. . . fights for the users

He was livid.

He disguised his silent fury as steely determination which, for any other Program, would have been impressive, except that he was more than accustomed to remaining stoic in times like this. Times when his emotions–and opinion–would have caused a stir.

His friend… his best friend… would not do that.

He wouldn’t. There must have been some mistake. After all, they did look identical…

But he’d seen it with his own eyes. He’d watched it happen in real time, albeit safely undetected from a remote location. The cameras he’d secretly put up throughout Tron Tower… they didn’t lie.

They showed him… a whole other side to Flynn that the User never let him see.

Tron never fully believed CLU’s accusations of Flynn abusing him, even after he’d seen the admin’s wounds and scars with his own eyes. Part of him refused to comprehend that the User, his best friend, who had saved the ENCOM System from the MCP and had such huge aspirations for creating a “digital paradise”, would do… this.

No… Tron was fully aware that Flynn was capable of something like this. He’d never explained to CLU exactly why–even given what he’d been through himself, CLU would never truly understand–but there was a lingering gut feeling that Flynn’s “benevolent User” nature was nothing but a ruse transparent to only a select few.

And those few… who would believe them?

But when concrete evidence appeared before his very eyes, Tron knew something had to be done.

“This,” he’d told CLU when they’d met in private after the incident, “ends here.”

Under any other circumstances, he would dismiss it. He wouldn’t be able to work up the courage to say something, in fear of disturbing the peace or drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He would bow his head and accept things as they were.

This time, though?

This time…

He glanced down at Flynn beside him, blissfully unaware of what was about to unfold. Another one of his brief visits to the Grid was about to conclude, and Tron was escorting Flynn back to the Portal so he could return to that mysterious World from which he’d first come.

Clu heard Tron’s speech. But he heard it directed at him, in Flynn’s voice, saying yes he could do all that. And Clu meant nothing.

The weight of it al sent him crumpling to the ground, to his knees. his hands shooting out to catch him. His eyes stung with tears, and before he could stop them, they escaped. Right in front of his User, who would no doubt “give him something to cry about. BUt before he did, Clu managed to squeak out the question he wanted to know.

“Why, User? Why do you hate me so much? Why do you do these things to me?”

Tron glared at Flynn.

“Well?” he added. “He asked you a question.”

“I… I…”

“Talk!”

“I… I… I…”

“Answer the question!”

“I… I didn’t think it was…”

“A big deal?” Tron finished for him. “You didn’t think it was a big deal? That you hurt him like this?”

“I was going through some stuff,” Flynn stammered. “I needed to, y’know, let off some steam. You’d do the same, y’know?”

He tried to make it sound so… innocent. Like that was something everyone did.

“No, actually, I wouldn’t.” He hesitated. “No, I take that back. I’m doing it right now. I had the urge to do it a lot and much sooner–you of all people know that I’m ‘going through some stuff’ just as much as you are–and yet, all those times, I managed to control myself, and I don’t let it turn me into the thing we both hate most. Or, at least, the thing I hate most now. A bully.”

“Oh, come on, that’s a little extreme, don’t you–?”

“Come on, guys,” Flynn insisted, trying to regain his carefree attitude. “You’re just overreacting. I’m sure we can just talk this out like friends, and we can all get back to--”

“We’ve tried. He’s tried. I’ve tried.” Tron stepped closer to Flynn. “Don’t act like he’s your only victim.”

“‘Victim’? That’s kind of a strong word--”

He had been waiting at the gate. He knew who was coming, and when the program was in sight, a warm smile grew. The warmth reached his eyes and they glowed, a rare sight while the program had been living, especially in his last cycles. 

His being was dressed in white, the white of Tron and the Renegade as he forced himself to remain where he was as his mentor, the warrior of the Grid approached him at last. 

Ram’s eyes widened at the confirmation of his voice. “It is you.” He said softly, then hurried forward, closing the distance between them. He paused before actually touching Tron, though. His old friend was tense, hesitating. And he knew why. Every program knew either through experience or through stories all that Tron had done.

Still, this was his friend. A program who had protected him, listened to his jokes and rambles, debatedly even loved him. And that was all that mattered to him.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “It is you! You made it, Tron!” Then he hugged him.

