AN: Okay so real talk, Tron Legacy hit an annoyingly recurring problem that I find in my media. Specifically, awesome concept, questionable execution. But honestly, I was willing to let that go, whatever, and then I formed some headcanons, gained a fondness for one specific character, and finally went ah fuck it why not. So! Who wants an AU that starts with a small difference and eventually spirals into a completely different story?

Well, you're here, so I'm guessing you do.

Disclaimer to the readers, if you have stuff to do tomorrow, and it is currently past midnight, do yourselves a favour, and walk away. I swear I won't delete this. It'll still be here tomorrow. Just walk away. You know that little voice, telling you that it's not that long? That's the devil talking, and it is lying to you.

Alright, now that everyone here is either well rested or an exhausted gremlin of pure spite (honestly same), let's begin!

Just going to preface this: There aren't actually OC's. I know. It looks like there are. But trust me, everyone involved is a canon character. …Not necessarily a character that makes an appearance in Tron Legacy, but canon regardless. Also some dialogue and sequence of events have been changed, not because AU, but because it's been a while since I saw the movie and honestly I do not have the time in my life to do an exact written version of scenes. Especially since details will be changed, because AU. For the record, yknow how any side character that isn't a program doesn't get any development in Tron? Yeah, I'll be changing that. Not in this story, as it's all Grid time, but the sequel deals with human's who don't have the last name Flynn. Alan especially will get some development in the sequel, because like the rest of the fandom, I write Alan as a bisexual man, and I feel like that's something that needs to be brought up beyond 'excuse for Alan to kiss Flynn/Roy/Tron'. Anyways but Alan's bisexuality isn't a big deal in this story, there's just gonna be some minor forshadowing in his singular scene. I've wasted your time!

Finally, I'd just like to give a warning that this M rating is very much earned. This story deals with themes of abuse, trauma, untreated mental illness, self harm, suicide, graphic violence, rape, sexual assault, sexual violence, torture, genocide, mutilation, and brainwashing. Specific warnings will be used in chapters with a graphic scene of potentially triggering material, and if you send me a PM with your specific trigger, I'd be happy to send you a docx of the chapter in question with the triggering scene edited out and a short summary of any plot relevant events in its place. Stay safe my dudes. For those of you who are triggered by those things and reading anyways for the sake of catharsis, ayy me too.

Oh, and unlike my last Tron fic, Uprising is canon. Hi Beck!

Warnings for this chapter: Canonical violence, brainwashing, and sexual/romantic situations of dubious consent.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: In an Ideal World I'd Be a Decent Person but Everything is Terrible So You Can All Get Fucked

15 missed calls, 47 new texts

Sam sighed, glaring at his phone screen. A quick check proved that fourteen of the calls were from Alan, and one from Roy. Likewise, the texts were forty five messages of alarm, panic, annoyance and concern, interspaced with demands to call him. One of the texts was again, from Roy, congratulating him on the whole thing going well, and the final text just Lora politely asking him to stop trying to give Alan a heart attack.

He didn't really feel like replying to any of them.

The benefit of living in a garage was that he could just park his motorcycle and head to the fridge for a much needed beer, back aching as he bent over to grab it, and making him wince. He could probably benefit from some icepacks. He wasn't going to use any, but it would help if he did. And hey, thinking about it was close enough, right?

As he was grabbing his beer, he realised that somebody else was in his garage, and he sighed, grabbing a second.

"Alan, why are you in my house."

"You wouldn't answer your phone."

The answer made Sam roll his eyes.

"Look, Alan, I appreciated the whole 'surrogate father' thing when I was fourteen, but it's starting to get old. Have you considered getting a cat? I feel like you could benefit from a cat."

"We already have a cat, his name is Zap, and he's doing fine. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to develop Alzheimer's before me."

Sam's response was a cheerful middle finger, which Alan sarcastically copied.

"So how was prison?"

"Alan, please. I was in holding. There's a difference. You heathen." Sam deadpanned, still tossing him the second beer he was holding. Alan caught it, and snorted.

"It's funny that you assume I've never been arrested before."

