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saratogaroadwrites · 5 months

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Tron: Liberation (2/15)

Tron: Liberation | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount: 106,965 characters: Tron, Beck, Mara, Zed, Paige, Pavel, Tesler, Clu 2, Dyson, Yori, Quorra, Original Siren Character relationships: Tron & Beck, Beck & Mara & Zed, Tron/Yori other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Continuation, For Want of A Nail warnings: none

The Game has changed. The Revolution has begun. With Tron healed and once more in the fight for the Grid, the war has begun. But Clu will not give up so easily, and this is a war that will be fought in the streets. But it is a war that Beck and Tron intend to win, so long as they can do one thing first:

Survive.

[AU: Fanmade Season 2]

Awareness returned slowly. Mostly warnings at first; damage and shock, impact and tear. Mara blinked away one warning after another, frame aching as she tried to kick her memory banks back into functioning properly. The last eighth of a milli was gone, black and a gap in time. Why was that? Had she crashed her bike? Been caught in another explosion and knocked her port on something?

…That was it. The memory returned in a flash of light and the ache of standing too close to burning energy. Mara blinked, turning her head to stare at crumbling stone. She was laying on her side on a slab, the stone welcomely cool against her aching skin. There had been an explosion. A recognizer had opened fire on them and the walls had come down. The floor had given way. The garage had been destroyed. She blinked again, now more aware than before. The garage was gone, she and the Renegade had fallen into the tunnels. The others were—oh, by the Grid. She didn’t know where the others were! They hadn’t been in the garage but she didn’t know where they were and--

“Mara!”

Zed. She tried to say his name, but all that came out was a wordless groan. She clutched at her head, fingertips catching in the raw edge of a gash. She hissed, pulling her hand away as Zed came running and dropped to his knees at her side. He, she was glad to see, was unharmed. He raised a hand towards her, settling it on her arm as he stared at her with wide eyes.

“Are you alright—oh, what am I saying?!” He exclaimed, helping her to sit up straight, holding her by her arms. “Of course you’re not alright! You were just—I just—” His words caught in his vocals. Despite her aching body, she reached to clasp his arm and send what [comfort] she could. He stopped, looking at her.

“Breathe, Zed.” She rasped, rebooting her vocals before blinking hard. Grid, she was tired… “I need you.”

He blinked at her, once, twice, then drew a steadying breath and nodded. She smiled, just a little, then blinked once more to fully reset her visuals. The tunnel section was dim, but there was no mistaking that there were piles of voxels scattered around. Some blue-edged, others orange. Dim disks lay in some of them, and her core lurched. It was hard to tell if they were orange or white in this light, let alone with her doubled visuals.

“The others?”

Zed, still holding her up, shook his head. “Everyone’s fine. We were clear when it came down.” He shuddered, thumb running over a ventral circuit on her arm as [relief] flooded through her. It wasn’t all hers, either. “I really thought…Grid, Mara. I thought we’d lost you.” His voice sounded choked up. Mara’s core ached; they’d lost so much. If it had been him caught in that blast only to fall this far…she could understand his concern even as she shook her head and regretted it a moment later.

“I’m…I’m okay, Zed.” She finally managed to say. It wasn’t a total lie; so the Grid wouldn’t stop spinning. So she had to lean on him as he helped her stand. So every part of her hurt, port worst of all. She was functional, the crew was alright, and…well. She could deal with the rest. For once glad that Beck hadn’t shown up for work and wouldn’t have been caught in that, she looked up at her oldest friend. The movement set her recovering balance off again, and he appeared twice in her vision.

“Where’s…” She swayed, clinging to Zed’s arm to stay upright. She blinked, his circuits tripling before her vision cleared. “Where’s the Renegade?”

“Right there.” Zed replied, gesturing with his chin to the nearby slab. Mara turned slowly. Just out of arm’s reach from where she’d been, as if he’d fallen backwards off of her, the Renegade was laying flat on his back on the stone, lines dim in the dark, render broken by gashes and scrapes. Even his helmet hadn’t survived the fall unscathed, it was now cracked right down the middle at a diagonal, the angled glass splintering into a hexagonal pattern of shatter waiting to happen. Taking an unsteady step towards him, Mara reached forward, hand hovering over his dark helmet for just a moment. She reached down to deactivate it, only to scream as a firm hand gripped her wrist.

"You don't want to do that," The Renegade said, modulated voice quiet. Mara stared, eyes wide and lights flaring in her fear. How could he—he let go of her wrist, hand falling back to his torso. His circuits gave a flicker, the horrid sound of energy catching where it shouldn’t making her wish for a Medic. For a core-stopping micro, he didn’t move. Zed came up behind her, putting a hand on Mara’s shoulder. She looked at him, caught the worry in his eyes, and tried not to show her own. Beside them, the Renegade seemed to collect himself, hands flat on the stone he lay on. Zed leaned down a little.

“So even the Renegade has fights he can’t win.” He trailed off, swallowing hard as the Renegade snorted and shook his head, scraped up helmet rolling against stone that had once been the floor of the garage.

"That wasn’t a fight. That was a--" he stopped with a groan, painfully levering himself up to sit. A gash on his side extended another millimeter, not fatal but painfully obvious that it hurt him. Mara's core lurched. "That was a massacre waiting to happen,” he continued, “If your friends are alive…you should count yourselves lucky."

