He was dreaming.
Wasn't he? Of course.
He knew he was dreaming.
Why? Because he wasn't in the grid, and, because Jordan was there with him. He could hear her soft laughter in the hallway.
Kevin sighed and shifted slightly on the bed to lean against the headboard, holding his infant son in his arms. Amidst Sam's slight fussing sounds, Kevin was making soft silly noises of his own, trying to distract the baby, but Sam wasn't having any of it...he was hungry and he wanted his bottle. Kevin glanced up, smiling just as Jordan rounded the corner with the bottle, then he cooed down at his son with raised eyebrows and a sing-song tone.
"Heyyyy look!...Sam sha-zam!...there's mommy!...and she's bringing you the yummy stuff!...yeah she iiiis!..." He made a silly face, eyes wide, and Sam laughed in spite of his fussing.
Jordan laughed too, and handed Kevin the bottle, who in turn brought it slowly through the air towards the wide-eyed infant like it was a rocket-ship, steering it right to Sam who of course reached for it greedily when the bottle neared his face. "Aaaaaaaand,... there ya go kiddo."
And then there was quiet, as Sam suckled the bottle hungrily, eyes still wide, looking at his father as one of the tiny bootie-clad feet kicked steadily against the side of Kevin's arm.
"...look at this!...the kid's gonna be the next Van Damme, I'm tellin ya'..."
Jordan looked at him. "Van who?"
Kevin chuckled. "...Jean-Claude Van Damme. Martial arts, he's one of those kick-boxers...sweepin' the circuit these days..." Kevin smiled, nodding down at his baby son who was still kicking at his arm while happily devouring the bottle of formula, "yeah,...but he's got nothin' on this one, though...bodacious left hook in the works here, look at that!...cute!..."
Jordan gave Kevin a smirk.
"Oh yeah, I know all about that foot, Kev,...you didn't carry him - not so cute when it's your rib cage."
Kevin looked at Jordan, raising his eyebrow. "Yeah,...bet that must've smarted way more than this...but,...wouldna' known it to look at you - you were like,... the most intrepidly happy pregnant woman I'd ever seen..." He quirked the eyebrow again, giving her the same devilish grin that got them into this position. "...a goddess of motherhood,...really,... is-...is more like it..."
She smiled, surprised by his flattering comment, and then her eyes narrowed, as she figured out his ploy. She nudged him, giving him another smirk as she stretched out on the bed. "OH no you don't. You're not charming your way outta this...it's your turn to feed him AND change him too. Mommy's gonna' rest her feet just a little while."
Kevin laughed, as he looked back at the infant and spoke in a soft voice, pretending to be exasperated.
"Man, you see this?... this is what happens. Yep. Mommy's got me wrapped around her little finger..." he shifted the infant in his arms, setting the bottle aside and laying out the small square cloth over his shoulder before resting Sam against it, "...yeah,...and so you you, kiddo,...you know it too, don't ya?..."
He patted the baby's back softly. "Okay,...do your thing, big guy,..."
Kevin kept patting patiently, but apparently the baby didn't need burping. Instead he just laid his head against his daddy's shoulder, his tiny fingers idly reaching for a fistful of Kevin's dark-blonde hair, until he closed his eyes, yawned and slowly went to sleep.
The next thing Kevin knew, Sam was snoring,...which was really odd considering that it was the sound of a grown man's snore coming from a three-month-old baby.
Kevin was about to bring this to Jordan's attention when someone shook his shoulder, and a man's voice spoke. It sounded like Alan Bradley - what was he doing here?
"Kevin?...Kevin!..."
"Hm?..." Kevin jumped awake, and his eyes opened to see Tron standing beside him, a hand still on his shoulder.
Tron stepped back and spoke. "I'm sorry to startle you, but,... you powered-down into sleep mode while still sitting in your chair..." He paused, tilting his head, "and also,...you... made an odd noise."
Kevin sat up in the chair, rubbing his eyes, stretching his neck and looking around the room.