"Look, Alan, I'm tired, I smell like a cell, and my back hurts. I want to take a shower and go to bed. I appreciate the post-prison visit, but get out."

"I got paged earlier today."

"…That is the most eighties sentence I've heard in a long time."

"It was from your father's number. At the arcade."

Sam froze.

"Well, someone pretending to have it anyways. I checked at the phone company, number's still disconnected. Still, figured it was worth going to check out. Don't know if there's anything to find there, but if there is, you deserve to find it."

"What the fuck. No, I- fuck no, that's bullshit. Something there, like he's just going to be fucking sitting at his desk, like 'hey buddy, lost track of time, wanna just order pizza for dinner?' Come on."

Alan gave a small chuckle, and shook his head slightly, a slightly sad expression on his face.

"Wouldn't that be something. If you do find him, give him a good punch in the face for me."

"C'mon Alan."

"Just kidding. You can punch him for you, but I want to punch him myself."

"Alan."

"Here's the keys. That part of town's a shithole these days, so try not to get stabbed?"

"…I will do my very best."

Sam's bike pulled up in front of the arcade, and he sighed. Desolate and abandoned as always.

"This is stupid." He muttered to himself. But despite that, he grabbed the keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the door anyways, letting himself in.

The place was covered in dust, with no sign of anyone else having been in there for more than a decade, all of the machines covered with plastic.

The fusebox was in the same place as usual, and he turned all the power on. There was a moment, before it all lit up, lights and machines turning on, and pounding music beginning.

With a wince, Sam found the switch for the speakers, and powered them back down. It was 2010. If he wanted to listen to music while investigating, he'd use his earbuds like a civilized human being.

Some scrape marks on the floor caught his eye, and he kneeled down to look at them. Looked like a machine got dragged around there. A lot, considering how deep they were.

Huh.

Must have been the Tron machine.

Some strange nostalgia prompted him to grab the machine, and tug it in the direction of the scrapes, revealing…

A door.

Huh.

It was unlocked, and Sam was surprised to find a staircase, leading down. At the base was another door, marked as the electrical room, rusted keys still in the door.

It swung open easily, and Sam was unsurprised to find that it was not an electrical room. Instead, a computer sat on a desk, some sort of device behind it. And the computer was still running.

He powered it up, and let out a long sigh at the commands that popped up. 'Last Will and Testament.' So his Dad had been doing something that might have gotten him killed?

…Or maybe he just had the will because that was a thing normal people did. According to Alan, he'd taken Mom's death pretty hard. Making wills after losing loved ones was a thing normal people did, right?

The computer was asking if he wanted to run the last command.

Well. Why not.

He hit Y.

Nothing happened, except for a faint whirring sound, like something building up, and then-

Sam let out a shaky breath, staring around the office in confusion, the scenery having suddenly shifted in a subtle but noticeably way, just enough for him to see the difference, and be confused.

And something was now on the desk in front of him, in place of the now missing computer. A small, barely noticeable black device, looking kind of like a plastic earplug.

"What in the actual fuck…" He muttered, confused panic rising in him.

"Hey! I can see you at the desk there! Yeah, you, pick up the communicator." A voice said, coming from seemingly nowhere, and severely distorted, making it impossible to even tell the source's gender.

Sam looked around, but found the room still empty, with no signs of a speaker.

"…Communicator?" He asked out loud, confused.

"The little thing on the table. You pick it up and stick it in your ear so we can talk without the broadcast setting."

Sam gave the little device a look of suspicion, before his natural reflex of 'fuck it' took over, and he followed the request, inserting the thing in his ear.

"So what's going on?"

"I don't know what you just said. These things are meant for stealth situations, it won't transmit to me if you're actually talking. You need to… I don't really know how to explain it. Talk without talking?"

Talk without talking. The actual fuck had he walked into.

…If Sam was going to keep stalling out over weird shit, something told him he was going to have a very long night.

So. Communication attempt round two.

"What the actual fuck is going on?" He said, throat and tongue moving, but mouth staying closed and silent.

"There you go. So, welcome to the Grid. You're in a computer…? Or something, I don't know how it works on the other end. Everyone here's programs. Or, almost everyone. Whatever. Look, there's another User around here somewhere, he'll explain it better. The name Kevin Flynn familiar to you?"

