser was the last activated “application” on the list.

Lora and Walter had made this thing to... digitize real world objects. It was successful at that, but never put anything back out again before we lost it. Did Kevin really think he could do it better? Or, was he just using it to put objects into his game without doing the work of actually writing them into the code itself?

That would make sense. He could get things done faster if all he had to do was scan things in. I'm starting to wonder what else he took when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It's a text message from Sam asking if I've made it home yet.

Since when does Sam care where I am as long as it's not inside his place uninvited?

Just checking on some things around the arcade for a bit. I'm leaving in a moment. I can't tell him that I've been snooping like this. Not yet, anyway. There's a lot of puzzle pieces to put together here, and I know Sam's going to come clean eventually. I may have to catch him in the act to get him to speak, but it will happen.

Sam's reply is a bold faced lie. I already checked over everything and made a list of stuff to fix for next week. Go home and get something to eat. I'm going to pass out for a couple hours. See you at 0800.

If he had checked over everything, on his own, there wouldn't be so much dust on the plastic coverings. Taking the covers off and inspecting the games and vending machines and stocking and all that jazz was my job. That's why I keep the keys. Sam hadn't touched anything other than the Tron case to get down here and mess with Lora's old laser.

I'm going to grill him about this later. Right now, though, I have to admit that he's right. I still need to eat, shower, change, feed the cat, and get to work.

Look out MacKee. Here comes the real boss!

It's 0823 when I finally manage to get to the parking deck. I didn't mean to doze off at the kitchen table, but it happened anyway. I wish Sam had called for this to happen tomorrow instead. I could have had more time to look over that basement room and get some real sleep.

Looks like I'm not the only one coming in late. Sam's parking a few spaces down and a little slow to actually get off the Ducati. I think he tried to sleep on the couch again. That or the woman I saw earlier is a terrible bed partner. I'm glad mine is just a tiny furball who likes to curl up at my head and purr instead. I love Lora, but her feet are always ice cold and she snores a little.

“What happened to eight o'clock?” I tease, walking towards him and the elevator alike.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Sam smiles at me, but it seems off. He's acting like he's happy, but there's something else behind it. He's hurting.

This time of year always hits both of us pretty hard. We play it up for the crowd at the arcade on the anniversary of Kevin officially being declared dead. We even pretend to be getting along for them even if we were just fighting minutes before the doors open. I wonder if Sam knows that's how Kevin and I were all the time way back when. Kevin always wanted me to follow him into his dream world, and I wanted him grounded in reality for a few hours a day. Sam wants to run away from responsibilities that Kevin left behind, and I want him to get his ass in here and fix things. Now that he's actually doing it, I don't really know how to act.

“You're sure you're up for this?” I'm asking him even as he's already pressing the call button for the elevator for us. “Don't want to put it off for tomorrow?”

“Look... I know I said I'd be here at eight and I'm already off to a bad start by coming late,” Sam actually looks right in my eyes. He's made up his mind. “It's been twenty years, Al. I'm done being a disappointment to my father, to you and Lora... It's time to turn things around from the inside. Putting OS12 on the web was probably not a good idea after all. A lot of people are panicking and the wrong guys are getting the blame.”

I know who he's talking about. Before I go back to that basement, I need to pay Roy a visit. The board and the police will definitely try to pin this on the Flynn Lives movement even if it's been dying off the last five years or so. “What are you going to do about it?”

The elevator dings and the doors open right away. That's a good sign in my book. I wait for Sam to get in with me before pushing the button for the ground floor. Sam's going to have to get a visitor's pass while I check in. Even if he owned half the shares, he didn't have a badge to access anything. The cafeteria didn't even take cash or cards anymore. It was for employees, and meal prices came out of our pay, purchased with a swipe of our badges. Visitors were afforded a small stipend per day, enough for lunch and something from a vending machine, the amount pre-loaded into their day badge.

“That's mostly going to be up to you.” Sam surprises me with that one. “You pick who stays and who goes. We'll work out a plan from there.”

“I need some sort of direction to pitch to the new board when we get it together, Sam.”

“Okay... uh...” He's fidgeting a little as he thinks. Not unusual. I've put him on the spot. He's gotten better and hiding the squirming over the years, but it's like he's regressed to a teen again all of a sudden. “What was one thing Dad really wanted to make happen that he got blocked on? The biggest thing.”

That's easy to answer. “Clean energy. He wanted us to pull out of fossil fuels before there was really an alternative to invest in.”

“Then let's do that.” Sam nodds more to himself than to me, arms crossed as he realizes it's the only way to keep his hands still. “Focus on a better future for everyone, not just our pockets.”

I could kiss the kid's cheek if he wasn't a full grown man who would probably punch me for it. Instead, I settle for a side hug so tight he winces a bit. I'm cringing out an apology. “Sorry. I forgot about the bruises.”

“Yep. They still hurt.” Sam returns my affection with a pat on my hand on his shoulder while we're walking out of the elevator to the front desk.

I'm surprised to see Susan Richards is coming in late, too. She's only just glanced at me, arguing with someone on her phone when she stopps dead in her tracks. Her phone's on the floor, but the rest of her is absolutely still. She's so startled that her expression hasn't even changed that much. I'd be lying if I said my smile wasn't smug and full of promises to continue ruining her day.

Sam and I both come to a stop right in front of her. I bid her “good morning.”

Sam squats down and gets her phone back in her hand. “Oof. That's brand new. You should take better care of your phone. You're gonna need it to get a new job.”

Well, that was fast. I thought he was letting me make the cuts? Then again, I've told him how much I don't appreciate that woman over the years. She's the reason I don't make it to a lot of board meetings, conveniently leaving me out of group messages. I had to play a little trick on her phone to make sure I got them at all last year. She bought a new phone three weeks ago when she figured it out. Now it was cracked. Serves her right.

She's smiling from sheer nerves alone. “You can't just-”

“Except that I am.” Sam cuts her off straight away. The smile slips from her face onto his. “The whole board is under review for possible termination or promotion, and it's a no brainer with you. You've got three hours to clear out. Tell anybody else who doesn't want to work under Alan to do the same. That will be all, Mis Richards.”

She's standing there working her mouth, but no words are coming. It's great, but we need to get moving again. “That's your cue to go, Susan. Better hurry before your badge doesn't even let you use the elevators.”

Speaking of, Sam's already taking over the front desk's computer suite. I step around Susan and the desk to see what he's up to. He's gotten into the employee log and highlighted all the board members except for me.

He's stipping them of access to all computer terminals and the cafeteria. I like that he's getting a move on to make sure they don't fuck with anything, but I'm not sure denying them their coffee this early is really nessescary.

The next thing he does is activate a blank badge for master access to everything. No. Actually, it's two of them. He's sliding one into his pocket just before taking mine off my shirt and replacing the old one and wiping it on the magnet used to deactivate visitor passes when they're turned in. Yeah, I don't want anybody getting my old badge either. He's really going through with this. Fast.

I'm not about to complain. As much as I don't want to be the guy in charge of everything on the day to day business, it's smart of him to only trust one other person with the keys to the kingdom. It's surprising that he trusts anybody, even me, but smart. Always have a reliable back up of everything. What really gets me is that he's used his dad's old log-in to make it happen. I thought that got wiped from the servers a long time ago. It's good to be wrong sometimes. How did he even learn the username and password?

Maybe I overlooked it in the basement earlier. Maybe he pocketed it before I saw anything. I didn't take Kevin for the type to leave something like that laying around, but how much did I really know about him anymore? All I actually have left of him is twenty years of degreaded memories. Roy has the rest.

“I know it's a dick move to just lock everybody out like that, but, considering the circumstances...” Sam's words trail off. He knows I will understand. “Think the message is appropriate?”

“Message?” I look at the computer screen again. He's left it open for me to look. I both light up with a little laugh and feel a little bit of a rock sink in my stomach at the same time when I read it. Not many people would get the significance. “Group One Access Suspended. Report to Bradley and Flynn in Boardroom for further instruction. End of line... Oh my God, Sam!”

I actually have to take the empty seat in front of the monitor and read it a couple more times before I can stop laughing. I'm scared I'm going to cry with how hard I'm laughing. We've definitely got an audience now. I don't think anyone here has heard me laugh in over a decade. Susan's still standing there looking shell shocked. She'll get it soon enough. She was around early enough to know about the MCP and Dillinger.

Oh, God. Junior's going to get that message! Poor kid. It's still hilarious. I just wish it was Senior getting it instead.

“Breathe, Alan.” Sam's patting my shoulder to try and calm me down. I must be turning colors. He reaches over and logs out of the terminal, erasing the message. “There. Now you don't have to look at it. Better?”

What would be better would be to see their faces when they get the message. I'm adding “go over security footage” to my list of things to do later as I catch my breath. “Yeah. I'm good. Let's go.”

A day later, I'm leaving Roy Kleinburg's house and feeling even better. Dillinger Junior is sticking around, and I'm definitely going to be watching him like a hawk, but Roy's agreed to come back. I'm sure he'll do his own snooping on Junior, too. If the kid is worth his salt, he'll know what we're up to. He might quit. He might not. I don't actually care either way except that, if he quits, he might go work for his father. I'm going to have to tell Roy to take it easy on him at first. Give the guy a long leash.

It's time I find out what Sam actually knows that I don't. Besides, Roy wants to have an actual dinner with the new boss. I could hear the microwave humming inside before I even called Sam to make sure it was safe to enter this time.

There's something off about Quorra. I notice it the moment I get my second look at her. She's very fair skinned. Her eyes are a little too big. Her hesitation and strange way of greeting me. The way Sam talks to her almost like she's a child... Then I have her hand in mine. I can feel something electric there, like there's a bit of static that shouldn't be considering it's humid right now. I've only seen her once before, while she's riding away with Sam from the Arcade. She looks at me like she knows something Sam doesn't.

I've encountered this before. Sam doesn't know. Only Lora does. I can't talk about it right now, but I know why her footprints only led out now. She's a Program.

She might just recognize me. Kevin did have Tron on that computer after all. At least she's got the good graces to keep her mouth shut all the way through dinner. I'm actually starting to doubt my ideas about her half way through dinner. She's practiced with utensiles and doesn't seem at all confused by most of it. Sam's sharing a knowing glance with her a few times when he's talking to Roy. There's a double meaning going on that I want to dig into later.

My list of things to look into later is getting bigger and bigger. I wonder if Lora can get back home any time soon. I'm going to need a second set of eyes and ears on everything that isn't trying to hide things from me.

I'm testing the waters again on the ride home, just talking about well known facts about how programs work. I let a little anthropomorphism slip in on accident when I say they want to please their users. I hope Sam didn't catch that. This test isn't for him. It's for her.

“When you lost contact with Tron, Lora Prime took you and Flynn back to ENCOM to end the MCP's stranglehold on the system.” Quorra says. “I remember where I heard of Ram now. Flynn told me about the first time he came into one of our worlds. Roy wrote him? Flynn was always sad that he never was remade.”

My foot's on the breaks, and I'm finding the closest parking spot possible. Thank goodness it's late and most of the stores and businesses are closed, or I'd have a harder time finding a safe place to pull off. She was done pretending, and so am I.

“You knew him?” My question's a bit more accusitory than it could have been, but I don't care. I expected a Program. I didn't expect her to have actually known Kevin.

Sam's trying to pull me back, but I won't budge on this. “Alan, back off. She can and will kick you right in the face if you threaten her.”

“You are a Program.” I ease back into my seat a little to make Sam feel better. She's clearly too shocked to bother trying anything. “I was right.”

Sam's voice is high pitched, nervous. “What tipped you off?”

“Dust.” I tell him flatly.

He doesn't get it. Neither does she by the looks of things, but she's too busy trying to be subtle about getting out of the car. No luck for her. She doesn't know how to unlock it.

“Sam, I think it's time you two tell me exactly what happened. Is he alive?”

“I've got a better question first.” Sam's still not going to spill it. “How come Quorra think's you're a Program? Is she right?”

I've got to avoid that question. It's more complicated than he can understand. “I asked first.”

We spend another hour in the car, in the rain, having a very stiff conversation about The Grid. I feel like such a fool. I should have figured it out sooner. I should have found that room a long time ago. I could have gotten him home. We could have fixed things from this side. Quorra might not have lost everything and everyone she knew and loved.

Sam would have had his dad. Lora and I would have had Kevin. We could have still been...

I missed him by a day!

Kevin tried to tell me. I just couldn't bring myself to find out first hand.

I've been inside a computer before. He took me into ENCOM's system just before the fire. I never went back. The laser was moved and lost. I thought Kevin was just working on things from the outside after that. We almost died in there only to get out and almost die in the office. We had Lora and Jordan and baby Sam to think about. Now, I find out that one of his own Programs turned on him, turned almost everyone in that system against him. He died right there, in reach the whole time, if only I had looked harder.

“Your turn.” Sam says after a moment of quiet.

I'm too busy hating myself and wondering how I'm going to tell Lora to hear him. Quorra kicks the back of my chair the way Sam warned me she would.

“Talk, Program!” She yells at me, snapping me out of it.

“I'm not a Program.” I'm doing my best not to literally growl the words at her. “Not anymore.”

Chapter Text

Sam POV

So, the way Alan tells it, and Lora confirmed as much as she could, Dad fucked up and told them the truth about how he got the dirt on Edward Dillinger Senior. They thought he was crazy, so he decided to prove it by taking Alan into ENCOM's system “accidentally.” He figured if he could get Alan to believe him, then he wouldn't end up in a psychiactric hospital for the rest of his life. It worked.

The problem was, somebody slipped in a trojan or something from one of the computer terminals that messed with the building's wiring. There were a lot of fires that started up all over the building all at once. Dad and Alan were still inside the system.

Employee computers got fried, too, and, eventually, it was noticable in the system. Blackouts and fires sprang up everywhere. They made a run for the nearest I/O tower that was still working. It went dark before they could get to it. Several of them went down before they could get out. Yori, Lora's Program, got them a transport together in a hurry and aimed it at a farther I/O tower than they could make on foot. Yori didn't make it off the transport.

Alan, Tron, and Dad had no choice but to run or die just like she did. Tron would have stayed behind and just let himself end the way everything else was, but Dad and Alan needed him to keep going. So, he ran with them, watching their backs. When they made it to a working I/O tower, it started to break apart. The tower guardian, Dumont, just like the name on one of the containers that make up my home, fought hard to keep it together long enough to get them out.

To get Dad and Alan out. They were both pretty beat up. Tron had to shove Alan out of the way of some big piece of crumbling tower debris. He wasn't quite fast enough, though, and Alan ended up protecting Tron instead. He gave Tron his disc even as he bled to death on top of him. He made Tron promise to take care of Dad, Lora, me, and Mom. Dad pulled him out of there, thinking he was Alan. Dumont even thought he was Alan when they got to the guardian.

They ended up in the hospital after Lora and Roy pulled them out of the burning building in the real world. Dad was released a day later. He, however, took a bit longer thanks to a concussion and some internal bleeding. He wasn't Alan, but he had all of Alan's memories. He wasn't Tron, but he knew all about being Tron.

He was... both now.

Blood tests confirmed that he had some strange antibodies and a few other annomalies the medical community couldn't quite comprehend yet. They didn't seem to be doing him any harm, so they let him go home with Lora.

She stayed for a whole year while he sorted himself out. He tried to be Alan all the time, knowing that's what he was supposed to do, but he kept slipping up. Lora figured it out first. She helped him adjust. Dad never really found out. He thought Tron was burned up in the fire just like the others. If it killed him to think that, nobody wanted to imagine how much it would hurt him to find out that Alan was Tron. Or was Tron actually Alan?

Alan never could figure out who saved who. If he had given Tron a second chance, or if Tron had derezzed on him and somehow re-integrated that way. The memories of the exact event were all a blur to him.

So, yes, he was a User by all accounts, and, yes, he had all the markers of a Program of ENCOM. He made it work, somehow. Lora made it work... somehow.

Lora might not have had her Alan, but she did have an Alan. Tron didn't have Yori, but he did have her creator's care. From what I could tell, their affection for one another now is real now.

Somehow, even after hearing that, I keep having a hard time remembering that Alan probably has a better idea of how things work in here than I do. I've only been once, but he's... Well... It's been a really long time for him.

The moment we got inside, we're trapped. The door is crunched. Something upset the building and caused a partial collapse. I have an idea of what might have done it, but I don't want to think about that. Dad started building this place with his bare hands from what Quorra said. He told her that it was once flat, smooth, nothingness except for a clear, dark sky and hard black ground with a grid of lights embedded into it. He did a lot of work from the outside, but he brought the blue prints for Tron City in with him to hand over to Programs to do most of the actual work. Anything a Program could do in here, a User could do and more.

I've seen how to pull up an interface just one time. When we were falling at a gazillion miles an hour trapped in an elevator and I was busy trying to figure out if Quorra was going to make it or not. Dad put his hand to the pannel, then dragged it away to the glass to activate the breaks. If we're going to get out of here, I need to figure out if I can do the same thing with the busted door. The arcade is an entrance only. I can't get word out to Quorra and Lora from here.

“If you touch it, you should be able to feel what you need.” Alan tells me calmly. It's like he's reading my mind again, and I don't like it.

But, I need it. I need whatever in-world knowledge he has to make this work. So, I touch the door's center. It just feels like a metal door that's bent all out of whack. “Why don't you do it?”

“Because you need to learn.” Alan's response isn't sarcastic or holding any malice. He's teaching. He's teaching me things Dad should have, just like when he taught me to ride a motorcycle. “When you touch it, don't just touch it. Command it. Tell it what you want it to do, feel it.”

I put my hand on the door again. I'm really trying here. “Open up.”

Alan sighs, leaning on the desk. “Sam... remember those new age books your ex girlfriend got into? Amy? She had one on telekenisis. You tried reading it. Well, so did I. It's kinda like that. You have to get in there and really feel the object. It's not as solid as it looks, and neither are you.”

Great. Not.

I try again anyway. I feel stupid for doing this. I'd be better off if I just grabbed my disc and cut us a hole. Mom would be disappointed, I think. Turns out, from the notes we found, she designed the buildings and the city's initial layout. There were changes to her plans, but it was still mostly hers. I don't remember her, just her grave. Still, I think she'd be upset if I hacked at her designs with a disc. I would be if I was her. I would be if I was Dad, too.

I just need to make a viable exit. I just need a safe way to get out of this room. A regular door or whatever. That's all I want.

And my hand's now inside the door. It still feels solid, but I can move? Okay. Creepy, but I'll take it. Now, fix yourself, damn it. Become a door that has hinges and a handle and work like a door should. Get a little smaller if you have to.

It does.

“Whoa!” I get my hand out before it gets trapped there. I'm too excited to keep my cool.

I mean, really though. How cool is this? I'm inside a computer making real time changes to the world around me, and I've got Tron applauding me for it! Not Tron. Alan. Both? Both makes it that much cooler, honestly. Yeah, I'm mad at him (them?) for hiding everything he knows for so long. Yeah, I was pretty much planning on keeping things secret from him, too. I am the one who asked him for full disclosure, though. I did promise to give it in return. It happened in backwards order, but who cares? My godfather is freaking awesome in both worlds, and I've finally got his approval for the first time in years.

Now that there really is a way out, though, I'm worried again. Alan's still very much an old man. He doesn't have a disc, and I don't know how to get him one without getting us arrested. That's how I got mine, after all. That's even how Dad got his first one. We can't stick around long, and I'm the only real protection Alan has. I probably suck at being a body guard.

Hang on. If he was in the ENCOM system, why doesn't he have a disc already? Or does he? “Hey, Al, let me see your back real quick.”

“It's hidden, Sam, just like my lightlines.” He already knows. “Remember what Quorra said. We don't need people freaking out.”

“Yeah, but not having anything might make them look even more.” I worry about this.

“I'm just a stray you've picked up and shown kindness to. You're just a run of the mill Program. We're going to be alright.”

As things would turn out, Alan's not the only one missing a disc or with a significant lack of lightlines walking around outside. There's a handful of Programs who do have discs and lightlines pushing around carts of containers and handing them out to the ones who are so low on energy they're leaned up against safer structures than this one just to try and keep themselves going for a moment longer. Nobody's paying us any real attention. Alan's moving under his own power, so he doesn't look needy enough for the Programs with containers to bother.

“This is why you don't unplug a computer without a battery, Sam.” Alan's talking to me quietly as we pass through. “Shutting it off is one thing, but unplugging it for more than a couple minutes leaves them with no resources. Eventually, the leftover power is all gone. They'll starve. It won't kill them, but it's still a kind of death. It hurts.”

I wish I didn't have to learn that lesson like this.

A male Program that's been hassling others comes up to us, holding his disc out with a paused memory on display. He's begging anyone for information on where he can find the female in the picture. Alan keeps me between him and this guy as I explain that we don't know her and try to move on. This guy has the nerve to grab me and tell me to look again. “Please! She's alive! I know it! I can still feel it!”

“Go get some energy and rest for a moment, Program,” Alan tells him more gently than I can. “You're looking a little low. Won't be any good to her like this, will you?”

It's like a light goes on in the guy's brain. If he had one. He's moving around me to get a better look at Alan. “T... Tron?”

And he's been recognized just like that. I wish he'd kept his mouth shut. I move between them again. “Hey, man, we all wish he was here right now. My friend is right, though. You're tired. Rest up before you keep looking. Come on, Al, we gotta get going.”

We're a few more streets down when I start to hear the whispers. News travels fast. Of course, having the portal light up again would tell everyone we were here. But, the whispers aren't asking where the User is. They're more like “Hey... that's the User from before!” and “Wasn't that the User at the club? Castor said he was the son of Flynn!” The worst one was “Oh, no... Rinzler caught Sam Flynn. We're done for now.”

There's no way Alan isn't hearing all this. We got the looksee we came for. Time to find a ride out of here before someone tries something. Maybe I should have thought about that before we actually got here.

Alan's pulled me aside to a terminal on the wall of another enormous skyscrapper. He seems to have an idea about what he's doing with it. Of course, he's got the same idea I do. What better place to get some wheels fast than a repair shop? I didn't even think they had those here. Alan just gives me that knowing smirk again and takes the lead. I'm not about to argue.

“Shop's closed,” a Program declairs as we walk inside, “even for you.”

“Are you really going to say no to a User?” Alan asks him, pointing at me. Since when did we agree to go ahead and tell anyone what I am? “You're going to say no to me and Sam Flynn?”

“My answer's the same as the last time you came here.” She puts her hands on her hips, brave. “I only serve civillians. I'm not equipped to handle your needs, Rinzler. It doesn't matter if you've dropped the mask or not. I literally can't help you. None of us know how to repair military- hold on! Did you just say Sam Flynn?”

Now she's paying me attention, jaw dropped and hands coming up in a praying position as she dropps to her knees the same way some of the Programs had when Dad showed up in the club. I hate it. I reach down and pull her back to her feet. “Please don't do that.”

“But... you're...” She's looking up at me like I just slapped her. “We all thought... When the power was cut... And now you're here with him?”

“With Alan.” I tell her, giving her shoulder a gentle pat. It's all I can think to do. “He's not Rinzler. He's a User like me. We just need a little help to get to the portal. I don't know what you guys take for payment around here, but... maybe some extra energy or something? Trade you for something that seats two and can fly?”

The Program is all to eager to help us. I'm surprised. Last time, I was either shunned, hunted, or played. Shari, the Program in charge of the repair shop we went to, tells us about how the shut down affected things in here. Word was filtering back into the city from the seaside that there was a lot of debris starting to wash up after the explosion that preceeded the power outtage. Factions gave way to general need for community and survival. A former Commander of Clu's army had taken over the sea side and got everyone working together to clean up the mess already. She had a counterpart that was supposed to be with her, but he took off like a man on a mission towards the portal. At least, if we run into him, we know he's not one of Clu's men. They both managed to break free, though, and avoid Rinzler at that. Shari was actually one of their informants in the city. She gave information to anyone who both stood against Clu and for the Users in exchange for extra parts or excess energy to keep her shop and her employees working.

“How did you manage to put us in the perfect place, Al?” I ask, checking out the baton Shari hands me as if I have a clue what I'm really looking at.

“Quorra mentioned she was the one who contacted her after your debut in the Games.” Alan says. “You've got Shari to thank for your new house guest.”

Shari's very happy to hear that Quorra is safe in the User world and with the Son of Flynn as her new protector. I'm flattered, but I think Quorra would see it differently. I'm more like a guide than anything at this point. A pretty pitiful one at that. I really should have been paying more attention to all the stuff Quorra was telling us before we came here. I was just more absorbed in trying to figure out how to deal with this new knowledge about Alan at the time.

“May I ask a personal question, Sam Flynn?” Shari stopps us as we're leaving her shop. I give her a nod. She can't ask anything Alan hasn't already suggested, right? “Why do you still wear the basic armor from the Games? Is it to honor those you had to derez to survive?”

Well, that was embarrassing in a way I wasn't expecting. I could lie and say yes. It would make her think better of me and all Users, I guess. But I'm not one to out right lie to someone when they have an innocent question. “I... don't actually know how to change my clothes in here. They took my real clothes and put me in this. Gem and the others, I mean, when... when I got to the arena.”

“I'll show you some other time,” Alan patts my shoulder, right above the stitches and directly on a fading bruise. Ow. He catches a finger on the broken edge of the light armor plating with a wince. “Why's that rough?”

I give him the most sarcastic answer I can without alarming Shari. “Because your buddy didn't exactly like me when we first met.”

Alan sighs and holds out his hand. “If that's all he did to you, you're lucky. Give me your disc. I'll fix it before it gets worse.”

I'm not sure why he wants to bother with it. When I was a kid, he'd tell me to walk off scrapes and bruises. He's got a point, though. My stitches do keep catching on it. I hand over my disc, barely remembering to grab it with my left hand instead of my right. I can't really move that arm comfortably right now. Damn it. “You sure you remember how to do this?”

“Can't be all that different from back home,” Alan answers, giving Shari a quick glance. He doesn't want her to know. That's probably a smart idea. Then, when the display popps up, he's not so sure. “Oh... Well... Just be careful with that arm for now. Your girlfriend will be better at this than me.”

“She's not-” I yank my disc back out of his hand and put it away again. “Seriously, Al, we should just go.”

The flight out has my nerves on edge. This jet is about the size of a bi-plane and has absolutely no weapons or defenses what so ever. We're crammed in side by side, and Alan's got the controls. I only let him do it because I have no idea how to fly anything myself. Even he didn't really know what he was doing when we first opened it up. The weird bit was that he just stood there, touching the thing for a few minutes, and then stated he knew what to do. So far, though, he's got it going smoothly.

“How did you figure this thing out?” I ask after a while. We're taking a long spiral of a path, just in case someone's following. Neither of us want to deal with that this time.

“I can scan the functions of anything in here. Just takes a little brain power to put it together after that,” he tells me, eyes still scanning the sky around us. We're still clear. That's actually kinda surprising.

That's pretty cool, but, “then why couldn't you work out my disc to fix the armor?”

“It's not actually connected to your disc like a Program's clothing is.”

“So... you gonna show me your lightlines?” I can't help it. I want to know if they're the same as Rinzler's or not. I doubt they're orange, but still.

“Next time, if we're safe.” Alan's smiling. He gets it. He knows my inner child is screaming for it. “Like you said, we don't need Programs finding out what I am here. Not yet. I'm still an old man.”

Is he, though? In this light, I can't see as many lines in his face. I think he's got a little color coming back to his hair, too. That's pretty cool and freaky. Maybe it's just a trick my mind is playing.

“I think it's safe to say we're not being followed.” Alan straightens out our trajectory, aiming directly for the portal.

As we get closer, I can see the aircraft that Quorra, Dad, and I took to get there last. It still looks beat all to hell, but it's mostly intact. I'm surprised it wasn't shredded like everything else around. The whole island and platform are still intact, too. That's a good thing. I was worried for a moment that we might have to swim for it after all. Of course, now we have company, and I recognize one of them by their markings way before he ever stands up.

“Great, now there's two of you this time.” I comment, already getting my disc ready. Alan already admitted to being an old man, still. “Al, stay behind me.”

He's apparently got a whole different take on how this is going to go than I do. “Knock it off, Sam. You're the only one pulling a weapon here.”

Yeah, because he's too damn scared to have your identity revealed. Now would actually be a great time for him to show his hand and prove that he's actually Tron because his younger looking doppelganger is a vicious fighter who's definitely not bothered by our appearance what so ever. Clu didn't draw his disc first either.

“Do I know you, Program?” Rinzler is asking, sounding a little perplexed. That's weird. He's had his face inches away from mine. Of course he knows who I am.

“Why do I have to keep telling you I'm not a Program?”

“Maybe because you're dressed like one?” Alan asks the most rhetorical thing he can right then. Right. I am, but still. Rinzler was the first one of them to realize what I am.

“I'm a User. Why are we going over this again?”

The other Program takes a couple steps closer. “Sam Flynn?”

The guy tells me his name is Beck. I don't care. He's friends with Rinzler, and that's bad news. He seems to think he's actually standing beside Tron. I'm not too keen to tell him it's the other way around. Let him think whatever he wants to think. I know what's up. I know how this plays out, and I'm not about to lose Alan like I lost Dad. This Beck guy is trying to talk me down. I'm not having it. I make the first move and throw my disc at him. Fighting my way to Dad's disc and Quorra taught me a few tricks the other night. I've got this.

I don't got this. Beck's got my disc in the floor in a flash. I'm not getting it back without getting close to him. Alan's definitely not offering up his invisible disc. Where is that thing, anyway? He said he had one hidden away somewhere.

Alan's taking the higher moral approach and using his words. I could really use a second disc, but sure... go off Alan...

“Alan One?” Rinzler finally catches on to who's really standing there.

Oh, shit! I try to get the nerve to put myself between them again, but Alan's got his arm out to tell me to stop. He's still all about using his words. Just like Dad was. I don't like this at all. It doesn't matter to me that Rinzler actually changed sides in that last fight before we got here. I still know whose side he was on for way too long.

Rinzler's on his knees, pleading for forgiveness or erasure. I didn't ever expect this. Then again, the Programs worship the Users. He hasn't just met a god, he's met his personal god. Alan gets close and touches him. Something shifts in Rinzler. He's... elated? His lightlines are glowing almost as brightly as the portal itself! What was Alan doing to him?

Turns out, not even Alan is sure what just happened. Beck tells him to back off a bit, gently, amused. He's still standing guard over Rinzler, but he seems to know that Alan's not about to hurt his friend. Alan wants me and Beck to fuck off for a bit so he can talk with Rinzler. That's not happening. I'm not about to witness another re-integration. The last one was explosive enough. Litereally.

Beck seems to follow Alan's directions, though, and asks me to tell him what happened here. Why didn't Rinzler already tell him? A hug gone wrong was about the best explanation I could come up with as I'm edging around him to retrieve my disc.

“So... the ISO made it out?” Beck asks me. Why does he care about Quorra? What's his angle on her? Does he want to get out, too? Clu's speech made it clear that at least he and his friends were upset that Dad wanted to bring Users in one day, but not let Programs out.

But I'm wrong. Beck was genuinely concerned for her. That's interesting. He was actually worried about the possibility of Clu catching her. I challenge that.

“Sam Flynn,” Rinzler looks to me, getting my attention again, “I don't remember.”

What utter bull shit. I'm done with his act. I reach for his discs, only for Beck to finally make a move. He catches my hand over Rinzler's back just as I realize there aren't any discs to grab. He never picked them back up after Quorra kicked him off the ledge...

He's a stray.

This makes so much more sense now. When I got picked up, the soldiers called me a stray because I didn't have a disc. When I got my disc, there was a voice talking about the rules concerning them. Loss of a disc was bad news. When he said he didn't remember, he really meant it.

Alan's got some idea on how to fix that. I'm not exactly sure it's a good idea, but Rinzler did risk everything to save us the last time I saw him. He could have taken us down easily. We're clearly not getting out of here until Beck and Alan are satisfied. Fine. Whatever. I'll put my hand in the water and... wow... That does tingle a bit.

Alan says something about thinking about this the way I did when I fixed the door when we first got here. There's a lot to sort through, but... I can feel the different lines of code from the rest. There's a lot of different codes strung together, but only one feels distinctly different from the rest. It feels like Alan's hand in mine. That's got to be what we're looking for. I focus on drawing that to me.

Sights and sounds and feelings wash over me as I touch it. Alan's pulling it through me into himself. I'm experiencing a whole other life in pieces!

There's Lora, dressed in some strange glowing, flowing gown and reaching out with a smile. There's Dad when he was younger, talking to Clu about the emergence of a Program from the sea that named herself Ophelia. There's Clu standing above me and driving his disc into my chest. There's Beck holding his disc to my throat. There's a guy with dark hair and a soul patch literally carving out my left eye. Damn that hurts! There's Beck again, his back to a wall and my forearm pinning him there just before we turn on a room full of soldiers. There's a woman holding some sort of needle in my arm. Then she's cradling Beck on the floor while I'm watching the door. There's some sort of riot happening, and a counter protest that's definitely more peaceful. Everybody shutts up when I show up. They de-escalate fast, hanging on my every word about how they're dishonoring Flynn's vision for all of us. There's Clu again, tracing his fingers over my lightlines in a sensual way that feels too good and too wrong at the same time. There's... me falling flat on my face? Then, Dad's in the cockpit beneath me. I remember who I am, what my purpose is. I fight for the Users.

No I don't. I am a User. What the hell is this?

These are Rinzler's memories. They're Tron's memories. I'm not actually experienceing any of this. I'm reliving parts of his life. This stream of data I pulled to me, that Alan's redirecting into himself, it's all Tron's. I don't have the right to see any of it, do I? But... I kinda get it now. He's been through hell and back again. He's not Rinzler to me anymore.

I'm still reeling from all that when Beck literally tackles Tron to the ground and kisses him. He's kissing him, and Tron seems to like it.

“Al, I think your program is gay.” I tell Alan, feeling a little weird about it. Weren't Programs like Tron and Clu supposed to be damn near copies of their creators? What happened here?

“No shit, Sam.” Alan laughs at me.

Tron's got a question I'm not prepared for. “You didn't know about Flynn and Alan One?”

Say what?

“Well, he does now!” Alan's all smiles, still.

I'm trying to picture that. I don't want to picture that. Dad and Alan? Seriously? I'm never going to look at him the same way again. Then, Tron starts explaining User relationships. He's starting to get into details.

“Alright, stop!” I'm so not interested in listening to this. Let them talk about that later. Wait. Alan, Lora, and Dad were all together? Holy fuck.

No. No fuck. I don't want to picutre all three of them like that. Nope. Damn, but the images are trying to come up anyway. That's so wrong. It's so... How did I not know this before? I don't want to know it now!

Alan's come up with a perfect diversion from this whole problem. Tron has his disc again. He can... what the hell did I just see? He can move it at will when it's not in his hand? This seems to be something they understand about each other implicitly. I want to know, but, more importantly, did he just say he made Tron the new sysadmin?

At least he really is Tron and not Rinzler anymore. I can live with that. For now. He turned evil once. Who's to say he won't do it again? Me and Alan are going to have some words after we get home.

Shit... how long have we been here? If we don't go back soon, I think Lora and Quorra might come in after us themselves. Who would that leave to watch our exit? Roy doesn't know about any of this yet. So... Marvin?

Nope. No. We need to go home. Now.

I got the sense from Tron's memories that Beck can be trusted. I'm just going to have to go out on a limb here for them. If anything looks wonky from the outside the next time we even think about coming back, I'm sitting it out. It doesn't matter that Alan's promised we'll be back regularly. I'm not going to tempt fate here.

Chapter Text

Lora POV

When Alan woke up in the hospital, I was down the hall getting a vending machine dinner. Kevin had already been released and gone home to Jordan and Sam. We were going to take shifts sitting with Alan while he was stuck in there. He may have the patience of a saint when it comes to dealing with the board and Kevin, but we all knew how much he hated hospitals. He'd try to convince the doctors he was better than he really was first. If that failed, he'd take the first opportunity to get dressed and make a break for it. He hides it well in front of others, but I know he as a slightly reckless streak deep down. He's the exact opposite of Kevin like that.

As I got some chips, a candy bar, and a soda, I laughed to myself. Maybe Kevin should just stay home with Sam and leave watching Alan to me and Jordan. He might have helped Alan make a break for it. On purpose. But I shook the thought away. Kevin cares about Alan as much as I do, even if he showes it differently. He might help Alan bust out of the hospital, but he'd hide him somewhere (probably the arcade) and become nurse himself until Jordan and I found them arguing over plot points for that game Kevin was working on.

When I got back to the room, it was to find Alan carefully pulling the IV line out. Well. I thought he would at least wait for Kevin's shift.

“Hold it right there, buster!” I warned him loudly, putting my pittiful dinner on the nearest surface and marching right up to him. “You'll wait for the doctor to clear you. You hear me?”

He froze up stiff, knowing he was caught as he slowly turned to look at me. His eyes were wide and jaw slack, like I was the last person he expected to see. That was weird. The bump he took to the head must have been harder than they told me.

“It's okay.” I tried to stay calm. Nobody expected him to wake up so soon.

He shut his mouth and nodded slowly, eyes tracking my every step.

“Do you know where you are?” I started asking him the same questions they asked Kevin when he settled down the day before. Kevin had been a mess when Roy and I drug them out of ENCOM. He was panicking over Alan, over the servers, over everything. Roy kept us sane through that part. He threatened to gag Kevin if he didn't shut up and let me lead him down the stair well.

Alan took a look around the room like he was seeing it for the first time. “Hospital?”

“That's right.” I put my hands over his, slipping my fingers between his to break his grip on the IV line. “That's there for a reason. You need to leave it alone for now. I know it's uncomfortable. I'm sorry.”

He reached out with his other hand and ran his fingers through my hair, finally closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. That's good. Logic was starting to win over panic. “You're here...”

“Of course I am.” I kissed his palm, the only place I could reach without potentially messing with a wire, the IV, or any number of things that he was hooked up to at the moment. I hated having all this stuff between us. “Where else would I be?”

“Is Flynn okay? Did he make it out?”

I was happy to hear those questions. That meant he remembered what happened, at least a little. “He's at home with the family. He's a little rough, but he'll be fine. We're all more worried about you.”

Surprisingly, he didn't make another attempt to just up and leave for the next several days. I didn't complain about that at all. Jordan asked every day if he tried anyway. Kevin tried to get him to do it once or twice. Alan's response was that I had told him to stay, so he would. The most interesting problem we had with him was that he quit answering to his own name the day after he woke up. Kevin got him to answer to Tron. The doctors said he would come back around to himself eventually. The head injury and the drugs they put him on at first had worked together to scramble his brain a bit. By the time I took him home, he seemed normal again, if bouncing between tired and hyper was normal.

Normal definitely flew out the window when we got home and he didn't recognize it. He thought our three bedroom two and a half bath was huge for two people. It was actually still pretty crampped. We both had a full house hold of stuff when we moved in together, and, three years later, we've still been going through things on the weekends to figure out what to keep and what to get rid of for the sake of space. We were almost through everything in the garage.

He wanted to see everything in every room when we walked through the door. It all seemed new to him. I didn't know how I was going to get through this. A couple hours later, when Kevin showed up with Jordan and Sam to welcome him home, he was passed out on the couch. The doctors told me to watch out for memory issues and personality changes. They said he would even out over time, but to report any potentially dangerous issues like more than basic anger and frustration. So far, he hadn't shown any anger or anything like that, just temporary confusion. At least he answered to his own name when little Sam crawled up in his lap and patted his face to wake him up.

What was better was that he recognized Sam. Sam was born after we moved in here.

“Dad say Alan sick.” Sam commented, putting his little hand to Alan's forehead. “Alan sick?”

“Tired,” Alan sat still other than to put his hands around Sam's little body to make sure he didn't fall backwards. “I've had a very hard day. I'm going to be okay, though, Sam. Don't worry. Do you want your crayons? I think Lora got you a new coloring book.”

That coloring book was supposed to be for his third birthday next month. I got it three weeks ago. Alan was the one who suggested we wait to give it to him. This was good. Newer memories. He was doing better now that he'd had a chance to actually sleep at home for a moment, even if it was on the couch. I'd take any improvement at the moment.

“Are you two hungry?” Jordan asked. “We brought baked spagetti.”

Alan considered her offer for a moment, eyeing the glass container in Kevin's hands. It was clearly left overs they couldn't finish on their own. “Who cooked it?”

“Dad did.” Kevin told him. “He went a little heavy on the cheese this time, though.”

“Just as long as you didn't cook it, it should be safe.” Alan jabbed at him.

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Man, that was one time! I've gotten better!”

