Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

“RINZLER! TAKE THE SHOT! FINISH THE GAME!”

COMMAND IDENTIFIED: TERMINATE TARGET /FLYNN/

Finish the game, the phrase continues repeating inside of Rinzler’s mind.

Finish the game, finish the game, finish the game, finish the game-

A brief light flashes inside of Rinzler’s mind, memories through another’s eyes of a place much brighter. Colours unknown to the eyes of Clu’s personal assassin and bodyguard, colours that the visor would not be allowed to perceive. Colours that shift and change with movement, that flow like the Sea Of Simulation.

COMMAND IDENTIFIED: TERMINATE TARGET /FLYNN/

The prompt runs again, as Rinzler’s grip around the triggers of his light glider tighten against the creaking of his leather like gloves, his eyes tighten on the feared face of the young user named Sam Flynn, his face grimaced with anticipation of the coming volley of fire a moment comes in a wave of pain, of loss and of regret.

“Flynn GO!”

The name Flynn, why does it know this name? And why does it bring these feelings of pain it has never experienced up to this point? Rinzler hesitates and pulls away to let Clu finish the game-

“The game.” Rinzler repeats. The game.

Sark. The MCP. The game grid. The old system. Yori-

MAJOR SYSTEM MALFUNCTION ATTEMPTING RESTA-

Rinzler’s mind is shattered as through the veil like a bat out of Hell another program identifies itself.

SYSTEM ADMIN CHANGE?

CONFIRMED PROGRAM: TRON

DATA RECOVERY COMMENCING

The memories begin flushing back as a scream of anguish fills the mind of Tron, his eyes dart back down at his betrayer, the one he called brother. Clu.

With no hesitation, Tron begins his descent and in his mind begins a solemn apology and prayer for those he has lost, for those he failed and for those who have been hurt by his inability to act.

“For Yori my love, for Ram my brother. For those who died protecting the Grid, for those who fought in my name and died for my home, for Able. For Beck, for Kevin Flynn. And for Alan-One.”

Tron begins to spear target Clu, revving the engines as he feels the heat and strength behind his thrusters.

“I.. Fight for the USERS!”

Tron juts the thrusters forwards as he braces himself for the impact, Clu hears and screams in fear as the explosion of their dueling gliders splinters bits across the skyline, the cracking boom of the explosion deafening Tron briefly as pure white noise fills his mind as he feels himself falling.

Quickly waking and catching himself, rolling from his back onto his chest and grabbing the spare glider from his thigh and preparing to ignite it and follow Flynn to the portal, as he does his body is rocked and is being thrown into a fight with his former master Clu. Tron fights as Clu throws an elbow to his head, Tron still dizzy and confused from both the shock of being awoken and from the explosion of his gider barely puts up a fight, holding as long as he can onto his glider while Clu pulls himself back and kicks Tron in the face repeatedly, over and over as Tron loses grip and begins to lose consciousness while he tumbles and rolls in the air, eventually crashing onto his back. The impact of the sea knocking him out again, as his suit loses its colour of dark orange, shifting to black as light fades from him, before blinking like a newly placed lightbulb, into a shade of light blue.

And as he sinks into the sea of simulation, he is whole once again, no longer a puppet of Clu. He is Tron, the video-warrior of the Users..

Chapter One

The rising tides and crashing tides of the Sea Of Simulation have stilled, the distant hums of Recognizers and of Clu’s command ship have silenced, all that remain are the sounds of Tron’s body drifting and briefly surfacing above the water. His mind blank, nothing but white space as a ringing and whistling is constant in his ears.

SYSTEM REBOOT UNDERWAY: ESTIMATED COMPLETION PERCENTAGE / 43.6 / 100

Tron’s body lies in wait, cresting the seas while his system purges the remaining remnants of the beast that held control over his body for so long. His body dipping back under and above like a buoy in a raging storm.

“Tron, what have you become?”

“What have I become?” Tron thinks to himself, “The programs I’ve deleted, the friends I’ve made suffer, Kevin. I need to make sure he’s okay, as soon as I’m able I need to go to the porta-”

Tron turns around, opening his eyes for the first time since he woke, the act of looking is pain enough but the realization that nothing is left? He knows. He knows what Kevin did to defeat Clu, “You shouldn’t have had to- I should’ve- Kevin, I’m sorry..” Tron thinks to himself, as he begins to drift towards a small shore with a few placements of rock spiraling into the sky. Pushing out with his hands, gripping the grey sand like material between his gloved fingers as the light glowing from his knuckles covers the ground around him, quickly crawling further to the land, rolling over to his back, as he mentally orders his helmet to be removed.

The internal hissing and turning of metal inside tucks the remaining pieces within his back securely, as he attempts to stand, his legs shaking and he can barely keep himself steady as he collapses to his knees on the sand. Pushing his hands against his knees, forcing himself to face the sky, feeling the breeze of data brush across his face for the first time in so many cycles, never has he been so glad to feel the discomfort of sand between his old joints, to be dizzy and sick from the sea. Tron looks towards the horizon of what used to be the portal, holds back a stifled sob, and removes his disk. Looking down at it, he disconnects it, making a quick hiss and holds both halves in his hand, staring at them.

He takes the one half in his left hand and reconnects it to the port on his back. As he turns around, he forces himself to stand through the pain, no matter how much it may hurt. This needs to be done, he takes the disk in his right hand and proceeds to walk towards one of the spiraling rocks behind him, and walks a distance up the beach, far enough from the sea as to not be hit by the waves. He stares at the rock face, and places his left hand against it, before scrawling something on it with his right hand. The words “Kevin Flynn, I fought for him.”

Tron, underlines the text and places the other half of his disk on the ground below the writing. Kneeling down he begins to scroll through his memories, thinking back to a time long before he was ported to this new system, before Clu, before Rinzler, before anything of this time.

He sets a memory to loop, a memory after he, Flynn & Ram escaped the MCP’s sick games, and managed to make it to a refuge, the memory is bright and colourful, not like this new system. The memory shows Tron’s view of Ram & Flynn laughing and drinking energetic fluid with their disks, the act making their lines glow even brighter. Looping for eternity, so that no one might ever forget him.

“What did Flynn call this? A wedding? No, no. I believe he called this, a funeral.. Something Users do when one of their own perishes. I hope that this is a close enough substitute, Kevin..”

Tron stands solemnly, as he lowers his head and internally a message fills his mind.

SYSTEM REBOOT COMPLETED: PROGRAM RINZLER / DELETED

A weight is removed from Tron’s back, as he breathes a hearty exhale, and he lets one tear fall for his friend. His black suit, slowly turning pixel by pixel to a bright white, looking back up and turning to the horizon, staring at it with dead drive. He’s got work to do.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2

Tron forces himself to stand, clutching his right knee with his hand while he places his left on the ground to lift himself up as he stares against the edge of the skyline. Climbing the spire of stone took more out of him than he thought, he’s old now. It feels only a few cycles ago something like this would’ve only taken a few seconds, but now? He needed minutes to catch his breath between each inch of movement he managed to make.

The wind runs across his body, rustling his short parted hair, pushing against him as he walks forwards the precipice. He closes his eyes, and tightens his grip on his disk, taking a heavy breath in before he lets them open slowly and begins to fall.

The wind tearing across him as he goes into freefall, his disk parting the clouds, each bit being sliced by it’s sharpened edge. He spots his target. A fleet of recognizers, no doubt searching for their fallen master. He targets one in the far back, left alone. He smirks to himself.

“Feel like this is something the kid would’ve done, diving without a glider onto an enemy ship.”

His smile fades as his mind is filled with thoughts of worry and fear, he purges the thoughts from his memory. He can’t focus on that, he’ll worry about them when he’s able. Right now he needs to get back to the Grid, back to Argon.. He pulls his arms to his sides and rockets himself towards the Recognizer before pushing his arms forwards and tucking his knees into his chest to brace against the cold metal of the ship, he slams and he feels himself nearly pass out from the pain, his disk sliding down the side of it as he attempts to stop a shout of anguish, he can feel his shoulders begin to buckle and nearly slide out of socket, if he hadn’t have braced himself with his boots he’d be in the water now.

“The end of the mighty Tron, splattered like Gridbugs against a light line.” He forces himself to laugh through the pain briefly, he allows himself a moment to collect himself before he climbs up the thruster of the Recognizer, grunting and moaning in pain as he manages to reach the top. Pulling himself to his knees and rolling his shoulder in a perfect circle, keeping his disk ignited and at the ready, he runs to the front edge of the Recognizer as his boots squeak and leave track marks across the perfectly shined and flat roof of the ship, sliding himself off the top on his side and gripping the edge of it with his right hand as he throws his boot through the glass wall, splintering it into hundreds of individual shards across the room as the pilot can barely compose themself from the shock.

The sentries in the back block their eyes as the three blackguards in stasis wake, and reach the elevator to the top. Their doors open and a solid white suited program is standing in the middle of the room, wind rushing into the cockpit, blowing against his light brown hair, with small streaks of grey around the ears.

“Program identify now!” One of the sentries from the door shouts as he and the other start to walk towards Tron.

Tron smiles, for the first time in so long he can say his name. His real name.

“Tron.” The one word makes the other programs stare at each other in fear, as the blackguard immediately ignite their disks. The sentries quickly turn to anger as they charge Tron with their staffs shouting a cry of anger and frustration.

Tron blocks both, ducking under their weapons and sliding his disk across the under side of them and sliding onto his side reflexively throwing his disk from his hand to quickly bisect the two sentries in a single, swift toss. Making them crumble into bits while their digitized screams are quickly silenced as his disk bounces and ricochets across the walls.

The three blackguards grunt and charge Tron with their disks ignited, he moves with their attacks, walking backwards and ducking each high kick they throw. Swiping and missing each slice they attempt. Tron smiles as he kicks the one in the middle across his chest, making him buckle in paint. Over his head as he falls Tron’s disk returns back to his hand as he pushes his free hand onto the back of the one falling over, using his weight and force to throw himself up and the blackguard to the ground. Tron jumps and split kicks the two still standing while he leaps off of the fallen blackguard and rolls to his knees, turning around and throwing his disk between the two remaining, turning them into thousands and thousands of cubes of data. Tron kneels to the final guard as he tries to steady himself and grabs him by the tubing at the back of his neck and throws him out of the massive hole left in the ship as he screams in fear before being turned to bits as he crashes against the rocks below.

Only the pilot remains as Tron relocks his disk on his back, making a hissing, clicking sound as the pilot unhooks his disk, shaking in fear as he charges Tron.

