June 2009 TC976

"Heard anything yet?" The female blue-circuit named Echo asked, her voice low. She was keeping an eye on her surroundings while absently tapping the foot of a prosthetic leg to the beat of the synthesized electronic music. Daxon, the green-circuit the question was meant for was returning from another trip to the club's bar. This was his third drink since he'd arrived at the Firewall Club and his company was becoming increasingly less productive. He flopped down into the seat on the other side of the table from her, sloshing some of the green energy intoxicant on himself.

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I'm Ember's most trusted lieutenant, she would tell me if she wasn't coming," Daxon said, though his words were taking on a soft, slurred inflection that didn't lend much credence to his claim. Echo was feigning periodic sips from her highball of glowing purple Energy-light. Castor had suggested that she stay sober tonight for the meeting, though apparently Daxon had not recieved the same advice from his own employer. "I'll keep you company until she does." The last part was said with a wink and a sloppy grin.

Echo scanned the door to the street, disinterested in Daxon's clumsy flirtations, trying to will Ember to come through the door if for no other reason than to save her from Daxon's company. There were reports of a small military presence in the area earlier that evening, but Firewall, small and not well known, seemed to manage to avoid visits from patrolling soldiers; Ember, leader of one of the bigger resistance factions in the neighboring Argon city, was notoriously skittish when it came to avoiding red-circuits. As CLU's forces spread throughout the System, most heavily concentrated in Tron City, Ember missed more meet-ups than she made. This would probably be the third time that she had canceled, though the night wasn't over yet. A couple of programs were dancing to the music blasting over the speakers and Echo watched them for a moment before her eyes moved to the perimeter of the small, rectangular establishment, checking each of the booths for the twelfth time. Her scan ended at the circular bar in the center of the room where Dumont, an old program from the pre-CLU era, was slumped against the bar surface, his hand around a mug of orange fluid while Lars the barman cleaned glasses. The crowd was thinner tonight, but that wasn't surprising. A lot of regulars in this club would want to avoid the military as much as Ember did.

Echo decided that she would give Ember another fifteen minutes before she called it a night, and absently swirled her drink around in its glass. The little decorative umbrella fell out and landed on the table into a small puddle which rippled with every bass-laden electronic drum beat. Echo pursed her lips thoughtfully while staring at it and pretended not to hear Daxon propose that the two of them retreat for the evening for some private time when a subtle prickling on the back of her neck made her check the door again.

"That must be why she didn't show," Echo suggested, immediately following up with a kick to Daxon's shin with a metal foot. He followed the direction of her eyes to the door.

A black figure had just sauntered into the space, the warm neon lighting which changed colors in step with the music barely giving shape to his form. One arm was firmly around the waist of an attractive Siren program wearing a skintight white dress and a small eye mask, the uniform of a companion. Echo immediately recognized the male program by his uniform. He was one of CLU's most elite and highly-ranked soldiers, called the Black Guard for their nearly solid black uniforms, only punctuated by a few defining red circuits. Echo had never encountered one in a one-on-one fight, because she knew that they were very hard to kill; they acted with more autonomy than the lower ranking captains and foot soldiers, which made their combat styles less predictable.

The Black Guard's face was uncovered now, showing gaunt, shadowed features with a shock of orange-blond hair trimmed neatly on top of his head. He was chatting with his female escort and Echo could see from where she was that there was a faint red glow emanating from his mouth every time it opened. She recognized the side effects of heavy re-programming when she also caught sight of his pupils, which glowed faintly red as well. The glowing eyes and mouth against the dim lighting of the club was unnerving. Echo could tell from where she sat that the Siren's genial facial expression was forced as she laughed, trying to guide him into a booth right by the exit, but the Black Guard didn't seem to notice. Contingency plan. Echo recognized it well.

"Well voxx me," Daxon said when it looked like they were there to stay. The Siren immediately ordered a stiff drink from their table's menu console and a small, hovering Bit that was employed as a server came with the drink order promptly.