“Uh…lucky?” Zed asked before she could, gently pulling her back as the Renegade lurched to his feet, swaying for just a nano before regaining his balance. He shook his head just a little, drawing his shoulders up. “How do you figure that? We’ve got no place to go, we’re probably wanted by the Occupation, and you’re even more torn up than a bike that went through a Gridbug Swarm!”

The Renegade may have been wearing his helmet still, but Mara swore the look he leveled on Zed must have been cold as snow. Zed stepped back with a soft ‘erk’ as the Renegade reached back for his disk. Mara stiffened, knees locking…but then she relaxed as he simply brought up his patching protocol. Of course. He probably couldn’t walk with those injuries…

“You’re lucky,” he said as he worked, “Because you and your crew got away. The last program to end up in a situation like that didn’t.”

“Tron, you mean?” Mara asked, watching the patches of blue seal over the worst injuries. His lines were still dim, but he looked better already. He nodded at her once, docking his disk. Mara frowned. “But he was fighting with you. That means he got away.” The Renegade was silent. “…Doesn’t it?”

He took a steadying breath before speaking, emblem rising and falling with his intake. “He survived. But not without consequences. Just like you.” He looked directly at her, angled helmet dark but for the light of their circuits catching in the shatter pattern. “Time will tell if you’re anywhere near as stubborn as he is.” He stepped forward, only the slightest hitch in his step. “Stay close to me. We can’t stay here any longer.”

Zed frowned. As he walked past, Mara reached out, fingers brushing against the Renegade’s arm.

"Are you..." She stopped, swallowing hard. He still looked exhausted, light-lines dim in the darkness. He looked at her for a moment, shoulders held high, and nodded.

"I'm fine, program. Start walking."

And then he continued to walk, one foot in front of the other. Mara looked at Zed, but the only answer he had for her was a shrug. It wasn’t an answer, but it would have to do. Taking a steadying breath, Mara nodded.

One foot in front of the other. She could do this.

——

The tunnels beneath Argon stretched for kilometers, criss-crossing under roads and buildings. Usually, they served as a drainage system, pumping rainwater from the streets into the Sea. But in dry spells, they served as a set of roadways in their own right, hidden from anyone who wouldn’t know where to look. Not even Tron knew all of them, the tunnels having been hidden from his Spire vantage point for so long. He knew the basics, but it was the Argon natives who knew their way around the best, and after figuring out which general direction to go, it was them that had taken the lead.

For once, Tron was inclined to let them. It left him a few moments to catch his breath, listening to the footsteps of fifty-eight programs as they walked east. Somehow, against all the odds, all of them had survived. Yes, they were frightened. Yes, Mara needed a medic about as badly as he did, but they were alive. They were functional. He’d take it no matter how much pain he was in. At least it was fresh pain. Not the constant companion of too many cycles, an ache that never faded. No, this was pressing, aches and scrapes and warnings to get himself to a medic as soon as possible. Preferably before he lost a core circuit and the mobility that came with it. He’d survived with worse. He could survive this.

It hadn’t even dulled his edge, really. A rumbling from above made him stop, the storm grate allowing a peak onto Argon’s streets…and the tank that rattled past. It was really starting to seem that Clu had brought his entire army…he frowned. Beside him, Mara hobbled to a halt. She’d insisted on walking on her own, letting Zed and another female-designate lead the way out of the city, but she was slowing. He looked at her as she stepped wrong, reaching out to catch her. Gripping his arm with one hand she nodded, rubbing her leg and grimacing in pain. Her injuries had been patched, but she wasn’t as used to this as he was. None of them were.

Just one more reason to hate Clu for what he’d done. He would pay for all of this, not just for Mara’s crew. Tron would make sure of it.

As if reading his mind somehow, Mara drew breath to speak. “I didn’t ask before. Where—” She grimaced, fingers lingering on the patch on her thigh even as she looked at him, “Where is Tron?”

“He left to cover our escape.” Tron replied tightly. It was a sign of Beck’s age, that reckless move. But in the end, it had worked. If he hadn’t led those troops away, both he and Tron would have been captured or worse. “He’ll find us when he can.” If he could—no. No, he wouldn’t think like that. Beck was resourceful and quick on his feet. For all his recklessness, he’d manage something. He had to. “Right now, we need to get somewhere safe.”

“Which is where, exactly?” Mara found the nerve to ask, one thin brow higher than the other. He looked down at her, ready to retort, before Zed stopped up ahead.

“Hey,” he called back, “This is the last exit point in the city! Should we keep going?”

For a moment, Tron turned the thought over. If they left Argon, they could reach the Spire. But that was a very long journey to make on foot. It would probably take a millicycle with everyone here, and if he tried it then the risk of a total crash was high. And if that happened…he didn’t want to think about it. He turned back to look at the storm grate, and the ladder they had passed only a hundred feet before it. If his memory bank served him right, it let out into a residential district. A quiet residential district. They could hole up there, he could find Beck, and they could all evacuate to the Spire. He shook his head.

“No,” he finally said, pulling free of Mara’s grip. “We’ll stop here. Get everyone topside.”