Sam inhaled sharply in surprise, and the contact gave a mechanical laugh in his ear.

"Guessing that's a yes."

"Where the hell is my father?"

"…I don't know. But I know someone that does."

"Who!? Where are they?"

"Patience is a very useful trait, User." The contact replied, sounding borderline cheerful through their voice modulator. Sam closed his eyes, and resisted the urge to scream in frustration.

"How do I find them." He tried again, teeth gritted, despite the fact that he wasn't actually speaking out loud.

"Working on that as we speak. For now, I'm going to need you to step outside, User."

"Stop calling me 'user', what the hell does that even mean? My name's Sam, who are you?"

The contact was silent for a moment.

"That's… not information I like to give out. I've got my own safety to worry about here. Anonymity is the best route. You can just call me Contact. Leave the building now, please."

Sam let out a long sigh, but stood up from the desk anyways.

"Some fucking bullshit, what the actual hell is going on here…" He muttered to himself, making his way out of the eerily altered building. The Contact couldn't hear it, but the angry muttering was cathartic anyways.

And then he stepped outside, and froze, staring in shock.

He was in some sort of otherworldly city, completely black, except for glowing blueish-white lines running across everything. A thunderstorm rumbled overhead, although without rain, and in the distance, a tall structure glowed with orange lines instead of the uniform blue.

Sam was struck with a sudden regret for not taking that art course he'd looked at briefly back in high school. If he actually gave half a shit about aesthetics, he'd probably be floored by the futuristic look of the city he'd ended up in.

A loud noise and sudden wind interrupted his amazing staring, and he looked up to find a strange ship coming down, its lines glowing the same orange as the tower.

"Contact? Where the hell am I?"

"I told you, you're on the Grid, keep up. That thing above you is a Recognizer. The soldiers on it are going to arrest you. Go quietly."

"Wait, what the fuck-"

"Relax, Sam Flynn. It's all part of the plan. I'll keep you safe, don't worry." The Contact drawled, their tone of boredom and mild amusement making it clear that they weren't taking his situation as seriously as Sam thought they should.

"You fucking better, if I die I'm coming back just to kill you."

"Trust me User. If you die, I've got bigger problems."

With that ominous statement, the ship landed, and several people (programs?) in black armour with orange lines stepped out, heads covered by reflective helmets that hid their faces.

"No disk. Another stray program for the games." One of the masked guards said, roughly grabbing Sam.

"Remember, do what they say. Oh, and once you get in the games, do us both a favour here… avoid Rinzler. At all costs. You can't take him. Nobody can. Don't even try, it'll end with you getting a messy death, and, more importantly, me being severely inconvenienced."

"I'm having a sneaking suspicion that you're an asshole." Sam replied, scowling silently as the guards began to manhandle him towards the ship.

"I don't know anything about User culture, but I'm assuming that's an insult."

"It's an insult. I'm calling you a terrible person."

"I can live with that." The Contact said, clearly not caring in the slightest. "I have to go deal with something now, I'll be back before they put you in the Games. Good luck."

The loading platform rose, taking him up into the ship, which promptly took off again, flying over the digital city. Contact disconnected with a click, the sound somehow giving across the impression of a metaphorical middle finger being extended. Asshole.

Really, Sam's life was so fucked.

"I can't believe you're treating a User like that."

The program known as Contact sighed, and rolled their eyes.

"I was honest with him. I told him where he was, I told him we're looking for the Creator, and I told him I didn't care about him. That's nice, by my standards."

"Your standards are terrible." The Other replied, but without much of a bite to the words.

"As you've told me. Repeatedly. For the last several hundred cycles."

"Still. It's not right, manipulating a User."

"So? I might be blatantly using him, but what I want out of Sam is better than what Clu wants. Besides, I'm more likely to keep him alive when his use runs out."

Other was silent for a moment. Contact could almost hear the scowl on their face.

"…Fair enough. But if anything happens to that User, you lose my support on this."