The atmosphere had gone sour, but no one seemed to want to draw attention to themselves by leaving. Echo, especially. She was only a Security program, but she had gained enough of a reputation working for Castor that it might cause some trouble for her. She was tall, leanly muscular, and if she enhanced her features correctly, striking. Her one true vanity, however, was her hair. When helmets fell out of fashion, Echo embraced the hair and face-modification trend and had her own locks altered from its default black to a dark blue streaked with white. It was technically illegal but the law was rarely enforced; body modders were low priority to CLU's enforcers.

She toyed with the idea of activating her lightcycle helm, the toggle for which she always made sure to clip to the collar of her clothing before leaving her apartment, but decided to wait it out. The Siren accompanying the Black Guard, with the collaboration of the club's barman, was plying him with free drinks, now on his second, obviously hoping that intoxication would make him less of a threat. Echo sized him up covertly, taking in his demeanor and poise and calculating his current state.

"Don't draw attention to yourself," Echo ordered a bleary-eyed Daxon. She was using the Hard voice, the one that seemed to make others more willing to listen to her sound advice. He nodded and slumped down further in his seat, an action which looked completely natural in his current state. Echo strolled casually over to the bar, where the barman, a former green-circuit tank operator named Lars was watching the Black Guard in the corner very closely.

At the bar, the older programs that she had recognized before were muttering angrily amongst themselves, and with them sat an old communications director named Dumont, who had supposedly been around since before CLU had rewritten the System. Echo leaned over the bar like she was ordering another drink and Lars came over to her.

"What's the plan, Lars?" Echo asked, allowing a wry tone to sneak into her question. He glanced at her. He wasn't frightened, this wasn't the first risky customer the establishment had entertained.

"I don't know, man. If Jinx can't get him to leave, we might have a problem on our hands," Lars said, his tone low. Echo was doubtful that this particular guest would be so considerate. Instead of relaxing with his drink, he seemed more antsy, glancing away from the sultry Jinx in his lap to look around the room at the other patrons. He was looking for a fight, and if anyone got in his way, there would likely be no consequences for him. She watched as a couple surreptitiously slid out the back door of the place, escaping notice. Echo was ready to jet as well. Dumont had apparently woken up and seen the soldier, and was now muttering about him to the glassy-eyed programs on either side of him.

"... not welcome here. We don't have anything CLU wants," Dumont's voice carried over the sound of the music, and Echo checked the corner where the Siren Jinx and the blond soldier were sitting.

"Be quiet, Dumont. Now is not the time. Just go home," Lars entreated. Echo decided to take Lars' advice herself and leave, and she headed back to her table to let Daxon know that the meeting would have to be rescheduled.

"I'm not leaving! He should leave! This was our system before CLU took over," the angry, slurred bellowing was sudden and startling and there was no doubt that it had reached the back table. To Echo's utter lack of surprise, she saw the Black Guard leap to his feet, dumping Jinx on the hard floor. His burning red gaze and mouth were turned toward Dumont. Echo saw more programs slip out the back door on the opposite end of the room and quickly regretted letting Daxon pick a table that was not near an exit.

Reflexively, Echo retrieved the disc that was mounted on her back and a few thoughts shot through her mind simultaneously as she watched a terrified Jinx try to calm the soldier from an awkward position on the floor. First, that she had not wiped her disc in at least a cycle. Second, that she had been present during some highly illegal and incriminating activities that might implicate her employer, let alone herself. And third, that right when things had been going well for her, this situation was likely not going to end up positively for anyone, no matter the outcome.