No one seemed pleased with the idea, but they marched back to the ladder anyway. Forcing himself to keep moving, Tron scrambled up the rungs and gently maneuvered the cover plate out of position. When there was no sound of confusion, no order to check it out from a guard or patrol nearby, he stuck his head up into the street and smiled just a little. Flynn himself couldn’t have programmed a better outcome: the tunnel access point was in the back alley behind the apartments, hidden from view of the road by the apartment building itself. No soldiers milled in the alley, and he quickly pulled himself up. When a few seconds had passed with nothing happening, he quickly turned back down and gestured for the mechanics to come up. One at a time, they climbed as quickly as they could manage, young faces full of fear and apprehension. It had been a long milli for all of them, and it showed. They milled in the alleyway, hiding behind walls and whatever else shielded them from sight as their fellows climbed. Only once Mara, the last one to surface, stood again, did Tron move.

The emergency access door to the nearest apartment block opened as he palmed it, swinging open into the darkness of a common room. The blinds on each window were drawn, the front door barricaded with a sturdy looking sofa. Whoever had lived here seemed to have left in a hurry, decor tossed about and personal items left blindly behind.

It wasn’t an excuse to get sloppy. He poked his head in, ever vigilant for any sound, any sign of a soldier hanging around. But there was nothing, not even the scuff of a civilian boot in the upper levels. The building was empty. It would do. He nodded once, and with a heavy sigh of relief, the mechanics filed into the building to collapse onto the ground and staircase in heaps. Only Mara lingered in the alleyway with him, hesitant. No, not hesitant. Angry. She frowned at him, then looked up as a line of red-lined jets flew past.

“Just one question,” She began as her brow furrowed, “How’s Tron going to know where to find us?” Tron frowned. It was a valid question; other than the knowing that they had to leave the city and return to the Spire, there hadn’t been time to plan a rendezvous, and with the garage gone there was no way Beck could follow their tracks. Not that he knew how to begin with; tracing was a Security trick. He shook his head, turning away.

“Stay here. I’m going to go find him.”

Not letting her stop him, he moved to quickly take the fire escape onto the roof. The plume of smoke from the garage was more visible up here, a beacon of Clu’s power, and the fleet of lightjets crossing the city even more so. Clu wasn’t being subtle this time. Not like before the Purge. That was fine. Two could play at that game.

Taking another steadying breath, Tron palmed his disk to access the suit-mod function. The whites were Beck’s now, and he was more than proud to hand them over after all the young program had done to earn them. But he still needed something to use that would drive fear or hope into most programs, and he knew just the thing. One of Flynn’s old designs; not the stark whites he’d once worn as the Grid’s champion, but definitively not Argon’s style of bright lines and tiny designating accents. As heavier armor settled across his chest, flecks of white with the faintest hint of blue glowed at every joint and down across three of his fingers on each hand. Flynn had been so proud of it when Tron had first rezzed on this system; it was designed for subtlety, protection, and maximum effect if he chose to use his helmet, the sharp lines of which would point down at the emblem that burned in the hollow of his throat.

No, it wasn’t going to be subtle. It would stick out like a lightjet over dark waters. It wouldn’t match the Renegade’s suit, or even the stealth suit he’d been in when Beck had found him all those cycles ago. But it would send a message to Clu: Tron was done hiding. If there was a war to be waged, he would be on the front lines where he belonged.

And Beck would be beside him. He was going to make sure of that.

—— For a few nanos, no one moved. The unconscious program barely even twitched, dim circuits flickering feebly. Behind her General, Commander Paige looked ready to crash herself. Beside Clu, Dyson frowned. While his message had said he didn’t think this was really Tron, some unknown program hadn’t exactly been on their radar before. With a pensive frown, Clu flicked through the modules on the disk in his hand until he reached power distribution. A few short commands later, and the program’s circuits flared to life once more. He gasped, startled as the reboot hit his core, before he coughed hard. Clu was almost sympathetic: hard resets were never fun, but then, this program had earned that discomfort.

Besides, he seemed to shake it off relatively well. Probably wasn’t his first ride around the track. As Clu watched, he blinked once, twice, hair drooping into his eyes. No one said anything, watching the blue flicker in his eyes as his memory banks caught up, that young face turning into a frown as he realized just what, exactly, had happened to him.

But instead of shrinking back in fear or crashing a second time, he simply raised his head and glared at all of them. If Clu had to give his young captive credit for anything, it was his bravery. Despite staring down two Generals, two Commanders—including the one who’d almost caught him—and Clu himself, the beta was glaring at all of them as if they were simply Gridbugs. Clu just stared back, face calm and body language passive. He hadn’t really been expecting Tron, of course. Tron would have sooner derezzed himself than be captured again. This wasn’t Tron; this was a young program from Argon who had taken on more than he could process and paid the price.

He did, however, remind Clu of Tron. And add that to the Grid’s faint keen beneath his feet…he had to wonder.

“Function and Designation?” He asked. The beta just glared at him, eyes hard. But there was a different set to his shoulders now, a hunch of defensive posture as though he knew he was a sitting target where he was. Clu just sighed; he’d asked. He’d been nice. Handing the disk back to Dyson, he watched the beta’s face as Dyson pulled up the relevant files. The program glared at Dyson then, as if wanting nothing more than to take back his disk and protect his identity, but there was nothing he could do. Not anymore.

