Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Happily Ever After" is a myth. A fantasy. It always ends at some point.

And although Tron wouldn't realize it for himself until many, many cycles later, the end of his "Happily Ever After" had rudely and abruptly began when one moment, at his home in the ENCOM System, he'd closed his eyes, and the next, he'd opened them to find himself in a dark, barren wasteland.

No fanfare. No warning. No chance to say goodbye to Yori.

Everything he'd ever known and loved... gone.

Well, almost everything.

"Tron!"

A familiar figure approached him from the darkness, waving. Tron didn't recognize him at first, especially since the figure's attire was very bizarre, but once Tron got a good look at his face, he relaxed. Even smiled.

"Flynn!" he exclaimed, grinning practically from ear to ear. "It's been so long. I almost didn't recognize you." Then, his smile started to fade. "Do you know where we are?"

Gone was the humble conscript armor that Tron had always associated with his User friend. Now, Flynn wore all black with a single light line down the side of his coat. This was strange to Tron, since he saw no immediate need for this level of camouflage--there were no threats, at least none that Tron's heightened senses could detect. However, stranger still, Flynn didn't seem to be behaving in a way that suggested he was trying to be stealthy. Far from it! He was the most relaxed and laid-back Tron had ever seen him... and that was saying something, since even under the threat of being annihilated by the MCP, Flynn had always had that oddly endearing, almost naive devil-may-care attitude that Tron had come to admire. Of course, this was only accentuated by the fact that Flynn wasn't wearing a helmet; Tron could clearly see his dark, wavy hair and his mischievous smirk, accompanied by a matching twinkle in his eye.

"What is this place?" Tron rephrased his question, since it was clear that Flynn knew something. Even though their time together had been short, Tron had learned to recognize the smug, "I-know-something-you-don't-know" expression that often preceded either a miracle or news that would shake the very foundation of Tron's worldview and beliefs.

And as always, Flynn did not disappoint. He put a hand on Tron's shoulder and, in his comically grandiose way, gestured out toward the... nothing.

"A new system," Flynn said. "Brand spankin' new. A blank canvas!" He let out a hearty laugh.

Tron wasn't as excited about this news as Flynn seemed to be. "It's... empty?"

"Yep. Startin' from square one, baby! You and I are the only living things here for miles around! Well, uh, so to speak... You know what I mean."

Tron didn't.

"But... why?" Tron asked. And then, in a panic, he blurted out the next question on his mind: "Where's Yori?"

"Hey, don't worry about her. She's fine."

"I want to know where she is! Where can I find her?" Tron insisted, turning toward Flynn and unintentionally knocking the hand off his shoulder.

"Relax, buddy."

"I can't relax! You--!"

"Oh, right, you're a Security Program. I forgot." Flynn chuckled to himself. "It's your job to be overly uptight."

"Flynn, just tell me where she is."

"We've got more important things to worry about. There's a User about to work his magic. You've always wanted to see that from the inside, right? A shit-ton of miracles unlike anything you've ever seen."

In his confusion, Tron briefly forgot about his objections. "Miracles? Working... from the inside? What are you going to do?"

Flynn laughed again and pointed out into the distance. "You see how all of that is empty?"

Tron hesitated. "Yeah."

"Well... I'm gonna put stuff in it! I'm going to create a new system... and everything... and everyone in it. It's going to be a whole new world."

"But... why?" Tron asked again. "And why me?"

"Because I can trust you to help take care of the place, big guy," Flynn replied before turning around to walk into the... nothing. "Plus, you're a hero. And I want to make sure you get the royal treatment you deserve."

Tron was somehow even more confused. "Royal... treatment?"

"Oh, you'll see!" Flynn assured him... although it wasn't very assuring.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Chapter Text

"Buh-buh-dah-daaaaah! What do you think?"

Tron blinked as he looked around the deserted city. Well... at least it wasn't a complete wasteland anymore. At least, this part of the System wasn't...

A feeling rose up within Tron's core that he dreaded, especially given his steadfast belief in the Users and their almighty power:

Disappointment.

Tron still forced a smile--unbeknownst to him, the first of many.

"It's beautiful," he said, struggling to think of something else to say. Something that better conveyed his awe at this miracle unfolding before him. Something that would only strengthen the smile plastered on his face and prevent it from wavering disrespectfully.

Even though Flynn was his best friend, he was a User first and foremost. And the most important rule of sending transmissions to Users (and, Tron supposed, talking with them face to face--Dumont hadn't exactly accounted for that) was simply this:

Never deny a User.

Never say no. Never ask questions (Tron realized that, in his initial flurry of confusion, he'd broken this rule). Never talk back.

And, in this case, when a User says you should be excited about something, there had better be a smile on your face, and it had better not leave under any circumstance.

"It's called Tron City," Flynn explained, gesturing to all the dark buildings with minimal circuitry. "I named it after you, of course. It's the capital of the Grid."

One side of Tron's grin began to falter. "The... Game Grid?"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, not the Game Grid. That's, uh, that's something else," Flynn reassured him. "I mean, yeah, there's something like that here--"

"Fl--!"

"--But, y'know, it's not... like that, like that... Y'know?"

Tron didn't.

"It's..." Flynn continued, waving his hand around in frustration, clearly struggling to think of the right words to say. "Y'know... For fun."

Tron's facade slipped a little more. "For... fun?"

"You know! Friendly competition!" Flynn scoffed. "You think I would actually let someone get hurt during these games?"

Tron wanted to point out that Flynn had never actually intended for anyone to be hurt by his Games in the first place... and look how that had turned out. Tron wanted to say that he was skeptical of these Games now, and that--

Clanging Discs. Deadly projectiles coming at him from all directions. Just barely catching the orb in Jai Alai. Just barely keeping himself from falling into oblivion.

To the Games! To the Games! To the Games!

He never had more than a few microcycles of rest. They were trying to tire him out. They were trying to wear him down. They wanted to overwhelm him. They wanted to make him suffer.

They'd almost won. A few times. Sometimes, he'd falter for only a moment, but he'd force himself to recover before they could take advantage of--

"Tron!"

In an instant, he'd sprung into a defensive stance.

"I will not yield!" Tron shouted. "Bring out eight of your men to face me. I'll derezz them all!"

"Hey, hey, Tron, no, it's okay," Flynn said, holding up his hands. "I-It's okay, man. You don't need to... It's over, buddy. It's over. You don't need to worry about that anymore."

Tron's vision fully cleared, and once more, he forced himself to relax. As he lowered his own hands, he finally had a chance to look at them... and how he was clad in black as well.

His entire body... clad in black. His hands, his arms, his chest, his legs, his feet...

He reached up to his head and realized that he too was without a helmet in this new System, and his hair was short. A far cry from his familiar forelock and queue.