Tron places his hand forwards and pushes his boot in front of the guard, smacking him across the chest and forcing him to trip, as Tron throws him on his back and grabs the disk out of his hand, placing it against the program’s throat.

“Unless you want to be one with the creator, you’re taking me to Argon, program. Nod if you understand me.”

The program frantically nods as Tron walks him towards the piloting stick, forcing him to turn the Recognizer around, it’s weight shifts as it makes a low humming noise and leaves it’s group, heading to the city of Argon.

Chapter Text

"This C drive is terrible, I mean who put this together? You got a mess of MP3 files and digital renders, text documents mixed in with your most critical system files!" Alan Bradley shouts at the latest intern hired in Encom's antivirus department. "And look at this desktop! Nothing is organized I mean- Who taught you how to run a PC?" Alan says as he loosens his tie and takes the seat in the never ending and identical rows of cubicles. This poor intern is sweating bullets, I mean to him this is THE Alan Bradley, the CEO of Encom. The guy who's basically the reason he has a job right now and is now currently reaming him out like a child.

"Look- Why don't you head home, it's late. I'll finish clearing this mess up." Alan says as he pulls his cuffs up, "No Mr. Bradley, I can't this is my mes-" Alan cuts him off by putting his finger up, still staring at the PC and typing with his free hand. "Go home kid, go home and take an hour to read an article on how to properly organize your system files."

"So.. I'm not fired..?" He says, forcing his eyebrows down in a nervous furrow as he crosses his fingers behind his back, Alan turns and stands up to him. "No. No you're not fired." He says leaving a small smirk as he grabs the bowl of popcorn to his right and sits back down, "Seriously. Go home, it's late and I remember what it's like for your boss to force you to stay all night. Hated that guy." The intern lets out a sigh of relief and nods his head before stepping out, "Thank you Mr. Bradley." Alan waves an extension of appreciation with his hand, still a piece of popcorn between his index and thumb as he heads back to typing.

And he types, and he drags and drops, he creates new files and re-organizes for the better part of an hour until the flip phone he's had since 2008 goes off. He grabs it, answers and sticks it between his ear and his shoulder. "Yeah? Oh hey Lora. No sorry. No-No yeah I'm gonna be home late- Some kid doesn't know how to properly handle a desktop and- Hon you should see this it's like a kid's toybox." He says chuckling to himself as he grabs another handful of popcorn, "Yeah- Yeah acid reflux meds and, uh. Do you need your.. Lady stuff..? Okay, yeah I'll grab them when I'm on my way back. Yeah- Yeah love you too. 'Kay bye." He snaps his phone shut and slides it back into his pocket, throwing more pieces of popcorn in his mouth as he feels something in his pocket go off again.

He thinks it's Lora calling again, probably to let him know they're out of eggs or milk or something. But when he reaches in, it's his pager. It's been.. Twelve years now since it went off? He thinks to himself, twelve years since Sam came back to the board, twelve years since he got that page from Kevin. Must be Sam screwing with him, he's gonna follow the breadcrumbs these lead to a video of Marv tearing up one of his chew toys. He chuckles and checks the message.

"MP3.MessageInABottle"

What? Alan thinks to himself, "The hell does that mean?" He puts the pager down and grabs his phone. "Sam? You there?" He says into the speaker at the bottom of the phone, "Yeah- Yeah I know it's late, but you're the one who sent me this weird page- What? What do you mean you didn't- 'MP3.MessageInABottle' that's not you? Well who else has the page- Sam it's almost 2:00 I'm not waitin- Sam whatever you think this is, it can wait till tomorrow. Are you okay? You sound nervous about this?" Alan says, the man tried to be a surrogate father to Sam for as long as he could growing up. I guess those old habits die hard cause he's still pulling the worried dad schtick.

"Sam, what's going on?" Alan asks, worried and now kind of scared for what this message could be. Of course his first thought is "Kevin." But he's held faith for so long, and it led nowhere. He's not letting that go to his head that quickly again, last time was a gift to Sam. It brought him back to the real world and gave him some.. Semblance of happiness. Maybe only he should handle this. Maybe this is his time to do this. "Sam, I'm gonna call you back okay? And I know that I can't stop you, so you meet me in your office alright? I'll be there soon." Alan says as he hangs up his phone.

"Message In A Bottle.." He mumbles to himself as he steps away from the cubicle he was huddled into, walking down the hall with that phrase repeated in his head. "You can't send an audio file over a pager.. At least not unless you got one of those voice ones they made in the 90s.." He says out loud as he paces back and forth, a habit he got into after Kevin fell off the Earth. Usually the two would bicker and argue back and forth, but now it's just him. Alan stands and stares down the endless halls of cubicles and computers as he turns and steps into the elevator, hovering his hand over the top floor where Sam's office is but.. Moves his hand, down to the ground floor.

"What if it's something else?" He thinks to himself, clicking the button and grabbing the key ring from his pocket. Still a "Flynn's Arcade" keychain hooked to it.

A SHORT DRIVE LATER . . .

Alan parks his four door Ford Sierra he's had since 87' and steps out onto the cold wet street, the streetlights casting a warm orange glow over the asphalt as he steps to the locked gate of Flynn's arcade. Been over ten years since anyone stepped back inside, lucky it's still locked up. He slides the key in and pulls the gate apart as he steps inside, the whole ground floor is covered in a thick coat of dust. Each step is like walking through a desert of grey sand as he reaches over to his side to hit the breaker switches, first the lights, then the machines and lastly. The PA kicks in, and so does the music as Duran Duran's Save A Prayer begins echoing the through the hall as do the beeps and whistles of the arcade cabinets. And all of a sudden, Alan's back in 1982 and Kevin's at the end of the hall hitting a new high score on Tron.

"Heh.. Tron." He chuckles to himself as he slides the keys back in his pocket and as he does, he feels some loose change. Not much, quarter and a dime. But still, a quarter can go a long way in a place like this. He pulls it out, rubs it between his index and thumb as he struts down the hall staring at all the arcade cabinets. Galaga, Pole Position, Pac-Man and of course his missus. Defender, Zaxxon and Q*Bert. But all the way at the end of the hall, is of course Tron. The game made from his program way back in the day, the tarp's been drug off already. Sam must've played last time he was here, like father like son he guesses. The coin twists between his knuckles as he cleans some of the dust off the monitor. The screen reads "INSERT (1) CREDITS".

And so he does, "One credits inserted." He chuckles as the coin slides in, bounces around and slides out onto the ground. He grunts and leans down and grabs the coin, but feels something strange. A groove dug out into the floor, curved like something's rolled across it many times. He sticks his hand under the cabinet and feels.. Air.. Flowing out from behind the cabinet, that can't be right he thinks as he stands back up and moves to the side of the machine and sure enough there's a small gap between it and the wall. He pulls the machine aside, these old bones are starting to give he thinks as it slides out of the way.

"Well I'll be damned." He says looking at the large metal door in front of him, "That is a big door." He says as he slides it open and steps through the tunnel, peeking his head around each dark corner as from upstairs In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins begins to play and echo down the steps. "So this is where you did your peyote huh Kevin?" Alan mumbles as he reaches the bottom of the steps and find yet another door, on the wall beside it is a picture of Kevin with Sam. Alan smiles and pushes through the door as he reaches a dark office and.. Research room..? He thinks to himself as he recognizes the digitizing laser they had been working on back in 82, it's not a replica or anything it's the same exact one.. Just slightly more modified, he walks towards it and sees next to it is a version of the touch table monitor that Dillinger had back then. Encom was always ahead in the tech department, Jobs and Gates might as well have been kids playing engineer in their garage compared to Flynn.

He swipes his hand across the screen and it comes to life, Alan's honestly a little shocked. Must be four decades since anyone's actually been down here, he moves his eyes across each file and system in the program before he finally comes across a file labeled "Alan". He feels a lump jump up his throat as he turns his head over on his shoulder, a little nervous now about how four decades after his best friend vanished he finds a file on his personal computer with literally his name written all over it. "I shouldn't. I should call Sam.. Yeah that's.. Hmm." He reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone as he begins dialing.

But before he can hit send he thinks about how happy Sam is now, how he's happy for once and actually at peace. Doing well for himself and not living in a junkyard. What if whatever's in here ruins that for him? It might be wrong for him to not give Sam that choice, but Alan just doesn't want that kid to hurt anymore than he's already hurt. So he closes the phone and accesses the file. "Son of a.." There it is "MP3.MessageInABottle". Alan lets out a deep breath from his mouth, rubs his eyes under his glasses just to make sure whatever he's reading isn't some figment of his imagination, that he isn't going crazy and this is all in his head. It looks real. It looks too real. Alan moves his finger over the file and presses play..

A few seconds pass with silence and a little bit of static, Alan chuckles. "Yeah, figures your last message to me would be a wild goose chase." He says as he begins to step and away from the monitor.

"Bradley.." A deep gravely but still recognizable voice comes from the monitor as Alan stops in his tracks, dropping the pager and shattering it as it hits the concrete floor. Alan nearly swallows his tongue as he slowly turns around and steps towards the monitor to hear clearer what he just thought he heard. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything man." That sold it, the way that word "Man" came from the audio file. Alan's heard that in that same cadence more times than he's probably even heard his own name. He takes a minute and braces his arm against the table with his hand placed under his chin. "I didn't want it to go this way. But it did.. I- I wish I had more time, to explain everything, to tell you what I've seen man. God I wish I could've shown you the world, this world. I always wanted to, you and Sam." Alan lets the words wash over him, not fully understanding what he means but in a way that doesn't matter right now. He's hearing a ghost from forty years ago talk to him as if he were here right now. "I saw him. I saw Sam. One last time, we talked, I've never been so proud. He's perfect man.. And I know that without you we wouldn't have been able to talk one last time.." Alan feels something wet pour out from his eye and down his cheek, letting the tear go all the way down and splash onto the monitor. The last time Bradley let even a tear out was so long ago he doesn't even know what age he was. "I don't know how long this is gonna take to arrive, I just hope by the time it does you haven't finally up and croaked." Kevin chuckles, Alan does too as he wipes away yet another tear. "Thank you.. Thank you for giving this old man one last time to see his son.. And thank you for being the best man a User could know." Alan chuckles again, "User." Next thing you know I'm gonna get a call from Tron he thinks to himself. "This is it.. I gotta go.. Tell Lora I said hi, yeah? Love ya' Bradley."

