#liberal uprising | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saratogaroadwrites · 10 months

Text

Tron: Liberation (1/15)

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]

Standing on the rubble high above what had once been the empty Plaza outside of Able’s Garage, Tron took a moment to breathe. To take in the hope building in his processor, and for the first time in a long time, not temper it with caution. Against all odds, they had succeeded. The mobile repurposer lay in pieces across the Plaza, Beck was alive, and the Uprising had truly begun.

And Tron himself felt free for the first time in over a five hundred cycles. Free of pain, of exhaustion that had chased his every binary string, and free of the fear that Clu would have him. His core, the stuttering feeling he’d gotten so very used to, ran smoothly with each stabilizing breath. He felt himself again. Whole again.

And he had Beck to thank for it. Brave, foolhardy, stubborn, strong Beck. Barely out of Beta and with so much potential already. Pride curled in Tron’s core as he looked down the rubble, down into the Plaza. Though some talked amongst themselves, the programs below—all fifty-eight of them—stared up the rubble towards "Tron” and his Renegade cohort. Mara, fists on her hips, stared them down as if trying to will them down through the sheer force of her glare. Since they were too high up to be seen clearly, Tron smiled faintly.

“Remember how I told you she’d still be here when you were ready?” he asked quietly, sensing more than seeing Beck look at him. “Looks like she wants you to be ready.”

As curiosity turned to a severely unimpressed look, Beck rolled his eyes. “Very funny.” He deadpanned. Tron’s smile widened a touch; for all he’d accomplished, Beck was still very much a beta. Young, foolhardy, but braver than most would have thought possible. Except, it seemed, when faced with the reality that he was going to have to lie to all of his coworkers. Again. Rezzing his helmet with a few quiet clicks, Tron gestured down the crowd.

“Come on, Tron. We need to get them out of here before Pavel comes back with reinforcements.”

He stepped forward, hearing Beck’s soft groan and the click of his helmet as his protege made to follow, but had to reach out quickly as the young program stumbled, a peripheral circuit on his leg flickering and almost disappearing into the bright whites of his suit. A clear sign of low energy if he’d ever seen one.

“You alright?” He asked softly, modulated voice echoing in his helmet. Beck nodded.

“Yeah.” Steadying himself on Tron’s arm, he stood and shook out his leg. With another flicker, the circuit’s light stabilized. “Let’s go.”

Behind his visor, Tron narrowed his eyes as Beck began the perilous journey back down to the plaza. It had been a long millicycle for them both, but where he’d been replenished in the repurposing chamber, Beck hadn’t been. And then the crash…his energy levels had to be low. But there was no time to ask after that, and Beck hadn’t come this far to be coddled every time he ran low. He knew his limits. As soon as they could, he’d put down for a sleep cycle and that would be the end of it. Shoving the concern into his low priority queue, Tron followed his apprentice down, remaining a pace behind when they finally reached the ground. Mara, still looking as angry as Yori ever had, stalked towards them. To his credit, Beck held his ground as she opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped as a sudden rumbling began to shake the ground. Everyone looked around, searching for the cause as they battled the instinct to take shelter. Some programs fell, unable to keep their footing, while others cried out in alarm.

“What is that?!” Mara yelled, Beck having reached out to take her arms and keep her on her feet. He couldn’t answer, not knowing, but as Tron looked out to the Sea his core ground to a halt. The rumbling, continuing to get worse, could only be caused by one thing at that moment in time.

The massive fleet approaching Argon from the north.

It was impossible to tell just how many ships there really were, but even from where Tron stood he could count the rows of Recognizers, the Carriers and Rectifiers. The Grid Herself was trembling, that’s what the rumbling was. Programs shouted in alarm, clinging to one another as the first ships cleared the city line and flew overhead, casting the entire Plaza into shadow. Tron glared up at a yellow lined ship, the eyesore a stark difference against Argon’s calm blue landscape, and the anger began to spin his core back up, faster and faster until all that was left was rage. His spine went stiff, fists clenched at his sides.

“Clu,” He breathed, circuits flaring in his anger.

Beck shook his head slowly. “Clu’s army.” He looked away from the fleet and back down to the crowd of programs all backing away from the rubble and towards the Garage that had once been their home. Only now Pavel controlled it. They couldn’t go back and they couldn’t go forward. Tron barely had time to look back down before the roar of engines broke into the plaza, mechanics skittering back and into one another in their haste to get away. The bikes rolled in two lines, numbers adding up until there were enough programs to encircle them and keep them contained.

Keep them surrounded, even as each solder got off his bike with disk in hand. They ignored the fleet passing by overhead as if it was normal, standing as if they were statues. Tron’s eyes narrowed as Beck let go of Mara, drawing his disk as he stood back to back with Tron.

“Ever fight this many?” He asked quietly, barely heard over the rumble as Mara held her ground, fists out in front of her as if that would hold the soldiers back. He had to give her a bit for trying.

“Not at once,” Tron replied, disk glowing in his hand. The soldiers stood tall, a wall around them and any hope of escape. But none of them moved, and Tron frowned. What were they waiting for? They had to know that neither Beck nor Tron would go without a fight, even under odds like this. Behind him, Beck shifted his weight. The mechanics clung to one another, no one daring to twitch as the line of soldiers parted. With a sneer on his face, Pavel took two steps in. For a program that had run the other direction just micros before, he seemed to have recovered his nerve. Mara took a step towards him, but Tron reached out and grabbed her wrist, jerking her to a halt before Beck could react.

“Surrender, programs,” Pavel sneered at them all, hands clasped behind his back. Tron tightened his grip on Mara’s arm as she tensed. “Come quietly and maybe the esteemed General Tesler will—”

He couldn’t finish. With a scream loud enough to make Tron’s audio inputs ring, Mara wrenched against his hold. She wasn’t strong enough to pull herself free, but she didn’t need to. Quick as a flash she grabbed at her disk with her free hand, the edge flaring Portal-bright even as she threw it directly at Pavel’s head. It was a wide, sloppy throw and the Commander ducked, the white streak of light curving above his head. It arced back into Mara’s hand and she glared at him.

“We’ll never surrender to you!” She spat, disk revving hot. Pavel blinked but then looked across the group as, one by one, the other programs drew their disks and flared them to life. Fifty-nine against all the guards would never be a fair fight, but their message was clear.

They would not be going quietly. Pavel’s surprised look fell into a cold stare. He turned to the nearest sentry.

“Destroy them all.”

And then he stepped back, leaving the sentries and soldiers to close ranks around the motley crew. They all held their ground despite shaking hands and knocking knees, standing shoulder to shoulder with their fellows. Tron let go of Mara’s wrist and she stepped aside, closer to her friends, with her disk in hand. She raised it into a defensive stance, the soldiers booted footsteps echoing as they marched closer, one measured step at a time. Tron stepped forward instead, and saw Beck do the same from the corner of his eye. He’d been on site for several fights that had seemed hopeless but had proven winnable in the end. This wasn’t one of them.

This wasn’t going to be a fight. No. It was going to be a massacre. He looked back just enough to catch Beck’s eye through their darkened visors. For half a nano Beck held his stance, didn’t so much as move…but then he nodded, just once.

And then he was gone, rushing forward in a blur of fists and feet, dual-colored disk clashing with a soldier’s in a shower of sparks. Turning away, Tron sprang forward with a growl. Someone shouted in alarm behind him but he paid them no mind as he threw himself between Mara and a soldier, catching the soldier’s disk on his own in a clash of sparks. The program startled, clearly one of the Argon contingent that had grown complacent and sloppy over the cycles of fighting Beck and his more ranged tactics, his refusal to derezz programs. It was clear that they were not prepared for Tron and his more direct approach.

With a wordless cry, Tron shifted his stance and kicked out with one foot, knocking the guard back into his fellows. Tron smirked as several more stared at him, but in the seconds that they didn’t know how to react he had already turned to Mara.

“Get your programs out of here! We’ll cover you!”

And then he turned back, ignoring their shouts of alarm as he raced forward. These programs, willful as they were, couldn’t fight the way he could. He and Beck would have to do it for them. Ahead of him, one guard called out an order—”Halt, Program!”— that died in his throat as Tron’s disk cleaved through the space between them to cut through his torso, breaking the circle that had surrounded them. As the voxels of their fallen fellow tumbled to the ground, the closest four yelled at him to stop, to surrender, but he was in no hurry to do that. He altered his course, skidding on one foot, and ran right at them, leaping to catch his disk as it returned to his hand. Suddenly aware that he wasn’t going to stop, one guard grabbed the staff from his leg and tried to hold off Tron’s advance, but it was no use. He pushed off on the landing, leaping into the air again to land on the staff, and then jumped to cleave his disk straight into the guards head. His fellows stepped back, hesitant. Tron smirked.