“Function is Mechanic, assigned to Able’s Garage.” Dyson paused, frowning faintly at something. Clu was sure he’d be filled in later and held his silence as Dyson went on to say, “Full Designation…Beck-0278-1989, sir.” Dyson said voice calm. Behind them, Commander Paige flinched.

“Beck.” “At your beck and call, man!” Flynn laughs. Clu frowns. Flynn waves a hand, “User humor. Don’t worry—it’ll be just like having another Tron around.” “I see.”

Dyson looked at him, his frown deepening. Behind him, Commander Paige made a soft sound. Beck’s eyes tracked to her, softening minutely, and Clu had to keep himself from smiling. So, they had a history. He could use that. For now, however, he needed to speak to Beck privately. He turned to Tesler, ignoring Commander Pavel preening again. Really, how that program had managed to do anything at all to a program with half of Tron’s disk on him…either Beck wasn’t fully trained or Pavel was better than he looked.

He’d put a cycle’s worth of energy rations on it being the former. Pavel, still preening, leaned in towards Clu and Dyson.

“Sir, if I may?” Pavel asked quietly. Clu looked at him, then inclined his head. “Commander Paige often rubbed elbows with this program. You may wish to…scan her disk. Insubordination is such a wily foe.”

“Pavel!” Paige cried, circuits flaring in anger. Pavel didn’t seem bothered, simply leaning back with a smile even as Paige turned to Clu and bowed her head. “He’s right—I counted Beck as a friend. But even so, I would never side against you.”

“I don’t know about that, Paige,” Pavel said before Clu could speak, “You were all too willing to fight against your own forces before. Would a truly innocent program do such a thing?”

Clu arched an eyebrow. Tesler barely looked in their direction, stance tense and clearly uncomfortable, while Beck leveled a steely glare on Pavel. Paige simply drew a breath, holding herself up steadily. She, at least, seemed to have a cool head.

“He’s right,” She admitted with a slightly pained grimace, “I fought in the Colosseum once, as I was being framed for something I didn’t do. And, as he’s likely to tell you—” She leveled her own glare at Pavel, who leaned back and shut his jaw with an audible click, “I was rescued by the Renegade. But I didn’t know who he was at the time, and even if I had…” She shook her head just once, looking at Beck from the corner of her eye. “He altered my memory, damaged the code. I would never work with a program like that.”

“Paige…” Beck breathed, staring at her with wide eyes. Clu hid his smile with practiced ease; whatever ally the young mechanic thought he’d be able to find here, she clearly wasn’t on his side. She didn’t even look at him again, eyes only on Clu. Now he did smile, inclining his head.

“Of course, Commander. Your loyalty isn’t in question. Don’t worry.” He patted her shoulder, felt the relief coursing through her even without establishing a connection, and turned back to Beck. “I know how…dangerous programs like this one can be. The damage they can cause as they try to get their way…” He shook his head, eyes closed. “It’s best if you three don’t linger.”

“Sir—” Tesler broke in, startled. Clu looked at him.

“We can take it from here, General.” He said firmly. Tesler looked from him to Beck and back again, jaw working. He clearly wanted to say something, maybe disobey the order, but he knew his place and nodded.

“…Of course, sir,” Tesler replied. “Pavel, Paige, with me.”

Then he turned his back and strode from the room. Pavel walked out with his head held high, the very image of smug, but Paige’s steps were just a little jerkier. For half a nano she hesitated in the doorway, hand on the frame. Beck stared at her back, as if willing her to turn around, but she didn’t. With one more steadying breath, she strode out into the hallway without a word. The door clicked shut behind her, the lock auto engaging, and Clu turned to Dyson.

“Give us a few micros, would you?”

Dyson’s lingering frown deepened even further. His eyes flicked from Beck to Clu, and for a moment Clu wondered if he’d have to repeat the order. But then Dyson inclined his head, passing him Beck’s disk without a word, quiet footsteps taking him from the room. Only when they were alone did Clu smile again, tapping the ground with one foot to rez a seat behind him. Sitting down with a quiet huff of breath, he leaned his elbows on his knees as he contemplated Beck’s disk. Clu immediately brought up the memory storage, and while Beck tried to lunge at him, the cords kept him tied to the containment unit and Clu could quickly skim in peace.

Really, he did have to give Beck some measure of credit. He’d been content as a Mechanic, firm in his belief that that was all he was for so very long, only to find his existence turned upside down and shaken sideways. But, like he was meant to, he’d adapted. He’d thrived under Tron’s tutelage, more held back by his apparent main directive than helped by it. Was that Flynn’s doing or his lack of proper direction? It was hard to say, and Clu peered at the young beta through the display of his memories. Beck just glared up at him, brown eyes steely and cold. Clu had seen that look many times before, and something in his core shifted just a little. How long had it been since Tron had given him that look? Too long. Another Tron indeed. Definitely Flynn’s touch. His survival against his counterpart certainly said as much. It was actually impressive.

Not nearly as impressive as the sheer number of programs he rallied to his cause. Keller, Cutler, an entire contingent of mechanics—ah. So that was why Dyson had looked so strangely at him. That Garage was the one that had risen up while they’d flown overhead, the one that was now just code dust. Beck was—had been--their co-worker. Well then. That was just perfect; he’d need to send squads to be sure, but it seemed as if the infection had been curtailed by Pavel’s terrified command to launch a Recognizer and destroy the place. Turning off the display as it came to that milli’s events, Clu smiled warmly.