Dumont's neighbor at the bar roughly jabbed him in the shoulder in order to get his attention, which was hard won against his slow-reacting intoxicated state, just in time for hi to witness the Black Guard taking a step forward. Jinx, who foolishly held on to a leg in an act of selfless bravery, was struck first, and when her body collapsed into a luminous white mound of tiny cubic voxels and coolant, Echo could hear the screams of the patrons over the pulsing beat, and everyone froze or tried to get away. The Black Guard strode forward now, and, removing his baton from its thigh clip, activated the blazing circuit sword and casually thrust it into another patron's middle. He, too, was reduced to his component voxels in a wet, chunky pile on the floor and Echo's jaw tensed as she looked at the remains of the innocent program. She needed to figure out the best way to handle this situation before it handled her.

She was on her feet, and the soldier didn't miss her formidable height which now blocked his path. Their gazes locked from meters away, and Echo found herself very unsettled to confront the twin pair of burning red pits where his pupils should be. It was apparently a side effect of higher-level Rectification, though it seemed at this moment a deliberate measure to invoke fear in those on the wrong side of the law. His arm swing out and loosed his circular weapon, its inner ring red and its edge glowing white, though it hadn't been aimed for her. In her peripheral vision, she saw another program, this one poised at the back door on the verge of escaping, collapse into formless pile of debris on the floor. That was three. Echo could not reconcile the deaths of innocent programs in such a meaningless way and charged forward, directly into his path.

Black Guard threw himself toward her as well, swinging his circuit sword in an arc which left a trail of red behind it. She detected a slight torpor in his movements that was likely due to his intoxication and was able to duck in time. Daxon wasn't and a look of shocked horror was frozen on his face as the sword's edge skimmed his head, removing a large chunk of it and leaving behind weeping, bright blue glowing polygonal wound and the male program slid onto the floor, terminated whole. Time slowed to a crawl as the guard went for her a second time, and Echo's mind went to a familiar and comforting blank place where her arms seemed to move of their own volition. Some of the voxels which comprise the physical structure of Basic programs are more crucial than others, this she knew for a fact. When struck with enough force in the correct point, the damage could cause a cascade failure, spreading to the surrounding anatomy, ultimately resulting in de-resolution and death.

Echo's muscles had moved in practiced fashion, without her direction, and her aim was true. She saw the edge of her disc slice into the exposed neck of the Black Guard and watched in horrified fascination as a pattern in the shape of a red glowing grid radiated outward from the point of impact across the soldier's body, mad rage on his face until the end, before he shattered into a thousand thousand tiny blocks, spraying her with his bright red fluids. The voxels and remaining internal fluids fell to the floor in a messy tumble and her brain came back online as if a switch had been flipped. Time resumed its normal pace once more and Echo found herself standing there, covered in the red glowing internal fluids of the fallen soldier. Time to go.

She looked around the room, which had mostly cleared out by this point, and her eyes fell upon Dumont. His friends had left, probably the moment that the Black Guard's threat was removed from the equation. The old man's mouth was working silently as he stared at where the Black Guard had been standing. Echo felt a spark of anger well up inside and she took two steps toward him, but remembered where she was and halted in her tracks. The soldier's disc jutted out from the middle of the gory detritus, red rings still illuminated though their power source had been removed, and Echo reached down to grab it quickly.

She couldn't leave it here with the soldier's recorded memory of that night's events stored on it, she doubted that his violent behavior would make any difference in her judgment for terminating him. She would have to take it to Tricky's Disc Repair immediately. The disc tech's underground disc wiping operation was only a few blocks from here. He usually required an appointment, but Echo figured that under the current circumstances, he might be willing to make an exception, and she could wipe her disc as well. Then she could sell the blank discs – blanks fetched a premium right now, with so many programs needing to elude CLU's justice- and lay low at Castor's for awhile.

By the time she had turned toward the bar again, Dumont was gone, as was Lars. She had to give it to the patrons of the Firewall, they knew when to scatter the first chance they got in a nasty situation. Echo followed their lead and, with one last respectfully lingering glance at what was left of Jinx, Daxon, and the other two victims, and rushed out the back door.

