And if you think you've won
You never saw me change
The game that we have been playing...
There are just over two dozen high-resolution image files in the update datapacket this time, all of them precisely annotated with coordinates and environmental data. Half of them show a cavern not far from the far southeastern shore of the Sea, both interior and exterior shots. The entire area appears a strategic nightmare, so remote and starved of energy that even the solid Outlands bedrock is glassy and friable, prone to faulting and vicious weather glitches, to which a graveyard of broken runners and jetwings and tanks pays silent testament. More image files survey the small settlement clinging to the shore and the Program population that had dug in by its fingernails, grubbing stubbornly for sluggish, stingy veins of energy and even casting out onto the black ocean for possible system resources that could be brought back.
But in the end, though, it's only the last set of images that truly matter to him, that bring a tight little smile to the Admin's face. He brushes gloved fingers over and through the projection of the ruined face, pale and slack in standby mode and devoid of emotion.
It won't remain that way for long. Sooner or later the call of the nearby settlement and of his directive—protect the System—will drive Tron into action, weak and damaged and glitching as he is. Clu's General and his contingent will be arriving there soon enough, to stir the pot and put the pressure on. But there's no real urgency—all there is for Clu to do now is sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. And, of course, keep an eye open for the occasional status updates.
He opens another screen, leaving the image of Tron's face open, and transmits a reply back to the datapacket's sender.
Excellent work, Sentry Cyrus. Well done.