“And I learned my lesson.” Alan replied, cradling Sam as he stood up. He sat right back down, too, a bit dizzy by the looks of it. That was to be expected. He still had damage to his lungs from smoke inhalation that was healing. He wasn't supposed to be carrying anything yet, definitely not a two-year-old that was clearly big for his age.

“Looks like you have another lesson to learn,” Jordan leaned over and took Sam off his hands. “Come on, kiddo, Alan needs to rest some more.”

All through dinner, Sam would not get off of Alan. Kevin, Jordan, and I all tried to take the child's attention off of him, but Alan and Sam seemed glued together. Part of the reason Kevin and I broke up was because he wanted kids fast, and I wanted a career first. Alan had respected my wishes and never pressured me for a child. He said he could be happy with or without them. Besides, little Sam was like a nephew we could spoil and then send back to his parents so we could enjoy our time together as we wanted anyway. The way Alan refused to let Sam go until Sam himself said he wanted to had me worried. Was he changing his mind?

I really lucked out with that job in D.C. They were willing to let me work remotely while Alan recovered. After all, ENCOM supplied them with a lot of tech now. Anyone else would have charged them double for lower quality product. They owed us and they knew it. It was that or they couldn't get their contracts fulfilled without my work, and my work was my work. If I left without signing things over to them and teaching my replacement, they were fucked.

I was in the middle of a work call one morning when Alan walked in our home office looking confused and moving a bit stiffly. He had finally been cleared to go back to work, and that's where he was supposed to be already. I could have sworn I heard him leave a few minutes earlier. I got off the phone as fast as I could to find out what the problem was.

“What is this place?” Alan asked once he knew he had my full attention.

This wasn't something I was prepared for. Yes, the doctor said he could end up with a few more moments of confusion here and there, but it would be about events within a week or two of the fire at worst. “What do you mean? We're at home...”

“This isn't home...” He's looking around the room like it's going to bite him.

I played along for the moment, trying to figure out exactly what was going on for him. “Where is home?”

“Sector 3A 2.028. You know that...”

“Sect- what?” I really don't get it. He used to live in an apartment building on the East side, fifth floor, number 25. Nothing he just said lined up with that. I used to live in number 315, Rothman street, so he wasn't mixing that up either. “Alan, honey, what are you talking about? We've lived here for almost three years now. 244 Chandler Rd. Remember?”

“That's a strange designation.” He really did look confused by it. “Why are you calling me by my User's name? Yori, what is this place? How did we get here?”

Oh. Oh no... We were back to that again. I needed to be very careful. I didn't like playing into the fantasies Kevin had. Why Alan slipped into them when he got confused, I didn't know. But, one thing was for sure, he got upset when his false reality was challenged before he came out of it. “I'm going to call Flynn and tell him you're saying with me for the day, Tron. He has Ram with him. He'll be alright while I catch you up to speed. Okay?”

“Yori, I...” His expression fell as he came to understand something important. “You're not Yori, are you?”

“No.” I shook my head slowly. “I'm Lora.”

He sat down in the chair next to his computer clumsily, hands gripping the arm rests hard. “She didn't make it... You... You're Lora Prime. Not Yori... this is your home. This is the User world.”

“That's right.” I knew he'd get out of this state soon, but that didn't mean he could go to the office today.

“Alan One keeps... shutting me down.” He said that before, the last time he slipped into this other personality. Last week, when we saw the therapist his doctor had reccomended, we learned that it was a coping mechanism people sometimes used. The more we could keep Alan around, and Tron away, the better. He needed to face reality as himself if he was ever going to get through the trauma of the fire and nearly dying. “Am I supposed to end? Am I hurting him?”

“I know you're trying to protect him,” I said, reaching out to take his hand again, lacing my fingers through his. That usually helps bring Alan back faster. “You're working too hard. Sometimes, Users have to do the work ourselves. He won't get better if you don't let him. Can you do that for us? Can you let Alan work on this himself?”

That had to be the issue this time. This was the first day Alan was supposed to physically be back at the office. He must have been scared of what he would see there. That had to be what triggered his Program alter ego, Tron, to come to the surface again. He needed to feel stronger than he really was.

“He's not ready to go back yet.” Alan said. “It's too much for him.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I don't want to go home unless Yori is there. Flynn will want to put me on the new system. I'm not sure I can do it without her. I'm sorry, Lora Prime. Alan One needed me. He still needs me.”

It took two hours to get him to go lay down again. He was definitely tired the whole time, struggling. I called Kevin as soon as he laid down and fell asleep. Kevin wanted to come straight over and ditch on work for the rest of the day. I could hear Roy in the background telling him off for it. In Alan's absense, Roy was stepping up and filling his shoes pretty well when it came to keeping Kevin in line. Then again, Alan would just take over when Kevin slacked. Roy was holding Kevin accountable for everything. It was wearing on them both, I knew.

I couldn't concentrate on my own work after that. Dealing with Alan as Tron left me mentally and emotionally drained. A nap was probably the best thing for me, too. So I did. I crawled into bed next to Alan and held him close as I drifted off. If he woke up and tried to go anywhere, he'd have to move me first. Wandering was a possibility I wasn't going to allow, definitely not when he thought he was Tron.

When he woke up, he was cussing about it being 1:30 in the afternoon and how he'd missed the board meeting. He was so concerned with how Roy was going to be upset with him and how badly Kevin must have screwed up this time by being off in lala land... I knew right away that was my Alan.

“How did I get back in bed? I swear I got up.” Alan said, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at me for answers. “I've even got my clothes on.”

“You did.” I pulled him back down beside me. He was too easy to move now. “You checked out before you left the driveway. We need to talk about this, Al. You need to talk about what happened in the fire while you and Kevin were... in there.”

I still had a hard time believing it. I saw them disappear right in front of me, right before I could stop them. Roy had tipped me off that something was happening with my boys and my laser. Kevin wouldn't talk about it with me. He swung between happy and loud to quiet and sad like a seasaw any time Jordan or I brought it up. Alan just avoided the subject all together other than to tell me, once, that Kevin was right. That's all he would say.

Not surprisingly, Alan didn't talk about it this time either. He went straight back to asking how he got back into bed and if I knew how the meeting went. I didn't know how much longer I could put up with this, but I had to try. For him. It's obviously way worse on him than the rest of us, and that's saying something. I was still waking up at night to make sure he was breathing. Jordan and I called each other every morning to check in. In that moment, all I could do was assure him that Roy had filled in for him and Kevin actually showed up on time for a change.

I was supposed to go back to D.C., but Alan had another episode. He was calmer about it, calmer than any of the other times before, but I couldn't trust him to live on his own yet. It didn't matter that Kevin and Jordan, Alan and I all practically lived with one another. We still had to maintain separate households to keep people, especially the rest of the board, from getting suspicious that we were more than good friends. They'd be right, but we didn't need them to know. Alan was still distant even when he was himself. Other than me and little Sam, he wasn't showing much affection to anyone. That was, of course, his stress response. He got cold and bottled things up, tried and failed to give appropriate facial expressions and vocal inflections. Every time the psychologist thought we'd made some good progress, he'd take a step or three back in the wrong direction again.

Supposedly, that was normal. I hated it. This was not normal for Alan. I knew him for six years now. He was supposed to be my steady, deep thinking, take charge on the outside, cuddly, tender, silly man behind closed doors. He was supposed to like rock ballads and staying too late at work to finish up the next step of a project. He was supposed to remember every line of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit by heart and quote them randomly when the sittuation provided for it, even if it was under his breath.

He wasn't supposed to be looking at beef stew like it was totally alien and having no clue how to hold a spoon. He wasn't supposed to be scanning every room for exits and insisting on putting his back to a wall every time he entered a room.

He wasn't supposed to be crying after we fucked in the shower. That really hit me as I held him close and felt my high sour into worry. I tried to comfort him, tried to get him to tell me what was wrong, but he just choked on his own words and held me tight. When the water started to run cold, I had to force him to let go long enough to shut it off.

“I'm never going home again, am I?”

That was the first thing to come out of his mouth in over an hour. I thought I had imagined the question until he spoke again.

“You should call Flynn. We need to talk while I'm still aware, before Alan comes back. You need to know what happened to us.”

As much as I wanted to hear it from him as himself, I'd take what I could get. Kevin came straight over, leaving Jordan behind to take care of Sam. Sam was dealing with the chicken pox, the poor thing.

Of course, Kevin ate up his story, every single word of it. I had a harder time with it. The things he said about how someone erased my Yori program and then Kevin uploaded a back up soon after, only for it to be lost again during the fire, and then to see me here were his excuses for being distant with his affections until that day. He was pretty vague about something falling and landing on him, talking about himself as if he was two different people at the time, and then blearily waking up in the laser lab before passing out again. That was the one thing I could both confirm and deny happening. He did look like he'd been hit hard by something, but, when I went back after the fire department said it was safe, nothing looked out of place besides paperwork and other light objects that wouldn't account for his injuries.

“Yeah, when I turned around,” Kevin confirmed his story on that part, “I saw you sprawled out under the chunks just like Ram was before we found the recognizer. When I got it off of you, all I saw was you and an extra disc. I just figured... I didn't know you... what's the right word here? Integrated?”

“That... would be a sufficient word for it,” Alan nodded slowly.

“So... if we go back, can you un-do that? Can Alan?”

“He needs me like this now, Flynn.” Alan frowned, honestly remorseful. “Either I stay here with you, or he stays with me there. We both suffered too much damage. To separate again may erase us both. I am willing to make that sacrifice for him. He can write me again or upload a back up, but I'm not willing to chance derezzing him for it. If we went back, you could possibly perform a scan to see if it is possible to do safely.”

But they couldn't make that kind of trip again. My laser was flooded out and ruined, packed up and shipped off to storage. I couldn't figure out how, but I was starting to believe their story. Alan loved fantasy stories, but he never believed they were real. He never believed he was part of one like Kevin sometimes did. He could always tell reality from imagination. As they talked some more, I watched as Tron receeded and Alan came back into focus again. The biggest tell was when he put on his glasses again. As Tron, he never wore them.

The moment his glasses were back in place, it was like a switch flipped. He looked startled to see Kevin sitting across from us. “I did it again, didn't I? I checked out?”

“More like Tron checked in,” Kevin reached out and took his hand with both of his. “He's going to keep his distance from now on, be more careful of when he checks in. You need to talk now. Tell Lora what happened as you remember it. He just told his side.”

Over the next two decades plus, I learned to just roll with it. For the most part, as promised, Alan was Alan as far as anybody could tell. He checked out for a while when Jordan died. Sam and I were in the car with her when it happened. After the funeral, I stuck around for as long as I could until I absolutely had to go back East. Alan was back in control again, and he had his plate full with keeping Kevin in check again. Fuller, even.

When Kevin went missing, it was like Tron was in charge of him more often than not. He was only himself with me and Sam. Somebody noticed something was wrong and dug up his old medical files and used them to demote him five years later. They couldn't completely get rid of him, though. He was still going to protect ENCOM for Sam's future.

When Sam finally did take over and put Alan back in charge, I wondered if he finally cracked, too. Alan had put a lot of pressure on him over the years to step up into Kevin's old shoes. Who the hell leaked an opperating system like OS12 one night, then decided to run the company they just about totally ruined the next morning?

A Flynn.

God, but I had hoped Sam would have turned out more like Jordan. As it turned out, the most he seemed to get from her was her looks and a bleeding heart for needy animals. At least he'd made a good decision when he put Alan in charge. He had the wherewithall to know he needed a counter balance in the office just like his father did. I still needed to get home as fast as possible. I needed to see my boys face to face and make sure they were really doing this.

I don't care what Roy thinks. I needed to make sure they're not both nuts and just telling him what he wants to hear. There had to be something more to this. And since when did Sam get a regular girlfriend? That's not his style.

When Alan picked me up at the airport, I expected to go get some food. It was lunch time back East, and I was hungry. Alan never had to ask over the years if I needed anything. He kept a second time on the clock app on his phone to check before calling to make sure he wasn't interrupting me at work or when I was sleeping. I did the same thing for him.

After the regular hellos and quick kisses, he's still got a shit eating grin on his face. That's not the expression I expected considering the mess Sam had just given him. His explanation was short and unfulfilling. It left me with more questions.

“Found your laser.” He said as we pulled out of the loading and unloading zone by the airport.

“Which one?”

“You'll see. They're waiting for us.”

He must have meant Sam and either Roy or this mysterious Quorra woman I've barely said hello to on the phone one single time. “Can we eat something?”

“Roy made baked spagetti and got ice cream sandwiches for dessert.”

Ah, yes, a Flynn favorite in the old days. Sam loved that stuff probably more than Kevin ever did. Then again, my memories have faded over the years. Kevin might have loved it as much as Sam did. I know Jordan and I experimented with a lot of different types of sauces over the years. It became a bit of a competition between us. Votes were counted by how much was left over since we used the same sized pans for fairness.

The ice cream sandwiches, however, were my thing. “Neopolitan or tripple chocolate?”

“Neopolitan, for you, of course.” Alan took my hand and kissed it briefly, eyes ever on the road. “I made sure they didn't get the plain stuff. Sam tried to complain about it, so I told him to buy his own box for him and Quorra. The rest of us are doing it the right way, the Lora way.”

He kept my hand in his the rest of the drive, more relaxed behind the wheel than I've seen him in a while. Every so often, his smile would falter a little as he glanced at me. Before I could ask what was up, he would just shake his head, kiss my hand again, and keep going. Half an hour later, I realized we weren't going home or to Sam's or Roy's. I knew where we're going.

“I thought the memorial was last week.” I told him well before we pulled up to Flynn's Arcade.

“And, I told you, I found your laser.” Alan reminded me, parking the car. “Well... Sam found it first.”

We went over the arcade time and time again, trying to find any shred of evidence of what had happened to Kevin. This was where his motorcycle was parked, right here in this space that we were sitting in. I never saw any of my stuff around here besides an old t-shirt and some pictures on the shelf.

“Come on. I can't say anything else out here. You never know when someone's listening.” He got out and walked around the car to open my door for me. I would have gotten it myself, but I was too busy wrapping my head around his light hearted take on sudden paranoia. Maybe they found the old thing in storage somewhere at ENCOM and moved it here.

“Sam's story is way better than mine was.” Alan told me as he helped me out of the car and locked it up. “He found a whole lot more than the laser.”

The gate was open, but the main door was locked. The lights inside were on, but none of the games or the juke box were making any noise. It was starting to feel a bit weirder when I noticed that nobody came to greet us. Nobody was even on the main floor doing maintenance on anything. The lights upstairs in the apartment area were all shut off. The whole arcade was empty.

“Alan, seriously, what is going on?” I stopped just inside the door, nervous.

“This way,” his smile was even bigger this time as he pulled on my hand, leading me to the back wall.

I knew good and well that there wasn't anything of interest there. At least, I did. The cabinet at the end, the Tron game, moved. It swung to the side and someone was ducking out from behind it. There was a door there? Since when? Before I can even process that, though, Sam's standing up straight and giving us both a half smile.

“Thought I heard someone talking. You tell her yet?” Sam asked Alan.

“Not my story to tell, Sam.” Alan brushed past him to the slightly small door on the back wall. He opened it again, holding it for us. “Come on, the woman's hungry.”

Sam looked like he had finally picked up a better sleep schedule when I looked at him. He had put on a little weight, no longer skin and bones, and I thought it looked good on him. If I were a younger, single woman, I might have been tempted by the smile he gave me. I know he's his father's son, but that smile was all Jordan, full of love and an easiness I wasn't expecting. Jordan always knew how to disarm people with that smile. She could walk into a meeting at a disadvantage and charm her way on top any day. That would be an asset Sam would need now.

“Just you?” I asked him, surprised at the quiet of the place as he leaned in to hug me tight.

He stiffened up a little at that question. It definitely made him uncomfortable.

“I thought Roy and your girlfriend would be here, too.” I explained. “Alan said Roy cooked.”

“Yeah, uhm,” Sam scratched at his neck, still nervous, “Quorra's in the bathroom, and Roy's triple checking the connections downstairs. We had a rough landing.”

I didn't follow that at all. “A rough landing? In a secret basement?”

“Digital worlds are a hell of a place to get blasted through a laser from.” Sam said, no longer laughing. Kevin would have laughed about that. Jordan would have laughed at him for it. “Ready to find out where Dad got all those stories from?”

Oh, my heart ached for him now. He still believed. He had roped Alan back into it. Roy, too, and probably his girlfriend, and... “Sam...”

“Just...” Sam's got his hands out in front of him, making a motion meant to calm, “try to believe us. We can prove it this time.”

“This time?”

Alan's was still by the door, listening to us. “He knows about me now. I told him what happened in the fire.”

“Not this again.” I was so frustrated now.

I don't know how they talked me into going down there anyway. Maybe it was smelling Roy's cooking that did it. Maybe it was just to see for myself that there wasn't really anything to this at all. Either way, I ended up at the bottom of the stairs, peering into a room that came straight out of a mixture of my worst nightmares and greatest fantasies about what might have happened to Kevin a moment later. Yes, there was my laser, among a whole lot of other ancient tech, a couch, Jordan's signed drawings and pictures of Sam all over the walls... Well... Kevin was definitely hiding a lot more than any of us actually knew. This room was too dusty for Alan to have known about it.

“Ready to listen now?” Sam asked, breaking me out of my thoughts about the room.

Sam and Alan both had to catch me before my knees hit the floor. How could Kevin do this to us? “Is it... was this where he was working on... The Grid?”

“Yeah.” Sam said softly as he and Alan guided me over to the futon on the left. Alan sat down beside me, keeping close as Sam squeezed in on my other side. He pointed to the computer where Roy was just poking his head out to wave at me from. “That's where he was. Quorra took me to him.”

“Sam, that's just not possible...”

Chapter Text

Tron POV

Waking up in a bed was something I didn't do very often. It's disorientating as I feel the softness of a pillow and a thick blanket on top of a soft surface. Then again, I don't shut down often either, not even partially for a sleep mode. It takes me a moment to realize where I am and how I got there.

The anger I had towards myself, Clu, and Beck are dull aches now. I just need a few minutes to figure out where to get some energy and think this through. I need to think about it like an outsider to get some perspective.

Did I just crash?

From emotions?

That's what Users do, not Programs. Flynn called it a panic attack that one time I witnessed him get very angry, then hyperventillate, then cry, then sit there for a bit, curled up on the floor in a ball while he fought to even out his breathing and settle his heart rate. I don't even remember what triggered him, but I've got a pretty good idea what happened to me.

I was repurposed for nearly a thousand cycles, my associations of friend versus foe twisted almost completely backwards. Clu... He forced the counterpart bond on me and then abused that connection. I lost my discs and became the closest thing to a stray that I can possibly be.

Then my own maker showed up and flooded me with his own emotions and energy. I've felt that before, from Flynn. It's overwhelming. They can't communicate through touch like we can, or that's what I thought before Alan One touched me. He felt so at ease and happy! Sam Flynn and Beck didn't see it nearly as much as I felt it. To be touched by Flynn meant to be repaired and have my energy levels restored. To be touched by Alan One felt like... Like working on my own disc while bathing in pure energy and having my lightlines caressed by a kindred spirit. That description doesn't even come close, but it's the best I can do.

After that, my memories were restored. Not only that, I got a new disc! A new disc with the same abilities as my first one in the old system! It's so much more responsive, like a true extension of myself rather than a tool. Then, I had Beck back. I really had him back, cured of repurposing, and too eager to touch...

But that wore off a little at a time as we crossed over the sea back to the mainland. My worries started growing again as the headdiness of Alan One wore off. Beck wasn't enough to keep it at bay, somehow. Fear of how the rest of the Programs will react when they realize what Alan One did to me, being upset over what happened to Flynn, the past thousand cycles came crashing down on my head all at once. I'm not meant to process all of that at one time.

I was meant to protect the very Programs I destroyed. I was meant to fight for the Users, not attack them. I was meant to run independantly, especially after Flynn brought me here, but I had chosen to make connections again. Those connections were used against me, my greatest strength turned into my greatest weakness.

I have no right to be angry with Beck for not fixing me. Fixing my problems was his self imposed mission, not something anyone, least of all I, had asked or ordered him to do. When Paige gave me the opportunity to get my head straight and fight Clu again, I was the one who made the decision to free him instead. That was on me. I knew Clu wouldn't let me go if I didn't escape right then and there. I figured Beck had a better chance than I did. I was right.

The sentimentality I have towards Flynn was unnaturally pronounced for a while after Alan One touched me, too. As the happiness wore off the surface, the undercurrent of sadness and all sorts of ugly feelings of loss, anger, even pure rage became more evident. That's clear now that I look back at it. As much as these were my own feelings, they were bolstered by the remnants of Alan One's energy flowing through my energy levels.

I knew they were close. I knew how very close they were. It was the same closeness I had with Yori, the closeness Clu wanted from me, and the closeness I kept Beck just shy of. I can never let him know just how much he's come to mean to me. He knows I love him. He's my write-in. He just doesn't know that I'm still willing to give up everything to see him go on if it comes down to it.

Everything, even my new position as Sysadmin.

That's so strange to think about. Alan One did something to me at the end of returning my memories and disc. I can actually feel more of The Grid now, without trying. I can get an accurate read on the exact number of Programs left on The Grid, their general locations, and... I can feel where things are damaged, normal, or being built. Not exactly, but the general direction and range of them. This is still Flynn's system. Alan One shouldn't have been able to do this to me. Sam Flynn, possibly. In order to do this, he would have to have intimate knowledge of how a system works and the one who created it to begin with. It took Flynn many cycles before he had the confidence to make Clu. Even then, he did it far away from the rest of us just in case things went wrong.

Alan One did have intimate knowledge of everything to do with Flynn. Everything except The Grid itself, or so I thought. So, yes, it's possible that he didn't have to think too hard to do this to me.

If what I'm feeling now is even a fraction of what Clu felt his whole life, I can actually feel a little sorry for him now. Did he ever really get a moment of peace with all this information streaming in all the time? Was there a way to shut it off or at least dampen it? I'm going to have to ask the Users for help with that, so I don't end up like Clu, bothered by every little error message to the point of snapping and...

It can't all be fixed in one go. Not even a User could do that. I should know that just as much as I can feel two small lightjets incomming. They're taking the same rout I did. The exact same rout I did. That's right. Beck can track me. He's the only one who can, and that's because I let him.

I finish my glass of energy as the two of them land outside, then pour another one to actually savor. That shut down was rough. Everything leading up to it left me drained, but I'm starting to feel like myself again, my new self, the one that is apparently passively scanning the whole Grid consistently, not just the immediate surroundings.

It's not Paige that's with him. It's...

Did Alan One do something to my visual processing? There are three others with Beck. I only sensed two Programs, and... If that's really her... No. It's not. Her hair is lighter, a lot closer to the white of Alan One's, her face has lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes, and she's a little wider around the middle, maybe even a little shorter. Her hair is longer, and she has a slight limp, a bit of discomfort after getting off the lightjet that Alan One piloted here.

It's not Yori that's following Sam Flynn, Alan One, and Beck into the dwelling. That doesn't make this any easier. She must have been made by Lora Prime more recently if she looks like this... aged. Older Users create older looking Programs. It's backwards. When two Programs are written by the same User and get enough of their spirit put into them, the older Program looks like the younger User.

At least I know why I sensed two Programs now. I wonder if she knows what happened to her older sister. I wonder why she's even here.

“Hey, Tron,” Beck's looking sheepish as he approaches me slowly. “I know you probably need some more time to yourself, but they insisted on coming here. I tried to tell them you wanted space and to wait for you to be ready.”

“But they're on a time limit.” I respond knowingly. I raise my glass for him, a peace offering. I'm still not ready to be more than cordial at the moment. Some of that anger and resentment are still clawing at the back of my mind, self resentment most likely. I can go downstairs and hide from all of them if I have to. “Drink?”

He recognizes the offer for what it is and takes the glass. He doesn't need the energy, but he drinks it anyway. “Thanks.”

His finger brushes over the lightline on my first finger. I feel his apology. He thinks he upset me. Truth is, I upset myself and him. I return a message of ease and comfort, the closest I can get to an apology of my own right now.

“So, um, we ended up with another User here.” Beck sounds pretty amazed. He doesn't have the experience with them that I do. They still make him nervous. I guess I probably should be, too, but I know enough about them to feel more comfortable.

I look around him to where the other three are standing outside, clearly waiting for him to give the all clear to enter. “And where are they?”

Beck turns around and waves the others inside. He knows I'm leveled out now, safe to deal with for the moment. I shouldn't be a risk factor for a while as long as Alan One doesn't touch me again, at least not on a lightline. He's going to need practice for how things work here, just like Sam Flynn. The female Program walking between them is moving better now, but she's clutching the hands of the two Users hard as she looks around Flynn's last home. Too bad she'll never actually meet him. I know she'd like him. Maybe too much, I think and laugh to myself.

“Damn, Alan,” She stopps when she gets to the other side of the table from me, eyes wide and clearly on... me... Why is she staring at me like that? She doesn't know me, unless there's a copy of an older version of me in her home system, too. I know that's possible. I don't like it, but it's a reality I've had to face before when I found out I, myself, am not an original. “When you guys said they looked just like us, I didn't...”

“Tron,” Alan goes for the introductions, “meet Lora. Lora Prime as Yori called her.”

That can't be right. Lora Prime is a User, not a Program. But... an intentional scan still shows that there are two Programs in the immediate area besides myself. I'm startled to realize that the return feed of another Program isn't actually coming from her. It's coming from Alan One! This... It's my own signature being returned! Fishing out my data from the sea must have left a marker in him. That's the only plausible explanation.

Then why am I not getting that same return from Sam Flynn?

Alan One's eyes sharpen as he looks at me. He knows what I just did. Flynn never noticed. Programs always did unless I masked it. Users don't have the same senses we do. They made us better than them in that regard. Clu pointed out that fact often enough. Flynn agreed.

Alan One sends out a little scan of his own, and Beck picks up on the issue right away. I can see it in his face. He's looking at Alan One, then at me, then taking a half step back in confusion.

“You can do that?” Beck's in a bit of awe. “Tron always said the Users have different senses than we do.”

“He would be right.” Alan answers him, a little smile on his face. He's amused with Beck the way I used to be.

Should I even be thinking of him as Alan One anymore? How new is he? How young? I know The Grid has been cut off from the rest of the User world for a very long time, with it's only User being Flynn. Users tend to improve upon their designs over the cycles. He looks old for a User, about as old as Flynn appeared when I saw him last. That would make him a very young Program, indeed. Could new Programs from other systems really alter the status of a system like this? Alter other Programs on a level only Users could before?

And Flynn knew about him? He didn't offer me any of those upgrades? Most likely, they happened well after Clu trapped him in with us. I could ask about that later, when Sam Flynn and Lora Prime weren't present. Maybe this version of me would be willing to share some code to help me out.

Right now, the best thing I can do is be polite to Lora Prime. I'll have to corner him later, away from the others. I stand and offer my hand to her, the customary greeting for Users, apparently. “I knew Yori well. She was an excellent Program. It is an honor to meet her creator, Lora Prime.”

Lora Prime takes my hand a bit nervously. Her cheeks are colored in a bit more brightly, and her pupils are widened. It's like she's studying me very, very carefully. I wonder if there's something in my code she's interested in. I know, if Users look hard enough, they can see into our very beings. They may not be able to scan like we do, but they don't need to. Their other senses give them information that our mirrored ones do not give us.

“Careful with that one, Lora,” Sam Flynn warns, but the tone and smile on his face show that it isn't serious. “He bites.”

She looks me up and down swiftly, her blush getting more intense. “Oh, you don't have to tell me, Sam. I think I know that better than you.”

I don't bite. There must be some other meaning behind his words. How would she know anyway? I can feel a playful emotion coming from her touch. At least she isn't flooding me with energy the way Alan One did the first time he touched me. I'd hate to see what might happen to this place if she overrode my emotions right now.

“Okay!” Alan One puts his hand over ours, deliberately touching my lightlines as he breaks her gentle grip on me. I can feel a solid message from him. Mine it reads, a clear warning. I send back a sensation of innocent confusion. He ignores it and holds her hand more tightly. “Save that up until we get home, love.”

Sam Flynn is snorting with a short burst of laughter. Beck looks just as lost as I feel. Users can be so very confusing with their double meanings. I've learned a lot of them, but it seems I have a lot more to go.

“Spoil sport!” Lora Prime sticks her tongue out at Alan One, then takes a real look around the room. “So... what is a place like this doing out in the middle of nowhere? It looks nice. Do you live here, Tron?”

“It's not mine.” That's the most I can really say, sharing a look with Sam Flynn. It was because of him that Clu found this place. I've only been here once before, just after Flynn left it, or so it seemed.

Sam Flynn's voice is softer, all joy removed from him. “This was where Dad and Quorra lived.”

“Who is Dad?” Beck asks. I don't think he's ever heard the term before. “You've said that name before.”

I answer him myself. Sam Flynn isn't in the mood to talk anymore. Lora Prime and Alan One have gone quiet, too. “He means Flynn. Dad is a title given by a young User to their male creator. There are many variants.”

Lora looks at me again, her mood still darkened a bit. “You know a lot about Users.”

“I spent many of the early cicles by Flynn's side when he was here.” I explain to her honestly. “He was often very willing to explain User terms and sayings to me and Clu.”

“Right... and when can I meet this Clu Program?” Lora Prime's question is hardened. “I have a few adjustments I'd like to give to him. Line by line.”

“Don't we all?” Alan one asks, hand that wasn't on hers clenched in a tight fist.

Sam Flynn somehow disagrees. “I told you guys, he literally exploded. Quorra explained it. Re-integration... it's not exactly safe.”

“Because Clu wasn't willing,” Alan One adds to that. He sounds like he knows. “Doesn't change the fact that I'd like to drive my disc into his face for what he did to everyone here.”

“I tried.” I told him. I know he saw all of my memories, but that doesn't mean he retained much of them. “Multiple times.”

Alan One's eyes aren't so kind this time. “Then why didn't you finish the job? I wote you to be better than me.”

Better than him? Better than a User? Better than my User? “Flynn wrote him a bit stronger... I don't think it was on purpose. He wasn't exactly sure if Clu's creation itself would destroy the entire Grid. I'm sure everyone's surprised his distruction didn't do it anyway.”

Lora Prime rolls her eyes. “That's a Flynn for you. Only half planning before taking action.”

“You knew him well.” I comment giving her a smile. Sam Flynn looks insulted. I find that amusing. I don't know him, not really, but I can tell that he took that personally. From her expression, it was at least partially aimed at him.

One could possibly say the same about Alan One. I would know. Yes, he made me well, but his spirit made mine. All I knew on my first task was that he wanted me to take out the MCP. I had no plan beyond finding my way out of prison and to the MCP to do my worst. I wasn't even prepared. That kind of thing happened several times since I was moved here. I would hear about a gridbug attack and just go there to deal with it. I never stopped to ask how many or how big they were. I just did it. Yori started to beat a little caution into me, and Clu finished what she started there. Where as she begged me to be careful, he flat out told me he didn't think I could keep going on like that forever. The only real thing I was careful with all the time was Flynn's safety before the coup. That all changed when Clu turned on us. Most of the arguments I had with Beck happened because I was finally worrying as much as Flynn accused me of in the past.

“I did.” Lora Prime states quietly.

“You said these were Bits?” Sam Flynn's voice catches her attention. He's fiddling around with a decorative object over the fire place.

“They resemble Bits in the positive and negative states.” Beck explains. “I wonder why there's no neutral one.”

“Must be that Zen thing he was talking about.” Sam Flynn puts the items back on the shelf as closely as he could to the way they were before he touched them. “Balance.”

In my opinion, Flynn was the most unbalanced person I've ever met. I've seen him ready to take on the world single handedly when he barely knew how it worked. I've seen him saddened and barely holding himself together, hardly caring about anything at all. I've seen him serene as the stillness of an empty room. I've seen him viciously attacking soldiers with his disc and User powers simultaneously. I've seen him run for his life. I've seen him slide inbetween me and an ISO I was about to derez to save their life by trying to injure me. Far from balanced at any moment. More like a total dichotomy.

That lack of a neutral Bit model made more sense as I thought about it. Flynn never did find balance in anything. He was always pulled in many directions at once, unable to focus on any of them at all. His “Zen thing” was a lie he told himself and anyone else who listened.

“You've got a lot on your mind, buddy,” Alan One speaks to me while Sam Flynn and Beck talk some more and Lora Prime wanders over to the book shelf. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk privately?”

“The floor below us.” Yes, I really wanted to have a talk with him.

I led the way to the lift and found the call button for it. Beck was trying to follow us, but Lora caught his arm, shaking her head at him. I give him a hand signal to stay. I don't believe Alan One will harm me. Even if he did, what could Beck possibly do about it if I couldn't?

Once we're safely out of hearing range of the others, I get straight to accusing him. “You're not a User.”

“And you've got an awesome poker face.” Alan One states, crossing his arms over his chest at the exact same time I do.

We're in a bit of a stand off now. I know he has User powers, but I know he's actually not one. He knows every move I am capable of making, and he can probably predict them, too. For the first time in a very long time, I'm at a significant disadvantage. Damaged or not, this User/Program was still dangerous. The best I could do was to hope that my projected confidence would be enough. I might be able to get a few hits in if he tries anything. At least I've heard that saying before.

“Re-integration doesn't always end in an explosion.” Alan One states. “Sometimes it saves lives instead of destroying them.”

So... “Then you are Alan One?”

“And you.” He nodds slightly. “I'm the original and the User. You were a back up I was upgrading to replace the original in ENCOM. I became both after Flynn brought me, the User me, to the system. There was a fire that affected our world and the system at the same time Flynn and I were inside. We tried to save each other. Ended up combining before Flynn dug me, the me I am now, out of the rubble and got us back to the User World. You must have been imported here just after that. That's when Lora's laser went missing. It's the way in and out from the other side.”

“Does Lora Prime know?” I'm actually worried about this. Yori was gone. He must have known that before hand. “How can you stand to be with her knowing-?”

“Because I'm still Alan.” His voice is rough edged now, warning. “From what I gleaned from your memories, you were in love with both Flynn and Clu at the same time. How is me being with Lora any worse?”

Point taken, I realize he still hasn't answered the first part. “Fair. What about Lora Prime and Sam Flynn? Do they know?”

Alan One glances up, as if looking through to the floor above us. “She's starting to get it. She didn't believe Flynn and me about any of this until we showed her it could be done. I think he's just avoiding the topic all together. It's probably bothering him that I made it, but Flynn didn't.”

“He's protective of you. I don't believe he would trade your life for Flynn's if he could.”

“And the fact that I doubt Clu was a willing participant from the sound of it.”

“Is that why you altered me to be sysadmin?” I ask, believing I know where he's going with this. “My closeness to Flynn and Clu?”

Alan One nodds again. “You had insights into all the workings of The Grid that none of the others would have had the chance to get. Sam's not to happy about me doing it without talking to him first, but...”

“But you felt it.” The Grid was beginning to shatter at the edges after the loss of Clu. I can feel the damage. It's stopped spreading. “Someone needed to be appointed quickly.”

“Exactly.” He moves over to check out a few of the batons on the wall a few paces away. I know how much he's appreciating their design. Unlike at ENCOM, these can be altered to have multiple functions. Most aren't, but all of Flynn's are. “Which leads me to another question...”

“I'm not upset with you for doing it.” I tell him quickly. Part Program or not, he's still my User, my creator. If I can't trust him, who can I trust? “I need some alterations to handle this better. It's... noisy, even at this distance from everything.”

I wasn't made to handle this much input all the time. Eventually, it'll get to be too much, even from here. If I go back to the city and try to carry out my new purpose, it'll happen sooner. He can't understand it first hand, but he can understand my short explanation.

“I need a clear directive to follow. Not perfection, if you please.”

Alan One nodds, setting a baton back on the shelf gently before looking at me carefully. “I'll help you dampen or shut off alerts and inputs at will. Emergency ones will come in normally no matter what. I know you wouldn't want to miss one. As for an official directive... It's probably going to alter as things progress. How about we just start with repairing damage done and re-organizing Programs according to their strengths and getting them back to work, regardless of original purpose.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning Beck, for one.” Alan one smiles knowingly. “You'll need someone to take over your old role, and I get the feeling you trust him to be more than a simple mechanic at this point.”

I laugh, turning away a bit and looking down at the floor. I just can't face him right now with what I'm thinking. Beck fought against me the first time I tried passing the mantle to him. He didn't want to take it up, citing that he was “just a mechanic.” The second time, I was literally dying in his arms, and he still found a way out of it. Would he still say no when he had two of us telling him to do it?

“What is it?” Alan One asks, honestly curious. “Did I misjudge him from your memories?”

“No.” I shake my head, still laughing inside. “He underestimates himself. Everything he's learned, he learned the hard way. He thinks he can't do it because he wasn't originally programmed to.”

“It would be like if one of us tried to work in energy distribution.” Alan One gets it. “Would he accept an upgrade if I offered?”

I don't even have to think about that one. “He'd accept anything from you, if you tell him the truth about yourself first.”

Alan One thinks about that for a long moment. I'm not sure Beck understood what happened earlier. He could think that Users can send out and receive signals like we can, that I was wrong about them, that Flynn deceived me. His faith in the Users is pretty much all talk. It was before. I've seen nothing to change that. He's always put his faith in me most. He can be hard to pursuay, even with multiple Users standing right in front of him. After all, Beck did put his hands on Sam Flynn the first time they met. So did I, but that was under different circumstances. Beck was being protective. I was just out to kill.

That thought brings back some of the hurt I felt on my way here. I don't know Sam Flynn, but I feel like I owe him somehow. It could be as a way to make things up to Flynn. It's not Sam Flynn that I owe. It's his father.

But what do I really owe Flynn anyway? He didn't listen to me when I warned him about Clu. I had to tell him twice to run for his life. He didn't come for me when I was damaged. Beck did. Alan One probably would have if Flynn had bothered to share the location of The Grid with him.

Clu tried to bring Alan One here himself. He thought my User would be a push over. He might be now, but, back when Clu first took over, I highly doubt it. Alan One wouldn't have thought twice about at least disabling Clu. I know he has it in him because I have it in me. I always did. The only thing that stopped me was loyalty to Flynn... and what Yori would have thought about me. I'm glad she'll never know that I would be willing to sacrifice a counterpart like that. I would derez myself for it, probably, but I'd still make it happen first if everyone else was better off because of it.

Lora Prime might find out. Yori was a part of her. I can't let these things be said out loud.

“How many cycles have you been running now?” Alan One's question is unexpected. He sees something in me that I'm not recognizing myself.

“Fourteen hundred, twenty-two cycles since I first became aware.” I answer honestly.

He looks sad. “Time really does move very differently between the worlds... I've been integrated for twenty-three out there. Full runtime of the User's side is fifty-five... Tron, I can't imagine a runtime as long as yours...”

“Then don't,” Those words come out harsher than I intend, so I add, “young one.”

“Says the back up to the original.” Alan One's smile returns slightly. I'm a little offended by that. Then again, he must have been, too. In terms of creation date, he's got at least another hundred and fifty cycles on me, as Tron. As a User? I have no idea how the math works out, but I'm willing to bet it's a lot more. Maybe two to three times my age.

I get the conversation back on track. It won't be much longer before Beck comes looking. “Can you please help me dampen the inputs?”

“Yeah. I can work through your disc. You can upload or delete anything as you see fit from there.”

I only allow it because of who he is. If it were Sam Flynn, I wouldn't even think about letting him touch my disc. I have a feeling I won't delete anything he gives me. Everything he gave me in the past had a reason even if it lacked a clear purpose at the time. I found ways to use the unclear items and code later on, when they became useful in a situation I did not foresee.

When he is finished and hands back my disc, I dock it, perusing the potential upgrade. Selective interpretation of data streams. Improved processing speeds. More shielding. That last part has me concerned. Flynn gave Clu more advanced shielding than I had. It came to be a problem when I had to fight him head on. If I turned out like Clu and betrayed the Users, they would have an even harder time. I decide to trust his decision. He could still take me down if I turned. He could teach Sam Flynn to do it, too. As long as one or both of them are keeping in touch and paying attention, this would be more of a gift to me than a potential curse to anyone else.

The moment I accept the upgrades and patches, everything falls quiet except for a couple of alerts at the fringes. There are two points still falling apart. It could wait a bit before it became a real threat, but... what was that Flynn said? What did Clu quote that one time? Nip it in the bud.

I get it now.

I'm going to have to do some things like Clu did. The start would be to eliminate the two masses of gridbugs near the fringes. Their numbers are small enough to manage now, with a little help. Good thing I've got Beck, Paige, and Sam Flynn around. Right?

Well... I'll have to make sure Sam Flynn sticks close. Just in case.