Endless possibilities flashed before his eyes as Ram ran up to him.

Run? Run? Run?

But before Tron could make his getaway, Ram stopped in front of him, almost as if knowing that if he were to take just one more step, Tron would have bolted. That… wasn’t hostility. Or was it? Had he already expected Tron to have run away by now?

But Ram grabbed… no, hugged him.

The contact alone almost made him run, but he saw Ram’s smile. He smiled at Tron as if nothing had happened, as if they were still in adjacent cells on the Game Grid and he was excitedly rambling on about something or other out of the Reds’ earshot.

As if nothing had happened.

He wanted to believe that’s how everyone would act here: as if nothing had happened. No Flynn, no Grid…

But he refused to let his guard down.

Still, he gave Ram a stiff, awkward hug back, desperately wanting to put his full energy into the reunion with his long lost friend but knowing deep down it was impossible.

“Oh.” Ram let go and stepped back with a nervous chuckle. “I’m sorry I’m just excited. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, Tron.”

You’ve changed. He didn’t say that aloud, but couldn’t help but take in his friend, scarred and somber. All the stories seemed to be true, he could tell just from his face.

“It has,” he replied, still standing stiff even after Ram had let him go. “It’s... It’s been a long time. A lot’s changed.” He forced himself to be jovial. “A lot’s happened.”

Should he run? Should he have run by now?

No. He had to face this. He would never rest until he did, even here.

But every moment standing here still talking gave them more time to form a mob, more time to rush at him and take him down all at once--they could easily overpower him, and he knew that--more time to give him what he deserved.

Yet he couldn’t run.

🌧- For a heavy, emotional secret

🙃- For a lighter, slightly embarrassing secret

🌟- For a secret wish or desire of theirs

🍏- For something they secretly wish didn’t exist

🍎- For something they secretly wish did exist

❤️- For a secret crush

📲- Talk about someone/something you dislike, but only pretend to like

👁‍🗨- Talk about someone/something you like, but pretend to dislike

🍻- For something bad/mischievous you did as a child or teen that your parents don’t know about

🌜- For a ‘weird’ habit or tic that no one knows about

💃- For a talent that they like to keep hidden from others

🏹- For a talent they wish they had

👻- For something that scares or disturbs them, but they refuse to tell anyone

☢️- For a controversy or scandal they have been able to keep mostly under wraps

🐇- For a secret item they keep (stuffed animal, comfort object, etc)

📒- For a secret journal/diary they keep (Bonus: Share an entry from it!)

📔- For a secret sketchbook they keep (Bonus: Share a sketch or doodle within it!)

🖤- For something they secretly wish they could do with your muse

He’d been in stasis for a thousand cycles. His mind had never slept.

What did I do wrong? What made him take me offline? Am I expendable?

He’d woken up in a completely new System, the structure and Programs vastly different than when he’d been pulled. Everyone he had ever known was probably long dead. Even Yori, which made his core heavy at the thought; before, he had thought he would never be able to live without her. Now, there was probably a heavily upgraded version of her–or a replacement–who most likely wouldn’t even know who he was.

No, he knew for a fact there was.

No one had paid much attention to the disoriented legacy Program wandering around. They probably thought it was normal, maybe a System hiccup that temporarily restored Programs to older versions. Tron didn’t know if that actually happened or not in the new System, but he was grateful for the lack of attention. That, combined with his hand in implementing security features back in the original System, let him easily bypass many of the new security features, allowing him to explore more thoroughly.

He’d stumbled upon some unusual System archives, ones Tron discovered were filled with User-to-User communications. That was new. He’d succumbed to his curiosity and looked through a few. And then a few more. Most of the information he couldn’t understand, but when he found his own User’s designation on one of the files, he was further tempted to investigate.

He started reading.

Not only were there details about the circumstances of Tron’s stasis and Alan One’s other projects (what was MA1A?), but there were also details about who his User was, other than an unseen entity. Tron knew at this point that this was information he wasn’t supposed to know, that it would be sacrilege to continue, but what the Users would have called Pandora’s Box had already been opened.

He had a life as well, Out There. The files contained his words and those of others speaking of or to him. His worries, his concerns, his achievements, they were all there. Often, he spoke of another entity, one Tron couldn’t grasp the meaning of right away.

