"ISOs! Get out of here, this city is for real programs only!"
The small group of programs jeered and threw pieces of scrap material at the ISOs as they walked down the street. They were drawing the attention of others who passed by, but it seemed no one wanted to get involved - the programs who turned to watch only hurried on their way. The three ISOs backed up against the side of a building, standing close together. If they made a move to defend themselves, they knew it would reinforce the perception that they were a threat to the Grid. More programs would attack them more fiercely.
One of the programs stepped forward from the group, holding a piece of metal with a jagged edge out in front of him like a weapon. "Go on, get lost," he growled. "You're not welcome here. Can't get that through your flimsy little ISO processors?"
The ISOs pressed closer together, closer to the wall of the building. They didn't dare to say anything for fear of making the advancing programs angrier.
"Why don't you get out of here? I hardly think intimidation is a part of your precious directives!"
The snide remark had come from somewhere behind the group of programs, and they all turned towards the voice. The dissenter was another ISO, wearing the white layered robes of the Arjians. His expression and posture conveyed anger and made it clear that he wasn't afraid of anything these programs might do to him.
"Oh, we've got another one here," the program holding the piece of metal said with a rueful laugh. He smacked the flat side of the metal against his opposite hand in a threatening manner.
The ISO showed no regard for the programs' menacing behavior. "I don't want trouble," he said in a firm but polite tone. "Just leave my friends alone."
"Your 'friends' are taking up space in our city. For programs. Who do something useful to keep the city operational." The program raised the piece of metal to rest against his shoulder. The others who were with him moved forward to close around the ISO.
Before anyone had a chance to react, the ISO had drawn his disc and lashed out with it. A metallic ringing sound cut through the air, followed by a clatter and a thud as the offending program dropped his makeshift weapon and fell to the ground. A gaping cut extended from just above his collar bone across his chest and down his abdomen, leaking energy onto the sidewalk around him. The injured program tried to push himself into an upright position, and loose voxels fell from the wound with an ugly crunching noise. It was barely short of a killing blow. The onlookers - including the three ISOs that the dissenting Arjian had been defending - stared in horror.
Footsteps were running towards the scene, but nobody took notice. At the sound of another disc charging with energy, the Arjian finally turned to the approaching programs. Several figures in black with minimal circuitry were headed their way, along with one that appeared pure white from the distance. At the sight of the security programs, the Arjian raised his arm to return his disc to its dock.
"Dyson– Stand down! No!"
Another disc sliced through the air. It hit the Arjian square in the chest, and he fell to his knees, derezzing as he hit the ground. Dyson caught his disc as it returned and docked it as he rushed to the injured program's side.
"He's badly damaged. We need to get him out of here, now."
Other security programs were around them in an instant. "Hey. Can you hear me? We're going to help you," Dyson said with stoic conduct which thoroughly contradicted how he really felt. He helped his fellow soldiers get the program onto a stretcher, and two of them carried him away.
The senior officer saw the scene over and over in his mind, replayed in an instant - the ISO drawing his disc, the awful sound like breaking glass as it hit the program, the program falling to the ground as though in slow motion. He should have taken action sooner. He knew the ISOs were dangerous, he saw the Arjian reaching for their disc… "Dyson– Stand down!" "We need to get him out of here, now!" "NOW!"
He wasn't aware that Tron was coming up behind him until the chief of security was close enough to touch him. When he realized the program was there, Dyson stood up to confront him.
Tron shoved the officer against the wall. "What do you think you were doing?" he shouted. "You disobeyed my orders– you derezzed an innocent program! What in Flynn's name is wrong with you?"
"I saved an innocent program!" Dyson angrily pushed the commanding security program's hand away. "You saw– that ISO attacked without reason– viruses, Tron! They're viruses! How can you even call them programs?"
He stood glaring at Tron, shoulders tense, but forced himself to step back as he realized that the rest of the civilian programs were still watching them. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private," Dyson said finally, resuming his calm, stoic mannerisms.
Tron gave a heavy sigh. The look in his eyes made it clear that he wasn't keen on letting the matter go so easily, but he realized that his executive officer was right - arguing about it in front of civilians set a poor example. Without saying anything, he turned away, rezzed his lightcycle, and took off.
Dyson watched him go before returning his attention to the group. "Go home," he said. "Be careful… We're doing the best we can to resolve it, but there's a lot of tension on the Grid right now."
The ISOs crept away, pressed close to the side of the building and staying close together. They kept their heads lowered and tried not to draw attention to themselves. One at a time, the programs turned and headed off. One paused and put a hand on Dyson's shoulder. "Hey, thanks for saving us… It was stupid of me, getting into that fight…"
The soldier simply nodded in acknowledgement. "The ISOs are dangerous," he replied. "You don't need to thank me. I did my job."
The program nodded, turned, and walked away.
Dyson remained where he was for a moment, thinking about the events of this cycle and what was likely to come.
I did what I had to…