NOTE: This story will be secondary to A Personal Paradox and A Blade to the Throat, unless interest begs me to continue at a faster rate.

The Grid.

A digital frontier.

A frontier that had no limit in space or time, something that simply went on forever until code dissipated out and was left with black nothingness.

Once ruled over by a god of sorts and a protector both…now owned by a young man, Sam Flynn, who didn't look like a leader at all at the moment.

He was leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gazing at the digital statue the programs had made of his father. He had rejected any sort of finery, preferring the suit he'd worn the first time he'd entered the grid. It was free-moving, slick, and didn't make him feel like some sort of pompous emperor. He wanted to make his…rule a bit more casual than that of Clu.

"Wish you were here, Dad." He muttered softly, looking up at the statue's face. The creation was surrounded at its base by a ring of bio-digital water, an odd sort of fountain that felt nothing like the water back home. More like oil, thicker that slid off the skin instead of absorbing into it. "I haven't done much with the place…not like you can hire a decorator around here." He chuckled to himself.

Sam ran his hand behind his neck, feeling the edge of the suit clasped gently to his skin. The world here seemed so clean, so orderly. Every building was graceful and purposeful, the people inside all knowing what to do and how to do it. Every program was in its place, bustling around him. This was a world that never slept. This had become more of an escape over the weeks, a chance to explore something he never got to when helping his father with Clu.

The luster of the world never seemed to quit. Each day Sam was discovering something new, things he could tinker with and change. 'Knocking on the sky' as his father used to call it. Sam sighed and closed his eyes, then back up at his father's face. He'd taken over the company, fired the CEO and Ed Dillinger. He'd finally become the man Alan wanted him to be.

Now it was too much strain, he wanted to be here, not stuck in some board room.

Here was the programmer's paradise.

"Maybe I'm more like you than I think." He muttered at the statue. "See you Dad."

Sam walked back to the light cycle, one of the first creations his father had programmed. He'd modified it a bit. Running and having the bike materialize under you was convenient for running away from something, but sometimes he liked the feeling of putting a kickstand down. In the light cycle's case, it creating a kickstand out of that solid light from a vent in its side. He straddled the bike and put his feet on the rests, letting the engine carry him out into the glassy black streets. Strips of light and reflections were the only things that hinted at buildings. It was late.

The Grid may never sleep, but the activity slowed to give the computer time to rest, to log the day.

He had to get back to the portal. He was wary of letting it close on him, and these occasional visits made Alan nervous. The old man was always convinced he would one day be trapped. Sam smirked under his helmet, chuckling. Good old Alan…he was more of a father to him than his own, in many ways.

The bike glided easily through the streets, lulling Sam into a sense of calm. It wasn't the adrenaline and roaring engine of his Ducati. The light cycle was more elegant, refined, like watching espresso flow from a machine. Programs easily avoided their master's speed, able to detect his unique signature now that he'd integrated it into the Grid itself.

His thoughts turned to Quorra. She didn't like to come to the Grid with him…she was too enthralled in their world. At first he'd had to gently show her their ways. But she'd learnt so quickly, picked it up so fast that now she was relatively normal. A piece of the bio-digital there in the real world…and no one knew it except for himself.

Lost in his thoughts Sam turned a corner…and everything exploded.

Something slammed hard into his left side, and the light cycle slid out from underneath him. It clattered along the silky street and skidded to a stop some feet away from him. Sam felt his body smack the pavement, like a bug hitting a windshield. Whatever had struck him stumbled over him with four limbs, claws clicking on the street. Sam groaned and tried to get to his feet.

The creature struck him again, knocking him flat. This time jaws clamped around his leg, sending pain straight up his calf. "The hell?" Sam twisted his body and fear sank deep into his heart. A black, shimmering panther stood there, mimicking the growling purr Rinzler had used for intimidation. Its eyes were red, a colour of light he'd not seen since the days of Clu.

It seemed to be jointed, smoothly, as if its body had been cut into thick slices, separated by a few inches, and held in a jointed fashion. The head was smooth, no ears, no nose…just lips, teeth, and glowing red eyes. It lashed a long tail, and then began to drag him backward. Away from the light cycle and promises of escape.

"Get off of me!" Sam snarled, lifting his other leg and kicking the cat in the face. He'd never seen any four legged creature here! Nothing that even hinted at wildlife remained here…just barren rocks and programs masquerading in human form. A few strikes from his boot crushed part of the cat's face and forced it to let go, shaking its half-resolutioned head.

Sam struggled to his feet, prepared to face the panther with nothing but his bare hands if need be. The cat collected itself, lowered, and sprang at him.

"Shit!" Sam slid to one side, then turned and ran. This thing was dangerous…he felt his leg bruising and swelling, but the panther had clearly not meant to kill him. If it had it would have gone for his neck…he supposed. How the hell did digital cats think? The only thing that mattered was, this program was clearly hostile.

Not only that, the guards were mysteriously absent. Had the cat gotten them? He'd like to think his programming skills weren't THAT weak.

"Just my luck not to have a can of fucking tuna…" he growled breathlessly, hearing the bounding leaps of the cat behind him. He was lucky the cat was half blind, but not it was angry with him. He heard a loud, angry, synthesized roar behind him. He was headed toward the more populated part of the city now, toward the heart. "Get out of the way!" he shouted at passersby, preferring to run straight through rather than crash into people. He turned his head and saw the cat roughly shoulder someone to the ground, hissing. Sam saw an opportunity.

A staff, clutched in the hand of a more elegant program just ahead of him, was his last chance. He seized it from the man's hand and turned around. Not a split second too late the panther caught itself on the end of the black staff, and shattered into glass. Sam stared at the dissipating mess slowly, breathing hard. "Thanks." He muttered at the astonished program, handing him back his staff.

The program nodded wordlessly to him and the people began moving again, just as if nothing had happened. Sam could do little but look at it.

Someone had wanted him.

Someone using the same red colors as Clu's old banner.

What the hell was going on?

The End of the Line Club was the place to go for information. He'd known that for a few cycles now. It had been refurbished after Clu had blown it to pieces, but it retained its relaxed atmosphere of replication, drink and shady deals. Sam headed back through the streets to his light cycle, picking up the machine with a grunt. His leg was still throbbing, and dark flecks of liquid were forming on the glassy street. He gently peeled back the covering on his calf and saw a deep, dark blue bruise forming on the skin. Two large, U shaped cuts were on either side of his calf muscle. Instead of teeth, the cat had two strips of razor sharp steel in its mouth. Sam sighed and gingerly rolled the bio-mechanical cloth back over his leg.

He'd live.

He swung his good leg over the bike and revved the engine, turning it in the direction of the club.