He called it a “son”.

Alan One put a lot of time into developing the “son” project, but there seemed to be constant malfunction–disobedience, even. And he talked about it as if it was really there with him, and not just in some other System. They coexisted Out There, but why? According to the ancient beliefs, only the most faithful, loyal and devout could see the User’s face and ascend to the ethereal plane. What had that spaghetti code done to deserve it?

A new sensation filled his entire being, one he hadn’t felt since the rise of the MCP: hatred.

Alan One didn’t deserve to be tormented, pushed around and otherwise burdened by some corrupted garbage, and that garbage didn’t deserve the honor of sitting by his User’s side. That was all there was to it. But how would he set things right?

A little more exploring could give him the answers he needed.

Alan sighed. It had been a long, eventful morning. He’d just returned from a discussion he’d held with his son. Overwhelmed by the outcome of this discussion, he felt the need to inform his good friend and colleague Roy Kleinberg about it. He began his email.

To: Roy Kleinberg

From: Alan Bradley

Subject: The Latest on Jet

Message:

Hello Roy,

Guess what? I spoke with Jet again.

I just don’t understand it! I don’t understand why he simply refuses to improve his life. Oh he’s made some improvements, sure, ever since the Motorcycle Incident, but he still refrains from exploring his full potential. I don’t know Roy, I’m not sure what to do about him. I’ve tried reasoning with him, tried telling him that he’s meant for more, more than what he’s resigned himself to. You know, I even called in a few favors to earn him a seat in ENCOM’s R&D section, but he turned it down. Turned it DOWN! After all I’ve done for him, he still wants to have nothing to do with me. I just don’t understand.

Have any advice for a man with a wayward son?

-Alan

/End of Message

Did he know how much of an honor it was to be at his User’s side?

Did he know enough to realize that such insubordination was blasphemy? It would get any Program divinely derezzed.

And “Jet” managed to get away with it. Repeatedly.

Out There.

This latest communication... that was the last straw. This had only been the most recent of Alan One’s cries for help.

Tron had the vaguest idea of who “Roy” was, but he knew “Roy” was nowhere near as devoted to helping Alan One as Tron himself was.

Tron wanted to help.

He needed to help.

But how? Even if Programs could initiate communications regularly, Alan One had made it a point to put Tron in stasis. How blasphemous would it be for him to suddenly reappear?

You don’t want me... but the one you want... doesn’t want you... It’s not fair...

“After all I’ve done for him, he still wants to have nothing to do with me.”

If “Jet” wanted nothing to do with his User... then he didn’t deserve to have his User.

Simple as that.

---

When Alan returned to his workstation after taking his new ID photo, he would find a reply from Roy:

Did some research on it a while back and came up with some pointers. Let’s chat in the laser bay at 3:30.

He had been waiting at the gate. He knew who was coming, and when the program was in sight, a warm smile grew. The warmth reached his eyes and they glowed, a rare sight while the program had been living, especially in his last cycles. 

His being was dressed in white, the white of Tron and the Renegade as he forced himself to remain where he was as his mentor, the warrior of the Grid approached him at last. 

Ram’s eyes widened at the confirmation of his voice. “It is you.” He said softly, then hurried forward, closing the distance between them. He paused before actually touching Tron, though. His old friend was tense, hesitating. And he knew why. Every program knew either through experience or through stories all that Tron had done.

Still, this was his friend. A program who had protected him, listened to his jokes and rambles, debatedly even loved him. And that was all that mattered to him.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “It is you! You made it, Tron!” Then he hugged him.

Endless possibilities flashed before his eyes as Ram ran up to him.

Run? Run? Run?

But before Tron could make his getaway, Ram stopped in front of him, almost as if knowing that if he were to take just one more step, Tron would have bolted. That… wasn’t hostility. Or was it? Had he already expected Tron to have run away by now?

But Ram grabbed… no, hugged him.

The contact alone almost made him run, but he saw Ram’s smile. He smiled at Tron as if nothing had happened, as if they were still in adjacent cells on the Game Grid and he was excitedly rambling on about something or other out of the Reds’ earshot.

As if nothing had happened.