Chapter Text

Sam POV

I'm going to have a heart attack. I'm not event thirty, and I'm going to have a heart attack. Did Alan really just say there were giant spiders eating at the base code of The Grid at the edges of the map? Like, tearing it to shreds? I hate spiders! Too many legs and eyes! And fangs. Can't forget the fangs. Ugh, and venom! Is there such a thing as digital venom? I can see how that would be a problem for Programs, but what would it do to a User?

And Tron wants me to join him and his friends to go hunting for these... spiders. No. No way. Let them deal with it. I'm. Not. Going. Not going to hunt giant spiders. Not going with two Programs I don't fully trust and one I've never even met. No. I want out. Now.

“Sam Flynn, did you or did you not fight your way through a squad of Black Guards to get to the ISO and then confidently attack me to get to her?” Tron asks, putting his foot down figuratively and literally. “I promise you, I am the bigger threat. You will survive.”

Yeah. Just because I grew a pair big enough to attack Rinzler on his own home turf a few days ago, doesn't mean I feel like getting eaten alive by spiders now.

“Not unless you give me a shit ton of bug spray first,” I reply. I can't believe this guy thinks I'm going to just run out there with him. I'm not sure if the “shit ton” or the “but spray” part has him confused. Maybe both.

“Let me get this straight,” Beck advances on me, half smiling. He looks as predatory as a house cat, but I already know his hands can leave bruises without really trying. What is it with these guys and beating the crap out of me with so little effort? “You actually attacked him, but you're scared of gridbugs?”

Lora embarrasses me more with her answer, “Sam used to have nightmares about coming here and getting eaten alive by spiders. I always told Kevin not to tell him those stories about how gridbugs supposedly took down whole buildings. He thought it was cool because Tron was always there to save the day. Sam developed a real phobia instead. Alan used to have to crawl under his bed with a can of bug spray every couple of nights. Tron was still there to save the day, I guess. Well... the night anyway.”

“You had gridbugs under your bed?” Beck's expression changes from amused to worried and confused fast. “All the time?”

“We don't have time for this.” Tron interrupts before any of us can explain. “I can take them on with or without help, but it would go faster with. I thought you might like the chance to defend The Grid yourself instead of running away from it like a newly activated Program. I guess my faith in the name Flynn should not be applied to you after all. Where as your father would have laughed the whole way, you choose to cower and hide. Beck, contact Paige. See if she has anyone around her she trusts to help without attacking either one of us in the process.”

Oh, that was a low blow. He knew it was. Now I have to step up. I really don't want to. God, I really don't want to, but he just insulted me so damn hard. He used Dad to do it, too. Now I have to show him up. I don't know how, but I will find a way.

Thanks for helping, Lora. Not. Alan's just standing there, arm's crossed, smirking the whole time. Did he tell Tron to insult me if I said no? I bet he did. Speaking of Alan and Lora, “What about them? Just going to leave them here alone?”

“I believe Alan One is more than capable of protecting Lora Prime on his own.” Tron responds whole heartedly. “There is currently no danger here. If there is, he will be more than sufficient.”

Beck leans in to him, whispering something about damaged joints he had noticed the first time we met. He doesn't understand User aging, but he's picked up on at least one of the key factors. Tron just shakes his head and tells Beck to trust him on this. This place needed to be kept secret from others, and the couple would be fine.

Yeah, but what about me? Fucking. Big. Spiders.

“Here, Sam,” Alan catches my attention and tosses a baton at me. “You're good with a bat. This should work.”

I catch the baton and can't figure out what he means. “You want me to throw a mororcycle at them?”

Lora seems to be on my side for this one. Alan shakes his head as Tron and Beck both hiss out a laugh at my expense. Once again, I know I'm doing something everyone else considers stupid. I mean, using it like a bat was my first instinct the first time someone handed one to me. Now Alan really was suggesting using it like a bat, and I'm wrong again somehow.

“Sam,” Alan plucks it back out of my hand, gives it a twist, and the whole thing extends out into a staff. “Not all of them work the same. Some have multiple functions.” He twists it again, and half of it collapses. It's bigger than a bat, but still something that can work. “Go conquor your fears on your own this time. You're too old to be scared of spiders. Besides. They aren't spiders.”

No. Of course they're not spiders. Spiders have eight legs and like ten eyes, are hairy, and build webs because they're more ambush predators than anything. Gridbugs, I'm now seeing, have four legs, no hair, one eye, one or two fangs depending, are the size of fucking poodles, and derez just about anything they touch on impact. They're just as jumpy as spiders, though.

This is worse. This is so much worse.

I don't care that there are a handful of other Programs making up a line on either side of me and Tron. I don't care. There's a fucking shit ton of poodle sized half spiders nibbling away at the ground and making their way towards me. They don't see us as a threat yet, but when they do...

I remember the stories about the gridbugs the best because they scared me the most. Now I have to fight them myself. At least I have Tron here. At least Tron's not trying to kill me this time. I don't know if the other Programs are trustworthy or not. There haven't been any introductions, and I don't recognize any of the faces. One of them still has orange lightlines. She might become a problem once the gridbugs are taken care of.

If they don't eat me first.

“You ran off on us.” Orange lightlines glances at Tron.

“We're all allowed one, aren't we?” Tron asks her in response. He doesn't give her a chance to respond before he starts walking forward, both discs in hand and lit up to kill. “Let's get this over with. Paige, Chander, and Sam stay back a few paces to catch anything Beck, Gildi, Anchor and I miss.”

It's probably the first time he doesn't say my last name. Did he do it because he still didn't think I could live up to Dad's memory? Did he do it to keep the new guys from freaking out? I guess I'll find out later. The bugs are catching on to the fact that there are now four pissed off Programs coming towards them. They're done eating, making lines of their own for the fight. I didn't think things like that could work as a team. It's not one of those moments when I'm glad to be wrong about something.

Gildi and Anchor, I'm not sure who is who yet, go off to the sides, a bit farther out than I think this is supposed to work. Then I see why. Their batons light up with blue flame at one end. They use the heat to drive the bugs closer together, towards Tron and Beck. None of the bugs run away from the fight itself. It's not like they have anywhere to go anyway. They've eaten everything behind them besides each other. Actually, scratch that. I think I saw a bigger one eatting a smaller one when it got in the way.

Tron hangs back, standing half way between me and Beck. The bugs that Gildi and Anchor don't burn to ash converge on Beck. He holds his own pretty well. They're running straight at him, some of them jumping to try and get on his head. At first, he makes a few throws of his disc, destroying a bug or three each time, all of them mid air. Then, as they get too close for that, he's keeping his disc solid in one hand and using a baton like a sword in the other. One got him by the arm. Before he could deal with it, another was flying at his face. He ducks down and lets the damn thing go straight over his head. With the arch of its jump, it's going to land on me next.

I do my best not to scream, but I can't stop from crouching down and raising my own disc over my head. I feel so stupid when I open my eyes. Tron's just standing there between us like he has been from the start, but he's got his left hand in the air above his head, disc and arm showered in derezzed bits of bug. Otherwise, he hasn't moved a muscle. Pixel. Whatever.

Beck is still at it. He's got grey gashes glowing blue deep inside his left arm now, and another one on his upper thigh. The woman in orange is looking pretty upset about that. As bad as it sounds, I'm glad it's him and not me. Tron's had enough of seeing his boyfriend beat up, I guess. He takes two long strides, then jumps straight over Beck and lands just beyond the heat of Gildi's and Anchor's fire.

He's not taking his time with the gridbugs like he did with me. He's fast, covering himself on all sides with a disc in his left hand and a baton in his right. I don't even think he's got it activated. He's just straight up beating the everloving fuck out of them! The crazy part? I think he's smiling. I think that until one bug actually catches a clawed foot in the side of his head and he brings up his helmet. It snapped the leg off the bug, and I'm wondering if the other end of it derezzed or if it's still stuck in the side of his head like a splinter. Either way, that had to hurt.

“Get off the ground!” Orange lines yells at me. “You look like an amature!”

“With that armor, he may just be!” The woman on my right jabs. “A fresh one aren't you, former stray?”

“I'm not a stray,” I say, finally picking myself back up from when I thought I was really going to be a digital spider's dinner. “Never did this before, though.”

A couple bugs get past the front line. They're limping towards us. One of them only has a single leg left. Orange lines just needs to lightly flick her disc to take them down to shreds. I get the feeling that I should recognize her from somewhere. Maybe she was in the club or something.

“Chander, on your left!” Orange lines calls out to the woman to my left. There's an intact gridbug coming straight at her.

“Thanks Paige!” Chander says as she brings her staff down on its head. Okay, now I know the names of two of them. Just gotta figure out which is which of the other two. “Hey, Sam, are you going to do anything, or just keep cowering like a glitch? Beck needs help now.”

How can Beck need help? He's got Tron clearing out most of the flow of... oh... there's a really, really big one that made it past Tron, Gildi, and Anchor. It's got its sights set on Beck. Beck's still surrounded and keeping the remaining flow off of the three of us. I don't think he's even seen it. How, I don't know, it's the size of a school bus.

Fuck! There's a digital spider the size of a school bus about to kill my childhood hero's boyfriend! Tron will kill me for real this time if I don't do something! I just go for it. If I can think of this as just a game, a V.R. with heptic feedback or something, I can deal with it. I know I'm a terrible shot with a disc, but Alan was right, I can swing a bat. So I run in, twisting the baton like Alan showed me, and get the half-staff out.

I wanted the half-staff. I got the full staff. With the angle I was holding it as I ran, the lower end caught a rock. The staff became a bit more of a pole vault in that moment. It might have looked bad ass from the outside, but it wasn't going to be if I landed wrong. I've never intentionally pole vaulted a day in my life. This was the first accidental one.

Now I'm on top of the thing's center mass, my staff is broke, and my disc is all I have left. Or is it? A broken staff is still a nice blunt force object. In this case, it's a nice stabby thing. I stab straight down into the bug's head.

Then I'm free falling to the ground, landing hard, face first. My first gridbug kill, and I literally land flat on my face. Good job, Sam. Ugh. At least I didn't piss myself.

I might piss myself.

Getting back up, I see that the line has been moved up farther. Paige and Chander are side by side with Beck now. Anchor and Gildi have moved up, too, closer to Tron who is at least a football field away now. We're down to a handful of bugs and one, really big motherfucker. I mean three story house size. And where's Tron? Using his baton as a grappling hook like Batman from underneath it to pull himself straight up the middle at its center mass.

Something must have shifted, because the remaining smaller ones are all focusing in on me now. Everybody else has ran ahead to join Tron. I don't know if they figured I was a gonner or just didn't give a damn. Tron's the only one I don't blame, oddly enough. He's got bigger problems. Literally.

Anchor and Gildi are still flanking, keeping the big son of a bitch busy dancing on its toes while Paige and Chander begin throwing their discs at it from the ground. Tron's firmly attached now, drilling straight through one large connection between a leg and body, arm out stretched as far as he could get it. He doesn't have the reach to complete the job. So he does the same with another leg. I get it now. He's weakening it so that it's frantic attempts to escape the others will cause the legs to snap off. It's cruel, and it's dangerous. He could end up splattered on the ground.

Where's Beck?

“Sam Flynn! Down!”

There's Beck. On the ground, leg shattered, arm half gone, and throwing a disc in my direction. I'm not going to argue with him, and duck. The moment I'm sure his disc has traveled back over me, I'm running to him. He's taken out most of the stragglers, but there are still three more dog sized ones coming at us. I don't expect him to fight back in this condition.

I pick up my broken staff and swing away, standing right over Beck. No. Fucking. Way. Am. I. Gonna. Let. You. Die, buddy! I don't feel the fear anymore. All I know is that I'm not going to watch this guy go down and stay down. I should have had his back the whole time, and I didn't.

Best I can do now is derez the remaining bugs and hope the really big one doesn't come dancing over here and crush us both. I don't think I can feel anything anymore. It's like when I compeated a kick boxing tournament. That's not a good thing. They had to pull me off my last opponent. I didn't know I had that in me until that moment. I didn't think it would come back until it was already happening here and now.

Apparently, there are more than a handful of gridbugs left as the really big one collapses. Again, they're all coming after me. Or, maybe they're going after Beck since he's technically an easy target. Beck starts swinging again, with his remaining arm, disc in hand. He's keeping the ground level ones off my back even as I'm standing directly over him, swinging my disc, lashing out with what's left of my staff, and kicking the fuck out of the small swarm that's all over us now.

I don't see the moment the others take out Big Bug. I feel it. The little ones around me and Beck freeze for a moment, then start running the hell away. The others chase them down and kill them. I'm blanking out, thinking about that torunament.

My opponent was once my neighbor. He beat the fuck out of his wife, put her in the hospital two days before the tournament. She didn't turn him in for it. I was put in charge of watching their six-year-old daughter for a while, the only person either of them knew in town at the time. I was still practically a stranger to them, and they handed their little girl off to me. I told her some stories about The Grid that I remembered, ones that didn't include gridbugs, and made some calls after she went to sleep on the couch. I found her grandparents and got her to them. The dad, Jason, didn't ask about her when he got home the next day. A day after that and I find out he's a compeditor from another dojo. I saw red.

“Sam!” Paige, Orange Lines, is snapping her fingers at me. I come back to the moment. “I need you to move. Now.”

The gridbugs are gone. No one is without a mark except for Tron. I'm still standing over Beck, gripping my weapons so tight that they're biting into my skin almost as hard as the bugs had. I move back, trying to get it together again, shaking. I need to help Beck. I have to remember how Dad did it to Quorra. Why is he still around? Shouldn't he have derezzed from all that?

Paige is already on it, though. She's got Beck's disc in hand as he's blabbering something about how useful another Program's gifted code turned out to be. Someone who went by Q and worked for the resistance.

A hand grips mine over my disc. I swing with the other hand to make them let go. Tron catches my left hand in his right and shakes his head at me.

“It's over. Stand down.” Tron slowly lets go of me, backing up a couple paces. “You did well for your first time, Sam Flynn.”

The other four stop bitching to each other about their damages from the fight, heads snapping up to look at us. It's the first time they've heard my last name. Paige must not have heard him. She's too busy making repairs to Beck's disc.

“Did... did I hear that right?” One of the fire throwers gets the guts to walk a little closer, holding her wrist. I can see her hand's about to fall right off. More pieces are dripping from it. “You're Flynn?”

“Sam,” I stress.

“But he called you-”

“How about I take a look at that hand, huh?” I cut her off. “I've seen it done before.”

Tron grunts at that. “You've seen an ISO repaired. It's different for Gildi. Let Paige do her work, Sam Flynn. I need to see to your wounds before we return to Alan One and Lora Prime. Please show me where the damage is.”

“I'm fine.” I wave him off. “I'm not the one about to lose a limb.”

“Program repairs are much simpler than User repairs. Show me.”

He's not going to let it go. Maybe he's scared Alan and Lora will punish him because I got hurt. If that was the case, they would have already done it. I showed them both my stitches. Which... I tore them in this fight. Alan was right. I should have fixed this damn armor. Tron's eyes move to my arm with mine. He sees it. Of course he sees it. Everyone can see it.

“Fine.” I give in. “How do I take this stuff off?”

User first aid on The Grid is nothing like back home except for one thing. Stitches are stitches. Getting the upper part of my clothes off to expose the cut is a challenging process. I'm not about to let any of these guys touch my disc to do it their way. I have no idea how to just will away digital clothing like they can. So, it's Anchor who lights up a small torch on his hand to cut away the sleeve and remove the stupid broken armor while Beck starts to sit up and Paige moves to help Gildi with her wrist.

“What is that?” Anchor asks, poking a finger straight into my bloody arm to get a closer look.

“OW!” I yell at him, then practically scream again as Tron startes dumping something all over the area to clear it out. I'm pretty sure a couple clots come out, too. “Don't poke right in there! That's not sanitary, and it hurts!”

“That's part of the inside of a User, Anchor,” Tron explains as he pours a second vile of liquid energy over the very cut he put there in the first place. “It's called blood. They need it to live. Replacing it takes another User or a lot of time, rest, and extra energy consumption.”

“So... Users feed off of one another?” Gildi looks horrified.

I have to correct that line of thought right away. “No, but we can spare a little every now and then. It gets pulled out of us an injected into another who needs it. Damn it, Tron! What are you doing?”

My arm's on fire for a second. I can smell burnt flesh before I even look. He's got the tip of a baton pressed against my arm. He's cauterizing it! If I wasn't going to have much of a scar before, I'm damn well going to have one now.

“We don't exactly have proper tools to mend you,” Tron tells me as I try not to gag both from the pain and the stench and... Yeah. Oh, I really want to throw up.

“Well,” I force myself to take deep breaths, “if you didn't fucking cut me in the first place, this wouldn't have happened!”

“If he didn't cut you in the first place,” Paige retorts as Tron just drops my arm and steps back a bit, “Beck and I wouldn't have known to contact Q to get you out of there. Are all Users this ungrateful for what we do for them, Tron?”

“He doesn't know any better yet,” Beck reaches out with his regrown hand to touch her calf gently from his spot on the ground. “I just found out before we came here. He has practically no experience with any of our kind.”

Paige turns on Tron now. “So you brought a useless User to help out in a fight like this? What is wrong with you? I thought you were back to yourself, the guy I used to hate. Now I might like you even less than before.”

She really shouldn't be getting away with talking to him like that. “Careful how you talk to your new Sysadmin, Paige. Commander Paige. You might not get that shiny new promotion I was thinking about giving you if he said yes.”

She's speechless. I think it's more to do with what I sad about Tron than what I was potentially giving her. Alan picked the new Sysadmin. I was damn well going to figure out how to do things to appoint his staff. Back at the... house?... Beck and I talked a lot while Lora listened in and Alan and Tron excused themselves. Beck should definitely be filling Tron's role, but he was going to need some help to make it work better. From what I have seen of Paige in Tron's memories and heard from Beck about how she can take charge, I planned on making her the next police/military chief, however it works in here.

“We should continue this at a safer location,” Tron breaks the silence. “The others have shown up. This is their sector, not ours.”

“Others?” I check out the area around us. There's a lot of faint glowing things around us, roughly human sized and shaped. I can barely make them out. It's almost like looking at the heat coming off a car engine in the middle of a hot summer's day, but with a tinge of a white glow.

Ghosts. The Grid has ghosts. I've never seen one before, and I hoped I never would. Now, I'm seeing dozens of them. This might be worse than digital spiders.

“Remnants.” Tron provides. “Harmless unless you overstay your welcome. I believe we're being warned to leave. Besides, we have a smaller swarm of gridgbugs to deal with before the milli is through.”

Chapter Text

I wanted to forgive

I'm trying to forget

Don't leave me here again

I'm with you forever, the end

-Without You

--Breaking Benjamin

Tron POV

Most of our transportation capable batons were single seaters only. Sam Flynn basically destroyed his in that jump and subsequent unorthodox use of the remains. Gildi's is in absolute shreds now. Anchor's needed work before we even got there. It blew up right as the fight ended. At least he knew it was going to and chucked it at the gridbug first.

I'm worried about Beck. He took on a lot by himself before giving me the signal for help. He took a lot of damage, more than any other of Flynn's Programs except for Clu were designed to handle without full deresolution. I know he got that from me. I intentionally created a copy of my own structural integrity and healing into my disc to be downloaded into his when he comined them again after I was healed. I couldn't do it while Dyson's virus was still eating me up because he might have gotten that, too. It was my gift to him when we became counterparts.

He shouldn't have been torn apart that badly by the gridbugs unless he allowed it to happen or took on a big one by himself before clearing the smaller ones. Sam Flynn kept the bigger one from getting to him. What happened?

I couldn't ask him while we were out there, at the edge. Too many would hear. There were the Remnants to consider, too. We had to leave on foot. Paige made her work quick on the rest of us while I checked over the rest of Sam Flynn's wounds. They were very minor except the one that I gave him cycles ago. At least we wouldn't have to walk the whole way. We were nearest to Bismuth. Getting there was going to be the easy part. Getting on a train and making it through Argon to find replacement transportation or a spot where Beck could work on what we had left would be the hard part.

There was no telling how many of Clu's loyalists we might encounter. I could simply change the color on my lightlines, stay quiet, and move through with ease. I could get anything I wanted. It wasn't so for the rest of them. Anchor and Gildi were well known from Arjia and Flynn's own resistance. They fought for the ISOs from moment one. Chander was a known spy for the resistance, a double spy at that. Her alliegence was to Able, and Able wasn't around to help her stay out of trouble anymore. She tried to keep generally neutral, but she was really no better than Zuse in the end. I think the only reason she even came out when Beck called for help was because it was Beck, and Able had loved Beck as much as a mentor could love a student.

Well, almost. Then again, Able died first among his counterparts. Chander was all that was left of that triad now. Illua, their third, was repurposed into the army Clu was going to take with him to the User world. That's when Chander finally picked a side.

I still don't trust her enough to bring her the rest of the way. She can say whatever she wants. I know she sold out those Programs that were hiding energy that Cyrus murdered. Beck very nearly lost one of his original counterparts because of the explosion. Mara was lucky to only get a fragment in her leg.

With all that in mind, I decide to send Chander back to my own city to contact the remaining resistance. They should know that Rinzler is no more, that Beck, Paige, and I survived. She'll probably tell the remaining Clu loyalists and everyone else, too. That would be good. Everyone should know that the Users are making actual efforts for us again. Sam Flynn stepping up in the fight should be proof. The very fact that he returned at all after how he was treated before should be enough.

With Chander gone, I tell Beck that we aren't staying in Argon any longer than it takes to get back out of it again. We're going to the Outlands, to the base. I hope it's still intact. Argon itself, I know, is mostly ruins. It's been practically reduced to a way station between Bismuth, Gallium, and Tron City from the last I saw of it.

We're almost out of the train station in Argon when someone recognizes just who is walking among the rest. Everyone else has their heads down, minding their own business. I almost thought I didn't need to shift the color of my lightlines at all. Paige, Beck, and I were supposed to look like we were escorting Sam Flynn, Anchor, and Gildi as prisoners who weren't even worth putting in cuffs. Nobody cared until she saw us.

That blue hair and bag of work tools could be recognized anywhere in Argon. Beck told me she was dead. Actually, Cinder told me she was dead. We haven't really had a chance to talk since he found me on the platform by the portal. I don't know if he knows or not. One thing is for sure, he should have felt it if she really was gone. When Clu repurposed him, did he sever Beck's bond with her? Implant a false memory of her death? Did that mean their other remaining counterpart was still alive? What did that mean for me and Paige? Beck was created to have three counterparts. If he now had four...

“That chick over there is really interested in us for some reason,” Sam Flynn states the obvious.

“Everyone stares when they recognize Rinzler or Cinder.” Gildi tells him.

“I figured that out, but she doesn't look horrified or angry.” Sam Flynn points out. “She looks sad.”

“I killed one of her counterparts and destroyed the memory of her heros.” Beck admitted, somehow still holding his head level. “We used to be friends. Careful. She's not half bad at fighting. Don't let her size fool you.”

I've got a suspicion she's not going to just let us pass by. We have to go past her to leave the station. She was the first after Beck to really believe in me when I was here just after the initial take over. She was willing to stand up against the army all by herself to defend Beck and Me. She didn't even know who we were back then. She was loyal to the cause itself, even if she did stumble on it a couple times.

I halt our progress briefly when we get near her. She's standing up straight, glaring at us. Her eyes are still very sad despite her anger. Beck tries to get closer to her, but I put out my hand to stop him. I meet her gaze from behind my mask. She knows nothing of what we have become. I can sense she's deciding whether or not to end her own life by foolishly attacking us. Doing so had been a death sentence to everyone before her who tried. Except Sam Flynn.

“Follow us into the Outlands, Mara,” I tell her quietly. “You will get your answers. No fighting. No risk to you. Don't. Draw. Attention.”

She's shocked to hear those words, I know. She's probably shocked to hear me say that many words in a row without straining. It is nice to be able to speak normally again, even if it is to invite trouble. I make our group get moving again as she stands there, silently appraising the orders. I know she'll follow. Beck doesn't need to look back the three times he does to check. The fourth time he looks, I smack him on his helmet for it.

“Stop it!” I warn him. “You'll get your chance to speak with her soon enough.”

I can only guess part of what Paige is thinking. She knows as well as I do that Beck was in a quad. He's got enough energy to spend on more than two. If it's just Mara, we're fine. If Zed is alive, too, it's probably me who's going to be cut. I was the last write-in after all. She sends me a sad glance, but I ignore it. I know I can function without a single counterpart. I don't want to, but I can. Beck deserves better than me anyway.

At the edge of the bridge leading into the Outlands, I send Gildi and Anchor back into the city. I can trust them to gather intel and report in honestly. They knew I always fought for the Users. They fought for Flynn, too. They even tried to live under Clu at first, as just any other citizen. It was the coup that made them really take a side. I need them to find out how people in Argon really feel about things, find out just how much is damaged or still working, what I'm going to have to do to make the citizens here feel better about having me as their Sysadmin now.

Paige, Beck and I drop the act of being Rinzler, Cinder, and Commander, our lightlines shifting to match our original programming. Sam Flynn breathes an obvious sigh of relief to see that.

“I thought you said we couldn't make it back on foot in time.” Sam Flynn says, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the motion. His damage is definitely bothering him more than he's saying. “And what's with the girl?”

“That girl is one of the bravest Programs ever written,” Beck corrects him, looking around. The street is empty besides the four of us and one lone Program slowly walking our direction, disc activated. “Mara. Stupidly brave. One of my original counterparts.”

“Not anymore!” Mara throws her disc right at him.

Paige and I both reach out and catch it before it hits Beck. He didn't even move to avoid or block it. I wonder if he knew we would protect him, or if he was just going to let it take him out. I hope it's the former. I can understand the latter a little too well. I don't want to believe he can honestly feel that way.

“Yeah, I tried that, too.” Sam Flynn points a thumb at her disc. Paige and I are still pulling on it equally, trying to take control of it. “Nice shot, but they're crazy fast.”

“Guys,” Beck puts both hands on Mara's disc and yanks it from my and Paige's grip, deactivating it, “let me do this. She needs to hear it from me.”

“I think we deserve explanations, too, Beck.” Paige states lowly.

“You do.” Beck pushes past all three of us and actually kneels down before Mara, offering up her disc without question. “Do what you have to, Mara, just try to listen to me first.”

Mara yanks her disc away roughly. She doesn't dock it, but she doesn't activate it again either. That's a good sign. “I should derez you for Zed...”

“I should be derezzed for a lot of things.” Beck still doesn't move except to put his hands in his lap. “Zed... We were trapped. He was damaged. We both were, but he was really bad off. I wouldn't leave him. He... he... he derezzed himself to make me leave... I tried to come back to you. I tried, but they caught me... Dyson and Tesler both. I was repurposed and used against Tron. I'm sorry, Mara. I was told you were dead, too. I can't... I can't feel you there anymore, even after Paige and Tron saved me. It's like, like... it's different than with Bodhi and Zed. I couldn't find you. I believed them. I'm sorry...”

“Show me.” Mara points her disc at him, still inactive.

Her hand is shaking. She's crying, and she's angry, and she doesn't really know whether or not to believe him. Users help me, if she even twitches the wrong way, despite her disc being inactive as a weapon, I'll take her down. I'm not going to lose another counterpart that I don't have to. He's all I have right now.

I watch as Beck slowly takes his disc off his back and pulls up the memory. It's cruel to make him relive it in front of us all like this. She probably doesn't see it that way. For her, it's closure. For Beck, it has to be absolute torture. Bodhi may have been Beck's primary counterpart in the quad, but he was still extremely close to the other two. Working for me had put a massive strain on their bonds, but they mended that eventually... only for it to be torn to shreds later.

From here, I can't get a good look at the recording or hear it at all. I'll just have to go off of what Beck said earlier. Whatever Mara sees, though, she's down on her knees now, embracing Beck. He's holding her back tightly, tracing the paterns of her lightlines with messages I wish he didn't have to share with her like this. She's doing the same with him, kissing his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder with a heavy, shaking sigh. When she pulls back again, they both trade their discs. I don't have to guess what is happening.

Sam Flynn is confused. He tapps my arm and gestures to them.

“Their bond as counterparts was removed at some point.” I tell him. “They are restoring it. We should have some music files and specialty energy at the base to celebrate if everything's still intact.”

Paige scoffs at the idea. “You want to celebrate? You want to get them drunk when they should be repairing our batons?”

“It's a happy thing, Paige.” I remind her. “You may have forgotten the importance of honoring the living, but I haven't. Do this for Beck at least?”

“It's just... weird...” Paige comments. “Quads are weird enough, but this one's even more out there than anything I've ever heard of.”

“Quads?” Sam Flynn asks. “You're find with trios, but not quads?”

“They're almost as rare as couples.” I explain. “Beck and Mara were counterparts with each other and two more. Now, Beck has Paige, me, and Mara. None of the three of us are bonded together. Even write-ins like us tend to bond with all parties in a relationship, not just one.”

Sam Flynn rubbs at his temples and face, a gesture I've seen from his father more than once. “And I thought it was fucked up with my parents... Hey, can we contact Alan and Lora when we get wherever we're going? I want to check in with them.”

“I don't have a link to Flynn's base from any of mine. I'm sure they're alright. You should still have enouogh time to spend with us for this before you have to leave.” I can feel the power levels around the portal if I really try. They're stable, no warnings. Actually, there's not even a timer counting down. “What happened to the limiter?”

“Removed.” Sam Flynn tells me flatly. “It only shuts off when we shut it off now. Quorra and Ram are monitoring it. I mean Roy. Damn it. Alan's got me calling him Ram now. I don't even know what that's about. Something Dad used to call him, I think.”

Ram. It's been a long time since I've heard that name spoken out loud. “Ram was the name of a dear friend, one I hoped to make my own write-in once. Your father... didn't know how to save him.”

Sam looks sad about that, like he's going to ask another question, but Beck and Mara are walking towards us now, hand in hand, saving the day again. I wonder how many times Beck is going to save me before the end. I hope there never is an end to anything of our relationship other than him having to save me. He needs a break.

“I'd like to officially introduce you all to Mara.” Beck states when they get close. “Mara, meet Tron, and Sam Flynn. Pretty sure you already knew Paige.”

Mara's gawking. “You... one of your counterparts... is a User?”

“No! No.” Sam Flynn holds up his hands against the idea very quickly. “I'm happily single. Thanks.”

Paige distracts her from Sam Flynn, patting her shoulder. “I'm happy for you, Mara. I know the pain of losing all counterparts. You are lucky to get this one back. He's a handful.”

“Don't we all know it,” I comment, reaching out to take Mara's hand in a similarly gentle greeting. “I've heard good things about you. I know how hard it was to break through your grief over Able to defend us when we needed it. Beck only deserves the best counterparts, and I believe you fit that description.”

She looks like she's going to faint. I should have expected that. Beck told me over and over again how she fawned over the Renegade, believing he could really be me. Now that we share a counterpart, I wonder if she'll stop it or if I'm going to have a little problem on my hands. It's an amusing thought, but I won't ever return any affections she might show beyond friendship. Paige is more my type, but I'm definitely not hers. I know Mara and Paige would be a mismatch. Beck's the only real, solid link we'll all have to one another.

“Let's go home.” I announce, turning to leave. “We have work to do before word gets around too much.”

“About?” Mara asks as everyone follows.

Sam Flynn finds the answer. “Your boyfriend's boyfriend is the new Sysadmin. Oh shit!”

I turn around in time to see Beck and Sam Flynn are both holding Mara up. She's shut down, passed out as Users would say. Paige rolls her eyes with a heavy sigh of annoyance. Beck's blushing. Sam's scared. Oh, I hope she acclimates to this new dynamic fast!

Chapter Text

Lora POV

“So, how does this compare to ENCOM's system?” The silence that had fallen when the boys left was killing me. Alan was meticulously looking over everything, comitting it to memory. That's all I could think to get his attention back.

It's a perpetual night in here. Quorra said her first experience with daylight and the sun was right after she and Sam left together. Right after Kevin... I want to know if it's like this in every system. Alan never seemed bothered by daylight after that fire the way Quorra was. Well, bothered isn't the word I would use to describe it. When she realized it was sunny after Alan and I showed up at the arcade, Sam had to force her to stay in the basement. She was already sunburnt. That bothered her because she wanted to go out and experience more of it despite the pain.

“It's darker here, less generally expressive.” Alan answers, perusing a selection of books at the far end of the room. “Colors seem more basic and to have a clearer purpose for identification of alliances rather than who created what. Lightlines are simpler, broader over all. It's more advanced, but less... less variables to make things interesting. ENCOM was prettier, I guess you could say. There were fields of gold and purple lined hills, icy white and blue caves and mountains where you could find springs of the purest energy, vast swaths of empty white, gray, and blue between sectors that rose up like mesas. Each of the sectors had at least one I/O tower. The guardians would teach the new Programs the history of the system before they were released to work, like kindergarten teachers telling tall tales of days long ago in fantasy worlds before our time. Orange was not associated with negative connotations until after the MCP elisited Sark to create a uniformed army. I haven't seen it since 83. I hope it's still like that, beautiful and varied and...”

He shoves a beat up hard back book into its spot roughly. I don't know what happened, but he went from barely answering, to getting carried away into something loving, and then hurt over his speech. I want to go there next. I want to see what he saw. It sounds like he loved it a lot. He loved it and he lost it, even though it was literally at his fingertips all these years. If I had just listened to Kevin in the first place, things would be so different for us all now. I never would have kept working in D.C. if I had just listened.

“Please don't do this to me, Lora.” He speaks quietly, one hand resting on the bookshelf and the other thumbing at one of the lightlines near his collar. I still think the lightlines are a bit silly to look at. Sam and Alan argued over the design for mine when we first got here. I had to yank my new disc away from them and do it myself. Sam liked it, but Alan smiled sadly, commenting that it looked familiar, reminding him of Yori with the triangle on my chest and flared, thick line on my back. I had just sketched something out quickly to shut them both up, or so I thought. “It's hard enough being here after what happened to Flynn.”

“You don't trust them to keep Sam safe.” It's not a question. It's a no brainer. When he's focusing on several things at once, it's because he's trying to keep himself distracted from what he really wants to be doing instead.

He doesn't even deny it. “Most Programs don't have what it takes to go up against a swarm. One or two, sure, but not a swarm. They've even taken some chunks out of me a time or two. Sam is... he's more capable than he gives himself credit for, I think. He just needs the push.”

Okay, so I'm not dealing with Alan anymore. Unless there's more he didn't tell me? I ask tentatively, “Tron?”

“Yeah. Hi.” He looks a little sheepish for a second, then drops the act of having any interest in the books at all and comes to sit across from me by the fireplace. “Do you think Sam noticed?”

“I just did, so no.” I tell him, resisting the urge to reach out and take his hand. “Are you okay? Keeping up so far?”

“I'm working on it. Seeing you like this is... difficult. Seeing this world is difficult. I never knew Flynn to have so much hurt in him that he would create something so... depressing.”

“I don't think he ever got the chance to make it what he wanted it to be.” I tell him, looking around and back outside. “I can definitely say it's unfinished, but that's going to change. We've got all his and Jordan's notes. Sam's on board. The other you is already working on cleaning things up. I think we're just seeing it at its worst right now. There's plenty of potential and opportunity now that Clu is gone.”

“None of that will return Flynn to us.”

“I know.” I sigh, reaching out for him anyway. “Not having him doesn't mean we can't honor him. Can't live in the past, but we can plan for the future.”

He takes my hand and comes around to sit beside me on the love seat, but he keeps as much of a respectable distance as he can. It's always been hard for me to figure out how Tron views me and Sam. I know he feels the need to protect us; it's hard wired into his code. There's nothing to protect me from in this place, and Sam's in good hands at the moment. His own, to a degree. I need to distract him some more, from whatever else is eating at him. Maybe I can get Alan back before the others return. Maybe being here makes it hard for Alan to suppress Tron.

Tron's personality has always been a security blanket for Alan. If I'm feeling like hell being in Flynn's home, he must be feeling even worse. Alan was right on top of his... prison... this whole time. I had the excuse of being on the other side of the country most of the time. The failure of finding that door to the basement must be agonizing for him, both of him. I'm sure Tron looked just as hard in the beginning as Alan did. He just didn't have all the senses in our world that he does here. He could sense that door just as much as I could, which was to say, not one bit.

We both go quiet again, thinking our own thoughts and taking the time to really look at the things around us. It's actually both easy and difficult to imagine this being where Kevin lived. His work spaces were always messy. Only his parents and Jordan could keep the house looking relatively clean and clear of the clutter Kevin and Sam left in their wake. There were some decorative items strewn about the floor when we got here, like they were flung on purpose. There aren't any real signs of a struggle. Everything's in tip top shape, generally where one would expect to see them. I wonder if it was that argument Quorra talked about her and Kevin having just before they left. I can definitely see Kevin getting mad enough to throw a few things around when he realized Sam left without permission and Quorra helped him.

I just need to do something. I've already read everything on the bookshelf, so cleaning it is. I pick up the silvery apples and bowls, arranging them on the dining table where I think they look best, then set up the candle holders around that. There's a few more things over by the chair near the bookshelf that need to be put upright again. Alan already put back the book that was left on the floor. I'm surprised the bed is made, but someone's clearly laid right down on top of it. Both Alan and Kevin had a habit of doing that and forgetting to smooth things back out after a nap.

Done finding things to clean, I take my seat again, trying to figure out something else to do. Alan's just sat there and watched me work the whole time. Usually, he helps. I'm not sure what's gotten into him. Then again, he's not exactly himself right now. I don't think I ever remember Tron cleaning anything besides the car. He might not understand how to, now that I think about it.

“It's still beautiful here.” I say, looking back outside again. “The darkness highlights the buildings and people, drawing your eye to intentional points of interest. The over all simplicity belies the actual intracacies that are obvious once you know how to look at them. It's like looking at Jordan's drawings. Deceptively simple from a distance.”

“Maybe this was Kevin's way of honoring her.”

And I've got Alan back again. Talking about Jordan somehow always brings him back. Tron, I believe, has no real attachments to her. She never made any programs that he could have interacted with in system. Tron liked Jordan, but he didn't love her like we did.

“I think so.” I get up and go to a chair near a bedroom space a little ways away. There's a shirt there I spied earlier. It's all white, but there's stitching on the back that looks like the inside of a motherboard's connections. The stitching is only noticeable if you're looking closely. “Like this. Subtle at first, but...”

“Well, that's definitely not Quorra's.” Alan reaches out and lifts a wiry, gray hair off the collar of the shirt I'm holding up. “It's still hard to think of him going gray. Every time I think about him, he's still thirty-something.”

I know the feeling. I keep a picture of the three of us standing together at the front doors of ENCOM that was taken in 82. I think that was the first time I ever saw Kevin wearing a suit. Trying to imagine how he would age was never something I did. I figured Alan would end up being a silver fox, not this white haired-

Wait a minute. He's got some color in his hair. It's faded, washed out, but it's there.

“Alan, did you dye your hair?” I blurt out, reaching to pluck one out of his head and really look at it. The light in here is bright, but not too harsh. Sure enough, his hair isn't white. It's almost blond, darker at the root than the other end. I don't pay him any attention as he rubs at his scalp to ease the sting.

“What? Why would I do that? You said you liked it white.” He complains, looking at the hair against one of the panels of light with me. “I'll be damned. Now I'm going to have to bleach it like you do.”

“Alan.” I snap at him. He's been completely white haired for over a decade now. Something's changing, and it's not anything I can think of. When I look at him, I see slightly tighter, thicker skin, less lines around his mouth and throat. “You're getting younger. What is this place doing to you? Sam said Kevin aged like normal people, but you're doing the opposite pretty damn fast.”

“It's just the lighting, Lora,” he waves off my concern, walking away to check out the view of the city again. “You're imagining it. Seeing Tron got you all nostalgic or something. If there is a change, it'll reverse back when we go home. You'll see.”

He's got his hands deep in his pockets, head bent down, foot swiping at imaginary grit on the floor. He's hiding something. He only does this when he's holding something back, usually something negative. I hate it when he does this to me. How can he not know that he's so easy to read? “Alan... Tell me.”

“You really don't need to worry about it.” He finally looks at me again. “Tron has a self-healing ability. Since he's me now, I guess... I guess that subroutine has identified aging as something wrong that needs to be fixed. It can't do it in the real world, so it's working on it in here.”

That's an answer that makes sense considering the circumstances. I still feel like he's hiding something. His hands haven't come out of his pockets, but I can tell he's still fidgeting, drumming his fingers against his thighs out of sight. “Well, now I'm just jealous.”

“Don't be. It's a hassle to go through.” He walks back over to me, running his fingers through my hair. “I can feel it happening. It's like an itch I can't reach to scratch. Besides, you're always beautiful to me. The absolute best.”