"Okay, yeah, now you're coming back to Earth. Good job, buddy." Then, Flynn added under his breath, "Must be a compatibility issue... A glitch, maybe... I'll take a look later..."

Tron forced himself to shake off the anomaly. He, too, had made a mental note to look at it later.

"So! Anyway! Where were we?" Flynn resumed. "Oh, yeah, Tron City. Capital of the Grid. In the Tron System--hey, the whole System's named after you! That's so cool, isn't it...?"

The tour continued for seemingly cycles on end. And every once in a while, Tron would see something, or Flynn would say something, that made the anomaly rear its ugly head again, bringing with it a different painful memory each time:

Once, he'd been forced to murder a Red in cold blood after the unfortunate Warrior was unable to reach his Disc.

Once, there had been a dreadful close call during a Light Cycle game where he'd only survived because his teammate had made the more fatal mistake.

He remembered the first time he'd sent a Jai Alai orb rocketing through a Red's skull.

An Identity Disc through a Red's chest.

He recalled how some Reds began derezzing themselves at even the idea of facing Tron in combat.

Was that really a win for him? Or just a loss for the Reds?

"And here, our second-to-last stop," Flynn said, even though Tron was barely paying attention at this point, "is the most happenin' place in town. Well, it's gonna be. I tell ya, this place is gonna be flooded with Programs once I get them all generated. You're gonna love it. It's called the End of Line Club!"

The anomaly became the worst it had ever been, with memories flooding back in droves:

End of Line. End of Line. End of Line. End of Line.

The MCP.

Sark.

Every command to start a Game.

Every command to send another User-Believer to their death.

Those words had killed hundreds if not thousands. They were a reminder not to get too attached--or attached at all--to any User-Believer who was in the same or a nearby cell.

The words "End of Line" had sealed their fates. He'd dreaded the microcycle when they would seal his own.

However, Tron kept smiling. That was all he could do now, and that was all he had done for most of the tour. By some miracle--either by Flynn or by his own unseen User--Tron had managed to hold himself together, even though he wanted to do nothing more than take his Disc and slash away at these cruel reminders of the horrors he'd faced.

Never deny a User. Never tell him no. Never ask questions.

Programs were created for a purpose. Programs were created to obey and serve. He was created to obey and serve. He would obey and serve.

He had no choice but to obey and serve, or else he would betray the User who had saved his life and helped defeat the MCP once and for all.

An ungrateful Program was a malfunctioning Program. A useless Program.

There had been rumors that "useless" Programs were sometimes struck down by their own Users, that they would enter the I/O chamber but never leave. Of course, no one had ever actually seen it happen, but... no one was ever willing to take the chance.

Especially not Tron, the User Champion himself. For what would his legacy be, if his untimely demise was due to sacrilegious insubordination?

The final stop on the tour was Tron Tower, the central hub for pretty much everything keeping the Grid running. After showing the tower's bewildered namesake all the offices, training rooms, and other accommodations for the security and B-level administrative programs, Flynn took him to the very top floor of the tower, the penthouse suite.

And it was in that suite that Flynn finally left Tron alone, giving him time to rest as Flynn returned to the "real world" to continue working his magic.

It was only here, all alone, in the most luxurious accommodations the Grid could provide, that Tron could let out the full range of his emotions. 

Chapter Text

Whenever Flynn said he would do something, if it didn't require divine intervention, it was most likely "delegated" to CLU.

For instance, Flynn had tasked CLU with "playing doctor" and figuring out what had made Tron so unstable during the tour a few cycles ago. Like with most things, Flynn expected an answer when he got back from... the "real world".

Tron wished he would stop calling it that.

His back felt naked against the couch as, wincing, he watched CLU look through his Disc. He watched CLU furrow his brow as he sifted through the memories and code that made up Tron's entire being.

Finally, he looked over at Tron.

"You're not one of his, are you?"

That was how Tron could tell he was talking to CLU and not Flynn himself: CLU almost always got to the point right away.

"No," Tron replied just as curtly.

"You weren't even created here."

"No."

CLU hesitated.

"Flynn took a big risk bringing you over here," he finally said. "You're lucky you're here in one piece."

"Barely," Tron muttered.

"And you say that all this might be due to Disc corruption?" CLU asked, peering over at Tron again.

"What else could it be?" he asked in reply. "I don't know how these new Discs are supposed to work. There might be some bug in the connection between it and my eyes. Maybe check that!"

CLU looked back at the projected code on the Disc. "Nothing looks wrong on the surface."

"Then look under the surface!" Tron snapped. "I can't have this getting in the way of my duties!"

CLU raised an eyebrow and smirked. Flynn's smirk was almost always full of innocuous mischief, but his doppelganger's smirk was haughty and condescending. Perhaps it was the lighting, or the tilt of the system admin's head. Or perhaps he was just being haughty and condescending. Nevertheless, he looked amused, even tickled, by a joke that only he understood. 

"Oh, I'll look under the surface, all right." CLU minimized the display on Tron's Disc and handed it back to him.

Tron took his Disc back, but he didn't reattach it right away. "What are you doing?"

CLU pulled up a chair a few feet away from the couch, spinning it around and sitting on it with his arms crossed on the backrest, leaning forward on it toward Tron.

"Looking under the surface," he replied smugly. "Now, make yourself comfortable. From where I'm sitting, it looks like this'll take a while."

Tron scoffed. This definitely wasn't the CLU he knew. "What, are we just going to sit here and talk about it, rather than actually find where it is in my code?!"

"That's how psychiatry works," CLU pointed out. "And, according to Flynn, the rubber duck method, but that's neither here nor there."

"The what?"

"So, let's start with the basics," CLU began as if Tron hadn't spoken. "When did the issue first occur?"

"When Flynn was giving me a tour of the capital."

"Okay... but when?"

"When what?!"

"Something had to have caused it," CLU insisted, tilting his head. He looked like he was genuinely enjoying this game of "psychiatry".

"You look in my Disc, and you find it!"

"Tsktsktsktsk. That's not how this works, Tron. You need to be the one to say it."

"Flynn asked you to find the issue!" Tron snapped. "I don't understand what's so ambiguous about that!"

"Because it's not a code issue."

Several moments passed. Neither of them spoke.

Finally, after an uncharacteristically long and winding conversation, CLU had gotten to the point. It seemed deliberate, as if CLU had been teasing him, prodding at him, and stringing him along until the novelty of it had finally worn off.

"So, what is it?"

CLU took a deep breath before beginning calmly, "The Users call it 'trauma'. It's..." He searched for the words to say, unknowingly mimicking the hand motions Flynn had made while doing the same thing. "It can't exactly be... debugged. It's..." he added condescendingly, "a result of having... really, really... bad things happen to you. Like the Game Grid."

A brief flash of alarm blazed in Tron's eyes.

"He showed you the Arena," CLU guessed. "Or at least talked about it."