Alan lets it all wash over him, taking in a moment of silence before wiping away one last tear. His chair turns around as he looks at the shattered pager on the ground. He'd be there trying to piece it back together any other day, but now.. He leaves it. He doesn't need it anymore, he always told Sam it was in case. In case Kevin ever came back, but it took him awhile to realize it was never about Kevin. It was about himself, it was there for Alan. A device to fall back into, a crutch to remind him that maybe.. Someday Kevin would come back and rescue the company, he'd come back and be the father that Sam always needed but that time is long gone.. And maybe it's time for Alan to try and take that place, maybe it's time for him to move on..

He makes his way up the steps, closing the cabinet behind him and placing the quarter next to the joystick, "Next game's yours Kevin.. I'm buying." He says as he turns and watches Sam rush through, still wearing his sweats and a Donkey Kong t-shirt, "Alan?! Where the hell did you go man you said you'd be in my office!" Sam says as he comes in close, inspecting Alan and the surroundings. "Hey hey Sam, it's alright?" Alan says chuckling under his breath as he places his hand on his shoulder, "Really. It's alright." The two look at each other, both knowing but not needing to say. They've each had their last word. They share a knowing smile, arm in arm as The Year Of The Cat by Al Stewart begins playing over the PA and the two walk through the hall. "Hey Sam, what do you think about opening this place up again?" Alan asks excitedly, like a kid in a toy store. "Alan man, I don't think anyone wants to play.." Sam looks over at one of the cabinets labelled "Burgertime, in 2022.." Alan chuckles and retorts, "Well what if it's just for us old timers eh? Encom's doing well, I'm sure they could pay for a fixer upper like this no problem!" He says as the two close up shop and walk down the road to their cars. "Tell you Alan, we'll talk about it when it's not almost five in the morning hmm?"

END OF LINE.

Chapter Text

"The World."

A voice calls out from the dusk and from the steel tough stone of the Outlands.

"A physical frontier. I tried to picture clusters of users as they moved through their world. What did they look like? Recognizers? Solar Sailers? Light Cycles? Were their freeways like our circuits? I kept dreaming of a world, I thought I'd never see."

The voice speaks with fascination and curiosity in a low graveled tone. "And then.." The voice speaks out as the metal stone crunches under the black boot of this program, the white of their light beaming shadows across each individual pebble of metal. "And then? Then what?!" A younger and more excitable voice shouts out, "Heh. And then I kept wondering, Beck." Tron says as the two step out of the training chamber in Tron's personal safe haven, cycles and cycles away from The Grid itself and out into the wastes of The Outlands. "So you're honestly telling me that you KNEW a User, were their closest confidant and you never once went into their world?!" Beck asks as he splits his Identity Disk in half, giving the other back to Tron as Beck's original suit shifts its voxels back to their original charcoal black colour with lines of white and blue going up and down his torso and legs.

Tron looks at Beck before strapping his Identity Disk to his back, staring blankly forward as he prepares to enter his healing chamber as the scar running down the side of his face begins to emerge once more, causing a cascading effect across the entirety of his body. But Tron is a strong warrior, a defender of The Grid and as such he refuses to let on just how truly damaged he is to his.. Protégé, his unlikely partner.. "Beck. I served by the side of Flynn for so many cycles I lost count, trust me. If their world has more of him? I think I'd derezz myself long before I went to his world." He says with a chuckle as he closes his eyes, stepping into the pod and allowing the energy to flow over him and numb his body. Losing all sense of reality and of time, "Beck.." Tron mutters under his voice as the stone metal under his foot rings out like a pin scraping across an aluminum sheet.

The outskirts just outside of the city of Argon show the billowing tunnels of smoke funneling out to the peaks of the grid, the echoing sounds of cannon fire and packs of Recognizers soaring over the city like insects swarming their hives as their kingdom of golden data falls to cinders of broken code. The fall of Clu has caused many Programs to rise up and take back their world, but their numbers are small and their weapons are minimal. The fear of Clu and his retribution has been imbedded into their data packets, and even after his destruction there are still many who are loyal and simply to refuse the reality of the situation, their regime is crumbling beneath their feet and they're trying and reinforce the ceiling. Tron wishes nothing more than to leap in head first, tearing more Recognizers out of the sky and leading the charge of freedom for his people.. But he has another mission, one of greater import.

His vision shifts from the city down to the encampment of Clu's highest level prisoners, ones who are too strong for the simple mutilation of their code into one of his personal lap dogs. Those would be taken and given to Clu's pet architect of destruction. Destruction of the very thing that makes Programs, Programs. His dedication to the destruction of their identity and his disturbing pleasure in the act made him the perfect tool for each of Clu's sick concepts. This is among his most disturbing, the facility is no bigger on the surface than that of a warehouse used to store crates of Light Cycle batons and excess tools. But Tron was.. Close.. To Clu for a very long time, he heard every plan, every intricate detail of Clu's devastation. Inside Tron was screaming, trapped behind the glass of his own eyes as he was forced to commit acts that will sit with the program to the day The Grid is extinguished. But those thoughts are pushed aside for now, today a friend needs his help. Deep below the warehouse was a series of tunnels that led to each of the major cities across The Grid as well as each of Clu's biggest military bases. But more importantly, directly below this specific warehouse is where they made him. This is where the Rinzler program was birthed. Where he was taken apart, piece by piece and put back together again upside down and backwards. But he knows that he wasn't the only Program to suffer that same fate, he was merely the first.. And the strongest.

Tron leaped and slid down the cliff face towards the warehouse, sending gravel and small rocks down the path with him as he reaches the bottom and continues his momentum with a sprint across the dirt and stone, raising his arms and gripping the solid black wall in front of him and running up it for a brief moment as he strains, grunting and wincing as his fingers grip the top of the wall before he manages to pull himself up and over it. Dropping down to the ground with a heavy thud, ducking his knees and shifting across the road to the warehouse door. The entire facility seems to be empty, their need to be discreet and hidden has passed as most of their guards have been shifted to the cities to prepare for the spark of war in their homes. Tron grabs his Identity Disk and slices through the access pad to the warehouse, forcing it open.

As he enters, his footsteps echo across the smooth and reflective floor. Like a mirror he looks down, staring into his visage and past into himself. His eyes shift up to watch his surroundings, his steps leading to the center of the room as he kneels and rests on his right knee. His hands clasp the floor and press down as a ring of hexagonal white light surrounds him on the floor and it begins to lower deep down into the facility below him. The blackness of the void below him is only briefly broken by the light of the ring around him, he looks up at the hole above disappearing into a smaller and smaller dot of light as he reaches the bottom. The disk beneath him shakes slightly as he steps off and it rises back to the top. The pitch blackness of each tunnel surrounding him is filled with light as red lights blink on one after the other down every individual tunnel. Tron looks each direction before walking to the left and following that tunnel, walking slowly at first but then beginning to sprint as fast as he can down the path. Each step is like a leap, his feet barely touch the ground. He's fast. Faster than any other Program on The Grid. Like a bullet firing down the barrel of a rifle his body speeds down this path for what feels like dozens of cycles as he refuses to let fatigue drag him down and prevent him from finishing his mission. His footfalls echo through the tunnel as he slows to a grinding stop, leaving drag marks down in a straight path across the perfectly reflective floor.

Before him stands a large and deep room, barren apart from its blackness.. And from the chambers. The chambers are fifty people high, each the length of a Solar Sailer, maybe even longer. Inside it goes on for miles and miles, like a library of.. Programs.. Stored inside the chambers are Programs abandoned, forgotten, left to the wastes and cast aside like an old game. The sight of this breaks Tron inside, he knows how many of them here were delivered by him. He remembers every single name. And he'd want nothing more than to free every single program and let them escape, but he knows that isn't as simple as he'd like. They're hooked into The Grid. Their bodies like batteries sending power across the entirety of The Grid itself, if he were to unhook them the feedback of energy would fry all of them and derezz them instantly. So until he can find some way to right his wrongs they're trapped here. A perfect echo of what they once were. And a tortuous reminder of Tron's failure. He closes his eyes, clenching his fist as he steps away from the chambers and sprints further and further down the tunnel, the lights of each body passing over him as their shadows cast over his eyes, reflecting themselves across his light blue eyes before he reaches the end of the room and stands against the chamber that birthed his echo. His accursed shadow that stands ever vigilant over him even now at every moment. He reaches his hand out and pushes the door open.. Inside is a large chamber with lights of red and orange casting a warm light over the entire facility, at the end of the hall is a pod of light and energy much like the one used to repair himself long ago. Inside is a program, completely black and sealed in a suit with no lights. Tron's throat tightens and his heart begins to sink to the floor, he runs over to the pod and attempts to open it, even breaking his disk into two in order to slice it twice as quickly. But nothing shatters it..

"Hello old friend."

But a voice shatters the silence, a familiar voice that sends a chill down Tron's spine and a fuel in his heart.

"Dyson." Tron speaks behind gritted teeth, enraged at his voice. "Show yourself, you coward!" He says as he readies himself, one disk further in front as the other is closer to his face to protect against incoming strikes. "Oh.. No I don't think I'm going to be doing that, Tron. I do have to say it is good to see you again though." His voice speaks with a tone of calmness, almost certainty of the situation he's trapped Tron in now. "Our last encounter was.. Thrilling to say the least. I could see through that mask, even with your.. Master.." He chuckles as he says it, "Ordering you to protect me.. I could tell that there was some piece of you that wanted nothing more than to remove my head from my body." Dyson says with a sick pleasure, overjoyed at the thought of Tron being tortured from inside his own mind. "Why don't you come down here and we'll make that sick wish a reality?" Tron says once again through gritted teeth, watching every corner of the room. Waiting for whatever comes next. "I'm flattered Tron.. But no.. I'm unfortunately very busy right now, as commander of our former leader's armies.. But I do have a gift for you. One I truly wish I could watch you open." Dyson says as the pod begins to open and Tron's eyes dart over to the black entity, kneeling on the floor.

"I believe you're familiar with this Program Tron.. What was his name again..?"

"Beck.." Tron mutters under his breath as the Program formerly known as Beck begins to light up orange, his mask matching that of Rinzler's. A reflective mirror casting onto Tron's shattered and broken eyes, forcing the only thing for him to see is himself in the broken mind of his partner, his friend.. The Program reaches for his back and draws a set of Identity Disks, igniting them. "What was it that Flynn always called this time of the cycles? Christmas? Yes that's it.. Merry Christmas, Tron.. I give you oblivion. Program. Kill him."