Nice deflection, but I don't buy it. I pull him closer, getting my arms around his back. Now I've got him trapped. “I saw the look Roy gave you when you said you wanted to come back in here. You two said a lot in that glance. He knows something I don't.”

“Stop it. I'm going to be alright.”

Going to be. I don't like the sound of that. That implies something is wrong right now. “Please tell me the truth. What's wrong? It's just us.”

“Lora...” He tries to pull away from me, looking away with a frown. I hold him tighter. He's not getting out of this. His jaw sets tight as he looks back at me. I know it's still Alan. Tron doesn't fight me on anything. He's a better liar than Alan, though, when he thinks he's protecting someone, always Alan. I'm finding it a lot easier to accept that I've been married to two different people this whole time now that I've seen this place. It still makes me uncomfortable, but I think I'm starting to get it. “I just need to spend some time here, see if it holds out when we go back. If it doesn't, I'll tell you.”

“You tell me now so I know what to look for.” I dig my nails into his back, making my point literally. “Help me help you. You know I'll do anything.”

“Anything but stop worrying,” he comments, leaning down to press his forehead against mine. If only I could read his thoughts... “It's my lungs. The scars have put a strain on them. Doc says I have three or four years before I'll need a replacement to keep going.”

How could he not tell me this before now?

“In here, they can heal.” He continued to speak while my mind was reeling. Three or four years? How long has he known this? I should be- “The repairs may hold when we go back. I just... I didn't know that the subroutine would start working on me until Sam and I came in the first time. I didn't want you to worry and lose focus on work. I don't want our last few years to be anything other than what they have been. I want you to remember me like we remember Kevin and Jordan, just a bit older. I'm sorry, love.”

“Alan...” I'm angry, scared, sad, and just...

I don't want to imagine a life where I come back home and he's not here! I need him. I need to be able to call him in the middle of the night to gripe about dumb ass new employees. I need him to call me in the middle of every morning when he's first waking up just to say good morning. I need to be able to hear his voice say “I love you” every night before I go to sleep. I need to be annoyed by his snoring when I'm home. I need the way he looks at me when we're out on a walk through the park and just stopps to kiss randomly. I need the way he sounds when he laughs. I need the way he holds my hand as we're going for a drive. I need the way he still plays with my feet under the dinner table when we go out. I need the little moments when he asks if I know how to sew a button back on his favorite jacket, and the moments when he spits his coffee out laughing at something on the T.V. I didn't catch. I need him.

“It's why Sam and I got into that argument last year.” Alan states, still letting me hold him close. “I wanted him to step up before I said anything to anyone. I wanted him to get settled in and actually know what he was doing.”

“You still haven't told him, have you?” I ask, already guessing the answer.

“No.”

“Excuse me.” I never heard anyone come in. Not even a footstep. Yet, here I was getting pushed to the side by some random man who just face planted in the bed. “I don't know how you found this place, but keep it down if you're intending to stay any longer. I need a nap.”

Alan and I share a look, then both look back at him. He's got absolutely zero lightlines on his back and sides. Wiry gray and black hair are all a mess that just gets worse as he snuggles deeper into the pillows. Then he pushes himself up sharply, taking a sniff.

“Who the hell has been in my bed?” He turns to ask us accusingly. “How long have you been staying here, Programs?”

I have no idea who this guy is. Alan's pushed me back behind himself, reaching to grab his disc. I almost forgot that those were weapons here. I'm just about to see if I can figure out how to use mine when the man does a double take of us, then snorts and falls back down on the bed.

He mutters into the pillow, “Figures.”

He's snoring before we can do anything else. Alan lets go of the edge of his disc to slowly reach out for the man's. Apparently he wasn't as asleep as I thought, because he rolled over on his side, grabbed Alan's wrist, and yanked him down hard. Alan pushed up off of him before he could grab Alan's disc instead. Instinctively, Alan's got the guy's wrists pinned to the pillows by his head, glaring down at him.

“I should've known you didn't derez when you hit the water, buddy.” The man smiles up at Alan. “Just thought you might be back on my side. Interesting choice in the hair. Trying to see if you can make yourself look as old as you feel?”

“Who are you?” Alan demands, keeping a tight hold on him even though he hasn't fought back any farther. “You lived here with Flynn and Quorra?”

“Lived here?” The man laughs. “I built the damn place! Now would you get off of me and let me take a nap? I know you're not going to kill me, and you can't take me to Clu this time. What's the game now, Tron? Sam do a hard reset on you or something? You an old backup? Seriously, what's with the hair?”

I can't believe it. “Kevin?”

Chapter Text

Sam POV

This room was pretty damn big and generally empty. I think it goes all the way across this level of the mountain. I don't know what it is with these people and hiding bases by hollowing out a whole ass mountain when only a couple of them are going to take up residence at a time. I like Dad's place better.

Tron makes an excuse to go check the log of probably a massive amount of built up messages. Beck takes Mara off somewhere else, leaving me and Paige to stand by the door and stare at one another. I figure now is as good of a time as any to try to get to know her. I know I'm going to be seeing a whole lot more of Beck. Based on what I've seen, I'm going to be seeing a lot more of his two female counterparts, too. I already blew my chance to make a good first impression on Paige. Maybe I can try again? Her scowl makes me wonder if that's even possible.

“So, um... Paige, right?” It's the first time I'm actually calling her by her name.

“Correct.”

Okay, I think I get it now. Her eyes aren't exactly on me. They're on the door Beck and Mara went through. “Beck and Tron have talked about you. I think we should talk about what I said earlier. About you getting a promotion.”

“Are you changing your mind?” She doesn't seem affected. That's good. I hope.

“No, I just...” How do I put this? “I didn't really realize what your original purpose was. I want to know if you're alright with it first. Maybe being head of a new medical division would be better? I think you're pretty bad ass in a fight. Beck showed me how you kicked his ass a couple times. I just, I don't want to put you in a position you don't want to be in. I'm open to suggestions either way. I know I'm the new kid in town and all...”

She's obviously perpelxed. “You are the User now, Sam Flynn, the son of the Creator. I have to obey whatever directive you give me.”

“I'm a User, not the User.” I tell her. Of course I should have seen this coming. Just because Tron and Beck are capable of disagreeing with me doesn't mean the rest of them are. I forget they're not human. “We're not doing the whole 'one and only god' crap around here anymore. You get a choice. If you don't like anything I throw out there, you can just tell me what you want. If you don't trust me, try Alan or Lora. Well... maybe don't try asking Lora. She's even newer to this than I am.”

“Alan and Lora are other Users?”

Tron's still got his back to us, but he's heard everything. “Alan One and Lora Prime. They're... Sam Flynn's mentors of sorts.”

Yeah, but I'm not going to fuck them like Beck was probably fucking Tron. That still rubs me the wrong way. In Program terms, in computer terms over all, Tron's like... ancient. Besides, I just don't swing that way. Paige might be in some trouble though. If I didn't already know how hard her boyfriend's grip was, I would be willing to make a pass at her.

I shake that thought away, too. Dad made her. She was, I guess, kind of a cousin I never met before. That would be so wrong. Actually... if I thought about it, did that make Clu my brother? Oh, I don't like that thought at all. Best to keep thinking of him as Dad's evil clone.

That Tron fucked at least once. I caught a little glimpse of a memory that showed him kissing Clu pretty hard, hands wandering down lightlines. It doesn't take a genious to figure out where that was leading. Like User like Program I guess. I didn't want to imagine how it would look if Dad and Alan kissed, but I did end up seeing it anyway, through their Programs. The fucked up part, the really fucked up part, was that I could feel Tron's emotions when the memories flowed from the sea into me and out again into Alan. I didn't really think they had emotions, not real ones. Not complex ones, anyway.

Tron's memory of getting dirty with Clu was full of complex and conflicting emotions.

“So... anyway...” I clear my throat and make myself look at Paige again. “Thoughts? Opinions?”

She takes a second to answer. “I will consider the two options you have presented and report back about my decision once I have one.”

I guess that's all I can really ask. I mean, I can just make her do whatever if I can get her disc, but that would be down right mean. Don't need to make the rest of them nervous. Don't want to be like Clu. Not Alan either. I still can't believe he did that to Tron without asking first. Tron didn't seem upset that I outed his new status to Mara, but that might be more due to the fact that she fainted.

“Paige,” Tron slowly walks back down from the raised platform towards us. He look like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. “We have a potential problem nearby. A personal one. Would you be willing to do some re-con?”

“I guess that depends on the problem...” Paige seems unsure about this.

Tron holds up a display from his palm. The head of a dark haired guy with a small chin and tiny soul patch pops up. “Someone who's supposed to be derezzed came in by sea during the power outtage. I'd say it was a poorly chosen disguise, but he's not the only one my sensors picked up on the ship. All of them were supposed to be derezzed.”

Our group is getting smaller and smaller. I don't like it. “What about the gridbugs?”

“Less of a problem than these Programs could be,” Tron answers me as Paige flicks through the display in his hand, her worry growing more and more obvious. “I should have known something was off with how long it took the Remnants to appear.”

“When do they usually show up?”

“Before I get there.” Tron tells me, passing off the mini display to Paige. “Sometimes, they would fight by my side, before Rinzler was activated.”

“And the Remnants are the remains of dead Programs?”

“Yes. There weren't as many as there should be. It may be connected.”

Paige closes the display sharply, handing it back over to Tron. “I want to take Beck and Mara with me.”

Mara? The girl who fainted when she found out about Tron? I wouldn't, but whatever. If I want her to head the new police force, I'm going to have to try to trust her opinions of people.

“Make sure they're evened out first.” Tron nodds to her. “Take your time. Be sure. Leave a message through the main screen here and I can receive it at any of my personal bases. Sam Flynn, we need to get back to Alan One and Lora Prime immediately.”

“I thought you said they were safe where they were. Nobody else was supposed to know where to find them?” I'm following him down a hall to the right as soon as I realize he's walking off.

“One of the Programs on this list knows.” Tron gently tosses the display to me. “If they know the portal is open, they may go there to look for a User. We have to move fast. In here. The workshop Beck made for himself. There should still be a few lightjets with improvments Zed came up with for speed. Be careful. The modifications were meant for lightcycles. Beck adapted them to the jets. They may be unstable.”

“So... take two just in case?” I ask him, already picking up one.

“That's a boat.”

Have any of these guys ever heard of lable makers? Seriously. I need to make them start labling things so I can stop looking like a complete dumb ass every time I touch a baton. At least Tron doesn't make fun of me for it. I bet he wants to, though.

I put it back just in time to catch a couple more that he tosses at me. We're out the door and on our way without seeing anyone else and saying good bye. It's then that I realize that there wasn't any need to actually stay at the base long enough for Beck to fix up the batons we already had. They had a whole room full of them. A big ass room full of them. I'm thinking that Tron just wanted to come back and check his messages. Alan used to do that when he had a land line. If we were going to drive by anywhere near his house, he'd make the stop to check.

We aren't that far out before three more jets catch up to us, flying overhead and a little bit further up. They rock side to side and drop low long enough for Tron to do the same. I don't remember what that's about, something to do with pilot communicaiton in the military. So, a second after Tron does it, I do it, too. Maybe a little too hard. My whole jet rolls over once. That was actually pretty damn fun. I don't care if they're all laughing at me before the other three pull a hard left and head back towards Argon. This thing's way more twitchy than the last one I flew in.

“Let's go.” Tron's voice comes over the radio in my helmet. I guess all his stuff's linked together. He's hard on the throttle in the blink of an eye, zooming ahead. I don't have to hope I can keep up. I just need to pray the g-forces don't rip me out of my seat.

The moment I gun it, extra supports come up around my back and sides, holding me to the jet a lot tighter. That's a good idea. If crotch rockets back home could do that, I might acutally buy one. Lora would just have to get over me handing Alan the Ducati when it's finished.

The flight back is a hell of a lot faster than the one to the edge, but it still takes what I perceive to be a half hour. I hope nobody's there that wasn't invited. As Tron and I land on the ledge outside, I notice all the lights are off. Everything seems to be in place. Actually, everything seems to be in place. The table topper's been put back where it belongs. Lora must have gotten bored or agitated.

Tron holds out a hand to stop me from going in, pointing into Dad's bedroom. The bed's been disturbed even more. Looks like Alan and Lora needed a nap and got under the covers. I hope they're not naked. I don't need to deal with that. Not again.

Thing is, I'm pretty sure I see three pairs of shoes at the end of the bed. There weren't any shoes there before. Where did a third set come from? Actually, now that I look, there's definitely three general human shaped lumps under the blankets. What the hell?

We go in quiet. Well, Tron goes in quiet. I'm not the best at hiding a sneaze. When I look back at the bed, it's to see Alan's face staring at me from the right. He gives me a quick wink, then motions for us to just move on.

Nope. Neither Tron or I are all that compelled to leave this alone. One soft light brightens a little in the corner as I slowly walk forward. It throws enough light for me to really get a look at the bed. They're not naked. That's good. Alan's making a “kill it” motion fast. I flip him the bird. Lora's starting to mutter something on the left. It's the man in the middle that I'm focused on.

Please don't let that be Clu. Please.

When I stop at the end of the bed, it's easier to tell who it really is. He's got gray hair, not light brown. He's aged. Clu didn't age. It's the shaved face that made me do a double take and worry. Well... if Programs were coming back to life, why not him?

I know I've got a shit eating grin on my face. Who wouldn't? I feel like a kid again, thinking about just... Yup. I'm doing it.

“Dad!” I yell, stupidly jumping up into the air to land right on top of him.

I kinda forgot about the fact that I'm a full grown man dive bombing an elderly one. My right hand catches Alan in the chest as he uselessly tries to stop me. My left hand catches Lora in the face, making her yelp. Dad gets the worst of it. He grunts as he gets the wind knocked out of him by 182 pounds landing on top of him all at once. I'm pretty sure I heard his shoulder pop. I dont give a damn. I've got my Dad back. Again. I'm absolutely dragging his ass home this time. I'll tie him up if I have to.

Lora's quick to yank the pillow out from under her head and start beating me with it. Alan, and I think Tron, too, is trying to simultaneously yank the pillow away from Lora and pry me off of Dad. Dad's squirming and twisting, trying to protect his head and become a little ball.

“What the hell, guys? I just got to sleep!” Dad yells out. “Who's on top of me? STOP already!”

Official orders like how that just sounded apparently only work on Programs. Lora's still smacking me on the head with the pillow. Alan gave up. Tron's... well, I can't see him. That might be his weight settled at the end of the bed by Lora's feet.

“Lora, seriously, enough!” Dad wriggles a hand free and snatches the pillow out of her hands.

She won't hit me with her bare hands. She's not actually mad, either. If she was, she'd be yelling at me instead of using a regular tone to say, “Sam, get off of him. You're not two anymore.”

“Sam?” Dad's voice is lower right before he yanks me back down on top of him for a bone crushing hug I didn't think an old person could actually give. “Oh, buddy, I don't care how old you are. Come here, kiddo.”

“You're coming home this time.” My words are muffled in his chest. “I'm making you. If I gotta knock you out and drag you there myself, you're coming home. Then you can see Quorra and Roy, and we can all go out for pizza and...”

And I'm fucking crying again. I'm choking on my words, holding him tight. He's rubbing my back and runninf fingers through my hair like I'm a little kid who just had a nightmare. I don't care if this doesn't come across as manly. Fuck all that noise. Right now, I'm just a guy clinging to his dad's affection... to his very heartbeat. I just don't care what anyone thinks of me right now. All I care about is this hug. It's way better than the last one we had.

“So... what? Is this the new sleeping arrangement?” Alan asks playfully as I'm getting my breath back under control and wiping the snot off my face with a sleeve. “You going to be a human blanket?”

“Maybe...” I practically whine.

“We need to switch locations.” Tron finally speaks up. “This base is compromised and in possible danger of attack. Flynn, where is Clu?”

“Secured.” Dad scoots out from under me to look at him. More of the lights turn on. “Mind telling me what the hell you were doing when you attacked Clu out of nowhere?”

“Saving you.” Tron rolls his shoulders in a shrug.

“Fair enough.” Dad nodds, leaning his head back against the headboard. “I'd ask how you ended up working for him, but... Well, I already know... I'm sorry it had to go like that, man.”

Tron turns his head to question Alan, “Is he like you now?”

Alan nodds grimmly.

“Flynn... I cannot allow you to leave The Grid.” Tron says mournfully. “You must prove you have control over Clu first.”

I'm scooting back from Dad, closer to Tron. I know what he's talking about even if I don't really get it. Alan and Lora said that the original Tron sometimes took over Alan. Could Clu do that to Dad? If it happened in here... “Might be better if he did come home, Tron.”

“But-”

“Sam's right,” Alan cuts him off. “He won't have access to things in our world like he does here. No User powers, no Program senses or abilities. He'll be less of a threat if he does surface.”

“Then we should get moving immediately.” Tron stands up, backing away from the bed. “You should all leave for the time being. Sam will explain once you're returned to your world. Let me handle things for a while. I still have some allies left.”

Lora's on her feet next, already getting her shoes. “I completely agree.”

“Yeah, what the hell...” Dad scoots out of the bed on Lora's side.

Alan doesn't seem as enthusiastic.

I don't really want to leave Tron alone to deal with this without a User around, but I get where he's coming from. I'll give him a day before I yank Alan back in here with me. We can keep working on the new leadership positions then. In the mean time, maybe one of us can do something about those gridbugs from the outside. I want to put in some sort of communicaitons between Tron and us, too, one that will cross between both sides of the screen in real time. Maybe I can slow down the processors or something, make time in here pass closer to time back home.

It's not until we're actually back at the portal before I realize something's wrong with Alan. Lora's hanging back with him when me and Dad step in. Dad needs me to get out now that he's got a Program's disc thanks to that switch he and Quorra did the first time we were here together.

“See you in a moment, Sam,” Lora waves me off. I guess they just want to have a chat with Tron about something.

Alan watches with a wistful look as I raise my disc over my head and start the process of getting out of here. Dad's hand is on my back, keeping contact just like Quorra did, just like in the old posters of Tron and Yori. Something just seems off about this, though. I feel like I'm missing something important.

“Man, that never gets old!” Dad exclaims as we appear in the basement of the arcade.

I have to laugh as Quorra jumps up off the couch to tackle Dad in a hug. Roy was startled into throwing his soda cup at my head. I'm not fast enough to dodge it, so I'm now covered in sticky liquid. At least there's a shower up stairs and some of Dad's old clothes. I think they'll fit.

“Payback for jumping on me earlier,” Dad smirks at me, then gives Roy an even bigger smile. “Hey there, Ram. Nice shot!”

“Let's get out of the way before Alan and Lora show up,” I try to push Dad and Quorra to the side. “We don't need any Star Trek transporter accident type stuff happening.”

“Definitely.” Dad has to pretty much drag Quorra to the side.

Roy's still sitting there, eyes wide as if he hasn't already seen me and Alan do this once already. I've seen literal ghosts and had more articulation than he does right now. I guess he finally figured out what he wanted to know most, though, because he's yelling at Dad out of nowhere.

“Why the hell did Alan get the cooler nickname?”

Dad shruggs, “Why didn't you name your Program something cooler?”

Lora beams back over. Just Lora.

“Where's Alan?” I ask.

She shakes her head, looking up at me with a sad smile. “Hopefully not doing anything crazy.”

“Lora...” Dad grabs her shoulders, intent on knowing what's going on. “Did Tron...?”

“No,” she reaches up and pats his hand. “Tron is Tron. Alan... may not be quite the same when we see him again. It's okay, though. I'll tell you later.”

“Um...” Roy raises a hand like he's in grade school. “I kinda want my boss at work on Monday. Like... my new-old boss. No offense to the Flynns in the room, but you two have no idea what we've done together. Not like that, Kevin!”

“I wouldn't blame you if you did,” Dad laughs, finally prying himself away from Quorra long enough to walk over to Roy and shake his hand.

“It's... it's really you right?” Roy looks at him skeptically. “I'm not hallucinating?”

“I'm really home.”

“It's damn good to be right sometimes.” Roy breaks out into the biggest smile I've ever seen. “I have no idea how to claim someone's un-dead...”

Dad's eyes squeeze shut as he laughs, shoulders shaking and all. “I'm not a vampire!”

“What's a vampire?” Quorra asks, honestly curious.

I can't believe Dad didn't tell her about vampires. Roy falls into telling Dad about Flynn Lives and all the shit I've pulled on ENCOM over the years while I explain all about vampires, warewolves, and zombies to Quorra. Lora silently takes up Roy's spot at the computer and starts working on something. She mutters a curse about needing another something or other for her mini-project to work.

“Hey, one of you sacrifice a phone.” Lora snapps at us. “I need a transmitter and receiver.”

“No you don't,” Dad rushes over to her side, looking over what she's been doing. “I already did that. Look here... See? It's in the phone line already. That's how Clu got the page out to Alan. Here. Get me your address book. I'll write down the number.”

Lora pulls out her cell phone, unlocks it, and hands it over to him.

“What's this?” Dad stares at the device curiously. “A mini-computer?”

“It's my phone, Kev,” Lora pulled it back, opening the contacts list. “Touch screen phones have been out for a few years now. Tell me the number.”

“Where's the antenna?”

“The number!”

Chapter Text

Alan POV

Well, it's time to see what the Programs act like when they don't know a User is actually around. This self healing ability works a lot faster than I thought it would. My knees aren't popping any more when I stand back up. My back doesn't ache if I stand too long. My glasses aren't needed. I can feel more energy and less need to sleep in general. Tron's kept me hidden away in some random base near another city for several days now. Three millicycles equal about what I'd consider a day. It's been, according to Beck when he checked in, ten millicycles since Kevin finally got out. So... a little over three days in here and about...

Six or seven hours back home.

Beck actually thought I was Tron when he saw me a millicycle ago. He had to do a double take of my lightlines. That still didn't help him. I said fuck it a little while ago and let the original Tron lightlines shine through. The suit fits more like what Programs here wear rather than the extra padding I remember from ENCOM. My lightlines are the same, though, way thinner than anything anybody here has seen besides Tron, way more of them, too. I thought it would be something to surprise Tron with when he comes back, but Beck got back first. It damn near floored him. I would laugh, but I kinda have to worry about him now. I expected that reaction out of Mara whenever I get to meet her.

“That's... you look like a cross between Tron and a naked ISO!” Beck caught himself on a wall, leaning on it for support as he laughs at himself. “I thought you were naked for a second. Sorry, Alan One! You'd make a great distraction if we needed it.”

“I'll have you know this was the height of fashion the last time I was in a system.” I smooth my hands over my clothes, not that there are any wrinkles. Perks of the place, I guess. “You all could use a little more expression around here.”

Beck shakes his head, biting his lip for some reason as he gets a little closer to really take a look. “You're too exposed this way. Vulnerable and showing your age. Keep it like this if you want to get yourself derezzed or seriously molested by more than half the Programs around.”

Molested. Of course Beck would think about that. Horney little snot.

Tron and I were working on a plan to seriously mess with the group Beck and Mara were keeping tabs on. Paige infiltrated them. How perfect it would be if both of us showed up to corner their leadership at the same time? The ringleader, Dyson, used to be a close friend of Tron's. I'm almost looking young enough to be his twin again. Three days, and I've physically regressed nearly thirty years. After hearing what Dyson did to Tron, I'm more than happy to make his problems literally double.

Just gotta get used to using a disc the right way. I haven't even played with a frisbee in ten years or so. The original Tron, OT as I call him in my mind, has imparted some skills to me, and clear memories of how discs worked at ENCOM, but it's not quite enough to get my body to actually make it happen. If push comes to shove, I'm sure OT will come out and save me. We can, kind of, communicate with one another now. It's not words. Ideas, mental images, gut feelings. I'm learning to listen.

“Have any suggestions, then?” I ask Beck.

He doesn't need to know what Tron and I are planning. He doesn't need to know that I just got back from a work out in the simulation room downstairs. I pulled a muscle just trying to block a simulated disc. It's healed already. That'll teach me to try to hyper extend my arms the way a real Program can. I need to adapt, practice, and get better. I can't take too long, though. Dyson's group is planning to move out towards Tron City in the next eight millicycles.

“Yeah. Less.” Beck pointedly looks me up and down. “Change before Mara gets here or she'll think you're another Program Tron and Able imprisoned like Cyrus.”

I forgot about Cyrus. Those scraps of memories that still held on after pulling them out of the sea showed him in an interesting light, pun intended. Clu's soldier who saved Tron and became his first in-system apprentice only to turn on him and try to wipe out the whole Grid. I definitely don't need to remind Mara of her mentor's murderer.

“Oh, and don't let Tron catch you wearing his symbol without permission.” Beck warns me, taking my disc in his hands to activate it with a specialized tool. He's already altering my lightline design into something far simpler. “I know you're his User, but he's pretty protective over it.”

“You're preaching to the choir on that one, kid.” I take my disc back before he's done. “I guess you didn't catch on yet.”

“Catch on to what?” Beck looks sullen about not finishing the new design.

“How do you think I got this design?” I ask him, pulling up the display of my code, digital and organic lines bleeding together like a patchwork quilt my grandmother made a long time ago. “It's the original.”

Beck gasps. “This is a User's code? A lot of it's like ours! But, Tron said... he said Users were really different inside.”

“Because they are.” I smile at him sympathetically. I used to be just like him. “I'm integrated. Part User, part Program. I'm the whole reason Flynn knew he had a chance when he grabbed Clu at the portal.”

I meant for that last part to cheer him up. It seems to have the opposite effect. “Tron... turned on you in the other system?”

“No.” I shake my head, patting his shoulder. “There was... a world shattering event. We tried to save each other. The only way for either one of us to live was for both of us to live as one. It was an act of selflessness that made me what I am now.”

“So... one of you is a copy?”

“Not exactly.” I hand him my disc back. “Keep altering it. Go ahead.”

He erases every line he made and starts again. “What do you mean 'not exactly?'”

“Your counterpart was a backup I was re-working parts of, making it stronger against newer viruses that were popping up in other systems. Flynn found the disc I had him on at my house and decided to borrow it. He needed a fresh start somewhere new after what happened to Yori the first time. Lora hadn't come back yet with the backup of her. I made another backup to tweak for ENCOM because something told me I wasn't getting that first one back. His anti-viral abilities are stronger than mine, but my self-healing is faster than his. I wanted him to have it, too. He finally got it.”

“I know about that,” Beck says, biting at a finger tip before continuing to work at my design a bit more. “He copied it to me. Paige can't always be there to save us anymore. You gave us an advantage we're going to need. So, thanks.”

My display flashes at him. It won't accept the design he's trying to give it. It's identical to one that's already in storage. He looks back up at me, accusing.

“He already shared it with you?”

“He shared all of them with me. You already know how advantageous it is to have two Trons around. Programs already know one wasn't actually Tron after all. So, what happens when Dyson sees three of us coming at him? When he sees you, him, and then me?”

He breaks out into a wide smile, but not big enough to show teeth. “You're coming with us for that?”

“He made a mess of my favorite Program.” I tell him, matching his smile. There's no real mirth to it. “What else would you expect?”

There's no room for traitors in this world anymore. We have to get our hands dirty to make this a peaceful system again. I might not derez anybody, but I damn will capture them and reprogram them from scratch if I have to. I know Beck and Tron will probably hate me for that, but it will be done if it's the only option left.

I hope Kevin will forgive me.

“Hey,” Beck interrupts my thoughts, backing out of the menues on my disc to really look at it. “Would you be willing to spar with me? Teach me those cool moves you guys can do with your strange discs?”

I don't have anything better to do. “I can try. I'm not sure if the native discs can be used that way, though.”

“Would you...” he sighs roughly, tapping a finger on the middle of my disc, “would you be willing to edit me so I can?”

That's a lot of trust for a Program to put into someone that didn't write them in the first place. Then again, he's taken on quite a lot of copied code from Tron already. It's obvious he can handle the input of a different coding style. I'm worried, though. Tron said that Beck learned most of it the hard way. The hard way, in Program terms, is to make multiple attempts at doing something you're not written for and slowly get better at it, effectively adding to or overwriting your own code. Not many can do it. Not many have enough of their creators in them to even fantasize about doing it. Then again, that's what I remember from ENCOM. This is The Grid. Maybe Kevin put a lot more of himself into this place and its Programs than I realized. Beck was just supposed to be a mechanic, one of many, nothing special in the long run.

He's definitely something special now, though I don't feel I have the right to step in as his teacher for anything. If I suddenly found Tron teaching Sam my coding better than I could, I'd be upset. I may not be in love with Sam the way Tron is with Beck, but I do love him greatly. He's the son I never had. Beck learning from me like that might be a blow to Tron's ego.

“I'm not the best person to get pointers from on that,” I half lie to him. “You should ask Tron first. If he thinks you need an edit to do it, he'll say so.”

Besides, I've already stepped on Sam's toes when it comes to The Grid's future. I don't need to cause a rift between myself and Tron like the one that came between Kevin and Clu. The whole point of this was to fix things up and avoid making the same mistakes in the future.

Beck looks a bit disappointed. “It would be a great advantage.”

“It would.” I agree whole heartedly. “What can you tell me about the group you all have been tracking? Anything interesting?”

Beck starts telling me what they know so far. Dyson is claiming to be looking for Tron and Clu both. He doesn't call Tron “Rinzler” at all. He hasn't made one comment that tells them he knows anything about what happened at the portal. He doesn't know about the power being cut for several cycles. He can't understand where all the ISOs vanished to, and that's making him uncomfortable. He definitely doesn't like ISOs all that much. The group have pretty much taken over Argon, enforcing martial law. Their goals, supposedly, are to keep the remaining citizens safe. They even formed a party to go attack that other large gridbug swarm Sam was supposed to go help take care of before Tron's priorities changed. He's acting like a proper system monitor... almost.

I say almost because he's looking for a program named Cinder, too. He thinks Cinder would be great to lead the parties against gridbug infestations. Cinder was Beck's repurposed name. That means he's not exactly the Program he was before the coup against Kevin. He might know more than he's letting on to those around him. His loyalty to Clu might be more than it should have been. His purpose in finding Tron might be less than amicable.

Beck shows me a memory of Dyson and Tron fighting. He had a high vantage point at the time, but it was at a distance that made getting a good look a little difficult. Dyson, I see, found his own way to somewhat control his disc the way Tron could before being moved here. That cord he's attached to his disc is a weapon in of itself. I like the guy's style, honestly. If it had been any other Program he was fighting, there would be no doubt that he would have won that fight. I'm glad it wasn't Beck that took him on for that one.

But, it gives me an idea. Beck wanted to learn to control his disc the way Tron could again. Maybe he could get close to it without me doing much at all.

“Have you considered tethering your disc like his?” I ask as Beck shuts off the memory.

He pauses mid-way into redocking it. “I have two discs, too... The second is Dyson's original.”

“Well?” I prompt him. “Did you try it?”

“I...” He lowers his hand again, really taking a look at the disc. Discs, I can see now that I know to look for the slight line at the middle and extra thickness. I figured the thickness had to do with his age and dual purposes. I was wrong. “I didn't know if it would respond to me like that. I hardly ever separate them.”

I pat his shoulder, knowing this was going to be fun. Probably more fun for me than him, unfortunately. “Let's go hit the simulation room and find out.”

Beck's first few throws of the tethered disc are to feel it out. He tests the general distance and just how much force he can put into it. He actually tries to snap it on purpose. Instead, it just comes back with more force than when it was first thrown. He has to dodge it, and I have to duck. Twice. I have to duck twice. Once when it's flying at my head, and once again on the rebound. I think I might have lost a couple hairs there.

Beck catches it this time. “Maybe we should be wearing helmets for this?”

“Ya think?” I stand back up, shaking a little. “How about we stop for a minute and re-watch that memory? See how Dyson did it?”

He agrees and pulls up the memory again. We watch carefully, noticing how, sometimes, Dyson would use both hands on the tether. He uses his foot, too. It doesn't respond the way a tether like this would in the real world, so that makes me think he's giving actual commands to the disc through the different grips and that stomp. He's not really using it's tension to control it as much as he's sending a signal through it to the disc itself.

It's possibly almost the way Tron and I can feel our discs as if they're literally our very own bodies. He just needs an accessability aid that we don't. It's like walking through a door. For Tron and I, the door is always open. For Dyson, it's locked, and the tether is a key that lets him open it for a moment. I decide to test that hypothesis.

“Mind if I try?” I ask Beck, honestly curious. If it's what I'm thinking, I'll be able to feel it. “I think I know what's going on.”

“Okay...” Beck hands me the combind discs carefully.

I hand him mine for safe keeping for the moment. It's really more a show of mutual trust than anything. I separate the discs and activate the heads up display to be sure I know which one is originally Beck's. His only shows his head. The other shows his, and Dyson's in a smaller window. I'm pretty sure Beck's had this disc longer than Dyson did by now. Advanced as Beck is, I'm actually surprised he hasn't tried this before now.

I give Beck's original disc a test throw. I can't feel it as it leaves my fingers, but I can predict it's path more than well enough to catch it on return. That's what I expected. It's not my disc, so it makes sense that I can't connect with it when its owner is standing right there, alive and well. I activate Dyson's disc, then the tether, before giving it a throw.

The sensation is pretty much the same until I tighten my grip on the tether. There's a flash of a sensation there, a bit of feedback that bounces back to me from the disc itself just as it reaches normal length limits. As it stretches, I can feel that energy grow a little stronger before it comes back to my hand. I give it a second throw. This time, when I feel that sensation, I twist my hand and think “turn this way.”

It does. It's counter intuitive to the direction I threw it. It didn't change sharply or fast, but I didn't tell it to. I just told it to turn, so it did. Before it gets back to me, I snap my wrist in an upward motion, and it follows even though there's slack in the line. This time, it shoots straight up over our heads, changing direction in the blink of an eye. Maybe less. I relax my hand and let the disc fall back into my fingers before deactivating it.

“How did you do that?” Beck asks, trading discs with me again.

“The tether is an input line.” I tell him, poud of myself in the moment. I wasn't really sure it was going to work. “You can change it with a combination of thought and action regardless of tension. Don't think of it like you're using a string. It's like feeding a thought into a lightline, but only commands. Try it again.”

Beck takes another shot at it. It takes him a couple tries before he starts to make it work. It's not nearly as quick to follow his input as it was mine, but his attempts are starting to pay off. I get the feeling that Beck's not used to demanding others to do things for him. That's what this takes, though. Demand. Assertion. Enforcement and full expectation of exact return. I don't know much of anything about Dyson himself, his personality, but I'm willing to bet he's the kind of Program who's used to getting what he wants the first time he says something. Beck's clearly more cautious and playcating deep down. He wants to be everybody's friend. A high ranking general isn't out to be friends with anyone or anything under his command.

“Tell me something, Beck,” I approach him when it's obvious he's taking a break. “When you worked for Clu as Cinder, did you have a command unit? Programs who did what you told them to without question?”

“Sometimes,” Beck stares at the disc instead of looking at me. “I was usually on my own or second to Rinzler.”

“When you gave them their orders, did you ask them to do it, or did you tell them to do it?” I stop right in front of him, hoping he'll look up at me. “Did you speak gently, or did you flat out tell them to do it? Did they slowly break off to do the task, or did they rush to do it?”

“Told them to. They moved fast to make it happen.” He seems to be getting it. “It's not like that with the resistance. Not usually. We make requests and hope someone says yes, takes the risk. In the army, there was no questioning or weighing risk versus reward. Clu and the generals did that for most of us.”

“What about you, though? Did you ever make a decision without their direct input?”

“All the time.”

“And you gave orders to others to make it happen?”

“Yeah.”

“Do that with the tether.” I tell him, backing off again. “Command it. It's not your friend. It's not your ally. It's your tool. The disc is invaluable, but the tether that conveys your wishis is just a tool you use to reach your goal. The disc's obedience is your goal.”

He nodds, straightening up again. I move to the side, and he lets the disc fly. His grip on the tether is tighter now; movements in his hand are sharper. Actual command and expectation. The disc flies straight out, then jerks to the left before dipping low and skimming across the floor towards his feet. He hops over it, then changes the direction again. This time, it's flying in a wide arc behind him, coming up over head to smack into the floor edge first, cutting into the polished surface like a hot knife through butter before he gives it one final yank back into his hand.

And there's the smile I bet Tron fell in love with. Now I can see a bit of Kevin in him. Pride from an accomplishment always brought that light to Kevin's eyes that I see in Beck now. “I did it!”

“You certainly did.” I give him a nod, ready to leave him to it.

“Hey.” Beck catches my attention before I reach the door. I turn to listen. “Thank you. Tron was never that patient with me.”

“Tron didn't have the time to be nice about it.” I remind him. I had previous experience teaching a child, experience Tron could never get in here. Beck wasn't a kid who would break his pencils because he forgot how to spell a word right or found an assignment to be too boring to bother with. He came to Tron with some experience. “I bet he's going to want to test you as soon as he finds out about this.”

That wipes the smile right off Beck's face. He gets back to practice right away. I'm not sure if it's to impress Tron or to maybe have some hope of holding out for more than five seconds against him.

As it would turn out, Tron doesn't just want to test Beck. He wants to see my capabilities, too. Beck doesn't disappoint. I do.

Of course, how the hell am I supposed to keep up with one disc against two? I'm an old User. I'm still baffled by the ease of movement I've gained since staying here. I've never actually been in a disc battle in my entire life. Suddenly, face on the cold floor, out of breath and aching in every joint and muscle like I haven't since the first day here, I realize our plan to play surprise on Dyson isn't going to go the way we'd hoped. Tron's knee in my spine, fingers gripping my hair, and disc at my cheek is a sharp lesson indeed.

I wonder if I'm feeling half as scared as Sam did the first time he came here. Probably not. I know this is Tron, and Tron won't actually hurt me. Will he?

“You're not too bad, Alan One.” Tron says instead of the admonishments he gave Beck earlier. “I actually had to try half as hard against you as I do against Beck. You've still got a lot of work to do if you think you're going to fight by our sides and keep pretending to just be a Program, though. User powers might just be in your best interests when we do this.”

The only User powers I know how to accomplish so far are reorganizing code in in animate objects and redirecting information through them into others. The way Tron talks about it, I should be able to do a whole lot more than that. He expects me to be like Kevin without a guide book. We've got several more cycles to go before anyone's supposed to check in on us. I'm not going to get that User's Guide in time for this.

There's another option available. OT could take over. The question is whether or not he's willing to do it. If he goes into a fight, it's with my life on the line, too. He could decline on the principle of needing to keep Users safe. He can't just go into a fight with me like this.

The Tron kneeling on my back had taken Sam to go slaughter gridbugs. Maybe OT can be convinced. Even as Tron lets me go and holds out a hand to help me to my feet, I can feel the answer in the form of a gut twisting nausea. That's a hard no.

Stubborn, worrying son of a bitch. He's just about as easy to convince as Lora, I guess. I know she'd have a heart attack if she knew what we were planning. I think OT is.

Chapter Text

I walked the fields through the fire

Taking steps until I found solid ground

Followed dreams reaching higher

Couldn't survive the fall

Much has changed since the last time

And I feel a little less certain now

You know I jumped at the first sign

Tell me only if it's real

Memories seem to fade

And on it goes

Wash my view away

Hey! I can't live in here for another day

Darkness has kept the light concealed

-Buried Alive

--Avenge Sevenfold

Kevin POV

It's not a well known fact, and I have no real idea how it started happening in the first place, but derezzed programs never really disappeared. Ereased code did, but not derezzed. The outter edges of the known Grid, the very edges, seemed to act like a catch all of junked code. Like a trash bin, I guess. I've seen it a few times, when I went out to the edge to expand the limits. Tron and Clu said they saw them, too.

The first Remnants, as we came to call them, were probably victims of gridbugs or the destruction they caused. That's all we could figure. After all, the Remnants seemed to gang up on gridbugs at the edges along with us more than once. Four or five of them at a time. They couldn't really do much damage, but they could do some redirection or minor scratches in the damn things. For the most part, though, they just seemed to watch.

Tron said they started getting more vicious themselves as they grew in numbers. Clu had apparently started derezzing Programs who didn't dominate in the Games. Then there were the attacks, bombings and what not between the ISOs and the Basics. The Remnant numbers increased every time. They even got hostile to Tron and anyone he took with him to the edges. Again, they weren't particularly dangerous in small numbers. They could be evaded, but they couldn't be derezzed. There was nothing solid to shatter. They were faint light, more of a distortion than something that could really be focused on.

Ghosts.

At least they always stuck to the edge. If I pushed the edge back a bit, they went with it. As long as Programs didn't intentionally or accidentally find themselves too close to the boarders, they'd be fine.

