There was a little trondrabble micromeme running ariund Tumblr a week or two back. I asked for prompts; grey_sw gave me the following.

"Clu fed on my resistance. The more I fought the more powerful he became…"

I then proceeded to write this in about half an hour. Unbetaed, and definitely not a drabble, but it was fun.


Kevin tried to code, at first. Clu had taken over the existing structure of the Grid, but Kevin is a User: root access to the language of the System should have been his trump card.

The trouble was that Clu knew him far too well. Kevin's Likeness remembered his progenitor's coding style, his favored languages, his signatures. No matter how secret he kept it, every time Flynn stooped to the base code and tried to write, the usurper knew.

His first few lines would be normal, and he always nursed that hope… but he'd barely have a millicycle before the other editor would slip in. Safe lines would be rewritten behind him, twisted into something aeons away from his intent.

Clu could not create new Programs, no — but when Kevin wrote them, he could repurpose in real time.

The User retreated to stillness. It was the only way to keep from helping his adversary.

- o -

Quorra tried to help, at first. Her family, the ISOs, were dead, but a few friendly Basics still lived: she still had friends in the City, and she should have been able to help them.

The trouble was that Clu could always trace her. She couldn't work out how, despite driving herself to distraction over it, but the Administrator could tap the same sources of information that she did. No matter how covert her inquiries, every time Quorra asked for a recent alias or a memory address, the usurper knew.

She would make it safely into the city, even into the right sector… but then there would be too many sentries. Black Guards would dog her steps. She would barely escape with her life, and behind her, a Program that had only been courting captivity would be derezzed or worse.

Clu could not find Quorra's contacts, no — not unless she contacted them first.

The ISO retreated to stillness. It was the only way to keep her loved ones safe.

- o -

Rinzler tried to fight, at first. He had been repurposed, vivisected and clumsily reassembled, but deep in his core there still burned a faint blue spark: the remnants of Tron should have been safe.

The trouble was that Clu watched him too closely. The Administrator was too wary, too careful, and he suspected that something of Tron remained; so he kept a constant and piercing watch on his Enforcer. Rinzler's code was error-checked every milli, and any stirring of that buried loyalty would show. No matter how minute the movement, if Tron rolled whale-like under Rinzler's dark waters, Clu saw.

He would remember a flash, or begin to construct his directive… but then his yellow-lit saviormurdererprogrammer would see. Whatever crack Tron opened in his prison would be re-sealed, and sometimes, Clu would even succeed in damping down the spark beneath.

Clu could not destroy Tron completely, no — but the more he stirred under his re-programming, the more thoroughly Clu crushed him.

The defender retreated to stillness. It was the only way to keep the shreds of himself alive.