"Again… so? It's not like I need you to get anything done, and last time I checked… you can't shit without me anyways. I don't need your permission here."

"...Watch it program. By my standards, you're practically still in beta."

"Oh, don't get all commanding on me, you know I'm not taking that shit from you-"

The rising argument was stopped by the sound of the Games starting, and they looked over at their view of the arena.

"…We should keep an eye on Sam Flynn." The Other said, reluctance in their voice. "We can pick this up later."

"Agreed. I always enjoy beating you in arguments. Now shut up, I'll get back in contact with him. Don't want you distracting me."

"Nice new look. I mean, your circuit lines are pretty simple, but not everybody can be as attractive as me, I suppose."

The distorted voice in Sam's ear signalled the return of his mystery Contact, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance at the comment.

"Are you still watching me? You're creepy as all fuck, you know that, right?"

"I've heard. I'm not going to stop, but I have definitely heard that I am creepy. Think fast, by the way, your match is about to start. You need to derezz the other program. Oh, and don't do anything stupid?"

Sam snickered, ignoring his rising fear at the apparent fight to the death he had gotten into, and drawing his disk.

"Apparently you don't know me. I'm always doing something stupid."

As the Contact watched, Sam Flynn very quickly lived up to his apparent stupidity by sliding right out of his arena.

"Oh, Users, this hurts to watch." The Other commented, true to their words sounding slightly pained.

"Now who's being mean to the User?"

"…Shut up. Oh no, is he going where I think he is?"

The Contact took a second look at the User's strange escape attempt, and cursed angrily.

"Fucks sake, I give him one instruction, and what does he fucking do!?"

Sam dropped into the empty arena, and looked around for another way out, not seeing one as the hole he had entered through closed off.

"I've got a bad feeling about this." He muttered.

"One job. You had one job. Just avoid Rinzler. And you walked into his fucking arena, you're like a defective bit or something, for fucks sake…" The Contact grumbled into Sam's ear, although some alarm shone through even with the distortion.

"Combatant three versus Rinzler." The cool female voice announced. A single program began to walk out, tall and lanky with menacingly orange circuits, and a reflective helmet attached to his bodysuit to hide everything from view.

The crowd began to chant, all calling Rinzler's name in unison, stomping in their seats. Sam's bad feeling suddenly became much, much worse.

"Uh… got any solutions here? Are you in the crowd or something?"

"Of course I'm in the crowd. I… was kind of hoping they'd know you were a User by now, so that the program I'm looking for would show, or they'd at least capture you instead of derezzing you…. Okay. Okay. Just… don't die right now, I'll think of something. I can improvise. We can work with this."

An eerie rumbling filled the arena, like a broken computer struggling to function. Briefly, Sam wondered if the orange lined program was even dangerous, considering the sound gave off the impression of severely damaged code.

Rinzler didn't say a word, only drawing his disk, and twisting it to reveal two disks, assuming a combative stance as Sam drew his own.

"Oh come on, that's not fair." Sam muttered, attempting to separate his own disk, and fairly certain he looked like an idiot in the process.

Rinzler tossed both of his disks at Sam, which he narrowly avoided, before attempting a return shot of his own. It didn't seem very effective, considering Rinzler jumped over it, doing a perfect spin in the air and nailing the landing. And still fucking rumbling.

Sam mentally reassessed his opinion on the sound from 'broken computer' to 'murderous animal that's probably going to kill you but feels like fucking around for a while first'.

"Wow, that was kind of sad." Contact said in his ear, sounding mildly amused.

"Thanks, I'm glad you're taking my fight to the death so seriously-"

"Gravity's about to flip!"

As the Contact spoke, an alarm sounded, and Rinzler took off running, sprinting straight up the wall. Sam turned as well, attempting to do the same on the wall behind him, but only succeeding in getting part of the way up, painfully falling and rolling the rest of the way down with a loud swear. Across from him, he could see Rinzler made it up perfectly. Of course he did.

"You're so bad at this, it actually hurts to watch. Heads up!"

Sam looked up in time to catch Rinzler jumping at him, and smashed the panel he was going to land on. Fucking of course, that wasn't helpful, as Rinzler stuck the landing anyways, feet planted on either side of the missing panel. Which looked uncomfortable as hell, but Rinzler didn't seem the type to care.