I couldn't really get a solution on the other side. Every time I tried to pin any of it down, it just disappeared back into the joining slot between rezzed landscape and nothingness. I contemplated making backups of all the Programs that were worth anything and reformatting the whole system if the Remnants got to be too many and crept in from the far reaches. I couldn't save everything and everyone, but I could save some and re-write the rest.

Couldn't do that with the ISOs, though. They were hard enough to attempt to transfer over to the secondary system. I quit doing that for two reasons. One, storage technology wasn't good enough to really encompas everything they are. Two, they were more a part of the Grid than anything I ever wrote. It didn't feel right to rip them out of it and place them in a foreign system anymore. The ones I did transfer over said the new grid felt... off.

I visited the edges once after the portal shut on me. It was after Arjia fell a second time. I didn't end up that far out on purpose. It was the only direction I could run to that Clu's army wouldn't want to go. They didn't feel too keen to get ripped apart by a hoard of formless entities. I bet they might have figured out that's what was going to happen to me. None of them had seen the Remnants, but those who had weren't exactly quiet about them. The stories grew and changed into more terrifying accounts just like the rumors about what ISOs could do had. I did nothing to dispell any of it, thinking the rumors would do the work for me to keep Programs back and safe.

When I got there, I was running out of steam, ankle twisted during the escape, and had nowhere else to turn at the moment. If I did get zapped by any Remnants, so be it. I failed. Twice over, I had failed The Grid. If the Remnants sucked all the energy from me, so be it.

Except they didn't.

At some point, I passed out, right there at the edge of nothingness, one finger tip curled around the end of rezzed landscape. I don't know if I thought I could climb over the edge and just hang out on a nonexistant ledge or something for a while or if I meant to push it back a bit more to try... Try what?

The next thing I knew, they were all around me. More than I'd ever seen before. They weren't just standing there, either. One at a time, they got closer, touched me, then vanished. I felt a jolt every time it happened, like getting zapped by an elecrical wire. It felt like a bee sting initially, and then left a little something behind in the wake.

More energy. Less pain in my ankle. Less tired. I was being recharged. Slowly. Roughly.

I hadn't felt energy like this in my core since an energy pool inside ENCOM. It was an odd thought, really, simce I'm a User and not a Program. Then again, even Users need to recharge in a system. It wasn't a pure source. It was dirty and filled with passing thoughts and memories that didn't belong to me. Thoughts and memories of the derezzed Programs I'd left behind on my way to the edge. They seemed to know this. Even as they stung me with initial contact, there was a sense of comforting, even encouraging, thoughts and feelings in their wake.

The Remnants were sentient. They knew what they were doing.

I still had a Program to meet, an intact one. Mostly intact. She was supposed to be on her way to Arjia with Tron right before the attack came that sent us all running. From Argon, or that general direction. I hadn't actually seen Tron since Clu officially took over, but we had some contact through brief messages, usually by way of other Programs.

I had to get up and move. This Program he was escorting was an ISO, one he once trained to be a part of his police force before Programs started truly drawing hard lines between themselves based on their original origins. She was one of the last thirty or so to emerge from the Sea of Simulation before it was poisoned, more advanced than most of her kin. I couldn't let Clu get his hands on her.

So, when the Remnants disappeared, leaving me alone again, I got up and started moving in the direction of Argon. Tron had planned to take a rout close to the edge to avoid detection. Sticking with it would be my best shot. If what I'd heard about a rebellion in Argon was right, that Tron was buddies with the ringleader, I needed to meet up with them if it took a whole cycle to get there.

Apparently, Clu's forces weren't as scared of the edge as I had thought. I don't know how long I walked, but, eventually, I followed it to the scene of a battle. Derezzed Programs were everywhere. Several discs were broken, a feat I only ever knew Tron and Clu to achieve in a fight. The only good thing I could find in the mess was a couple lightcycle batons. They weren't meant to go off road, but that wasn't anything I couldn't remedy.

Something told me not to leave the scene too fast, though. Just a gut feeling.

Then I saw her.

She was sprawled out on the ground, half on her side and partially derezzed, lightlines so dim that I wasn't sure I was seeing things right. Sure enough, when I got close, I saw the faint markings on an uncovered left arm. She was an ISO, and she had, mostly, survived whatever had happened here.

I had to work fast. I gave her some of the energy I had built up already, thanks to the Remnants that sacrificed themselves for me. There was no way I was going to drag her out of there on my own, though, not before another patrol or whatever came through to investigate the scene. So, I grabbed her disc and started tinkering around, pulling out damaged code wherever I found it. Thankfully, there wasn't really that much to deal with.

With her disc put back in place, I could tell it was going to take a while for her to reboot. That was just fine with me. It gave me time to go back over the scene and gather up some more supplies. That crashed recognizer had a little bit of energy reserves we could use. I decided to pull her in there. There was a storm brewing, and I don't like trying to walk in wet clothes.

I laughed to myself ruefully. What was it with me and dragging derezzing Programs into crashed recognizers? Well, at least I knew this one wasn't going to derez on me. Not this time. I really hoped she wouldn't start praying when she woke up again.

Should I reform the recognizer to go somewhere else? No. Too big and obvious of a target for Clu. I was trying to hide from him at the moment, not shine like a beacon. He knew that story. Tron told him second-hand. He might just be on the lookout for stolen transports. I would be if our roles were reversed.

I made sure to be right there when she woke up. She might be in a panic, try to attack, or try to run. I mean, I did just shave before the attack came. She would probably think I was Clu at first glance. Maybe hauling her into a recognizer wasn't the greatest idea I've ever had.

I didn't have time to really think about how to talk to her before she woke up. She sat up fast, coming up with a punch right to my thigh. A little higher and the family jewls would have been targeted. I had to brace myself on her shoulder to keep from falling over anyway.

“Relax, Program,” I half-ordered, half-begged in her ear. “You're safe for now.”

Many years later, after we established a brand new hide out together, after I went into hiding for what I believed would be the rest of my life, it was Quorra who was going out and rescuing Programs when opportunity struck. My one hard rule was that nobody ever came back with her. If they needed my personal touch, she would take me to them. We were to never have visitors. No one could find our home. It was a sad but nessescary security measure. If no one knew where we were, no one could give up that information to Clu. I always worried when she went out.

I dreamed about my life back home for a while. Eventually, though, the dreams faded into mixtures of home and The Grid. Then, they were only of The Grid. Sometimes, we found out, if I dreamed of a particular Program, there would be news about them soon after. It was like my mind was syncing up with The Grid's occupants somehow. I took to over indulging in special kinds of energy after the tenth or eleventh time that happened and established a pattern. I just didn't want to know anymore.

I stopped drinking for a while. The prophetic dreams didn't come back. I guessed there wasn't anyone left worth knowing anything important about.

Then I dreamed of Tron.

“It's a sign.” Quorra smiled down at me when I told her.

Just a sign of me being a weary old man clinging to the past. Tron was no more.

“We have a guest.”

Yeah, right. Like we'd ever have a guest, let alone a guest like Tron. That would be something, but would he really come knocking? I doubted it.

I turned to look anyway.

I'd picked up a few habits and abilities since first meeting her. She taught me as much about sensing and gleaning information the way Programs do as I had taught her about the User world. Before the coup, I had already started on accident. Tron had said he had felt a little emotion come through once when I gave him some energy once. It was accidental, not something I could reproduce on purpose. With Quorra's help, I got better at it. I could send full messages, even scan a little.

As I turned around, I sent out a small scan. It came back empty, yet fuller than any previous time I'd been looking for anyone. The man standing a few steps away from the lift was not a Program. Something about his face was familiar, though... something... Jordan-like. I hadn't seen her in literal decades, but I would never forget her face. It was a face Sam shared a lot of features with. Sam... He would be grown up now. Could this really be?

Sam was so different from what I had expected. College drop out. No girl. No job. I figured my parents would have done a better job with him. I figured he would want to be more than this. No drive, no ambition, hardly a hobby to speak of. I wasn't sure if I was more disappointed with him, my parents, or myself. After all, I could have been doing something better than telling him stories about The Grid to get him motivated when he was little. I just figured he'd be more like me.

He was better than me. Not in official, cultural definitions, but in other ways. He had a great memory. He was a fast learner. He pushed me to do better. He wasn't scared to do the right thing, even if it meant messing things up a bit. He didn't see the Programs as programs. He treated Quorra like a person, a human. He found her value before he knew what she really was, and he saw it differently than I did when I first met her.

He didn't try to play God. He played by the rules of Programs instead of going straight to User power to get his way. He played fair.

He learned in a matter of a quarter millicycle what it took me a decade to see. So, yes, he really was better than me.

And Clu was the worst of me. If I knew one thing, it was that Quorra and Sam had to get out. I messed up too much. I had too many expectations for The Grid, for Clu, and for the ISOs. I failed. Sam didn't have to fail. He had to live. He was the best thing I ever made.

My final goodbye to Quorra was another correction in past mistakes as I took hold of her hand in one of mine, the other laid on a lightline on her arm. I had told her, all these cycles, the same thing I had told Alan the last time I saw him. ISOs would change the User world. Science, religion, and medicine would all be turned on their heads and improved if the ISOs came to my world. We could achieve great things. But, honestly, I wanted her to forge her own path. She had the capability to learn anything, do anything. Most of all, she deserved the option to make that decision on her own. I just wanted her to trust Sam, keep him going after this last goodbye.

She seemed to understand.

Of course, Clu didn't. He couldn't. He had done everything I asked of him to the best of his ability, and I chose Sam over him. From his perspective, it made no sense at all. I had betrayed him as much as he had betrayed me.

I wake up at the edge, surrounded by Remnants, sore everywhere, underpowered, with a massive headache. This time, the Remnants don't touch me. They stay out of reach. Was I like them now? A ghost?

They don't talk. Looking down at myself, I can see I'm definitely a solid being. I'm actually in clothes I haven't worn for a long time. It's the first outfit I wore in here, the one I coded Clu to have when I first created him. Giving myself a pat down, I can still feel my beard and slightly longer hair. I pull a strand of it up to look. It's grayed. I'm still an old man.

Since I'm not going to get any help from the Remnants this time, I figure I might as well see how far I can get on my own. I'm not sure exactly where I am in relation to anything right now. Anything worth seeing will not be out here. If I survived, Clu might have survived. If Clu survived, I don't know what to do. Re-integration was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. It's what I tried to do, the only thing I knew that would possibly take down Clu and his invasion in one solid go.

The only way to get any answers about anything would be to go back into a habited area and gather information the old way. Just talk to people. So I shove myself up and start walking.

I don't have a baton. I don't have anything to work with. Just a direction not to go and worry to drive me back into the heart of The Grid. Along the way, I have to take a lot of breaks. When I do, I think there's another voice trying to talk to me in my head. It's not the usual monologue I've got running all the time. It sounds like it, but it's not. It's angry, broken, clawing to get out and make me rage against everything. I guess that's about right. I deserve it, don't I? I deserve to be angry about everything.

But, I'm not. I got to see Sam again. Quorra got out with Sam. I know they got out. I should be there with them, but them getting out together, without me, is way better than the potential alternatives. I mean, what if I had gotten out? The world, as Sam tells it, is both so similar and different that I'm not sure I would be able to handle it. I've lived on The Grid for a lot longer than I ever lived there. Real food would wreck my system now. I can see it in my mind as I push myself to go a bit farther despite my aching feet and legs. I'd find a buffet and ransack the dessert bar, send myself into sugar shock, then die. That's not a cool way to die.

I tried the cool way. Is there a cooler way I can go?

In the distance, I see the outline of a familiar mountain looming. All too familiar. I'm tired. I don't know if I can make it, but that would be a better way to go. It's the way everyone hopes their loved ones die. Warm, comfortable in their own bed, asleep. I might be able to achieve that one if I can just keep moving long enough to reach it.

I do.

I'm home, but I'm not alone. I don't have the energy to send out even a small scan to potentially identify the two Programs talking by the foot of my bed. Doesn't take much to identify one of them. Even if it's been a long time, I'll never forget Tron's voice... Alan's voice...

Sam said Alan got the page. I'm glad he wasn't the one who came. He's got to be old like me, right? And with that fire back in '83, I know he couldn't keep up with me through everything Sam slowed down for so as not to leave me in the dust. We would have been caught so fast... Yeah, I'm glad Alan didn't come, no matter how much I miss him.

So it has to be Tron standing there. I wonder how he found this place. I don't care right now. He can tell me when I wake up. He's got a lot to explain. So do I.

“Excuse me,” I say, shoving my way past them, kicking off my shoes. I don't know how they found my home, but I need a nap. They had better keep it down for a bit. I get my jacket off and fall face first into the bed, inching up a bit to get my head on the pillows. Then I realize it smells off. Someone else has been in it already. I've been gone, what, a couple cycles? There's only one possible answer. “How long have you been staying here, Programs?”

Tron shoves the female Program behind himself, going for his disc. Of course he does. I give up. “Figures.”

Well, I might not die comfortably in my bed, but I've almost got it right. Close enough. I can't stay awake any longer anyway. The next thing I know, I can feel fingers on my disc. I don't know how I got it back, but I do know that it's mine and not Quorra's like it should have been. The last time I saw Tron, he looked like he was working for Clu. No way, Jose! I'll get his disc before he gets mine, or so help me- And he's got my wrists locked down hard to the bed. Yeah. I should have known better.

I should be dead already. If Tron was repurposed, and that's the only way I'll ever believe how things went down by the portal, he wouldn't just be staring down at me like this. And what's with the hair? It's white.

“Who are you?” he asks me, like he really doesn't know. “You lived here with Flynn and Quorra?”

“I built the place!” I practically yell at him. There's no way he can be this stupid. And, seriously, the hair?!?!

It's the female Program still keeping her distance that startles us both. “Kevin?”

That's a name I haven't heard in a long time. I barely recognize it as my own. How does she know it? Nobody called me that here. Nobody. Ever.

This isn't Tron straddling me right now, is it?

“Yeah?” I ask tentatively. I'm scared of the response.

“Kevin, it's us,” she comes closer slowly, slightly shaky. “Lora, and Alan.”

I call up the lights to brighten. It's... Tron looks old. It's not just the hair. I don't really remember what Lora looked like, but... there's a familiarity in the woman's features that call out to me. She's old, too. Programs don't age. Users do. “No... No, you can't be here!”

Tron... no, Alan, hisses a little as he looks me over again. “Lora, he might not be- I'm getting information from him.”

I've got a lightline on the inside of my left wrist, something I put there on purpose to have the occasional silent conversation with Quorra if need be. It's a tiny, almost invisible dot the size of the tip of a sewing needle, but more than enough for the ISO to interact with. He's got his thumb right over it. He found it. I think he can read my confusion through it.

That shouldn't be possible. One, Alan's a User. Two, I don't really have enough energy to transmit thoughts that way right now. Tron can pull information. Why does that seem like something Alan should be able to do, too? Maybe this isn't Alan after all. He's definitely not my Tron. He's aged. The Tron I knew best can't age here. So... it is... I can't believe they actually came here. How did they even find my home?

“Did you come looking for Sam?” I ask, worried that my last memory of him might not have been the whole story. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me when I saw Sam and Quorra disappear right before Clu and I made final contact. Oh, I hope I'm wrong. “Is he...?”

“He's with...friends,” Lora says quickly. I don't really like the way she says “friends.” She's leaving something important out there. It's definitely on purpose. “He brought us here.”

“And Quorra?” I've got to know.

“On the outside. With Roy.”

Roy? Roy... Roy... “Ram?”

She nodds more eagerly, letting a smile show. “That's right.”

Yes! I can't help but laugh a little. I wonder if those two are driving each other nuts with a million questions a piece yet. They both have to learn something inside and out before they even think they have a tentative grasp on it. Leaving them behind together... These guys have no idea what they've done! I bet, when they go back, they'll find the pair sitting over an encyclopedia arguing facts or something. Quorra's got my collection burned into her memory, but I'm sure things have updated outside and Roy's kept up. There will be discrepencies. They're gonna frustrate the hell out of each other. I wish I could see it.

Heh, maybe Sam came back to escape them.

“Alan, can you please let him up now?” Lora pleaded on my behalf.

He took a second, deciding. I don't blame him. If they talked with Sam about what happened, they'd know to be wary of anyone with my face, even old, gray, and bearded as I am now. Programs can alter their looks to a degree. Sam doesn't know how much, but Tron does. Alan's got access to the original's memories, if I remember right.

“I'm only gonna bite if you ask me to.” I tease him for old time's sake. I know he used to love it.

He gives up and lets go of my wrists, shoulders slumping as he sits back up, still pinning me down at the middle. “Asshole.”

“Bitch.” I bite back, but there's no venom. He's nobody's bitch but Lora's.

“Cocksucker.” Wow... that's rude and filthy. Never thought I'd hear something like that out of him! Lora apparently didn't believe it either. She smacked him, jaw dropped.

“You'd know.” I shoot back. Lora smacks me, too.

Yeah, it may be a far off memory now, but it's hard to forget what we used to do. When I first got trapped in here, I used to fantacize about making him moan my name again and again, on those brief moments when I was either safe enough to do it or too wound up not to.

“Okay,” He laughs, moving to sit beside me instead of worrying, “I believe it now.”

“Good.” I reach out to the nightstand and grab a bottle from it. I know it's warm and probably stale, but I don't care. I need the energy. Downed the whole thing in one go. It's not quite enough. Of course it wouldn't be. “I need to sleep.”

“Not without us, you're not.” Lora's already crawling into the bed on the other side, yanking the blankets and sheets down from under me. “You're not getting out of sight again, mister!”

I could be alright with that. Before I can say anything, Alan's kicking off his shoes and tucking in to my left. I can sense that they've got way too much energy to be sleepy, but I don't care. This is... I'm so tired... Safe... Warm for the first time in...

Why aren't they asking questions? Sam and Quorra must have answered a lot of them already. Age brings patience, too. I can't be the only one who gained some. It's either all that or they can actually see how damn tired I am.

I dream of Tron again. This time, he's with a few others I don't recognize. Sam's a little behind him. They're facing off a hoard of gridbugs. There's other things moving around The Grid that shouldn't be. Programs that... I'm still connected... These aren't just dreams, are they? It's like the ones I had before I turned to drinking. Can't rest at all, can I?

But, I can influence.

Sam hates spiders. He's terrified, rooted to the spot. He's going to get himself killed. Move, kid! That's it! Move! That's right... don't let another innocent Program go down like that... You can do it... You can save him...

I guess he heard me. Didn't know Users could do that. I've only ever been able to influence Programs I was close to in the past. Never had the chance to try it on a User. Tron sure didn't need any encouragement. He wasn't the one cowering in fear a moment ago. Sam's up and moving. That's good. Good, kiddo. Keep it up. You're going to be okay.

I wake up in a cold sweat. Yeah. That wasn't a regular dream. Sam's in trouble. He shouldn't be anywhere near Tron. That's almost the most dangerous thing possible. Sometimes, what I'm seeing in those dreams isn't exactly what's happening. A swarm of gridbugs can be my mind's metaphor for a heard of repurposed Programs and vice versa. I don't know the exact situation. That's scary.

Too bad, Flynn. I kind of liked the boy. He has the guts you lacked. You should have destroyed the portal if you wanted to keep him safe. After all these cycles, you're still blind.

Why would my own internal voice say something like that? Right... the portal. Shut the hell up, Clu.

Lora wraps an arm around me and tugs me back down to the pillows. “Just a dream, babe.”

I wish that was true. Holy shit! Lora?

“Relax, buddy, we're here with you,” Tron's voice to my left. No. Alan's voice. And his fingers running through my hair calmingly. “You're safe.”

Oh, shit. Is my mind messing with me again? Is this the dream? I've had a dream within a dream before. They can be endless loops. Dreams like this leave me confused for a whole millicycle afterwards. I don't want to do that right now. I don't want to do that ever, but yeah...

Going back to sleep isn't the best idea. Not if I'm actually awake right now. I need to get up and drink something. Ugh, I'm sweaty. I need to... But I can't. There's an arm from either side pinning me down. I'm feeling a little information from one of them, like I could with Quorra. It's gentle, reassuring, worried.

“Thirsty.” I make myself say, throat as dry as I expected. “Dirty. Gotta move.”

It's a fine line these cycles. Too much movement is hard on my muscles. Too little creates stiff joints. They have to understand that much. They don't need to know the rest. I'll explain some other time.

They get up and move into the next room with me. Lora wasn't kidding about not letting me out of sight. I guess it's time to re-hash everything to them now, as I had to Sam. I drink some, reminding myself to take it slowly. I'm not Quorra, the bottomless pit that she is. She reminds me of a teenager with her appitite some days. I feel like it, though, so I remind myself I'm not.

Alan's quiet and thoughtful as I talk. Lora's full of questions, interrupting left and right. Why didn't I tell them? Why didn't I lean on them instead of making Clu? How could I not figure out that Clu was plotting against me before then? Why didn't I meet up with Tron again? What, exactly, was extra special about Quorra? Why didn't I just listen to Sam in the first place and get the hell out of there? Why was it that Clu managed to send a page, but I didn't?

How did I survive re-integration with an unwilling Program of that magnitude?

“Because he wants to live more than I did!” I snap at her. “He knows I'm still his ticket out of here, disc or not. Just because neither of us wanted it this way doesn't mean... What's done is done. If I had a magic reset button, I'd have pressed it by now. Don't you think?”

“No.” Alan fixes me with a far too knowing look. “You wouldn't risk the ISOs.”

Damn him for being right. I wouldn't. Maybe before Ophelia showed up, but never after. Not unless every ISO was offloaded or derezzed... which... they are. Aren't they?

Aren't they?

“Well, there aren't any left, so why don't we get out of here and do just that?” I suggest. “Start from scratch. Again.”

“No.” Alan's starting to sound a little like a bit. I don't like that. “You wouldn't really destroy the rest of the Programs. Would you? Do they really mean that little now?”

Most of them, maybe. I can count on one hand how many Programs are probably worth something and have fingers left over all thanks to Clu. There used to be more than I could count. That's ruined now. This isn't the paradise playground it could have been. It's a war zone taking a breather. Give it time. They'll find something new to fight about soon enough. Hell, if they know there are other Users around, they might fight over that, over Lora, Alan, and Sam. I don't want that.

A look of betrayed understanding comes over him. He knows I'm seriously contemplating it. “Kevin, no! These Programs are really worth something here! To each other at the very least!”

“Not like they'd know what happened...” I muse. “One good shut down of the whole system, and they'll be wiped out. Together.”

“You'd think that'd be the case, but it's not.” Alan sits down across from me at the table now, leaning forward to make sure he has my whole attention. “Sam did turn it all off. No battery backup. They survived several cycles without access to new energy. When Sam and I came in to take a look around, we saw them in the city. They were starting to recover from starvation. A lot of them never fully lost power. They have a true instinct to live even when it's clear they should just shut down and be done. A normal Program wouldn't cling to anything after a couple cycles without energy flow or reserves. They'd know they were abandoned and give up. They want to live.”

“I get that coming from you, man, I really do.” I reach out and take his fist in my hand. “This isn't ENCOM. They don't have the spirit here like in the old system. I made sure not to give too much of myself to them, except the first few and Clu. Just in case I had to reset everything. Just in case there was no other way to keep moving forward.”

“They got more than you think.” Lora cuts in. “We met a guy named Beck. He knows he's one of the last you made. He's... He's definitely an individual, capable of learning and growing.”

“What Lora's not saying,” Alan speaks up again, “is that Beck is Tron's counterpart. Would you rip them apart like that? Or would you sacrifice Tron, too?”

I don't want to remember what happened when we successfully repurposed a few Programs in Arjia. Gildi and Anchor were the hardest to deal with. When they came back around, they begged to be erased for what they had done under Clu. I sent the information we gathered to a spy, a Commander that over saw most of Argon, Purgos, and parts of Bismuth when needed. I don't think she ever got the chance to use it. I know she had to make a run for it soon after she received the code to reverse the process. Rinzler had caught her in the act, or so Quorra had heard.

Giving Clu the gift to repurpose other Programs was supposed to be just that, a gift. He was supposed to share that gift with others, like he had with Shaddox. When the architect did everything he could for his original purpose, Clu asked him what he wanted to do next. Shaddox was repurposed into a bar tender. Repurposing was there to make sure Programs never became obselete in the System. A job reassignment to keep them happy, learning, and somewhat flexible if the need for their old purpose came back up again for whatever reason. Clu turned them into murderers instead.

It hurts to know that I have that capability under the right circumstances. Hell, I pretty much did the exact same thing there for a while. I grabbed up whoever I could and reversed what Clu did to them, then talked them into fighting for me instead. I got them killed, repurposed a second time, or turned them into killers. I guess there really was no good or bad side to take in the war after all. I'd like to console myself with the idea that the Programs who fought for me did so of their own free will, but did they really? I'm their god. They were given a choice between blindly following their god or flocking to the demi-god who could free them from me. They didn't know that was just switching masters, no actual freedom. That's why I forgive the ones who fought for Clu without being repurposed at all. They were manipulated. No matter which way you look at it, those who went to Clu and those who stayed with me, they were all manipulated into it. Ereasing them all would be a mercy.

Even Tron.

He's suffered enough for his loyalty. Lost two systems, lost those he loves most, and still fighting. All because Alan made him to do that and I gave him false hope of something better. I could end that for all of them, the futile attempts to do what their programming said was right even as it hurt them to do it. Tron most of all.

“It would be better than letting them continue to suffer, or to chance being repurposed again.” I finally say out loud. “They would rather die. I've seen it plenty of times. It's why I hid out here. It hurts to see them that way, but it hurts them even more to be that way. It hurts them the most when you fix them. They have to live with the memory of what they did.”

It's too dangerous now to erase memories for any reason. Everyone needs as much knowledge as they can get in order to survive. It could be the location of a safe house or a personally hidden store of energy that gets erased by accident. It could be a Program's entire knowledge of how to fight, run, hide, or do anything to stay alive, making them sitting ducks for an enemy. Clueless, innocent, sitting ducks. How can you weigh that against something like remembering murdering one of your counterparts because they wouldn't turn? Gildi and Anchor come back to mind. That's how they lost Denna. She wouldn't come willingly to Clu's side, and she fought them when they tried to take her in for general repurposing.

“You're sure?” Alan swallows hard. Why does he look scared?

So, apparently, one of Alan's first acts as a User on The Grid was to yank his own code out of a literal sea of others and shove it all back into place, scanning over it and editing as he went, and Sam helped. He thought everything he had seen was Tron as Tron. Dude must have been going through it so fast that he didn't catch what repurposing actually does in this context. In special cases like Tron, Clu didn't need to repurpose the Program's directives or skills. He just repurposed associations to sway the Program into obedience. I doubt he changed anything else at all on Tron. Now that I've explained that to him, he realizes something horrible.

Tron was never unaware or unable to stop himself as Rinzler. He was simply made to believe a lie. He acted on it, knowingly, every time he did anything for Clu. It was from there that Clu was able to slowly introduce the actual cage of code that followed. Clu realized he had to do it slowly, or else Tron would turn on him as much as he had turned on me.

The worst part? Clu had used love to do it. Dyson tried the brute force and torture methods and failed. Clu painted himself as Tron's savior, there to forgive him, to rescue him from me. A sick part of me knows that Clu even believed most of his own lie. He didn't love Tron. He loved what Tron could do for him. Clu didn't understand the difference. I made him before Jordan told me she was pregnant.

And then Alan tells me he made a split second decision to promote Tron to Sysadmin in Clu's absense. Without Sam's input. Without even asking Tron himself.

This is a serious set up for another failure.

Tron's got two perspectives to work from. He knows Users are pretty much just like Programs. He knows our weaknesses. He knows hatred. He liked to pretend that he didn't, but I knew he did. That's probably only gotten worse over the cycles.

He knows love. Lora said he's got at least one new counterpart around. Love can turn to hatred pretty quickly. Clu's a prime example of that. We've got to play this very, very carefully.

“I'll stick close to him for a while.” Alan says straight up. “It'll do us all some good to know his real motivation.”

“He's practically the master at keeping secrets,” I tell him, leaning back. “You'll just annoy him.”

“Pretty sure I've got an edge you don't, User.” He's got a playful look in his eyes now. “I can see through him better than you can. Besides, Alan should stay here for a few cycles. He won't tell you why himself, but it is important.”

“Why are you talking about yourself in the second person?” I'm really confused by this. It's weird. It's like...

“That's not Alan right now, Kev.” Lora sighs. It seems she's used to this somehow. I feel like I'm missing something important. “It's Tron.”

Fucking hell. How did I forget about that? “So, you can still take over?”

“When I need to.” He doesn't look pleased about it at all. “Alan One's hiding something from everyone about himself. He doesn't have much time left by your measurements. If we had returned to a digital world sooner, I could have prevented much of the damage from ever taking hold. I'm repairing decades of degredation now that we're here. It's not as fast as if I were only doing it to myself, but it's better than what User medicine can apply. The best option for everyone involved is for he and I to remain here for an extended period of time.”

Tron still doesn't get User aging? After all this time? Still, he makes a point. Before I... left... the doctors said Alan was at greater risk of lung and heart related issues after the fire. For life. He and I got pnumonia at the same time one year, but it took him twice as long to get back on his feet. That did even more damage. How many more times has he gotten sick like that since then? What has it done to him over all?

“You're just going to have to leave this in our hands for a while, old friend, just like when you stepped down from ENCOM. You need a break.”

“And a new hobby,” Lora adds cheekily.

We keep talking for a long time. They fill me in on moments in their lives, in Sam's life, and the world outside. We've got the time to go into greater detail than Sam had the last time I asked. Lora's still spending most of her time in D.C. Alan just got re-promoted to chairman at ENCOM. Sam sent out a company wide message to all former board members besides Alan that their access got suspended, told them to report in, and finished it off with “End of line” like the MCP. That was a bit of a shocker for the old timers who were still around that remembered the MCP. Lora and I laughed our asses off at that story. Eventually, I start nodding off again.

I don't remember how I got to bed, but I do know how I wake up. Someone's yelling something. I get one word before a heavy weight lands on top of me and starts to squeeze tight. Then the pillow gets yanked out from under my head by Lora. Damn it woman! You've got a disc, why are you using a soft object?

“I just got to sleep!” I yell at them, trying to protect my head and dislodge the weight on top of me. Alan's trying, too, but his attention is split between saving me and, I think, disarming Lora. “STOP already!”

The order gets most of the commotion to end, but Lora's still at it. I yank the pillow away from her with my one free hand. I think Alan's sitting on the other one. “Lora, enough!”

She pouts at me and looks at the person currently squishing me instead. “Sam, get off of him. You're not two anymore.”

First of all, she's the one acting like a kid by having a one sided pillow fight. Second of all... “Sam?”

Sam might as well be six again, crying on me and blabbering about going to see friends for a pizza party. I don't care. He grew up too fast for me. I miss this. He can lay there as long as he wants.

“So, what is this? The new sleeping arrangement?” Alan teases as Sam gets himself together again. “You gonna be a human blanket?”

The weight at the end of the bed is done with our antics pretty quickly. “We need to switch locations. This base is compromised and a possible target of attack. Flynn, where is Clu?”

“Secured.” That's all I'm going to tell him for now. I don't really know if I can trust him again. “Mind telling me what the hell you were doing when you attacked Clu out of nowhere?”

“Saving you.” His answer is to the point, as always.

“I'm sorry it had to go like that, man.” I really am. If I try, I can get into Clu's memories now. Sam, Lora, and Alan might think the comment is about leaving him behind to escape. I know he'll understand the real meaning of the words.

“Is he like you now?” Tron asks Alan. He doesn't trust me. I don't blame him. Alan nodds grimmly. “I cannot allow you to leave the Grid. Not until you can prove you have control over Clu.”

So, it's not me. Well, it is me, but it's not... Anyway, he wants to make sure Clu's kept on a tight leash. That's a good sign.

“He won't have User powers or Program senses if he leaves.” Alan defends Sam's adamance of bringing me home. “He'll be less of a threat if he does surface.”

And that's apparently enough for Tron.

I'm going home.

Chapter Text

Quorra POV

The User world is insane.

Breathing is more than a cooling mechanism. I can feel dizzy if I don't remember to breathe. There's a pulsing sensation radiating from my chest outwards. I know about hearts and lungs from observing Flynn and reading the books, but it's an entirely new experience to actually have them. They're annoying.

It's worse, though. I can't send out a passive scan to detect the Users. After all those cycles of learning to sense Flynn, all the work we did together so that he could sense Programs, I've got nothing but sight and sound to tell me if someone is near. More than that, Users dress in as many colors as can be found in their world, but they usually choose clothing that blends into the environment. Browns, grays, blues, whites, and blacks. Sure, it's the same on The Grid, but it's more subtle here. The varying shades and hues are too many to count.

I have new senses now, too. Well... not exactly new, but altered. On The Grid, I could smell the purity factor of an energy source, fire, a storm, and subtle differences between Programs based on their functions. I learned new scents after living with Flynn. Paper and a few foods come to mind. Taste? Flynn provided tastes like salt, meat, and sugar for me to learn with joy. I didn't much care for his attempts at what he called spicy. Spicy hurt. Now, my processes combine smell and taste at the same time. Scents bring on the idea of what something will taste like. I find I'm right most of the time, but not always. I thought a lemon would taste more like water with a hint of spiked flavor closer to a diluted energy shot.

I was wrong. So very wrong.

Sam seemed to find it amusing when my mouth puckered even as I tried to spit the offensive slice of fruit out. At least he brought me a bottle of purified water soon after. No lemon this time. I wasn't too keen to try an orange. The color alone rubbs me the wrong way. Finding out it's related to lemons made that a hard pass. I don't care that he said it was sweet. My trust in him waned a little.

I didn't know what to make of the... dog... at first. It's loud and it leaks from its mouth and nose. It leaks from behind it's back legs, too, when Sam takes it outside. It leaks a lot even by Sam's standards for it in the moment. Somehow, that equals Marvin being a good boy because he didn't leak inside the dwelling. Considering the smell that came with the... evacuated material from the back end, I can see why Sam gave the dog praise for not releasing the liquids and solids it had build up inside. Yuck.

Sam says he has to do the same thing after a while. I wondered if he was going to go outside like the dog. Thankfully, I don't have to witness that. Users have a special room for their cleaning and expulsion needs. Apparently, I have to learn how to do the exact same thing now.

Again, yuck.

And I have to do it every day? It's a waste of time in my opinion, but Sam says it's something I'll have to do from now on. Energy is consumed from food and drink. It's processed by the body, and a lot is left over to be excreted later. User bodies are wasteful things. Or, maybe it's their intake sources that are lacking in value.

There are tiny gridbugs in several corners, high and low, of his apartment. They rest in nests of nearly invisible string that Sam says is sticky. It's how they catch their food. They're not hunters here. Beneficial, he says, to keep the other pests at bay. Like flies. I don't like them either. They make horribly annoying buzzing sounds, and some of them bite. So, Sam lets the gridbugs (spiders, he calls them) stay as long as they don't multiply too much and become a biting problem of their own.

There are good things, though.

The sun is a good thing. It's nothing like I imagined it and everything like Sam described. He left out the part about it being an energy source for plants. Photosynthesis is like passive energy draw from a souce so strong it radiates energy from its surface into the air around it. The sun gives that to plants. Plants are food, energy, for more than the Users. Some are tall, some stick close to the ground. Some produce beautiful, delicate objects called flowers in many colors and varying shapes. I think flowers are beautiful, maybe more beautiful than the bright hot sun in that dazzeling blue sky.

The variety of available colors means I'm never visually bored. Users come in more shades than I have ever seen, with undertones of other colors besides basic brown. I saw a person so dark that they seemed to have a blue glow to them without lightlines at all! Nobody has lightlines here, but many have spots called freckles. It's called a mutation, but it's not harmful. I find out that Sam's eyes, like Flynn's, are mutations, too. In their early evolution, it is said that all Users had brown colored irises, darker skin, darker hair. Now, some of them sport artificial designs on their bodies as a form of self expression. Most are basic in design, usually black, but many are intricate and very colorful. The process is said to be painful, but it's clearly not painful enough to stop them from doing it repeatedly.

Textures are important to Users, too. I knew Flynn had designed special clothing for himself, soft and loose, even a bit warm. Now I see all kinds of styles, colors, textures, and lengths of every garment Users wear. I now know what a dress is and wonder if I should try one. Asking Sam to make me a dress didn't go over that well. Apparently, that's not a skill he posesses despite being a User. Different Users have different skills and functions. I knew that, but it didn't really sink in until we had that conversation.

The textures don't stop with clothing. Metals, plastics, cloths for other uses, wood, stone... All of them different with different hardnesses and thicknesses... Marvin's fur is very interesting. Soft, but not soft depending on which way I run my hand across it. I don't enjoy all of them, but I do enjoy learning about them all. Even the air has a texture to it, very much so when the wind blows and picks up particulate matter.

The pillows and mattress of Sam's bed are much more inviting than anything I've ever felt before. His bed coverings are very soft, fuzzy even. Very warm. They lull me into a sleep mode gently, but quickly.

I can smell him on them. Every User has a slightly differing scent, I think. Flynn used to talk about how he wished he could remember the scent of his counterparts. He could describe it, but it wasn't the same as actually smelling them, he said. Users have sensory memory beyond sight and sound that is separate from the rest of their memory logs. He said that he remembered Jordan always used a vanilla lotion. I don't know what either of those things are yet. Lora Prime favored apples and pears. He had managed to create adaquate representations of them for me. Alan One smelled lightly musky with a hint of sandalwood, more scents I haven't learned yet. I think Flynn smells like petrichor now that I know the exact paramiters for it in the User world. Sam smells a lot like that, too, but with something else mixed in, something a bit more sweet that I can't name yet. It's almost similar to the smell of Marvin, but distinctly not.

When Sam left me alone for a while to meet up with Alan in another part of the city, the first thing I did was grab the dictionary from the case of books and start reading. Flynn did his best to define things for me when I had a question, but he didn't know the exact meanings of most things. He only knew how he had experienced them, if he had experienced them. Now that I'm here, I need to know so much more than Flynn ever taught me. I believe he didn't bother telling me as much as I now need to know because he doubted I'd ever get to experience this world. He tried, but I think it was more for his own benefit than mine.

Sam's not prepared to be a teacher. He had to look up a lot of things and hand me the information to read and memorize instead of just telling me himself. That included things he had a lot of experience with, such as how to properly use a toilet. I get the sense that he's embarrassed by it, so I just go along with it whenever a subject comes up that he's not prepared to explain. Like belly buttons. Flynn had explained them briefly once, said that they all were originally attached to a female User by a tube in that location. Now I know way more about how Users are created than I think I ever wanted to. Biological reproduction is terrifying, messy, and painful. There has to be a better way for them to populate.

I think I'm getting the rules of “tug of war” down with Marvin despite the dog's inability to speak when Alan showes up and invites Sam and I to go to a separate location for dinner. Sam's been very busy at ENCOM since I've been here, and he's nervous about letting me mingle with the Users just yet. He doesn't want people to know what I am at this point, and I don't blame him. I don't want them to, either. I've read the news articles. Users will fight over anything they deem valuable. Flynn and Sam both deem me to be extremely valuable.

But Alan is a friend to both Sam and Flynn. He's supposed to be trustworthy. He's supposed to be a User of high skill, creativity, and leadership capabilities.

So, when he takes my hand in greeting, I'm startled to feel a bit of something familiar happening. I know he created Tron. I was prepared to see the similarities, to hear the same voice, even to see some of the same mannerisms. I wasn't prepared to feel emotions through his touch. I wasn't prepared to feel an exchange of energy flow between us when he kissed my knuckles. I wasn't expecting a kiss at all, on any part, but this...

Flynn had to work at it to create a point of a lightline for me to interact with. I could only interact with him as a Program in that specific point. Sam didn't have that capability. Users just didn't have it. But Alan does. He's just as curious about me as I am him. Sam doesn't even notice what passes between us.

Of course he wouldn't.

He has none of the many cycles of experience his father had. He's only ever har stories. He only knows how to do things as they are done here. Users can't sense like Programs.

I haven't been able to sense anything through scanning. I haven't even been able to scan. But, this contact... Has Tron's creator had experience on The Grid or another system similar to Flynn's? That's the only possible explanation. He's had experiences, gained abilities, just like Flynn. He may not even know what I am yet. He may not be aware of what is happening.

I cover my nervousness easily, focusing on this new experience that Alan and Sam are proposing. I get to meet another User friend of Flynn! I'm going to be trying new foods! I can study how Users interact on a normal basis! This is going to be fun!