Chapter Text

Beck, please. Don't do this." Tron says as he lowers his guard, trying to catch a glimpse of the program he once knew behind the glass wall of the helmet strapped to his head. He knows exactly what Beck is thinking right now, he knows that inside of that prison, locked behind that cold glass cage is his friend. Is someone who he thought worthy enough to bare his name, to fight alongside him and maybe if he just tries.. He can reach him, and he can save him.. "Beck, I broke free. I know that you can to-" Tron's words are silenced quickly as a disc flies by his head, forcing him to fall to the ground as his enemy, his assassin leaps onto him and the two begin trading blows. Tron always on the defensive, parrying each strike masterfully and always keeping on the backfoot. Meanwhile this.. Monster is unrelenting, like a hurricane he strikes with the force of a man out for blood. Every attack is to kill, each blow targeted to each of Tron's most vital and important areas. The duel between these two warriors is like a dance, with each partner knowing each other's exact next move. Tron insisted on near constant training, for Beck to work his body till each individual bit was sore. And the two did, Tron and Beck's training regime would drive most mad with exhaustion. But each time Beck was on the verge of giving up, Tron wouldn't relent. And each time Tron was at his breaking point, Beck would refuse to let him rest. The pair would practice till they couldn't stand, and then they'd get back to doing it the very next cycle. And as such, to witness this fight would be an unparalleled showing of physical prowess and combat efficiency for any and all who would be lucky enough to watch.

But like everyone.. They have their breaking points, and Tron is an older program now, weakened by time and age. But the body Beck carried was not, it was young, and it was a prime candidate for the Rinzler program..

Footsteps echo the busy hall of Encom headquarters, a tense Thursday afternoon in the midst of the hectic holiday season sends each programmer, graphic designer, technical engineer and one very bright, very pivotal programmer down into a tailspin of tense and panicked work hours. His keyboard clicking faster than the automatic fire of a mini-gun as his eyes dart across the screen, watching the black screen with flashes of green text. Acknowledging every single line and understanding it perfectly without a moment's pause, Roy Kleinberg is one of Encom's best lead programmers and has been personally assigned to their O.S division after Alan Bradley took shareholder position with Sam Flynn's CEO takeover. Almost the entirety of the board had been replaced, apart from Edward Dillinger Junior.

Public perception of Sam Flynn since taking over has done nothing but good for Encom's popularity and their stock value, ever since Kevin's disappearance the people as a whole viewed Encom as a second rate Microsoft and a third rate Apple. Now, Encom O.S 13 is one of the best selling operating systems on the market, their Linux system has brought back the concept of customizing and personalizing computers, both on a software level and on a hardware level. Before O.S 13 the concept of adjusting the software of your home or personal computer was virtually impossible, but with O.S 13 going open source after their first year launch it re-invented the concept of computer programming. The first year garnered Encom close to 2.8 billion compared to Microsoft's launch of Windows 10 which pocketed them 1.5 billion. When they went open source, shareholders were beyond angry and their stock value dropped for a time but not before they made it very clear that any and all upcoming Encom soft & hardware would be entirely compatible with O.S 13, their quarters made sure whatever money they would have lost on O.S 13 they made back double in their other ventures.

And who was behind that? Roy Kleinberg, he's always been a "Free source, open world!" Type of man. It took some convincing for Sam & Alan, but by the end of the day it did nothing but good for Encom and sent them back to the number one spot as lead innovators in the computer software world. And what did Roy get? He didn't want much, enough money that his family would be taken care of for generations. Sam & Alan took care of that, no problem. A personal popcorn maker in his cubicle, Sam & Alan took care of that like it was nothing. But more than anything else? He wanted his original program, from his very first days of working in Encom. RAM. To be stored in every copy of O.S 13. Alan took care of that one, personally. He hadn't touched any software programs since the 90's, but when he got his hands on the keyboard it was like the very hands of God took him. He started typing and working like he'd never even stopped.

Alan made sure that every copy of O.S 13 came with an exact copy of one of their biggest hits. Space Paranoids. Space Paranoids was the very first game to utilize 3D graphics, and as such it became one of the biggest games across arcades all over the United States. But one man held the highest score you could possibly get. Kevin Flynn. His high score was 999,000. Alan added a little tweak to the program, the highest a player can get is now 999,001. And if someone were to reach this almost impossible task they'd find their screen blacked out, followed by a "CONGLATURATIONS ! ! !" As a nod to the ending of the Ghostbusters NES game, followed by a link to the RAM software program. Now the RAM program is simply an actuarial program, designed to handle insurance systems and deal with calculations regarding currency. To your average user of O.S 13, it's nothing more than a cheeky wink and a nod from Encom. But to Roy? And to Alan? It's a kick in the rear to their old friend Kevin Flynn, who forever bragged about how no one could ever beat his high score on Space Paranoids. And so far? No one has.

Four years now have passed since O.S 13 launched, and Roy has been hard at work fine tuning and adjusting the program like a machine. He'd spend hours at home at night reading the forums about the program, looking for any flaws worth fixing or bugs needed to be removed. Today his work has been on resolving a collision issue with one of Encom's other programs, an art software that upon launch causes O.S 13 to crash, blue screening the computer entirely. This is no small bug, this is a devastating issue that if not repaired soon could result in serious long term damage of both their software and of their reputation. Roy's been working on this issue since last night at his personal home office but after staying up virtually all night working on it, he had to come to the office so that if need be he could get ahold of Alan for a second view, Roy sees himself as perhaps the best software engineer in the entire building. And few would argue against him, but he still views Alan as a better programmer, a better worker, a more clear headed thinker and right now Roy is on the verge of throwing his monitor out the nearest window.

A FATAL ERROR OCCURRED

A FATAL ERROR OCCURRED

A FATAL ERROR OCCURRED

A FATAL ERROR OCCURRED

A FATAL ERROR OCCURRED

"Beck.. Please don't do this.." Tron's exhausted sighs of desperation fall on muted audio receptors, as his hunter continues his relentless barrage of flurried blows. Tron deflecting each as best he can, his body is beginning to weaken as he falls out the door of the transformation chamber and into the halls of programs turned into energy for The Grid. Tron lies on his back for a moment, less than a quarter of a microcycle too long as the beast of his past takes this opening, throwing a disc to his body. Tron rolls out of the way, straining and wincing as the disc slices a chunk out of the corner of his shoulder. Bits falling out of his shoulder, and splintering across the ground. The disc being thrown with such violent rage embeds itself into the reflective ground. Tron takes this moment to take distance, keeping his old friend at range where he keeps his advantage.

The hunter barely breaks his even stride as he grips the disc in the ground, pulling it from the floor with barely a grunt of effort.. His growls come from a place deep down in his vocal speakers, rising from his chest with each deep exhale like a wolf or a tiger. "Beck.. It's you, I know that it's you in there.. Remember what you fought for, you weren't like I was.. You didn't fight for user-" His words are cut short once again as he raises his arm to parry another incoming strike, his left raised while his right can barely rise above his chest. The blows come in like a flurry, Tron still deflecting most as best he can but a few break through his barrier. Knicking his arm again, his leg, his chest, chipping away at him like a brick of ice.
Tension fills the air as Dillinger anxiously taps his foot on the carpeted floor, Roy closes his eyes and squints behind his glasses..

Over, and over. Again, and again. Roy receives the exact same response no matter what he does, no matter what programs he runs or doesn't run, whatever part he removes or installs, there's nothing he can do that can cause these two programs to run at the same time. Roy slams his head down onto his head, letting out an exasperated groan of rage and disappointment. His goose is cooked, his clock's run out and he has no idea how to fix this program. "Need a drink, Kleinberg?" A confident and young voice fills his head, as he tilts up and stares at Edward Dillinger's son, Junior as his peers called him early in his work.

"Dillinger?" He asks as Junior hands him a mug with a cartoon dog on it, the warm feel of the mug clasps his hand as he sits back up to take a drink, "What are you doing down here? This isn't your department." Roy asks, it's unlike Dillinger's bastard to come down and visit the worker bees he thinks to himself as he continues drinking from the mug. "Alan said you might need some help, he'd come but he said something about this would make a friend of your laugh." Roy chuckles, "Yeah it would." Roy slides his seat aside and lets Dillinger come in, grabbing a stool from a nearby empty cubicle, he watches the kid take to the computer like a pig to mud. The kid's nothing like his father, Roy thinks, Ed was all smoke and mirrors. He never did any of the work, just took it from people who actually did. This kid has the skills, he's got the know how and he isn't afraid to show it.

"What the hell's going on with this.." Junior mutters under his breath as Roy takes the time to move over to his popcorn machine, and go to work. Junior turns his head for a moment, watching this man almost three times his age start making popcorn in a six by eight cubicle, "Y'know with your work on this O.S you could've asked for a corner office. Flynn'd probably give you his for the work you did on this." Junior says, still working away at the software. "Yeah, I probably could have but.. Something about this place just feels like home." He says as he stands up, stretching and leaning over the walls of his cubicle to stare out at the seemingly endless hall of other identical grey squares, the sounds of keyboard clacking echoing through the halls, phones ringing and people arguing eventually turn into white noise for people like Roy, without it he'd go crazy with the silence of his own head.

Hours pass, the two take turns working on the program, sharing in and making more and more popcorn together. The halls slowly become more and more quiet as people head home for the night, eventually the two of them are the only living souls on the massive and expansive floor they share. "Junior, hey!" Roy quietly shouts as Ed lies passed out in the hall on top of his work jacket, resting his head on it. His eyes dart open, groggily he stumbles to his feet and reaches for his glasses on the ground next to him, :"What..?" He mumbles out as he rises to his feet, Dillinger puts his arm on the back of the seat Roy's sitting on and his other on the desk for support as he leans in to the monitor.

A series of binary numbers in a horizontal line cross the screen, pattern changing every few seconds. "What am I looking at here, Kleinberg?" Ed asks as he grabs the cold mug of coffee from the desk and begins sipping on it. Roy looks at Ed like he just took a dump on his front lawn, "What are you looking at?!" Roy spews out as Ed gestures his shoulders up, unaware. "Kid.. This is the original source code for Alan's TRON software!" Dillinger stops sipping the coffee, and leans into the monitor to stare at the passing digits, "You're shitting me, Kleinberg." Roy chuckles, "I assure you Junior I most certainly am not. I'd recognize this code anywhere and it looks like.. Like it's coming apart.." Roy says, confused and baffled by how a program could be splintering and shredding apart like an old sweater. "Y'know this could be what's causing the bug.. If it's coming apart, odds are that's what's screwing with the software. I mean this is a part of the anti-virus & security system right?" Dillinger asks as Roy heads to the file location of the Tron program, "Just gonna uninstall and then reinstall the program. That works, well it's best not to look two ways right?" Roy says as he clicks the uninstall option.