They briefly traded a few blows. Or, more accurately, Sam frantically blocked as many hits as he could, before attempting to retaliate. Unsurprisingly, Rinzler blocked it, and got in a lightning quick response, slicing his arm open before Sam could pull away, drawing a yelp of pain out of him.

Another alarm sounded, and the gravity flipped back to normal, sending Sam crashing straight to the ground with a groan of pain.

"Oh, shit…" The Contact hissed out, and Sam looked up to see Rinzler hanging from the ceiling, easily holding himself up with one hand, hanging from the edge of the destroyed panel. And before Sam could move, Rinzler swung and dropped, boots heading straight for Sam's face.

While there wasn't enough time to move, there was just enough time for Sam to think oh, this is going to hurt like a bitch, isn't it?

Rinzler's boots impacted with Sam's face and chest, and the two were knocked to the ground. It did indeed, hurt like a bitch. Sam skidded a fair distance with Rinzler practically standing on him, a disk held to his throat.

"Well, nice knowing you." He managed to say to his Contact, who was holding an anxious silence.

But Rinzler wasn't putting the disk through his throat.

Rinzler was staring at his arm, and at the wound that he had caused, the force of the impact having caused some blood to drip onto the floor.

Sam's bad feeling made a triumphant return.

"User." Rinzler growled out, voice sounding oddly glitched and broken. And beneath the electronic distortion… vaguely familiar? Almost like Alan…

Weird coincidence.

Rinzler's disk moved away from Sam's throat, and he was dragged to his feet, roughly turned to face what seemed to be the private box as the audience booed.

"Identify, program!" A voice boomed, seemingly the person in charge.

"Tell him who you are, it's the only way you're getting out of here alive." The Contact ordered sharply, sounding tense. Sam could relate.

"I'm not a program, and my name is Sam Flynn!"

The crowd went dead silent, staring in shock. Beside him, Rinzler rumbled on.

"Bring him to me." The voice in charge ordered, and Rinzler began dragging Sam out of the arena and down a hallway, one hand tightly grabbing his upper arm, and the other pressed to his back.

"I'm gonna do something stupid, try and escape, hang on." Sam informed the Contact, mentally pumping himself up for the incredibly stupid thing he was about to do.

"Do not-"

Sam tuned out Contact, and stomped on Rinzlers foot. He was mildly surprised by the lack of response from the man - generally speaking, Sam doing that resulted in the victim howling in pain as several bones went crunch. But Rinzler stayed silent, the only reaction being him stopping, and his grip loosening slightly. Which was all he needed.

Sam ripped his arm free, and took off running back the way they had came.

It was going great, right until he was grabbed from behind, and slammed against the wall, Rinzler's grip on his shoulders tight enough to bruise. Not to mention him getting just a bit too close in Sams personal space.

There was a long, tense moment, user and enforcer staring at each other. Whatever it was Rinzler was thinking, it was impossible to discern through the helmet, completely reflective even at close quarters.

And then, very slowly, Rinzler raised a hand and smacked Sam across the back of the head.

"Ow! …You dick." Sam hissed out. Because really, Rinzler was being a dick.

And Rinzler continued dragging him along, uncaring about his status as a dick

The message of 'don't try that again dumbass' had been pretty clear. Sam decided to hold off on escape attempts.

"Okay, nevermind. Escape attempt failed. I don't think Rinzler likes me very much."

Contact laughed.

"I could have told you that. Rinzler doesn't like anybody. You're lucky he didn't take your head off for that."

"...He hit me."

"You've suffered so much. Truly, the greatest martyr of our time."

Contact was a dick too then.

Rinzler brought them into some sort of elevator, and they began to ascend, anxiety turning Sam's nerves into live wires.

"So, I'm not really liking this situation, especially since I'm alone with Murderbot here. So far you've been very unhelpful about keeping me alive." Sam said dryly, suddenly incredibly thankful for the fact that the communicator worked silently.