Alan's eyes keep appraising me off and on in a way that almost makes me feel like there's grit moving under my skin in random patterns. Even once we are in his personal transport, he glances at me in the rear facing mirror now and then. Sam's keeping his interest with conversation. I focus my attention outside, mapping the rout we take. There's something about the gentle pull on my body, the steady thrum of the engine and smooth movements that start to provide a sense of comfort. It's almost like floating in the sea. I haven't felt the sea in so many cycyles...

Sam's gently waking me. I have no idea when I fell asleep.

Alan's comment is a little curious. “Don't worry about it. It happens to Users all the time.”

Users don't refer to themselves like that. Us, people, humans... He specifically said Users. Sam even catches the oddness of it. I don't let Alan see my internal reaction. Even when he makes a very specific hand gesture to follow him to the door where others are gathered. It's not the fluid motion Flynn or Sam would make. It's an intentional directive, an order I've seen passed from upper ranking soldiers to lower ones both before and after Clu took over. It's the exact same one Rinzler used to order two guards to follow us after Clu ordered him to take me “upstairs.” I've never seen a User make that gesture. The man holding the door for us and inviting us inside certainly didn't.

Sam thinks I'm reacting to the reservation name. He tries to comfort me. I have a chance to tell him my suspicion. I try to explain the strangeness of the moment Alan and I first met. We're at the selected table before Sam can form a response, and I'm meeting Roy Kleinburg.

He doesn't pass any energy. He doesn't touch his lips to my skin. He greets me only slightly differently than he greets Sam. He's being polite. Male Users are trained from a young age to be protective and gentle towards females. He's showing me that kindness as is required by their society.

I get to learn more about Sam than the other two through the conversation that follows. Some of it is unsettling. He's got that same determination to do everything in his power to improve upon a design Flynn built that Clu did. He's forcefully taken control of ENCOM with Alan at his side. He's recruiting Roy. He's barely let a former enemy stick around to prove their worth to him.

None of this is expressly stated, of course. It's like Flynn says. It's all information I'm “reading between the lines” of everything else. Once more, I'm not so sure about trusting Sam. He's too much like Clu in this moment. Passionate, eloquent, making grand promises he can certainly fulfil. But at what cost? Several Users already lost their jobs because of his actions and ambitions. Even Roy thinks it's too good to be true, that something messed with Sam's programming in a strange way.

But then I get reason to believe in him.

“I'm not Dad,” he says. “I know mistakes can happen, and I know I can't fix them alone. I won't even pretend to try. I won't promise to be perfect. I won't persue perfect. Perfect leaves a lot of people out in the cold. I just want to do better than what has been done.”

He continues on, but I know that part was as much for me as it was for Roy. I think... I think maybe Clu and Sam both inherited the same traits from Flynn. They interpreted the traits differently. They acted on them differently. Sam might be the one that can really make it happen the best way possible out of all three of them. I think I can believe in him now.

The conversation turns into something else entirely. I get to learn about the pets Alan and Roy have. I've never actually seen a bird, cat, or fish before, but I have read about them. I'd like to meet these companion beings. They seem entertaining at the very least.

The food actually makes my mouth water just by the smell alone. It tastes exactly as it smells. No. It tastes better than that. I can't stop myself from trying some of everything presented to us. Sam warns that we need to slow down on the meats and takes me to the cold bar where plants and other items are on display. They're washed and sliced for the taking. There's cubes of varying shades of white and yellow called cheese. It's another product of animals, like meat. The familiarity of the shape and size makes me a bit uncomfortable. I don't try the cubed cheese, but the shredded selection turns into a welcome introduction to the item. The banana was an unpleasant texture. I spit that out as subtly as possible. I think everyone noticed anyway.

Alan's pocket makes some chiming, melodic sound. He pulls out a phone much like the one Sam has, answering it with a very gentle expression and tone. He puts the call on speaker, allowing us all to hear the woman on the other end of the call. It's his counterpart (wife is the User word here), Lora. I've heard the name before. Followed by Prime. Alan insists I'm a kind of tentative write-in counterpart for Sam. Girlfriend is the word. Sam rolls his eyes, annoyed. I feel some frustration there, too. We're nowhere near close enough to contemplate such a thing. My attraction to Sam is not that of a potential intimacy. Though physically attractive and mentally pleasing, I know better. He's my new User. Flynn handed me off to him in his final moment. He handed us off to each other for safe keeping.

Lora and the others don't need to know that, though. Perhaps this is a lie we should embrace in front of the others. It would give me reason to be living with Sam now, to be close by very frequently. Lora ends the call, but not before sending love to the other Users at the table and stating that she would like to meet me when she comes to this city from wherever she is. I would like to meet her, too. She's been a positive influence on both Flynn and Sam in the past. She's clearly loved by all.

It would be nice to have a female friend again.

Dessert brings two different kinds of interest. First off, the cheesecake is warm, sweet, and creamy. The ice cream Sam let me try is hot on the outside, crunchy, but thick and freezing inside. I rather enjoy the juxtoposition of temperatures. Secondly, Alan is very defensive over his ice cream. Even when Roy stopped trying to take a bite of it, Alan held his ground on being the only one to have it. He doesn't even have to look to know where Roy's spoon is aimed or when he strikes out for the dessert. I get the distinct feeling he can sense more here than I can.

When we leave, I'm more alert, more present in the conversation. Alan has made observations about Programs that directly conflict with my experience. I voice that discrepency and gain his attention in that uncomfortable way again. He mentions, in very brief terms, the way that Flynn first came to meet Programs in the ENCOM system. That sparks a memory for me. Alan referred to Roy as Ram a couple times during the meal, teasingly. I remember where I heard that name before. From Flynn. Ram was the first Program friend he ever lost. He was always sad that Ram wasn't re-made by Roy.

Something I said tipped Alan into action. Before I know it, he's facing me, glaring. “You knew him!”

Why is breathing suddenly higher up on the list of things I really need to do more of? I'm feeling for the latch that will open the door and failing to find it properly. It's not responding. Tron's angry gaze is fixed on me now. Rinzler's angry gaze. I have no weapons. There's no escape. There's not enough room inside the transport to fight back!

Sam yanks him back from me with all his strength with a warning. “She can and will kick you in the face.”

I'm pretty sure Alan let Sam move him. “You are a Program. I was right.”

Sam... he gives up on hiding it. “What tipped you off?”

“Dust.” Alan replies evenly.

Dust. It's pretty when caught in a beam of light. It's almost weightless, formless, and serves no purpose I can understand. I don't even know what produces it. It just is. It covers anything in this world that's not used often. Is it some sort of information left behind that he can scan?

Alan tells us about his experience at the arcade after Sam and I left. The dust itself didn't actually tell him anything. Our footprints in the dust told a story of their own. He tracked our movements and found the lower level. We had led him to The Grid. He was wise not to enter, but he did start making connections as to my origins. The portal was made in this world by his counterpart. She was the first to send something into a system that wasn't already digital. If it wasn't for her, Flynn would have never known about how Programs actually lived. He would have never created The Grid. I wouldn't exist.

“I think it's time you two tell me exactly what happened.” Alan sounds calmer now, but I can see his left hand opening and closing. He's itching for a weapon as far as I can tell. “Is he alive?”

There's no question as to whom he's referring. Not one.

Sam tries to turn the questioning back around on Alan. He reveals to him that I know he's not a User. It doesn't work. I could have told him it wouldn't. Sam caves to Alan. All that confidence he had in front of Roy is gone. I know I'm missing some critical information here. There's something more between Sam and Alan than friendship. It's like when Sam gave short answers to Flynn's questions and then Flynn crumpled and told Sam what happened. Sam must have learned this from Alan and used it on Flynn. He wasn't good enough to resist Alan, though. Just like Flynn, he gave the answers in order to the best of his ability, from his perspective.

I don't dare say anything. I need to make sure I can find a workable solution if Alan becomes too angry at anything he hears. Sam's closest to him, first in the line of fire if Alan is anything like Rinzler.

Eventually, Sam stops talking. Alan is taking it all in. Badly by the look on his face. He seems... genuinely angry and sad at the same time. I can't tell if he's going to rage or cry. The odds aren't good. Fifty-fifty is never good enough to work with.

“Now it's your turn.” Sam prompts him.

No response is forthcomming, so I take a chance and kick at his chair. “Talk, Program!”

He comes back into the moment with a start, then settles into restrained anger. “I'm not a Program. Not anymore.”

“Of course you're not.” I huff, tired of sitting here, tired of being on edge. It's time for action. Whether that action be a fight or an explanation, I don't care. “You're the same as me. Things got changed up when you came to this world.”

“No.” He shakes his head slowly, then looks to Sam. His expression is too similar to the one Flynn gave me before sending me to get between Sam and Clu. I don't like that look. I finally understand the meaning behind it. “I'm Alan Trevor Bradley. I'm, also, Tron. We... Flynn took me into the ENCOM system once, showing me he wasn't crazy. Things... there was a fire. Things got pretty hot in the system. We... we had to save each other. By integrating. Most of the other Programs didn't make it at all. Flynn and I barely got out of the system in time to barely get out of the building. Everything was destroyed by the fire or the firefighters. Everything had to be rebuilt, mostly from scratch and backups employees had at home. The laser was supposedly flooded out and useless. I've lived like this ever since then. I've never gone back into another system like that.”

He survived re-integration? Flynn literally exploded, but Alan lived? But, if Tron was inside of him, how could he also be on The Grid? Backups. Alan mentioned backups. Flynn explained them to me once. He laughingly told me about making copies of backups that others had written. So... one of them, most likely the Tron I once knew, was a copy. He had to be.

This left a question about Flynn, though. If Flynn knew about this instance, why would he tell me that he couldn't survive it? He had to have known. He had to have seen the change in Alan. They were very close. Even if Clu was meant to be Flynn when Flynn was absent, everyone could tell the difference between him and the Creator after a short time.

Somehow, the idea to check back in and see what had become of The Grid since we left became an agreement between Alan and Sam. They were going to wait for Lora to come here, then go back. Together. I think it's a terrible idea.

After Lora comes to the arcade, Sam and Alan make their trip to show her it's survivable and prove my origins to her. It's a long hour of waiting. Then Lora showes why she was definitely so close to Flynn in the past. She wants to go in, too. Roy and I can't stop her fast enough. Sam and Alan haven't moved far enough away from the laser and get caught in the transportation back onto The Grid with her. All Roy and I can do is wait. It takes more than an hour by Roy's count before the laser hums to life again.

It's Sam and...

“Man, that never gets old!” Flynn is smiling, shaking himself a bit as if over energized.

I'm off the couch and in his arms before he even knows what hits him. It hasn't been that long, but I don't care. He was dead. He wasn't dead. He survived! If there's one thing I'm learning about Users, it's their unpredictable ability to survive.

Roy seems more startled to see Flynn than I am. Sam ends up covered in a sticky sweet drink. There are questions and refferences I'm not getting. Lora comes back. Without Alan.

Alan's been keeping more secrets. Lora tells us some of them while she and Sam sit on either side of Flynn on the couch. Roy and I tuck close to him, too, sitting on chairs that are pulled up close to them. None of us want to be out of reach of Flynn. He doesn't seem to mind being crowded. He minds that Alan isn't here with us.

Lora improves the connection between The Grid and her phone, specifically setting up a private radio signal between her phone and Alan. She's going to check in on him regularly and fully expects him to do the same. Regularly turns out to be three times a day, roughly once every millicycle. Sam figures that's a third more than they usually did before for Lora, but only one third as much for Alan. It's only text because anything they try to say verbally will be distorted. Alan did try to call once. We all heard him and burst out laughing. He sounded fast and high pitched, and... horrified at how slow and deep Lora's voice came to him. That ended that.

Sam's place isn't big enough to accommodate us all. Alan's has three rooms for sleeping and an extra, hidden bed to work with. It's determined that we're all going to stay there for the rest of the day and the night. Lora has the spare key to Alan's transport. Roy takes his own and follows the rest of us.

On the ride, it's determined that Sam and I will sit in the back, giving Flynn the best view beside Lora. He makes comments about how little has changed over all other than the names of places changing. Flynn turns on a device and music fills our ears. Sam explains that it's the radio, a form of entertainment, advertisement, and news broadcast to the general public.

“This sounds like the theme from Halloween.” Flynn comments. “What month is this?”

But then the sound changes, and Flynn has to do a double take. It's not what he thought it was.

“It's Linkin Park,” Sam informs him. “Damn, this one's a good one.”

His definition of good must need an update. The lyrics are about taking accountability for past transgressions and begging forgiveness while working to make things right again. Even when it means erasing oneself. Starting over, from a clean slate, even through the pain. Self-forgiveness. Self-rewriting. That's actually a terrifying thought for me. Being able to rewrite onself would make a Program far too much like a User.

Apparently the braodcast monitor isn't done with playing songs from the band. This one's about lies and paying the price, being replaced, living on borrowed time. Sam reaches out and shuts off the radio, expression about as pleasant as I feel.

“That hits differently now.” Sam comments, putting his harness back on again.

I don't know what he means by being hit by music, or how it affected him in the past. I just know how it feels to me in this moment. I could see Flynn and Clu in both of them.

“I don't know how you listend to that stuff anyway.” Lora comments, pushing a small disc into a slot in the console over the radio crontrols. “That's not even music. This is music!”

There's a deep distorted voice, barely understandable at the start. Sam seems to know what this is, goes a little red faced before he and Lora start to sing along. Lora's way more exuberant about it. Flynn seems to be enjoying the moment, recognizing something about the main singer whose voice is very different from the first one we can hear. I'm not sure if I'm impressed or horrified.

The song talks about unity through one person, one vision, one common goal without hatred. That sounds about like what my early cycles were like. All the Basics and many ISOs felt that way about Flynn. No hate. Our only fight was with the gridbugs. Everything was supposed to line up with Flynn's vision for us. Our religion was him.

“I had a dream when I was young.” Flynn's actually singing along, too now. “A dream of sweet illusion. A glimpse of hope and unity and visions of one sweet union. But a cold wind blows and a dark rain falls. And in my heart it shows. Look what they've done to my dream, yeah!”

He's crying. Sam's holding it back. Lora keeps singing like she doesn't notice. I think she's hoping the up beat rhythm and finnising lyrics will make up for the refrain's too closeness to home on the matter. I get what she's up to a moment later.

The second song is much better. It talks about magic, overcoming a thousand years of opposition, challenging the status quo, a beam of light in the darkness of rage. The waiting seemed eternal, when Flynn and I were in hiding, waiting for the conditions to be right to gain an opening against Clu. But, the door opened when we weren't expecting it. Sam came in, challenged Clu head on, after a thousand cycles of hopelessness. His very presence held so much power over Flynn that...

And Sam and Flynn are both smiling brighter than I've ever seen. They're both looking to Lora, knowing what game she was playing by playing these songs. She skips the next two songs, giving Flynn a wink before she starts to sing again.

“It's not easy, love,” She sings to him alone, “but you've got friends you can trust! Friends will be friends, when you're in need of love, they give you care and attention. Friends will be friends. When you're through with life and all hope is lost, hold out your hand, 'cause friends will be friends. Right till the end!”

It's Flynn who stops the music this time, smiling brightly, bringing Lora's hand to his lips for a lingering kiss. It's not curious. It's knowing. It's loving.

“Oh, god, you two actually have to be cute together,” Sam comments, sounding disgusted but looking pleased. “Alan would be so jealous right now.”

Neither Flynn nor Lora have a chance to respond. There's a hard impact on my side of the transport. The world outside is spinning. There are more collisions. Sam's trying to hold onto me. I can't see Flynn or Lora. I'm actually dizzy.

There are loud noises all around. People shouting. I can hear Roy's voice among them.

Lora's phone chimes with the tune she's set it for when Alan sends a message.

Chapter Text

Clu POV (Finally!)

It's like I'm straddling the line between sleep mode and waking up. I haven't indulged in these moments in several cycles. There's been no time for it. Besides, Rinzler has been working double time in the arena to select combatants to lead the new devisions of our growing army. We're nearly ready. We could even go now according to Jarvis. All I need is Flynn's disc.

I'll take Rinzler to meet his creator. Alan One will be punished for abandoning my counterpart. He's worse than Flynn. At least Flynn pretended to care every so often. Alan One has been absolutely worthless to Tron since before I was created. No, I can't indulge in that name. He's not Tron anymore. I have to remember that. He shed that name when I finally got him to see the truth. He chose the name Rinzler himself. I have no idea where he got it from, and I don't care.

I just care that he is mine now. I can do what I want with him. He is my weapon, my love, my recreation, my greatest prize thus far. Having him bend to my will after so long is the sweetest victory. He brought me the rest of The Grid when I couldn't take it on my own. He willingly weeded out most of the resistance cells, executed many of them himself. Among them, he found me more officers for the army. Excellent choices, too.

Unlike other Programs, I can dream of things that haven't happened yet. My dreams make me more like a User than the others. They're fantasies, some good, some bad. It's entertainment, I guess. Lately, I've been dreaming of walking a long distance, starting from the edge, surrounded by Remnants. Their numbers are... Somehow I know there should be more of them. At least they don't try to attack me when there's obviously no gridbugs around to occupy their interests.

Strange thing, the dream shifts. There are more Users on The Grid. Rinzler is answering to the name of Tron. They all think I'm Flynn. Fools actually take me back to the portal again. I'm welcomed into their world now.

I could murder each and every User that was once close to Flynn and take that ISO for myself. I could make her watch, and then I could teach her the things I know about Users that Flynn never would. I could teach her just how important a User's blood and breath really are to them for starters. She could know just how fragile they really are as I make her watch them die.

But I just can't quite make myself act. I'm restrained somehow. They really are talking to Flynn, I realize. I'm not on the edge of waking up from anything. I didn't dream of floating through the air into Flynn's embrace. He pulled me back inside, made me a part of himself again. Re-integration was supposed to kill us both.

Now I'm a prisoner surrounded by happy faces, loving touches, and too much light. Very little in this world emits its own light source. Everything seems to reflect back certain wavelengths of the ambient light instead. It's just so wrong.

No, not wrong. Foreign. I was prepared for this, even if Flynn didn't know that's what he was doing when he showed me memories of his world. I knew it would look like this. I knew Users didn't have natural lightlines. They build lights into their structures or to shine on areas they know will have greater traffic when the sun is not in the sky. Now that I have seen the sun, I understand why they don't need built-in light sources on their own bodies.

Rinzler isn't here. That thought sours in my mind. Did I really expect him to be able to make this better for me? I wanted to make things better for him. Then he betrayed me. Again, he chose Flynn over me. I knew I should have attempted to remove that stubborn bit of code from him sooner. Fighting for the Users is an unreasonable directive when there aren't any Users around to fight for. I was going to fix that. I swear I was going to fix it before we actually left. It's always been in the back of my mind since I decided to leave The Grid. If I didn't fix that, the only thing I could really count on him to do once we made it to this world would be to keep the other Programs in line if they started to doubt me.

How long would that last? Probably not long.

It's just... I already altered a lot of his association tags. I already made him quieter. I miss our arguments. Getting push back from him used to wind me up in ways I couldn't quite name when I was younger. I've felt the need to be dominated by him in a fight, be it verbal or physical, forever. The closest he got to doing that was to bring us to a draw. I think he let me win the physical fights. Maybe he liked that there was someone around who could actually dominate over him for a change.

I seriously thought there was something wrong with my code back then. I wasn't supposed to want someone to be better than me. Only Flynn was supposed to be more powerful than me. Whatever was wrong with me every time Tron was in sight slowly fixed itself over the cycles and longer periods of separation.

It's hard not to appreciate his movements in battle. They're the exact opposite of mine. Flynn made me to be strong, solid, and immovable. Tron was made to be fast, unpredictably changing directions, and always moving. I was a mountain while he was the sea in a storm. Of course, that only extended to our combat styles. In everything else, I have to keep my attentions split in every direction while Tron can focus in on one task at a time. I contain several fires while he stamps out the biggest one before moving on to the next biggest one.

I just wish he would have agreed with me about the ISOs. If we both went to Flynn united on the issue, maybe Flynn would have actually listened. We could have had a perfect system together. Instead, I had to give up on true perfection in favor of maximum potential under the circumstances.

Will anything I do ever be enough for him? I know I'll never reach true perfection of any system, but I can get them close to it. I can take any world and bring it close enough to perfection that he can handle the rest himself. I know he likes that feeling of accomplishment and recognition as much as I do.

Music fills the transport around us. It's been a while since I've indulged in that useless creation, longer than the last time I savored the moments between the edge of sleep and wakefulness. So I sit up and actually listen. For some reason, the first three songs bring on a sense of guilt I haven't felt since the first time I was able to trace my energy into Tron's lightlines without him fighting against it.

I shouldn't feel guilty about anything I've done anymore. I did what I was made to do. Didn't I? I was made to create the perfect system. I almost did. I still had work to do, but my investigations led me to believe that the cause of the remaining issues might be stemming from the User world. So, I had to get here and fix them. It would have gone a whole lot smoother with an army, but...

They all look at him with such love and adoration that it's sickening. The female User whose hand I can't keep mine off of makes a point of singing the chorus of the fourth song to us. Friends. I haven't had a real friend since... ever. Tron didn't count as a friend at any point. An equal, nearly, at best. Rinzler certainly wasn't my friend. He was a barely contained time bomb I unleashed on others now and then for entertainment of all things...

Rinzler wasn't as entertaining as Tron. Tron would actually train his future opponents to make them last longer. Rinzler just derezzed them when he got bored if they weren't good enough to join the army in a leadership capacity.

You see? There is merit in not derezzing the imperfect. I can hear Flynn's words as if they're spoken right in my ear. Meanwhile, he's kissing the hand of the female User operating our transport. People grow and change and better themselves over time. Let me show you. You're in my world now, just like you've always wanted. Study it before you decide it warrants rectification or erasure. Please?

So, he is aware of me. I remember what he said to Alan One before we left. You said you were willing to destroy The Grid. Why shouldn't I destroy your world first?

Because maybe I'm wrong-

His words in my mind are cut off abruptly as something slams into the other side of the transport. We're shoved into another one. This construct didn't derez. It crumpled around us all, becoming a trap. I start to revel in the fear Flynn has now. He hasn't shown me fear in a long time, and he can't hide it behind a brave face now. He's actually more scared for the lives of Lora Prime, Sam Flynn, and the ISO than he is for himself.

When the motion settles, other Users are quick to surround us, to pull Sam Flynn and the ISO, Quorra I now know, out of the back seat. Lora Prime is contorted, partially leaning on Flynn, red liquid coming from her nose and mouth in little spurts. That's a bad sign for a User.

Why do I care?

The cabin of the transport is twisted in such a way that the other Users outside can't access us the way they got to Sam Flynn and Quorra. They don't have any weapons or tools to use to pry off the front window either. Someone's screaming about a fire. I can see through Flynn's memories that these kinds of transports can explode in fire very fast, killing anyone trapped inside. He smells the combustable fuel around us.

He's not strong enough to get us out of this. Lora Prime is unconscious, probably dying. I can't go out this way, not when I just got here. So I free myself from the harness and Lora Prime's weight and start kicking at the damaged front window. I'm not about to be derezzed less than a millicycle after getting here. I can't fix things if I'm dead.

Someone outside finally gets a leverage point to help open up the solid window. I climb out through it with a bit of difficulty. Flynn's body doesn't move as nicely as mine does. And then I freeze. People are trying to pull me out, but I find myself fighting against their grips.

Lora Prime never did anything to hurt me. She's partially responsible for my creation. I owe her. I've never knowingly owed anyone anything except Flynn. Flynn hurt me. Lora Prime has shown concern about my existence, but never said or did anything to directly wrong me. She could be an ally in the future if she survives this.

I take the chance and reach back inside the transport to pull her out. I don't know how to help her beyond this. I'm not even really sure why I chose to help her. She was just... less bad than Sam Flynn and Quorra. The same can be said for the one they call Roy. I might have a chance at gaining their loyalties if I can avoid the wrath of the other two and keep Flynn under the surface. They'll have to accept me now. Even the young User and ISO would find merit in my saving Lora Prime and potentially be less hostile in the future.

It would be a game, just like the one I played to bring Tron to my side. If I can endear Lora Prime to me, I can gain alliance with Roy. If I can get them both, Sam Flynn and Quorra will have less reason to resist. Alan One can rot inside The Grid beside Tron. They betrayed Flynn and I both.

Roy and Quorra are dragging Sam Flynn farther from the crash. A stranger takes Lora Prime from my arms while another encourages me to get farther back. The transport, and the three others involved in the wreck, are all on fire now. A wheel- a tire, Flynn's mind corrects me- explodes, sending a percussive force outwards. Pieces of it fly outwards. More than one User is caught by the expelled material. More of it might shatter and fly towards us. Distance and cover are a good idea after all.

There are red and white and blue lights flashing around us all in moments. The large red and white ones have hoses and a liquid substance inside them. The smaller ones have beds with restraints and many storage compartments. Unlike the Users from the large red transports, the ones coming from the smaller ones aren't as armored. They are asking if anyone is hurt, medics. Those coming from the smaller transports with the lights seem to be enforcers of some kind, geared with weapons and communication devices.

The medics come to separate Lora Prime from me, in a hurry to take her away. I elect to ride with her to wherever they want to take her for treatment. As I settle into the back of the medical transport, I can see Quorra doing the same with Sam Flynn in another. Roy is making assurances that he will see us all as soon as possible. My eyes meet those of the ISO. She gives me a slight, curt nod. It's meant for Flynn.

I give her a slow, pointed shake of my head in return, smiling slightly. She knows what that means. Her eyes widen and she tries to leave Sam Flynn's side just as the door of my transport shuts and locks.

Flynn is silent. I'm here now. I'm really here.

There's almost a millicycle of denying aid and trying to keep track of everywhere they move Lora Prime. They won't tell me anything if I'm not on her “emergency contacts list.” They can't reach Alan One. Of course they can't. He's not here. I don't give them my name. Somehow, I know better than to give them Flynn's name. So I ask where Sam Flynn has been taken. I get the same resistance. It burns beneath my skin, this anger for their defiance. I need to know which direction Sam Flynn, Quorra, and Roy are in so I can watch for them. They could get me access to Lora Prime again.

Someone's had enough of my demands and calls security. I contemplate resisting for point two nanoseconds before actually doing it. I forgot that I'm in Flynn's body now, that he drew us back together completely. They overpower me. I get strapped to a bed, checked out, questioned harshly, medically cleared after several small injuries are cited, and then put in the back of another transport.

I'm humiliated by a body search for weapons. I told them I didn't have any, but they didn't listen. Then my finger tips are pressed against a cold pad before being pressed to a dry one. Little patterns are left behind. Fingerprints. They're all unique to Users. This could be a problem. They might identify Flynn before I find a way out of this. Protecting myself means protecting him.

I get thrown into a large cell with several others. Something's wrong with a lot of them. Drugs, Flynn's mind produces. Drugs and drunks being held until sobriety when they can face another User who decides how they're punished for whatever wrongdoing they've committed. They must think I'm under the influence of some mind altering substance, too. I'm not exactly sure what crime they think I've committed. I just want access to the one User I want to gain as an ally. Why was that such a difficult request to fulfill for these people?

It's not like she's capable of running away.

Neither am I.

I should be able to open the door myself with admin privileges. I can't tap into anything here. There's no code acessable anywhere! That's not fair! None of this is fair! I've been set up to fail, again! Damn you, Flynn!

The circular object behind the bars has two hands and twelve number slots. It's their way of measuring time. The long stick moves around the circumfrance five and a half times, and the little one moves five and a half number slots before a familiar face walks up to the door of the cell. The whole time, others have been moved in and out of the cell by the guards. As the time moved on, the looks I got were more and more suspicious.

“Hey,” Sam Flynn's voice catches my attention roughly. “I'm not used to being the one to bail someone else out, so let's get going before the weirdness sets in.”

I have to laugh a little. Flynn would feel just as amused as I do. “You come here often, Sam?”

“No less than once a year.” Sam Flynn comments, patting me on the back. “Usually coinsides with my yearly check in on ENCOM.”

Ah, so that's what he meant. Flynn's voice comes back to my mind again. Damn, he sure is my kid!

“Lora's settled in the ICU now.” Sam says as my shoe laces are returned near what I hope is an exit. “It's not looking good. We need to contact Alan.”

“Why haven't you done that already?” I ask, honestly curious.

“Word's already out about you.” Sam grimaces as he takes a seat beside me. “They got a match for your prints because someone in here's a Flynn Lives supporter and decided to check against the paper records. You should have kept the beard.”

“Alan likes a clean shave.” I say, one of Flynn's memories coming to surface. I tried out a little bit of scruff once, and Tron gave me the dirtiest look I've ever seen when we're not arguing. It would seem his creator was the same towards Flynn. “So I shaved for him.”

“Dad, seriously...” Sam Flynn's flushed pink, squirming. “Can we go with one scandal at a time here? People are listening.”

It's taboo, Clu. Don't talk about it with anyone outside my inner circle. Flynn warns. I could use this to really ruin them. It will ruin things with Lora, too, if she makes it. Damn it.

I'm conflicted about whether or not to destroy their reputations. If we were separate entities, I could do that to gain power over them. Since we're not, I would be risking myself, too. He's right. I hate that he's right. Flynn takes the break in my resolve to assume control again. I'm shoved back under this hazy feeling I first awoke with at the edge of The Grid so fast and hard it actually feels like I've been flung off a lighcycle because I accidentally touched the front wheel to the rough landscape of the Outlands like a fumbling novice.

“So, how do we get out of here the smoothest?” Flynn asks his son, finishing the re-lacing of the string through the shoes. So... he's not going to tell on me. That's interesting.

“I've got a friend waiting at a side entrance.” Sam Flynn points to a door that's clearly marked “EXIT” in bright red letters. It's a small reminder of home. “He's going to be pretty overwhelmed to meet you, but it's better that it's just him instead of the horde of paparazzi out front and creeping around back.”

“Seriously?” Flynn's mood drops. “That fast?”

“That fast.” Sam Flynn's smile is thin and flat. “My fault for stirring things up. Sorry.”

“Whatever, man.” Flynn shrugs. “What about Roy and Quorra? They okay?”

“Quorra's with Lora until we get back. Roy's calling her friends back East to let them know what happened. Dad, I need that number to contact Alan.”

“Seven oh nine, one nine eight one.”

Chapter Text

Alan POV

Ready or not, we're doing this. I've sent out a message to Lora. It's strange to do it in mid air on a keyboard the others can't see, though I do enjoy the privacy of it. For once, we could have a smutty conversation and nobody would be able to read it over my shoulder. Then again, I don't expect her to go that rout while I'm in here. Who knows who could be reading who knows what over her shoulder. Actually, I might just do it. It's not fair that she's out there with Kevin and I'm stuck in here with myself and his boyfriend and his boyfriend's girlfriends.

At least they're all usually separated now. One of them has been staying with me at a time, helping me acclimate to this system. I've got OT's memories to work with, but this isn't the system he comes from. There are enough subtle differences and even advancements to make things problematic for me here and there. For instance, the batons that don't just disappear until called back up. They're not encoded to a Program until intentionally replaced or derezzed. They're separate equipment the whole time. Add-ons. Just about everything's an add-on that isn't downloaded into a disc or learned “the hard way” as Tron puts it. World objects can't be downloaded into a disc or encoded to only work for one Program.

But I've got a little trick up my sleeve they're not prepared for. It's not even a User trick. Beck gives me a questioning look when I only grab a lightjet baton on the way out the door. He's grabbed a jet and a cycle, just like Paige, Mara, and Tron have. We're supposed to set out on land initially, then use the jets to cross anything the cycles can't do without taking damage. We want to keep as low of a profile as we can before we catch up to the group of Programs Dyson has led into the Outlands after another nasty swarm of gridbugs. Mara swore she saw some glitched Programs in the mix, allied with the gridbugs somehow. That's new and disturbing.

“Keep your pace a bit slower for them,” Tron smirks, holstering his baton instead of carrying it outside to rez up a lightcycle like everyone else does.

“Am I missing something here?” Beck asks, looking back and forth between me and Tron. “You intend to fly the whole way, Alan One?”

“And Tron thinks he's just going to run it?” Anchor asks, just as curious as to what is happening. Well, to their eyes, I think it looks like what's not happening.

“So, it will work here?” I ask Tron hopefully. “You still have it?”

“It's a bit of an unfair advantage.” Tron shrugs, gliding through the door to face the Outlands with his head held just a bit higher than I've seen this whole time. “I don't really care anymore, though. Not when it comes to Dyson and Cyrus.”

“Hey, Beck, come here a second.” I wave said Program a bit closer. “We need to be uniform. I need to copy a little something to your disc.”

Beck blushes, fidgets, but doesn't reach for his disc. “Um... I don't... I don't exactly, uh...”

“It's nothing like that,” I console, realizing my mistake. I'm not his mentor, boss, or counterpart, nor am I giving him medical aid. He's never had an update from a User before, and he's definitely never received gifted code except to hold him together from anyone besides a counterpart. “It's a tool, a friendly gift you'll need for this.”

“So... you're giving it to everyone, right?” Beck asks hopefully.

“We need all eyes on the three of us most.” I tell him. “Something older, faster than hell, bright, and, most importantly, different from what Programs are used to seeing around here.”

“ENCOM 700.” Tron explains with a bright smile. “Original Lightcycle Grid Game design.”

Beck's jaw dropps. Mara gasps. Everyone else seems generally curious as to what that might look like. If we were in the User world, I bet Mara and Beck would have both passed out by now. They aren't breathing.

“What color do you want?” I offer. “Mine's yellow now.”

“I'm still orange.” Tron tells him, narrowing down the options for Beck to pick from.

Mara picks for him, finding her voice first. “Green! Pick Green! For Zed.”

And for Ram, I think to myself. Ram always wanted a green one, but he never made it to Yori to get the one he had color swapped from that blood red color it was written with for the games. Of course, Tron's the only one here who will understand. He gives me a look of just knowing before prompting Beck with a poke to his shoulder. “I know your preferred color is blue, but she makes a point. Green?”

He nods, still working on being anything other than dumbfounded. Tron takes his discs from him, splits them, and hands me the original. Mara's full of questions as I gesture for her to come and hold Beck's disc for me while I get mine out and call up the correlating code to copy and paste. Actually, I have to create an accessable space in Beck's disc first. Kevin didn't design these guys for internal storage of items the way Programs had them at ENCOM in the old days. Just a bit of added code here to create an open folder he can russle through later, and the ability to lock the file if he needs to. Then I pull up and copy my 700 into the new folder, tweak the color settings, code it to only be opened and used by Beck himself and automatically derez upon release. File saved, disc closed.

“It's like calling up the tether with a tap,” I tell Beck as Mara and Tron hand him back his discs to dock and re-sync. “Just hold your hands as if you're already grasping a baton and think ENCOM 700 rez now.”

“But!” Tron grabbs his hand fast before Beck can do it. “Be ready to move the moment you do. It won't sit separate from you. Ever. Not even for maintainance or upgrades. It's a static item only a User or a simulation activation Program can edit.”

Beck is a bit confused by that last part. “We activate simulations all the time.”

“Yeah, simulations that can't leave the room.” I know why now. It stings to think about. “In the ENCOM system, there were Programs specifically tasked to run simulations and then make them work independent of rezzed location. Lora created them. Anything a SimAct Program could think of, and had the space for, they could create for actual use.”

Tron speaks so that only Beck and I can hear him. “Yori. She made simulations that could carry you clear across the in less than a microcycle if you had the lightbeam to do it. Um... millicycle and lightrail here.”

Beck smiles up at him sweetly. “Well, after things are settled down, I'm going to do that for you. I'm going to do it for both of you. I'll learn how.”

“Not without me, you're not!” Mara elbows him in the side. “I want in on this, too!”

We've lost time, but I think it was worth it. “Come on. I'll build you two your own garage to play in if we all make it through this.”

“You have architect skill sets?” Tron is genuinely surprised.

“No, but Jordan designed most of Tron City,” I tell him. “I'm sure you can find an architect that will take the job if I hand them some blue prints. We'll... probably need to put Paige's hospital near by just in case. I sense a lot of Flynn's wrecklessness in Beck. Now. Are we going to do this, or what?”

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Dyson POV

The last thing I knew before waking up at the edge of The Grid with thirty or so other Programs was a disc flying at my head from the ISO side of a protest that had just become a riot. Every memory after that is degraded, like they're all corrupted by the same bad string of festering viral code. Some of it is clear, but not much.

I remember hearing Tron calling for me to fall back. I wanted to hold my ground beside him. I didn't want him to be left alone that far into the line of Basics. As much as I agreed with them that the ISOs should leave our city, my friend was right. Violence wasn't the answer. Peaceful relocation would be better. Flynn wouldn't be as upset about that as he would needless derezzing, I'm sure.

At least I woke up with a few recognizable Programs around. Not only that, but three of them were ones I had trained myself. Reeve, Thrace, and Scout, the same Programs Tron and I took with us to that disaster of a protest. My good luck was further proven when I found out that I didn't have any remaining damage from that damn ISO's disc. We didn't have many security Programs with us, but those of us with the designations and skills were all in good condition. Perfect condition, dare I say it.

“You think the ISOs dropped us out here?” Scout asks me quietly as Reeve and Thrace get specs on the rest of the lost Programs. “Why do that, though? Why not just derez us?”

ISOs may be strange creatures, but they're generally non-violent. I say generally because I know Tron has incorporated a few of them into the police ranks. He trains them himself because he thinks I won't. I most certainly would, if only to get a better understanding of them. I want to know what it is he and Flynn see in them. I want to know if they're really as much of a threat Clu believes them to be. They could be more. They could be less. I can't know if I can't properly assess one's capabilities. Tron won't let me, and Clu can't make it happen no matter how many requests he puts forth to Ophelia.

“There's something else to this.” I say to him with no idea what that might be. “Get everyone organized. Most vulnerable in the center of the group.”

First order of business once everyone's categorized is getting us all to a safe location. I've been to the edges a few times, but I don't recognize this location. At least I know what direction not to go. It's not much help, but it's something. Sticking around isn't that great of an idea either. Remnants can turn aggressive. Though I don't see any around the area, it's probably only a matter of time before they start to gather. I don't need the Programs dumped here with us to panic and make a sloppy sprint in every direction possible. Reeve, Thrace, Scout, myself, and a handful of Clu's Black Guard aren't enough to track down everyone and protect them from everything else lurking this far out. It's not just gridbugs. It's unstable ground code that can be shattered with a pebble. It's the storms. It's the large pools of energy so strong they can derez a disc after a short period of contact. We have to keep them safe from all of that, and themselves. Mob mentality is no joke, though I do recall Clu trying to make it one once.

I'm still not sure what he was trying to get at with that. Maybe he spent too much time trying to emulate Flynn when the rest of us worked hard enough to give him a millicycle of rest. Users know he needs it.

“We're ready to move out, Sir.” Reeve reports.

I give the group a cursory look. They're all Basics like us. My team won't let me down when it's Basics on the line. Neither will the Black Guard. I'm not one of their Commanders now that I work for Tron, but they still afford me the respect due to one. Right now, I appreciate it.

The Outlands are strangely quiet in all aspects as we pass through. The clear skies and lack of gridbugs and Remnants alike give me a better chance at spotting a familiar landmark in the distance. It's a specific energy pool near the highway between Gallium and Argon. It has a strong vortex and should be avoided at all costs. Nobody knows what Flynn was planning on doing with it. Nobody's brave enough to try and use it for anything yet.

It's taken most of a millicycle on foot to spot that pool of tummultuous energy. If we were really at the edge, it should have taken a lot longer to get this close. A lot longer. Something is very wrong here. I know I'm not mistaken as to our location. There has only ever been one energy pool found like that, in a perpetual whirlpool with no motivation and no level loss from draining or being flung out of its boundaries. I can even see the highway and where it crosses a stretch of the Sea of Simulation. The bridge is down, but the waters are shallow there. We will be able to cross it without help.

I don't know why, but I need to get to Argon. Gallium looks like it's in good contition. Argon is in shambles. But there's a bit of a memory concerning Argon that draws me to lead the group there. I can vaguely remember a Program with orange lightlines and two discs. He's young, but he's almost as skilled as me. His name is Cinder, and he's supposed to be from Argon.

I didn't alert anyone, though I'm sure at least Thrace saw it, too, but there's been a growing swarm of gridbugs behind us and to both the left and the right. They're at the edge. The edge isn't where it's supposed to be. They're eating the edge, shrinking the Grid in on itself.

The swarm farther to the left is larger than the one closer on the right. In the distance, I can see a handful of lightjets already headed towards it from Argon's general direction. They're enforcement level jets. Considering the circumstances, I bet Tron and or Cinder are among them. Maybe both. I'm right. Argon is the best chance we all have of getting our information updated and finding combat capable Programs.