“Hello, Beck. It’s very nice to finally meet you.”

Beck snorted. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.” He said coldly, voice filled with something like hate. Not quite hot enough to be hatred, but…Clu raised an eyebrow. Definitely Tron’s touch there.

“No?” he asked casually, “Shame. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a very long time.” Hundreds of cycles. Past the hatred, Beck leveled a confused look at him. Clu tapped his thigh with Beck’s disk. “Regardless, it seems you know a mutual friend of ours. Tell me, how is Tron doing lately? Any mood swings?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything,” Beck stated firmly, eyes flicking from his disk to Clu’s face. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Your eyes and your words don’t line up, Beck. You can speak honestly with me.”

Beck’s gaze snapped back to him, the glare lingering. “You don’t want my honesty,” he spat. Clu raised an eyebrow.

“No?” he asked. When Beck held his tongue, he shrugged one shoulder and sat back, arms crossing over his chest. “Really, it’s alright. I have to admit, I’m curious as to what sort of lies Tron has been telling you since you two met.”

“They’re not lies!” Beck yelled suddenly, voice echoing around the room. So, Tron was a touchy subject? Clu had to suppress his smile.

“Half truths, then,” Clu acquiesced. “You certainly don’t know our side of the story.”

Dragging a breath through his nose to calm himself, Beck shook his head. “I don’t need to. What you’ve done says enough.”

“Beck,” Clu sighed, shaking his head and standing back up, “What I’ve done, I’ve done for the good of the Grid. What you and Tron have done…” Vandalism, spreading sedition, acts against the state, violence against state programs…the list went on and on. “All that’s done is weaken the Grid. Cost us good, hardworking programs!”

“And erasing innocent programs doesn’t?” Beck growled, “Erasing my friends doesn’t cost you good mechanics?” Before Clu could speak, he kept going. “Do you have any idea how many programs have been derezzed since the Occupation rolled in here?” He strained against the cords as if he wasn’t afraid of what Clu could do to him. Clu frowned; he should have been afraid, should have been terrified. For him not to be…he crouched down, taking Beck’s chin in one hand. Still unafraid, Beck just glared at him.

“They all made their choice. Actions have consequences.”

“So does inaction,” Beck spat, voice muffled for Clu’s grip on his cheeks and chin. Clu’s frown deepened. So, he really wasn’t afraid. He should have been. He let go of Beck’s face and sat back again, tapping the black-on-white disk against his hip. Beck drew another breath, brown eyes cold. "And if you think we’re just going to sit around while you destroy everything, you’re glitchier than an old bit.”

A raw insult. Clu raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth once more, but then stopped as the door swung open behind them. His honor guard, lines almost orange in the red light, poked his head in with a quiet “Sir?” Clu shook his head.

“Seems everyone wants my attention this milli. Excuse me a moment, will you?” He said, standing up and turning his back on the young program. He stopped only within earshot of his guard, Dyson waiting just across the hall with an oddly curious expression on his face. At Clu’s wordless gesture, his loyal program shook his head, face hidden by a half mask.

“We found the sentry you sent us to find, sir,” He stated quietly, body half in the room and half in the hallway, “He took out six programs before we lost him in the residential district.”

“Do you have programs in the field?”

“Yes, sir. They’re still tracking him.” The sentry shifted his weight, “But he’s evading capture. It could take some time, sir.”

“I see.” Clu frowned. Having one rogue asset in the field was bad enough. But to have two, and considering who they both were… “And the other?”

“Lost track of him, sir.” His honor guard grimaced. “There was a section of tunnel below the garage that survived. We’re combing it now, but it’s going to take time to find anyone down there.” Clu frowned. The tunnels beneath Argon weren’t mapped, to his knowledge. Oh, someone probably had mapped them and had the relevant data. Maybe Tesler. But not his programs. If Tron had survived—and he very much doubted that a blast of that size could take his old friend out—he was gone for now, hiding with whatever programs had also survived. It was a valid tactic, but…the honor guard shook his head, drawing Clu from the thought. “Sir, what priority should we assign to him?”

“…Low,” Clu responded, shifting his weight on his heels as his core gave a twist.. From the corner of his eye, he could see Beck straining against the energy cuffs that held his wrists tight to the containment pillar. Beck seemed extremely protective of Tron. Was it the other way around? If he knew his old friend the way he did, it likely was. Which meant they could use that. “Keep tracking the sentry. I want him brought in as quickly as possible. Leave the other to me.”

“Sir!” The guard replied, saluting before turning his back and striding down the hall. Clu took a steadying breath, and after gesturing Dyson back into the room, turned back to Beck. With a wordless gesture and the practice that came with being Clu’s right hand program, Dyson took Beck’s disk and continued as Clu remained in the doorway

“Dyson,” Dyson turned his head, one brow raised in wordless question, “It seems our old friend’s gone to ground. I’ll be going to get him shortly.” Clu watched as, despite the cuffs and his defensive posture leaning away from Dyson, Beck stiffened. Slowly, his eyes tracked upwards to stare at Clu. The anger that had been there just a micro before was still there, but hidden in the core was fear. Concern. He did care. Clu continued, “Do make sure that Beck looks his best for the reunion, will you? We wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Dyson just smirked. “Any limits, sir?” He asked, shifting his weight. Clu contemplated, the seconds putting even more fear into Beck’s eyes. His lines were already starting to flicker, a sure sign of energy exhaustion. He wouldn’t be able to take much more, and so…

“Keep him functional, but he doesn’t have to be mobile under his own power.”