"Stop whining, you'll be fine. They're not going to kill you, you're the first User to surface in thousands of cycles. You're too useful to die. To me as well as them."

For some reason, Sam didn't find that overly comforting.

"There are a lot of things you can do to someone without killing them." He pointed out, looking nervously over at Rinzler. The orange lined program seemed like he'd go for that sort of thing.

"Oh, I know. I don't really care, but I know. I need you alive, User. I'm not overly picky about whether or not you're in one piece, just as long as you're still able to do what I need you to."

Sam gritted his teeth, scowling slightly.

"That's nice and all, but why in the fuck would I ever help you? You've only gotten me in worse situations so far. And frankly, you don't seem overly upset by that fact."

"Probably because I'm not, and remember me keeping you alive literally a few nanocycles ago? During your fight with the most badass motherfucker on the Grid? Besides, unlike them, what I've got planned for you is mutually beneficial. And if you don't like that… well, feel free to turn to all your other allies. Oh wait. You don't have any."

"The second we meet in person, I'm kicking your ass."

"Ha. You say that like you could."

Sam was about to snap something in reply, but the elevator came to a stop, and Rinzler continued dragging him along, down an ominous hallway and towards a door.

If Contact was a prick, then Rinzler was a goddamn cactus.

"Any tips for survival?"

"Yeah, don't believe anything he says. He's fucking with you. He's literally just fucking with you. Don't trust him."

"Wow, that's vague and non-specific, super helpful Contact, who am I not trusting-"

The door opened, revealing what looked like a throne room, all filled with more programs, dressed in the standard black bodysuits with glowing orange lines. Except the program sitting in the throne, who kept to the colour scheme, but seemed to be in some sort of cloak, with their face hidden by one of those reflective helmets. Judging by the way several of the programs looked at Sam, and then back at the cloaked one, this was the guy in charge here.

"I think they've taken me to the guy in charge here. I'm not admitting this out loud, but that's one badass looking cloak." Sam said silently to the Contact, once again so very, very glad that the communicator was practically impossible for anyone to notice him using.

"Don't tell him that, he's a tool. And just remember, whatever he says to you – he's lying. He always lies. And no matter what he says, do not let anybody take your disk. Don't even let them touch it. Now focus, this is dangerous enough without you distracted."

The program in charge stood up, and everyone in the room turned to look at him. Rinzler finally let go of Sam. Honestly, the entire thing was creepy as hell.

And then the helmet retracted, and the world stopped. Everything came to a halt at once. It had to have, because Sam could not fucking process what had just happened, and the person in front of him, there after twenty years looking like he'd never even left, like he'd just stepped out the door yesterday. The world had to have come to a complete stop because there was no fucking was his father was standing in front of him once again.

"…Dad?"

"Hello Sam." His father said, smiling warmly. "Been a long time."

"...Yeah, just a bit. How- you don't- you haven't even aged, I don't understand-"

"Things work differently here. Welcome to the Grid, Sam. How did you get here?"

"…Alan got your page, sent me over to the arcade."

His Dad hummed a bit, sounding interested.

"Oh, good. Is Alan here as well?"

"N-no, just me."

"Well, that's alright. Can I see your disk?"

Sam blinked, conflicted between trusting the Contact, or his father.

"My dad's asking for my disk, what do I do?" He asked, hoping the movement of his throat wasn't too obvious.

"Your- what? No, that- that's not Flynn, you fucking idiot, that's Clu! I mean, if he thinks you think he's Flynn, keep him going, see what you can get him to admit to, but he's not your father, he hates Users. And you. And Flynn. Especially Flynn. Do not let him have your fucking disk, I don't know if he could reprogram a User, but honestly let's not risk it."

"I… would prefer you didn't? Besides, what's going on, why didn't you come home?" Sam said, covering up his surprise at the real identity of the man in front of him. Thankfully, a lifetime of delinquency had made Sam a champion liar. Maybe he could get some information out of Clu. And find out what went wrong with his father's digital frontier.

"Well, you see that laser out there? It takes up more power than the Grid has to spare, so it can only stay on for so long, and it doesn't open from the inside. So it went out…"

"And you got trapped. And now you run the place."