Behind him, taking advantage of the distraction and the opening, Mara had made a run for the Garage with three programs right behind her. Their friend—Zed—called after them, but his hands were full with a guard of his own that had pressed in from the other side of the circle. He was already stumbling back, but before he could slip Beck moved between them, catching the guards disk with barely a stumble. Zed heaved a heavy sigh as he wobbled clear, returning to his fellows to usher them out the gap that lingered in the line of soldiers while they were distracted, and Beck made quick work of knocking his target to the ground. The soldier impacted port-first and went still, lines flickering and limbs twitching from the sudden shut down, but Beck was already moving. Tron watched from the corner of his eye as he dove under a guards swing, knocking knees out and slamming another into the ground on his way.

Face hidden, Tron let himself smirk: Beck had the matter well in hand. Without another look back, Tron charged forward with a cry, leaping over the head of one guard he drove his disk into the guards neck, severing it from his body, before turning away. One particularly brave guard swung at Tron with a staff in an attempt to succeed where his comrade had failed, but Tron leaped, using the staff as a launch pad to throw his disk from the air. Four guards, including the one that had swung at him, collapsed into voxels with shouts of alarm and pain. Tron landed among the rubble in a crouch, mindlessly catching his disk as it came back to him. Already so many had fallen, but more still were coming. He could feel them approaching through the Grid, the thunder-rumble of more bikes and the hissing roar of lightjets overhead. Restored as he was, even he couldn’t fight forever. Not defending this many programs. They had to go. Teeth bared in an unseen snarl, Tron shoved himself to his feet and scooped up a red-lined disk from the mess on the ground, feeling the security code make the connection with his old routines like it had always been a part of him. The rim flared bright, blinding in the reflection of the guards helmets as he came at them like a storm. With two disks in his hands, the guards stood no chance. They tried, screaming and yelling to fall back, but he gave them no quarter. They had no chance to react, let alone run, from the two disks he threw to cleave through air and code alike. One fell, followed by another and then another, but for every two that fell there were another three to take their place.

Suddenly, Beck crashed into his back with a grunt. They both stumbled, but Tron quickly shifted his weight to keep them upright. Overhead, lightjets were dropping off their red-lined cargo, dozens upon dozens of soldiers. The only comfort was that the last program from the garage had returned to the building, the emergency shutters dropping with a screech and a clatter. Two soldiers derezzed under it, but Tron’s eyes were on the crowd around them. Stolen disk revving loudly in his hand, he watched the soldiers turn their attention as Beck shook his head.

“This isn’t working. There’s too many!” Beck gasped. Tron could feel him move, feel him look up and knew the number of soldiers he’d find. Beck’s whispered curse was answer enough. Tron narrowed his eyes.

“Where’s the nearest tunnel entrance?” He asked quietly, barely a whisper. Beck turned his head enough, and this close he could make out his frown.

“Under the garage. You don’t think—”

“It’s our best chance to get them back to the Outlands.” Even if he didn’t like it. He knew there was no way to fight these odds. The soldiers stalked closer, footsteps melding into a sound he’d last heard in his nightmares. Fighting to dislodge the memory, Tron shifted his stance. “Go. I’ll cover you.”

Beck was silent. But then he shook his head and stepped away, disk in one hand and a baton in the other.

“No.” He said firmly. Tron could barely look back before he continued, “It’s Tron they’re after. And it’s Tron they’ll get.”

Before Tron could process that, Beck was moving. He raced past Tron, dove right through the line of guards, and took off. He rolled beneath one guards attempt at a grab, pushing himself back to his feet and cracking the baton in the same instant. Code spread wide, knocking guards away as a lightjet rezzed. Beck looked back for one nano, an instant where Tron realized what he was doing.

“Wait—!”

“I’ll take care of this!”

With the whoosh of a pushed engine, Beck took to the sky. Dozens of guards followed right on his tail, rezzing their own jets and taking off in instants. About half of them joined the chase and the pursuit shifted, newly arriving lightjets taking off after Beck instead of dropping their pilots onto Tron’s head, but there were still too many lingering and coming after him! Already he could feel the exhaustion beginning to creep in, the fear that this would be a repeat of the coup so very long ago catching in his core even as he kicked a guard off his disks and flung him into his comrades. Their numbers must have been in the hundreds by now, and they just kept coming!

But then a noise came from the garage: the sound of a tank preparing to fire. Risking a look, he turned his head and stared as a blue-lined tank rumbled from the once again open garage and into the plaza, Mara perched half in the cockpit and half out. Despite her darkened visor she raised her head to glare at the guards, calling out as the tank rolled towards them.

“Get down!”

He had only seconds to react. He ducked, the blast rocketing overhead and impacting the numerous programs still in the plaza. With a burst of light and dozens of screams, they were reduced to nothing more than cubes. But even with that group falling, more came up from behind, angry and ready to derezz in a nano. Cursing, Tron dropped the stolen disk, docking his own as he ran for the tank, leaping up to the cockpit to grab Mara’s arm.

“Time to go!” He yelled, pulling her free. She cried out in alarm, the tank still rolling forward as he leapt back down to the ground. He rolled, forcing her back to her feet and to run as the tank, slow going and easy to dodge, barely slowed the guards down. He had to give her some credit: it didn’t take long for her to get the picture and she ran, boots clicking on the ground as she surged ahead to take the lead, grabbing a baton from a shelf and throwing it at him. Behind them, the tank gave way with a ground-rattling explosion that knocked programs from their feet in the same instant it made Tron’s core lurch. They were too close! Soldiers shouted for them to stop, to halt and submit, but then they went quiet. Tron turned, risking a look over his shoulder, only to find that the soldiers were now bolting in the opposite direction, back the way they’d come.

It made him stop. Mara skidded to a halt just out of reach and looked at him, startled. He didn’t look at her, but instead at the soldiers. Something was wrong, but what—the sound of a recognizer’s thrusters made him look up, just in time to see a single recognizer looming above the garage. Bright blue energy pooled between its thrusters, gathering like a storm cloud. Tron’s core froze for just a moment as he realized what was about to happen. Quickly docking his baton he lunged at Mara, knocking them both behind a repair station that still had a bike on it. She yelled in alarm, but there was no time to explain. Her cry echoed in the last instant before the Recognizer fired its horrible payload directly into the Garage. The skylights shattered, raining melting bits of glass and code around their shoulders. The lines supporting repaired jets and choppers snapped and gave way, code crashing to the ground to shatter into cubes. Mara yelled into his shoulder as he held her down, covering her as best he could. For a nano, the Grid seemed to hang. He knew what was about to happen, and was powerless to stop it. The great ball of blue energy hung above the floor for only a nano, the barest hint of an instant. Everything was clear.

And then it wasn’t. The moment passed and the shot struck home. The heat came first, then a blastwave that rattled the very airspace around it. Everything toppled, walls and personal items and docked transport units in need of repair. Soldiers that hadn’t gotten clear in time shouted in alarm or pain, falling to the ground or just plain knocked silly. With a massive plume of code dust and the screeching sound of shattering glass, Able’s garage began to collapse in on itself. Walls gave way into the now exposed tunnels; what floor that wasn’t immediately destroyed fell away and took programs with it. Lost in the destruction, Tron and Mara fell. Mara clung to his shoulders, desperate and afraid, and he didn’t try to dislodge her. Her scream and the shouts of the soldiers echoed around him, caught in his audio input as errors that he couldn’t fix. They were falling, falling, falling--

Something impacted his port. His system, overloaded, went into emergency shutdown mode.

Everything went mercifully dark.

——

If there was one thing Beck had to say about the guards of Argon City, it was that they were persistent. Three dozen lightjets had followed after him, half the force that had remained in the plaza after the massacre of their forces, and though they’d lost a dozen of their own to his fancy flying and lightwall, they stayed on his tail as best they could. Not that it was working very well for most of them; he knew the skies here, knew the towers and how to use them to his advantage. It wasn’t quite as protective as the canyon walls outside the city, and more than a couple of shots hit into buildings as he flew between them, but it would do.