He wanted to believe that’s how everyone would act here: as if nothing had happened. No Flynn, no Grid…

But he refused to let his guard down.

Still, he gave Ram a stiff, awkward hug back, desperately wanting to put his full energy into the reunion with his long lost friend but knowing deep down it was impossible.

Baby’s Breath: Muse is now a child for 12 hours. Anon decides the age.-

- - -

Alan stretches and yawns. He blinks and looks around. The room looks the same, except that it seems much bigger than he remembers. He noticed his bed seems much bigger than he remembers. What’s going on? Why does my room look like this? He then notices his much-smaller features. Alarmed, Alan leaps out of bed, only to find the floor is much farther than he remembered. 

…

Sssssslip.

Ssssssslip.

The obstructive areas of the mesh fell to the ground in ribbons.

He lauded the small User’s cleverness and would definitely have some constructive criticism after all this was over.

Silently, he followed.

There it was. Alan could see the entrance to the “bank.” Glancing all around, he didn’t see Tron. Good. He once more surveyed his environment. Noticing several windows between buildings, he picked a pair and focused. A swinging bridge rezzed in, connecting them. Some distance away, a fireman’s pole appeared.

Tron didn’t seem like he was lost in thought trying to clear up that part of the “game”, but it persisted in the back of his mind more and more with each silent step.

In theory, he could simply head toward where the “gold” had been placed and acquire it for himself, thus preventing Alan One from getting it and ending the “game”. But Alan One had made it very clear that the pursuit was an important factor, so was Alan One the target instead?

But if he focused all his energy on neutralizing Alan One, the focus of the “gold” would be lost, and it would be possible that he’d be seen as “too harsh”, especially since this was clearly meant to be a recreational activity. Would he be taking it too seriously if he designated Alan One as the target? Or not seriously enough?

These thoughts permeated more than ever as he found himself at the area they’d designated to be the “bank”, where he knew the “gold” was. He could abandon the pursuit and head directly for the “gold” to protect it, or keep up the pursuit, let Alan One get to the “gold” first, and then neutralize him from there.

He could either take a defensive or offensive approach.

He could either unintentionally lead Alan One to his own target, or he could prolong the pursuit and the “game” overall.

In which scenario would he better utilize his true function?

With this in mind, Tron made his way toward the area where the “gold” was hidden.

Tron didn’t know what to think. He had a feeling he knew what Alan One was talking about, but… he couldn’t be sure. He was hesitant at first, but then he smiled and bowed his head. If it was what he thought it was… Tron had forgotten everything he had prepared for this moment.

…

Tron took a few moments to catch his breath. He felt his eyes water as well, but he ignored it.

“Yes. I’m fine,” he simply replied. After a few more breaths, he added, “Thank you.”

He stared down at the object on the plate in front of him. He also noticed a similar setup on Alan One’s side of the table. Not knowing what else to do, he kept his head bowed, awaiting further instructions.

Alan sighed. Maybe solid food was not such a good idea. If Tron’s reaction to milk was anything to go by, Alan was concerned about how he’d handle eating. Still sitting, he said a silent prayer and considered how he was going to instruct Tron on eating. He brought his plate and glass beside Tron’s.

Did it go down easier? Yes.

Did it taste better?

... No.

But he still refused to complain. He sipped, took a few deep breaths, and then sipped again until the glass was empty.

And his chest hurt.

Every deep, focused breath made his chest sting even more. It was like the Energy numbing his wounds had no effect here. Which, of course, made sense because nothing he knew from the Grid--or any System, in fact--applied here.

He was livid.

He disguised his silent fury as steely determination which, for any other Program, would have been impressive, except that he was more than accustomed to remaining stoic in times like this. Times when his emotions--and opinion--would have caused a stir.

His friend... his best friend... would not do that.

He wouldn’t. There must have been some mistake. After all, they did look identical...

But he’d seen it with his own eyes. He’d watched it happen in real time, albeit safely undetected from a remote location. The cameras he’d secretly put up throughout Tron Tower... they didn’t lie.

They showed him... a whole other side to Flynn that the User never let him see.

Tron never fully believed CLU’s accusations of Flynn abusing him, even after he’d seen the admin’s wounds and scars with his own eyes. Part of him refused to comprehend that the User, his best friend, who had saved the ENCOM System from the MCP and had such huge aspirations for creating a “digital paradise”, would do... this.

