The addition of the drums to Sam's apartment just seemed to fit his character, in a way. He clearly has a creative streak, much like his father, and keeping in time with a metronome adds to his skill of precision, which is especially needed, considering how agile a vehicle his motorbike is.

"Almost there! Hang on!" Sam called out as the motorbike banked off the straight and narrow highway onto a winding side street. Quorra grinned as her arms wound ever tighter around the User boy, his warmth comfortingly pressing against her smaller frame. She mentally corrected herself. Sam wasn't a User boy to her; he was just a boy. She was a User herself, as strange as the concept still sounded. Trees whizzed by in moments. The silver orb that Sam had called the moon was framed against a network of glistening dots called stars above the spiny tips of towering evergreens. Quorra smiled to herself. Her first night in the User world had been very much like this, although it had also been more fresh and new due to the plethora of discoveries that had awaited her.

Sam had taken her to a suburban park, where she could see the stars come out after the rosy light of the sunset had faded away. When he had asked her for her opinion on the night sky, the ISO had replied that it was very beautiful, but she preferred the sunrise above all. The stars in their complexity had reminded her of the well-organized world inside of the computer.

Sam had been silent for a moment as he lay on that old blanket, his hands behind his head. Quorra had worried that she had said the wrong thing. That was, until he had turned to face her with a small smile, and replied, "You know, I never would have thought of it that way."

The ISO was drawn out of her reverie when Sam's motorcycle began to slow, its revving dying down. Flynn had trained her well in being on her guard for small details such as these. Sure enough, Sam was pulling up to rather small garage. "Home sweet home," he declared in an elated voice as the motorcycle halted. That was quite an understatement. Since making their exit from the system, Sam and Quorra had led a sort of nomadic life in the last week. Quorra, of course, had been no means ungrateful for this bountiful adventure of exploring the sprawling User city that Sam had told her was called Los Angeles.

Dance clubs, although much larger than End of Line, had held thronging hordes of writhing User bodies, the whole of which quickly illuminated in passing bright hues of color. Quorra had at first been intimidated by the large number, considering such a number had once formed an army bent on destroying everything in its path. Sam, however, had been quick to remedy her worry by taking her hand, and spinning her around with a light-hearted, and contagious laugh. He had kept her close for the rest of the night.

Shops had sprawled out on three tiers beneath her in a large mall, their colorful lights and awnings contrasting the pallid surfaces of the walls and floor. Users, carrying bags of purchased items, had walked back and forth beneath her, the distance diminishing them to the size of ants. Quorra had leaned on a safety rail while watching. Sam, who had been standing beside her, had shared a snack with a twisted shape and a salty covering he called a pretzel with her. A few bags had been with them, since Quorra had needed clothing. She hadn't been able to thank Sam enough for giving her the green User currency with which to pay for her necessities, as well as the rather tasty snack. Even so, she still felt somewhat pitiful. She now needed to rely upon him for everything in this world, and although Sam would deny it, she saw it as a weakness. She was draining his funds with unfortunately little to show for it, although that was out of her power.

Nights had been spent upon a soft bed in a guest room at the home of Sam's grandparents. Quorra had been thankful of his respect for her. Living only with Flynn had been easy; he had been far too old for her for her, not to mention the fact that he had still felt the loss of his mate, Jordan. Living alone with Sam right away, for as much as she liked him, would not have gone well. Sam's grandparents had been curious of Quorra for good reason, and it had taken them a while to warm up to her. It had taken Sam quite a bevy of explaining in order to allow her entrance into his house. Introducing her as a lover would have been a disaster, so instead, Sam had revealed her to be a friend. Further explanation had gone to say that Quorra had been between apartments, and needed a place to stay for the week.

Quorra had leapt in at that point to strengthen her case by saying that she would gratefully help around the house in the meantime. If anything, it gave her time to nurture and play with Sam's pet dog, who was still with his grandparents for the time being; he would simply not sit still on a motorcycle. The relief his elders had at last given at Sam's explanation had both elated and worried Quorra. She had been happy to secure a dwelling until his grandfather had opened his mouth. "We're just glad to see you here again, Sam."