Or at least, he thought as much. Quick as a flash, they dodged away only to be replaced by a squad of golden-lined jets. Not the yellow of the lead ship, but a warmer shade of yellow marked the jets that immediately opened fire, prompting him to dive and roll away. They were new! Chancing a look back over his shoulder, Beck frowned. It was hard to tell from this distance, and he had no desire to let them get closer, but it looked like all the pilots of those jets wore the same pattern. He’d only ever seen the Sirens share patterns before. So how had—it didn’t matter. Rolling again to avoid a hail of laser fire, Beck pushed on his thrusters as far as the controls would go, a burst of speed sending him out across the city. The golden jets stayed on him, dogging his every move and easily dodging his light wall. Where Argon’s guards would have turned away and gone around, these stayed on his tail, easily flying above or below to avoid crashing whilst keeping him in their sights.

So. They were smarter than Argon’s usual crop of guards. Alright, fine. He could play at that game.

Gritting his teeth, Beck banked hard, turning over a familiar section of the entertainment district. The towers were shorter here, not as easy to lose following jets in between sharp rises and harsh corners, but there was more room to maneuver and—something screamed nearby, a warning if he’d ever heard one. It caught in his audio processes, almost painful, and he jerked back on the controls in response, just in time to catch a blast of energy rocketing past. That hadn’t come from one of the jets, had it? In sheer vertical, he risked a look back. No, not from them, but from the command ship of the convoy! Its Mara-yellow accent lines flared from wingtip to stern as energy gathered at its tip, another screaming blast firing in his direction. With a panicked yell he jerked his control stick to the side, sending his jet into a sharp roll. He could feel the heat of the blast as it singed his wingtips, the four golden-lined guards quickly rolling their jets clear behind him. Though he was vaguely aware of the blast hitting one of the local towers, Beck was a bit too busy trying to level his jet to care. For a corestopping nano, it almost refused to stop spinning, but then it did and he heaved a sigh of relief, taking one quick moment to duck his head and look down.

In the end, that one movement likely saved his skin. It gave him the warning that he was about to be hit from below, and gave him the time he needed to jerk his controls back up, pulling the belly of his jet straight vertical as Pavel blew past him, the crazed program’s cackle echoing back at him. With a curse Beck threw his jet back into horizontal and poured on the speed, ducking through a gap between two buildings. He knew this city. If he could just get to the industrial sector, he could lose Pavel there. Considering how quickly the other program was chasing him, he’d need every second of lead he could get.

Of course, that was if he didn’t crash right into the fleet on his way there! How they’d moved so fast, Beck would never know, but as he came back out of the gap he had to send his jet into a dive to avoid the yellow-lined ship, his light wall cutting a slice into her belly as he flew so close he could have reached up and touched the ship. More light-jets peeled off to follow him, but Pavel was the one right on his tail, guns firing rapidly. Beck rolled, trying to make himself less of a target, but Pavel was smarter than most of the sentries and he knew how to aim.

Credit had to be given where credit was due: the Light Jets were fast, nimble, and maneuverable. They were not, however, durable. Only one of Pavel’s shots hit Beck’s engine, but that one shot was enough that the motor gave way and turned into sparkling cubes. Beck cursed hard, hard enough that Able would have grounded him, as his jet began to bank. Without the power from both wing engines he also slowed, and it was enough that Pavel crashed right into him. In a network of tinkling cubes, their jets became an odd three-winged vehicle. Pavel’s cackle was loud enough to drown out the keening sound in his audio even as he scrambled up from his controls and across, swinging his revving disk wide. Beck ducked with a hissed curse, curling to launch a kick into Pavel’s middle. The commander stumbled back, nearly fell over his cockpit, and Beck took advantage of the reprieve to leap from his controls and bring his disk up. Pavel charged again, and they clashed in the middle of their odd conglomeration of a jet. Sparks fell, lighting up Pavel’s sneering face.

“End of the line, Renegade!” He whispered cruelly. Beck’s eyes narrowed.

“Not for me, it’s not.” He shoved Pavel back as hard as he could manage, sending him stumbling again. The motion rocked the craft, and with a horrible cracking noise, the jets disconnected. With twin yells of alarm, both programs fell from the joined wing and towards the rooftop below. It was only a few seconds before Pavel impacted first, a frame-rattling thud knocking the sense from his processor. Beck barely had time to crouch and roll, every joint screaming in protest. He struggled to his hands and knees, blinking away damage warnings and quickly palming his disk. By the Grid, that had hurt. Everything ached now but there was no time to sit and nurse his wounds. Pavel was somehow getting back to his feet, yelling at the red-lined jets flying overhead.

“Stay out of this!” He shouted, disk a blazing beacon in one hand, “He’s mine!”

Clearly unwilling to risk becoming targets themselves, the red-lined jets peeled off back towards the city. In the same instant, Beck and Pavel stood up on the roof and stared each other down. The moment lasted only a nano, and then they were at each other once more. Orange met white, disks a blur of light and sparks as they clashed, dancing around the roof and barely keeping away from the edge. Flipping back from a strike, Beck barely had time to react. Pavel was just as fast as he remembered, and nearly as strong.

“I turn you in, and just think of the rewards I'll get!" Pavel shrieked, coming after him again and again. They almost danced, pivoting and spinning across the rooftop as if they had all the time in the world. Overhead, dozens of lightjets continued to race across the city, combing the streets for anyone who was still outside. None landed on the rooftop, even as Pavel leapt into the air and spun, both feet impacting Beck’s raised disk in a solid kick. The momentum sent him stumbling backwards, and Pavel lunged at him. There was no time to react: with a shout of alarm, Beck went down hard. He scrambled, getting his disk in both hands just in time to catch Pavel’s attempt at thrusting his own disk through Beck’s chest. The edges ground against one another, but even so Pavel ignored the sparks and leaned in close, almost touching Beck’s visor with his nose as he spoke.

“Your friends aren’t here, Renegade!” Pavel sneered at him, face close enough that he could count the jagged lines around the edges of a gash on Pavel’s cheek. “You’re all alone.”

“That’s good enough to take you down!” Beck retorted, kicking one knee up right into Pavel’s abdomen. The sudden attack made him jolt and stumble back, dislodging his disk and allowing Beck to knock an open-palmed strike into Pavel’s chin. Without his helmet, the Commander had left himself an easier target and stumbled back with a yelp of pain. Beck scrambled to his feet, quickly retaking his stance. Pavel shook himself, smearing a line of internal code off his chin, and raised his disk over his head for another attack. Beck stepped aside, circuits flickering for a moment. He had to end his, and fast. He stepped back in a wide circle, dodging more swipes than he crashed with. Pavel shouted in annoyance, coming after his target faster and faster, with wider and wider strikes, leaving himself open before he could strike again.

Beck didn’t waste his chance. Stepping back to the edge of the roof, he held his disk in a ready stance and waited. Pavel fell right for it, taking his disk in both hands and raising it over his head. He shouted in triumph and lunged forward, but in one smooth motion Beck sidestepped the overhead swing and thrust his elbow right into Pavel’s port. As with all programs, the pain of a port-strike would activate an emergency shut down and quickly disable all motion. It was a cheap move, one Beck hated using, but he didn’t have it in him to drag this fight out any longer.

And really, against a program like Pavel, he wouldn’t let it keep him out of sleep mode for too long. It worked, too, and with a screech Pavel went down like a sack of broken code scraps. Beck caught him by the arm at the last moment, hauling him back onto the roof before dropping him. Sure enough, the red-orange lines that marked him as Occupation had gone dim, his eyes closed and mouth hanging open. It wouldn’t last for long, just a few micros, but that would be enough for Beck to put some distance between him and the rooftop. Beck didn’t waste his chance, quickly docking his disk and running for the stairs that ran alongside the building. He took them two at a time, the metal vibrating beneath his boots and the splash of a puddle on the alley below as he hit the ground and kept running.

