What, did I actually just write a sequel to something? :o I think I did, that doesn't happen often. I'm pretty much doing whatever the heck I want with this fic, so it might get a little crazy, I'm holding nothing back. That means OC's and unlikely adventures. I just threw some Iron Man crossover at the beginning of this one because random inspiration. If you want me to continue, leave a review :) They mean the world to me.

Partially inspired by my last visit to NYC.

I don't own Tron.

New York City. Lights, glamor, art, theater, and pollution awaited. It was the city of prestige and class, of action and adventure. Here no one stopped playing, ruining or reinventing their lives long enough to sleep, it was the city that put itself at the center of the universe. NYC was the utopia of dreams and of traffic jams, of gangs and poetic graffiti, of variety and new experiences.

New York City was the current home of Stark Industries. Sam heaved a heavy sigh, he scowled down at the business card he was holding in his fingers.

Call me :) Tony had written under his number, going so far as to scribble a smiley face.

The bastard had made him fly all the way across the country just to see him. Stark Industries was interested in Encom's AI technology that the young Flynn had decided to explore, alternative to releasing the same software year after year. Stark better have something good to discuss, or Sam didn't care how much potential wealth Stark represented for Encom, he was going to punch him in the face. Jet lag and Sam Flynn were not a happy couple.

Stark Tower rose up above their heads, at the end of the block. Something brushed Sam's right shoulder. That accompanied by a terrifying rumbling that drew up memories Sam was not in the mood to think about, was nearly enough to make the CEO jump out of his skin. His head turned in the direction of the disturbance. A pair of glowing red eyes blinked at him, wide at the sudden explosion of movement from Sam, and completely innocent.

They had to bring Rinzler. Lora absolutely refused to leave him at home.

"Couldn't we have just… put him in a kennel or something?" Sam turned his head to whisper in the ear on his left, the ear of Alan Bradley. "The Rinzler sitting service volunteered. They weren't booked with any other Rinzlers."

His godfather gave him a disappointed look.

"Sam, we can't keep dropping him off at Roy's place so often. Roy spoils him rotten, do you really think Rinzler needs chocolate and caffeine? There won't be anything left of the west coast when we get back."

"I'm not taking him into the conference with us." Sam hissed. It would mean the end of his courier. He could imagine it now, all the disasters that would unfold. Conferences were horribly dull. Rinzler would have nothing to occupy himself with. In his minds eye Sam saw exploding coffee makers, overheating copy machines, sinks ripped out of bathroom walls, broken technology, flash floods, twisters, falling buildings, screaming horrified billionaires.

Lora put a hand on her husband's shoulder and halted him in the middle of the sidewalk. When Alan stopped his forward motion toward the tower, so did everyone else.

"Why don't you boys head over to the art museum early, we'll catch up after the meeting. It will be nice, the two of you can spend quality time together." Lora suggested in her soft, melodic voice that instantly put everyone at ease. Alan wanted to question if Rinzler would appreciate modern art, but thought better of it, and closed his mouth. The museum was calm and quiet inside, there would be nothing to startle the program. At the same time Rinzler wouldn't be stuck sitting still in an office chair for hours on end, they would be constantly moving from display to display, and that was the idea. Alan nodded. He circled around Sam and took his program by the hand.

"We'll meet back at Stark Tower at three?" Alan proposed. He received a grunt from Sam and a hum from Lora in the affirmative.

Alan led Rinzler away, in the opposite direction down the street. He looked over his shoulder at the program meandering after him, attached to his hand. Rinzler still hadn't gotten used to wearing shoes yet, and his Converse threatened to trip him. The laces had come undone again, Alan sighed, I just tied those not ten minutes ago!

Rinzler was looking up at Alan like a child put into a car by his parent without explanation, who wanted to ask

'Daddy, where are we driving?'

"It's a famous museum of modern art, the MoMA, a place where…" How did a man go about explaining art to a program?


"What do you think?" Alan gestured at the single blue square in the middle of a yellow canvas. Rinzler purred, appraising what he was seeing, and tilting his head to the side as he considered the work of art.

"French toast." He decided.

"How about this one?"

Alan pointed out a near identical painting beside the first, the square painted on this work was red.

"MCP's french toast."

"Is everything square french toast?" Alan asked.

Rinzler nodded.

Well, Alan never really understood art either. That was the two of them, just an odd pair of non art understanders in an art understanding world.