The words had been friendly, but they had been spoken in a resigned tone. Quorra had turned her head to look at Sam, who had revealed nothing to her, given he was facing his relative, and not her. With a slight smile, young Flynn had replied, "Thanks." She had frowned at that. Even Sam had his own sort of problems, it seemed.

As Quorra let go of him in order to dismount, something peculiar about the garage caught her eyes. Scrawled across the low building's white top in blue letters was the word DUMONT. "The tower guardian?" She asked in a curious voice.

He looked up at her in surprise. "Huh?"

She pointed at the word. "I was told about him." Flynn had been the one to tell her. Quorra knew it was still too soon to mention his name to Sam in a regular conversation.

"Oh," he followed her gesture, "that's right...He was Gibbs' program..." Sam's eyes clouded over as he thought about the past himself. "He willed this place to us before he passed away...The whole ENCOM legacy," he spread his hands out to indicate the building's entirety, "is right here. Kinda gives you the chills when you think about it." Quorra made a confused noise, which broke him out of his own trip down memory lane. Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. I gave you way too much in one shot, didn't I?"

She shrewdly nodded, but couldn't help cocking her head slightly. He laughed nervously, and strode over to the garage. "S'okay. We'll just pretend I didn't say anything." Quorra chuckled as he bent down, dropping his backpack at his side in order to fiddle with the door. User behavior was quite curious at times. She couldn't help but blush at that thought in spite of herself as she wondered if she too behaved in such a way.

The garage door rattled loudly as Sam pushed it up. The noise provided a jarring difference to the soft stirring of the breeze in the trees, and the chirps of crickets. She didn't mind that one bit; in fact, the industrial sound was rather comforting in comparison. "Well Quorra, shall we?" Sam asked in a mock serious manner, extending his hand out to her after flicking on the lights. Beaming, she took it.

The interior of the garage had its own sense of minimalist beauty to it. A small array of furniture, such as a couch and refrigerator, sat in the middle. A single bed was off to the side. The furniture was clearly worn and used, much unlike that in the home she had shared with Sam's sire, but the scene had appeared inviting in its own way. Sam let go of her hand to point at the bed. "You can sleep there, if you want. I'll take the couch."

Quorra raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? That's your bed, isn't it? Wouldn't you be more comfortable on it?"

His answer came in the form of his flopping down on the couch, and depositing his backpack next to it. "I've had some of my best naps on this." Chuckling, she nodded, and dropped her own backpack on the bed before turning to look back at the room proper. She could always unpack later.

Resting on top of an old barrel was an unusual looking object that caught her eye. It was small, triangular, and appeared to be made out of a sort of black plastic, rather than metal, save for a small gold-painted rod that stood straight up in the middle. Quorra walked over to pick it up, and cradle it in her hands. "What's this?" She inquired. It was quite light.

"It's a metronome. Here, I'll show you. All you have to do is touch this pendulum," Sam stood to join her. Reaching over, he tapped the rod slightly. She watched in fascination as the rod went back and forth, making a peculiar, yet rhythmic, tapping sound as it did so. "Now, hold it carefully, and watch," Sam instructed before going over to a drum set that was set against the side wall of the garage. Quorra observed curiously as he took up the set of sticks lay on top of the center drum, and began to rap on the cylinders.

Within moments, it dawned on her that his drumming was matching the beat. Tap, tap tap...Tap, tap, tap...A clang soon ended each set of taps as Sam threw in a beat on each of the two cymbals after a series of taps. Her head bobbed slightly with the beat. So, this was how the MP3 programs at the End of Line Club composed that music. "Wanna give it a shot?" He called over the sound.

"Sure!" She quickly handed the metronome off to him before taking a seat behind the set. She'd played the drums once before at the abode of a friend of Sam's. Needless to say, she had beat on them a little too wildly, and had earned the title Crazy Monkey for the day. Now, she was ready to redeem herself.

"Ready, Quorra?" Sam inquired.

"You got it!" She exclaimed with a salute. A tap from Sam sent the pendulum back into motion. Holding her tongue between her teeth, she tried to match the beat, but something seemed off.