The alley, at least, was empty. Argon’s twisting network of alleys could get a program anywhere they needed to go, if they knew where they were going. Beck knew where he was going, being a native of the city and having had time to study Tron’s maps, but he was flagging. As the seconds ticked past, what energy he’d had left from the millis events began to disappear. He slowed, gasping for breath, and leaned against the wall of a building. He needed to find a bike, hit the tunnels, and meet Tron in the Spire. If they’d made it there, then—

The sound of a shot, loud and close, echoed through the alleys. Beck startled, whirled around, but no. There was no one behind him. He hadn’t been fired on. But then what…he turned back around, looked up, and felt his core grind to a halt. From this alley, he could see clear to the Plaza. To the Garage, and the Recognizer perched above it. Even from this distance he could see the energy shot, nearly half the size of the Recognizer, as it roared into the Garage. His core froze as the shot struck home, the explosion audible even halfway across the city as the blast wave rushed into the plaza, and with a massive plume of code dust, the Garage collapsed in on itself. It buckled and swayed, the roof going first, and then the walls. Everything gave way in barely a micro, all of Able’s hard work collapsing into nothing.

If there had been anyone still inside, they were gone now. Beck stared, barely able to process what he was seeing.

“No…” He felt more than heard himself whisper, taking a few shaky steps forward. If they were all gone, then— “No!”

He ran, pulling on every ounce of energy he had left to spare. The alleys blurred around him, the only thing he could see the plume of dust and smoke in the distance. Mara’s last words to him echoed, her barbed truth even more true now. He should have stayed, should have fought! He should have been there and—

A program stepped out from around a corner, red-lines bright in the dark blue of the alleys. Beck barely managed to stop before crashing into them, and his core screeched back into working order as the helmet derezzed to reveal a smiling male-designate face.

“Hello, Tron.”

Dyson.

Beck scrambled back, trying to hurry out of reach, but it was too late. Dyson sprang forward, pressing his hand to Beck’s chest, a black stain on the once clean white render. When he pulled away, a shock grenade ticked down the final beats before blast. Two nanos. Beck looked up. One nano. Dyson smirked.

The charge went off, blurring everything into white agony. Beck crumbled to the ground.

—

Standing at attention in the update room, Paige did her level best not to look at Tesler. Ever since the fleet had broken Argon airspace, her commanding officer had been touchy. Even more on edge than usual. Not that she could really blame him, what with Clu at the helm for this one, but it was putting her on edge and it was putting every single sentry, guard, and blackguard likewise on edge. The hundreds of highest ranking sentries were milling about the room behind her, watching their General and speaking soft, hushed tones.

No one knew what was going on, and while they were used to following orders without question, none of them liked being in the dark. Not about something this big, not after a fleet that massive had taken roost in the city and was still flying circuits over Argon’s main districts. A hundred thousand troops added to their number in less than a quarter milli, none of them really listening to General Tesler’s authority. And where was Pavel? Paige cast another look around the room, but just like the other two times she’d looked, he wasn’t there. There was only Tesler, standing with his back to her and his hands clenched into tight fists at the base of his spine. He was watching Argon, watching the light jets that had flown in with the fleet as they canvassed the entire city. What they were looking for, she just didn’t know.

Maybe she didn’t want to know. Whatever—whoever—they were hunting for likely had something to do with the mess at the Plaza. A program capable of something like that, loose in her city? While not entirely content to leave it to Clu, she wasn’t going to mind them being the ones to go after it first. At least like this she’d know what she was dealing with.

She just hoped Beck was alright. If her memory was right, he’d worked at the Garage that was bordered by that Plaza. The building that was now just plain gone, the few soldiers that had been able to return wounded as if caught in a blast. Paige had been able to speak to none of them, every last one whisked away by Clu’s soldiers that now outnumbered them five to one. Something was off about that, and it made her core lurch. Whatever had happened, whatever had caused the garage to become nothing more than a smoking heap of code and dust, it wasn’t good. The idea that Beck, soft cored and so very sweet, could have been caught up in something like that, made her processor want to stop. She’d have to try and find him later, see if he was alright. Make sure he wasn’t a part of all this. Filing the thought away in her task list, Paige drew a breath and held her position. None of them liked waiting for orders like this, Paige least of all.

But she didn’t have to wait much longer. Past all the soldiers, the door into the room swung open as Clu, clothed in a long black robe broken only by golden lines, stepped into the room.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” He said casually as he walked between the two rows of programs. A slight hum entered the room as he rolled two small spheres between his hand, helmet retracted into his armor as he stopped in front of Tesler. Her General had already turned around, and though he looked down at Clu it was obvious who the stronger program was. Clu cut an imposing image, shorter than General Tesler but much more feared. General Tesler’s jaw worked, and Paige swore she could hear every joint in his frame creak as he kneeled, putting himself onto his hands and knees before Clu. A murmur of alarm went up amongst the soldiers as he said,

“There is a terrorist loose in Argon. A renegade…and I bear the blame.” He went silent, but Clu shook his head.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Tesler. You’ve given your best; I know it.” Clu said as he began to circle the prone General, spheres still humming while Tesler tracked his movements. “What I’ve asked of you is no less than…perfection. And that’s no easy thing to achieve, my friend.” He smiled, letting the spheres rise from his hand. Paige grimaced faintly as the hum increased in volume, wedging its way into her audio input. It was an…odd sound. Almost hypnotizing were it not for the jarring pitch. They hovered in the air before Clu’s face, spinning as he gestured to them.

“Behold, the spheres. Their curvature, their shape. So endlessly…” He trailed off as if unsure, but Paige shook her head.

“Perfect,” She breathed. And it was the truth; there were no jagged edges, no hitches or catches. They were beautiful. Clu smiled at her. It made her core stutter, ice down her spine. She blinked—perfect? They were just spheres!--but he paid no heed as he said,

“Yes. Very good, Commander. They are perfect.” He turned back to the spheres, cupping them in his hand before he dropped it to let them float on their own. “But were they always this way? Did they emerge perfect, or was their perfection seized violently, from the torrents of disorder? From chaos itself?” He asked, snapping his fingers. The spheres dropped, and with a sound far too loud for their small size, shattered across the floor in front of Tesler. Paige flinched as several Blackguard gasped in alarm, but Clu’s face remained stoically friendly as he waved a hand at General Tesler.

“Pick those up, will you?” He asked, almost casual. Paige’s core gave another hitch, watching her commanding officer lean forward and begin to scrape voxels off the ground. No one moved to help him, to step back once more. Everyone watched, waiting for the other disk to drop.

“So I ask you,” Clu suddenly spoke, breaking the tense silence, “How do you take something so clearly broken…” He raised a hand back, palming his disk. Instantly, Paige had to stifle threat warnings; this was Clu. Fighting him would be useless even if he’d come to kill them all. He’d killed Tron himself! What chance did they have? Tesler didn’t seem to think they had much of one, and stared up with wide eyes.

“And make it perfect?” Clu finished, striking downwards. Someone cut off a shout as Tesler fell back, a painful gash down his nose and across both his thumbs. Clu’s disk hummed a toxic yellow in the floor, splitting the voxel remains of the spheres. It hadn’t been a kill move, but rather a display of power. Boots crunching across the remains, Clu crouched to pick his disk up, voice now icily cold.

“By changing the hands of leadership.”

Tesler stared up at him, eyes wide. Clu stood back up, eyes cold. Paige’s core spun up in her fear, faster and faster until she was sure every program in the hall could hear it. From the corner of her eye, she could see the soldiers backing up, closing ranks as they attempted to protect themselves without fleeing the room, trying to keep Clu’s anger off of them. Clu’s disk still spun a violent, toxic yellow, teeth gleaming in the light as he opened his mouth to speak, to condemn Tesler to the games or immediate deresolution

But then he stopped and looked up. Cautiously, Paige flicked her eyes to her side as a Blackguard strode past her, gold-tinted lines of Clu’s honor guard orange in the red light of the ship. Without a word or look to anyone else, he stopped at Clu’s side and leaned up to whisper in his leader’s ear, his voice inaudible in the open hall. Clu blinked at what he heard, looking to his messenger, but when the program gave a silent nod he inclined his head.

“I see.” His voice echoed through the room, and with another nod he dismissed the messenger. As quickly as he’d come, the program left the hall, leaving them with Clu once more staring Tesler down. Eyes still wide, Tesler didn’t look away as Clu docked his disk, the click harsh in the heavy silence. For a moment, Clu simply looked down at his General, face blank and eyes cold.

But then he smiled and reached down to take Tesler by the arm, pulling him from the ground.

“But it seems I won’t have to do that right away after all. Come, come—you too, Commander.”

