Alan wandered around "Storybrooke", trying to find answers. Sure, he might've been a little naive in his youth, but Alan Bradley was not, nor had he ever been, stupid. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on Zelia that this was not a friend and if he could've saved ms. Swan and ms. Blanchard, he would have. But the security in Storybrooke was impenetrable. Soon, Alan found himself walking into a digital reconstruction of a clock tower and arrived to find a middle-aged red-circuited man there, working on numerous lines of data at the same time. The man noticed Alan and spoke first: "User contact will have to wait, dearie. As you can see, I'm a little busy at the moment."
"Oh, I'm not here to make User contact... who are you exactly?" asked Alan.
The man replied: "Silver. My name's Silver. I operate Storybrooke's system."
"You mean you're a Guardian?"
Silver let out a giggle. "You mean one of those I/O tower operators from the 1980's? I'm afraid not."
Alan raised his hand towards Silver. "Well, my name's Alan." Silver shook it.
"Yes I know, your arrival to Storybrooke was quite... unique.
At that moment, a blue-circuited female with a very... "unsuitable" suit for a lady as far as Alan was concerned, came in with drinks.
"Ah, thank you for that, Crimson." said Silver. Crimson gave Alan a glass and Alan awkwardly took it, not really knowing what it is.
"And she is...?"
"Crimson works at the inn. She brings me a drink or two whenever I feel the need for powerup.
"Right." Alan drank the substance and his eyes widened.
He could literally feel the power flowing through him and had he not been such a mild-mannered person, he might've yelled out: "POWAAAHHHH! UNLIMITED POWAHHH!"
Thank god he was, though.

Zelia walked into the room with her trademark smirk and with sheriff Graham in tow.
"Graham!" yelped Emma.
Graham looked confused. "I am Jo3N, the Head of Security for this system. I'm here to examine the Tron program."
Emma sat in a corner, hugging herself. Jo3n moved over and quickly looked over Tron. He shook his head. "There's not much good left of this program. I think he should be recycled, though. Some of his coding might still be useful for us."
Zelia nodded. "Now there's a good thought. Please go and tell the good mr. Bradley to join us."
Jo3n left the room and Zelia motioned for her guards to take Emma and Snow with her.

Alan had left Silver working on his yellow coding, which the program told was meant to improve the system, whatever that meant. He was on the streets again, when he was approached by Jo3n.
"User Alan-One?" he asked. Alan nodded absent-mindedly.
"Zelia requests your presence at the Recycle Bin. Tron is being recycled."
"Wait, what?!" yelled Alan.
"Tron is being recycled. He is beyond repair." said Jo3n calmly.
Alan waved around with his hands, frantic. "Where the hell is the "Recycle Bin"?!"
Jo3n took Alan into his Light Runner and began driving.

"Morning, dearie." said mr. Gold.
"Not so good anymore. What do you want?"
"Well, I would like to ask you about the virus you seem to have released into the computers."
Regina motioned for Gold to come in.
"What are you talking about? I haven't made any viruses, I don't... Regina Mills doesn't even know how to make them."
Gold became angry. He didn't like to be wrong. "Well then who does? I found a very advanced virus in Henry's computer, a virus that must've been created by someone very intelligent and who had access. There aren't that many computers in Storybrooke, you know that. So I ask you, yet again: who did it?"
Regina scowled. "And I tell you again: I do not know. The virus isn't my design, what would I have to gain by "hacking" into my son's computer?"
Gold pursed his lips.
"Well, maybe the access that you don't have to him right now?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Regina, outraged.
"It means, dearie, that your obsession with Henry is clouding your judgment. I want to know who designed the virus and why. And I will know. I always do."
Gold left Regina's house, leaving her both angry and frightened.

Jo3n took Alan to a digital reconstruction of a stone well on a pedestal. Emma and Snow sat nearby, tied with light cords. Tron was also there, on a stretcher and Zelia stood triumphant. Alan hurried closer.
"What the hell is going on here?!"
"Patience, mr. Bradley," replied Zelia. "Your Tron program is irreparable by any methods known to man or program. I suggest we get rid of this junk so you could design a new one."
Alan glanced at the two prisoners.
"What are they doing here?" he asked calmly.
"They're here to watch. Emma Swan and Snow White have caused damage enough to my User."
Snow White?
He raised his eyebrows. Regina grinned.
"So they haven't told you about their fairytales yet?"
Alan snorted. "Surely you don't believe in such nonsense, I mean after all you are programs."
Zelia's grin widened.
"That's exactly my point, mr. Bradley. I'm just a program."
Jo3n pushed Alan into the well and Zelia opened her arms. Purple, magical smoke floated covered the well and Zelia yelled something incomprehensible, feeling pure delight.

As the smoke finally vanished and everything became visible again, Emma gasped.
Alan Bradley stood at the well, his circuits purple, his twisted grin utterly different from his usual smile.
"Who's just a program now?"