"Pretty much."

"Where's Tron? …And Clu?"

"Clu's off working. Tron… is no longer with us. He turned on me, I had to get rid of him. I've got Rinzler now."

Sam nodded, mentally parsing out the bullshit. Clu was probably the reason his father was missing. Tron was murdered. Rinzler was both creepy as fuck, and Clu's replacement Tron.

Sam's life was so fucked.

"Alright… so, what did you actually do with my father, Clu?"

Look, he only had so much patience, and there wasn't anything else he wanted to know.

There was a brief moment of silence around the bridge, as everyone parsed him blatantly calling bullshit on the guy in charge.

And then Clu's uncomfortably familiar face twisted into a smirk.

"Aren't you clever. Take him away."

Rinzler stepped away, and a few of the faceless guards stepped forwards, grabbing a hold of Sam, and starting to drag him out of the room, despite his struggles.

"Let go of me you dicks! What did you do with my father!"

"The same thing I'm going to do to you. User."

And the doors closed as Sam was dragged out.

"Okay, so, what I got was that he doesn't know where my dad is, Tron is dead, and Rinzler is Tron's replacement. Bullshit check please." Sam asked Contact, still putting up a token struggle as the guards dragged him along.

"Clu turned on Flynn and stopped him from getting out of the Grid before the portal closed. He attempted to kill Flynn, but was stopped by Tron, who got derezzed. …Supposedly. Nobody's really sure, there were these rumours going around that Tron was alive for a while, but that kind died down after a while. You've still got your disk, right?"

"Yeah, he never touched it."

"Good."

"…What's about Rinzler?"

"I cannot explain Rinzler. He just… showed up one day. Nobody knows where he came from, and nobody worked with him before he was Clu's enforcer. He just kind of… happened. He's fucking creepy, is what he is. He never talks, never takes off his helmet, and doesn't listen to anybody but Clu. And, according to Tron City's top quality rumour mill, they're totally fucking."

"Okay, that's disgusting and a mental image I don't want to have in my head."

"Right? Hey, if I have to deal with the thought then so do you. Anyways. Clu's probably going to kill you, and probably in some big, showy method. This works for me, because again, top quality rumour mill. Everyone knows a User showed up and got captured. So, with any luck, Flynn's person will show up and save your ass, then they'll bring you Flynn, and indirectly get me to Flynn. I have plans, and I need him for those plans. You're expendable."

"…Y'know there's been a few times where I've thought hey; maybe this Contact person is alright, and then you say creepy shit like that and oh boy. Oh boy."

"Hey, I'm being honest. I've got one main goal, and you're not really featured in it."

"Would that goal be to cover your own ass?"

"Pfft. Nope, I want Clu to die. Preferably slowly and painfully. Screaming. While I watch."

Sam paused at the unexpected venom in the Contact's voice, getting through even with the distorter hiding their identity.

"Oh, and like… surviving would be cool, I guess." They continued, sounding fairly apathetic on the matter.

"…What is wrong with you?"

"Some dark shit!"

Sam mentally changed his opinion of Contact's sanity. Because really, what in the fuck.

The guards dragging him around brought him to a small room, and practically threw him in, the door clearly locking behind him.

"Games begin in five nano-hexes." One of them droned, before leaving.

And Sam was alone.

"…How long is a nano-hex?"

"I mean… really, if you think about it, time is an illusion."

"No but like is it a minute? An hour? …Oh fuck me, am I going to be in this cell for five days, because I'll go insane if I am."

"…I think it feels like a User hour. Not literally, cause time moves differently, in actual User time it's like… thirty seconds? I don't know. Not long, is my point. Well, long time for you to be alone in a cell. Ha ha."

Sam sighed, and sat down against the wall.

"I can't believe I got arrested twice in one day. Alan's never going to drop this."

"…Alan?"

"Another user. He basically raised me after my dad went missing. Crazy smart too, he's the guy that wrote Tron."

"…Yeah. Yeah, I've heard. Look, I've got stuff to do, can you not get killed for the next five micro-hexes?"

"I'll somehow survive the empty cell. Gonna be boring."