"Beck.. Please don't do this.." Tron's exhausted sighs of desperation fall on muted audio receptors, as his hunter continues his relentless barrage of flurried blows. Tron deflecting each as best he can, his body is beginning to weaken as he falls out the door of the transformation chamber and into the halls of programs turned into energy for The Grid. Tron lies on his back for a moment, less than a quarter of a microcycle too long as the beast of his past takes this opening, throwing a disc to his body. Tron rolls out of the way, straining and wincing as the disc slices a chunk out of the corner of his shoulder. Bits falling out of his shoulder, and splintering across the ground. The disc being thrown with such violent rage embeds itself into the reflective ground. Tron takes this moment to take distance, keeping his old friend at range where he keeps his advantage.

The hunter barely breaks his even stride as he grips the disc in the ground, pulling it from the floor with barely a grunt of effort.. His growls come from a place deep down in his vocal speakers, rising from his chest with each deep exhale like a wolf or a tiger. "Beck.. It's you, I know that it's you in there.. Remember what you fought for, you weren't like I was.. You didn't fight for user-" His words are cut short once again as he raises his arm to parry another incoming strike, his left raised while his right can barely rise above his chest. The blows come in like a flurry, Tron still deflecting most as best he can but a few break through his barrier. Knicking his arm again, his leg, his chest, chipping away at him like a brick of ice.

Tron falls to a single knee, blocking above his head as blow after blow come in, no longer is his assailant striking fluidly. Now it's with rage, overhand and overhand, heavy strikes come in the beast growls deeper and louder as his breath shallows before coming in for one massive last strike. Tron takes the gap between the massive strike to fall back out of the way, before rolling to his side and turning his wincing and strained body to see his old friend standing over the ground. His disc buried into the reflective floor.. Tron watches as it stares into its own reflection, breath heavy as it eventually comes to a slow.. Tron watches its line of sight turn towards him, and he instinctively forces his disc in front of himself, straining as he raises his arm but.. It takes him a moment, just a second to register what he sees. The light of his suit no longer reflects off the ground, in fact there's no light at all.. Just grey, like the rocks of the Outlands is his very body. His breath shallows briefly, pondering of how this could be.. Death.. A form of Hell deigned personally for Tron, to forever walk the Grid as a ghost. Forced to see his friend forever trapped in the same fate he was for so long. But if he was truly dead, there'd be something left wouldn't there? There was no spill of his bits, no destruction of his form. The few pieces taken from his cuts and wounds are still scattered.. Whatever this is.. It's something else..

Tension fills the air as Dillinger anxiously taps his foot on the carpeted floor, Roy closes his eyes and squints behind his glasses..

The program takes a moment as it uninstalls, the two brace for any massive negative response but.. Are met with none, they let out a sigh of relief as Roy reinstalls the software. "Alright, hard reset it." Dillinger says as he stands above Roy, arms crossed, rubbing the sleep away from the corner of his eyes as the monitor turns to black for a few seconds.. A moment later the screen flashes to life again. "Moment of truth.." Roy mutters under his breath as he attempts to launch the art software, double left clicking the icon in the bottom left corner of the screen as his cursor has a small blue circle spin for a moment..

ENTER ACCOUNT NAME:

ENTER PASSWORD:

Dillinger lets out a relieved sigh as Roy screams with excitement and nearly falls out of his seat, "Thank you, Tron!"

Tron sits on the ground, lost in his invisible reflection. If he had a heart to beat, he wonders if it would have stopped. Shadows that should cast do not. The wounds of his flesh no longer hurt, but instead hum like static. He can't look at them for very long, if he does he begins to see through them, and through his own body. He simply closes his eyes and listens as it steps by him. It's steps falling sound like a collapsing building in a hurricane. Their strength deafened by the static filling Tron's mind. He attempts to stand up, to go after his friend, maybe in this.. Bizarre form he can do something to save him, to free him from the prison he's trapped in. Tron rises to his feet, reaching out.. As his arm rises, his strength fails on him and he collapses to the ground in complete silence as a low growl fills his ears behind the deep static, before his strength gives out.. And Tron finally closes his eyes on the cold, black ground..

Roy shouts at the top of his lungs as he punches the air and goes for a high five with Dillinger, there's a brief moment of hesitation from Roy as he does. This is the son of the man who fired him, who ruined his career for so many decades, took credit for all the work he and all his co-workers did and nearly ruined the company they share now. Ed Jr lets out a small smirk and high fives him right back, the two chuckle as Roy shuts his computer down for the night, "Hey kid, what say we celebrate? Go out to eat! My treat!" Roy says as he puts his grey winter coat on. "Roy it's four in the morning, what restaurant's gonna be open at a time like this?" Dillinger says as he steps out into the hall, grabbing his jacket from the floor. ".. We'll go to In-N-Out! It's no five star Michelin joint but hey, it's edible!" Roy says as he raises his hands in an excited gesture, ".. Alright.. But I'm driving, you're too excitable you're likely to crash before we even get out of the parking lot." The two share a laugh as they enter the elevator down to the ground floor, the lights of the office floor slowly blinking off as darkness fills the halls, only lit up by the lights of nearby office buildings across the vast LA landscape. As the doors slide close, Roy's monitor blinks to life. A black screen with a blinking green cursor, repeating its rhythm as a command appears on the monitor.

TRON 2.0 UPDATE: COMPLETE

Chapter Text

Alone in a pitch black box with barely enough room to lay across the floor flat, sits a monotone grey woman with a matching grey circuit board pattern across her torso. A single stripe across her shoulder, across the left side of her chest and down across her left leg before stopping at the ankle. The dimness of the light from her own body is less like a glowing symbol and more of a reflective strip, able to absorb and bounce light off but only to a miniscule amount. Her eyes wince closed as she awaits the beginning of a new cycle, and a few moments after she forces her eyes shut a piercing white light from the ceiling ignites like a fire, brighter than the vibrant trails a light cycle would leave behind. “Hngh..” She groans as she stands up straight, rising from the slab of metal given to her as a bed. Her back has never been stiffer, her joints never tighter, but still she stands and forces herself to walk to the wall to her immediate right, after a few moments the wall opens to reveal two Black Guard programs opposite either side of the door, both with their batons drawn as with their open hands they grip her biceps, holding tight as they drag her out into the hallway. She grunts and winces from the pain, for a long time she struggled, she fought and attempted to free herself from these shackles. But her spirit has long since been broken, and now she simply forces herself to carry on day to day, refusing to give the satisfaction to her warden that she knows he so desperately desires.

The guards drag her down the blinding white hall, passing sealed door after sealed door, each one denoted with a number. Hers was somewhere in the single digits, by the time they reached their destination it had stopped at the lower hundreds. Clu did not keep prisoners, he would simply take what he wanted from you, and as soon as you were without value. He’d send you to the games, where you would surely die at the hands of his personal monster, or take you and turn you into one of his never ending and seemingly infinite drones to fill out the numbers of his army. But the warden of this facility took great pleasure in the act of torture, both the physical and mental kind. He had complete control of each room and found a great amount of sick joy in the acts of blinking lights on and off through the night, blaring high pitched noises at any given moment. Especially at night, most wouldn’t dare even try to get a decent night’s sleep. She’d gotten used to losing time from constant blackouts during the day, and during the night. At the end of the hall was a doorway which she was shoved into, her knees sliding across the hard & smooth surface as she forced her head to look up at the pristine office she was now residing in.

Her handlers step out into the hall, the door sealing shut behind them as the program rises to her feet, hunched down as streaks of black & greasy hair fall down over her sunken eyes. “Well good morning my dear.” A cowardly and pleased voice utters from the other end of the room, the dark orange light emanating off of him casting light onto her grey person. “Did you sleep well? Oh what am I saying, I’d know if you did!” He utters, chuckling to himself as he does. She remains unphased, and only turning her eyes up to look at the program opposite herself. “What do you want, Pavel?” She musters out, in a tired and infuriated tone. His pleased and smug tone slightly shifts, sighing and rolling his eyes. “Oh you’re no fun anymore, my dear Paige.” Pavel sits down in his hovering chair, resting his feet upon the desk. A few knick knacks and documents rest on the black square, his personal light cycle baton, a frosted glass for drinking fine liquid energy, and in a glass container lies the cracked and worn helmet of “The Renegade.”

Each time Pavel forces Paige into this torturous room, she tries her hardest to avoid looking at it. Knowing full well that’s exactly what Pavel wants, to see the regret and the pain in her face, after all. It is her fault that The Renegade was even captured, but only the two of them know that. “Taking a look at our old friend again? Can’t say I blame you, truly a fine piece of craftsmanship. Of course it was no match for your disc skills. But still, it makes a fine display piece.” Her says, a vile grin casting across his rubber face. Like a sadistic clown he lowers his legs off the desk and leans forward to grab hold of a holo document on his desk. “What. Do. You want?” Paige utters out, no longer just annoyed and frustrated but infuriated.. And filled with regret. “Now now, ease that temper. I’m here to bring you good tidings, a gift one might even say!” Pavel says as he rises from his desk, and steps around it to stand next to Paige, just barely taller than her as he places his arm around her shoulder. She grunts in discomfort and attempts to shake him off, but he just holds on tighter, all the while smiling. “Look look look!” He whispers out in excitement, like a parent watching their child walk for the first time on the holo document.

“It’s Dyson’s new pet project, I mean take a look at this program go!” Paige’s eyes shift slowly from Pavel’s onto the document, taking it from his hand as he offers it to her.

“This is Dyson’s log, entry 27/24. Combat test, initiating now.” Dyson’s voice speaks over an intercom like system as the footage shows an empty and dark room with a single program, pitch black with streaks and dots of orange stripes across his body. Two identity discs in either hand, wielded at his side as he inhales and exhales deeply, his chest rising up and down intensely. A set of four doors slide open from the bottom up, light peers in from the outside and casts a shadow across the pristine and reflective black floor. The footsteps of the combatants echo through the room as their blue glow casts over his orange, the darker shade of the orange fusing with the orange to create a dark umber brown. The four combatants circle the lone program, gripping their identity discs as they hiss to life and they all each take their own personal offensive positions. Two men wield their disc at a distance, keeping their off hand in front and strafe side to side. One holds it at his hip, crouching down slightly and taking a sturdy stance as he stares the program head on, into its barren mask reflecting only his own nervous expression back at him. The final holds his disc in front of himself, reaching his arm out with his off hand spread behind him to keep balance as his feet constantly shifted position.

The program, now encircled by these four assailants, lets out a low hiss.. A purring growl, bits of his audio cutting out in quick intervals before returning just as quickly, like a damaged audio processor. His head shifts slightly to his side, to stare at the combatant who pointed his identity disc directly at this warrior. It only takes a moment, just a fraction of a cycle as he rushes forward, ducking under the already extended arm and brushing out of the way the wrist and taking the identity disc in his right hand and slicing to the left across his stomach, separating his lower half from his upper half as he crumbles to pieces with a shriek of agony before turning to silence. Standing still in the same position, chunks of this program sliding off his back like fresh water. His breath still forcing his chest to rise higher and lower at each second..

