Notes: I'm back again. Another day off, and an update for the story currently known as 'Antivirus'. I wrote a good bit of this the other day, only to realize today that I had somehow ended up writing in mostly present tense. It should hopefully all be fixed now. This bit's a bit longer than I've been managing, and that makes me feel better, but I couldn't get it to where I wanted today, so I tried to find an interesting spot to end it. Suggestions on how I can improve my writing, or my story, are as always, most certainly welcome.
I noticed when posting the second chapter of my other story 'Sleep Mode Beauty' the other day, that my page breaks aren't showing up. So, I'm trying something different this time. If it works, I'll be using it to fix my other story as well, when I have its next chapter ready to go. I'm adding it to the first chapter of this story the same time I add it to this one, which had a bit of a side-effect. I've ended up making a few changes to the first chapter. There's a few too many for me to call them minor changes, but they shouldn't change anything too much if you don't read the updated version.
Cyberbutterfly – Thank you for your kind words. I'm not really sure I deserve them, but they certainly inspired me past my halfway point on this chapter, where I had been debating calling it a day and working on this in little snippets until my next day off. I hope you enjoy the results.
I am still without a beta, so I only have myself to blame for all of my mistakes.
Antivirus
Chapter 2
"Words cannot express how truly sorry I am, my friend."
"...As am I, Flynn. I will do as you've asked, to the best of my ability."
"Thank you, Tron. For everything."
"And thank you, Kevin; my second User."
Tron rebooted with a start, body already up and rolling from his previous position before he was fully online. It was an automatic part of his start-up processes, one Flynn coded in as an upgrade when he moved the program to this new system, the activation of which was triggered only if he went offline abruptly, or due to damage. That had been a factor in his capture by the MCP, after all. It had since saved him from deresolution approximately 13 – no, his memory supplied 48 – times.
He immediately began cursing the process as he abruptly collapsed.
His entire code felt like it was shuddering and heaving inside, struggling to settle, find equilibrium. He just lay where he fell, his face – flushed hot from the monumental energy the upheaval was consuming – partially pressed against the cool inner surface of his helmet, which only now registered through his inner chaos as being half buried in black mud, most of the rest of it surrounded by faintly blue illuminated water.
'Rain is made of water; is this is what 'feeling a little under the weather' is like? It's hard to know, Flynn never explained it in too much detail.'
Tron could understand pain, though. As the strange inner chaos finally settled into more of a disorienting churning, enough so that he could begin to process around it in more than fleeting snatches and flashes, pain registered in nearly every sensory input he had. Even his basic input for visual coordination and leisure – eyes, he'd been told they were called eyes – ached as if they'd been newly rendered, then nearly squeezed out of existence.
'Might not be that far from the truth, actually...'
One by one, he switched off each sensory input that was uselessly overloaded with pain responses, until only a manageable few remained up and running. It left an uneasy, vulnerable feeling in his background processes.
'Half-blind is better than fully blinded, though.'
'If only just.'
Tron shuddered, a physical manifestation of a sudden spike in the odd heaving feeling. He remembered a moment, though he couldn't currently work out how long ago – how long had he been offline for? – when there had been someone, or something with him, straining around a wall driven through everything that he was, and everything had been so close to 'just right'.
Inexplicably, his memories spouted out a rapid-fire sequence of images: golden hair, a bowl of something pale and thick, a broken chair, and three brown, furry programs in graduated sizes.
Now, lying almost completely submerged in muddy water, occasionally wracked with shakes and shudders, burning from within, he couldn't help but hope that unknown something – his memory was an... unpredictable thing, still – was nearby. He was as familiar with the concept of 'loneliness' as he ever wanted to be.
Time-lapsed sensation barreled through him, this time; searing agony, like being speared onto a staff and left to hang there, trapped in a tight, too tight cell of darkness, sensors at once telling him that he is totally alone, and surrounded by others, begging for help for centicycles, before the crushing conclusion that half his sensors must be faulty, even though they read at optimum efficiency.
A faint, painfully distorted keening registered in his basic audio input, though he never registered that it originated from his own basic audio output and energy intake center.
'Someone?... Anyone?... Help me...'
