Theme: computer program
Characters: Ansem, Squall/Leon, Tron

I've been blown away by the number of reviews, favorites and alerts I've received since I last checked my inbox. It makes me feel better about myself, yet still a little embarrassed about not maintaining what incomplete stories I have here. Guess I really should be working on them.

Anywhere, this is the second teaser for When Keyblades Rust. This chapter is a small snippet of a time before, pre-KH, and pre-WKR at the same time. With luck - and enough approval - I may continue from here.

After all, having the more famous survivors of Radiant Garden in close contact with the founding members of Organization XIII...is not a bad idea.

It was perhaps true what Dilan said, Ansem now pondered. Perhaps, indeed, he had been too focused on his research to remember his own self-imposed duties. And perhaps, he was noting as well, compromising and putting both his duties and his research in the same place was not the best of ideas.

Certainly, he was questioning himself how feasible it was to have his young charge help him create Radiant Garden's brand new town-wide network program.

Another slam, and he winced, turning to where the small figure of a four-year-old boy was telling the keyboard exactly how frustrated he was in the only way he felt could be communicated across...through unnecessary violence.

"I said no!" the boy was protesting loudly. "Pay attention, you hunk of junk!"

"Squall!" Ansem in turn protested, indignant at the boy's outburst.

The boy, realizing his mentor had returned, turned to face him, his assault promptly ceased.

"Tron may be artificial intelligence, but it still requires a measure of respect as a tool of great service! You don't kick and insult Captain Aeleus' blade if you can't pick it up, do you?"

"I'm sorry, Ansem," the boy apologized, his legs swinging back and forth under him as he looked away.

Ansem took in the image of the child, and softened. To think, only a year ago, he had found the shivering young lad wrapped in an oversized jacket and huddled against the castle wall. Only a year, and once the boy finally opened up to him, he proved himself intelligent, quick to learn, dedicated to his given tasks...

...yet with such...temper.

Perhaps he had been too focused on research to fix that. But the past could not be changed; now was the time to at least try and work with it.

Crossing the distance between he and the boy, Ansem reached down and patted the small head of brown hair, smoothing the messy strands back as he addressed the issue at hand.

"Now, then, what seems to be the problem, young man?"

Squall promptly frowned in annoyance and pointed back at the console he was sitting before. "Tron won't listen to me."

"I don't think Tron can listen at all; we have only started the programming, you know-"

"No, like this," the boy insisted, turning back to the screen. Ansem, amused, watched as the child tapped in keys, then the amusement was quickly replaced by surprise as he realized the boy was not pressing random letters, but issuing a command.

Suddenly, the screen flashed with bright green words, and a loud, chirpy yet clipped voice called out:

"HELLO WORLD!!!"

"See? See?" and the boy jabbed accusingly at the screen and the words that apparently offended him. "I've been telling him for ages that my name's not 'World'! He won't listen to me!"

Ansem knew many things in his life, but for that moment, he did not know if he was intrigued that the four-year-old had just successfully created and run a computer program - a simple one, but nevertheless one that worked on the first try - or if he was tickled by the idea that the same boy did not understand Tron was merely printing out an easily changeable default text.

"...perhaps," he finally replied, leaning over the keyboard. "Perhaps if you showed me what you did from the top, we could...ah...convince Tron to listen."

And perhaps, he mused, having this boy's help was not such an impulsively poor choice after all.