Beck’s circuits flickered feebly. Dyson’s smirk grew cruel.

“Yes sir.”

Without another word, Clu strode from the room. The unmoving guards stationed on either side of the door didn’t so much as twitch as it slid shut behind him, nor did they even shift their weight as the thrumming sound of current began to sound from within the room. He doubted that even Beck’s cries of pain would get them to move. Repurposing was good like that.

Tron, on the other hand…Clu couldn’t help it. He smirked.

This would be a reunion to look forward to.

——

As it turned out, functional but immobile meant painful. The energy cord that held his hands had been drawn tight and pulled back around to lash his hands at the small of his back, until the only option Beck had was to stand and watch as Dyson pulled down a small shelf, tools strapped to the glowing orange code. It wasn’t hard to see that they weren’t bypassers and wrenches, but small saws and sharp instruments like them, blades and cables attached to energy transfer units. Dyson took his time, running his hand over each of them with a pensive expression on his face.

“I have to admit,” He said after a few moments of perusing, “I’m a little impressed you lasted this long. You’ve certainly caused an awful lot of trouble these past few cycles.”

“And I’d do it again.” Beck replied, cursing himself for sounding so weak. The milli's events were getting to him, unneeded systems shutting down in tandem to keep the rest active. His visuals still functioned, at least, and he could clearly see it as Dyson shook his head.

“Really, Beck—” he stopped, turning to give Beck an almost warm smile, “You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?" Beck just glared in response. Dyson didn’t drop his smile. “No? Good.” He turned back, stopping his hand over a set of sparking cables. “Really. Even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything. Did you really believe that two programs—one of which was so badly wounded he could barely see the last time I saw him—could “save” the Grid?” Dyson asked, almost casual as he shifted his hand to a small blade, turning it in the light. Back straight against the pillar, Beck kept glaring.

“I don’t see why not. One program already did. Two had better odds.”

Dyson inclined his head. “True,” He agreed, tone still casual, “But that was another time. Another system, even. Things have changed.”

“Not enough.” Beck almost snarled. “You’re still going to go down, same as Clu.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Dyson’s reply was followed by the revving of a small motor, a painfully bright blue-green glow lighting up his face as he turned around, tiny saw in his hand. He strode forward, reaching to take Beck’s head in one tight grasping hand and bring the saw up with the other. The saw drew close, close enough that he could feel the heat, feel it burn at the render beneath his eye. Beck squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, tried to brace himself for the pain he knew was going to come—oh, Grid this was going to hurt—only to jolt as the sound stopped, Dyson’s grip falling away. He opened his eyes, startled. Dyson had not only turned the small saw off, he’d stepped back and returned to the small shelf. “Especially considering just how injured Tron was.”

Despite the circumstances, Beck smirked just a little. He shifted his weight, dragging one ankle up against the pillar. They hadn’t restrained his feet yet. If Dyson got close enough a second time, then…he had to keep him talking.

“What, those old scars?” He rasped, then cleared his throat. The taste of old energy was sour, acrid. His systems weren’t just shutting down, they were failing. “They were hardly skin deep. Tron was just fine.” Still was. They’d made sure of that. He’d even fought. If anything was still wrong with Tron, they’d have noticed on the way out. By the Grid, Tron had been the one to catch him! He was fine. Of course he was. Beck repeated that thought like a mantra as Dyson smirked, picking up the set of cables he’d passed over before.

“Oh, you poor, naive, beta.” He said slowly. “I gave him those marks myself. Trust me.” He picked up the cables, striking the metal transfer ports against one another. They sparked wildly, the connection to the energy cable in the wall giving them full power. Beck flinched. “They were anything but shallow. Considering the wreckage in that plaza, I’m sure they’re healed now, but before…” He shook his head, finally turning around. “How did it feel, being used by someone all the stories said were heroic? By someone who should have been protecting you?”

The cables snapped again. Beck flinched a second time, port scratching against the pillar. Dyson raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. Beck forced himself to draw in a steadying breath, then said,

“Even heroes need help.”

Dyson blinked at him. Once, twice, three times. He pulled the transfer ports of the cable apart and put it back on the shelf, laughing as he did so.

“A hero?” He asked incredulously, walking towards Beck with empty hands clasped at the base of his spine. “No, little mechanic. Tron’s no hero. All he is is a glitch, a drain on the system. One that was, unfortunately, too durable to erase the last time.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “We won’t fail a second time. Not with you here.”

Despite the restraints, Beck jerked backwards. Quick as a flash, Dyson followed. He reached up with one hand, slamming Beck’s face into the pillar. He shook his head.

“You really shouldn’t be so stubborn about this,” He tutted, “Tron wouldn’t be.”

“Then you—” Beck snarled, voice muffled, “Don’t know Tron.” Dyson let him go, stepping back with a sneer. Beck shook his head to clear it, cheek aching with the buzz of energy transfer and an abrasion. No wonder his port ached—the pillar had a current! He shook his head a second time, blurry visuals clearing. The look on Dyson’s face—as if he was a Gridbug or something just as useless—was evident.