As if it had been waiting for this moment, his coding settled snugly within him, the decreased energy demands flowing through him in a full-body shiver of cool relief. With it came a sense of – not peace, but calm – and the calculations that there were no other programs within his immediate vicinity, he was safe where he was to sort through, and prioritize the damage he'd taken, both new and old, and begin repairs. There was familiarity to these thoughts and calculations, even though he still could not register that other something's return.
'Perhaps you never left?...'
'Impossible to do so, and ill-advised indefinitely. Simulation of end result... undesired. The partition has been removed. Subsequent merger rate of memories and processes now controlled to prevent further... discomfort. Memory search keyword 'nausea', results comparable to current diagnostic data?'
'… Actually, the angles of the expressions between the images of Flynn referenced do correlate to the current "grimace" contorting our basic visual output.'
'Our "face".'
'Right.'
'Rest is advised. Recent major changes registered in the system. Onset of bugs and functionality clashes amongst programs calculated... highly likely. Time delay to estimated issues... narrow, but sufficient.'
'Everything is still so jumbled...'
'We will sort through it together while we repair. Sleep mode will expedite the process. We will be whole once more, and then... we – no, I – will make amends.'
'Yes...'
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"Are you sure you'll be okay in there?"
Sam nodded at Alan while plugging the memory drive into the new computer. A week ago, it had been the backbone of Sam's gaming hardware, but now, the beast of a server was a mostly-empty engine for the Grid. Moving as many unnecessary programs as possible off the server had been difficult and time-consuming, but by that point, Sam was convinced he would never be able to look at the delete key, or trashcan icons as anything other than death row ever again.
'They can't help it if a new system is moving in, and besides, I really like some of those games.'
Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Sam glanced over toward Quorra. She had her head stuck in one of Sam's old history textbooks, eyes wide and scanning frantically, as if having her eyes open further would somehow allow her to absorb the data faster. Maybe it could; he wasn't exactly an expert in the field of un-digitized programs and their abilities in the User world.
'Now that I think about it, I don't remember ever seeing her blink, other than that time on her second day out when she'd got sand in her eye...'
Sam didn't see much point in her current goal, really; they could just get her a forged I.D., but the ISO had been insistent on earning her citizenship. It probably had something to do with being deemed a detriment to society for the last 1,000 years of her life. She shifted once more on the arcade's ancient couch, and kept on reading. She didn't even look up, didn't notice him staring. Sam had to hide a grin, and went back to getting the laser hooked up.
Alan sighed, and from the tone of it alone, Sam could peg the older man's stance easily: hands in his pockets, weight shifting onto his right leg, head down and slightly to the left until one lock of hair slipped halfway into his eyes, expression almost equal parts worry and tasting something sour. It was a pose Sam knew well, though that fact at times was laced with guilt. It was Alan Sigh #6: "I respect that you're an adult and can make decisions for yourself, but do you have to be so very devil-may-care about your own safety? There are people out there that would prefer it if you stayed in one piece." Sam nonchalantly double-checked his assessment under the pretense of turning everything on.
'Got it in one. It's good to know he cares, really, but...'
"I'd offer to let you come with me, but I still think it'd be better if I do the first few trips on my own; the improved power supply should allow for the portal inside to remain open for a lot longer, but I'd feel better knowing you're out here, watching out for trouble. Besides, I don't think the clothes on the Grid would really suit you. More biker-ninja than respectable executive." Sam smiled at the half-baffled half-exasperated look he got in return, and turned to the freshly booted system.
'...the truth is, if it is bad in there, I don't think I could stand to lose the last father figure I have left.'
Giving himself a mental shake, Sam started going through their plan once again, calling up the laser controls and modifying the time it would stay active. "Okay, so I'm going to go in, and try to get a feel for what it's like in there, now. We don't really know what happened, or if I'll be able to contact you guys from inside, so the laser's set to stay powered up for five minutes out here... Three and a half days in there, I think. I should have plenty of time to get to the portal that way, even if I have to walk, but in case I don't-"
"Then I wait three minutes, and power the laser back on for another five. If you miss that one, which you won't-" here, Alan paused his interruption to fix Sam with his best no nonsense stare, "I try to move you to the portal from out here on the next go around. If I can't, Quorra goes in to rescue you."
