Author's Note: revised chapter 2 is now released.

His first thought as he regained consciousness was, Why am I still alive? Tron opened his eyes slowly, his eyesight flickering as his body warned him his energy levels were still dangerously low.

Rippling waves from the Sea of Simulation lapped at his ankles, whispering softly, while his body reclined on a rough surface of digital rock. Groaning softly, he rolled onto his stomach and pulled himself further up and away from the water, before collapsing again, already exhausted from that slight exertion.

As Tron lay there, staring up at the perpetually stormy sky, he assessed his situation. He was currently stranded on a small outcropping from one of the many vertical pillars that jutted out from the Sea between the portal and the mainland, surrounded on every side by water. He could see the shore about a half-mile away in the distance, and the glowing red lights of the Solar Sailer depot. Right now, though, it might as well be a million miles away, because if he tried to swim there at his current energy level, he'd derezz long before he reached the shore. All he could do was lie here, rest, and wait for his body to recover.

Tron was relieved that he'd retained control of his body and mind after his system rebooted, but it was a mixed blessing:Rinzler had not disappeared, but merely been supplanted. He could still feel the corrupted code inside of him like a caged beast raging to be set free, but now their places were reversed, and Rinzler was the one trapped screaming helplessly inside the prison of his own head. However, along with this freedom came the burden of Rinzler's memories from the last thousand cycles while Tron slept. He had killed hundreds of programs, both for sport in the gladiatorial games and on his master's direct orders, without hesitation or remorse. It didn't matter if Tron had had no choice, because despite his awareness being trapped and effectively unconscious for all that time, he could remember all the atrocities he'd committed as Clu's loyal pet and enforcer with perfect clarity, down to every last grisly little detail.

His hands trembled, and he scraped his palms against the rough rock surface, tortured by the knowledge that these hands were sullied by the murder of so many innocents, even programs he'd personally known and cared deeply for. Even Beck.

…

Tron and his young protégé raced through the Outlands on their lightcycles, dodging around outcroppings of rock and narrow pits. Both of their bikes' lightwalls were activated, leaving bright glowing trails in their wake.

"Expect your training to a long, difficult road, Beck. Before victory, there will be setbacks. Many."

"Tron, when does the training start?"

"Now!" Tron answered as he pulled alongside the young mechanic's bike. "So try and keep up."

Beck accelerated and turned his bike into a wide curve, forcing Tron to turn with him in order to avoid crashing into his lightwall.

"Don't rely on your lightwall," Tron advised. "Learn to control me without it!"

He switched off his own lightwall, and a moment later Beck followed suit. They wove back and forth as they raced, dodging obstacles, one gaining the lead and then the other, as Tron continued his lesson. "Dominate with momentum! Anticipate!"

Beck took the lead again, and glanced back to ask, "Like that?"

Tron shook his head at the juvenile error. "Eyes forward," he reprimanded.

A large rock formation in their path forced them to split away from each other, Beck swerving just in time not to crash, and for a few moments Tron lost sight of him as the large obstacle blocked the other bike from view. Anticipating where Beck would appear on the other side, Tron blind-sided the other program when their paths converged again, slamming into him with his cycle before accelerating ahead. "This isn't a game, Beck!" Tron shouted.

…

Tron shook his head, as if that could drive away the old memory and the bitter grief and self-loathing which came with it. Beck had been such a young and stubborn program, lacking in self-confidence at first, and it had taken a lot of effort on Tron's part to convince Beck to even agree to taking on the mantle of Tron. Much more effort had been required to train him as a competent warrior, but Beck had proven to be a good student, and a bond of mutual trust had eventually grown between them.

Tron remembered vividly the rousing speech he'd given the young mechanic, about rising above his programming and becoming something more. He barked a short bitter laugh at just how foolish his words now sounded to his own ears. No matter how much training he'd given Beck, it hadn't been enough to save him in the end. The boy simply hadn't had the strength, the reflexes, or the reaction time that had been hard-wired into Tron's coding. After Tron's capture and conversion, when the inevitable confrontation between them had occurred, Beck's first words were,

I never thought it would be you.

It was well within Clu's capabilities to be sadistic and cruel; Tron had found that out the first time he'd been captured, during The Purge. The methodical torture that had nearly killed him and left him permanently scarred had been inflicted according to Clu's orders.

After Clu's forces had crushed the Resistance in Argon City and the few surviving rebels went into hiding, Tron's first task as the repurposed Rinzler had been to seek out and capture The Renegade, and bring him back to Clu alive. That boy had been the only program left, outside of Clu's inner circle, who knew for sure that Tron was still alive, and Clu wanted to be certain that problem was swiftly rectified. Rinzler could access all of Tron's abilities and memories, and had tracked down Beck with ruthless efficiency. After Beck had been captured, he was tortured and interrogated for information on the whereabouts of other rebels that had escaped.

Beck was strong and was able to endure many days of torture without breaking, so in the end Clu had had the brilliant idea of pitting the young program against Rinzler in a one-on-one disc arena battle in front of a frenzied crowd chanting for the death of The Renegade. It had been a prolonged fight, but very one-sided. Beck was weak and injured even before the fight began, but because Clu loved spectacle, he hadn't permitted Rinzler to strike the killing blow until Beck was practically torn to shreds, incapable of even lifting his disc to defend himself. Only then did Clu give Rinzler the order to finish it.

Even up to the moment of his death, Beck had pleaded with Tron, begging his friend to fight the repurposing. But only Rinzler had heard him, and Rinzler hadn't cared, because Rinzler listened only to Clu.

Tron brought his knees close in to his chest and placed the palms of his hands against his ears, as if that could block out the voices echoing in his mind.

Tron, fight his control! It can't end this way! Beck's voice, filled with desperation.

Not yet. Clu's command, amused and sadistic. Play just a little longer.

You don't have to do this, Tron. Beck pleading, sounding weak and pained. Wake up!

The crowd, feverishly chanting. Derezz! Derezz! Derezz!

Kill him, Rinzler.

No…no, please. Tron, plea–aaa-a-a-agh!

Tron could still feel the sensation of Beck's code spilling over his hands as his discs sliced through Beck's throat and the boy slowly disintegrated.

"It should have been me, not you," he whispered hoarsely.

I destroyed it all, with my own hands. Everything we tried to achieve.

He could never hope to make reparations for what he had done. He was a murderer, a thousand times over. Tron reached back and pulled his disc off his back, then split it into its two halves. He stared at them for several long moments, his own self-loathing urging him to activate the disc blades and end his cursed existence. Even now, he could feel the presence of Rinzler like a virus worming its way around the inside of his head, trying to regain control of his functions. If only to be rid of that abomination of code, Tron would gladly stab himself through the chest with his disc. He was torn between the desire to destroy himself and the knowledge that doing so would mean giving up, and he'd never surrendered in his life. And ultimately, he still had a responsibility, one that had been his prime directive ever since Alan-1 first created him so long ago.

I am…I was a warrior, a guardian. And the Grid is not free of Clu's forces yet.

"Flynn," he said aloud. "I swear to you, I won't fail you again, old friend. I won't rest until the Grid is free."