"You're going a little too fast," he helpfully pointed out. She slowed her pace. "A little too slow now." Again, she changed the tempo. "Way too fast. Just relax, Quorra. You'll get it." The ISO, meanwhile, was clearly not in the mood to do so. After performing victoriously on the Game Grid, she was being outdone in a much different challenge. It was embarrassing. Sam got the hint after she banged on the drum far too hard. Placing the metronome down after stopping it, he rushed over. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy!"

"How can I go easy on this? It certainly doesn't go easy on me!" She cried out in frustration, clenching the sticks tightly in one hand. He actually laughed.

She was ready to hit him as he replied, "Quorra, it's okay. You're just not used to it."

"I still don't see what's so funny about it," she testily replied.

"You just need more practice. I've been doing this for years," he paused and looked sheepish before going on to say, "I started you off a little too hard. Let's begin with the basics."

She let out a sigh. Flynn had commenced her training with the basics, as well. "Oh, all right. At least I'll have you as my teacher." She perked up at the end of her words, smiling again.

He nodded, leaning against the drums slightly. "First what we need to do is count by three."

"Three?" She repeated in a confused voice.

"Yup. It helps you to keep in rhythm. You won't need the drumsticks for this." Quorra let go of them, although not without some reluctance.

Sam clapped his hands slowly. "One, two, three." Each clap was in time with a numerical word. He repeated himself. "One, two, three." He lowered his hands. "You do it. Just stay a regular rhythm. Not too fast or too slow."

The ISO raised her hands, and clapped the numbers out carefully. "There you go! You got it! Do it again!" He encouraged. They were clapped out once more. "We'll do it together this time."

"One. Two. Three." Another cycle passed, and their voices slowly raised in volume. "One! Two! Three!" The third cycle consisted of them calling out the elementary lyrics to one another in elation.

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

They each broke in laughter as the round ended, and Quorra found herself surprised at how entertaining such simplicity turned out to be.

XXXXXX

"Sam, can I ask you a question?" Quorra asked from where she sat on the floor at the open end of the garage, her feet in the grass.

"Go ahead," he replied from where he sat next to her.

"Why did you take up the drums?"

He shrugged. "Something to do, I guess. Well, it wasn't really my decision in the first place. My grandparents set me up with it after I had too much free time on my hands after school. I'd get my homework done, and either lay around all day, or get beat up from falling off my bike."

Quorra cringed. "Your injuries were extensive?"

"I got lucky that I didn't break my leg in one bad fall I had," Sam replied as he tapped his right one, and then redirected the conversation to the previous subject, "Anyway, playing an instrument helped to keep a sort of balance."

"Balance? Do you also practice Zen?" The question came out before she could stop it. Sam lowered his head, and shook it. A sad look was on his face. Quorra put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

He raised his head, his expression neutral. "I meant a mental balance. I couldn't just set my mind on a single goal all day long. That's why I also have my motorbike. It takes my mind off computer programming before I fry my brain on all the stress." Stress...Motorbike...Something clicked into place in Quorra's mind, and she gasped, her hands flying to mouth. Sam looked over worriedly, his hand on her wrist. "What is it? Are you okay?"

She slowly lowered her hands, her eyes wide. "CLU...He liked the Games..." Sam's eyes narrowed at the name of the tyrant, and he nodded in affirmation. "He spent the rest of his time creating the perfect system," Quorra whispered. Her friend caught on to what she was saying. A spooked look jumped onto his face, and the two stared at each at other uneasily, as if they realized that had stumbled upon a terrible secret. The slight rustling of the trees by the wind seemed to give credence to that.

"The Games were used to persecute those that were against the perfect system," he stated plainly. Quorra nodded, and thrust her arms tightly around Sam as CLU's sneering face formed in her mind. Somehow she managed to hold back the sob that was building in her throat as Sam stroked her hair and told her that it was all right, that she was alive and he would protect her, while CLU was not.

While Sam had his drums, Flynn had had his creativity, and Quorra had her books, CLU had had no balance, only an obsession with the perfect system. Quorra had known that the program had been corrupted, and only now had it dawned on her just to what extent. As the cries of her fellow ISO's rang in her mind's ears just as they had in so many nightmares that would never release their grip on her, she could only be grateful for this kind, brave, and perfectly sane boy that she held in her arms.