Tron City was, for the most part, designed with wide open streets and well-lit paths between its buildings and plazas. Section 2A, however, was more neglected than most and had not been streamlined along with the rest of the city sections. Over the many cycles, alleys had been built upon and added to to make room for more cast outs and businesses of ill repute, and these alleys were deliberately linked into a covert network of pathways and alternate routes when the main thoroughfares weren't a safe option for travel. Echo didn't think twice and slipped sideways into a dark path which led to a tunnel beneath the road. Normally such a passageway would be dangerous alone, even for a confident fighter like Echo; find yourself cornered in a poorly lit area and even a seasoned warrior could fall prey to the city's more deranged or corrupted element. She would rather face what the dark corners of the metropolis had to offer rather than CLU's "justice."

The tunnel was partially submerged in the runoff from the last rain, and it was sparsely lit. A single dim light installed every few meters or so broke up the oppressive blackness, and fully enclosed; to her, having to hunch slightly to keep her hair from scraping the ceiling and being unable to fully extend her arms to the side, it made her feel as though the space was going to collapse in on her. Her every instinct screamed for her to exit into open air once more where she might be able to defend herself against attackers. But she could hear the patrols on the streets above, one of the upside-down horseshoe-shaped Recognizers was passing directly overhead, the telltale rumble of its power converter reverberating through the street surface. Something crawled across her boot and Echo couldn't keep herself from jumping slightly, smashing her head into the damp, slimy tunnel ceiling, and looked down to see a small, glowing green Grid Bug skittering wetly by, its destination taking it elsewhere. With a shudder, Echo refocused her thoughts to her own goal; Tricky's Disc Shop, and the code-locked secret basement where he might be able to help her amend her situation. If her sense of direction didn't fail her, there should be an intersection up ahead, the left fork of which would take her up to the street-level rear entrance to the disc shop.

Something wasn't right, however; Echo continued down the path for a few more meters and saw no intersection. Instead, the tunnel continued forward, stretching into darkness. A ladder on her right led to the street above, and Echo realized with some irritation that she had gone in the wrong direction and wasn't entirely sure where she was now. With a resigned sigh, used to finding herself turned around, she made the decision to venture up the ladder and at least find her bearings. She had a brief impulse to just throw the soldier's disc away right here, but while it had incriminating evidence stored on it, she couldn't let it out of her sight, and while most programs despised CLU and his merciless security forces, not all were above turning in a fellow Basic for credits or a pardon. Appreciating her choice in attire for the freedom of movement it allowed her, Echo ascended the ladder as quietly as she could, and when she reached the top, she gingerly lifted the manhole cover a fraction and peered out.

Suddenly, a bright white light blinded her, and before Echo could react, the cover was thrown off of her and the heat of an activated stun baton sizzled at her right cheek.

"Don't move, program," a male, digitally distorted voice barked. "Analyzing."

"She has two discs. Violation," another similarly distorted voice warbled. When Echo's vision cleared, she realized that she had managed to emerge directly in the middle of a group of patrolling soldiers. Two captains and six regular soldiers.

"Garbage," she muttered to herself.

"Silence, program. Any resistance will result in your immediate de-resolution. Anything but total compliance will result in immediate de-resolution," the first voice said. She didn't resist as two pairs of strong, gloved hands clamped around her upper arms and pulled her lean form effortlessly out of the sewer access, setting her on her feet. Her disc and the Black Guard's was removed from her hands, which were promptly locked together behind her back. She wasn't the only one that had fallen victim to the street sweeping tonight. She could see red Recognizers far above the rooftops casting searchlights, and at least three other blue-circuit Basics were being led through the streets in restraints within her field of vision. She heard a shout and turned behind herself in time to witness the "immediate de-resolution" of an unfortunate program a block away. She wasn't given any time to contemplate her fate before she was roughly pushed forward. One of the Recognizers had changed its path and was heading straight towards them, descending with a beam of light exposing a wide circle where Echo stood. For a moment, her circulatory core leapt into her throat. If she complied, there was at least the possibility for escape.