“And neither do you, it seems.” He raised one hand, inspecting his palm as if he expected it to be covered in viral code. “Did you really think you’d saved him?” He looked up, face placidly empty. “Or that you even could? Soon, all you’ll be is cubes. And Tron will finally take his rightful place at Clu’s side.”

Dyson looked like he’d swallowed bad energy as he said that, but Beck’s core lurched anyway. Somehow, the thought of Tron at Clu’s side was worse than the thought that his friend had derezzed with everyone else in the garage. Maybe because it would mean that Tron’s worst fear had come true: he would have become Clu’s greatest weapon against the uprising. Beck swallowed hard.

“He won’t,” he breathed, lifting his head. Staring at Dyson was like staring into a bottomless canyon. His eyes were dark and empty, and it was terrifying. “We stopped that!”

“Did you?” Dyson asked, leaning in again. He still stood too far away. “Or were you a nano too slow?” When Beck didn’t reply, he smirked. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I made it!” Beck yelled as forcefully as he could, voice catching in his throat. Had he? Tron had seemed fine, but then, so had Cutler. And that had ended fairly poorly, too. Dyson just sighed, the smirk on his face falling into something more sympathetic.

“Or,” he said as Beck caught his breath, “the repurposing could have already taken hold. He could already be on his way to Clu.” Dyson gave Beck a pitying look. It made his core twist even harder. “Poor little mechanic. No one’s coming for you. Not even Tron. You’re not getting out of here alive.”

With a lurch, Beck shifted his weight. Were it not for the restraints keeping him upright, he’d have fallen to his knees, failing balance module as unsteady as his core. What if Dyson was right? What if Tron had somehow been repurposed? He’d thought he’d made it, but every nano counted with things like this. If he’d been even one nano too late, then…no. He shook his head to drive the thought away. He had to believe that Tron was alright. Maybe he was alone, but that was alright. He’d gotten out of worse, and would get out of this somehow. Refusing to back down, Beck glared at his captor.

"That doesn’t matter.” He coughed, knowing how much it did matter. Grid, he couldn’t lose Tron, too! “Even if you derezz me,” Beck snarled, “We won’t stop fighting. The Grid won’t stop fighting.” He narrowed his eyes. “They’ll never stop fighting, so long as Tron’s alive.”

Dyson just smiled coldly.

“Well, we certainly know what that cost your friends, don’t we?” He laughed a little, a soft sound that still caught in Beck’s core. “Energy blasts are so very…efficient, wouldn’t you say? Of course, that also begs the question of if Tron survived.” He frowned, pensive and pacing closer. Did he realize he was walking right into Beck’s range? It had to be a trap. Didn’t it? “He’s a stubborn program, but even he has his limits. I really don’t—”

Before Dyson could finish, and before he could stop himself or even think that this was a bad idea, Beck moved, throwing himself back onto the pillar. His port screamed at him, absolutely hating being leaned on, but it was enough. He got one foot up, and with every bit of strength he had left, he kicked out and struck home right in the middle of Dyson’s chest. Stunned by the audacity of the move or maybe just taken off guard, Dyson stumbled backwards with a gasp. Winded, but not hurt. Beck still smirked. They could derezz him, they could repurpose him, but he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Not like this.

Dyson’s placid face finally broke into rage. With one stride he stepped forward, with another he closed the gap and threw all of his weight into one punch right into Beck’s middle. The impact resonated up his entire frame and drove the air from his processor, leaving it stuttering as Dyson let him slump, the restraints now really the only thing keeping him upright. Over his heaves and gasps for air, his struggles to reset his processor before he could fall into shutdown, he heard Dyson snort and turn away, footsteps harsh in the quiet of the dark room. Without a single look back, Dyson strode to the shelf of tools once more. As he picked up the little saw and turned it on, he turned back to sneer at Beck.

“No one is coming to rescue you, program,” Dyson said, the blue glow of the tool casting his face into odd shadows, “I suggest you get…comfortable.”

He stepped towards Beck, painfully buzzing saw in hand. Still heaving for air, Beck looked up at the face of a program that, he realized with a cold shiver down his spine, didn’t just want him derezzed.

Dyson wanted him to suffer, and he was the one in power here.

This was going to hurt.

——

The ship was lurching with every step Paige took, the once familiar corridors warped and unstable. Overhead, the storm that had been threatening all milli finally cracked open with explosion loud thunderclaps and a roar of rain. The charge of energy in the air brightened all the circuits, but it did nothing to steady her steps. The ship was spinning, unsteady and uneven in flight.

No. No, that wasn’t right. They were still on the ground, not due for a refueling for another three cycles. No, it wasn’t the ship. It was her. She was amazed she wasn’t banging into the walls as they walked, but even so she had to force herself to keep her head held high as they walked back into Tesler’s command chamber, passing Clu’s golden-orange soldiers as they walked everywhere from fuel storage to the hangers. When they reached the upper levels again, the corridors were blessedly empty, only the thunder and rain to accompany them as they stepped into Tesler’s chambers. As the door closed behind them, Pavel turned and gave her a soft smile. On anyone else, it would have been kind. Understanding. Sympathetic, even. On him? It just looked like a sneer.