Whatever happened to the city, it's where I need to be. The civilians can catch a transport farther into The Grid's safety via a secure rout. My squad and I are going to stay and figure this mess out. At the very least, I can have a comprehensive report on the city to present to Clu for repairs or proper deresolution for new structures. Tron doesn't ever think of those things. He puts down threats. Shaddox rebuilds. Whenever this settles out and less police units are needed, I think I'll ask Clu to repurpose me into being an architect like Shaddox. I can integrate better security measures into whatever I build, things Shaddox wouldn't contemplate. He's only worried about structure integrity and visual appeal. I'm interested in emergency escapes and common area security recordings, too. Perhaps some force fields to trap criminals trying to hide?

Tron says I'll make a lousy architect for anything other than military instillations or prisons. He's probably right. Clu might see the merits of it, though.

The closer we get to Argon, the more obvious the destruction is. Aside from the train station and a handful of other small buildings, not much is left without some sort of major damage. What Programs remain to maintain the trains have clearly done their best to shore up what they can in a tight little area of mostly intact buildings. I'm able to see that even as we take a service ship across the water and through a series of... Why is there a blockade around the city? It's not manned anymore, but it is still barely functioning.

What is going on here? Was there another viral outbreak? At least there's still a presence of Black Guard closer in, near the habitable area by the train station. They're keeping separate from the citizens. That's odd all on its own. And why are all their lightlines like that? Orange? Really?

“Oh, no! The garage!” a male Program about my own size sounds heartbroken. “Oh, I hope everyone's alright!”

“You know that spot, Program?” I ask him. Maybe he can tell me something useful.

“Yeah.” He doesn't even look at me. “That's home. That's Able's Garage. I've got a lot of work piled up and... Hey... Nobody's working on it. Why's it abandoned?”

“Perhaps you'll find a familiar face when we get to the trains,” I try to comfort him. “Someone has to know something. Don't worry. I'll find a terminal to contact Clu and get this sorted out.”

There's a new problem when we get into the populated area. I want to get to the Black Guards for an official report, but we have to go through the civilians to get to them. That's fine with me. It lets me offload the ones my team and I woke up with faster. The civilians scatter amongst their own kind, some headding straight for the train station while others search the city itself. The Program who lamented over Able's Garage is among them. They must be locals. The problem is that the civilians who are already present take one look at all of us and run.

That can't be good. I send out a directed command burst to the Black Guards and my own squad. “Secure the area! Contain all Programs! Shut down trains!”

The only reason I can think of for this set up is a virus. Argon was hit by a virus. Those who remained behind were being quarantined or something like it. The guards were there to keep them contained as gently as possible. Not all viruses turned Programs into violent killers. They could just be sick and contageous by passive means. I get my mask fully in place before I dare to get any closer to anyone else.

I'm not sure if we lose a few Programs in the chaos. For the most part, however, the Black Guard squad leader, Barros, informs me that we're fully contained again a while later. There's a couple discs on the ground, derezzed Programs scattered under them. I feel bad for them. That wasn't supposed to happen. At least they weren't suffering anymore.

“It's good to see you back, Sir.” Barros comments. “We were told you had been derezzed many cycles ago by the Renegade.”

“The what?” Thrace asks before I can.

“Ma'am.” Barros comes to attention quickly when he notices her. “The Renegade of Argon City was caputred per your instructions eight hundred and thirty-one cycles ago following the bombing of the city by Sysadmin Clu and sent to Tron City with several other resistance members for repurposing. You... you led the capture yourself... under the command of General Dyson.”

“General?” Thrace looks at me, eyebrows raised high.

I'm just as shocked as she is. “Thrace... question the civilians carefully. Tell them nothing of our plans here. Find what loyalists you can that are willing to go gridbug hunting. We need to deal with the second swarm before they get any closer. Until then, Barros, keep the civilians locked down here unless they're accompanied by myself or my men. Incoming trains will pass through. None will leave from this location or stop to deposit more Programs. Understood?”

“Sir!” Both of them snap a salute.

I need to find that Program I talked to on the water. He's going to be my best resource here. He's the only one who was brave enough to talk to me. If he knows anyone still here, he can get information Thrace, Scout, and Reeve can't. I need to know who the Renegade is or was. I need to know why there are Programs resistant to Clu and Flynn here. It's already obvious by the remains of the derezzed Programs that there was no virus like I thought.

Perhaps we woke up at the far closer edge because we were saved from whatever went on here.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Beck POV

This is the third time Dyson has been able to organize a party faster than us. I guess, with Argon under martial law, he's got more resources than we do. That's just not right. Tron is supposed to be the sysadmin now. He's the one who's supposed to have that kind of power. Not Dyson.

Then again, it's hard to be an effective sysadmin if you're keeping all your concentration on one tiny corner of The Grid instead of making your presence known from Tron City first. I know he wants to keep an eye on Alan One, but he doesn't have to do that himself when he has friends and allies in the area ready to do it for him. Besides, Alan One's not helpless. If he was, he wouldn't be riding with us right now to trap Dyson and company between a swarm of gridbugs and a handful of skilled and angry Programs like us.

Speaking of, I really am having to slow down so as not to outpace everyone else. Tron did warn me. These old bikes were made to be fast in an older, slower system. I feel like Zed overhauled the speed and durability on my bike twice as well as anything he ever made before for the races. I wish I could open her up like a normal lightcycle to see how it's made to do this so well. Mara's understandably jealous right now. I can't believe Tron's hidden this from me for so long! The things we could have done with these instead of the cycles I worked on... I know this isn't Flynn's design. It's not Alan One's either. There's a tag in the file, a signature, for a User named MRoth.

I don't have time to contemplate that, though, as we come up on the swarm in no time at all. Dyson and his group are getting overrun. As much as we all want to just take Dyson and his gang out ourselves, the gridbugs are the bigger threat at the moment. Tron gave us all orders to either let Dyson handle it, then engage him, or finish off the swarm ourselves before engaging the Program enemies. No matter what, before engaging Dyson, the swarm had to be put down. Coming to his aid, might make Dyson a little more friendly or so Alan One suggested.

There's just one extra issue. I recognize some of the Programs fighting by Dyson's side. Two of them specifically. Dash and Copper. Two more Programs I was sure were derezzed a long time ago. At least they're happy to see us. I'm sure they'd be happy to see any help at all.

“Tron! Over here!” A light haired male Program who looks like an enforcer is waving at me. “Reeve is down! We need help!”

“Scout?” I hear Tron beside me. He sounds confused and concerned. “Get this sorted, and keep your eye on Dyson.”

“Got it.” He doesn't have to tell me twice. Not that he was ever going to. He's already moving before he finishes his sentence.

“Man, it's good to see you again, boss!” a female enforcement Program slides in beside Alan One a moment later. “Where'd you find the help?”

“Here and there,” Alan One tells her, more focused on the gridbugs. “Keep your focus.”

“It's a breeze with you here!” She laughs, darting back into the fray again.

I'm closest to Dyson, but I keep a healthy distance. He hasn't seen us yet, and he's swinging his disc in wide arcs on the tether to take out several bugs per swipe. Boy have I got a surprise for him! I was going to save this for later, but I just can't resist.

Mara and Paige are flying overhead, shooting into the mass of gridbugs at a thicker section than any of us on foot can get. They're thinning the numbers for us. Gildi and Anchor are at their usual stunts, but they're serious enough to do more than heard the bugs into a cluster for the rest of us this time. This time they have their discs out, too. Though they don't throw them, they're really good at slicing through the hungry enemies.

I let my disc fly ahead into the swarm, right past Dyson's ear. I bet he can feel the heat off the edge as it passes by both him and his constantly moving disc into the advancing gridbugs. Just as I'd hoped, he turns to scowl at me, an admonishment ready. He smiles instead. That's... that's not the reaction I expected. So I let my second disc go as my first returns, the one with the tether. His disc, the one Tron gifted to me a long time ago, along with the credit for derezzing him. He doesn't miss the tether attached to it.

“Oh, copying me now, Tron?” Dyson's question is strange in the moment. He doesn't turn his eyes off the gridbugs. He just allows himself to back up closer to me. “I wondered how long it would be before we ended up targeting the same swarm. We need to talk after this.”

If I say anything, he'll know I'm not Tron. He knows Tron's voice. I doubt he's forgotten it. I know my mask doesn't make me sound enough like him even if I can match his speech patterns. So, I just nod and let both discs fly towards our common enemy instead. That catches Dyson's attention. He knows something's up now. He should have known Tron has two discs. The odd look he's giving me when I catch them both again is concerning. Maybe he recognized something in his old disc as being expressly his own. That's got to make him feel funky.

He doesn't have time to comment. Alan One and that female Program are really tearing it up in his direct line of sight just over my left shoulder from his viewpoint. He definitely knows something's going on when he sees another Tron coming through a patch of gridbugs with a half staff in one hand and directing a solid backed disc with the other. I know he doesn't see my smirk when I point behind him, to the other end of the fight. Tron's there manipulating two solid discs with one hand at lightning speed while supporting another Program who's still defending himself with the other arm.

“Did Flynn copy you a couple times?” Dyson asks, clearly frustrated. “I didn't think he'd go that far! The Grid is literally shrinking, and he's copied you into multiple separate Programs. Overpopulation is a problem, and he chooses you, the absolute most datapacked Program to multiply! Just how bad is it out there?”

“Bad.” I try to pitch my voice a bit lower, bite the word off a bit shorter than usual. We're still fighting. His attention is split. I don't think he picks up on any differences yet.

Chander seems to have come in to this with some reinforcements of her own, all of them airborn. Just like Paige and Mara, they fire into the cluster of gridbugs, spreading them out and then picking them off. Only Paige is confident enough in her shots to fire anywhere close to those of us still on the ground. Slowly, we gain the upper hand. We're all getting tired out, low on energy, but we're winning.

I guess Alan One's had more than enough by the time we're down to the last couple dozen gridbugs. He gives himself away by pushing his bare hand to the ground and calling up some User power that derezzes the ground under the remaining gridbugs then closes it back on top of them hard and fast. I can literally hear a couple of them crunch.

He's wounded. We're all sporting at least a little damage, but he's limping. It's not very noticable to those who don't know him. To a stranger, he would just look like he's walking a little slower, low on energy like the rest of us. But, I know Users don't actually run out of energy the way Programs do. If they did, he wouldn't have been able to pull that move off. As he makes his way closer, I can see it. His right foot is leaving a wet spot behind it with every step. It's just a little bit, nothing serious, but more than enough to hurt and leave evidence that he's a User. I sure hope nobody's looking anywhere he walks. Looking back over to Tron, I see Paige crouching beside the Program Tron had been helping to protect. That guy's got a whole chunk taken out of his right side and a deep gash in his left calf. Nothing she can't handle, though. Tron is only sporting a few tiny pixels of damage. He's healing already, I know. So am I.

“Hey, Tro-” The female Program who had been hanging out beside Alan One the whole fight cuts herself off as she spots me and Tron behind him. “Tron?”

“What's the matter?” Alan One asks, dropping his mask and turning back around to face her.

“Mara?” I freeze at the sound of that voice. It's not Copper. It's not Dash. It's not Tron, Alan One, Gildi, Chander, Anchor, or Paige. But I know that voice. I haven't heard it in so many cycles...

I can feel his signature inside my own code crackle back to life as he runs past me to Mara. He pauses for a second, feeling it, too. But he doesn't know where it's coming from. All he knows is that it's there. If I didn't have Users cursed Dyson so close... But Zed shakes his head and continues to go to Mara. He's got her in his arms and is spinning them in circles, laughing so hard, both of them smiling so bright...

“Can you believe this? There's three Trons out of nowhere!” He's asking her, setting her back down on the ground but not letting go. He doesn't know. How can he not know?

“Stay on task, Program.” Tron warns from behind me. “We're not done here.”

Right. I snap my eyes back to Dyson. I can catch up with Zed and everyone else later. The threats aren't all eliminated. Dyson's beaming at us, shaking his head and docking his disc.

“You sure got one massive upgrade, old friend.” He comments. “Care to share?”

“Not with you.” Alan One answers, finally coming to a steady stop beside us, slightly behind and to Dyson's right.

Tron is slightly behind and to Dyson's left. I'm right in front of him. He's trapped and just barely beginning to recognize his compromised position.

“That's no way to treat someone you call friend,” Dyson's eyes grow sharp as he looks to me.

“Pretty sure I never called you my friend.” I don't even try to make myself sound anything like Tron now. There's no point. I drop my mask and show him the truth.

There's a flash of something in him. Hope? Actual hope? “Cinder?”

“Not anymore.” Tron tells him, dropping his mask, too.

Alan waves a blood stained hand at him, proving he's not exactly a Program, though I'm not sure if Dyson gets the hint or not.

But he does. “You're a User? But then?” He's finally looking at Tron for real. “What's going on?”

“Why don't you tell us, old friend.” Tron snarls the last two words, sounding more like Rinzler than himself for a second. I hate it, but I get it.

Chapter Text

Zed POV

Gotta love Bodhi and his improvised tools! I mean, they're not always that great. He's had more than a few that just didn't work, and there's that one that exploded and all, but this time he's come up with a super multitool. Plug it in, and everything's accessable all at once! He's made a handful of them to share with me, Mara, Beck, and Able now that he knows it's reliable and sturdy. Maybe he could open his own shop to create tools one day. I'm not sure if Mara and Beck would be willing to move out with him for that, but I would.

This thing started out as a wrench, and he still calls it that. He really needs to come up with better names for his inventions. We'll work on something better next millicycle. Right now, it's time to go blow off some steam. If only Beck would hurry up!

“Here, try it with this,” Bodhi tosses Beck the gift.

“I didn't realize you were in such a rush to get beat.” Beck taunts when he realizes what he's got in his hands. I doubt he knows it was made for him.

Bodhi is so confident he's going to win this time. He looses every match against Beck, we all do, but he never gives up. Mara and I have learned to just play against each other. We'll go up against Bodhi if we want a challenge. Beck's just a bit better than all of us. I think, one time, the three of us tried to take him on at once. We got a grand total of four points against him. He still beat us.

But that's alright. We've all got our strong suits. Bodhi is the genius with tools. Beck's got an eye for positioning. Mara's got the ability to see an over all outcome at a glance. I'm into upgrading existing parts. I think that's why we were all made for each other. Mara can spot a potential problem and extrapolate probable outcomes, so she's a natural delegator. Beck can fine tune anything I come up with, and Bodhi can give us what we need to make it happen. Mara sees what's lacking, I come up with the solution, Beck smoothes it out, and Bodhi literally gives us the tools to make it all happen.

We're the perfect team in the garage. Able's Ace's some of the others have been calling us. I love it. Mara blushes when she hears it. Bodhi waves it off, and Beck cracks jokes.

As we're playing disc games after our shift, there's a city wide announcement. Mara and I stop in the middle of our match to listen and look up. The army is here, in Argon. And there's a huge damn statue of Clu crashing down over our heads.

It's definitely not good news.

“If Tron were here-” Beck starts. I don't get his admiration for a dead Program. He just can't believe what the rest of us have accepted already.

“You mean if Tron were alive,” I correct. We all saw the feeds Clu had force broadcast to every city of himself plunging his disc into Tron over and over again. Other Programs would have derezzed on the first strike. Tron might have been the strongest of us, but not strong enough to survive Clu.

Before either of us can say anything more, several sentries come up to stand guard around that ugly orange statue now sitting right where Mara's head just was a moment ago. Bodhi's already on the move to tell them off.

“Hey! That's our field!” Bodhi runs off at the mouth. He may be a genius with tools, but he's stupid with things like this. He only takes orders from Able, and he's still interested in trying to beat Beck.

“This is our field now.” The guard he confronts says.

“Hey, you can't do-” But Bodhi takes a strike from the guard's staff.

I knew he was going to get put in his place one day. I just wish it wasn't like this.

“No more games.” The guard dares to turn his back.

Bodhi's just too confident. Like Beck, he idolizes Tron, still believes there's a chance the “Hero of The Grid” is still alive. “You don't scare us!”

And then he's cubes at our feet. His disc is picked up by Beck. Beck's seething, unlike the rest of us. I'm scared he'll be next.

My memories are kinda blank after that. The next thing I know, I'm waking up with a bunch of unfamilliar Programs way out in the Outlands. There's a few system monitors around. The one called Dyson takes charge of all of us. I'm pretty sure the other three are a team that's worked together a long time, maybe even counterparts with how well they finish each other's sentences and work in tandem without much conversation.

We get organized based on our combat experience. I don't have any besides playing games after a work shift, but I get settled into the outer ring near Copper and Dash. At least I know somebody here. I think I've seen some of the others before. Probably customers. Talking is discouraged by the Black Guards who surround us. I'm not about to disobey, not after what happened to Bodhi. At least Dyson and the trio of other monitors seem to know what they're doing. The guards obey them. That's good, but I'm still shaking.

I don't want to get drafted into Clu's army. I've already been picked out as being more capable than the inner group of Programs. Beck and Mara are nowhere to be seen. Bodhi is gone. Sure, I've got the familiar faces of Copper and Dash, but that's not the same sense of security I'd get from my counterparts. I really hope I can get home. Mara's going to worry over me. Beck might be angry enough to strike out on his own to find us. I doubt he'll say anything to Mara about it first.

When we're finally coming in to Argon, I'm about floored to see the damage. My home is destroyed. My home is destroyed! Able's Garage is pretty much impaled by a massive chunk of a building I'm sure should have been clear on the other side of that hill, and...

“Perhaps you'll find a familiar face when we get to the trains.” Dyson tries to comfort me. That's the beig difference between the Black Guard and the system monitors. Monitors like Dyson were all once civilian Programs like me. They care about us on a slightly more personal level where as the guards only care about order in general.

I'm actually surprised that Dyson can control the guards like he does. The guards usually hand orders to the monitors to stay out of their way. Only Tron could take charge of any guards in the past, or so Able tells us. Things sure have changed a lot since Clu took down Tron, and not in the way I thought. The monitors should have been derezzed by the guards from what I understand. It's more likely for them to be repurposed unless they're seriously loyal to the memory of Tron. I don't know which way Dyson leans in the conflict, but it's clear he still cares about the rest of us.

Literal moments after we get into the city itself and find the cluster of Programs still calling Argon home, panic breaks out. Everyone's running away from us like we're a damn virus or something. I just found Link. He looked at me like I was a Remnant or something before running like everyone else was. But, Dyson called on the other guards and got everyone hearded up into a tight group again. It's pretty obvious that a few Programs were derezzed in the chaos. I don't know who they were. I don't want to.

The guards are tasked to keep us all inside the habitable zone near the train station. Argon won't be a viable stop anymore. Dyson wants to understand what's happened here first. We're going to have to live under martial law for a while. This is no better than the prospect of living under Clu's thumb. Just because Dyson's a monitor and not a guard doesn't mean-

“You, Program!” one of the other monitors singled me out. I think her name is Thace or Trace or something like that.

I'm not as brave as Beck or as stupid as Bodhi in situations like this. I'm actually a little bit of a coward, though I'll never admit that to anyone. It's one cycle since we came here, and I know something outside the city has caught Dyson's attention. What could any of them want with me?

“Y...yes?” I stammer. They know I'm a mechanic, so I go with that probability for being singled out. “Need something fixed?”

“I'm Thrace.” Okay, I was close. “Dyson's asked me to find Programs to go on a gridbug hunt with him. I've been told you do fair in disc games.”

“And?” I'm definitely not going to vollunteer fot this. “Just games. I've never-”

“You'll be coming with us as a rear guard and to fix any issues our vehicles develop.” Thrace orders curtly. “Don't worry, Program, I'm sure the rest of us can handle the gridbugs on our own. We just need some ensurance in case something happens to one of our lightcycles. Can you work in the Outlands with basic equipment?”

“I don't want to go out there!” My voice is more of a squeek than anything. It's embarrassing. “Just bring me your batons when you get back, and I can-”

“We're going farther this time.” Thrace cuts me off, but her voice and expression are much more gentle and understanding. “The faster we can return here, the faster we can be on detail for your city again. We need you there as a precaution. Please. My squad and I won't let you get damaged.”

And that's how I ended up going out on runs with Dyson and his team into the Outlands. I always hung back a ways. It was actually fun over all. I got to leave the crowded little area the guards had us packed into every so often. I got to see how Programs trained by Tron himself fought! I've never seen anything like it before now, and it's amazing! They're so fast, I can barely track them. They hardly ever take damage except for Scout and Dyson.

Dyson gets hurt because he sometimes jumpst in to save someone. He's built like me, but so confident in his own abilities that a little guaranteed damage doesn't deter him at all. He'll stand up to anything, I think. Reeve and Thrace are more cautious. They'd rather stand their ground than make risky moves, and it serves them well. Scout reminds me of Bodhi, though. He's clearly studied and practiced, but just not quite up to par with Dyson. He's overconfident. That costs him some damage more than once, but he always walks away generally intact.

I'm on my fifth outting with them when something changes. There's another group of Programs coming in hot for the same swarm of gridbugs Dyson and his team are already engaging. They're right on time to save the day, too. Scout's really down this time, and Reeve is doing his best to protect him, but starting to fail. I'm sure as Users not going in there to try my hand at killing gridbugs. If they fail, I'm supposed to turn tail and run back to Argon to report. I'm an observer, a potential messenger, and field mechanic. Sometimes I play field medic, too. I wish Mara were here for that bit, though. She's a little better than I am at it.

Link told me I just missed her by half a millicycle once he calmed down enough to talk to me, Dash, and Copper. He said she tailed some high ranking enforcers and a couple User loyalists to the edge of the city and disappeared with them. Either she switched sides or was captured. I didn't want to contemplate either possibility.

Link didn't want to talk about what happened to Argon, kept insisting that we knew already. He was scared of Dyson, his team, and the guards. He hid every time any of them got close. When it comes to the guards, I understand his fear. He's never been all that brave of a Program. The monitors, though, paid him no mind except when they had work for him. They routed all mechanic work through me to the others. I guess that's because they knew I was more willing to work with them thanks to our shared, strange experience of waking up at an edge.

But, anyway, the Programs that came to Dyson's rescue sure were something. I've never seen lightcycles like the ones leading the charge before! They looked more like the old bike Able loved a little too much. It's like they came from an entirely different world! They're thin, fast, and turn on a pixel! And the colors?

Well, that had me nervous.

They were all solidly colored, without distinct lightlines. That's a trademark of Flynns earliest work. One of them was my favorite shade of green, and that was pretty cool. The others, though, were orange and gold. Gold is Clu's color, no one else's. Orange could mean anyone loyal to him. More bad news. If that's Clu out there...

I pull up my binoculars to get a better look. The unique lightcycles break down all at the same time. Their drivers are all dressed exactly alike. They're all... Tron? No way! No glitching way!

Of course the lightcycles are of an older design! Tron is alive, and he's working with Flynn! That means Flynn is alive, too! The User is here, on The Grid, fighting for us with Tron by his side! But... How are there three Trons? I've heard that Users can literally clone Programs, but I always thought that was just a rumor! This is so awesome! Beck, Bodhi, and Mara would love this so much! I'm so happy to be proven wrong that...

That I get to go home and tell Link, Dash, and Copper what I saw. My counterparts are all gone. Beck is flat out missing. Mara's presumed captured. I watched Bodhi die... I don't get to hear an “I told you so” from any of them. I'll never hear it from any of them, or even Able. Link won't tell us what happened to him, either. Able was the one who always told us stories about Tron in his office after the other mechanics got off their shifts for a downcycle. That was before we found the club and the game field and started spending more time there than listening to Able's bedtime stories.

Able was always so good to us. We were the only quad he'd ever encountered all together. He thought there was something special about that. Everyone else shrugged it off or made comments that we were kind of freaks for it. They figured each of us was a little less than capable in the early cycles, needing an extra counterpart to fully function. Able said it made us better than the rest, that we had an extra strength the rest of them lacked. He said it made us a little closer to the Users, too, that Flynn himself was part of a quad. I believed him. He knew Flynn and Tron personally. He would know more than anyone else in Argon about it.

I almost miss the two Programs flying above the main fight while I'm focusing in on the three Trons and trying to figure out which one's the original. I've never seen even a scrap of a recording of Tron fighting before. All that's been banned by Clu. The closest I've seen has been in the monitors he's trained that are now Argon's protectors. Tron is so much more than them!

Two of them have two discs each. The third one might, but he seems partial to using a staff. There's something odd about all their discs, too. The one in the middle has one of his discs on a tether. The one on the right can use both of his discs one handed. He and the one on the left both have solid backed discs. And the one on the right just manipulated the code of The Grid itself to swallow up and crush the remaining gridbugs! How is that even possible? I thought only Flynn could do something like that!

My eyes catch sight of one of the Programs coming down from the air to land near one of the Trons. She flies a little more fancy than the other one, and her turquoise hair is-

Mara.

Mara!

Mara wasn't captured! Or, if she was, she escaped! This whole thing just got ten times more awesome when the three Trons showed up and proved they're working with Flynn, but it got ten times more awesome than that just now! Mara just got ten times more awesome!

As always, once the fighting is done, I go to the monitors and whatever guards or other Programs have decided to join them for the hunt. I'm supposed to be doing damage control, but, this time, I'm running right past Dyson and the Trons to get to her. I know better than to try and get myself into that conversation. I'm not Beck!

But... I think I feel him here anyway, just as I'm almost to Mara. She's frozen, staring at me in shock, and I really do want to get to her, but... Why did I just feel Beck close by? Did she find him? Did they come here together? I look back, scan the area, and come up empty except for that lingering feeling of familiarity.

One of the Trons is looking dead at me, and I feel my nerves kick up too much to keep looking for Beck. If he's here and I felt him, he's sure to have sensed me, too. He'll come find me and Mara. I don't need to be singled out by Tron as an annoyance.

“Zed? Is it really you?” Mara gets my attention again as the Tron who was staring turns back to the others and Dyson.

I run to her, eager to touch again, even if all she'll let me touch is her hands. We're counterparts, but not lovers. Not all counterparts are lovers. I wish she'd let me get closer. I'll take what I can get. “Can you believe this? There's three Trons out of nowhere!”

“Never mind that!” Mara pulls me in for a tight hug. She only does that when she's super excited, and I know I'm not special for getting it. She'll hug anybody when she's really happy. Doesn't stop me from blushing though. “Oh, I've missed you, Zed! Beck told me you... He showed me... How are you even here?”

“I don't know,” I intend to hold her as long as she'll allow. This hug's already gon on longer than any other in the past. “I don't know, Mara. One moment, we're playing disc games, then there's a statue dropping on our heads, and Bodhi... Then I woke up at the edge with a bunch of other Programs and some guards and monitors... Link said you were captured by a couple enforcers just before we got into Argon again! How did you get out of that?”

She shakes her head, pressing her face into my chest and tightening her hold on me. This isn't like her at all. I know I'm missing a large amount of memories, but this is...

“I wasn't captured.” She says, finally pulling away a little. “I joined up with Beck, Tron, Paige, and Sam Flynn.”

Wait... what? “Who?”

I can't be hearing that right. There's another Flynn? So, Beck's definitely here, and there's a whole other User around?

“It gets even crazier!” Mara ignores my question. “Alan One's here! Tron's User! And I was right. He's handsom.”

“Who's handsome?” My mind's reeling from all this information, and that's the words that choose to come out. Wow.

“The Renegade!” She laughs at me. “Don't you remember?”

“Mara... uh...”

Since we made it to Argon, there've been stories about a Renegade wearing Tron's lightlines and stirring up trouble for Clu. While I don't have anything against that per se, Dash and Copper said he caused a lot of trouble for us. The guards who were there when we showed up were actually left behind to see if the Renegade would ever show back up. He was doing more harm than good over all. Dyson and the other monitors wanted to get ahold of him, too, if their paths crossed. I couldn't tell if it was to try and recruit him or just make him sit still for a bit so the guards and monitors could secure the area properly. Nobody's seen the Renegade in hundreds of cycles, but Clu had a feeling he'd show back up to familiar ground eventually and left the guards behind.

Dash, Link, and Copper all seem to think he's got something to do with Able's death, too.

“You know... I...” Mara's demenor drops, but she's still holding on to me. It's almost like she's trying to make me feel better. “I heard that there were revived Programs who lost chunks of memory. You... you must have...”

“Yeah, I did.” I try to make it make sense. “Some of the others have been filling us in. There's a lot they won't talk about. Last thing I remember before waking up out here was when General Tesler showed up and dropped a statue on our heads. Bodhi... I think we almost lost Beck, too.”

“More times than you know.”

That's kinda cryptic. “What did he do?”

She points behind me, back at Dyson and the three Trons. “That, Zed. He did that.”

I'm scared to look.

I look.

One of the Trons has Dyson in cuffs and on his knees. Dyson looks so betrayed, scared, even. One of the others has Dyson's disc in hand, carefully combing through memories. He's the one who has Dyson's attention. The third Tron, the one with his back to us, is holding two discs at the ready, wary of every twitch Dyson makes. There's a medic Program next to him, also looking quite tense and ready to jump at the slightest provocation. She may look like a medic, but she's acting like a cornered and hungry gridbug weighing it's options between getting a meal and being derezzed if it moves the wrong way.

The third Tron's hair is different somehow. It's a little lighter, shaped differently from the others. He's slightly broader across the shoulders, slightly shorter. Even from here, I can see his jaw's shaped a bit more angular. He's got... Is that Bodhi's tool on his side that the Tron holding Dyson's disc is reaching for? How did this guy get it? Is this the Renegade? Did Beck get mixed up with the Renegade's mission somehow?

The third Tron who I'm now guessing is actually the Renegade seems to feel us staring at him. He glances back with a smile and I...

It's Beck.

Beck's the Renegade!

What in the name of the Users is going on here?

Beck's good at playing games, but this is crazy! I know he was angry over Bodhi, we all were, but I never would have guessed he'd take it this far. And he found the real Tron? I bet Tron found him first. But which one of the other two is the real Tron? Both? Neither?

Beck gives us a short nod, his attention called back by the Tron holding Dyson at the business end of a staff. The medic beside him glances our way, a sadness to her that doesn't make any sense at all. She gets herself back on the task of guarding Dyson.

Speaking of... “Why are they treating him like that? Dyson's half the reason we're all still alive right now.”

“Zed, he's... he's not what you think he is.” Mara tries to warn me, but I'm already on the move.

Somebody's got to speak up for Dyson. Scout, Reeve, and Thrace are busy taking care of the other Programs that showed up and took damage in the fight against the gridbugs. They're doing my job for me while I'm busy talking. I don't think they even know what's happening to the boss. I've never seen anyone treat Dyson this way. They all seem scared of him, except the three other monitors. Well, when he snaps at them, they straighten up, but it's like when Able snapps at us. Snapped at us. It's still hard to wrap my head around the fact that he's gone.

“Hey!” I push past Beck and get in the face of the Tron holding Dyson's disc. I know this is probably a stupid move. I'm actually shaking inside. I can feel a few cubes that want to rattle loose the instant that Tron shifts a glare on me. I hope his alliegence with Beck is enough to save me. “What are you doing? He's one of the good guys! Like you're supposed to be! Leave him alone!”

“Stay out of this, Zed.” The Tron restraining Dyson orders.

He knows my name. He knows my name! Oh no. Oh, wait, Beck probably told him. I'm standing in a really bad spot. I'm between the two Trons and Beck, right beside Dyson. I can't get out of this now. Fine, if this is how I go out, at least Mara will see I'm not a coward. I feel like a coward anyway as I turn to look at the Tron behind me.

“No! This isn't right!” I look to Dyson. He's unreadable. That's not good. I know my voice is shaking as much as the rest of me, but I can't help it. “Aren't you supposed to be friends? He said you were friends! He's been trying to find you out here for the past thirty millicycles! He's been protecting what's left of Argon and fighting gridbugs head on when they get too close, and... and...”

“Zed.” I feel Beck's hand on my shoulder and shut up. “We're not going to hurt him unless he makes us. He's not a friend. I don't know what he said to make you trust him, but-”

“But nothing, man!” I knock Beck's hand off of me, turning to face him now. “Look at you! You're the Renegade? The one who caused Argon to get destroyed? Why? Why should I trust you anymore? Dyson's been there for everyone that's left, and you've been missing for like forever! From what I hear, since I woke up, you're the one who messed everything up! You left us all behind in the middle of a war!”

“That is not what he did!” the medic finally speaks up. She seems to think better of her statement for a second. “Okay, I'll give you this. He did cause a lot of messes for everyone. But he didn't abandon you. He wouldn't leave me alone when I tried to kill him, so I know he didn't abandon you. Dyson's in league with Clu. He's not the savior you think he is. He's just using you.”

“I don't think that's quite true, Paige.” The Tron holding Dyson's disc comments with a sigh. “I found something you should all see. Look. Tron, do you remember this?”

Chapter Text

Tron POV

I've finally got Dyson. Traitor. Liar. Mutilating piece of-

Not all of me can hate him as much as I want to. There was a time when he was the best friend I ever had, when I could ignore the fact that he had been one of Clu's guards before joining me. Back then, though, I still thought Clu was my friend. We just had different ways of doing the same thing; protecting everyone else. Clu wanted the same thing I did, or so I thought. We were supposed to help Flynn make his dreams come true. Me by protecting things as they were. Clu by changing flawed designs for the better.

Dyson tried to bridge the chasm that grew between me and Clu. I knew he was still loyal to Clu the whole time. Clu thought he had chosen me over him. While I appreciated the way Dyson could look at things from both of our perspectives, even he became a point of contention between me and Clu. For the longest time, neither of us were really sure whose side he was actually on.

Alan One brought up a critical memory on Dyson's disc. I'm pretty sure it's the last time Dyson was actually following his programming correctly, focusing on the safety of Programs above all else. I had assured Dyson that Flynn would mend his injury when he came. He didn't. Dyson left my command unit.

Then Dyson's memories became little more than small snippets. I can see flashes of familiar faces besides Clu. I can see a healthy, though obviously truncated, memory of Beck as Cinder tearing his way through a mass of Programs infected with a virus that was hell bent on spreading. I didn't know Beck could actually move like that. It's the hesitance. Beck hesitates to harm other Programs no matter their condition or alliegence. Cinder didn't.

Then the memories become clear again, organized, determined. He's in the Outlands, next to an edge, with Thrace, Scout, and Reeve and a lot of other confused Programs. He's not just out for himself in these memories. He's showing concern. Genuine concern.

There's a lot missing. Well over a thousand cycles of memory reduced to scraps that take mere moments to review. Alan One says the other memories aren't locked. They're completely gone. No gaps. Everything's been re-written, compressed to eliminate the gaps that should be there, overwriting empty spaces. Even if someone had yanked his memories out, they couldn't be replaced in proper order. Maybe not at all. If the parts that I did recognize didn't line up exactly to my own memories, I'd wonder if they were faked, that this was Dyson at all.

I still want to derez him. Even before that injury, Dyson was trying to get me to see things Clu's way. Look what Clu's way did to the system! Look what I've inerited!

Look what I've done with it.

And I still want to derez him.

I'm really no better than Clu, am I? No. I'm worse. I contributed to this mess. I've done pretty much nothing to fix any of it so far. I focused on a vendetta instead. At least Clu's focus on his vindetta coinsided with his mission to achieve his directives as sysadmin and create a perfect system. I'm not even trying to make a good system let alone restructure anything from the literal ashes it's become.

Zed is right not to have faith in any of us anymore.

Zed is another issue I need to deal with. He's not really guilty of doing anything wrong as far as I know. Wrong to Clu, yes, but not wrong to the system or his friends and counterparts. My issue with Zed is that he's an original counterpart of Beck's, just like Mara. Beck can handle three counterparts at a time. He's got four of us now, and two of us are write-ins. He can't be expected to shun an original for a write-in. He can't be expected to maintain a proper relationship with all of us, either, not as counterparts. I was the last connection. I'm supposed to be the one who gets cut off.

Removing our status as counterparts would be beneficial for our working relationship moving forward. Emotions like affection can get in the way between a sysadmin and a chief of security. I know that first hand. That doesn't mean I want to do it. No matter what, I'm always going to love him. If I end this between us, he'll get through it. He'll be better off.

I won't.

Is this really how Clu thought of me when he realized what we were supposed to be? I denied him for so long... I think, maybe, I'm part of what drove him over the edge. Clu didn't have any other counterparts here. He only had me, and I wouldn't affirm the connection. Even as Rinzler, my affection towards him was restrained, far from genuine. I spent more time with Cinder than I did with him, even if there was no intimacy shared in that time. Cinder and Rinzler weren't like Beck and I. Counterparts? Yes. Lovers? No.

“So,” Alan One takes a seat beside me on the stairs leading down to the living quarters from the simulation level above, “now what? Who's the next biggest threat we need to contain?”

Dyson's contained alright. I've got him locked up in a tight little cell five levels below the base of the mountain. I made sure to show him my memories of what he did. Paige adds a few of her own for good measure. He's acting like we're the ones lying, declairing he'd never do those things to anyone.

Reeve, Scout, and Thrace are wary of him now. They saw the same memories. I know they've lost faith in him. They might be more cautious of me now, but that's actually a good thing. It's about damn time they show me the respect Dyson kept trying to instill in them in the early cycles. I'm supposed to be...

“Got more personal stuff to deal with first?” Alan One prompts me again when I don't answer immediately. He knows everything I know and more. I'm a bit uncomfortable with that, but I have to trust him. He's not Flynn. He won't leave me to my own devices to fix things. He'll actually help me if I let him. I don't have to beg for his attention.

“Has Lora Prime contacted you this milli?” I ask instead of answering his questions. She hasn't responded to his last message as far as I know. He sent it right before we came to Dyson's rescue over two millicycles ago. They're supposed to be in contact every single millicycle.

“Maybe my time calculations were off a bit.” Alan One fidgets a little. I can see he's stressed over the loss of contact. “That or Flynn has her distracted.”

So, that's a no.

His eyes become sharp as they lock onto mine. “What are you going to do about Beck?”

Maybe me asking about his counterpart tipped him off to my personal turmoil. Of course it did. “I really only have one option. I don't know if he'll understand.”

“You were the last?”

“I was.” I can't hold his gaze. He's the one person that makes me feel small in times like this. I'm actually jealous. He lost Yori just like I did, but he was blessed with her User. I can't get anything like that. He's got Flynn back. I'm about to be completely alone.

“Don't count him out just yet.” Alan One's hand on my shoulder is a comfort I don't know how to handle right now. “It's his decision to make, not yours. Not unless you don't want him anymore, and I'm pretty sure you don't-”

He goes still for a moment, tense with a far away look in his eyes. I can feel a priority message running through him through the contact between his hand and my lightlines. He had been meaning to convey comfort and patience to me, but all of that fled his energy in an instant. Instead of wise advice coming from User experience, I'm now seeing what my own face looks like when I actually feel a shock of fear. This message must be from the outside. It's gone directly to him, untraceable to me.

“Alan One?” I turn more fully towards him, taking hold of his hand on my shoulder to try and send the question directly. “What is it? What's happened?”

He's stumbling to his feet like his legs can barely support his own weight, using me to push himself the rest of the way up. Before I know it, he's got himself coordinated again and is running up the stairs. I get up and scramble just to keep up with him. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's unconsciously activating some previously unknown to me User power to move even faster towards the door. I just barely catch him by the edge of his disc before he can get outside.

“Alan One, stop!” It sounds like an order, but I'm really just worried. This behavior is extremely a-typical, and I need to know what's going on. “Talk to me!”

We've got an audience. Paige and Zed are jogging up to see what all the commotion is about. Things get even stranger when Alan One just drops to the floor. I didn't do anything to his disc besides use it as an anchor point to hold him still.

“I need to go!” Alan One's voice is small, frantic. He's trying to push himself up again, but I'm not going to let that happen. He's in no state to go anywhere. “Please... not again...”

“Alan One, hey!” I get on my knees in front of him, bringing his face to meet mine. I think I know what this is. I don't know what message he got, but I know what it's done to him. I look to Paige, the more familiar of the two onlookers. “Get Beck.”

Beck's better with his words than most of us, at least when it comes to scared Programs. I usually just make myself a shield between them and the danger. Beck, though, knows how to comfort them, to calm them, in other ways. He wasn't successful with me, but that's because I'm more aggressive when scared. Alan One seems to have the opposite reaction.

“No... no. You need to rest, Tron.” Alan One mutters. I have no idea what he's talking about. “You haven't fought in a long time, not like that... She needs me more than you right now.”

“Tron...” Zed approaches cautiously. “I think you broke your User. Or, is this just how they act when they're tired?”

“You seriously need to shutup.” I spare him a quick glare. He backs off, hands up. Smart move. I'm not too fond of him right now. I think he finally gets it.