Tron thought he was being stoic, glaring at CLU in response, but his pupils shrank ever so slightly, and his intense dark gaze briefly glossed over.

And CLU, ever observant, just chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, that's what I thought."

"What?" Tron hissed, struggling to keep his composure.

"Wow," CLU continued as if Tron hadn't spoken. He even whistled and shook his head. "User, dear User, you have really screwed the pooch this time."

"Screwed what? What pooch? What are you talking about?!" Tron snapped, jumping to his feet. "What does pooch-screwing have to do with any of this?!"

"No, Tron, it's a...!" CLU sighed. "Never mind."

The System Admin said nothing for a long time as he closed his eyes and massaged his temples.

Finally:

"Tron?"

"Yes?"

"Are you angry?"

"Last I checked," Tron replied dryly.

"Tell me, Tron," CLU said, opening his eyes and finally looking back at him, "have you ever been this angry?"

"Well, I don't know!" Tron retorted. "Has anyone ever tested my patience like this?!"

That smirk again. "I'm sure they have. But this is the first time you've acted out like this, isn't it?"

Tron's expression began to soften. "Acted... out? Out of...?"

"Said 'no'," CLU clarified. "Have you ever... said 'no'?"

Tron scoffed. "Well, of course I have! I wouldn't be here--none of this would be here--if I hadn't said no to the MCP and Sark! It's all right there on my Disc! What do you call that?!"

"But by saying 'no' to them, you were saying 'yes' to someone else," CLU pointed out, looking up at Tron.

"Well... yes," Tron admitted, lowering his tone. "It was my duty to defeat the MCP and free the System from its reign."

"According to whom?" CLU stood up as well, pushing the chair back to its former place.

Tron didn't miss a beat. "My User, Alan One."

"So... you didn't actually say 'no', did you?" The System Admin raised his eyebrows at him. He looked just like Flynn when he did that. Then again, he looked just like Flynn when he did most things.

Especially when he chuckled quietly under his breath, shaking his head. "Alan One, huh? Alan... One."

"Do not speak his name so casually!" Tron hissed, grabbing CLU by the shirt collar, his circuits flaring with rage.

However, CLU just chuckled again.

"Trying the temper tantrum on for size?"

Tron huffed and shoved CLU onto the couch before reattaching his Disc.

"You have until the count of three to say something useful."

CLU said nothing for a moment. He simply lay back against the couch and made himself comfortable.

"One," Tron grunted.

CLU grinned.

"Two!"

"You're becoming human, Tron."

The clenched fist with which Tron had intended to sock CLU across the jaw... loosened.

"Hu... Man?"

"That's what the Users call it, anyway."

Tron lowered his fist. "Then... what do we call it?"

"That's what's so funny."

"What is?!"

CLU grinned as he looked up at Tron with what could only be described as wonder in his eyes. But, Tron noticed, it wasn't the kind of wonder one would bestow upon a hero or paragon. Rather, this kind of awe and wonder felt directed toward... a freak.

"It means User-like," CLU finally explained, barely able to keep himself from giggling in glee. "Something in this new System... it's corrupting you beyond what can just be found in your code." He finally erupted into a fit of laughter. "Wow! And completely by accident, too!"

Tron made a genuine effort to understand what was going on, but... he simply couldn't wrap his head around it. How did him being here make him anything like Flynn? Like... Alan One?

"So what are you going to say to Flynn when he gets back?" Tron asked, trying to redirect the conversation toward something more concrete and less... existential.

CLU smirked and got to his feet.

"I'm gonna tell him that you took some Tylenol and got a good night's sleep."

He gave Tron a friendly pat on the shoulder and walked out, leaving the confused Security Program in the penthouse alone.

Chapter Text

"Tron! Tron, over here!"

"Oh my User! It's him!"

"Tron!"

"It's Tron!"

"I love you, Tron!"

"I need to get a picture!"

"You're so awesome, Tron!"

One of the traits of a good Security Program, according to Flynn, was that he was anxious. He could never be too comfortable around the status quo for too long. There was always a threat lurking nearby, no matter how small, and it was in Tron's design to make sure no clever threat caught him unawares.

However, after that conversation with CLU, Tron found that most of the more clever threats in this infant System were not in the Outlands or even among the Grid's own denizens, but in his mind.

His perception became more corrupted. There wasn't simply black and white, good and evil anymore. The world around him... it was becoming less logical. And he, as a stranger to it, had also become less logical. Up to this point, Tron had lived in a world where every Program had a function. Every Program had a purpose. Every Program had a User to serve.

But here? He could tell every Program was Flynn's, if he knew what to look for in their faces, their eyes, their bodies, their demeanor... Flynn had somehow been able to give his spark of life to every Program in this new System. Just one pixel's worth of Flynn's power was in every single face, every single eye, every single hand reaching up and out from the crowd just to touch him.

Not that it would do them any good, of course. As far as Tron knew, he couldn't work miracles like Flynn could.

Flynn... His best friend... Flynn was their one and only User. They all knew it. There was no doubt anymore. There was no point, then, in becoming a nonbeliever, a skeptic, a Red, since... they simply knew. They could see him when he walked by. He made his presence known to all his Programs. He made sure they knew who he was.

But... was there also no point in being a User-Believer as well? Being a User-Believer meant devoting one's life to serving their User and fulfilling their purpose, but... these Programs didn't appear to have purpose, not that Tron knew. They were simply here to fill the city, to be bit players in whatever game Flynn had concocted for himself here. They had no reason for faith. They had never known faith, not the kind that Tron had fought for so long ago.

Occasionally, Tron found himself staring up at the sky, as if expecting to see an endless expanse of stars and I/O beams scattered across the horizon, sending the faithful's prayers out into the great unknown, the sacred World of the Users.

But the skies were almost always dark and cloudy. And there was always ever just one I/O beam:

Flynn's.

And no one would ever understand the feeling of dread that encapsulated Tron's entire being when it extinguished and the sky became fully dark once more.

No one here, anyway.

...

No one alive.

"Tron, a few words?"

Tron blinked at Flynn's question, then tried to focus himself and remember where he was and what he was doing there.

"Not that he's not a man of few words anyway," Flynn added into the microphone, inviting the massive crowd of his creations to chuckle along with him.

Tron took a few deep breaths. His chest rose and fell as he ventilated and stabilized the Energy in his core. Flynn would have called that "meditating", probably. Right now, Tron called it a hassle.

"It is my honor and privilege," he began, "to be here this microcycle with you all for the grand opening of the..."

Tron glanced over at the sign.

"The..."

End of Line. End of Line. End of Line. End of Line.

Finish the game!

No... Please... Have mercy...

There's only one way to know for certain whether your precious Users are real, isn't there?

A pity you had to use your talents for such folly... Throwing away your life and so many others for mere fables?

How many more Games will it take, Tron? How many more slaughtered Programs?