No... Tron was fully aware that Flynn was capable of something like this. He’d never explained to CLU exactly why--even given what he’d been through himself, CLU would never truly understand--but there was a lingering gut feeling that Flynn’s “benevolent User” nature was nothing but a ruse transparent to only a select few.

And those few... who would believe them?

But when concrete evidence appeared before his very eyes, Tron knew something had to be done.

“This,” he’d told CLU when they’d met in private after the incident, “ends here.”

Under any other circumstances, he would dismiss it. He wouldn’t be able to work up the courage to say something, in fear of disturbing the peace or drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He would bow his head and accept things as they were.

This time, though?

This time...

He glanced down at Flynn beside him, blissfully unaware of what was about to unfold. Another one of his brief visits to the Grid was about to conclude, and Tron was escorting Flynn back to the Portal so he could return to that mysterious World from which he’d first come.

Clu heard Tron’s speech. But he heard it directed at him, in Flynn’s voice, saying yes he could do all that. And Clu meant nothing.

The weight of it al sent him crumpling to the ground, to his knees. his hands shooting out to catch him. His eyes stung with tears, and before he could stop them, they escaped. Right in front of his User, who would no doubt “give him something to cry about. BUt before he did, Clu managed to squeak out the question he wanted to know.

“Why, User? Why do you hate me so much? Why do you do these things to me?”

Tron glared at Flynn.

“Well?” he added. “He asked you a question.”

“I... I...”

“Talk!”

“I... I... I...”

“Answer the question!”

“I... I didn’t think it was...”

“A big deal?” Tron finished for him. “You didn’t think it was a big deal? That you hurt him like this?”

“I was going through some stuff,” Flynn stammered. “I needed to, y’know, let off some steam. You’d do the same, y’know?”

He tried to make it sound so... innocent. Like that was something everyone did.

“No, actually, I wouldn’t.” He hesitated. “No, I take that back. I’m doing it right now. I had the urge to do it a lot and much sooner--you of all people know that I’m ‘going through some stuff’ just as much as you are--and yet, all those times, I managed to control myself, and I don’t let it turn me into the thing we both hate most. Or, at least, the thing I hate most now. A bully.”

“Oh, come on, that’s a little extreme, don’t you--?”

Back in late 2017, we’d gone to Dave and Buster’s (so the “specialty” game machines are nowhere near, say, Disneyland quality) the night before a big Christmas trip, and I wanted to try one of those big “high immersion” chamber, pseudo-VR games. The ones that look like a giant bubble. It was a flight simulator, as many of them were at the time, and I thought it looked pretty cool so I wanted to give it a shot.

I waited for the previous kid (whose attempt I’d watched over his shoulder, so I knew how the game was SUPPOSED to be run) to be done with his game, and I stepped into the chamber.

But what I didn’t realize at the time was that after I’d scanned my “Power Card” to be able to play the machine... it randomly decided to reboot.

Now, on the surface, that doesn’t seem like too big a deal, but note that this was the first time (at least, that I could remember) I’d actually played one of these kinds of games. So on top of the shock of the sudden reboot, I was feeling additionally overwhelmed by the setup itself and the underlying claustrophobia that came with it. It was just a big mess of confusion.

So I was sitting in that small chamber, rattled out of my mind, while for what felt like five entire minutes, I had a full 180-degree IMAX-quality experience of a Windows 7 computer booting up.

Proof:

Panoramic image:

Close-up:

And at this point, I bet you’re wondering: Did I ever get to play the freakin’ game?!?!

No. No, I did not. The dumb thing never loaded. So after a few more minutes, I awkwardly slipped out and moved on.

He was livid.

He disguised his silent fury as steely determination which, for any other Program, would have been impressive, except that he was more than accustomed to remaining stoic in times like this. Times when his emotions–and opinion–would have caused a stir.

His friend… his best friend… would not do that.

He wouldn’t. There must have been some mistake. After all, they did look identical…

But he’d seen it with his own eyes. He’d watched it happen in real time, albeit safely undetected from a remote location. The cameras he’d secretly put up throughout Tron Tower… they didn’t lie.

