Disclaimer: I do not own Tron. I am not a multi-million dollar corporation named Disney.
To anyone not familiar with her, Risie was an artist with a love of video games. She was roommates with Sam, CEO of ENCOM and Sam's girlfriend, Quorra, who was working in medical research. Tron, her best friend, lived with his User, Alan. Tron was the senior manager at Sam's arcade. Risie herself was a junior artist at ENCOM. She drew logos, maps and concept art for some of their newer games. Her latest project was a compilation of games called "The Grid". It was ENCOM's famous games, like Lightcycles and Space Paranoids, that Sam's father had invented and Sam himself had modernized.
What no one knew was that her designs were not original, but based on memories. Only Risie, Sam, Quorra and Tron understood what it meant. After all, Risie and Tron were programs and Quorra was an ISO. They had all come from a computer world that had given the new game compilation its name. There was no way back as far as Risie knew. Sam and Quorra had tried to restore the Grid at first, but as time passed it was evident that they would not be able to restore it to its original state. Between everyone working and trying to live, there wasn't time to work on the Grid much anymore.
Risie was thinking about this as she sat at her desk. Sketches of Lightcycles and Recognizers littered her wall. A makeshift combat disk sat by her colored pencils. She picked it up and pulled her arm back, as if to throw it. She smiled; it still felt like an extension of her arm, just like her ID disk on the Grid. A co-worker walked by and laughed.
"Who are you fighting this time?" he said.
"Just testing the weight," Risie said, "you going home?"
"Don't stay too late," he said as he nodded, "vacation starts tomorrow, doesn't it?"
She smiled and nodded. He left and her smile faded. He thought she was going on vacation out of town. In a way, he was right. Risie had heard Sam and Quorra talking about recent trips to the Grid. While they had assured her that the Grid was far from fixed, they had not told her anyone was able to enter it. Risie was determined to find out if it was ready and if so, get inside.
Risie arrived at Flynn's Arcade later that day. The place was packed with people. She looked up at the office window. Three men were standing there: Sam, Tron and Alan. Risie went up the stairs and joined them, tossing her motorcycle helmet and jacket on the couch. She pulled out a drawing and handed it to Alan.
"Sam," Alan said, "take a look at this."
Sam looked over Alan's shoulder. It was a sketch of Sam and his father, back to back and dressed as they would have been on the Grid. Two other pairs were in the sketch; Tron and Alan, though Alan had never been to the Grid himself, plus Risie and Quorra.
"I thought it would look nice in here," Risie said, "you know, all of us in one picture."
Sam instantly pulled off one of the frames off the wall and handed it to Alan. Alan removed the certificate inside and replaced it with the sketch. Alan handed it to Sam, who clapped Risie on the shoulder, then the two went back to talking about ENCOM as Sam hung it on the wall. Tron pulled Risie outside without saying a word. They sat on the curb in silence. It was Risie who broke it.
"I can hear you thinking," she said.
"Putting my thoughts together," he said, "this isn't an easy thing to say."
Risie folded her hands in her lap and waited.
"The reboot failed," Tron said, "the Grid is in chaos. There are gaps in the code, missing programs. We may never get our Grid back."
"So we're stuck here," she said, "forever."
He nodded. She took a deep breath, then looked at him.
"You give up too easy," she said.
He gave her a sad look. She shook her head and looked at her feet.
"If it was as bad as you say it is," she said, "then you'd be right in the thick of it. Something is keeping you from going inside."
He bit his lip to keep from speaking and she knew he was keeping something from her. Risie got on her motorcycle, forgetting about her helmet upstairs.
"Risie, we can't go back," Tron said, "its over."
She gave him an angry glare.
"Enjoy the Users, Tron," she said, "you deserve each other. I'm going home."
