EIGHT: Cut into your Intentions

(Wednesday, April 21st, 2010 - Los Angeles, California - Los Angeles Warehouse District):

Future Control Industries, otherwise known as FCon, was the brainchild of former Senior Executive President of ENCOM, Edward Dillinger Sr. Founded in 1998, rumor had it that the idea for the company came to the man during his sixteen year stay in prison after being exposed for a fraud and stripped of his position at ENCOM.

In retrospect, it wasn't surprising that Future Control Industries, like ENCOM, focused primarily on developing games and applications for varying platforms. For the most part, FCon enjoyed a moderate success, sales rising far above that of ENCOM during said company's decline after the change of hands from Alan Bradley to Richard Mackey.

The man behind the wheel of FCon's drive had a reputation in the electronics world that was typically recognized as unsavory or underhanded, but no one could deny that FCon's steady rise to power was an impressive (and legitimate) one, fueled either by Dillinger's resentment of Kevin Flynn or his desire to hire the best in the industry.

Eva Popoff had applied for an internship at FCon during the beginning of her senior year at CSU, excited at the prospect of working with Edward Dillinger Sr. Her friends, Esmond Baza and Seth Crown III, had found their place at Dillinger's side as executives for his programming and legal divisions. Esmond was a programmer, not unlike Jet, but of different level of skill altogether. She'd go as far as saying he was better were it not for the fact Jet could play havoc with just about any operating system and never get caught.

Esmond, for the most part, wasn't the jealous type. He could acknowledge there were others better than him out there. But, for whatever reason, he absolutely detested the idea that Jet was his superior, and he only met him once. Seth was a Harvard student of the highest caliber, She learned a lot from him, particularly how to deal with the more vicious aspects of cooperate businesses. Unlike Esmond, Seth had been the only one of their group she became romantically entangled with. It ended amicably enough, but Seth's iciness toward her often manifested in snatching up legal deals before she could act. Outside of her present circumstances, she rarely outmaneuvered his ambitions.

When she'd met Dillinger Sr., she could only describe him with one word: Shrewd. Dillinger Sr., whatever his reasoning, seemed to harbor a strong resentment for anyone under the age of forty, deeming them scheming and underhanded snots who'd sooner cut your throat then telegraph a hit. Nevermind it was pot calling the kettle black. Yet, he acknowledged they were invaluable to the function of his business.

If Eva had been anyone else, his misdirected hatred for the youth might've stung, wounded her even, but she wasn't just anyone. Popoff spent the better part of her life being reminded that her youth would not last, and she would get nowhere without a tough skin. Putting up with the misconceptions of her personality were a given at this point. She wasn't about to go running from the office in tears because some geezer was sore over what happened to him over half a decade or so ago.

After graduating from CSU and earning her doctorate, she was eventually hired by Dillinger. She worked her way up the ladder to becoming one of his executives, specializing primarily in Human Resources or Seth's go-between with business deals.

One such business deal in particular was the hopeful merger between FCon and ENCOM. When she had met Jet, she'd still been in college and had no particular interest in ENCOM. However, upon rising in the hierarchy of Future Control Industries, she was presented with the chance to proposition ENCOM with the merger proposal. The definition of their relationship took on a different meaning altogether. It was suddenly a viable option to use him in some manner if need be, but only if.

With Edward Dillinger Jr. well adjusted in the position as COO of ENCOM next to Mackey's CEO, the plan didn't seem able to fail, not when they were playing both sides of the board without major opposition. Alan Bradley was unaware of the ordeal, Jet was aware of it, but she didn't see him telling his father (or mother) about it as he never appeared terribly attached to the company. (If she was honest, he seemed to hate it.)

The only real hurdle she had to leap was Sam, Kevin Flynn's son. Reclusive and rarely in the public eye, Eva had no idea how to gauge his position on the company's future. To be sure, Mackey had enough stories predating Flynn Jr's adulthood about several deals ruined by Sam's yearly computer pranks, but the most she could tell from that was he disliked Mackey's brand of business.

"Sam Flynn is a non-event as far as I'm concerned," Edward Jr. said to her the day before. "He sits around in a shipping container living in the past and conspiring with online extremists. Unless you plan on having the deal occur on his father's D-day, I doubt he'll be any trouble."

From that description, Edward made the boy sound like someone she could easily persuade into dealing with her, but Jet's flamboyant and rather amusing stories of their youth and young adulthood painted him another light entirely. In Jet's eyes Sam was argumentative, short-tempered, smart, and friendly if he knew you personally. The short-lived conversation in the car alone let her know Jet didn't think Sam would take the idea of a merger terribly well, inspiring her to double check her purse for pepper spray.