One minute he'd been thinking intently, then he'd closed his eyes and the next thing he knew, Tron was waking him up. He yawned and looked up at the program with a slightly embarrassed smirk.
"Yeah,...we call that 'snoring', Tron. Wasn't too loud, I hope?..."
Tron shook his head. "No, not really. More just like a soft rattling..." he quirked his head, thought a moment, then chuckled and raised his brows, "...sounded a bit like a damaged processor actually."
Kevin looked at him a moment, taken aback by the chillingly ironic simile that Tron hadn't even realized he'd made.
...like a damaged processor...
...that's what you sounded like,...as Rinzler...
Kevin managed a wry smile, noting Tron's oddly lighthearted demeanor...apparently he recalled very little of what had actually happened to him as Rinzler, which Kevin supposed was at least fortunate for the security program, though it still made him want to cringe to think of it.
Just then, Clu stopped pacing the room and walked over to stand beside them. He was about to speak when the lights suddenly dimmed, as did Tron and Clu's circuitry.
Both programs looked at each other, but then the lights returned to normal, as did the glow of their suits. Then they looked at Kevin, who was frowning, looking around the room.
Then Kevin looked back at both Tron and Clu. "You okay?.."
Both programs nodded, slightly unsettled but seeming none the worse for wear.
Kevin sighed, and stood, stretching his limbs, suppressing a yawn...tiredness was not an option at this point - they had far too much to figure out.
He leaned over the keyboard to type something to his son, but then saw the message already on the screen.
_OOPS
_THAT WAS MY FAULT
_SORRY, EVERYTHING OK?
_
Kevin typed back.
_YEAH, BUT WHAT HAPPENED?
_
After a pause, the words appeared onscreen.
_TRYING TO READ WHAT IT SAYS ON THE UPS
_DATE, SERIAL NUMBER, ETC
_ACCIDENTALLY BUMPED THE CORD LOOSE
_
Kevin nodded, and sighed, then typed the reply.
_TRY NOT TO DO THAT AGAIN OK?
_BUT GOOD THINKING ON THE NUMBERS
_MIGHT TELL US SOMETHING
_
Sam replied almost instantly.
_YEAH, GOT EM
_GONNA SEE WHAT I CAN TRACK DOWN
_
Kevin typed again, this time settling back into the chair as he did.
_GO TO IT, KIDDO
_WE'LL BE HERE
_
Kevin turned in the chair, and looked at Tron and Clu. They needed a plan. Between the three of them surely they could figure out how to find Alan and still get to the portal in time.
...and speaking of time...
"How much longer we got, Clu?...for the portal, I mean?.." Kevin looked at Clu.
Clu thought for a moment. "...roughly point-six-eight of a mic-..." but then he stopped, paused to think again, and continued, "...roughly five hours and thirty two minutes, in User world time."
Kevin nodded at him, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. This was a bit of a first - Clu's choice to do a time-conversion between User world and Grid. With any luck, it would come in handy often for the program, that is if the three of them could somehow manage to pull off a miracle in the next five hours and thirty two minutes.
The arena lights flickered and dimmed to half-intensity, then returned to full strength as a sudden hush fell over the alarmed audience.
While thousands of programs' watched their own circuitry flicker back to it's normal state, a concerned Jarvis turned to look at the elite program who sat in the chair a few feet behind him.
The program's face was obscured by an unreadable onyx face shield, the helmet angling only slightly before the robed, armored figure rose coolly and slowly strode towards the observation deck viewport of the newly re-rezzed mezzanine. A gloved hand waved the aide aside, and then the figure stood silently regarding the proceedings, the amber glow of his circuitry reflecting slightly against the viewport glass.
Jarvis knew better than to speak. Instead he cleared his throat and simply stood there, watching his superior's back. He couldn't help but observe that from this vantage point, the similarity was striking...the same long caped robe with a single blazing line of yellow circuitry cascading down from the disk in the back, the same wide elegant sleeve cuffs trimmed with matching yellow rims, the same helmet and gloves trimmed in the stark, sleek angular yellow lines,...even the same slow, purposeful walk, movements and foreboding presence,...but it wasn't Clu.
