Tron stood on a street corner, grimly watching the streets empty of programs as the curfew loomed. There was only half a megacycle left before any program still out in the open was fair game for the guards to arrest.

He had been told to wait here, at this corner, until he was contacted. Closing his eyes briefly, Tron went over his conversation with Vala once again…

"The Resistance survived the Purge, but barely. They lost most of their operatives to Clu's hunters, but a few managed to hide themselves. I was one of those."

"You were part of the Resistance?"

A sad smile fluttered across Vala's face. "I was. And for the longest time, I thought I was the only one to survive. Our communication network was destroyed, there was no way for any of us to know how many others might have escaped. Then, twenty cycles ago, I was remotely contacted by one of my friends in the Resistance, telling me that they had regrouped and asking if I wanted to come back.

"Well, by then I'd gotten a job here and had pretty much settled into this life. Pay was good and I was tired of being scared, day-in and day-out. I said no, but promised I would keep an eye out for possible recruits."

"So how do I get in contact with them?"

"I'll set up a meeting, but beyond that you're on your own, understand? I can't get involved any further."

"I understand."

"And one more thing; be sure to come alone, because they'll know if you've brought company. They won't appear unless they know it's safe."

"I'll be sure to remember that."

"Be here in two full rotations. I should have an answer for you by then."

It had been two full rotations, and Vala had told him this was the meeting place. He'd been standing here for three megacycles already, but the Resistance was, so far, a no-show. He couldn't wait much longer, if he didn't want to have to dodge the patrols.

Tron never fidgeted, but he was sorely tempted to as the millicycles ticked by and there was still no sign of his contact. His eyes followed different programs who walked past, hoping that one of them would be the one whom he was waiting for.

A guard patrol came up the street, coming steadily nearer. Tron shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a sick feeling of nervousness settling in his gut. If he didn't move, he might be picked out by the sentries, but if he did then his contact might not show up. He held his ground, and waited with baited breath for the patrol to pass by.

They didn't. Tron cursed his bad luck when one of the six guards looked his direction and started walking towards him. The other five followed behind him, encircling Tron and holding their enforcement staffs at the ready.

"Identify," said one of the sentries.

Tron, in a moment of slight panic, said the first name that came to his mind. "Beck! My name is Beck."

"Curfew is in two millicycles. We will escort you to your quarters. Come with us."

"I…" Tron grimaced at the impossible situation. He couldn't risk leaving, and he couldn't risk fighting. What am I supposed to do?

"Hey, Beck, my friend, what're you doing? You didn't have to wait up for me this long! Let's get out of here."

A hand grabbed his arm and started pulling. Tron looked to his left in surprise and saw a male program with short, brush-cut white hair. Tron didn't recognize him.

"I'm sorry," the program was saying to the sentries. "I was doing some repair work in Sector 7 and lost track of time. I asked my friend here to wait for me here. We'll be going to our quarters now."

The sentries glanced at one another, then back at the new arrival. "Very well," their leader said at last. "But don't let it happen again."

"We won't! We won't," the program said earnestly.

As the sentries moved off, Tron found himself being dragged down the street at almost a run by his rescuer. "Who are–?" he began.

"Name's Hex. I'm your contact. Sorry about the sentry patrol; I wanted to see how badly you wanted in."

"So you waited until I was approached?"

"Sure did! And you're called Beck?"

"…Yes." Tron closed his eyes and said a silent apology to his dead protégé. "Where are you taking me?"

"It isn't safe to talk about it here. Just follow me."

Hex took him inside a program stasis building. Passing capsule after capsule of programs in sleep mode was slightly eerie, but Tron's companion passed them by without a glance. "This is where I live…or sleep, rather. It's changed a lot since the days of Flynn, hasn't it."

"Yes."

These buildings had been once been similar to what Flynn called "apartment buildings". Each program had had their own living spaces with at least two rooms, and they had been free to decorate or change their rooms however they wanted. Now, every floor was just one large open room with rows upon rows of sleeper capsules. No privacy, no ownership.

Hex led Tron to the brightly illuminated elevator on the far side of the room and gestured towards it. "Get in."

They both stepped inside and the door slid shut with a soft hiss, and the elevator began to go down.

"The basement?" Tron asked curiously.

"Do you think we gather out in the open? We must have our meetings in places where no one will find us."

Tron refrained from mentioning that the basement hardly seemed secure.

With a soft musical noise, the elevator slid to a stop and the door opened. The basement level was dark, lit only by softly glowing lines of circuitry which hardly served as sufficient illumination. "This way," Hex said, his voice in a soft whisper. He pulled Tron out of the well-lit elevator, and they were plunged into near pitch-blackness as the elevator door closed again. Though Tron could already sense everything in the room by his physical contact to the Grid's surface, he switched his helmet's visual setting to infrared so that he could see as well.

The basement was completely empty of programs, besides Hex and himself, but Tron had realized that already.

He stopped short.

Hex turned around, body tense, and asked in a worried voice, "What is it?"

"There's no one here."

"Is that all?" Hex said, his shoulders relaxing. "I thought there was a problem."

"There is a problem. Where are they?"

"They're not supposed to be here, Beck. Far to obvious, and far to easy for the Occupation to trace! We've still got a bit of a ways to go."

"Go where? This is a dead end."

Hex tapped the side of his head, "Honestly, I thought you'd be smarter for a program who managed to track us down. Do you really think the Resistance lasted this long by gathering in basements? My friend, we had to be much, much more secretive than that. Let me show you."

Hex walked over to the far wall if the room, and, to Tron's amazement, began waving his hand through what appeared to be a completely solid wall.

"What…what is that?" He hadn't sensed an opening there at all.

"It's a secret passageway, protected by a firewall. Only programs who know about these openings can see them, or pass through. They were set up a long time ago…well anyway, I don't need to bore you with the details. Come on."

Genuinely impressed, Tron followed Hex without another word.