The three other combatants shift briefly in shock and panic before quickly returning back to position, now beginning to move in closer. Once again, that low growling purr rises from the pits of this beast.. One pushes forward and attempts to slice across the program’s back while he’s turned, but once again in the blink of an eye his body shifts away and rotates, sliding his foot under the leg of the assailant and tripping him to the floor as he slides through the chunks of the other man and across the floor, the program takes this opportunity, turning in a swift 360 degree motion and throwing the disc in his left towards the assailant before he has a chance to even rise from the floor, the disc runs vertically across his chest, he barely has a moment to suffer and shriek from the pain as the disc slides along the floor and imbeds itself into his jaw. A pile of cubes makes up the shape of what was once a program on the no longer so pristine floor now.

The two other assailants see he is now one weapon short and use this to their advantage, charging him. Slicing in quick motions, as they trade spaces, one slices and turns back allowing the other to come in and make space before the other comes back in again and continues the cycle. They’re skilled, they would make excellent conscripts. But Dyson has no need for simple conscripts, what he needs is something more. A killer. A chained animal, free to let loose and decimate entire populations if need be, all in the name of His great glory. In the name of the great Clu.

The two have Dyson’s monster on the backfoot now, ducking and blocking each strike as it comes in before finally, they begin to tire. Physical combat can only last for so long, and Dyson’s monster has barely exerted himself to begin with. So when one of his attackers swings a little too slow, he knows it’s time. In the gap it takes for the other man to come in, he breaks the space by using his empty hand to grip the shoulder of the incoming man and dragging him to the floor, tripping the other as he embeds his disc into the neck of the first fallen man. He attempts to block with his hands but the monster simply slices through his hands, killing him instantly. The other program on the floor watches as this monster turns his head to look at him. Growling, hissing, playing with him.. This thing, this monster that they had battled for their freedom and for their lives.. It had been playing with them this whole time, it didn’t even need its discs to derez them all he thought to himself as the beast rose to its feet and began to approach him. His bare hands, turning into balled fists as the leather like material stretched and contracted across his palms. The monster pounced on the man like a tiger, bearing down on him with nothing more than his raw fists. No liquid was splattered, no blood was spilled, if bones were broken none could hear over the screams let out as they slowly diminished into dead silence. The camera’s angle, Users save her, Paige thought had obscured most of what had occurred to that program. But the damage was done, as this monster rose to its feet once more the program’s body crumbled to bits.

And like it was nothing at all, this.. Thing.. Whatever it was, it was not a man of any kind, simply grabbed his discs from inside of the piles of bits and reconnected them before placing them back on his place, and returning back to place exactly where he left. Paige thought this to be an.. Eerie sight.. To see him return back to the exact same position as he was before, not close, not almost right, but perfectly back to place. Her mind raced to the start of the footage, clean and pristine floors. A raw template of barely even a room, just a void of black with a hint of colour. How could something commit such horrific acts and not even respond, the thought petrified her. But like she was trapped, turned to stone and forced to watch. Her eyes could not divert from the footage in front of her, “Why are you showing me this Pavel..?” She asks, confused, disturbed and horrified by what she saw. Assuming this was merely another one of his sick games, just a way to ruin her psyche further. But this was unlike the horrors she’s seen. This one, as opposed to merely following pre-programmed orders that had been built into it.. This one seemed.. Rageful, angry, vicious. Like something was let loose that was not supposed to be let loose, this.. Creature should not exist much less walk the grid so freely, the thought of encountering this monster terrified her to her core. Suddenly the solid walls of her cell seemed ever so slightly more secure and comforting.. ”Wait wait wait!” Pavel shouts as he points to the screen, “This bit’s my favourite part..” A vile grin creeped across his lips as his pristine white teeth bared in a row.

“Program. Cease combat.” Dyson’s voice crept out, this time more clearly as he physically appeared on screen. Walking up to his monster, it stood taller than him, much broader but still sleek in stature. A lankier creature, but still large enough to rip you asunder if it so wished. For a moment Dyson stood and studied his monster, its chest still rising up and down in a deep manner. “Program. Was this the optimal path to execute these prisoners?” Silence ensues for a brief moment as the creature speaks, “..Yes.. It was..” Paige’s eyes shift for a moment, turning her head ever so slightly to listen in closer to its voice. Pavel’s vile grin turns a toxic smile, giggling once more under his breath. But Paige can barely focus on that, disturbing as that visual and that noise may be.

“Really? You took an awful long time getting to that last one.” Dyson responds in kind, turning his head to look at the still falling apart body of the last victim. “.. It was.. Necessary..” The beast responds, “Why is that, program?” Dyson asks, crossing his arms and listening intently. “.. To instill fear.. Fear makes other programs weak..” Dyson nods his head, “I see.. And do you not have such a weakness?”

“No.” The program responds in a sure tone, never has that thought crossed his mind, this program does not feel fear, fear of agony, fear of pain, fear of failure, fear of death and it does not feel pity or remorse for those who do.

“Hmm.” Dyson chuckles under his breath, “I like that answer program.. Hmm.. Program.. No, that's not gonna work, is it?” He asks rhetorically to the program, “I feel like I’ve known you for so long now, and yet I’ve not even given you a name. What kind of a father am I?” Dyson chuckles at that answer, there’s a moment of silence as Dyson turns his head with a grin. “How about Leitner? Nice ring to it hmm? Of course, not as good as Rinzler.. Hmm.. Shor? Not bad..” Another moment of silence fills the air, Paige’s body is turning hot with discomfort like a computer running too heavy, all the while Pavel is still standing there beside her, giddy with glee.

“Y’know program I’m torn on this one..” Dyson speaks and strokes the small streak of hair on his chin.

“Torn.” The program speaks.

“What was that?” Dyson says, turning his head in confusion and curiosity. “Did you say torn..?” His monster speaks not in response, Dyson instinctively steps forward and prepares to ask the program to repeat himself.. But instead holds back, and begins to laugh. Not a deep laugh, but a laugh suddenly something clicked, “Of course.. There’s still some part of you in there isn’t there..? I mean, “Torn?” Come on..” Paige stares confused at that remark, still waiting for the last penny to fall.. “Of course you’d pick out the word so close to your old teacher.”

“Teacher? What is he..” Paige thinks to herself, her eyes darting all over the screen as her mind runs wild searching through every memory where the word “Torn” is even slightly relevant..

“Torn huh? I like that, what do you think.. Renegade..?” Dyson utters out and Paige’s body runs burning hot, in waves of panic, confusion and grief. Pavel all the while is jumping up and down as he begins to laugh, “ISN’T IT JUST SO BRILLIANT!?” He shouts in excitement and genuine joy, maybe the first time he’s even felt such an emotion all the while Paige can’t turn away, she begins to feel as if her body is made of liquid energy, using what energy she has to stand still and to stand upright as she watches on, hoping beyond all hope that this is some vile joke played by Dyson & Pavel. After all, she knows the truth. She knows exactly what happened, and what happened to “The Renegade.”

Dyson’s monster, now Torn growls slightly at his newfound name, “There’s still some little piece of you in there isn’t there Renegade..? Some tiny, miniscule piece of you watching behind that mask.. Staring on in presumably abject horror, you’ve probably even “Saved” a few of those prisoners you just executed haven’t you? I’d give anything to just to watch you inside of that head, even for a moment..” Dyson utters, in a slightly hushed tone as Torn stands still, simply breathing..

“Torn..” Dyson speaks, as Torn’s focus shifts to Dyson’s eye level. “Remove your helmet.” Dyson asks, those words send Paige into a panic. She can’t fathom the possible truth of what lies under that black helmet, of what could possibly be puppeteering that monster. But some part of her knows exactly what and more importantly.. Who is under that helmet..

Torn responds by raising his right hand to the side of his head, pressing across his temple and applying a light pressure. In a second the entire assembly disappears into his back, revealing matted brown hair and a dull grey head.. Its eyes do not blink, its mouth does not move shape, and its stare is directly into the eyes of Dyson. “Beck..” Paige in disbelief mutters under her breath, grief stricken and in agony now as Pavel snatches the holo document from his hand, “And that’s enough for today I think my dear Paige.” She instinctively charges Pavel, attempting to snatch the document from his hand as he panics and shouts for the guards to arrive but not before Paige strikes Pavel across the cheek with her bare fist and once across his hip as the guards charge the room, stunning her as she shrieks in pain. Still stunning her as her body falls to the floor, Pavel regains his breath as he raises his voice to her, “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! I AM YOUR WARDEN! YOU WILL SHOW ME THE RESPECT I DESERVE!”

He shouts out, kicking her in her side and across her back repeatedly till he nearly falls over in rage. “Take her.. Throw her into her cell.. She’s never getting out again.. IS THAT CLEAR?!” Pavel shouts in rage, as the guards nod in understanding agreement. Dragging her as her arms clutch her chest and stomach in pain down the empty and blindingly bright halls before finally throwing her into her cell, her body crashing onto the floor. The guards slam the door shut. And Paige is left with a vibrant silence, her body is in agony as she crawls to the corner of the room and faces down towards the floor.. Still clutching her body in agony, electricity coursing through her body from the stun batons, leaving burn marks and bruises from Pavel’s boot.

Pavel, in his pristine room, touches the wound across his cheek.. Wincing in pain, never has he been struck so viciously like that before. As he sits back down he looks down and continues to finish the holovid that he had just shown Paige..

“Tron.. Renegade.. Beck.. Whatever you called yourself, if there’s even some slight piece of you still in there.. I want you to know that your dear Paige is watching this video right now in some cold cell, I made sure that Pavel would share this with her. It only felt right to do so..” Dyson says, smug and pleased with himself. But also with a tone of anger, of pride for his work. So trusting that his conversion could never fail, never falter, never cease. As he leans in close to continue gloating, to continue his moment of pride and glory.. Beck’s fist tightens, just ever so slightly, not enough for any to notice. Or rather, not enough for Pavel & Dyson to notice..

But just enough for Paige to notice earlier in this holo..