This mysterious new monarch was a thousand times more unreadable than Clu ever was, and more formidable.
In a very brief span of time - less than half a microcycle - this ominous figure and whatever nebulous regime which had spawned it had thrown the entire echelon of Clu's former command into a state of fear and paranoia, from the lowest ranking conscript sentries right up to Jarvis himself. Whereas Clu had certainly ruled with an iron hand and could be exceedingly cruel if his wishes were not honored, he'd at least followed a path of order, logic, reason, his primary objective being to enforce order in the Grid as well as amongst his ranks...however, his replacement seemed to favor cruelty for the sake of cruelty itself, and the methods he chose seemed chaotic. He'd deliberately inspired dissent amongst the ranks, then chosen scores of them to be deresolutioned as a practice session for "the new Rinzler".
And after the spectacular escape of Kevin Flynn and Clu, the sentries who had failed to capture Flynn, along with a few spectators from the audience who'd been randomly captured, were all forced to compete to their de-resolution as a display to discourage weakness and insurgency, the winner of which would then go up against the Grid champion, the new Rinzler.
That in itself was not out of the ordinary, however,...after the first brutal de-resolutions of the terrified spectators, the masses of programs in the audience had then recoiled and tried to leave the arena only to be driven back inside by a small army of sentries, and then commanded to watch as the combatants were forced to 'finish the game'.
That was an unprecedented protocol, and one which Jarvis thought seemed not only unnecessary but also detrimental to the popularity and respectability of the games altogether.
And so it was that Jarvis was beginning to grievously regret his decision...at first it had seemed a necessary and just endeavor to overthrow Clu's reign, when upon awakening from a system reboot he'd been informed of what Clu had done to him on the command ship, but now, having seen what had transpired since then, he resented the new regime and wished he'd never agreed to assist in its takeover.
He was now more than ever simply a pawn, and one whose future, much as with that of the Grid, had every likelihood of bequeathing him only servitude, random brutality and uncertainties.
And now, to add to the current list of uncertainties, it seemed the power to the Grid itself had just flickered, again.
The speculative aide wondered if that were by insurgent sabotage, or some bigger malfunction?
Perhaps even the work of Clu - if perchance Clu had gone renegade after detaching his command ship and fleeing the arena?
Or maybe,... it was the work of Kevin Flynn, the Creator himself?
He just didn't know what to think. It puzzled and unsettled him, because it had never before happened, not that he could recall.
And as for the Creator's escape, the fact that such an escape had had taken place, especially to the odd indifference of the new Grid commander, also puzzled him. He'd been under the impression that the three fugitives - Clu, Flynn, and Tron, the fractured program previously known as Rinzler – were all to be kept under strict surveillance in the mezzanine adjunct of the ship, and yet, when Clu's ship had detached from the arena, there was little attempt to follow and recoup them after the initial squad of sentries failed to do so. Instead, while the barbaric games continued in the arena, the new overlord of the Grid had simply strolled casually into the gaping mezzanine wearing Clu's robes, and then proceeded to rezz the place back to it's former appearance, minus the ship, showing a quick mastery of programming which rivaled if not surpassed Clu's own formidably adept skills.
Then after that, it had been business as usual, and, no order or reason prevailed for why any of it was so.
Now Jarvis stood quietly aside, and from under his clear visor the silent assistant sighed, waiting patiently for his master to turn and instruct him as to what to do. Yet his master seemed unconcerned, and if he had a plan or a theory, he didn't seem interested in divulging it to Jarvis. Instead he simply waved a hand, turning his helmeted head only enough to intone a slightly peeved proclamation.
"The crowd's attention is waning. It's a little early for the main attraction, but we need to give them something to renew their enthusiasm. Have Rinzler brought to the disk arena, now."
Jarvis simply nodded his head and turned crisply on his heels, exiting the auxiliary mezzanine to carry out his orders.