They showed him… a whole other side to Flynn that the User never let him see.

Tron never fully believed CLU’s accusations of Flynn abusing him, even after he’d seen the admin’s wounds and scars with his own eyes. Part of him refused to comprehend that the User, his best friend, who had saved the ENCOM System from the MCP and had such huge aspirations for creating a “digital paradise”, would do… this.

No… Tron was fully aware that Flynn was capable of something like this. He’d never explained to CLU exactly why–even given what he’d been through himself, CLU would never truly understand–but there was a lingering gut feeling that Flynn’s “benevolent User” nature was nothing but a ruse transparent to only a select few.

And those few… who would believe them?

But when concrete evidence appeared before his very eyes, Tron knew something had to be done.

“This,” he’d told CLU when they’d met in private after the incident, “ends here.”

Under any other circumstances, he would dismiss it. He wouldn’t be able to work up the courage to say something, in fear of disturbing the peace or drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He would bow his head and accept things as they were.

This time, though?

This time…

He glanced down at Flynn beside him, blissfully unaware of what was about to unfold. Another one of his brief visits to the Grid was about to conclude, and Tron was escorting Flynn back to the Portal so he could return to that mysterious World from which he’d first come.

He hid in an alley where he wouldn’t be seen, but where he could see the path they walked. Sure enough, Flynn paid no attention to his surroundings, so his back was turned when the Administrator stepped out of his hiding place. He made brief eye contact with Tron before he called the User’s name, and when Flynn turned to face him, Clu spoke the signal question he and Tron had agreed upon.

That reply. So innocent, so confused. If it was a ruse just like everything else Flynn said or felt, it was an incredibly good one. If it wasn’t… then for the first time in what could realistically be assumed was Flynn’s life, the User had to face the consequences for his actions. He could even be showing… regret.

As the Sentries began to close in, Tron fought every urge to jump in and save Flynn from his comeuppance. After all, he was supposed to protect Flynn. That was what he’d promised from the beginning–

No. He needed to stop thinking like that. That was what had caused his blind devotion in the first place. His unconditional compliance. His enthusiastic willingness to look the other way.

He slipped away soundlessly, although for him, it felt more like swimming against a strong current keeping him rooted to the spot. By the time he was safely out of the way, Tron was exhausted, even though he’d only moved a few feet.

“Tron!”

No… No…

He forced himself not to make eye contact, but fate allowed him a glimpse from the corner of his eye of Flynn’s helpless expression.

“Tron, help me!”

No… No…. No…

But then he remembered why he was doing this. What CLU had gone through… the proof… it returned some of his strength, and he was able to stand up straight again.

“Tron!”

He was angry now. They were peeling back his facade.

“Tron! Get over here and do your job!”

That was it.

That was the push he needed.

“Halt,” Tron coolly ordered.

The Sentries obediently stopped, still tightly circling Flynn. If the User tried anything, he could still easily be subdued.

He found the courage to face Flynn again. This wasn’t part of the plan, and he knew CLU would resent him for it later, but right now, it was time for him to make some decisions.

“Oh, thank God, Tron!” Flynn’s carefree demeanor had returned. He giggled with relief. “Now let’s get out of here.”

“Actually,” Tron replied, striding back toward the sentries and Flynn. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere for a long… long… time.”

“Tron? Tron, what’s gotten into you, man?” Flynn asked innocently, still nervously looking around at the frozen Sentries. “You, uh… you’re sure in a mood today.”

“I’ve been ‘in a mood’ for a long time,” Tron replied. “This is just the first time I’ve made you pay attention. Tie him up,” he barked at the Sentries.

He was feeling better now, probably the best he’d felt in a long time. He could do this. 

He knew it was true, but he couldn’t back out now. Tron would hate him for it, for going back on their agreement.

When Tron called for a halt, Clu raised an eyebrow at him, though it went unnoticed. Was Tron having doubts too? Giving him a way out? No, Tron started talking to Flynn. Ah, that’s what was going on. Tron wanted to tell Flynn why this was happening. That made sense, actually.