Staring down at the worn photograph of a young man standing in front of shipping container turned house, Eva glanced up at the structure to double check if she was in the right place. Jet had written the directions to the location on the back of the photograph last night. The looming Dumont shipping container's door was closed, the motorcycle featured the picture was absent, yet she could clearly see a small dog running around in the distance, chasing its shadow.

This was indeed the address of Sam Flynn, but Sam wasn't home.

Eva readjusted her sunglasses as she stuck her head out of the window of her car, the environment reeked of old oil and bay water. She hated that smell. The dizzy-dog stopped the pursuit of his tail to watch her, he barked in objection to her presence. Eva glared at the animal over her sunglasses.

Rolling the car window up, she raised the cell phone to her ear. "He's not here."

"What do you mean he's not there?" The irritation in Seth's voice rang loud and clear on the other end.

Eva rolled her eyes, undaunted by the accusatory tone in his voice. "I mean, the shabby excuse he calls a house is empty, there's a beagle of some sort running around on a chain. There is no sign of Flynn," She clarified. "He is not on the premises."

"Well, he could've stepped out for a moment," Esmond's voice entered the conversation. "Have you even gotten out of the car?"

She glared at the phone in the reflection of the rear-view mirror as if it and not Esmond had asked the stupid question. "There is a rabid little dog staring at me. I'm not getting out of the car," She told him.

"Unless the dog is foaming the mouth-"

"Seth, I can tell you, the man is not here," Eva practically hissed. "We should simply move forward with the plan-"

"And get caught unawares by Flynn? I don't think so, Popoff. Dillinger is willing to go through with this proposal the legal way, and I'm not about to-"

"But he doesn't need to, not in the strictest sense anyways," Eva sighed, playing with a stray red curl. "I have it on good authority that we can get around Sam Flynn without even speaking to him." There was a lengthy pause on Seth and Esmond's end. Eva continued to play with her hair as she waited for them to process the information, information they should've known already.

"Whose authority would that be?" Seth asked.

"A friend," Was all Eva would say.

"And if we were found out as the culprits behind this little charade?" Esmond inquired.

"Oh, they'd undoubtedly know it was us, but if things go our way, Sam Flynn won't even realize what happened until it was too late to do anything," Eva offered. "You're the cooperate lawyer, Seth, this is perfectly in the green isn't it?"

"Calling a special meeting in which we know Mr. Flynn cannot attend, and make it appear he was simply unavailable or couldn't be reached when the deal was made?"

"Something like that, yes," Eva remarked dryly.

"I'd say so, yes. There's a little more to than that, but I believe it's doable," Seth finished.

"It's not a wise idea, in my opinion," Esmond butted in.

"Baza, if I want your opinion on wise decisions, I would've asked you and not Seth," Eva smiled.

(Downtown Los Angeles - Jet's Apartment/Flynn's Arcade)

"Home again, home again."

Tired did not begin to describe how Jet was feeling when he returned home. Work had progressed in a blur. Conversations, mini-meetings and micromanaging were vague memories reduced to cliff notes of the more important details mentioned in regards to "Kami", the name of their work-in-progress game. Apparently, Costa intended it on being a spiritual sequel to "Kimi" and just forgot to mention it to him.

If he managed to remember any of the events that transpired today with any clarity, he would be wholly impressed with himself in the morning. Shutting the doors to the building, he took a moment to the regard the glowing neon "TRON" sign hanging over the arcade console. The first floor had been filled with his personal affects and everyday items gained over the years.

He still had the desks in the corner on each side of the doorway on the left, the far right was littered with computer parts and stacks of paper he'd been meaning to go through. The walls were decorated with old or discarded sketches and doodles of characters that never quite made it into the finished product of several games.

Sam had put most of the arcade systems and his father's belongings into storage. He didn't see a reason for them lingering in what would become a full-fledged living space for someone else. Out of a mere request, he left Jet "Space Paranoids", "Vice Squad", "Derezzed", "Light Cycles" and, of course, "TRON".

Three of the five - "Vice Squad", "Space Paranoids", and "Derezzed" - were situated underneath the stairs, wrapped in tarp. "Light Cycles" and "TRON" remained out in the open for his personal amusement. Or mental torment, whichever Eva figured his mood settled on. "TRON" stood front and center, aligned with the apartment's entrance, "Light Cycles" was situated in the room to the left, in the former arcade space turned kitchen. Running a hand through his spiky hair, Jet proceeded toward the "TRON" console. Eva wouldn't be back until later that night, maybe not even until tomorrow. This seemed as good a time as any check up on things in the Bat Cave.