"Ugh. I'll leave the com on, just tell me if something changes. I'm busy, so only speak up if you're like, literally about to die."

"Understood."

And with that, Sam settled in for a very boring five hours. Ugggh.

"My life is so fucked." He said out loud, staring up at the orange ceiling. If it could talk, it probably would have agreed with him.

Rinzler stepped inside of Clu's personal quarters, unsurprised to see the Luminary standing at the window, staring transfixed at the beam of the active portal. He didn't look up at his enforcer's entrance.

"Look at it Rinzler. My way out. Our way out. Flynn can't hide forever. He'll have to come out of hiding for this. I expected Alan-1, but Flynn's own son? It's…"

"Perfect." Rinzler said quietly, voice mangled as always, but affection still present in the word.

Clu turned away from the window, and gave Rinzler a warm smile.

"Like you."

Rinzler joined Clu at the window, and was promptly wrapped in an embrace, one he gratefully returned. Clu held him for a long moment, before pressing a hand to the back of his neck, causing Rinzler's helmet to retract.

The repurposing had had the purpose of turning his brown hair to a dark red, and his eyes a similar colour. His face was free of scars, the skin flawless. Clu pulled him closer, running a hand through his hair. In response, Rinzler held him tighter, burying his face in Clu's neck and giving a content purr.

Clu chuckled, and pulled back a bit, pressing a kiss to Rinzler's mouth, which was enthusiastically returned.

For a long moment they were one, administrator and enforcer, together in front of the beacon of the portal.

And then Clu broke the kiss, and started tugging Rinzler towards the bed, hands already on his hips.

"C'mon man. We've got plenty of time before the games to celebrate a bit."

And, ever obedient, Rinzler followed, suit already derezzing.

AN: Haha, no porn for you.

Well, this time. There'll be some fucking next chapter, because Clu/Rinzler is something deeply complicated that takes a good long to properly unravel. Because I mean on the surface, yes they love each other, but the thing to remember is that Rinzler was forcibly brainwashed into that love, and Clu doesn't give a flying fuck about Rinzler/Tron's autonomy, personality or choices. Clu doesn't want to earn his love, he just wants to own it. It's a very rapey situation that looks sweet on the surface. Doesn't that lighten the mood.

My point is all the Clu/Rinzler scenes are supposed to have an underlying tone of 'wrong' because what is happening is very wrong. And that's definitely not just an excuse for me being aromantic as shit and having nooo idea how to write a heavily romantic situation because how do you do that? Kissing is deeply unpleasant face squishing that feels disgusting in every possible way how do you write two people enjoying that? Give me a clear cut sex scene any day of the week please.

Moving on. As to our mysterious Contact and Other… Don't worry. They're canon characters. I already know who, and I'm looking forwards to the wild mass guessing about it. Here's some hints: Beck, Paige, Yori, Ram, Anon, Gibson, Cyrus, Mara, Zed, Abraxas or Jalen. All on the table here. Remember, this is AU. 'Canonically dead' is more of a suggestion than a rule. The most important thing to remember here: Contact lies. Through their teeth. Literally nothing they say to Sam is trustworthy, because they are at a point where they will say and do literally anything they have to in order to bring Clu down. In the character part of my outline, I literally have them down as 'Broken ace and challenger for the title of Xanatos Speed Chess Champion'. Clu is, of course, the reigning champion, and has yet to figure out that he's being challenged. It'll be a nasty surprise once he realizes a third party has entered his game of gambit roulette against Flynn. Hard to account for every possibility when you haven't noticed someone in the corner making more possibilities. Basically, Contact is very smart and very angry, and has lost all self preservation. They've seen some shit. They've seen a lot of shit. Informing people how much they don't care about everyone's wellbeing is the most honest they get, right up until the chapter where their identity gets revealed and they explain what in the fuck.

Hint that's chapter 6.

And yes. All the chapter titles will be like this one. I find it fun, and I enjoy slipping meaning into what looks like nonsense. It matches the black comedy theme.

Anyways, see you all for the next chapter! And yes, these will get progressively longer as we go. I'm thinking the completed fic will top 50k, but that's just spitballing.