By the time you finally realize that you were fighting for nothing... there will be nothing left for you to fight for...

"Hey, uh... I think he might need a reboot."

They all laughed. Of course they did. As far as Tron knew, they all had his sense of humor.

"--the End of Line Club!" Tron abruptly finished. "The. End. Of. Line. Club."

He wasn't going to show weakness now. Showing weakness would mean hearing CLU's theories about his unusual "corruption" again, and Tron didn't have the patience for that whole speech a second time around.

But Tron could feel CLU's eyes on him, glancing over from Flynn's left side.

The System Admin knew. He always knew, of course.

Damn him.

Tron gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue. "The... End of Line Club is... th-the most cutting--"

He'd seen Discs cut Programs from all sorts of angles. As the Games went on and on, he got even better at manipulating his aim to recreate those angles over... and over... and over again. He'd had to learn to plan, based on his opponent's position, what angle would be the most lethal...

"--edge entertainment facility this side of the Sea of Simulation."

Crossing the Sea of Simulation. That had been the only way to take down the MCP. It had known he was coming, of course, and it threw as many Reds as it could spare at him... including Sark himself, who'd almost ended him on more than one occasion...

He'd thought it was only divine luck that he'd survived those near fatal throws...

Tron shook the intruding thoughts from in front of his eyes and regained his composure, looking over at Flynn, CLU, and the rest of their audience... only to see that they were looking back at him, clearly expecting him to continue.

And then he realized that, despite feeling like he was going to collapse, he'd only said two sentences.

A few words, indeed.

"You don't like that phrase," CLU asked later in Tron's penthouse apartment, "do you?"

Tron scoffed as he poured himself some Energy from the bar counter. "What's to like?"

He'd reluctantly agreed to meet with CLU again later that decicycle, especially since Flynn had left the Grid once more, and the two Programs were free to openly discuss what they pleased.

According to CLU, anyway.

"It's kinda hokey, I agree," CLU said, lounging on the couch, his head hanging off the armrest so he could turn and look at Tron behind him. "Not really a fan of it, either."

Tron nearly dropped the glass he was holding. He could barely keep the liquid in the glass, his hand was shaking so much.

"What would you have named it?" CLU asked, sitting back up.

"Not that." Tron was more focused on keeping his hand steady.

"Come on, no other ideas?" CLU insisted. "You've gotta have some vision for this place, man."

"I wasn't programmed to have ideas," Tron grunted, finally steadying his hand enough to hold the glass as he brought it over to CLU. "Or have vision."

CLU... laughed. "C'mon, man, you're really gonna admit that with so much pride?"

"It's not my place to meddle in the affairs of Users. The fact that Flynn considers me worthy enough to work under him directly is an honor that I do not take lightly."

"Just because he bust you out of the Game Grid and blew up the MCP by diving headfirst into it?"

Tron scowled. He wanted to sock CLU in the jaw like he'd been itching to do for cycles, but instead, he just handed CLU his drink and sat in an armchair next to the couch. "A crude way to put it, but yes."

"Well, I wasn't there, so that's the only way I can put it." CLU smirked as he crossed his legs and took a sip of his drink.

"Yeah. You weren't." Tron paused. "No one here was. Except for Flynn."

"Hence the goofy-ass name."

"Stop saying that!" Tron shouted, jumping to his feet and looming over CLU, his minimal light lines practically a turquoise beacon as his eyes went wide with anger. "You don't know what those words did to me. You don't know what those words did to thousands of Programs you and Flynn had never met. You don't know what those words did to Ram. Or Dumont. Or Crom. Or Yori--"

"I've heard you mention her a couple times."

"--or anyone else! You'll never know how much those 'hokey' words hurt my people!"

However, CLU only looked up at Tron as the latter tried once more to regulate his core temperature.

"You're right. I don't," CLU simply replied, "but... he does. And he still gave it that name."

Tron froze. As the realization washed over him, he sank back into his chair.

"Why?" he breathed, almost mouthed.

"He didn't expect you to notice. Or care," CLU replied just as quietly, leaning toward him. "But because of the corruption, you did notice. And you did care. You're able to see now that... by doing that, he hurt you."

Chapter Text

The city began to fill up. And as the capital city (he refused to call it "Tron City") overflowed, new cities began to form. Soon (way too soon for Tron's liking and comfort), there were dozens of cities of varying sizes and populations, all of them with at least a few hundred Programs each, many of whom Tron soon lost the ability to recognize. Eventually, most of them became just faces in a crowd, barely distinguishable from one another.

Fortunately, there were some exceptions, including his new "Security Team", as Flynn had put it.

"Are you sure about this?" Tron whispered to Flynn, glancing at the small lineup of Programs out of the corner of his eye.

"What? Don't tell me you're a lone wolf," Flynn teased. "Too good to have a team under you?"

"It's not that," Tron insisted, even though he wasn't sure what a "lone wolf" was. "It's just..." His tone became even quieter. "I'm not really a leader."

"Oh, stop being modest!" Flynn replied, putting his hands on Tron's shoulders like he always did. That was just how Flynn was. As CLU put it, Flynn was "physically affectionate."

The more he puts his hands on you, the more he likes you, CLU had said. Wait, no, hold on, that came out wrong.

"No, really," Tron insisted, still keeping his voice lowered. "I only follow the commands my User gives me. I'm not the one who gives orders."

Flynn just laughed. "Come on, man! You're a hero! A paragon! That just screams leadership!" He wrapped his arm around Tron's shoulders, lightly squeezing him in a side hug. "You'll be fine!"

Is... that how that works? Tron wondered as he followed Flynn to confront the line of Programs awaiting them.

Yori would be better at this kind of thing than I am.

The sudden thought made Tron stagger, but he hoped no one noticed. However, those hopes were dashed when he saw that his new subordinates were watching his every move. Expectantly.

So much for that.

"Team," Flynn announced, "I'd like you to meet Tron, the head Security Program of the Grid. He'll be calling the shots around here. He's such a big deal for a reason, you know! So you'd better listen to him! That's an order!" he added jovially, as if this whole thing was just a game to him.

The Programs snapped to attention and saluted.

Then, Flynn turned to Tron and introduced the team one by one:

Kellen. Zenith. Daemon. Forte. Vir. Cadet. Aron. Lumen.

And Dyson.

For a few moments, Tron struggled to figure out what to say to them.

Finally, he settled on, "Hello, gentlemen."

Tron's breath caught in his throat when he felt a few taps on his shoulder.

"Hey, uh," Flynn whispered, "Zenith is a woman."

"Aah!" Tron suddenly became flustered. "My apologies, ma'am."

"No offense taken, sir," Zenith replied. Her hair was short, and she had an angular face, like many of the other Security Programs on the team. She also wore the same kind of armor as the others, so aside from the subtle curvature of her body, it was almost impossible to tell...