Clu remained frozen, until the Sentries restrained the User. Only when he knew the User couldn’t attack Tron-not him, Tron-did the Admin step out. Even then, he was bent over, looking around fearfully, a habit he’d developed being around Flynn. He came up to stand behind Tron. Even restrained, his User scared him. Even having seen the tape, he knew Tron couldn’t appreciate the full extent of the User’s evil. If the Monitor asked, Clu could tell him about it later. Now, though, he spoke cautiously, quietly, to the Monitor.

“He won’t be,” he whispered back, “but in the end, that’s his decision.”

Seeing the fear in CLU’s eyes, though... the apprehension, even when Flynn was safely tied up... that gave him even more strength.

“The Game Grid,” he started, approaching Flynn until he was practically standing over his prone form. “Do you remember that place?”

“Of course I do!” Flynn blurted out. “I-It’s where we met!”

“That’s right. You, me, and Ram. You remember him?”

“O-Of course.”

“Really? You do? Because it doesn’t look like you do. Because it doesn’t look like you remember anything from what we went through together. Not one thing, other than some shiny lights and the fact that you can create Programs solely to do your bidding and for you to push around however you like. You can just yell at them and spit on them and beat them as much as you want because they’re just expendable, is that right? They don’t mean anything to you?”

Without waiting for a response, he continued, “You think I haven’t been paying attention? You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? Up until now, you’ve taken full advantage of the fact that I don’t say anything. I look the other way. I let it slide. Questionable design choices. Deliberate misinterpretations of the lessons you were supposed to have learned. That’s all fine. Just... cultural misunderstanding, that’s all. But this? This?”

“What are you talking about?” Flynn cut in. “I never did anything like that!”

He had been waiting at the gate. He knew who was coming, and when the program was in sight, a warm smile grew. The warmth reached his eyes and they glowed, a rare sight while the program had been living, especially in his last cycles. 

His being was dressed in white, the white of Tron and the Renegade as he forced himself to remain where he was as his mentor, the warrior of the Grid approached him at last. 

Beck nodded solemnly and slowly rose as well. “Then we’ll keep going.”

He took a small moment to stretch before taking lead on the path away from the springs.  

Tron forced himself not to look back. He didn’t even want to look at Beck. He just looked down at his feet as he continued down the path to the city.

Did Beck see the same thing he did? After all, Beck had never known this System–how could he see it as Paradise?

Or was it even Paradise at all? Maybe it was a cruel illusion designed to make him let his guard down… until the worst possible moment. Then he would truly be alone with his guilt forever, and even the divine Users would have taken advantage of him…

“Ram!” He waved as they approached.

“Greetings, programs!” The other program waved back, but immediately turned his gaze to Tron. “I see you’ve been to the gate.” Is all he said.

It’d seemed like several lifetimes since he’d heard Ram’s voice. In another time, in another System... It was a pleasant surprise, but Tron knew he should have expected this. He hadn’t thought about Ram in so long, and that in itself seemed like a crime against him. That perky actuarial from the cell next to him on the Game Grid, the one who’d nearly escaped with him and Flynn...

Tron didn’t know what to think. He had a feeling he knew what Alan One was talking about, but… he couldn’t be sure. He was hesitant at first, but then he smiled and bowed his head. If it was what he thought it was… Tron had forgotten everything he had prepared for this moment.

…

Tron remained in stunned silence all the way to his seat at the table. All pain, all sacrilege… forgotten in an instant. He was still so shocked, he was barely able to process his immediate surroundings.

And what was sitting on the table in front of him.

He vaguely registered the objects as similar to Flynn’s standard table decorations (a long, long, long time ago), although Flynn was the only one he’d seen actually interact with them. But now Tron was expected to interact with them. How?

The glass. He remembered there was usually Energy in the glass.

Taking deep breaths to regain his composure, he picked up the glass and began to drink–

He froze mid-gulp, almost choking himself.

That was not Energy!

However, before Tron could spit out the strange liquid, the thought of sacrilege immediately resurfaced. If he spit this out right now and made a scene about it–in his User’s sacred house, nonetheless–then he definitely wouldn’t be lucky enough to be forgiven twice in a row for his insolence.

He swallowed the not-Energy, trying not to cough up any remnant of it before Alan One noticed.

But Alan One did notice. In an instant, he was by Tron’s side.

“Yes. I’m fine,” he simply replied. After a few more breaths, he added, “Thank you.”