Okay, so this should be a fluff, but I really don't want it to be...anyways, it's an EVENTUAL Castor/Sam story, but I don't want it to be for a long time, because I'm weird like that. We'll see if I get that far. Haha. Oh, and sorry for the short chapters.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN TRON: LEGACY! Seriously, I would love to, but, well, you know.
Chapter 1 – The Return
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"We have to go back," Quorra stated.
This was no surprise to Sam; he'd been thinking the same thing for the last few weeks. It was two years since they had been in The Grid; two years since he'd faced trials like no other to defeat Clu: two years since he'd seen his father die in front of his eyes and destroy his creation in a moment. He and Quorra had turned ENCOM around, returned it to it's former glory. So it was high time to restore The Grid. Whatever was left of The Grid, anyways.
Sam nodded to Quorra, then headed over to his father's bike, while she got on a slightly smaller version of his. Sam never bothered with cars, but as they lived in the city, it made perfect sense to get Quorra her own. It had only taken her a few days to get the hang of riding.
The ride to Flynn's arcade was a silent one. There was no shrieking laughter into the wind, or cussing at the cops. The solemn minutes inched by like hours. Even Quorra didn't enjoy the wind in her hair as she usually did.
Sam slid the card of The Grid's data smoothly into the ancient computer; it was a miracle the piece of junk still worked. Still, it booted up nicely, whirring softly. It sounded like an old friend. Quorra's brow furrowed as he hacked into the system. The thought of going into such an unkind place was almost scary.
The flash of light that brought them to The Grid was nearly anticlimactic. They left the arcade, not looking at each other, not knowing what to expect. Would there be anything left? Or would a new uprising have started? The questions swirled around.
Sam had to blink from the light, and instinctively shoved his hand in front of his face. Streams of neon decorated buildings, lined streets, accessorized vehicles. All the colors of the rainbow were there – though no red or orange, as far as he could see. Worker programs of all shapes frenziedly constructed roads that stretched into the night. Alleyways were full of programs that were, to use an old quote, "preoccupied". Others simply strolled down the streets, greeting friends, doing shopping. But the one thing that struck Sam was the complete lack of guards, or any sort of Clu henchmen.
"So your father really did destroy Clu, didn't he." It wasn't a question. Quorra must have been thinking along the same lines as Sam.
He turned to her, tearing his eyes away from the reconstruction. "So then, who's in charge, if not Clu?"
"That would be me." Replied a familiar, smooth, but perfectly unexpected voice.
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