Still, Tron could have simply fallen into cubes at that moment. His first sentence as an actual leader of a team, and he'd already made a fool of himself.

He imagined Yori giggling at his blunder, and his chest became heavy.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," the short, dark-haired Program at the end of the line--Dyson--piped up. "And it's an honor to serve under you. I look forward to your leadership and guidance in protecting the Grid."

"Um..." Tron blinked. "Thank you." Then, he added awkwardly, "At ease. Uh, dismissed."

Flynn must have noticed his uneasy expression, since as the other Security Programs left, the User gently tapped him on the shoulder.

"You okay?"

Tron had a burning urge to tell Flynn everything--his persistent and intrusive memories, his conversations with CLU about his "corruption", the concept of becoming "hu-man" that CLU had simply dropped in his lap...

Never deny a User. Never tell him no. Never ask questions.

An ungrateful Program is a malfunctioning Program.

"Yeah," Tron replied. "I'm fine."

Flynn looked him over for a moment. His curt expression almost made him look like CLU.

"Okay," the User finally said. "I trust you. But you know you can always talk to me, right? About anything that's... going on?"

This was a test. It was a test of Tron's dedication and loyalty to his new User. And Tron was determined to prove himself.

"I understand," he replied.

That was all he said on the matter.

Cold.

That word had somehow wormed its way into Tron's vocabulary. Feeling only varying degrees of heat thanks to the stability and intensity of the Energy in his core, Tron had no concept of the lack of heat. He had no concept of "freezing" or "chills". He couldn't imagine wishing for his internal Energy to become more unstable... in order to become stable.

That said, Tron was only able to obtain fleeting clarity at that word's meaning whenever he walked inside any building on the Grid.

Bright, yet devoid of color. An illusion of warmth.

Seemingly dead, were it not for the Energy that pulsed through the light lines of the walls.

Nowhere was this more evident, in Tron's opinion, than the security offices on the lower floors of Tron Tower, where the Security Team lived and worked. Perhaps it was because he had to come here often to perform the more mundane parts of his function, but something about these offices felt... stiff. Lifeless.

That was also what "cold" meant. Probably.

The only spark of life in his dull office was Dyson flitting around the room, settling nicely into his (self-appointed) role as Tron's assistant. He reminded Tron of an excited Bit, except this Bit was rambling about maps and formations and strategies and different classifications of threat...

And through it all, Dyson kept firing questions at him that he couldn't answer. Not until he'd had a good look at the areas the maps indicated, as well as the kind of threats this system would bring about...

"Would we... need all this just for some Gridbugs?" Tron asked.

"Gridbugs?" Dyson asked in reply. "Those are the only threats you want to account for?" Then, he quickly added, "I mean no disrespect, sir."

"No, it's okay," Tron replied. "Uh... Since this is a closed System, most of the threats would be internal to the System itself--"

"Yes! They would be!" Dyson exclaimed, grabbing some documents off the desk and handing them to Tron. "Which is why we need to account for more than just Gridbugs."

Tron finally looked down at the documents, slowly skimming them one by one. "Unruly Programs? You think Programs would be causing issues without external stimuli?"

"When you have large groups, there's bound to be conflict. I believe we should be equipped and prepared to deal with these conflicts when they inevitably come up."

Every instance he'd witnessed of the Reds' "dealing with conflicts" flashed in his mind all at once. However, Tron shook it off.

"I suppose that would count as an internal threat," Tron mused, "but at what point would this conflict mitigation interfere with how these Programs are supposed to function? What if their functions are just misinterpreted as conflict?"

"I wouldn't expect anyone's intended function to be detrimental to the good of the Grid," Dyson replied, his dark eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, clearly enthralled by the debate.

"To the System as a whole," Tron corrected, setting the documents back on the desk and picking up one of the maps instead. "A System is more than just the areas where Programs live and work. True, it's a closed System, but that doesn't automatically mean its own Programs become the primary threat. Only if they're actively trying to harm the System as a whole, and we have sufficient proof of such."

End of Line. End of Line. End of Line.

"Ah. I see," Dyson said, looking over the map as well. "So we should tailor our strategies to factor in both threats coming from the Outlands and threats internal to the Grid."

"And we also need to think before just attacking Programs because they look like they're causing an issue," Tron added. "We want to make sure no innocent User-Believers get hurt."

Dyson blinked. "No... what?"

"Programs. I mean no innocent Programs get hurt." Tron took a few deep breaths.

The shorter Program hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Got it."

"Good." Tron slowly nodded in return. Awkwardly. "Anyway, I, uh... I need some micros to myself. Uh... Nothing personal, I just need some time to think. About strategies and... and formations. You, uh... You know how it is."

Dyson looked genuinely surprised and even a little hurt. Still, he made a transparent attempt to remain professional.

"No, it's okay, I get it. A guy like you must be super busy. You need to take any break you can get! That's totally cool. No problem at all. I'll work some more on these strategies and factor in your suggestions--they're very good ones, by the way. I expect nothing less from the best of the best, the famous hero Tron--and we can meet up again in a few micros--or even a millicycle, if that's how long it takes for you to be, y'know, in ship shape again--not to imply that you're ever not in ship shape because, y'know, you're always at your best because you are the best! Y'know what, if you need more time, that's also cool! Maybe next deci? Next deci would be cool. Totally fine with me. How's your schedule look then?"

"Uh..." Tron replied, "... we'll see."

"Great! I'll follow up with you and see how everything looks. Talk to you later!" Dyson turned to leave, but before he took the first step toward the door, he looked over his shoulder at Tron. "Do you need anything while I'm out? Energy? Armor polish? A neck massage?"

"I'm fine for now," Tron said, annoyance creeping into his voice. "I just need privacy. That's all."

Dyson chuckled nervously. "Got it. Got it." He finally started to walk toward the door. "I understand completely. You need your space. That's a-ok. You've got your space. I was never here. You need some time to yourself to think things through. That's--"

"Out!"

"Y-Yes, sir." Dyson rushed out of the office and closed the door behind him.

Finally. He was alone. Tron looked down at the desk and all the documents on it. A lot of detail was put into them. Too much detail.

It was all so complex. What happened to neutralizing threats to the integrity of the System, finding instances of malicious code embedded in inbound traffic and neutralizing them before they could eat away at the System's stability? And not... interpersonal conflict.

He supposed it would be natural for his function to shift in that direction, due to this being a closed System and all, but that didn't make it any easier to grasp.

Worst of all, Tron knew he wasn't going to have much time to wrap his head around these new developments. He was expected to start as soon as possible, and that meant being able to confidently lead his new team to perform their collective function. Groaning quietly, Tron briefly entertained the thought of just letting Dyson take over--he was clearly itching to do more work than Tron had allotted for him--but...