Echo found herself and her companions in misfortune restrained at the wrists and ankles aboard one of the patrolling Recognizers. She could feel that the gridcraft was moving with great speed and through the cockpit directly ahead, she could see the tall, vertical landmark that was Tron City Central Tower grow larger as well as the immense geodesic dome which indicated the Arena. She knew that the enormous sphere extended beneath street level and could easily seat 50,000 spectators. The central structures were the brightest objects in the city and they currently cast everything around them in a bright white glow, though the light of the tower ebbed and grew in 8 hour cycles; it would reach its apex brightness in another half millicycle. As the craft began to slow for descent, Echo lost sight of the tower. She had to forcefully remove the impotent worries from her mind, though they repeatedly pushed their way back in. Mostly, they centered around Castor. He was perfectly capable of protecting his and Zuse's interests, but she could think of three separate occasions when, on Zuse's orders and in the company of Castor, she had performed some exceptionally grim duties.

The door of the Recognizer opened downward, forming a ramp that was edged in red, and her crimson glowing captors released the ankle restraints from Echo and the others captured. They were led, at threatening lightstaff point, down the ramp and outside to the central tower's rooftop receiving pad. So high above the streets, the wind rolling in from the Sea of Simulation, which Echo could see from here as an enormous, shimmering surface swallowing the southern horizon, was forceful this evening, and her blue hair whipped around her head and face, stinging her skin. Storm coming, how appropriate.

As she was prodded into the center of a line of a dozen other captives, Echo saw other Recognizers landing and disgorging their content of captured criminals, though the term was applied loosely here. The Games would be exciting to watch tonight with so many combatants, and she also knew that those that didn't get sentenced to play would only serve to swell CLU's ranks after being Rectified. There was a shout, muffled by wind, and Echo and the others in line with her turned to where, on the far left side of the landing pad, a blue-circuit had decided to make a run for it. Two guards pursued, he tripped, and a red bolt indicating a thrown disc shattered him before returning to its owner. All continued as if nothing had happened, but the program to Echo's right, a yellow-circuit free tech, had started quaking violently and gibbering to herself and Echo couldn't help but feel pity.

They were soon approached by a red-circuit military program, flanked by four more soldiers with lightstaves, whose uniform indicated that he was a Captain. Echo tried to see the program he approached first, but was jabbed painfully in her side by one of the guards, prompting her to look straight ahead. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw and heard the Captain scanning and calculating.

"Rectify," his deep, warbled voice barked authoritatively. Whoever he had just sentenced was led immediately onto another Rectifier. He moved to the next in line, only three away from her. Her mind raced.

"Games." He was going too fast. The program that had been sentenced to the Games was whimpering now and feverishly talking to himself. They had to drag him to the lift platform. Echo wondered what he had done that had made the Games a worthy judgment and how long he would last.

"Rectify." Another soldier for CLU's army. The yellow-circuit was next.

"Games." She fell silent and was led away quietly.

The captain was before her then and Echo could hear the small digital whirring of his scanners.

"Games," she blurted just as his mouth, the only thing that was visible under his helmet, had opened. "I want to play." The Captain and his guard appeared as nonplussed as they could in three quarter-length helmets. She saw her judge smirk.

"You'd better put on a good show, soldier killer," he leered before barking, "Games."

Like the yellow-circuit that had been next to her, Echo was ushered away by two soldiers, ignoring the disbelieving stares of the basics that still awaited judgment, to the lift which would take her down into the Arena. When she stepped onto the lift platform, she could already hear, and feel, the booming pulse of the Arena's percussive war drums which served to inflame the crowds and unnerve the combatants. Echo was calm, however. No one survived the Games, but at least she would end her existence doing what she did best. She just hoped that Castor could forgive her.