"I'm not a damsel in distress, Alan."
"You will be after I'm done with you,"
"If I have to save you, you are." Alan and Quorra replied at almost the same time, and in a show of continued synchronicity, both glanced at each other in amusement. Sam coughed into his hand before initiating the laser's start-up sequence. "Okay, lady and gentleman, it's showtime. Wish me luck, and stand back a bit."
Hearing the real caution that was hidden under Sam's playful tone, Alan took two steps back, and glanced at his watch. It was just a moment, but when he looked up again to wish Sam that luck, the young man was gone.
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Sam had tried his best not to wonder too long about what he would see inside the Grid upon his return, but a few loose scenarios had managed to sneak in over the last month:
Everything could have seemed exactly the same, with another power hungry program slipping in to fill Clu's shoes. It was the most organized option, but also one of the most dangerous. With someone like that odd, visor-wearing program – Quorra had said his name was Jarvis – in charge, and his face now recognizable as a User's, he'd probably get stuck in the Games again until he was rescued, or worse.
There could be widespread chaos, every program for themselves, or maybe conglomerating into marauding factions and gangs. This option was almost worse than the first. Yes, the chaos would help conceal his presence and movement on the Grid, but no corner would be safe... unless he sided with a group himself, and that sort of shift would almost definitely incite a turf war of epic proportions. The death – deresolution – toll would be immense.
If there was anything at all. That was the possibility that had worried Sam the most. The laser control wasn't a program in itself, not really, and the chances of finding anything were just as high as finding nothing. Years of his father's work, and then two decades of his life off-Grid were bound to this place, and maybe, at times, Sam had thought about using the Grid as a way to get to know who his father had been.
'At least I still appeared inside the arcade. That's got to count for something...'
He'd reappeared wearing the same armor he'd left in, and while the skintight-yet-flexible suit left him feeling maybe a bit self-conscious, it was better suited for blending in with the clothing he'd seen the programs wear than jeans and a hoodie.
'Low profile this time... yeah that's totally going to work."
Hand on the doorknob, Sam hesitated, listening.
Nothing. No tell-tale sounds of a program riot.
'Not that I'd know what a program riot sounds like. Maybe they do sit-ins?'
He took a moment to psych himself up, before first cracking the door open. When it wasn't immediately attacked, he let it swing open fully.
Nothing but barren rocks.
Ignoring the sudden cold lump in his stomach, Sam walked outside, and turned around.
Where once there had been giant, sleek buildings and a maze of roads nearly constantly bustling with programs, all light and sound and life, there was now empty expanses of jagged, dark rock. He kept turning, and finally, something else caught his eye. A cluster of buildings, off in the distance; a couple smaller buildings, a tower, and...
'Is that the Arena?'
It was hard to tell from this distance, there were several large slabs of rock jutting up at various angles obstructing his line of sight, so he did the only sensible thing at the moment, and started heading toward a building that, the last time he'd been here, was very nearly his execution grounds.
He didn't get very far before he saw them.
Right after he'd climbed onto one of the first large rock formations in his way, light caught his eye, but not from the buildings.
'Programs?'
Little glows of light, hidden before now by the many jagged angles of the rock, scattered all over the place. It reminded Sam vaguely of a picture he'd seen once, or maybe it had been someone's screensaver; a field of grass at night, a sea of twinkling fireflies echoing the starry sky above. The sky might not be the same, but otherwise... not too far off, actually.
He considered the lights a moment more, then climbed down the other side of the rock, picking his way along to the nearest light that was on his way to the buildings.
'Here goes nothing...'
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His Light Disc was a warm, comforting weight in his hand as Sam crept around the rock, and finally saw the program.
'I didn't know they came in yellow. Well, Clu, but not that shade of yellow, and not with a white suit.'
'That shade' being an almost-pastel, sunny yellow that just so happened to clash horribly with the burly program's hair, skin, and eyes. He couldn't help but wonder who wrote this program, and whether or not they'd ever managed to get a date.
'Dude, seriously, you look like you're made of vomit.'
Despite his humor at the situation, he approached slowly from one side. The program stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on some point that Sam couldn't guess at. Sam was just outside of melee range when it occurred to him that the program was too still.
'Frozen?'
