Story prompt from tumblr. Hope you enjoy!
Beck was changing the dead spark plugs in a Light Runner when he received another ping. /newmission-reportforbriefing/
He had to restrain a groan when the little blip went off in his head. This was the third one this megacycle. Did Tron think Beck was, well, at his beck and call? He couldn't just skip work whenever he wanted to.
Especially not now, at the height of the cycle. This was the busiest time for the Garage, usually when other Programs came in with damaged vehicles, or to retrieve ones fixed the previous cycle. The Garage was alive with activity, chatter filling the air in a low roar that turned to comfortable white noise in Beck's audio sensors. Although this was his job, and sometimes had its moments of stress, he enjoyed it. It was relaxing, even. Fixing things made him feel better. Made him feel like he was doing something useful.
Maybe that was the point. It was his primary function after all; as designed by a User (maybe even Flynn himself, but Beck dared not think so arrogantly) if you believed in that sort of thing.
He could hear Zed and Link arguing over what kind of tires Zed should use on his modified Light Cycle (Zed wanted light-up treads, but Link suggested that wide treads would give him better traction, especially when the streets were wet). Mara was directing other Programs, making sure every job was completed on time and no one was falling behind.
Beck had been surprised, at first, when Abel put her in that leadership position — he never thought she was the kind of person take charge, but it turned out Mara was a natural, and even more tenacious about the mechanics getting their work done.
He was proud of her. Unfortunately, Mara being in charge meant it was even harder for him to slip away. Just because Mara and Beck were best friends didn't mean she gave him any special treatment at the Garage.
Beck closed his eyes, hoping that maybe if he just ignored the ping that maybe Tron would get a clue and leave him alone for just this once.
He was just about to replace another spark plug when he got another ping. /repeat-reportforbriefing/.
Then another right after. /Doyoucopy/
Beck heaved a sigh, setting down his wrench and straightening up. Tron was as persistent as he was grouchy. Reluctantly, he sent a ping back. /yes-Icopy/
Nor did Tron have any sympathy for the fact that Beck had a personal life, that his secret identity was important.
Of course, how could he? Tron didn't have a personal life. Did he know what it was like, to hide secrets from your best friends, the Programs you trust and care about more than anyone else in the Grid? It pained Beck, a constant thought cycling in his processor. Would it really be so bad if he told them? It wasn't like Zed or Mara would turn him over. They hated the Occupation as much as he did.
Only Beck was stupid enough to risk his life for it.
But he knew it was a foolish thought. He could hear Tron's voice in his head, chastising him once again for his naiveté. No one could know that Beck was the Renegade — not even his closest friends. It was too dangerous. Not only was he putting himself on the line, but theirs as well. If Tezler — or User's forbid, Clu — ever found out that these two were willingly housing a wanted felon, then they'd die alongside him.
Heck, they already had. Multiple times. It was sheer luck that Beck and Tron managed to save them from the Games each time without them ever figuring out who was behind that mask.
So no, they couldn't know. They could never know.
Beck closed the hood of the Light Runner, deciding he was done for the day. He had done enough work that he could catch up tomorrow if he came in early enough, provided he skipped on some valuable hibernation time.
He winced internally, running a hand over his face. Just the idea of being tired made Beck tired. Vigilantism was definitely not for people who liked to sleep.
Beck glanced around for a second, making sure no one's attention was on him before he made his way to the locker-room. Beck liked to think he was pretty good at keeping a low profile, when he was not in the midst of attracting trouble (Able liked to say that was Beck's secondary function).
He was half-way there when he heard Mara's voice.
"Beck? Where are you going?"
Beck froze mid-step, before slowly turning around. His hand went up to scratch the back of his head — a tell, Tron called it, but it was User word that Beck didn't quite understand — as he said, "I, uh, was gonna pack up. I need to head out for, uh, business."
"Business?" Mara raised a skeptical eyebrow. She was always the hardest to lie to. "What kind of business? You're a mechanic, not a vendor."
"You're not skipping out on us again, are you, Beck?" Zed asked, walking over. He looked a little more disgruntled, not that Beck could blame him. "You can't keep ditching us, man. Last time I had to fix the three Bikes that you had to do. And you still haven't made up for it like you promised."
