Greetings! Darktiger09 here with a multi-chaptered story instead of a oneshot, finally! This is set during Tron: Legacy, during the reign of CLU, after Tron is turned into Rinzler and before Sam enters the Grid. Just to let you know, this IS an OC-centric fic, however the character's gender or appearance will not be revealed until the final chapter, and except for existing cannon characters (such as CLU and Rinzler) and a very brief mentioning of two other OC's, no names will be given regarding any of the characters. This story is written from a first-person point of view until the very last chapter, where the viewpoint will switch to third person, and also; the tenses will be present-tense until the last chapter where they will switch to past-tense. I'm really going to experiment with this story, and hopefully everything will work out the way I've planned it. Other than that, the only thing I ask is that you enjoy this short fic, and possibly provide a review, so that I can better improve my stories based upon what my readers find enjoyable.

Many thanks!

~ Darktiger09~

Tron: Deresolution

Chapter One: Welcome to The Games

I can hear the cheering before I even step outside.

I stand down below the Arena, being prepped for the Games. Four Sirens walk stiffly towards me, surrounding me and cutting off my clothing, their large, unblinking eyes cold and devoid of any compassion for a fellow program. I close my own eyes, silently reflecting on my short life.

This isn't how I wanted things to end.

Before I was caught I was part of the Rebellion- a group of programs that is dedicated to helping free the Grid from the tyrant CLU's influence. There are many other small groups of rebels, but ours is the largest and most widespread. Our programs are stationed all over the entire Grid, collecting information and doing what they can to thwart CLU's plans. All of us are like family, and when we get the occasional former Black Guard who has managed to break through the coding that bound them to CLU; we welcome them with open arms, because every program counts, no matter who they used to be.

We've had many close calls with CLU's loyal Black Guards, and the ever-present threat of the Recognizers, but none of us have ever been caught.

Until today.

All of us knew that this would happen someday, all knew that it was just a matter of time. Because no matter how much we all try to deny it, everyone knows that you can't run forever. Eventually, someone will be caught, someone will die. If you're lucky you'll be derezzed on the spot, a quick and relatively painless death.

But CLU takes a kind of sadistic enjoyment from watching those who defy him fight for their lives, and if his Black Guards can help it they won't derezz a program. They'll just knock them out and bring them here to the Arena.

CLU does this because he knows that once a program enters the Gaming Arena, self-preservation kicks in, and they'll fight like they never have before, all previous thoughts and ideals of removing oneself from the equation, and laying down one's life for the greater good; all of that is gone, and only a sadistic killer driven by instinct is left in the place of a once-noble program.

And the same rings true for me. Because now, my only option is to kill, only I am no longer protecting fellow programs. I must now fight my way to the top of a bloody and merciless ladder, where only the best killers survive.

That's not how I want to live, however it would seem I have no choice in the matter.

I glance down at my body, watching as my new suit rezzes on. I feel a faint click as the Sirens detach my old disc from my back and replace it with a new one- my new Gaming Disc. If I survive, I'll get my old disc back and be given a new set of directives and a code of advanced fighting instructions. Eventually, the more Tournaments you survive, the more instructions you receive, and if you follow them correctly; you'll stay alive.

But one has to wonder if that is really a life worth living.

I take a deep breath as the Sirens step away and walk back to their wall compartments, leaving me all alone to face my fate. I reach a shaking hand behind my back, and run my gloved fingers lightly over the edges of my disc as I wait for the doors in front of me to open.

Each agonizing second stretches by like cycles as I wait, my circuits humming with pent-up energy and anxiety. I can feel my whole body begin to shake slightly, and in an attempt to try and release the energy I begin pacing back and forth, clasping and unclasping my hands, biting my lip until I can taste tangy data trickle across my tongue.

Finally, after what seems like a hundred cycles, the doors open and blinding light spills through, bathing me in white. I throw my hands up to shade my eyes, and my mouth drops open as I gaze out at the mass sea of chanting programs that surround the Gaming Arena. I've never seen the Games before, but I know virtually everything about it. One of the lead programs in our rebellion, Zero, is a former Gamer. He somehow managed to escape, and our head leader Klink found him lying on the brink of deresolution in a back alleyway. We brought him back to full functioning, and he taught us many things about the Games, and how to survive them if we were ever to be caught.

As I walk through the doors and into the Arena, I silently thank him. Because the only thing standing between me and certain deresolution are his instructions. I try to run over them in my mind as I walk onto the large elevator that will take me to the Gaming Levels, but my processor is too jumbled to think straight, so I abandon the attempt; hoping that when the time comes for me to fight I'll remember. Peering through the lightly tinted glass I can see other programs, and they look as frightened as I am. I scan through them but I don't see any familiar faces, and I breathe a sigh of relief. At least I won't have to worry about derezzing any of my fellow rebel programs.

I step off of the elevator and onto the Level One Gaming Platform, steeling myself as my opponent also steps on. A female voice announces my name and my opponent's name, and begins the countdown from three to one. I activate my helmet and lock eyes with my opponent- a well-built male program with an ugly scar of corrupted data running from his chin to his nose. He pulls out his disc, and I can see in his eyes that he just wants this fight to be over with as quickly as possible. And if I have my way, I will grant his wish, only the loser won't be me.

I take one last deep breath, pull my disc from my back, and activate it. It whirrs to life, its edges glowing bright blue, thirsty for combat. I smile grimly and crouch into a fighting stance, disc poised to throw. I feel a sudden surge of energy rush through my body, and my vision sharpens. I can see each detail of my opponent, every curve of his circuits, the way he shifts his left foot behind his right, the slight widening of his eyes as he realizes I am not as defenseless as he previously thought I was.

The thunderous cheering of the crowd slowly fades away into a dull roar in the back of my processor, and the only sound I hear is the hum of my disc and my own ragged breathing. My senses snaps into focus, and my awareness becomes razor-sharp as I see my opponent begin to run towards me, his feet leaving the ground almost in slow motion as he leaps into the air, disc raised. I hold my ground even as he flies towards me, getting closer and closer, until I can hear the deadly hum of his disc. Still I stand there, body tense, eyes narrowed; muscles trembling in anticipation.

And finally, just as his front leg extends to meet my face, I strike, my disc slashing across his midsection. I can see the sudden flash of brief agony cross his face before he shatters into a million bits of data and glass, his disc offlining and clattering to the floor.

For several seconds I stand there, staring in shock at what remains of my opponent before I mentally shake myself from my stupor and slowly bend down, gripping his disc tightly in my gloved hand and picking it up off the glass. It flickers to life in my hand, its neon-green color fading and turning light blue to match my other disc. I raise my head and grin, the numb feeling of horror that first gripped me at the sight of what I had done melting away as the approving roar of the crowd and the feeling of mixed relief and triumph washes over me like an intoxicating flood.

I turn and raise a fist at CLU's throne room where I know he is sitting, watching the Games with an impassive eye, cold and cruel. My defiance sends a clear signal to him, and everyone watching.

I'm not going down without a fight.