Alan One chokes out a harsh laugh. He's taking deeper breaths, full and purposefully slowed. In through the nose, and back out through the mouth. It's apparently a common self soothing method among Users. By the time Paige returns with Beck, though, he's back on his feet, leaning on the wall close to the door. I don't take my hand off of him, though. He's unpredictable and weakened.

“What's going on?” Beck asks, breaking the relative silence with his own concern. “Paige said you needed me.”

Zed answers before I can. “He broke his User. The man's glitching for real.”

Beck's very understandably confused. “Users can glitch?”

“I don't know, but that's what it looked like from over here.” Zed shruggs.

As they go back and forth, Paige keeps a critical eye on Alan One. Maybe she's deciding whether or not she can actually do anything to help while the other two contemplate how Users do and do not work. I know she doesn't miss the way I slip my hand down to Alan One's, matching up the lightlines on the back of my hand to his. I think we may have forgotten to tell her what he really is.

Explain. I prompt him. He's still breathing too hard, still fighting to control himself, to speak with words.

Lora. Crashed. Alan One's response comes back sluggishly. Critical condition.

Leaving?

Need to. Required response. That response is a lot faster. It feels different, too. It doesn't feel like Alan One at all. Even the tone is different.

Who will replace? I prompt.

Unknown. User crashing due to unstable thoughts and emotions. I took over for the time being.

Understood. Approximate time of next User arrival?

Unknown.

That response makes me flinch away from him. At least I know this guy can keep his feet under him without me there to hold him up. I'm not ready to be left here without a User. I just got comfortable with having Alan One back in my life. I don't...

“I'll see if Roy can sit with you for a while.” He tells me knowingly. “He's not going to be like us, but I think you'll like him anyway. If he does come, try to keep him from getting himself into trouble.”

“How long do you estimate?” I ask him carefully.

“Knowing him, just have someone at the entrance waiting. Once I tell him what's going on here, he probably won't wait too long.”

“Done.” I finally address the other three again. “There has been an event in the User world that requires Alan One's immediate return. Beck, Paige, I'm going to have to ask you both to do something a bit dangerous. Zed, get Anchor and Gildi. Alan One will need an escort home. The three of you should be more than sufficient.”

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Beck POV

Just trying to look like any other Program while sitting on the steps to the most avoided building in all of Tron City while wearing full headgear to hide my identity isn't exactly easy. I honestly think Paige and I would attract less attention if we just showed our faces. And, yes, I mean that knowing we were part of Clu's top ten wanted fugitives. There's really no good reason why a medic and a mechanic should be sitting here together quietly with their faces hidden behind masks. There's no reason for any Programs to want to sit here at all.

Word hasn't reached this part of The Grid about what actually happened to Clu yet. They don't even know there's a new sysadmin around. Some of the old faction lines have grouped up again by the looks of things. Clu's still got some supporters on the streets. His followers aren't even the worst of them.

When Tron said he wanted us to do this, he said it was “a bit dangerous.” I'd say hanging out at the entrance of the Users for an undetermined amount of time to maybe escort a frail, elderly User who has absolutely no experience in a system like this, not even a disc, from the newly re-formed gangs in Tron City just a handful of cycles after Clu's generally unannounced demise which was followed by a power cut and then a scan of some kind is asking for trouble. This isn't “a bit dangerous.”

It's potential suicide.

I guess that's why he picked us. I specialize in potentially suicidal missions thanks to him. Paige is... well, she's Paige, the most badass medic Program in the whole system. She'll kick your ass, patch you up, then knock you down all over again if you don't thank her properly for kicking your ass the first time. I should know.

“What was that back there?” Paige asks as the portal lights up in the distance, then winks out a moment later.

“Hmm?” I stop checking out her legs, focusing in on the question. I need to not get carried away admiring her build right now. “What was what?”

“Alan One...” She looks away from the sky and back at me.

I'm pretty sure she's probably looking over my shoulder instead of at me directly. We do this a lot when we have to wait for something. Sitting back to back makes it obvious we're on the look out for trouble. Facing each other and making idle chatter, we can watch each other's backs and look casual at the same time.

“Remember when you first brought Tron back? How he ran?” she continues softly. “Alan One wasn't glitching. He had that same look Tron did. Scared.”

“His counterpart is in danger.” I remind her. “Users can't be repaired the same way we can.”

“I know...” She turns her head slightly, following the movements of a couple Programs with orange lightlines. I can see their distorted, tiny reflections on her darkened mask. “Clu's generals were all given data about Users in case they ever found Flynn. Tesler shared the information with me and Pavel just before we came to Argon.”

“And?” I have no idea where she's going with this.

“It was very detailed.”

“What's your point, Paige?” Am I supposed to guess?

She sweeps the area with another look, settling in on a blue colored Program a bit closer now that the previous two are out of sight. “They don't communicate through energy passed between lightlines. They don't have lightlines. Not natural ones. They add them onto themselves for our comfort.”

I get it now. “You saw that, huh?”

She doesn't answer. She doesn't have to. I already know. Tron's not always as subtle as he likes to think he is. I'd actually be surprised if Zed missed it this time.

“He's not a normal User.” I tell her, focusing on the next two closest Programs behind her. A couple medics. “He's integrated with another Tron from another system. Alan One told me the story. He and the other Tron were both going to die, and they wanted to save each other. So they did. Now Alan One can actually use his lightlines and send scans and stuff like us.”

“And his appearance shift? His over all health improvement?”

“Something to do with the other Tron.” I shrug. “Alan One was sick or something, and his Tron had advanced self healing abilities that kicked in when he showed up here. I guess he couldn't do that in the User world or something.”

“Users break down and weaken with age. Barring injury or sickness, one of their internal functions will eventually give out and cause either a slow or rapid cascade failure that ends their life.” Paige says, seemingly reciting from a data packet. “That's why he stayed, isn't it? To prolong his life? It's not about us at all, is it?”

“I don't know.” I honestly don't. Then again. “Flynn was one of his counterparts. You'd think he'd want to spend time at home with him instead of hanging out here with us if that was the case. Maybe we do mean something to him after all. I know Tron does, even if the rest of us don't.”

Those two medics I spotted are seriously getting close to us now. I can actually hear their conversation now.

“Dan, seriously? Why would she be anywhere near this place?” the female with long hair asks the male with a rather square jaw.

“I don't know, Rox. You're the one who got the info that she joined the army.” the male rolls his eyes. “Users have been around again. This is where they come in, right? If she's still with Clu, wouldn't it make sense for her to stake out the area?”

Paige is frozen. Only her head moves to look at the pair of medics. A half a second later, she's on her feet and getting in their way. Both of them protest and start to tell her off. I'm on my feet fast, worried about the scene they're causing. Someone's going to notice we're a little more than strange now.

“Dan? Rox?” Paige sounds... breathless? Startled? Definitely disbelieving.

And that's how I end up meeting Paige's long lost, original counterparts. Now I know how she and Tron probably feel about me getting Mara and Zed back. The way Paige, Dan, and Rox hold each other for far too long, the crazy story they tell about waking up at an edge of The Grid and getting chased all the way to the city by gridbugs and a handful of half glitched Programs... It lines up with Zed's story a little too closely. Their last memory before waking up in the Outlands was arguing with each other about calling the army because they found out two of their patients were ISOs. ISOs that Paige was protecting behind their backs.

Heh, my closest counterpart has had a rebellious streak longer than I knew. One more reason to love her.

Except...

Except I was made to have three counterparts, and now I have four. Paige was made to have two counterparts, and now she has three. It's...

I'm going to lose her.

I'm going to lose her to a couple of Programs who got themselves derezzed by Tesler because they chose to reveal a couple ISOs to the army. They're the whole reason Paige joined Tesler in the first place.

Maybe I won't lose her. Maybe one of the Users can make it so that I can handle four counterparts, and her have three. Maybe she won't take them back after what they did. There's got to be some way to make this work.

We'll have to figure that out later. A column of light flashes over the building we were sitting next to, heralding the arrival of another User. I hope it's the User Alan One called Roy and not-

Sam Flynn pokes his head out of the door. Great. Just fragging great. Alan One said he'd ask Roy to come, not Sam Flynn. Well... actually, that wasn't Alan One at the time.

“Hi.” Sam Flynn cringes when he sees the steps are filled with the four of us. He looks like he needs to take a sleep and some energy like two millis ago.

“We're friendlies,” I lighten up my mask for a brief second so he can recognize me. Remembering exactly who is behind me and what side they took in things, I add, “mostly.”

Paige smacks the back of my head for that comment. “We're here to escort you to base. Has Alan One informed you of the current situation?”

“Yeah.” Sam Flynn opens the door wider, revealing another User I haven't met yet. He doesn't look anything like Flynn. “That's why you've got two of us now. Roy, that's Beck and Paige. Guys, this is Roy. Think we can find him a disc?”

Paige and I share a look. Yeah, we can find him a disc. It won't be easy. It probably won't be subtle. Tron's going to hate us both. We'll blame Sam Flynn.

Chapter Text

Sam POV

People often make comments about not trying to pretend things are easy about all kinds of difficult situations. Then they try to make the other person feel better somehow. The school councilor said she wasn't going to ask me to pretend that things were easy when Dad disappeared. I did anyway. Less kids tried to bully me over it if I acted like I didn't care that he was gone.

The unintended side-effect was pushing away Gram, Mac, Alan, and Lora. But how was I supposed to trust them, anyway? If Dad broke his promise and left, what was stopping them?

It hit hard when Gram died five years after they declaired Dad dead. The last time she was still conscious, we argued about Dad. She still believed he was coming home. I walked away in a fit of rage towards her. She died five hours later. I pretended things were better off that way, that she'd finally see her son again and get all the answers the rest of us were waiting for. I pretended that I felt better about it, that not seeing her standing at the front door every night waiting for him to come home was a relief.

Mac was too sick to take watch over me. He'd been in a nursing home for over a year already when Gram died. I pretended, for his sake, that it was easy to move in with Alan and Lora. I pretended it was easy to pack up everything and put it all in storage, probably never to be seen again. I pretended not to care that Lora was gone most of the time. I pretended that Alan was everything I wanted in a surrogate father despite the fact that he never... I pretended everything was fine, that it was easy.

I pretended to want to take over ENCOM. I pretended so hard that my college course grades stayed high the whole time I was there. The professors were all asked not to call me by my last name. Ever. It made it easy to pretend to be someone else, maybe somebody from out of state. I had a whole fake persona going, and it was working. Everybody thought I was Sam Dills from D.C. I had enough knowledge of the place to pass as kid from Maryland thanks to visiting Lora every other summer for six years and spending a couple winters breaks, too. I could explain the lack of an accent away by saying my mom was from California. That wasn't even a lie.

Then I met Katie Broomsfield.

I was in love with her. Well, I was, but she wasn't. I don't know how she figured out who I really was, but, before I could tell her myself, she blabbed my real identity to the whole campus. I was going to tell her, I swear. Then... Then my best friend, Mark Richter, called me up and told me to look outside. Even he didn't know who I really was until that point, but he forgave me. When I looked outside, there was Katie pointing up at my dorm window, telling the group of kids who were supposed to start in two weeks that I, Sam Flynn, was her boyfriend. It didn't take long for the whole campus to find out. Nobody left me alone. Flynn Lives signs started popping up everywhere.

I left without saying goodbye. Not even to Mark.

I pretended it was easy when I packed up the rest of my shit at Alan's and moved out without telling him where I was going, all two duffle bags and single backpack of it. Honestly, I didn't have a destination in mind. I just wanted to distance myself from anything to do with the name Flynn. I was done pretending to give a damn about ENCOM except to fuck with them once a year. Even doing that was getting... difficult. The challenge of success was what kept bringing me back. Every year, the security team added a new obsticle to overcome. Every year, I taught them a new lesson.

Alan still tracked me down, and I pretended to not care that he'd done it. The man was too loyal to Dad. He compared us all the time even though I did everything I could to be anything except a video game developer and ready to run the company. I just wanted to be myself. Everything I did was measured against Kevin Fucking Flynn. I didn't have an actual conversation with Alan again after that argument until two years later.

Lora had been our bridge. We wouldn't actually speak to one another directly, but we'd pass the occasional hello through her or ask her how the other was doing. I just... I just couldn't do it with him anymore. We both accused each other of knowing what happened to Dad, and that...

Well, we both kind of did know what happened, didn't we? I knew he was going to work, specifically to work on The Grid. I just didn't know where it was. He knew about Tron and the other Programs, because he kind of was one. He just didn't know where Dad was keeping The Grid. We both knew something, him more than me, but not enough.

I'm not sure how I kept from telling him everything on the spot the morning after escaping with Quorra. I guess I just figured he knew. I figured that he knew for some time, but he was too old to be doing things like that. I thought he had faith in me to do what he couldn't.

So, when Quorra slipped up after dinner with Roy, and I found out the real truth of the situation, I hid all the new feelings of betrayal behind a sense of bravado again. Yeah, it cracked here and there. It cracked when Tron took me to go put down a swarm of gridbugs. Thinking about that still makes my skin crawl. It shattered again when I saw Dad again, laying there on the bed between Alan and Lora like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lora told us what was up with Alan staying behind. There was an easy solution for everyone. Alan would stay in The Grid and heal up, work with Tron and his group to fix things. Dad would get acclimated to the twenty-first century. Alan would come back soon, healthy. We'd all take turns or work as a team to fix up The Grid. Clu would be powerless to hurt anybody. It was a happy ending, right?

Watching Lora and Dad singing some old Queen songs together was magical. It was like they'd never spent a second apart. Me and Quorra were the two kids in the back seat making faces at our parents' display of affection. The sky was clear, the ride smooth...

And then Lora missed the stoplight.

I think that's what happened. The first impact saw to it that my head met the car window a bit too hard to handle, and I'm now missing some time there. Mild concussion, bruises from the seatbelt to add into the mix of other healing injuries from the past couple weeks, but that seems to be my luck all the time. Somebody said Dad rode to the hospital with Lora. Quorra stuck with me. I made sure nobody separated us. Roy got access to Lora while Dad was apparently arguing about whether or not he needed to be seen for any injuries.

That sense of needing to pretend everything was going to be alright crept back up hard when Roy told me the extent of Lora's injuries. I'd have to do it for Quorra, for Roy, and for Dad. I'd have to do it for Alan again, too, once I figured out how to contact him. I wasn't about to go back to The Grid and leave Roy to deal with everything alone. Yes, we were both on her emergency contacts list, but not in a capacity that would allow us to actually make decisions. Only Alan could do that.

I couldn't even stop by the ICU to check on her. Something told me that, if I did, I'd lose my ability to pretend again. Roy didn't give details he didn't have, but he did tell me she was bad. Unrecognizably bad.

Seeing Dad in a jail cell was both amusing and very much not. I get why he was in there. If I hadn't come back to the land of the living when I did, they would have separated me and Quorra. We're not anything like Dad and Lora were, but I know she'd fight to get to me. She'd already proven that twice now. It could have been her instead of him, and the list of charges would have been a mile longer. Hell, it could have been both of them sitting there together in adjacent cells. I guess the hospital staff got lucky that I have such a hard head.

The ICU nurses let us all see her one more time before Roy drives me to the arcade to pick up Alan. I really wish I hadn't seen that. Lora is the closest thing to a mother figure I can recall. She was always the strongest of us. To see her reduced to... No.

So, when Alan comes out and they have a quick talk, I'm still thinking about it. I can't smile and laugh my way around this one. Alan suggests Roy step in for him for a bit. Roy has exactly zero time in-system the way we've experienced it. It would be good for him to get to know it on a personal level, Alan says. Tron still wants guidance from a User he can trust. He wants Roy to find out why Dad always called him Ram.

Alan... he's got more color in his hair, less wrinkles, moves a little easier. When he hugs me, he thanks me for telling him what happened to Lora. There's no slight wheeze in his breathing. That's when I really look at him. Something's... off. Maybe in a good way for him, but, still... He's too quiet, too direct.

But, I don't have time to question it. Roy called me back for some help in finding the laser control menue. I'm about to step out of the way when Alan pushes me back into the area of effect.

Roy waits patiently for me to stop the string of curses before he says anything. “Alan said he didn't want me in here without a guide and that it would be good for you to be away from the situation for a while. I agree.”

“You knew he was gonna do that?” My voice is maybe a couple octaves higher than usual.

“I asked him to.” Roy answers honestly. “In case you didn't notice, I'm not as young as you are. Guards or no guards, I'd rather be doing this with a familiar face around, someone who actually has a clue.”

“Nope, I'm not making one of those.” I respond, already resigned.

I mean, we could high tail it to the portal and get to Alan before he leaves the arcade, but no. Alan's got enough on his plate dealing with Dad, Quorra, and Lora without us. He wants it? He can have it. I'll sit my ass in one of Tron's bases or Dad's old place the whole time we're here and just be. No more gridbug hunting. No more interacting with Programs except those I've already met. It's Roy's turn to deal with this particular brand of insanity. Dad lasted in here for twenty years. Roy can make it a day or two.

I hope.

Poking my head out the door, I see four Programs waiting outside. I don't recognize any of them, but it's too late to turn around now. They've seen me. “Hi.”

“We're friendlies.” At least I recognize Beck.

The look Beck and the other masked Program give each other when I ask if we can find a disc for Roy is shielded by said masks, but their body language says a lot. Discs must not be as easy to come by as I'd hoped, and the man definitely needs one.

Beck and Paige think it's the greatest idea ever to break into the arena to steal one from the armory. The other two Programs, Dan and Rox, I'm told, don't. I'm on their side. I don't want to go back there so soon.

“Got any better ideas?” Paige asks them sarcastically. “The only other place I know will have them is Administration HQ.”

“There's... one more place.” Dan looks uncomfortable. “You'll have to move carefully, but...”

“Dan, don't say anything here!” Rox pleads, looking around the area like something's about to jump out and attack any second. She grabs him and Paige both by the arm and starts leading us away. “Come on. I know a place we can talk.”

Apparently, that place is The Grid's equivilant of a dive bar just off some back alley three blocks down. Beck and Paige aren't the only ones inside keeping their faces covered. This doesn't make me feel any better. A quick glance at Roy tells me he's in the same boat. It doesn't help that his appearance is drawing a lot of looks. I mean, Alan did show me how to change my clothes around. I blend in better now with the regular Programs and just have to worry about keeping my head down to avoid being recognized. As long as nobody really pays attention to my face or sends out a scan, there's nothing to indicate that I'm a User. Roy's... he's wearing a flannel shirt, kakis, brown dress shoes, has no lightlines, and no disc sits on his back. I bet we just got scanned at least twenty times even though I can't feel it. Every single person in this hole-in-the-wall knows at least one of us is a User by now.

A disadvantaged, older User.

In the heart of Clu's former stronghold.

We might be fucked.

At least Rox is a great guide and anticipating the potential of being followed. She leads us to a back door, up two flights of stairs, then across a bridge between two buildings before taking an elevator five more floors up. We could have walked right over to the elevator and been done with it. Going through the little bar and the extra steps was at least an attempt at hiding our real destination. If anybody followed, we would have noticed them by the pedestrian bridge. Simple, but smart.

The floor we land on looks like a hospital. Roy and I just left a hospital only to walk into another one. Great. This is not making it easier to not think about Lora and keep my mind on task here. I didn't even know there were hospitals for Programs. It's good to know they have them, but like... why?

“We just got this set up.” Rox talked more to Paige than the rest of us. “It already had most of what we needed, but... when we saw the fresh strays, Dan talked me into this. I guess... I guess it's our way of making up for what we did to you... to home...”

“You mean what Tesler did.” Paige quips back. “You were just doing what you thought was best. None of that matters now.”

“It does to us,” Rox stops walking. “If we can get to a stray before the soldiers do, we can keep them from being derezzed. The Programs here said that... they said there were so many...”

“Rox,” Dan puts a hand on her shoulder, consoling. “We can tell her all about it after we get this Program set up with a fresh identity. Let's focus.”

It hits me then that they don't know what Roy and I are. “You didn't scan us, did you?”

Dan doesn't understand. “You're with Paige. That's more than we needed to know to help.”

Paige laughs humorlessly. “You two ready to see a third kind of code?”

“Meaning?”

“You've seen all kinds of Basics. You've seen a couple ISOs.” They cringed at that for some reason. There's definitely a story there that I'd like to hear some day. “If you want to check this guy over for damage, get prepared to see a User's. It's crazy!”

“U... User?” Rox stutters, going still. Dan's jaw drops. “You... you're... escorting Users?”

Beck's nervous. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Oh, it was a problem, alright! Yes, they got him a good, blank disc. Yes, Roy got a crash course in opening up the menu and making changes to his clothes and other basic stuff. Yes, he accidentally activated it, and Beck had to pull it out of a desk.

And, yes, they got handsy with both of us and our discs.

Though I was uncomfortable as fuck with getting touched all over and asked a zillion questions that were meant to be honest curiosity but were rather invasive, Roy was having the time of his life comparing the readouts between his disc and theirs. It seemed he didn't quite get it with Quorra. Now that everything was actually all around him, he had more questions about everything thant Quorra could dream up. How he held back until this moment, I don't have any idea. He looked like a ten-year-old who just got his hands on a rare Pokemon card or something.

Rox, Dan, and Roy were all wrapped up in one another, learning everything like it was brand new. It was for Roy, at least. Paige was right in it with them, though trying to make them keep their voices down. Beck just stood back and watched it all unfold.

He did not look happy.

Not about to get into the mix just yet, myself, I decided to stand over by him. “Sitrep?”

“The Grid is shrinking.” Beck got right to it. “Formerly derezzed Programs are popping up everywhere. Tron's still focused on one corner of The Grid rather than his new position. He's slipping into old habits. Alan One did nothing to coerce him to come back here and take over properly. We've contained a potential threat, but I'm not so sure he's really a threat anymore.”

Tron needs a kick in the ass. I might have an idea seeing as I recently got my own. I would have an idea if I knew him better. Short of mannerisms and looks, I don't really think he and Alan are all that much alike in the end. Their shared experience ended a long time ago. But, there's one thing that I know affects them both.

I need Dad.

I have Roy.

Roy's oddly hyper right now. Maybe he can annoy Tron into doing his job? He knew how to get things from Alan pretty much from moment one. He could turn that knowledge on Tron. I might have to introduce Tron to popcorn first. Can I make that in here? Do they have some other treat that Roy will eat that Tron likes, too?

“We need to get moving.” Beck pushes away from the wall, and me, to break up the other four. “Paige, are you coming with us or staying here?”

She looks unsure of her decision, eyes flicking back and forth between him and the other two. The longer she takes to answer, the more tension in Beck. I know he's the protective type and all, but she's capable of taking care of herself. Besides, these two are medics who have been going outside of their original parameters to help others. I doubt they're a threat to her. They seem like old friends.

And one thing a strong military needs is a strong medical support base. They're not going to win conflicts in here by numbers alone. Not anymore. Whatever has her hesitating to answer, we don't have time for it. The faster Roy gets to a safe space and acclimated, the faster I can get out of here and back to my family.

So I answer first. “Let's leave Paige here. We need reliable contacts in the city, right? She can fill them in on what's going on and get the word out about Users coming back, the new sysadmin, what happened at the portal with Clu, and all that. As much as Tron needs you with him, he'll need support here when he does return.”

Beck and Paige both hesitate a bit more. Dan and Rox clearly want her to stay. Roy is wisely keeping out of this, waiting for the final decision. I feel like there's something more going on here. I don't have the patience.

“Well, you guys figure it out. Roy and I gotta go.” I start walking away, hoping that Roy's following. I doubt it, but I hope.

It feels like hours later when we get to the Outlands near Argon City. Beck was quiet the whole way, pointedly ignoring all the questions Roy was throwing out there. Well, he was until Roy touched something and derezzed the two-seater jet they were in. Damn, I'm glad I was under them, just in time to catch Roy. Beck got a second baton out mid-fall and back into the air, cursing the whole way. It was decided that I'd just keep Roy with me for the last leg of the trip. Roy was shaking for a bit, but suddenly started laughing.

“What can you possibly find funny about that?” Beck asked harshly.

“Why were you even scared?” Roy asks back. “This isn't reality. You've got extra lives, right? I'm not actually going to get hurt, and you can't die!”

“Sam Flynn, you brought us a defective User!” Beck yells at me. “He's insane! I don't know why Alan One would request him!”

I get where both of them are coming from. When I first got here and got shoved into the arena, I thought the same way Roy was now. I didn't have any guilt about killing an opponent because, hey, they'd just respawn in a loading area, right? Killing those sub-par soldier programs between me and Quorra later didn't feel that great after learning the truth.

“Roy, they don't get respawns in here.” I tell him flatly. “They're actual Programs, not avatars. And, yes, you can get hurt. I didn't get that cut on my arm from jumping off the tower. A Program did it.”

“But your father-” Roy began to protest.

I cut him off. “Even he doesn't know how he survived that one! So, take it easy, will you? The hospital probably isn't set up to take care of Users, and it's a long ways away.”

Once we got close to Argon again, a couple other lightjets came around to check us out. Chander and someone else I haven't met yet apparently got put on patrol. They recognized Beck first and let us through without question even if Roy and I did get some strange looks. Whatever. Actually getting inside the big ass base was very different from the last time I saw it. There were several more Programs inside, and a lot more screens lit up. So, Tron wasn't just sitting on his ass or going out to kill bugs after all. This looks like a proper base now, if a little understaffed.

“I think I can manage this place,” Roy comments as he and I stand near the door, smiling. “What are the hours like?”

“Constant.” Beck's reply lacks the harshness of earlier as he walks away, heading towards Tron at the biggest screen. “I'm home. Brought the Users.”

“Plural?” Tron turns to him, then us, brow raised. “I see. Where is Paige?”

“She um...” Beck's demenor looses all the lightness he suddenly gained a moment ago. “She met some old friends. They're already working to help Programs in the capitol. Sam Flynn instructed her to stay behind and spread word of what we're doing out here while she catches up with them. They're... like Zed.”

Tron gives him a concerned, understanding look, pats his shoulder, then comes to me and Roy. He seems like he's not quite here when he addresses Roy. “Well... I think I see why he wanted you to come. If memory serves, you're a very tallented and experienced creator. We need that right now. It is an honor to meet you at last, RoyK.”

“Damn!” Roy looks him up and down. “You really do look and sound like Alan! This is incredible...”

I don't get it. Tron pretty much treated me like anybody else. He was respectful but familiar towards Alan. Where did this come from?

Beck has something to say about it before I can. “Don't let it get to your head, he's not usually like this.”

Tron shoots him a perturbed look. “You have new recruits to break in next milicycle. Rest and recharge. I'll find you later.”

“Will you?” Beck's question is quiet, unsure. I think he might be scared and doing his best to hide it.

“I will.” Tron assures him, reaching for his arm, but Beck turns away and marches off. I must have missed something here, but Tron doesn't give me the time to think about it. He's ready to get to work again fast. “There have been changes since you were last here, Sam Flynn. The Grid is shrinking, edges being eaten away by gridbugs more and more. That wouldn't be as big of a problem if it weren't for the fact that many of the Remnants are recompiling back into Programs again. I know of at least thirty and suspect more. Overpopulation after the ISOs appeared caused great strain on the system. It led to more direct attacks and increased tensions between Programs. It's a large reason for the war and Clu's actions against your father. As of now, the population will not strain the existing parameters. However, with more Programs returning and the shrinking edges, it will not stay that way for long.”

The implications of that are not fun. We either have to stop the respawns, stop the shrinking, or both. I have no idea how to do that. I know how to do a few things around here, but not editing base code for the whole damn Grid. I'm more likely to break it than anything else if I try. That's what I do. Hell, that's what Roy does, too! We are definitely not the team needed right now. Dad and Alan are.

“What are gridbugs, exactly?” Roy asks, looking like he's already got an idea. “Can they be interacted with on their own, or are they kind of a part of the landscape that's just not functioning right?”

And they're into a whole conversation I want nothing to do with. Yeah, sure, I got brave one time. That's enough for me, though. As long as Roy doesn't go out there himself, I'm not. If he can find another way around this problem, I'll listen and probably go along with it. Just as long as I don't have to go out there again.

“Oh, look! That's him!”

I kinda think I recognize the voice and turn to see who it is the woman's talking about. Except, she's talking about me, pointing right at me. Mara's leading some guy over, practically pulling him along. He's trying to dig in his heels, but she pinches one of his lightlines hard to make him move. This is... interesting.

“Hey, Mara.” I greet the blue-haired Program. I wish I had something better to do.

“Look,” she's still talking to him instead of me. Okay...? “I know Tron won't listen, but maybe a User will. He can do things Tron can't. He'll know if he's telling the truth or not! Tron will listen to him!”

That's debatable at this point. So far, Tron's only shown actual respect towards Alan and Roy. He's shown caution with Dad, barely spoken to Lora, and manipulated me. I think that sitrep he gave me was more for Roy's sake. He's just trying to deferr to me because of my name. An old habit more than anything else. It's not even me. He still remembers having me for a chew toy in the arena, I think. That first impression was definitely not a good one for either of us. I didn't do much to make it any better since then.

“Sam Flynn,” Mara finally talks to me now that she's got this guy shoved the rest of the way, arm pinned behind his back painfully, “this is Zed. Zed, say hi.”

She has to pinch him again before he squeeks out a high pitched greeting. “Oh, honestly! You weren't like this with Alan One. What gives?”

“This guy reads totally different from Alan One!” Zed yells at her. “He's more of a Remnant than a Remnant! I can't sense anything from him! At least Alan One returned greeting scans! Are you sure this is a User?”

Oh, I get it. I try to hide a smile and be friendly. “Alan's a special case. Normal Users don't scan like you guys do. We can't even feel it. Sorry for being rude. I'll fix that when I figure out how to do it different from Alan and Dad. Their method is... not something I'm interested in.”

“What's their method?” Mara asks, honestly curious.

Why not tell her? I'm surprised Alan didn't already. “Integrating with their own Programs. Dad and Clu. Alan and Tron. It makes for some interesting problems, or so I'm told.”

They both look absolutely horrified. I don't blame them.

“Anyway,” I shake that off. Back to pretending. They don't need to know I feel the same. “What's the issue you want to talk about? What can I help with, and why does Tron not want to listen?”

“Tell him!” Mara does something to Zed's wrist behind his back that I can't see. Damn, she's rougher than I thought. Beck said she was brave. He didn't comment on her strength. For someone that small, she's either deceptively strong or has some sort of leverage over a guy a head taller than her that makes him willing to submit. Beck submitted to her without a fight. There's something more going on here. Time will tell. “Zed, please, we need to know for sure.”

Zed starts talking. There's a few more Programs that gather up to listen, agreeing with everything he's saying. Beck's hanging out near the back of the group, arms crossed and expression unreadable. His story seems simple enough, even if it leaves a lot of questions. Apparently, he remembered the moment Clu's forces took up occupation in Argon. The next thing he knew, he was waking up at an edge with a bunch of others, including some soldiers and other security monitors. One of them, a Program named Dyson (I try not to laugh at the name), used to work directly for Tron. He took over the group, and then the remains of Argon. He was doing a good job of it, good enough to actually lead some gridbug hunting parties all the way to the edge more than a few times. He wanted to get to the bugs before the bugs got to Argon. He wanted to see if he could find Tron to receive more instructions and an update about what was going on over all. He wanted to do what was right within his programming parameters.

Tron, Beck, and Alan all had a different idea about him. They locked him up several floors below us. They said he was seriously dangerous and one of Clu's top generals. But, Dyson claimed not to remember that. His memories were messed up and missing big chunks just the way Zed's were. Beck even mentioned that he had been derezzed. Beck had Dyson's original disc, but Dyson had a disc when he woke up, just like everyone else. He claimed to be one of the good guys. Tron insisted he was anything but a good guy even after getting a good look at his memories and hearing Zed out about his actions since waking up. He still thought Clu was running things in Tron City. Nobody told him yet.

So, they want me to play investigator. They want me to play mediator between him and Tron. They want me to tell Tron to suck it up and use Dyson's help instead of just derezzing him. I'm not sure if Tron chose not to kill him, or if Beck and Alan stopped him thanks to Zed. I dunno how Zed managed to get in the middle of that one if he's terrified to just say hello to me, but Mara insists that he did, that he's actually braver than he lets on.

I have no idea how to convince Tron of anything, but he does need all the help he can get. Several of the Programs that came up to listen seemed to be on Dyson's side. Three of them in particular. They're just scared to piss off Tron by releasing Dyson on their own. I promise Zed and Mara that I'll look into it, that I'll talk with Dyson soon. I can't talk to him until I talk to Beck. Beck definitely has something to say on the matter that hasn't been said already. Tron is distracted with Roy. I'm almost willing to bet it's on purpose.

God, how do I get into these situations? This is not my thing at all. I don't make nice with people. I push them away. I don't find solutions. I create problems. On purpose most of the time.

Everybody wants me to be Dad. Ugh.

“I don't know the whole story,” Beck comments once we're safely away from everyone. He's got us into an area that's locked to most, pouring a couple glasses of energy. “I could, but, I've never wanted to get into his disc memories. I don't want to know how Dyson chose to work for Clu. I don't want to try to understand that at all.”

“But you do know something without looking.” I surmise, taking the offered glass. I don't need it, but it would be rude not to accept.

“I know he was part of the team that attacked Tron and Flynn.” Beck says, taking a long drink. “I know he gave Tron a virus. It was going to kill him. They used to be friends. Dyson trapped Zed and a few of my other friends to get to me. He used me to get to Tron. He turned us into Cinder and Rinzler for Clu. He led the way every time there was a hint of where Flynn might be until Tron finally derezzed him and gave me his disc. He's the one who made the army to invade your world. Even if he doesn't remember what caused him to do all that, I doubt it would take much to push him over the edge again. Please, don't trust him.”

“Maybe we do need to look over that disc.” I say after a moment. I know it's not what he wants to hear, but it might be exactly what we need. Dyson might be what we need.

Programs aren't human. They can be re-written. Re-writes stick way better than any brainwashing technique as far as I know. Sure, Tron broke free, but that was probably something in Alan's coding that did it, something Clu or Dyson or whoever couldn't get out of there. Beck was repurposed, too, and look at him now.

“What do you think you'll find?” Beck asks. He's going ahead and getting the disc, though.

“You said he used your friends to get to you, then he used you to get to Tron.” I tell him, activating the disc's memories on the counter where we can both see it easily. “What if he was used the same way?”

Katie Broomsfield had used my real identity to make herself more popular with the new kids. The old ENCOM board used Alan's closeness to my dad against him. Dad had used Lora and Alan, and their Programs, against Dillinger. Programs had to learn it from somewhere. They were always made to work together or on their own. Only viruses were made to get Programs to turn on each other. Repurposing looks a lot like a virus to me. No successfully repurposed Program had attacked another, recognizing it as being like them. Humans did it all the time, though, for personal gain. Clu was supposed to be a bridge between User and Program.

Clu made the virus to kill the Sea of Simulation. That was before he started repurposing Programs. But what did he make it from? What did he make any of it from? How many other viruses had he released? Where would he have gotten the very idea to do that? The answer was obvious.

The solution wasn't so obvious. Then again...

“Hey, call up the last clear memory on Dyson's new disc for me. I've got an idea I want to test.”

“Which would be?” Beck asks, going ahead and doing what I said. I find it interesting that he doesn't disobey a direct order from me, but he does occasionally question one from Tron. Oh, right. Program. User. Of course he'd do what I say. He's not one of Clu's atheists. It's still weird thinking about how Programs see us as their gods. I've got to be really careful with that.

“I want to see the next time he has any direct interaction with Clu.” I take the disc up and start fast forwarding from the moment a disc tears through Dyson's head. That damage alone could account for a lot, but I've got a hunch.

The next time Dyson saw Clu, he was in a hospital similar to the one Paige's friends have set up in Tron City. Tron was with him, holding him down as he came back online fighting. The medics couldn't heal that much damage on their own, but they could stabilize him. Clu got in there, too, helping Tron to hold him down while a medic worked at his disc. Clu's fingers dug into the damage on his head. A bit of energy passed between them.

One thin line exited from Clu's finger into Dyson's wound, digging deeper than the rest. Dyson went tense, then relaxed. He was still obviously in pain, and Clu took to holding him more appropriately, one hand on a shoulder, the other on an arm, just like Tron had been the whole time on the other side.

“Okay, now...” I fast forward again, going too far for what I'm actually looking for. I can see him standing beside Clu, telling Tron that Clu showed him the light. Tron was an absolute mess on the ground. It hurt to look at, but this was something else I needed to see. Sure enough, at one point, Clu gets his hand into one of the gashes on Tron's body and there's the same line of light that tries to bury itself inside. It flashes back in white instead of gold, rejected.

“Was this when he became Rinzler?” I ask.

“No.” Beck shakes his head. “This happened before we met. What are you seeing?”

“Hang on.” I go farther into the memories. There has to be a reason this instance was different from when it happened to Dyson. The next time Dyson sees Tron, he adds to the damage himself. He messes with Tron's disc, but it's nothing like what Clu had done to either of them. So, that wasn't it. The next time Dyson saw Tron, he was still scarred, but somewhat healed up. Healed up enough to kick his ass.

Then, the following time they meet, Tron's clearly healthy again. Healthy except a couple scratches that are repairing themselves fast. Clu is there, so is Beck. Tron gives himself up, realizing there are just too many Programs to fight. Clu gets his hands on him, smiling. He says he doesn't have to make a new cut to make it happen. The code is already inside Tron, already embedded into his healing process.

“What happened between that solo fight at this one?” I question. “He wasn't healing before, and now this.”

Beck sighs and pulls out his original disc again, calling up his memories. They're tag teaming another Program with some pretty wicked lightlines, and losing at first. Then he skips to a memory of sparring together. Beck's upset, saying that Mara blamed him for a friend's death. Tron collapses. There's some kind of tank that Beck throws him in. It explodes. There's another device they try. It fails to work. Dyson's virus was winning because the previous guy, Cyrus, did some extra heavy damage in their fight. Then there's another kind of tube thing that Tron's suspended in, surrounded by Clu's soldiers. It looks like some kind of download is starting. Something's winding through the middle of his disc and coming to touch his face when Beck throws another Program into it, halting the process just as it began.

Then Beck shows me that last memory of Dyson's I called up from his perspective. Tron is on his knees, resigned, staring right at Beck as Clu runs his fingers over his disc. One finger tap is all it takes. He didn't have to inject anything this time. It was already there, waiting to be activated. Tron's lightlines bleed from white to orange starting at his disc and moving outwards. He became Rinzler.

As much as that sucked to watch, I need one more piece of information to get a strong base for my hypothesis. “What about you? Did Clu get you himself?”

“Yeah.” Beck cringes, going back to that memory.

I see Zed disappear, his disc dropping to the ground with the rest of him. Beck stared at what was left for a very short amount of time. He didn't have the time to stick around. He didn't have the physical strength to keep fighting. He could barely try to run. Soldiers were closing in. Dyson and three other Programs caught him. Clu came up and asked Dyson if he was absolutely sure Beck was the Renegade. Once confirmed he dug a finger into Beck's wounds. They were healing, but not fast like Tron's. Not fast enough to stop that shock of golden light dig in deep. He sent more. One tap to his disc and everything activated inside Beck. Just as it had with Tron, Beck's lights changed from pale blue to orange, but, this time, from every point at once.

Dyson had taken time to win over, even with the injection. Clu had had time to refine the process and gave more of that shit to Beck all at once. Tron had fought it back until he was forced to give up.

But there were tells with Dyson that I gleaned from the other memories. He blamed the ISOs for his injury even though it wasn't clear where the strike came from. He didn't ask Dad to heal him when he had the chance. He went to Clu for that. So, he must have mistrusted Dad instead of realizing the User had a distracted mind. He avoided being around Tron until after attacking him and Dad.

The Dyson they supposedly had in captivity here wouldn't have these memories. He was re-set, almost, to the last moment of clear thought and purpose he had before Clu zapped him.

Zed's alive.

“That guy, Zed,” I have to ask. I have to know. “Did he ever come into contact with anything related to repurposing?”

Beck thinks about it a moment. I know he's got a long line of memories to search through. “Yes. It was experimental. He touched it, but it was meant to be inhaled. So, when it was activated, it didn't affect him like it did Mara.”

“When was the first time he started showing a lack of faith in the Users or Tron?” I'm hoping I'm right. If I am, this could actually be great.

Beck puts both discs away on his back. “When Bodhi died, just before I met Tron.”

“And what's the last thing he remembers before waking up on the edge? What's the last thing Dyson remembered before waking up out there?”

Understanding dawns on his face. “The last moments before they lost their faith. Not long before they were exposed! You don't think...?”

“Take me to Dyson. Let's compare the code between his discs, check for traces. You'll know what to look for better than I will.”