He immediately halted his train of thought as he looked up toward the door. The one that the overenthusiastic Dyson had scurried through not too long ago. Had he just... considered abandoning his duties? His User-given purpose? Simply because he'd selfishly thought it was too difficult for him?

Selfishly...

Tron's hands began to shake, and the desk he was gripping with white knuckles began to shake as well.

The anomaly was getting worse. He was getting worse.

Tron sat at the desk and clutched his head. So many thoughts and emotions were running through his core: fear, determination, anxiety, doubt, anger, even a bit of loneliness coursed through his circuits, sending waves of panic charging through his body.

"Sir! Are you okay?"

Tron looked up to see Dyson bursting into the office.

"I thought I told you to leave," Tron growled, still clutching his head.

"Sir, I heard you yelling. It sounded like you were in pain."

Tron blinked. He hadn't realized...

He hesitated as he lowered his hands, giving his circuits time to reduce their heat to a stable temperature.

"Sorry for alarming you. I'm fine."

Dyson frowned. "Okay. I... wanted to make sure."

Tron took another few deep breaths.

"Thank you."

It was Dyson's turn to hesitate.

"Anytime," was his uncharacteristically concise reply.

He slowly, reluctantly walked out of the room, leaving Tron alone once more.

Chapter Text

Perhaps they knew he was trapped in his own mind. That he barely had any control over himself.

Because by some divine stroke of luck, the buzzer always sounded before Tron could perform a fatal blow on his unfortunate opponent, snapping him back to reality just in time to process, in horrifying clarity, the other Program's expression of sheer terror and awe.

However, Tron always recovered quick enough to remain visibly stoic, even with the crowd cheering, roaring around them.

They loved watching him in action. They ate it all up.

As the announcer prattled on about the final round, Tron became sick to his core. For all they knew, Tron's "legendary" status was just that: a legend. A story their almighty User had made up to justify Tron's presence and laud. And he was supposed to play the part, play the hero. Jubilantly dance and perform his role, solely for the amusement of these oblivious Programs, who--

"Tron!"

Tron looked up to see none other than CLU on the other side of the field.

Flynn's doppelganger flashed him a quick smile. It would have looked like a smirk from afar, but Tron knew its true intent. Whether he liked it or not, CLU had become his closest friend--or, rather, the closest thing to a real and true friend he had here. As much as CLU liked to poke and prod him during their long conversations, Tron couldn't help but be grateful for someone who at least attempted to understand what he was going through, even if that understanding far surpassed his own.

"Are you ready to start the show?" CLU asked with that uncanny ability to read his mind.

Tron said nothing and only pulled out his Disc in preparation for battle.

Battle.

Enemy.

Defeat.

Survive.

Survive.

Survive.

Derezz...

Before he could process what had happened, at the sight and thought of Flynn's likeness being the target of his Disc, Tron's vision began to fill with static, and his circuits began to flare to an unbearable degree.

He remembered the dark thoughts that had plagued his mind after the MCP's downfall, the grim possibility of Sark being sadistic enough to pit the User-Believer against the User incarnate in battle, knowing full well that one was going to derezz the other, oblivious to their proper roles in the hierarchy.

"Tron! Hey!"

If he'd been forced to derezz a User for his own survival... there was no way he would have been able to live with himself. And if the User would have taken his life instead...

"Hey! Snap out of it! I was just--!"

He couldn't afford to hesitate. Not in combat. Not when he was fighting for his life.

"Tron! Hey! Let's--!"

Tron's Disc rocketed toward CLU, whose swift reflexes had prevented him from being sliced down the middle there and then. CLU deflected the shot with his own Disc and sent it flying back at him.

The static cleared just enough for Tron to retrieve his Disc and redirect CLU's attack at nearly twice the speed it had come. The dreadful ringing and hissing in his ears overpowered all other sound: the borderline sadistic cheering, the ambient hum of the arena, and CLU's frantic attempts to bring Tron back to the present.

In regards to Disc battle prowess, the two of them were perfectly matched: What CLU lacked in strength, he made up for in wit, and vice versa for the User Champion, whose eyes had now glazed over as his mind and body were in two completely different Systems and times. The battle was agonizingly long, and perhaps that was why the static, the cloud over Tron's senses, persisted as powerfully as it did: He was fighting to survive, and if that meant outlasting his opponent in seemingly endless combat, then that was what he was going to do.

Strike.

Deflect.

Dodge.

Strike.

Deflect.

Dodge.

Strike.

Deflect.

Dodge.

Strike.

Deflect.

Dodge.

Strike. Deflect. Dodge. Strike. Deflect. Dodge. Strike. Deflect. Dodge. Strike. Deflect--

A pained yell finally snapped Tron out of his trance, giving him the power to shake that static out of his eyes.

CLU stood on the other side of the field, clutching his arm as the buzzer rang out across the arena.

"CLU!"

Tron rushed up to him, only to see his fears confirmed:

The faint glimmer of cubes could barely be seen from under CLU's protective hand.

"CLU, are you all right?" Tron asked.

"Y-Yeah. I'll be fine. Whoo! What a game, huh?"

Only Tron heard the quiver in his voice. He was nervous. Wary. Almost afraid.

"I'm sorry."

"I-It's fine. I'll be fine."

"No, really." Tron moved to help him, but CLU raised his free hand to stop the Security Program in his tracks.

"Go get your prize," he insisted. "I'll join you guys later."

Now that Tron's senses had fully cleared, he could hear and feel the crowd roaring around them from all sides. Of course, the spectators were none the wiser about the ordeal he'd just gone through. For all they knew, the final round had all gone according to plan, with the added dramatic flair of the User Champion having become slightly overzealous in the heat of battle.

They ate it all up.

If only you knew... how all of this had come to be. Not even Flynn, your omniscient User, knew the full extent of it... I couldn't bear to tell him. Not here.

His feet, which had been lithe and agile not one nanocycle earlier, were now rooted to the translucent arena floor. Tron couldn't move even if he tried, so he was forced to watch CLU turn and walk away, still clutching his arm.

End of Line. End of Line. End of Line.

Tron couldn't stand to be in the club any longer than necessary. He'd stood in the threshold for a while to keep up appearances; tolerated the loud, artificial-sounding music; and watched the crowd of Programs celebrate like they'd been the ones to win the inaugural Games instead. And all the while, he kept his mouth shut and his expression stoic, although he forced a reassuring (albeit transparent) smile whenever someone showed too much concern.

But after the novelty of his presence had worn off (which was more quickly than he would have liked, all things considered), Tron slipped outside to the balcony, where he looked out toward the horizon at the dark, cloudy sky and the lone I/O beam that pierced through the perpetual night.

He lay his hand on the banister and closed his eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

...

Silence.

As always.

Tron sighed and pulled his hand away, crossing his arms instead as the light of the distant beam reflected in his dark eyes.