Her body lies leaning against the corner, crouched over, grunting and wincing in pain as she tries her hardest to open her clenched fist. Each individual finger peeling open manually to reveal that in the scuffle with Pavel.. She lifted something.. Something small, sure, but a mini keycard can do wonders for a program’s identity disc if used properly.. She smiles, and begins to laugh under her breath.. Finally, after all these cycles.. She has a proper way out, a chance this time.. Her laugh continues even as tears begin to stream down her face, even as she begins to wail and slam her fist against the wall in rage and grief, she still laughs as they turn to screams, violent and rageful screams of regret and shame. Her screams can only last so long as she tucks forwards and begins to weep into her own forearm, her eyes staring onward as they turn to a pinkish red with streams of tears still flowing forwards..

Chapter Text

It was quarter past one in the morning when Ed. Jr and Roy finally made their way to a nearby burger joint, Roy got a double with everything but pickles & mustard, Ed got the same but with pickles. There was a look of disappointment by Roy towards Ed as he spoke the order through the intercom. The two split the bill as well as a large soda, they sat in silence in Roy’s 1973 Porsche 911 Carrera, a gift from Bradley for refusing a bonus check three years in a row. A bit harder to reject a Porsche over a check for a couple grand, Bradley thought. And it turns out Roy agreed, the fine leather seats, its sleek and classy shape made a fierce argument.

Junior thought so as well, he was far from a car guy, Hell he barely even drove anywhere. He’d take an Uber or a Lyft, but there were points where he couldn’t help himself but admire the sheer craftsmanship and skill that went into designing such a piece of mechanical artistry. He takes a moment of this night, staring out into the busy streets and roads of Los Angeles on a Friday night. Street lights glisten puddles of rainwater, reflecting stars and the towers of concrete and glass in the mirror of liquid. It was a sight that only came at a time like this, late night contemplative thought sessions and discussions in the dark, a light rain, sounds of rushing cars miles away and being just far enough from the center of the city that a few stars break through the fog of light pollution bearing down from the raging metropolis of American consumerism.

The two share their food in silence for a good five minutes, not passing a word. Either out of tiredness, awkwardness, hunger. Any mix of the three could be accurate, but all weren’t. They just didn’t know how to talk to each other outside of work, what did they have in common? Did Ed ever ask what Roy’s favourite movie was? Did Roy ever ask where he got his watch that Ed’s been fidgeting with all night? No, so they sat quietly and simply tried their best to enjoy each other’s company..

“Nice car.” Ed spoke up, breaking the tension even if briefly.

“Yep. Really nice.” Roy responded, taking a bite of his burger after and looking out the window awkwardly.

“Hmhmm..” Ed simply nodded and hummed in agreement, looking like he was ready to walk home all the way across the city simply to get out of this uncomfortable conversation.

“Tron- I- er, Alan got it for me. Bradley, that is, it was a gift a few years back.” Roy spoke up, sharing the history of how he got his ride. “See he knew I loved this model, I feel like the entire floor knew about how much I loved it considering I would never shut up about it.” He chuckles as he reminisces, “And well, when Bradley got the company back with Sam, he got me this. As a gift, a thank you. For sticking around for so long, that’s what he told me at least.” His forearm pressed against the window, head peering out the front. Staring into the distance, lost in memory.

There’s a silence between the two, Dillinger nods his head and Roy does the same. An acknowledgement and nothing more.

“You called him Tron before, what’s what?” Ed asks, turning his head to the side and looking towards Roy. A smile cracks across Roy’s lips, “It was Bradley’s old call sign. His character I guess, I dunno. After Kevin took over the company back in the 80’s he started calling us new names, Lora became Yori, I became Ram and Bradley.. Well he was Tron. It was just some fun joke between us all, I was the youngest at the time so I think it stuck with me the most. It felt like we were all knights of the round table, or a group of superheroes.” Roy smiles before shifting to a somber tone, “Then when Kevin.. Vanished.. That sorta stopped, it got serious. The board got more hands on, veteran members “Retired”. And the kid, well. You can guess how he took it.”

Ed nods his head in acknowledgement, he saw first hand a few of Sam Flynn’s yearly “Check ins” for the company and the board. “Arrogant.” He mumbles to himself, “What was that?” Roy says in response, “Arrogant. I thought he was arrogant. Arrogant and entitled. He had the whole company in his hand, he could’ve kicked us all off at any moment. Replaced the board and took over Encom anytime he wanted. But he didn’t. He just.. Bothered us. I never really got it, not until I met him I think.”

“When did you first meet him?” Roy asks, balling up the empty wrapper for his burger and chucking it in the backseat.

“It was a few weeks before OS-12 dropped. I had to stop by Bradley’s office, some of his mail got delivered to my office by mistake. I walked in and he was arguing with Sam, not sure what about. But it was pretty heated. I tried to step out but Bradley told me to come in, “Sam was just leaving.” He said. We passed each other in the door, he just gave me this.. Look. I don’t know if it was a pissed off look or something but I just. I don’t know. I saw something behind his eyes, y’know? Like when someone’s just finished letting all their emotions run wild and they have that brief second of purity. He just looked.. Sad. He walked off of course, it was only a second but I think I got it after that.. Still haven’t spoken much to him since, cordial greetings, board events, and the occasional, “How’s the family? You catch that game?” Type of empty conversation.”

Junior balls his wrapper, throws it in the backseat, same as Roy and rolls his window up. Roy’s silence is deafening, he gets it. He doesn’t need to say it, and Ed isn't stupid. He can tell that he understands what he’s said. A silent acknowledgement that they share. Roy starts the engine of his car again, sputtering to life as they exit the parking space the Porsche occupied and glide across the wet concrete of late night Los Angeles as 80’s pop and slow rock plays through muffled speakers inside the car. The silent drive goes by pretty quick as Roy drives up to the apartment building that Ed lives at, the door opens as he steps out, shutting it behind him.

“Hey junior!” Roy shouts out of the car as Ed stretches and stands up straight, “Yeah?” He responds, turning around and leaning into the car through the open passenger window. “Thanks for the burger.” Roy says, extending a hand. Ed takes it, shaking and nodding his head before stepping back and letting Roy drive back home. Wherever that is for him, all he knows is that he lives somewhere a lot more suburban. But for Ed Dillinger, home is four dull walls sitting fifteen floors up. The apartment building itself is quite a spectacle, pristine and shining black pillars with slightly tinted windows on the outside to prevent people looking in. Walls of glass and silver accents add to its pristine and perfect idealization of modern beauty. Light blue and white lights cast colourful shadows along the outside of the building. To enter you need a keycard, an identification of some kind to prove you live here or are a guest here. Of course, Dillinger keeps it on his person at all times. Pulling his wallet out, brushing aside various credit cards to grab it, sliding it between his index and middle finger he inserts it through the card reader which unlocks the sliding glass door.

Stepping inside the building is like stepping into another, a world for those who have more, for those who have been so lucky as to achieve levels of personal wealth most would never receive. Ed waves his hand to the nice woman at the front desk, she works the night shift so the two have often shared a nod, or an acknowledgement of each other. But nothing more, he prefers to keep his acquaintances minimal. Walking past her to the row of four elevators, he takes the one nearest to the left, passing excellent facsimiles of real plants. Faux trees and false life, but of course the benches are real leather. Only the finest quality pelts for those with the finest quality desires.

The doors slide open as he enters the chamber of mirrors, reflecting on to infinity. He presses the floor number 15. The elevator doors shut quietly and gently, he grasps the gold handles as the ticker on the top of the elevator door reads each number. Going up, and up, and up as he passes packed floors and packed floors. There’s a gentle gong that rings as he reaches the fifteenth floor. The doors once again softly slide open, he releases his hands from the rests and steps out into the hall. Dimly lit, the aesthetic of this building is “Shadow.” The lights cast hollow shadows of people across the floor, the types of people who reside here would typically prefer being cast in shadow. The walls are painted a dull grey and the floors are a deep navy blue. So deep it’s almost black, perhaps the designers sculpted this with the mind of those who’d live here. Rich, powerful people who perhaps would prefer their late night escapades be kept in the dark. A night of late drinking can be soothed by dark colours and a lack of light, bringing home someone that could be deemed unsavory by the same types who’d bring them back. Hiding in shadow is an excellent way to prevent undue attention.

But it’s a quiet night, it was a work night for most people who live here. Which Ed is grateful for, he’d rather not deal with anyone attempting to initiate small talk. No he’s had enough of that today to fill his calendar year, at this point he thinks he’d just like to go to bed. Sleep was taking him, his eyes drooping shut as he walked down the hall. His steps echoing through the muffled carpet, like dropping a bowling ball on a mattress. He kept his course, passing by each number till he made it to his room. An apartment placed in a nice corner down the east end of the floor. It wasn’t cheap, corner apartments typically aren’t. But he could afford it. He once again slid the keycard between his fingers, putting into the card reader for his door. The light turns green as the doorknob clicks open. He twists the silver handle attached to the black door and steps inside.

He throws his wallet and keycard on the table beside the door, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses with his index finger and thumb. He opens his eyes and turns the lights on, but dimly. The apartment is very nice, two bedrooms, a fully stocked kitchen, two restrooms for each bedroom. The living area is very open, with a couch pit. However, for how nice it appears, it’s.. Quite empty. The furniture, the kitchen. It’s all perfect, not an imperfection in sight. The white leather couch has no dips or indentations from repeated use, the incredible marble countertop is bare, the sink is empty and the glass cabinets all are empty. The only part of the living area that appears to be even somewhat used is an old bookcase, tucked in the corner by the large window peering out into the city with an equally old wooden chair beside it.

Dillinger unbuttons his black vest, removing it as well as kicking his shoes off by the door. Gently folding his shirt and placing it on the couch as he passes it to head further down the hall. The hall is painted white, pristine white. Not off white, not eggshell white. But pure white, the most immaculate and untouched white. Not a single stain or drop poorly placed along the empty and bare walls. He passes by one of the bedrooms that has been refurbished into a makeshift home office.

A desk with multiple monitors, multiple keyboards with a wired mouse each. The monitors are incredibly high fidelity, and the computer tower below it is perhaps the single most expensive piece in this entire apartment. The perks of working at a computer company, getting high end and technically not even released to the public yet parts, GPUs and processors that consumers aren’t even aware of yet is as simple as asking someone to go get them for you. But besides that, the room also feels bare. Even for its high end use and careful combination of mechanical design, it too feels fake. It feels utilitarian, not made with heart and with joy but with necessity.

Finally he makes it to his bedroom, a full queen size bed with fine silk sheets and a comforter so large you could drown in it before you even hit the mattress itself. A television is opposite the wall, almost as big as the wall itself. The remote for the TV sits besides the bed on a side table. The only side table of this bed, he only has the one. A lamp sits on it as well as an empty and open case for his glasses. He sits down on the bed, removing his black socks and lets them drop to the floor. Unbuttoning and removing the belt from his pants, he tosses the black leather belt into the walk in closet on the right hand side of the bed. Taking his glasses off and placing them in his case before closing them.