Letting go of Tesler’s arm, Clu strode from the room at a fast clip, his cloak billowing out behind him. Quickly taking General Tesler’s disk from him, Paige ran through the health coding as they jogged after their leader through empty tunnels. Too many rushed patch jobs from the cycles before gave her all the practice she needed to quickly patch the injuries and she handed him his disk as they headed back into the bowels of the ship. They kept dangerous prisoners here, programs that needed some persuasion to finally talk.

She hated it down here.

Clu lead them to a doorway where two of his more golden-lined sentries waited, saluting him as he came to stand in front of the door. For a moment he stopped, cocking his head as if listening, before he smiled again. Standing a pace behind her General, Paige swallowed her fear and asked,

“Sir?”

He looked from the door to her, that smile still on his face.

“It’s nothing, Commander. Just an old friend saying hello.”

And then he opened the door, gesturing for them to follow him in. Though Tesler had to duck through the doorway to fit, they both made it into the small interrogation slash containment chamber. A pillar of lit red code served as both weapon and shackle, glowing energy lines connected to two cuffs that would keep any program they brought here tied to the pillar. It was also the only light in the room after the door shut, the shadowy alcove where a disk would be locked away to taunt the captive program dim without the disk inside it. It was a good method of containment, Paige had to admit, but it had always seemed cruel to her.

She shoved the thought away as she stepped around Tesler for a better look. Pavel was already in the room, standing with a smug expression on his face as Dyson stood in front of the program that was tied to the pillar. Once her visual system had adjusted to the light, Paige had to stop herself from audibly gasping.

It was the Renegade. They’d captured the Renegade.

And apparently had struggled to do so, a small part of her processor chimed in. He was covered in blue gashes, wounds to his frame and dim circuits speaking of a long battle. His helmet was cracked and scraped, head hung low over his chest as he sat slumped on his knees with his hands shackled behind him. Pavel didn’t look much better now that she could get a good look at him, but Dyson was unharmed. Handing a disk to Clu, the foreign General looked to Tesler.

“You should know, Tesler, that Commander Pavel was instrumental in capturing the Renegade,” Dyson said with a smile. “You really ought to promote him.”

Tesler looked like he wanted to hit something, but he nodded anyway. Pavel just smiled even wider, looking crueler by the moment. Tesler looked to Clu.

“Sir,” he said quietly, “Is there a reason we’re here?”

“Consider it a…goodwill present. He was captured by one of your own, in your city,” Clu said with a casual shrug, the Renegade’s dual colored disk flipping in his hands. “You may as well see which one of your citizens has been causing you all this trouble.”

“…Yes, sir,” Tesler replied with a narrow eyed look at the Renegade, who hadn’t once raised his head or even twitched. “Thank you, sir.”

Clu smiled. Without further delay, he activated the Renegade’s disk and scrolled through the protocols. Paige’s core twisted at the violation of privacy and space, but she said nothing as Clu finally reached the helmet removal protocol. With a single press and a handful of soft clicks, the white-suited program’s helmet came off. Pavel stared, stunned silent. Clu and Dyson exchanged a confused look. Tesler frowned.

Paige had to struggle to restart her core.

Sitting there under the spotlight, head hung low and frame covered in gashes that spoke of injuries beyond the blue stain of impact across his forehead, was Beck.

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

13 notes · View notes

saratogaroadwrites · 10 months

Text

Tron: Liberation (15/15)

Survive.

[AU: Fanmade Season 2]

“Almost ready?” Beck asked, startling Zed from where he was fiddling with something on his bike. Zed smiled at him, looking over the crowd of former Argon mechanics. Though more than one bore a long-term patch from the Uprising’s events, they had all pulled through. Even Link, timid as he was, had managed to make it through with his limbs and disk intact. He’d even gained confidence, Beck realized, watching him hold his own against Hopper’s now good-natured ribbing. Whatever the crew had gone through in Ferrum had been good for them. At his side, Zed nodded.

“Almost. Just waiting on Mara and we’ll head out.”

“You could stay here,” Beck said, crossing his arms over his chest, “There’ll be plenty of need for mechanics around here for a while.”

“Nah,” Zed waved a hand in the air, “Tron gave Mara Area-Admin access to Argon.” He smiled ruefully at Beck’s wide-eyed look. "We're gonna rebuild the city, and this time?” He raised a hand, one finger pointed to the airspace above them, “This time, it’ll have a Sailor port."

Beck blinked. Zed beamed at him. For a few nanos there was silent, and then neither seemed to be able to help it: they both laughed. A micro later, Zed tilted his head as their mirth subsided, “You could come with us, though. Go back to your root and everything; there’s always a place for you with us, you know.”

“I know, but…”

Beck looked over his shoulder at where Yori was speaking with Mara, Tron standing a pace behind his partner. He seemed taller now, somehow, standing even straighter than when he’d been healed. So much had changed in the last seven triples since Clu’s deresolution, but not everything. Despite his changed circuits, despite the broad command pattern splayed across his back and the nearly pure white color of each and every circuit, Tron was still Tron. Still steady, brave, and more reckless than he’d let on. Beck himself, however, had changed. He and everyone who’d known him before the Occupation had first come to Argon knew it. Somehow he still felt more at home here, tracking down lingering sentries and blackguard, then he ever had fixing bikes. Going back to the wreckage of Argon, even to rebuild it…he just couldn’t.

And so he shook his head, looking back at his old friend.

“I’m sure about this.” He said firmly. "I'm still needed here. But hey--" he reached out, patting Zed on the arm, "I'll come visit. Once you get that port going, we’ll be back and forth all the time.”

For a handful of nanos, Zed was silent. Then his eyes went soft.

“Yeah, you better,” He said, reaching over to pull Beck into a quick hug. They held on only for another handful of nanos, then pulled away from one another as Mara’s footsteps clicked behind them.

“Oh, don’t break up the moment on my account,” She said amusedly as they both turned to face her, her hands on her hips and new pattern of actual Command designation bright across her frame. It couldn’t match her smile as she continued, “Grid knows you two are going to missing each other the nano we leave.”

The two of them shared a look. Zed stepped back with both hands up in a defensive, don’t look at me, gesture. Mara outright laughed at that, causing Beck to turn back around and give her a knowing look. She grinned, before her face went soft and she stepped into his reach. He didn’t hesitate and pulled her into an embrace, holding her close for just a few nanos. Her arms came up, one hand cupping the back of his neck.

“Take care of yourself,” He whispered to her. She nodded and pulled back, smiling as she held onto both of his elbows while he kept his hands on her shoulders. The transmission of [friend/trust/care] was a loop from one to the other, and her eyes gleamed with amusement.

“I’ll be fine. It’s Zed and the others you should be worried about.”

“Hey…” Zed protested without any real heat. They both turned to him, still holding on to one another. He stared at them for a long nano, then shook his head. “This isn’t goodbye, you two. Not for good, anyway.” He smiled warmly and stepped over, arms outstretched. “Come on. One more for the road?”

Beck and Mara both laughed, but extended their arms towards him. He stepped in to the huddle, pulling them both close until they were shoulder to shoulder in a tight circle, foreheads brushing and hands clinging to anything they could reach. From the beginning, as far back as Beck could remember, they and Bodhi had been with him. Bodhi was long gone now, having left only the three of them, and now he had to let them go too. It hurt, an ache that caught in his core and made it skip, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

So he let them go, the first to break the huddle and pull away. Zed kept an arm around Mara’s shoulders, and both of them smiled sadly at Beck as he leaned back.

This wouldn’t be the last time he saw them, he knew, but it still felt like it.

“Almost forgot.” He reached back, pulling a white baton from his secondary holster. Zed and Mara’s eyes both went wide as he held it up for them to see. “Tron wanted you two to have this.”

Mara reached out with trembling fingers, almost as if she was afraid just touching the baton would cause it to shatter. She jolted when Beck dropped it into her palms, before she closed her fingers around it and held it close to her chest.

“Able’s 786…” Her voice broke. Zed reached out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up. “Beck…”

He shook his head. “Keep it. He’d have wanted you to have it. Besides,” He smiled, “It goes with your new look.”

She huffed out a shaky laugh, but nodded before reaching for his hand. With one final squeeze of his fingers and a soft [friend] she pulled back.