And with that, she was gone. She ignored Tron's yells for her to come back. Risie had no intention of returning, or ever seeing him again if her plan worked.
oOoOoOoOo
Risie arrived at Sam's office at ENCOM by the time her temper tantrum cooled. She knew this was where he kept the Grid interface, hidden behind his wall of photos and sketches. Sam had showed it to her in the early days of fixing the Grid so she would understand why it was taking so long. She took off her long-sleeve shirt, leaving her in a blue tank-top. She tossed it on the chair and looked around. It was a recreation of Flynn's workshop under the arcade. It made Risie smile; like father, like son. She sat at the computer, pulling up what had happened recently. She did not expect to run the last programs Sam had.
Least of all the laser that accessed the Grid, at least this quickly.
She felt the electricity in her body a split second before the room went dark. She went to grab her long-sleeve shirt and found it missing. Chancing disappointment, she reached slowly and put her hand on her back.
Her ID disk was secured between her shoulders. She grabbed it and activated it, holding it in front of her face. The hum and gentle glow were like the sight and sound of a long lost friend. She took stock of herself.
She was still in her jeans and tank top, though both were black now. The only glowing lines were on the sides of her pants and on the front of her shirt. The glow was a pale white. Risie secured her disk and went outside.
The first thing she noticed was that the city was darker than she remembered. The programs on the streets hurried to their destinations, fear in their eyes as they ran. All of the programs wore long coats.
"You, program," a voice said behind her, "identify."
Risie turned slowly. A large security program approached her.
"Identify," he said again.
"Reintegrated Security Independent Evolution," Risie said, "Online TC40."
The program paused, processing who she was.
"Program absent from logs," he said, "detain and transport to Game Grid."
He took a step towards her and she drew her disk.
"This will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me," she said, "now, what are you talking about?"
"Directive 004," he said, "all programs not logged must be detained and transported to holding cells until cleared."
He grabbed her by the elbow and she had to fight every code in her body to keep from slicing him to pieces. She sighed, securing her disk and following him to the outskirts of the city. She wondered why they didn't use a Lightcycle or a Recognizer. She spoke as they arrived at the Game Grid.
"Why here?" she asked.
"Directive 004.1," he said, "all programs not logged will compete in Disk Wars to assess combat readiness."
He locked her into a holding cell in the Arena marshaling area. He left and Risie was plunged into darkness.
oOoOoOoOo
"That went well," Quorra said, "I told you to let me handle it, Tron!"
"I thought she would handle it better if I told her," Tron said.
Tron, Quorra and Sam rode the elevator to Sam's office at ENCOM and entered his private room without further discussion. Quorra grabbed Risie's over-shirt as Sam started working at the computer. Tron had told them what had happened with Risie and Quorra's first reaction was to check the Grid.
"She's inside alright," Sam said, "Tron, we can't all go in. You'll be on your own."
"I know," Tron said, "believe me, I know."
oOoOoOoOo
Risie shielded her eyes as the lights came on in the cell. The door facing the Arena opened to reveal four Sirens standing around a central platform. One motioned for her to stand on the platform.
"What's going on?" Risie said.
"You don't know?" the Siren asked.
Risie shook her head.
"This is to test your combat abilities," a second Siren said, "should you show any sign of infection, you will be quarantined and disqualified from the Games."
"You will receive two points per round you win," the third said, "one point for a draw. When you lose, your points will be tallied and you will receive your combat ranking score."
"So no derezzing?" Risie asked.
"Should you derezz an opponent, you will be considered infected and quarantined," the fourth said.
"Should you win the round," the second said, "you will be logged as Class A and taken to the city central command center to be considered for security programming."
Risie nodded. The first Siren approached her.
"Do you have an Identity Disk?" the Siren asked.
Risie pulled out her disk. She handed it to the Siren and the Siren set it on the table next to the door leading to the Arena proper. Risie rolled her shoulders and tried to relax.
It didn't take long for the Sirens to dress Risie in combat armor. Risie's core code readily accepted it. Already, her core code was adapting it to fit her style of fighting. The first Siren retrieved Risie's disk and clicked it into place.
"Proceed to Games," the first Siren said.
Risie exited the room and was filled with the roar of the crowd. No matter why she was here, this was home.