He rests, he lays his body down on the mattress, not bothering to cover himself. He just rests, his eyes shut. And for the first time in years, Ed Dillinger dreams. He dreams of memories long forgotten and long buried. He dreams of his father and he dreams of stories he told him in the waning days of his life, as a disease ate away at his brain and tore what little connection he shared to the man who bore him to pieces. He dreams, he remembers of a world, the idea of a world he thought he’d never see. A digital wonderland of science and technology, of how his father swore that he was promised it. How he was supposed to be so much more, and how that was taken by a man who he had stolen from. Ed always believed his father was deranged, that he was taking his aggression and regrets out on him. Ed had no respect for his father, and much less pity by the end of his life. But today awoke something inside his mind, a word he had forgotten and let sit in the recesses of his psyche. A word his father on his deathbed laid damning and cursing, “Tron.”

Tron.

Tron.

Tron?

“Tron.. Get up..”

Tron’s eyes dart open in one quick motion, his mind and body races back to form. Quicker than normal it feels, he’s still in the storage facility. He grabs his disc off his back, rises to his feet and readies himself. Preparing for anything, or anyone again.

But.. Silence, he’s gone. His friend is gone. Tron is alone once more, alone and surrounded by the scars and torn pieces of ground where discs had clashed and cut. Which reminds him as he feels his body, there are no wounds. No injuries, he even feels.. Energized, powerful and for lack of a better word.. Alive. This moment of exhilaration and curiosity is cut short however, his eyes turn and the pods where programs were kept and were being used as batteries. Are now empty. Taken somewhere else, more secluded and secure he can only hope. A failure he remains, a failure he sees himself to be. He grips the disc in his hand so tight, if he could bleed he almost certainly would be. He wants to be in anguish, he wants to let loose the pain building up inside of him. Of his agony for Beck, for being made into the same thing he was. Of his regret for not exterminating the scum that is Dyson sooner, if he had.. Maybe.. No, he pushes aside that thought. No maybes, not now.

He places the disc on his back and takes off down the halls, running and echoing his footsteps before skidding to a stop and crouching down low behind a nearby box. “How long until we’re ready to move out?” One of the elite guards, formerly of Clu and now Dyson speaks. They’re transferring any useful material onto a large transport skiff. “Only a few cycles. Then we’ll be ready.” A voice responds in kind, Tron readies his disc and prepares himself for a fight but.. He lowers his arm, and instead waits. He could easily derezz these two, before they even had a chance to realize what would happen they’d be a puddle on the ground. But if they’re transferring something useful, something that Dyson wants.. This could be his ticket right to him. So instead, he waits. The packages are placed on the skiff as Tron watches quietly from behind a blind corner, hiding himself in the dark as the two step inside. The vehicle begins to take off, quicker than expected by Tron. He curses himself, he should’ve taken them out he thinks as he sprints down the tunnel. However the skiff appears to be getting closer, a lot closer actually. So close he almost slams into the back of it. He couldn’t run this fast before, not even close to that fast. He’s at a loss for words as he hops onto the back of the skiff, hiding himself behind a crate and attempting to reconcile just what’s happened to him over the past.. However long he was out of it.

He was almost derezzed, for good this time. He was at the mercy of his protege, but somehow he stopped.. He wasn’t even there anymore, like he was a ghost. An echo of something. And now he’s back once more and even stronger this time? A warrior of the users once, a protector of the grid, then it’s enslaver and now once again.. A protector, or a trying protector. “Heh..” He chuckles to himself as he thinks of the absurd flow of his life. “Tron. The comeback king.” He calls himself under his breath as to not alert the guards driving the skiff.

But what.. Caused this? Why did he deserve so many second chances when so many got none.. Ram, Cutler.. Able.. All friends, all good programs and all taken through one way or another. What was the reason for his constant torture? Is this some punishment? He thinks back to the days long past, with Flynn. Cycles and cycles spent together, hearing stories of his world. Of their lives and their beliefs. Not all too dissimilar to theirs, he found it fascinating to hear stories of their great designer. What he called “God.” Stories of faith, and of love, but also of tragedy and suffering. Their designer was truly mighty, but he was not a passive designer. Flynn told Tron the story of a man, a dutiful and faithful man. A man who did all that his designer asked, and never once did he falter. No matter what was taken, his loved ones, his home, what Flynn called a soul was taken and crushed beneath his might. Is that what he is now? What if this “Job” never existed, what if it was all a way for Flynn to show the path he was destined for. What if all Tron was destined for is to suffer tragedy, a doomed existence, returning over and over only to be punished for daring to stand back up again..

A light cascades over the skiff, Tron snaps back to his reality and realizes just where he is. It’s a prison camp. All this.. Proselytizing and contemplating has been good for something at least, it made the trip go by much faster. Quickly Tron hops out off the side just as it passes through the first gate. The compound is massive, the walls are pure energy and designed to keep whatever’s trapped inside of it, inside for good. Why a prison camp? Is this truly where Dyson has set up his base? It can’t be, it’s too obvious, and far too easy to invade. No.. This is something else, something else is happening here. And at the very least, it could lead to Dyson. He equips his disc and quietly runs across the empty courtyard, thankfully for Tron it appears most of the guards are unloading the multiple skiffs that entered the compound. So only a few stragglers remain, he smirks to himself. Excited to release some of this aggression that’s been built up inside, he runs alongside the west wall, slicing two guards in the back and derezzing them both in a flurry of blue light. They had their backs turned as they walked in a pair down their designated path. This isn’t Dyson’s base, Dyson’s officers aren’t this stupid. What moron is running this prison..?

Tron shrugs off the thought, he’d rather not call the warden’s bluff. He plays it quiet, he moves slowly and silently through the compound and along the wall till he reaches the main building. Whatever he’s looking for is gonna be in there.. And he has an idea.. There’s a ledge on the second floor, small. Easy to miss, for a normal program that is. But whatever changed him, whatever made him a stronger program. Gave him just what he needed to get in here unseen.. There’s a brief moment, just for the blink of an eye.. Where he stops, and he thinks one word. One single word.

“Alan?”

He stops himself, he collects himself and takes the jump. Out of the shadows and into the light for a single moment, a flash of colour in this dungeon of darkness and misery before he falls back into shadow. Leaping over the heads of at least three guards, and silently he enters the open window..

The warden sits silently, staring at a datapad, grinning a malicious grin from ear to ear. His long face causes even a small smile to look like he’s torn his very head down the middle, but one this wide causes his head to look like a broken bottle, hanging over itself. “Ohh Dyson.. You’ve truly outdone yourself, this is your best work yet. How long until we can run some.. Tests.. On our dear former ally and now permanent treasonous traitor?” He asks, giddy with excitement before turning to rage and thrill.

“Contain yourself Pavel. Our first reprogramming was a success, but that doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed for Paige. I need to run this on more programs, send me more subjects. Preferably strong-willed subjects, the program needs to break more of these revolutionaries or whatever they’re calling themselves now.”

“Ah I believe they’re calling themselves Renegades now, Dyson.” He responds, correcting Dyson.

“Pavel I do not care what they call themselves, just bring me more. Dyson out.” The program shuts out just as Pavel attempts to speak, instead he throws the datapad on the table angrily. As he does, he feels a strange sensation.. As if the room got tighter, before he has a chance to even get up out of his seat.. “Where’s Dyson..?” He hears in his ear as a disc slides against his throat. The blade spinning under his chin. “Wh-What? Who are you?” He asks, panicked and frightened. “Where. Is. Dyson?” The voice asks again, dragging the disc closer to his neck. “Okay, okay! Okay I’ll tell you, just please don’t derezz me!” He shouts, frightened and through a cracking voice.

Tron finds this program.. Disgusting, pitiful.. Willing to betray their own kind, turning others into mindless slaves.. “He’s in Argon! He has a base in Argon! But-But you’ll never get there okay? It’s completely guarded, he even has own personal assassin at all times next to him!” Pavel shouts out, his breathing calming ever so slightly as Tron pulls away a bit. “Assassin? What do you know about that?”

“What do I know about that?! He never shuts up about it! He’s so proud of turning that idiotic Renegade into his own weapon, and as much as I despise him even I’m sick of it-!” His sentence is cut off as Tron pulls his disc away and punches Pavel in the back of the head, knocking him to the ground. Unconscious. Tron slides his disc onto his back as he checks the datapad for any more information on Dyson but.. Nothing.. Although, this does give him an idea.

Reaching down onto the ground, Tron removes the disc off of Pavel’s back and places it on a nearby control panel. “Which cell door would you like to open, warden?” A voice speaks out of a speaker attached to the panel, “..All of them.” Tron responds, “Acknowledged, warden.” There’s a brief moment of silence, a small instance of peace before all out chaos is unleashed. Screams echo the hall, screams of excitement and of fear both. The sounds of discs thrown and bouncing across the entire facility is heard as the emergency sirens begin to blare. Taking the disc back, Tron places it back onto Pavel’s unconscious body as he slings him over his shoulder. And steps out into the chaos. Down the now barren hall, stepping over and through chunks of bits and now empty identity discs. He passes a door, peering inside he sees a woman looking out through the chaos. “What’s your plan this time, Pavel? Make me think that there’s a riot? A chance for freedom? It’s not gonna wor-” She turns around and is stunned. “Pavel?” She asks, “Who are you?” Tron asks, “You- You’re Tron-” She says, stuttering in confusion, excitement and disbelief all at once. “You should get out of here while you can, you’re not gonna get a chance like this again, program.” Tron says to Paige, “Wait!” She shouts, stopping Tron in his tracks. “I.. I knew the Renegade.” Tron stops, turns his head to her. “A lot of people knew the Renegade, he was a good program.” Paige steps up to the door, grabbing Tron by the arm, “I knew Beck. We were.. Close.” The two lock eyes, his looking down at hers. “Yori..” He mutters under his breath, “What?” She asks him, confused by what that word could mean. But Tron knows, he knows who this is to Beck.. “Follow me, we don’t have a lot of time. We’re going to Argon City, and we’re going to end this. All of it.” Paige stops him before they start out into the compound, “We’re going to save Beck, right?”

Tron.. Nods his head in agreement. A party of one no longer, now a party of two. Tron thinks back once again to Job, and the story he was told. How after all of the misery and suffering, Job was rewarded.. And now he thinks that maybe he’s not Job after all. Maybe that Beck is, and that he can be rewarded after this. Maybe his reward is peace, and to be with someone he cared for.. And to be with someone who cared for him..