“Take care of yourself,” She said as she and Zed stepped back in one motion. Zed raised a hand to his head, giving Beck a two fingered salute and a warm grin, before the two of them turned away and strode into the crowd of mechanics. Beck raised a hand to wave goodbye as Ray and Bartik looked over at him, and he grinned as Mara cracked open the 786 to rez it onto the road, startling several of the Mechanics. The white code gleamed in the light of the capitol, the rev of its engine echoing through the streets.

If Beck had to say one thing about Old System code, it was that it knew how to work. Mara took off like a shot, Zed a nano behind her, and with a cacophony of thuds the others pursued. With a frown and a hard swallow, Beck dropped his hand back to his side. He stood there, watching as his old crew left him behind. That he had chosen this, that he knew it was the right thing for all of them, didn’t make his core ache any less. He startled suddenly, turning as Paige silently stepped up beside him, their shoulders brushing. Together they watched the convoy of bikes head out south across the Outlands, led by the bright speck of white that Mara was quickly becoming. Paige reached for his hand and he clasped his fingers around hers, never taking his eyes off of the bikes. They stood there in a soft yet easy silence, watching until the last of the bikes had disappeared into the darkness. Then she turned to look up at him, smiling just a little.

“Come on, Tron,” She poked his arm with her other hand as she began to turn her back to the Outlands, “We’ve got work to do.”

With a laugh, he let her pull him away, back into the city proper.

—-

A shadow walked through the capitol. The hum beneath Tron’s feet didn’t quite know how to classify it, or maybe he didn’t understand how to read that new note that buzzed through his heels. It caught in his core like a bad read; he rolled his shoulders, leaning in closer to Yori’s clear note as she read off a tablet to give him the latest news. Xenon and Thallium had both overthrown their hold-out Generals in the seven triples since Clu’s deresolution, the Basics herding up the soldiers and sentries into a warehouse on the outskirts of either city for quarantine.

He’d have to figure out a way to undo their repurposing somehow. Most of Clu’s forces had been security programs like his old team, and none had deserved their fates. Any of them still functional he would need to fix…somehow. He just wasn’t sure how yet. There was a lot to process in his new position, and no one to ask how to process any of it. Especially the constant hum and odd notes that kept ringing through his frame from time to time.

The discordant sound grew louder. He looked up, looking around for the cause. Beck stood on Yori’s other side, a steady tone even with the tense line to his shoulders as he listened to Yori explain that Radon and Ferrum had both completely destroyed their Occupation remnants, the streets glowing red with cubes and shattered disks. Beck had almost glowed with pride as he realized that meant his former coworkers had torn through their host city without a single injury or casualty, though Tron could see the sad edge to his smile anyway.

Though the uprising had come to a relatively peaceful end, it hadn’t been without its costs.

And maybe one of those costs was Tron’s stability. The discordant note grew even louder, causing him to grimace and rub at his ears as if that would help. Yori paused in her reading, looking at him with concern written across her face, an odd addition to the soft sound that he’d come to attach to her, and on her other side Beck looked at him with a frown. He opened his mouth to reassure them, then stopped as a shadow moved from the alleyway behind Beck, approaching the young program’s back. Tron couldn’t move fast enough, not with Yori between them, but something must have shown on his face because Beck tensed up and turned his head sharply. Tron could see the moment he realized someone had been sneaking up on him, his tense figure loosening into a combat stance.

“Hey!”

He reached out, grabbing onto the darkness that wasn’t a shadow, but a cloak with all circuits turned off. In that same nano Tron pulled Yori back behind him; she shouted in alarm, her tablet clattering to the ground as she reached for her disk instead, drawing the attention of a dozen programs around them. Each drew their disks, watching as Beck grabbed the cloaked program with both hands and shoved them into the wall of the Admin Tower just behind the little group. There was a grunt as they impacted, Beck’s arm across the back of their neck.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” He asked in a surprisingly calm voice. For their part, the program coughed and tried to turn their head, the hood of their long coat just glimmering with a bright white interior circuit. Tron frowned. Bright white? While most programs still bore pale blue, white itself was only for those firmly on the side of the Users. Even his circuits still had the faintest hint of blue. But this…his eyes narrowed as the wall glimmered, fractal lines beginning to spread from where each of the program’s hands rested. His core lurched sharply to a halt.

“Flynn,” He breathed. Though he was unable to get enough volume for Beck to hear him past the growing murmur of the crowd, Yori turned suddenly wide eyes on him. Over Beck’s shoulder, Tron could just see a pale blue eye. Shocked, he couldn’t move as Yori stepped forward and placed a hand on Beck’s shoulder.

“Let him go,” She said, then glanced at the Creator, held there beneath the last program rezzed onto the Grid, “It’s alright.”

Beck frowned at her. He looked back at Tron, then at Yori once more. He inclined his head in wordless question; when she nodded, he frowned but stepped back, letting Flynn catch his footing and his breath with a cough. He didn’t, however, apologize. Nor did he move from between Yori and Flynn as Flynn turned around and lowered his hood. Instead, Beck stiffened and reached back to place himself firmly between Yori and the apparent reappearance of Clu.

Tron really was proud of him. Flynn, for his part, just seemed amused.

“Hey, Tron,” He coughed again, “Long time no see?”

“Very long,” Yori said, gently pressing Beck’s arm down. Beck turned to give her a wide-eyed look, but she shook her head and stepped up beside him. Beck turned to give that same look to Tron, but Tron only frowned. He couldn’t blame Beck for his confusion, or his wariness. Though Flynn had gained lines on his face and his hair had lost a good deal of its color, there was no way to miss the similarities between his face and Clu’s. Even so, Flynn’s smile was infinitely warmer as Yori continued, “We should take this inside.” She glanced at Tron, then over his shoulder at the milling crowd. Flynn shifted his weight, hands disappearing under his arms.

“Yeah…” Flynn sighed, “That’s probably a good idea.” He turned to the doorway into the Tower, only to stop dead in his tracks as the door wouldn’t open. The Admin Tower had once opened for all. In Clu’s cycle, he’d locked it to himself, his Honor Guard, and several of his highest advisors that were all now awaiting a way to shake off their repurposing.

Tron had locked it for the time being, allowing only himself, Yori, Beck, and Quorra non-escorted entry. He had to step forward to key open the door to let Flynn in and felt that wizened gaze on his back as Beck and Yori brought up the rear. The door closed behind the pair of them, keeping the crowd out. Tron stopped in the center of the former lobby, then turned to them.

“You two go and calm them down,” Tron gestured over Yori’s shoulder, the programs milling about just outside the door. Beck and Yori exchanged a look, unsure. Warmth uncoiling around his core, Tron offered them a tiny smile. “I’ll be fine.”

Neither seemed convinced. Again, Yori rested a hand on Beck’s arm for a nano before she turned away. The young program sighed.

“Alright. Ping us if you need help.”

Flynn almost seemed to laugh from where he’d stepped to the side, examining the lobby with the bearing of a program who’d been away from home far too long and no longer recognized it. Beck gave his back a frown before padding out after Yori; the doors opened more easily from this side, sliding open to let in the murmur of the crowd before sliding shut and taking the noise with it. Tron tapped his foot to the ground, darkening the glass before he turned to Flynn. Flynn had already turned back around, his eyes taking in Tron’s new circuits and the white glow of the tower around them. Then he smiled faintly.

“System Admin, huh?” Flynn whistled lowly, “That’s…impressive.”

“Someone had to step up,” Tron said coolly. Flynn flinched, lowering himself to sit on the arm of a couch. Tron looked at him, actually getting a chance to take in the face of an old friend. He could still remember what Flynn’s face had looked like five hundred some cycles ago, and now…

The cycles had gotten to Flynn, too. His face was more wrinkled, his hair a lighter color than before, and his eyes were tired. He rubbed at them with the pads of his ungloved fingers, shoulders slumped. Tron slowly lowered himself to lean against a couch opposite his old friend, but didn’t turn his back on Flynn. A micro, then two, ticked by before Flynn looked up.

“…Tron,” He said in a low, soft voice, “I’m sorry. You tried to warn me, but I…”

“Didn’t listen?” Tron sighed through his nose. Five hundred cycles ago, he had tried to warn Flynn against Clu’s quickly growing power and dreams of destruction. Five hundred cycles ago, Flynn hadn’t listened. Torn between two worlds, Flynn hadn’t been able to cope or maybe even understand the cost his actions. For five hundred cycles, the consequences hadn’t been his to bear.