"Alan One," he prayed under his breath, "I don't know if you can hear me, or even if you know I'm here. But you know me better than anyone in this System, so I only feel comfortable asking you: What's wrong with me? What is this anomaly that I'm experiencing, and why? Why am I plagued with dark visions and memories that cover my eyes? Is this how you're speaking to me now? What does it mean? And why is it preventing me from performing my function?"

He paused.

"I know I should never question a User transmission, but this isn't like anything you've sent me before. It's not your voice, but I've run out of other possibilities. No... I... don't want to think about the ones that are left. Alan One... you know my code. Please... tell me what's wrong. Give me a sign, if you can. No, I... I know you can, but... I... don't want it to end like this..."

"Who are you talking to?"

Tron gasped and nearly fell off the balcony at the sudden voice from behind him. Dyson (of course, it was Dyson) stood by the doorway, holding two drinks.

"You... look like you've seen a ghost," Dyson added, offering him one of the tall, narrow glasses filled with vibrant Energy. "Sir."

Tron tried to steady his hand as he accepted the drink.

"Thank you. And... I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Then, after a moment, with a forced smirk: "That's an order."

"Well, I just wanted to check up on you, Sir. And apologies if I'm overstepping my bounds, but... you've been acting a little odd lately. The whole team is worried. Maybe Flynn should take a look at your Disc--"

"He has already, and there's nothing wrong with it!" Tron snapped. After a few breaths, he added, "I'm fine. I'm just.. tired."

It was fine if he only admitted it to another Program... Right?

"Oh, I understand," Dyson replied. "You've got a lot of responsibility. It's a huge honor that you still made time to compete in the Games!"

Games.

Games.

Games.

Games.

"You're right, and it's really taking a toll on me," Tron quickly added, feeling the static bristle behind his eyes once more. "I need some time to rest before our next patrol. Can you, uh, let everyone know that... that I'm heading back to the tower early?"

"But... the party just started."

"I know." Tron forced yet another reassuring smile. "You guys have fun."

He finished his drink before slipping back inside and heading straight for the elevator.

Chapter Text

Time passed, and the Grid continued to expand.

Tron remembered when most of the cities were accessible by Light Cycle, even if the drive itself took at least a full millicycle one way. Now, unless you wanted to drive for two full decicycles from the Capital, the only reasonable way to get to the most remote cities was by Light Jet.

The team occasionally had to fly out to these remote areas for patrols, especially the areas where Gridbugs were interfering with construction. It was a pain, admittedly, and there were always ripples of groans across the team whenever the assignment came in, but even the loudest grumbler could admit that the change of scenery was often welcome.

After a long flight, the team touched down in one of these remote towns, much to their relief. They deactivated their Light Jets and took several moments to stretch their stiff bodies.

"Oh, man," Dyson groaned. "I'd rather set up camp here than have to do all that again this cycle."

"You go ahead and do that," Daemon retorted. "The rest of us will head back without you."

"You'll be our eyes on the ground for any sort of incidents that happen in this hick town," Zenith added, laughing. "Just call us and hold your own for a full cycle while we fly back out here."

Dyson barked a laugh. "You are full of bits! I'd clock you as a virus if I could."

To Tron's relief, Dyson had gradually loosened up since they'd all started working together. By this time, they were all referring to each other by name, no formalities needed. Still, even though the team itself had become a tight-knit unit, and Dyson was clearly still under the impression that he was Tron's closest colleague, Tron still kept them all at arm's length, restricting his "camaraderie" with them to when they were all on duty.

Was it lonely? Yes, Tron reflected as he watched the other Security Programs chatter excitedly and laugh at each other's exhaustion. But he knew he would always feel isolated around them, despite how much they insisted he was also part of the group (he was the leader, after all!). He was different, and everyone knew it. He could see it in their eyes, the way they looked at him. He was on a pedestal he couldn't jump down from, and he could only watch the dozens, hundreds, thousands of onlookers gawking at him from below.

However, even now, Tron never said a word of this to anyone. Not even CLU (although, given the admin's keen intuition, he had probably figured it out cycles ago), and especially not Flynn. Admitting he wasn't completely satisfied with life in this new (even after all this time, it was still "new") System? It would no doubt be seen as ungrateful and entitled--two things that a Program should never be to a User. And since all these Programs were, in some form, a reflection of Flynn, he couldn't open up to any of them.

So, he was alone.

"Would you want to do that, Tron?"

Tron jumped before looking over at Dyson, who was holding out a pair of Light Jet batons to him.

"Oh... Sorry, what was that?"

"Cadet says you should be the one to take these over to the garage here. They're acting up, and we don't think they'll be able to make the journey back to base," Dyson explained. "If you're the one putting the order in, these peons will make sure it's done before you can say 'please and thank you'."

"Hm," Tron replied, quickly regaining his composure. "And I assume you're asking me to pay for it, too?"

To his surprise, that remark managed to get a few chuckles out of the rest of the team, save for Dyson, who paled.

"That wasn't what I was implying at all!" he insisted. "I was just saying what--!"

"I'll do it," Tron cut him off, holding back a sigh. "You all get warmed up. When I get back, we ride."

The blossoming town of Argon wasn't that big in its current state, so Tron quickly found his destination:

Able and Willing's Garage, next to a bunch of construction equipment that had either been ravaged by Gridbugs or was on standby for when the infestation was cleared.

Tron cautiously walked inside, looking around at all the equipment being built or repaired. Whirring, revving, clanking, chattering... It wasn't the worst white noise he'd ever heard--far from it--and something about it almost felt... homely.

"Can I help you?"

Tron turned to look at the mechanic walking up to him.

"I'm here on behalf of the security team," Tron replied, handing him the batons. "Two of our Jets were having issues on the way here. I was hoping you could look at them while we cleared out the Gridbug infestation."

The mechanic examined the batons closely, and without even activating them to take a closer look, he nodded. "I can do that."

Tron, caught off guard by the blunt, aloof response, just waited for him to continue.

After several moments of silence, the mechanic glanced up at Tron. "We're a little short-staffed at the moment. All my guys have been burnt out from patching up the Gridbug damage. Willing took the milli of, so it's just me running the shop."

"You're..." Tron guessed, "... Able, then?"

Able smirked as he set the batons down on a nearby workbench. "Should've probably led with that, huh?"

Tron couldn't help but chuckle.

"And let me guess, you're Tron?"

Once again taken back by Able's straightforward nature, Tron only replied, "Yes."

"What's a guy like you doing out running errands?" Able asked over his shoulder as he went through his tools. "Out looking for another job?"

"Well, no, I just... needed a change of scenery. And some time to myself," Tron admitted.

"Ha! We all need that sometimes, don't we?" Able replied. "I tell ya, if everything wasn't constantly on fire, I'd appreciate the empty shop. Just me, the stuff that needs fixing, and the tools to get it done. Nothing else matters until I clock out."