Not being as reckless as Alan often believed, and recognizing the components of a good trap here, he took a step back, and tried a less direct approach than poking him.
"Hey, uh... You all right?"
As he was speaking, the program's eyes flicked over to him blankly, but as soon as he was done, so were they, and they flicked right back to that unknown point in the distance.
'Okaa-ay, then...'
… Maybe he was as reckless as Alan often believed. He walked over to the other man, disk still in one hand, and poked him with the other.
He may as well have been poking the rock walls around them, it certainly felt the same.
"Okay, I'm officially stumped." His eyes watched while Sam spoke again, and turned away again as before.
'Maybe...'
Sam put his disk away, nothing. He scratched his head, no reaction. "You know you look like a fraternity's carpet, right?" That same flicker of eyes. No recognition, no understanding, just a reaction to the noise.
'This is getting me nowhere. Maybe there are some answers at those buildings...'
"Later, man." Sam called over his shoulder as he climbed out of sight.
The program's eyes flicked over briefly while he spoke, before going still once more.
Every program Sam passed was the same. The programs themselves were all quite different, running the gamut of color and gender spectacularly, but their posture, that statue-like stillness, except those flighty eyes, was exactly the same.
'What's going on here?...'
He really, really hoped the buildings held the answers he was now seeking, because this fourth scenario, a land of statues, was beginning to gnaw it's way down into the pit of his stomach.
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They didn't.
There were more of them than he'd originally guessed, though.
Sam sat on one of the last rocks before the first building, and the small section of road running parallel to it's front, before terminating in more rocks maybe twenty feet away in either direction. His attention wasn't on the smooth ground that his aching muscles had been crying out for for the last half-mile of his trek, though; it was focused on the building's occupants. Around every door and window, there were programs, standing so closely together that Sam almost joked about that being the biggest elevator he'd ever seen. He wasn't making the mistake of talking again so soon.
A sea of eyes shifting to stare blankly at him while his aborted greeting died out had been an unsettling experience he never wanted to repeat.
'I could try to sneak past them... Nope, Vomit Man was about as hard as rock, and I'd probably scrape all my skin off trying to wiggle through. Can't really climb in, either; the building's too smooth, and they're at every window. Maybe I'll have better luck at one of the other buildings?'
There were actually quite a few buildings here. They mostly looked like apartments or office buildings, and were similarly filled like the first one. The Arena was the next closest.
He actually ran from there after finding a way inside, only to misstep and bang his knee into a corner, and yelp.
'So many eyes... I'm never going to be able to talk at a board meeting again after this.'
The tower was his last place to check.
'And if that falls through...'
He didn't finish the thought.
The tower was surrounded on all sides by the smooth, hexagonal pavement tiles that used to be so common. The six legs of the tower itself seemed to be oriented in with the pavement tiles, points which, when connected, would draw a larger hexagon on the ground. The legs swept smoothly upward and together gradually, before angling up to attach to the underside of a rounded structure that, from this distance, looked a bit like a UFO.
'Actually, the more I think about it, it kind of looks like the Space Needle...'
Right in the center of the bottom of the UFO turned observation deck but probably not restaurant, there was a dim beam of blue light skimming down, through the center of where the tower legs almost came together, to the ground.
There wasn't a program in sight.
Sam crept closer, until he noticed that the hexagonal floor tile struck by the blue light was slightly raised from the others, and several shades lighter. Experimentally, he waved his hand through the light; it had an odd sort of density to it, more like water than air.
'Here goes nothing...'
Just in case, Sam held his breath as he stepped inside.
It didn't matter in the next moment, when he gasped in surprise as the dim light intensified, and the slim tile that had been resting on top of the normal street tile rose up, like a wall-less elevator.
"This can't possibly be safe!"
'… … Did I really just say that?'
Seeing as he wasn't suffocating, he turned his attention upward, to the hexagonal hole in the UFO's floor the elevator would undoubtedly fit into, that he hadn't been able to see from the ground. He had to shut his eyes against the bright blue-white light as he came nearer, until it was all he could see.
'Is it my imagination, or is the light making a humming sound now?'
It was. It was too bright for him to see why.
The elevator slid into place with a solid 'click'.
The light went out.