The orange-red lights of the armored suit flickered and dimmed to half their ordinary glow. For a nanocycle the stalwart program seemed indifferent to the power flux, regarding it with only a low growled purr...until suddenly something else changed - the low steady hum pervading its audial sensors just...ceased. The helmeted head turned abruptly, then shook from side to side.
Instantly the gloved hands began frantically tugging at the helmet, struggling to remove it, before finally reaching instead to tug the disk angrily from the back of the suit. Gone was the electronically-produced purr. Instead, there was a soft muffled swear from inside the helmet, as shaking fingers pressed buttons on the disk repeatedly until finally the helmet deactivated.
"What in the wide-open hell?..."
Alan's eyes glared in complete surprise as he whirled around to look at the unfamiliar cell in which he stood...a huge empty room, with charcoal black walls, floor and ceiling, and only dimly-lit through ports in the cieling. He rand a hand through his silver-gray hair, which was as disheveled as his expression, and after a moment more of staring around at the unfamiliar surroundings, he finally hurled the disk across the room in frustration, where it spun and collided with the wall, de-rezzing a small chunk of pixels before clattering to the floor in two detached halves. He stared at the things, then stared around at the room again, gray-tinged brows plummeting into an irked frown.
"Damn it Flynn!...so help me- ...what have you gotten us into!...and where the hell are you?...in fact,... where the hell am I?..."
He took a step, and winced...his legs felt like lead, and every muscle he tried to move ached. "Oh this is just great!" He sighed, bending over and kneading the muscle in his calf which was doing the St. Vitus dance. He had no idea where he was, no idea how long he'd been there, and definitely no idea what he'd been doing prior to ending up there, but, from the way he hurt all over it was a pretty good guess he'd either stepped in front of a train, been trampled by a herd of buffalo, or gotten dragged along behind a truck like the Indiana Jones guy in the movies.
He stood looking around the enormous dimly lit room, his nerves on edge and confusion welling in him every time he tried to recall getting there. He knew he'd been brought back to his cell, fallen asleep, then awakened again by the guards who brought something akin to breakfast, and then he vaguely recalled being brought to the strange gymnasium place, and, that was it.
Everything else was simply...blank.
A sudden noise made him freeze in place and keen his ears.
Echoed footsteps, and the sound of a voice outside the door. "We're to bring Rinzler to the games..." And then another voice, "...again?...so soon?..." Followed by the first voice, "...orders. I didn't question them."
Alan listened, his frown turning to a puzzled expression.
...Rinzler?...who the hell is Rinzler?...
He tiptoed quietly over to the far end of the room, and bent to pick up the two disks.
...well,...at least it's not me...
...maybe they'll go find the Rinzler person and-...
...Oh no!...that's right - Rinzler, was Tron!...
...no, not Tron,...what have they done to him this time?...
Alan's thoughts lurched with fear and uncertainty, suddenly wondering what had become of Clu and Kevin if Tron was Rinzler again. But there was little time to speculate, because suddenly a door rezzed open, and across the huge room stood two sentries in the doorway. The guards seemed quite shocked to see him, and he didn't know why...he was certain that of the three of them, he was by far the most confused. Then one of the ominous sentry programs spoke, advancing a step towards him as the other sentry scanned the room from the doorway.
"What have you done with Rinzler?"
Alan didn't answer, just shook his head. Apparently they thought he'd done something to Rinzler or knew where he was? Why? That didn't make sense.
But the guard stepped forward again, and Alan's glance shifted to the sentry's light-staff...he had a feeling a world of pain awaited him if he didn't say something.
Then when the guard stepped menacingly towards him with the staff poised to attack, he responded with pure reflexive survival instinct, raising both the disks with shaking hands as fear and anger flared in him - he was no fighter but he'd be damned if some computer program was going to attack him with a weird glowing stick for no reason and get away with it.
The next words which sailed right out of his mouth were also from reflex, combined with pure defensive posturing, an aggressive frown and a good old heaping helping of what salesmen called "the art of the bluff".