Able activated one of the Jets and began to sift through its code and inner workings.

"Anyway, stop back after those Gridbugs have been dealt with, and I should have an update for you by then."

"Actually, uh," Tron blurted out, "do you... need a hand? You said you were short-staffed, and--"

"So you really are lookin' for another job, huh?" Able asked, turning to face Tron once again with a smirk and a glimmer in his eye. "Makes me worry about the state of the Grid if even you're jumping ship."

"No, that's not what I meant! Everything's--!"

"Relax, soldier. I know what you meant. You just like helpin' folks, don't you?"

Tron breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah. You could put it like that."

"Then what about it's made you so stiff-lipped, huh?" Able asked. "Those two traits don't fit so neatly together."

"It's..." Tron looked away. "It's complicated."

"Well, hey, good thing there's a lot of work to do."

"Is there a problem?"

Both Tron and Able looked up to see Dyson walking into the garage toward them.

Tron guiltily stood up, pulling himself away from the tools he'd been sorting. "No. No problem at all."

"Tron, we've been waiting for almost half a millicycle. What have you been doing?!"

"I'm sorry. I lost track of time. Tell the rest of the team that I'll be right there." Then, to Able: "Thank you for your hospitality."

Able gave him a warm smile. "Thank you for the help. This one's on me, fellas."

"I appreciate it." Tron smiled back at him. A true, genuine smile.

"Feel free to come back anytime!" Able called out after them as they left.

"Back again, I see."

Able had begun to clean up his workspace when Tron walked into the garage.

"I came to pick up some parts," Tron replied.

Able turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

"You didn't order any parts."

Tron looked away guiltily.

However, Able only laughed. "It really has been a while since you've had a friend, hasn't it?" When Tron didn't respond right away, Able continued, "You know, I'm not going to be offended if you didn't come out all this way on business. I'd only be offended if you didn't let me buy you a drink while you were here."

"Oh." Tron looked genuinely surprised. "I guess... it has been a while, then."

"Maybe I'll even get a reward of heroism for making you finally loosen up," Able quipped. "You're stiff as a zip, Tron. No wonder you feel so out of place among all us Flynn-Programs."

"Do you really think that's it?" Tron asked as he helped Able clean up.

"Part of it," Able replied. "At least, you always look like you're hiding something. Everyone deals with insecurities in their own way, but you wear yours on your sleeve, and they're as bright as the Portal beam. You catch my drift?"

Tron shook his head.

"You feel like you don't belong. So you act like you don't belong. And because you act like you don't belong, everyone else catches on, so they act like you don't belong. That, in turn, justifies your feelings of not belonging. You've got what you already think, and you're not going to let anyone change it. You just keep going out of your way to find or even make up things that prove yourself right. And, when you're radiating a mindset like that, folks can often get the wrong idea."

Tron frowned, turning to Able as he finished putting away some tools. "What do you mean?"

Able looked around to verify that the garage as empty before looking Tron in the eye.

"What do you think of us Flynn-Programs, Tron?"

Tron blinked. "What do I think?"

"Did I stutter, Big Shot? I want your honest thoughts. What runs through that thick skull of yours?"

"Uh..." Tron didn't mind the playful insults. It was a nice change from all the overwhelming laud and even worship from the other Programs, and Able knew it. What Tron didn't like, however, was being asked his opinion--his honest opinion--so bluntly. "I don't know."

"Tron."

"Able, you can't just ask me something like that--!"

"Tron. Look at me."

Tron hadn't realized he'd looked away. Obediently, he turned back to Able.

"We've known each other for a good few cycles," Able hissed. "Now, you know I'm nowhere near your level on being able to take physical punches, but by Flynn, I can take some verbal ones. I can take it just as well as I can dish it out. When you're a service Program and you see nothing but the ugly side of folks expecting you to work miracles like you're Flynn himself, you need some pretty thick skin. And if you're as brave and brazen as everyone says you are, then you're going to tell me what's on your mind right to my face, and we're going to talk about it, no buffers. Because if you didn't want to talk, you wouldn't have come all the way out here to see me, now would you?"

"No."

"Then spit it out, bitbrain."

Tron sighed. "You're as bad as CLU sometimes."

"What I'm hearing is that I'm not the only one looking after you."

"If you want to put it like that," Tron huffed. He hesitated for a while before blurting out, "I just don't know how he can make so many."

"So many... what?"

"Programs. It doesn't make any sense. In the old System, back where I came from, there were just as many Programs with just as many Users. Everyone had their own, and it was... personal. Special. But now..."

"It's not personal anymore. Or special."

"Programs here are never going to understand that connection. That feeling of awe and wonder when it's just the two of you talking, communicating through that IO Tower. They'll never understand how Users only came in the form of light and power. Not... a form like us that comes down once every few cycles, stays for a while, and then leaves again. To you, those dark skies may look normal, but to me... it means we've been abandoned. And no one here will ever understand how painful that silence is."

Able's expression softened.

"I see."

"And it doesn't help that, wherever I look, I'm constantly reminded of the time I did think my User had abandoned me," he continued, now unable to stop his rapidly derailing train of thought. "I saw those dark skies every time I was forced to fight for my life, for the impossible chance that I could communicate with my User again. And in the Games, at that! The Games, which Flynn also brought here! Fighting in the Games, under dark skies, again and again..." Tron felt himself getting choked up.

Able frowned. "And you didn't tell Flynn?"

"Of course not!" Tron snapped. "I don't know what you think Users are like, but where I come from, their word is law. You don't argue, you don't bargain, you don't reason. If a User tells you to do something, you do it. If a User gives you something, you take it. And if they take something from you, you don't ask for it back. Do you know what denying a User does to you, Able?! It gets you deleted. Not derezzed. Deleted. It means you're worthless, useless, and a waste of code. So, no, I am not telling Flynn. I am going to shut up, do my job, and just... just..."

"Get over it, essentially?"

Tron's anger slowly drained away, leaving him panting as wet streams glistened on his cheeks.

"Yeah," he admitted weakly. "Because... there has to be a reason, right? A reason... A User... would never do anything without a good reason... Right? There has to be something..."

"Hm. I would never would have expected beliefs like that from a Program so close to the Creator--"

"Shut up, Grid-Program!" Tron snapped. "Don't talk about the nature of Users like you know anything about them! Why would you even need to know, anyway?! There's too many of you to even have proper functions in a closed System! Talk about wastes of code! I...!"

Tron trailed off, realizing what he'd just said.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

However, Able just smirked. "So you do have some opinions after all."

"Well, yes, but I didn't mean to just--"

The other Program was clearly upset by his remarks, but he made a visible effort to brush it off. "At least we know what makes you tick now."

"I'm sorry," Tron insisted. "I was out of line. How can I make it up to you?"

Able smirked. "Buying the first round would be a good start."