For a few nanocycles, Clu could hear only a dense ringing in his ears, as his awareness of all else but the scalding pain dimmed and receded to the background. Somehow he'd managed to crawl up from the floor, propelled largely by bitter pride, refusing to lay defeated in a stunned heap at the feet of his new-found nemesis. Now at least he sat defeated in his own chair, watching as that despicable turncoat Jarvis vacated the room flanked by guards, which meant at least he could relax his pride somewhat.
However, he couldn't seem to relax his body.
Long fingers clung to the ends of the armrests, nearly tearing into the pixels of simulated veneer fabric. His jaw was set with fury and his face contorted by more pain than he'd ever felt in all the cycles.
His circuitry dimmed and flickered, his energy plummeting to a dangerously low level from the duress. For the first time, he had the fleeting realization of what fear feels like - he was reluctant to look down at his side, for fear that a good portion of the pixels would simply be gone. He closed his eyes, logic screaming at him to bypass emotional reactions and act quickly. He knew if he could manage to focus past the pain and remain alert he could retrieve his disk and get to the task of repairing himself, before his energy dipped so low that he went into involuntary sleep-mode.
When he opened his eyes again, Tron was kneeling down in front of him, a grave look on his face. But his voice was steeled with calm determination. "Clu, how can I help?"
Clu looked at him for a moment, conflicted by the strong, prideful reflex to insist upon self-sufficiency, to not cave in to his weakness. But the pain and shock overrode that reflex, and the drain on his system was making it difficult to focus his thoughts.
"You can't,...you don't have... administrative...privileges..." he ground out through a pain-clenched jaw, circuits flickering again. Then he slowly reached out his hand. "Take my disk...off...and,...give it to me..."
So Tron reached carefully to his back, removing the disk and handing it to him. While Clu stared at the disk, trying to corral his thoughts into cohesiveness, Tron couldn't help glancing at the wound on Clu's side. It chilled him to see it - as Rinzler he'd inflicted such wounds many times on programs, and none of them had survived. He knew that had this injury been due to the impact of a disk, likely Clu would have been completely de-rezzed on the spot, but as it was, the sentries apparently wielded their weapons with such careful precision so as to bring Clu only to the brink of destruction, not take him out completely. Perhaps it was their idea of a warning, but it was undeniably a cruel and harsh one.
When Tron looked up at Clu's face again, he could see from the half-lidded eyes that his energy was waning to a dangerously low level. He immediately reached out, placing his hand to Clu's chest, literally pressing him back in the chair, and then Clu's eyes suddenly went wide with confusion and surprise,...until the surge of energy coursed through him, reviving his pain-ravaged circuits to a bright yellow glow. Tron suffused Clu with as much of his life-force as he could spare, and Clu accepted it, staring right at Tron, taken aback. No program had ever done that for him before. Even his own Creator hadn't. He paused, uncertain of what to say, then finally said simply, "Thank you..."
Tron nodded, standing somewhat wearily. "You are welcome..." He turned to walk towards the glass observation window, then stopped, looked back around. "...I fight for the users."
Clu looked up from the disk, puzzled. "...but,... I'm not a User..."
Tron nodded, the hint of a smile in his eyes. "...close enough..." And then he turned and walked back towards the window.
Clu's eyes softened. A slow grin spread over his face, and had Tron turned back around to see it, he would have said Clu had never looked more like his Creator than he did right then.
Though Kevin couldn't see beyond the pristine high-gloss tinted finish of the transparent flooring, he did catch glimpses of the area through the side panels. It was enormous, unbelievably so, far larger than it had ever been so many years ago when last he'd entered it. Now to think of the sheer numbers of programs that were gathered in this one facility was staggering. He could certainly get a feel for it, judging by the noise level...what had seemed only a dull hum when he'd stood in the mezzanine with Clu, Tron and Alan now seemed an utterly deafening roar, as thousands of voices yelling in the arena all mingled together to assault his eardrums at once over a loud backdrop of techno music which droned on endlessly. The tinted transparent enclosure they'd dropped him in did little to ameliorate the noise level. He could feel the noise vibrations under his feet, all the way through his boots.
...so this is what's happened to the Grid?...
He wasn't quite sure if anyone could see him up there. He heard the crowds cheering, but when he tried waving that got no change in the noise-level, and no response at all. He wasn't sure if this was a holding cell of some sort, and really he didn't actually want to know. The thought of just that unnerved him, let alone what it might be holding him for. What he wanted to know was just how far off the ground he was, and what structures were nearby, because he was seriously thinking of playing the Creator card again, and busting his way out of this with one gigantic fell swoop. As for what he would do after that, he really hadn't thought it out that far yet.
And he didn't have a chance to.
Because suddenly a booming voice over the massive PA system began announcing something.
He heard, "Good evening programs..." but the sound echo in the huge arena made it hard for him to understand much more than that. He could hear only snippets of what was being said, but whatever it was made the crowds go wild.
Then he realized that what it was that made the crowds go wild...apparently, was him.
At least he thought so,...until he heard the echoing voice say, "...Combatant One,...KEVIN FLYNN, USER!"
Then the crowds didn't go wild at all. First a noticeable hush spread over the arena, and then some cheered, but most joined in to voice a resounding 'boo' which went on for several nanoseconds. This completely baffled him, and he stood there trying to ascertain just how it was that probably close to half a million programs in the Grid which he created would be booing him and treating him to such a heinous reception.
He gathered that apparently he was now hated, but what he didn't know was why.
And he didn't have much longer to ponder it.
Because the crowds then kicked up the volume again, launching into a two-syllable cheer , and he could have sworn they were chanting, "...Rinz-ler!...Rinz-ler!...Rinz-ler!...Rinz-ler!..."
Over and over they shouted this, and he could feel the vibrations from their feet stomping in time with the chant. And then, sure enough he heard the announcer confirm it with what sounded like great pride in his enthusiastic drawl..."Combatant Number Twooooo...RRRRRRRRRINZLERRRRR...!
Then the crowds went wild.
When Kevin turned back around, he was no longer alone inside this odd encasement.
Staring him down, was a helmeted figure in a light-suit he could never in a million cycles forget, even if it was now trimmed in fiery orange-red, instead of blue.
The figure held two light disks.
They were calling him Rinzler. But it wasn't. Nor was it Tron. One look at the figure's frame told him it was Alan Bradley.
He exhaled sigh of relief, calling out to him across the encasement they were in.
"Alan!...Thank God it's you!...Listen we can't treat this like a Frisbee match, man,...if-...if these disks hit either one of us,... they'll slice right through!..we gotta just stall for time and think of a way to get out of he- "
He didn't have time to finish the sentence, because he was too busy ducking to keep from losing an arm and a leg to the disks which went whirring past him. He hit the flooring, then jumped back up. Once he'd gotten to his feet, his eyes were as big as saucers.
"MAN!...What the-?...didn't you just hear what I-"
What had stopped him cold mid-sentence, baffled him, and chilled him to the core, was the sound he'd heard.
He'd heard it once before, back in the lab, when Tron had made it after they'd rebooted him.
...a dissonant menacing cross between a soft rattle and a purr.