Or maybe, Tron thought to himself as he watched Flynn flinch hard and pull back a few millimeters, he’d had his own trials to face since the last time they’d spoken. Tron shook his head. This wasn’t a discussion he’d ever wanted to have. Not yet, at least; it still felt far too fresh to process. There was only one thing he wanted to do right now.

“I won’t say it’s fine. But…” He paused for a couple of nanos, turning his words over his in his processor, before he nodded. “I can accept your apology on one condition.”

“What’s that?” Flynn asked in a hopeful voice.

“That we get you home.” Tron stood up straight. Flynn blinked like a startled beta, then drew back. His skin paled as Tron continued, “Five hundred cycles is nearly ten of your world’s years, isn’t it?

“Over that…” Flynn whispered. Then he buried his head in the palm of one hand, fingers clutching at his scalp. “Sam…oh, Sammy…”

Tron’s core lurched hard. He gave Flynn a micro to try and compose himself, then began to step towards him.

“He’d be eighteen years old now,” Flynn said before Tron could speak up, “He wouldn’t look any older then your beta back there.”

“Beck.” Tron corrected in a more gentle tone than he thought himself capable of at that nano. Flynn looked up, eyes rimmed with red. His smile shook, bottom lip trembling.

“You found him,” Flynn breathed. Tron tilted his head.

“He found me,” Tron chose then and there not to mention Cyrus. Flynn wasn’t stable enough to handle that on top of everything else he was dealing with. “It’s because of him that we’re here. If it wasn’t for Beck, then…” He took in a deep, steadying breath. “I wouldn’t be here. Clu would still be in command. The Grid might be gone.” They owed him more than Tron would ever be able to say. Flynn seemed to realize this, and his eyes grew distant for a nano before he nodded. He swallowed hard, then slow took in a steadying breath of his own.

“And I guess I’d still be in the Outlands,” He said. He shook his head as if to shake off a thought. “But now we’re here, and we can work with that.” He took another breath. “I just need to get the Portal open again.”

“How?” Tron frowned, “You said it couldn’t be opened from here.”

“There…” Flynn grimaced, “Might be a way to get it open again, if I can get access to the terminal in the Access Station.” He smiled ruefully as he looked up. “Is it still intact?”

“Mostly,” Tron’s frown deepened. “The external facade took a hit during the Uprising but the inside looked alright—” He paused for a nano then looked Flynn dead in the eye. “You told me you couldn’t open it from this side.”

“And I can’t.” Flynn stood up, dusting his pants off. “But somebody from the outside can, and I know one guy who’ll answer the call.”

He couldn’t mean--Tron’s core lurched. Flynn turned a wry smile on him.

“How would you like to finally meet Alan-One, Tron?”

He meant it.

—

At the edge of the Capitol, far past where any program had any real need or right to go, was a long bridge over the Sea. Pillars of raw code floated above the churning blackness of the still viral waters below, the distant thunder reverberating off every one of them. The bridge itself led to a platform shaped much like the disks of the Old System, meant to harness the power of the Portal and serve as the User’s exit point from the Grid.

No program had been out this way in a very long time, said the stillness beneath Tron’s feet. For the past half milli he’d stood guard, watching Flynn continue to tap at a terminal that Tron had called up for him, listening to the crash of the Sea and the roar of the approaching storm, he could understand why. There was a certain weight to this place, one that he couldn’t bear the idea of carrying for long.

It wasn’t meant for programs. This space was for the Users, and the Users alone. He couldn’t wait to get out of this space and leave it behind.

“So that’s where the Portal opens up?” Beck asked suddenly. Tron startled out of his thoughts, just now realizing the strong tone beneath his feet had come up again. Yori’s chime-like note followed, but Tron turned on Beck. Beck just smiled softly and shrugged as if to ask him, “What?”

"I thought I told you to wait with the others."

Beck huffed out a laugh, turning back to watch Flynn.

"Since when have I listened to what you tell me?" He snarked. On Tron's other side, Yori giggled. She waved a hand in the air when he turned on her.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just--" She smiled up at him. "He's just like you were at that stage.”

Tron grimaced. Yori laughed harder at him, not bothering to hide her amusement, and even Beck seemed far too amused for his own good. With a huff, Tron turned his attention back to Flynn. The User had stopped tapping away at the terminal, and now had his eyes on the airspace above his head.

“Moment of truth,” Flynn said. Nearly a triple before, he’d managed to establish contact with his own world through a small binary string of code he’d once programmed to contact him within the Grid. Now all laughter stopped as up above them, the Portal slowly began to open. First, a byte of light appeared high above their heads. Tron watched with his core in his throat as the light expanded line by line, first in width, then in height. It touched the base of the platform with a solid-sounding thump and whump of air blowing at Flynn’s coat and Yori’s hair, casting everything around them into stark contrast. The high chime like note of untapped power, almost like static, rang through the Grid and buzzed up Tron’s spine. He shifted his weight to compensate, felt more than saw that Yori and Beck remained at his sides, and took a breath.

From within the Portal, a figure began to emerge. They wore a coat much like Flynn did, with User-white circuits stark against the black of the Grid’s render, and light gleamed off of spectacles on their face. A second note started up beneath Tron’s feet, the same discordant tone that Flynn carried, but somehow clearer, softer, less raw.

Alan-One, sang Tron’s core. He forced it down, watching as Flynn moved.

“Alan!” He shouted, and before Alan-One had even had a chance to properly step out of the Portal Flynn was on him, dragging his old friend into a breath stealing embrace. Alan-One nearly toppled but caught himself at the last nano, causing Yori to cant her head to the side. Beck shifted his weight as they all watched the pair of Users reunite after five hundred cycles. Before too long, the pair of them broke away from one another, and Alan-One cast his gaze around.

“My God…” He breathed, almost too soft to pick up, “This is what you were talking about?” Alan-One extended a hand, spreading it wide to encompass the Grid. “This is your Miracle?”

Flynn sagged, Alan-One’s hand still on his arm. Quorra, Tron knew, had refused to join them. Refused to so much as talk to Flynn in the triple since he’d reappeared in the Capitol and begun the process of leaving. He’d called the Isos his miracle, but the Basics weren’t them. Tron squared his shoulders as Flynn continued, “…Kind of. This is…” He shook his head. “It’s complicated, Alan. It’ll take days to explain.” He looked back over his shoulder at the three programs. His eyes softened slightly. Alan-One followed his gaze and went rigid.

“Flynn…is that supposed to be—”

Flynn stepped back. He spread his arms as he turned, as if to encompass everything all around them. Tron’s core lurched as one of Flynn’s hands pointed at him.

“Alan,” Flynn shrugged, shoulders up by his ears, “This is Tron, Yori, and Beck.”

It was like looking in a mirror of sorts. Tron could recognize his own face in Alan-One, the same nose, eyes, cheekbones. Alan-One’s hair was lighter, much like Flynn’s, and Tron wondered if that was an effect of User’s runtimes growing longer. Alan-One looked right at him, awe and understanding spreading across his face. Tron forced himself to stand his ground, to not drop to a knee and beg his User’s forgiveness for failing his directive, even if the game had been rigged from the start.

Alan-One looked from Tron to Beck, then to Yori, before his eyes went wide and he looked at Flynn instead. His jaw hung wordlessly open, eyes blown wide. Flynn shrugged himself higher, somehow looking like he wanted to pull his head into his body. Alan-One looked back to Tron then, staring for another handful of nanos before he took in a deep breath the exact same way Tron did and turned on Flynn.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” He hissed and grabbed Flynn by the arm. “Once I get you home to Sam.”

“Sam…” Flynn breathed. He looked up at the Portal for a long few nanos, then shook his head. He stepped back from Alan-One as Yori made a choked off noise in the back of her throat. Tron was too stunned to do even that: all that talk of opening the Portal, actually being able to open it and bring Alan-One here, and now he wasn’t going to leave?! Alan-One stared in equal shock as Flynn shook his head again.

“No, there’s things I need to do here. Things that I need to—”

“Your mother is in the hospital—Sam is seventeen and he needs his father!” Alan-One bellowed. Moving with a quickness Tron didn’t think possible from a User he grabbed Flynn by the collar of his coat with both hands and lifted him up, struck by a sudden rage. Beck stiffened at Tron’s side; Tron took an aborted step forward as the Grid buzzed beneath his heels, humming like a struck wire at the threat of violence between Users. “You can’t expect me to go back and tell him you’re fine but abandoned him by choice!”