“Shame about your friend back there,” Pavel said casually, as if speaking about the weather. Paige looked at him from the corner of her eye, unwilling to look any further as he continued, “But really. I suppose you can’t expect much more from backwater towns like this. All this space to form dissent…” he shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Remarkable, really. Hardly enough supervision. I’m amazed he lasted this long!” He shook his head again. Gritting her teeth, Paige finally looked at him.

“He lasted long enough to force you into shutdown. That’s the best thing he ever did.” She snapped. Pavel drew back, smile dropping. He blinked at her once, twice, three times, and opened his mouth to retaliate—

"Pavel, don't think I don’t know it was your order that wiped that garage off the map,” Tesler broke in, looking at the two of them from over his shoulder. Pavel’s eyes went wide.

“Sir, I—”

“Went directly above my head. Argon is my city,” Tesler turned around. “You have Purgos to take care of, remember?”

Pavel said nothing for a long, telling moment…then simply sighed.

"Of course, sir." He bowed his head in acceptance, but his smirk returned even as he walked backwards from the room. Without a word, they watched him go. Only when the door had closed and locked behind him did Tesler turn around, grumbling and stalking his way to his small cabinet of energy canisters and glasses. Core lurching, Paige turned to watch his back as he poured himself a long drink.

"Permission to speak candidly, sir?"

"What."

"Pavel's going to be a problem." She stopped, remembering the past few millis, then took a breath. "He already is. He's tried to set us both up multiple times."

"Why do you think I assigned him to Purgos, Paige? If we get lucky, that trash heap will take him out for us."

"...and if we don't, sir?"

"Well," Tesler sat heavily upon his chair, drink in hand, "We'll just have to think of a way to get rid of him ourselves. I’m sure it won’t be a problem," He paused to take a sip, the dim glow of the drink casting his face into odd shadows. One sip and his patched knuckles healed. Two and his nose regained its old shape. Paige’s thoughts turned traitorously back to Beck on the lower levels, and all his not even patched injuries. “What with the state of…affairs.” Tesler finished with a sharp growl, jolting Paige back from her thoughts. She turned to look out the window, the massive plume of smoke still rising from the Plaza and smaller ones reaching for the clouds across the city. Argon was a mess. She shook her head slowly.

"Sir, what'll happen to Argon?"

"It'll be quarantined. Scrubbed clean of all traces of the rebellion."

"...programs will be derezzed." Paige said quietly, core lurching to a halt. She cursed the words the moment they left her vocals; of course programs would be derezzed. Innocent programs always paid the price in situations like this. So why did it feel so much worse this time?

"it's the cost of rebelling, Paige." he tightened his hand around his glass, cracks running up the surface of it. "Rebellion is just as dangerous as the ISOs."

Paige swallowed hard. The ISOs had destroyed everything she had worked for before, taken her only friends away without remorse. And yet, they had left her alive. Even if the soldiers had arrived in time to save her life, a core strike only took a handful of nanos. Something still wasn't adding up. Tesler read her silence, then waved his free hand through the air.

“If you’re worried about Pavel’s accusation, don’t be.” He smiled as she startled. “Paige,” he chuckled, sipping his energy once more, "I've seen your disk. And on top of that, you’ve been a loyal solder for cycles. I know you'd never work for someone like that."

Wouldn’t she? Beck’s words came back to her: they were both trying to save the Grid. Had he been right? Had he been telling the truth? She just couldn’t reconcile the idea that Beck, sweet and soft-cored and so very kind, had been the Renegade all along. She’d seen what he’d done, had picked up the pieces and damaged programs left in his wake. Clearly, she hadn’t read Beck as well as she’d thought. And yet, as she looked at Tesler, the thought came to her that maybe she hadn’t read her commanding officer as well as she’d thought either. He hadn’t come to her defense in the cell. He said he believed her now, but he’d been quick to condemn her to the games before. Could she trust him? Somehow, even with everything and all the lies, trusting Beck seemed the better option.

Probably because she knew she could kick him flat on his port in a fight. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

"Of course not, sir. I just…Pavel’s got me on edge, I suppose." She finished lamely. Tesler ‘hmm’ed quietly,

"I know. Pavel is certainly a problem." He made another contemplative sound, then shook his head. "We'll figure something out. Right now, I need you on the streets." He lifted his head, looking her dead in the eyes. "Get out there, round up any trace of rebellion. And squash it."

And despite her lurching core, despite the alarms ringing in her system, Paige simply nodded.

"Yes, sir."

—-

In one of Argon City’s many dark alleyways, a meeting was taking place. A handful of Sirens huddled together, silvery suits stark against the shadows. Their youngest shook her head in disbelief at what her sisters were saying.

“Did they really?” She asked softly. “Did they really capture Tron?”

“No,” One of her sisters replied, beaded braids clacking against her back, “The Renegade isn’t Tron.”

“He’s still a symbol,” Their leader said, “And you know what she’d say.”

“Leave no one to Clu,” All the Sirens replied in unison. Dark eyes warm, she nodded.

“Then you know what we must do.”

And they did. Without another word, the group of Sirens spread out into Argon’s dark alleyways. They would do what they could. She could only hope it would be enough.

#tron #tron: uprising #tron fic #!fic #fic: tron liberation

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