The discovery had been completely accidental, and part of him wondered how no one prior to his moving in ever noticed it. Hell, why didn't he notice it? The one night he'd chosen to play a game of TRON vs. the MCP is when he realized the quarters he continuously slipped into the slot were clattering helplessly on the floor at the tip of his shoes, yet he didn't think to wake himself up long enough to notice it until one of the quarters dropped onto his sneaker.

It took a moment to realize that none of the quarters had entered their designated slot and were in fact pooled around his feet. It took even longer to notice the fine grooves in the concrete floor that'd been made over a period of time. Pushing the quarters out of the way, he knelt before the faux-game console, fingers searching around its person for a lever or obvious opening to work around. Pulling the console away from the wall resulted in the discovery of a door that, for all intents and purposes, invoked the scene from the Temple of Doom, only infinitely cooler and far less skeevy.

His reaction to what resided behind the door was less subtle than his initial open-mouthed surprise of the secret door. To put it simply, he pretended not to jump around like an excitable seven year old one moment and cry the next.

Sam was gonna freak when he saw this place.

The basement was larger the door ever suggested, a veritable server room combined with a rec space. In the very back of the basement were a series servers that were connected to an absurd electrical system that, according to the old and wrinkled manuals left behind, were being managed by the Gibbs family - Walter Gibbs Jr. specifically. Jet vaguely recalled that the Gibbs Senior and Junior had spent a lot of time with the Flynn family before Kevin's disappearance, but he never bothered to ask why (why would should he?).

"In the event of emergency," He read the fading words of the sixth manual, "maintain power until December 18, 2010." His birthday, he noted, but why would Flynn ask that the servers remain online until then? The severs were cleaner than anything else in the space, and at their threshold was a secondary computer that was keeping logs of their activity. All of which unsettled him. Had Gibbs Jr. been visiting the arcade when he wasn't around, or worse, when he was sleep? He had to change the locks.

Traveling down the former dust embalmed stairway into the dimly-lit basement, Jet reflected on the seemingly endless hours he spent playing housekeeper, sweeping or washing the claustrophobic room of the years of accumulated dust and grime, popping pills for sinus headaches and so forth. The doors of the arcade had been locked, the windows covered up. If he didn't have a cell phone or two hardlines, he was sure everyone would've thought he'd packed his bags and left town. He literally had to take a day off from cleaning to allow his mother in. Lora Bradley didn't take no for an answer, but once he managed to shoo her off about her merry, Jet returned to cleaning the cramped room until it was unrecognizable as the dusty heap he'd once discovered.

Flopping down onto the office chair, Jet turned once and tapped the touchpad keyboard as he came to face the table. Just like the servers, it had been well looked after long before he ever found the place. He recognized the smooth table surface as the same one he used to play with when his father would take him to ENCOM. It was some kind've touchpad tech that Edward Dillinger Sr. came up with, much to the chagrin of Kevin.

The estimated time it logged in was approximately 21:9:18:13:20 and counting. Jet boggled over the estimate, impressed that a machine this old had been running over twenty one years beneath the arcade. It had been in standby mode when he found it, but, its power was low enough that it hadn't overheated for all the time it'd been on. That only made his Gibbs Jr. conspiracy theory grow stronger.

"Uncle Flynn must've been in a hurry when he left," Jet murmured to himself.

And for all Sam's childhood denial, Jet believed Kevin died. It was a major point of contention for them, the fact that Sam believed that his father was somewhere in the world alive (abducted maybe), and Jet thought otherwise. Dealing with his own want to disappear, Jet was only further convinced the "disappearance" of Kevin Flynn was just a hurry to exit stage left. The obvious mental instability Flynn suffered after the death of his wife, it wasn't a stretch to believe depression drove the man to throw himself off a cliff into some random ocean.

Granted, he'd never say that to Sam, but that's what he believed.

The screen flickered to life, random files flashed across the screen as they closed and opened themselves before finally revealing a stark black desktop with a few folders dubbed with random numbers. "Welcome back, Clarence," The melodic voice that filtered out overhead brought a smile to his face as he rubbed his hands together. "Good to be back, Ma3a. How are things in the 'ol SF1282?"

Automated voices are so much fun, he thought to himself.

(TBC)

Updated: 8/31/2018 - 10/12/2018