"...same thing I'm going to do to you..."
It had just popped into his mind, so he'd said it, trying to intimidate the guard. But the guard didn't back down, and was instead barreling towards him across the huge room. So he drew back one of the disks with a strength borne of pure panic, and discharged it, sending it spinning through the air like a toy Frisbee, whereupon it hit the sentry squarely in the chest, disintegrating the surprised program into hundreds of little cubic pixels which seemed to shimmer and dissolve into thin air. Alan was shocked to say the least, but there wasn't time to react, because now the second sentry was advancing across the room towards him. He tried the same move again, but the guard ducked aside, veering out of the way of his disk and charging at him with the light-staff. Alan jumped out of the way, then lost his balance and fell, raising his arms defensively at the sentry who turned and loomed over him, then he steeled himself for the blow he was certain was imminent.
Instead he was suddenly covered in a shower of shimmering pixels, stunned as he slowly realized what had happened - the wayward disk he'd thrown had missed it's mark and boomeranged back around, catching the attacking conscript from behind and de-rezzing it. The disk fell beside him and he stared at it, the fringe of tingling adrenaline subsiding.
...that was,...really kind of cool...
...now,...how do I get out of here?...
Alan picked up the disk somewhat warily, and then gathered it's counterpart. After a moment of fumbling with them, he saw how the disks fit together easily to form one disk. Then he sighed, smoothing his gloved hand through disheveled hair and looking at the open doorway of the cell.
It was undoubtedly in his best interests to exit this place as soon as possible, and yet, where exactly was he supposed to go?
Out into the completely unfamiliar streets, in this Grid with which he had no familiarity whatsoever?
And he couldn't very well go walking out of here looking as he did right now. He would at least need a helmet, but he sure as hell wasn't putting that thing back on he'd had before...it made his ears ring horribly, and it was heinously impossible to see anything through it.
He stood holding the disk, thinking back to the discussion which he'd had with Kevin just after he'd been brought to where Clu, Tron and Kevin were...after having watched Kevin digitize his clothing into something which resembled Clu's, Alan had asked Kevin if he himself could digitize things the same way, to which his friend had replied..."Sure you can do it, Alan...you're a User...you have User powers just like me..."
Then he focused his ragged thoughts, trying to recall the "rezzing" process, as Kevin had called it, but attempting to coax forth from memory the sequence of buttons he would need to press was like looking for a spider-web in a fog...challenging, to say the least. His mind still felt very groggy and there were huge blanks of time he couldn't remember at all.
But he was a programmer, damn it. Surely he could figure this out.
After a moment of trial and error, he finally managed to enact the same sequence that Kevin had demonstrated with the disk's buttons, and now he could see the coding. It appeared to be very damaged, so he stood there for several moments tinkering with it, all the while listening to make certain he didn't hear more sentries approaching.
Finally he repaired the sequences and set to the task of changing his attire.
He thought for a moment...what exactly was he supposed to wear?...he had no idea what the significance of all the various circuitry colors were on the Grid, and as for fashions, he had no idea what programs and Users wore on the Grid, other than those he'd seen.
Finally he decided it best to stick with the same armored suit he had on, though he was fairly sure that with the red-orange circuitry colors the sentries would mistake him for Rinzler, and he was definitely sure that would not be a good thing.
So he scrolled through the color codes, deciding upon blue, in honor of Tron...that had been his nickname for two decades anyway.
Next he'd simply rezz a new helmet, sneak out of wherever this was, and figure out what to do next.
A few seconds later and he closed the access to the disk with the button sequence, replacing the disk onto the hub at his back.
Theoretically his helmet should rezz the moment he removed the disk again. So he tried it. Sure enough, it worked. Good.
He quickly replaced the disk, walked to the doorway, looked out into the hall. Deserted. Also good.
He had no idea where he was going, but he had to go somewhere, so he summoned his courage, stepped out in the hallway, following as quickly as he could along the wall and disappearing around the bend.