Flynn opened his mouth, skin pale and feet nearly off the ground--

“Go home, Flynn,” Tron forced himself to say through a tight intake, startling them both back to the present nano. “Go back to your world. We can handle things here. Fix things ourselves.”

“Like we’ve been doing from the start?” Beck snarked quietly, voice trembling only a little as Alan-One set Flynn back down, the pair of Users staring at the two of them. Tron’s lips quirked upwards just a touch, but then his smile dropped as Flynn’s expression changed. His eyes were wide, wild with something Tron couldn’t quite name, something he didn’t quite want to name. He held his ground as Flynn shrugged away from Alan-One to step closer and spread his hands, reaching towards the three of them.

"I can fix everything!" Flynn spread his hands wide, "Make it all like it was before!"

Tron frowned. Behind Flynn, Alan-One watched with the oddest look on his face.

“How?” Tron asked.

“A system restore,” Flynn said, taking a step forward with his hands extended towards Tron, “It probably won’t bring the Isos back, but everyone else—they’ll all be here again! Everyone you all lost, like nothing ever happened!” He laughed a little. It sounded like Clu. Tron forced the thought down as Flynn continued, “Heck, it’d be exactly like that! Just like rolling back the clock!”

Tron looked to Yori for a nano, unsure. She frowned back at him, opening her mouth to say something.

"We won't remember anything that happened." Beck said suddenly. Everyone looked at him, but his eyes were on Flynn and Flynn alone. "If you turn back the system clock, you'll erase our memory, too."

Tron looked back to Flynn. The User grimaced, shrugging slowly.

"Not on purpose?"

"Flynn..." Alan-One groaned into the palm of his hand. Beside Tron, Beck shook his head and stepped back out of reach.

"No." He said firmly, "You don't get to do that." He frowned. "Creator or not, you weren’t here when we needed you. You don’t get to swoop in now that it’s over and just erase everything we’ve gone through.” He looked at Tron, then put a hand to his chest where both had nearly had the mark carved right off of them. “That makes you no better than Clu.”

Flynn flinched hard. He stepped back, away from Beck’s hard stare as if it were some physical thing, and looked to Yori instead. If he hoped to find any support or softness there, he’d be sorely disappointed. Tron watched with no small measure of pride uncurling in his core as she slashed a hand through the air before Flynn could even speak.

“Don’t try and say you’re not,” She turned that slash into a single finger pointed at him, “Clu was formed from you, Flynn. Your ideas, your thoughts, your core. You may have given him a bad directive, but you were still his User.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That connection goes both ways, you know.”

Flynn’s grimace only got deeper. He looked like he’d downed a whole canister of bad energy. Yori sighed.

“Besides, it’s out of your hands now.” She tilted her head. “You’d need Admin level access to enact that kind of a change, and you don’t have it anymore.” She looked up at Tron with a faint smile. “She’s already chosen a new System Administrator for herself.” Her smile disappeared as she turned back to Flynn, gaping at the pair of them like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing or hearing, and leveled him with a look so hard it would have broken Outland stone. "I think you should go home, Flynn. You have a life out there."

"Damn right he does." Alan-One took Flynn by the arm, pulling him back to the Portal despite his protests. Then Alan-One stopped for a moment and looked back at them. He locked eyes with Tron.

“I’ll take care of things from the outside,” He said, “If there’s anything you need, then…just leave a message. It could be a while.”

They would be on their own, said the look in Alan-One’s eyes. How that would be any different from the past five hundred cycles, he just didn’t know. Still, Tron nodded in acceptance of this fact. Then he looked to Flynn one more time. Flynn looked back at him with beseeching eyes, wordlessly begging for a chance to stay, a chance to set things right the way he should have, the way he thought he could.

To Flynn, he shook his head. Flynn’s shoulders slumped: he understood precisely what that gesture meant and stopped struggling in Alan-One’s grasp. Tron watched, with Yori and Beck on either side of him, as Alan-One stepped into the glow of the Portal with Flynn at his side. The three programs watched as the two Users raised their disks into the light and vanished into voxels, carried away out of the Grid and back to their world. What would happen to them now, Tron couldn’t say. A large part of him really didn’t care.

The rest hoped Flynn would find some measure of peace the same way that Tron had. He looked at Beck from the corner of his eye, taking in the frown curved across the young program’s face. Flynn had to face his own offshoot now, his own beta. How Sam would react to Flynn’s return after the last five hundred cycles, Tron did not want to know.

Still, he hoped it would go well. It would be nice if something did.

The light ahead of them flickered, drawing Tron’s attention back to the Portal. With the Users now on the other side, one of them must have begun to sever the connection between User World and Grid. It shrunk in on itself first, losing all width until it was only a handful of pixels wide, and then began to dim and collapse in on itself in a spot high above their heads. Tron reached for Yori’s hand, and she clasped her fingers around his as the once steady beam of light became only a single, luminous byte in the airspace above them. They all watched, wordlessly, as the byte hung there for a few nanos.

Then, without any fanfare, it winked out as if it had never existed at all. All that remained was the crash of the sea beneath them, the wind all around, and the soft, peaceful hum of the Grid beneath Tron’s feet.

For perhaps the last time, Users had left the Grid.

For perhaps the rest of their runtime, the programs were alone.

——

Nearly six hundred cycles after he had been exiled, Tron looked over the city that shared his name and breathed in the peace. Flynn was gone, spirited away to the User World for Alan-One to handle. Clu was gone, unable to harm anyone anymore. Though there were still soldiers left to repurpose, the surviving programs were safe now. There was even talk that a handful of Isos had survived, and with Quorra’s help were settling a small colony deep within the Outlands.

It wasn’t a total victory, marred by setbacks as it was, but against all the odds they had made it. The Grid hummed beneath his feet, not quite strong and healthy, but more vibrant than She’d been in too long. It was comforting.

It made things easier. Peering down at the disk mod in his hand, he contemplated. Was there even a need for this anymore? Programs had proven that they could defend themselves. They didn’t need any watchful guardians looking over them from above.

Or maybe they did. Clu’s words echoed in Tron’s processor, a warning and a threat in one. Were they just words? Or had he truly meant what he’d said? Without being able to ask him it was hard to tell, and yet…as much as he should have, Tron simply wasn’t ready to cross that bridge yet. Not after everything that had happened. Maybe he never would be. Maybe he’d leave handling any more threats to Alan-One.

Maybe. For now, he was content with things as they were. He looked from the mod to the window, Beck’s reflection drawing closer as the young program walked over from the lift, footsteps quiet in the early milli silence.

“Thought I’d find you up here.” Beck said quietly, coming up to stand beside Tron. “You’re really fond of heights, aren’t you?”

With a soft smile, Tron nodded.

“Something like that. Here—” He passed the disk mod to Beck. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“Plug it in. You’ll see.”

Beck frowned, but his eyes were light. “You know, the last time you gave me something like this, we ended up overthrowing an Occupation. What’s next? The User World?”

“Beck.”

Beck almost laughed, but instead of plugging the mod directly in, he activated it first. Tron smiled ruefully; at least he’d learned that much. He watched as the mod display flickered to life, a new suit render all ready to go.

“This is…”

“It’s yours. If you want it.” He looked away, glancing back over the city and trying not to watch Beck’s reflection in the glass. He didn’t want to see him say no. “We…never talked about what you would do. When this was all over.”

“Tron…” Beck whispered, looking at his mentor. The young program was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath as he inclined his head. “Well, if you thought you were going to get rid of me, we really should have had Alan-One scrub your code.”

Tron looked over. Beck was smiling at him.

“You’re staying.”

“I’m staying.” He said, clicking the mod onto his disk and returning it to his port. The new pattern washed over him, thicker armor with subtle flecks of aqua at every joint, and a bright white tetromino flaring to life just below his right shoulder joint. Not a perfect match, but an inheritance all the same. It settled with a final flare, and Beck tilted his head.

“So,” he asked, “What now?”

“Now? Now we start your training back up.” At Beck’s groan, Tron tried not to laugh. He turned away from the window, clapping Beck on the shoulder and giving his protege a fondly warm smile. “You’ve got a long way to go before I’m done with you.” Beck smiled back, inclining his head.

“Alright, fine. Just tell me one thing.” He paused for a nano, then grinned. “Do I get time off this time?”

Tron laughed.

“What do you think?”

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

3 notes · View notes