A pretty guide wearing a pink shirt beneath her gray suit jacket walked by in her red high heels, they made a rhythmic clack clack clack sound against the floor that Rinzler rather liked. She paused occasionally to chatter softly about various paintings to her following of tourists. The program had been staring down at her spike heels, wonder how she could possibly walk in them, and what kind of intensive training discipline she had to go through in order to learn how. He wondered if it was anything like the martial arts he saw on the picture and noise box at home. Suddenly there was a hand at his back, ushering him along.

"Come on, let's go look at the paintings over here." Alan said, pointing at an adjoining room.

The two of them stopped in front of one of Andy Warhol's giant paintings. Light flittered in through the giant wall length window to their right.

"This one's pretty cool huh?"

"Chicken noodle soup." Rinzler said.

Alan smiled, Rinzler's speaking issue was improving. His voice was clearer and he was speaking more often, in a greater quantity of words.

"Yeah, this painting is actually food this time. You're an ordinary connoisseur."

They moved into a hall lined with painting that looked like intricate scribbles. They reminded Alan of television static.

Rinzler stopped in front of a black and white piece, fleck with a thousand other colors.

The lines were confusing, over lapping, running in all different directions. There were too many colors, too many lines, it was utter chaos. Imperfection. His head hurt.

"Enemy." Rinzler ground out.

"What?" Alan turned his head, what enemy?

The program advance toward the painting, the purr that had dropped it a quite hum thundered to life.

"No! No Rinzler! The billion dollar painting is not your enemy!"

The moment Rinzler touched the painting a thousand different alarms were blaring.

Security, all dressed in a professional black from shoes to sunglasses, rushed into the room through every door. Rinzler was not happy about being surrounded.

Alan could only watch, helpless.

Rinzler's fist hit the nearest guard in the gut, with a choked cry of pain, the man dropped like a sack of bricks. Then, the program leapt. He sailed over the heads of the mob, twisting gracefully in the air like an Olympic gymnast, like a football thrown with perfect spin. He landed in a crouch on the other side of the barrier of security guards, and disappeared from the hall in a blur of movement. Rinzler darted out the doorway so quickly the guards were left in a daze, spinning in place. Like school boys caught day dreaming in the outfield during a game, wondering where the ball that had just gone flying over their heads had vanished to.


Calm down Bradley. Deep breaths. You still have until three to find him and return to the tower before your wife kills you for losing her baby.

Security had searched the entire museum. Rinzler was gone, a bystander had witness a man jump through one of the large three story windows. The hole in the glass was suspiciously Rinzler sized, and as Alan looked down into the street below, he saw a fire escape winding up the side of the building.

Rinzler was loose in New York.

He had lost Rinzler, lost Rinzler in New York City.


Rinzler wasn't lost, of course not, he knew his way back to Alan One. Rinzler looked right and left down the dark, dirty ally way. Nope, not lost at all, not one bit. Alan One was this way, Rinzler took the left path. The ally ended in an empty, sandy lot encircled on three sides by tall brick apartment buildings. On the open side was a broken, rusty chain link fence, beyond which was a busy street.

Alan One was no where in sight.

Who was he kidding? He was lost. What was he supposed to do? Rinzler remembered the nice police women who had helped him find Lora Prime and Alan One the last time he was lost, but she wasn't here, she was back home. This was an entirely different place, it even had different police women. The User world was so big, Rinzler wondered if it even had an end.

"Hello Mr."

What? Who? The program looked down to see a very small creature tugging at his jeans. She had wide brown eyes magnified ten fold behind a pair of glasses that reminded him of the lenses he'd seen on Alan One's face in old photographs. A pair of pigtails sat atop her head, the curliest hair he's every seen, he wondered if they weren't separate organisms themselves.

"Mr. have you seen Mrs. Wigly? We can't find her anywhere." She asked. We?

Rinzler looked to see that he was once again surrounded, but instead of the enemy, he saw four frightened looking User children.

Rinzler tilted his head to the side as if to ask who?

"Mrs. Wigly is our chaperone. We're on a field trip." The girl explained. "Can you help us find her?"

"You are lost?" He asked.

A boy standing to his right nodded.

"We were going to see Lady Liberty. Do you know where she is? I bet Mrs. Wigly would be with her." He said.

"I'm lost to." Rinzler admitted to them.

He understood how frightening being lost was, he resolved to assist these User spawn in locating this Lady Liberty.

I guess Rinz doesn't agree with what Pollock has to say.