Flynn help me. Beck shook his head, covering his face in embarrassment. "Aw, man, I'm sorry, I totally —"
"Forgot?" Mara finished for him in a deadpan voice, hand on her hip. "Never heard that one before."
Was he really getting so predictable? Beck knew he wasn't helping his reputation by coming up with excuses like this, but he didn't know what else to do. His hands fell to his sides, and he gave a helpless shrug. "…Yeah, I know."
"Is something wrong?" Zed asked with a tilt of his head. "You've been completely out of it lately, Beck. Not just here, but you haven't been going out much. We never see you at the club anymore."
That caught Beck off guard. He forgot how often they used to hang out after work — jeez, that was all they did, really, but now those moments were just distant memories for Beck. He was so used to his new lifestyle that he forgot what he even liked to do for fun.
Trying to explain away that was even harder. "I don't know, guys. I just haven't been in the mood lately. I mean, ever since…"
The words died on his tongue and Beck surprised himself by just how far he might've gone. They hadn't really talked about what happened, not that Beck really wanted to anyways, but still. They knew what he meant.
"Bodhi," Mara said softly, her shoulders drooping. Her annoyance had been replaced by melancholy, and Beck felt terrible for even bringing it up in the first place. She sighed, gave him a long look. "Sorry, Beck. I know it's been hard on you, out of all of us. I didn't mean to make you feel bad."
"We're just worried, that's all," Zed added, looking equally sheepish.
Beck didn't think this could get any worse until it did, and it was his fault because he never meant to include their dead friend in this conversation. The air was tight with words unsaid, feelings bottled up and left charged in an overheated processor. Nothing should be kept like that for so long. Maybe they should talk about it, sometime.
But not now. He wasn't ready yet.
"It's fine," Beck couldn't quite meet their eyes. If there was anything this disaster of a conversation gave him, it was time to think of a good enough excuse to get his sorry butt out of there. So Beck put a smile on his face, the kind he used when he joked around, to show that there were no hard feelings; hooking a thumb over his shoulder, he said, "I was going to pick up some power convertors down at the docks. We're running low, and I figured I could run down and get some before the next shift."
Oh my User, please work. Beck had no idea if they were actually out or not, but he hoped they'd at least take the offer. Mara and Zed did a double-take, perhaps not expecting the turn in conversation. Mara glanced at her clipboard, scanning their stock, before saying, "Um, sure, yeah. I just — don't take too long, okay? The Occupation's pulling an earlier curfew, and I don't want you get caught outside after hours."
Earlier curfew? Beck had to keep himself from cursing out loud. That meant he'd have hell of a time getting back here after finishing his mission, whatever in Flynn's name that was. He hoped it didn't involve explosions.
"You know me," he said, still with that same smile that no one ever questioned. "I'm always careful."
"Careful like the time you squared off on that Commander Paige when she came looking for the Renegade, and she almost killed you?"
"She wasn't going to kill me!" Beck protested, throwing out his hands. Then he frowned. "Probably."
"Whatever," Mara just shook her head in disapproval. "Just come back in one piece, all right?"
"Aye, aye, Captain," He said, giving her a quick salute before dashing off towards the locker-rooms. Beck had already wasted enough time trying to get them off his back; he couldn't afford to let anything else slow him down now, or else face another lecture from Tron (he really loved making those).
His timing was rather perfect, though. The locker-room was empty, so Beck didn't have to worry about being seen. Storing his wrench and visor, Beck pulled out the white half-Disc from its hiding spot, eyeing its sleek surface warily. A part of him still couldn't believe that he was doing this, that he pretended to be Tron, that he was one of the most wanted Programs in Argon. Programs like him could only dream of that kind of fame, that notoriety.
The metal reflected Beck's face, although he didn't quite recognize it. Not because he lost his identity, no — not as terrifying as that. But the Beck looking back at him was different than the one only a few megacycles back. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were also a little dull and revealed far too much sorrow than Beck would've liked.
No wonder his friends were worried. He looked like a Program slated for deletion.
Running another hand through his hair (this might be a new tell for him), Beck took the Disc and his baton before heading out the back. In seconds he was off, speeding away from his friends and all that was familiar in his life.
Never once did Beck question his decision to become the Renegade. This was what he had to do. He knew it was the right choice long before he'd known Tron, before the Occupation had ever arrived in Argon.
That didn't mean it would be easy.