A/N-I'm back! Thank you all for sticking around while I was unable to work on fics. So, a little shorter than expected but now with more Spike!, I give you...the next chapter.
Song list for this chapter: #= Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol.
Feral slowed her lightcycle, coming to a full stop shortly behind Rinzler. Nearby, the sound of waves washing against rock formations and the beach could be heard. She gave a quick glance over the surrounding area, scanning for threats the way Rinzler had taught her. Not that it was as easy to sneak up on her now that she could spot tag reads and run proximity scans for other programs. Still, it was good practice; as Rinzler had pointed out on more than one occasion, not all of the threats she might face in the system were programs.
Gridbugs, for example, didn't have tag reads and rarely showed up on proximity scans. Feral felt the skin at the back of her neck twitch at the thought of a mass of gridbugs—sea-birthed or the more common, smaller ones—making their way to her unnoticed.
When she spotted no signs of danger nearby (and she wouldn't put it past Rinzler to not mention that there was a gridbug behind her again—that had not been fun; and seeing him sign to her that she needed to scan and clear the area herself before trusting that it was safe sucked—to see if she was paying attention) she pressed the control for the small protective bubble that she had added to the code of her lightcycle.
Spike rose from the now opened bubble with a clearly heard 'yes' before making his way over to Rinzler's lightcycle. The bit circled the security monitor as though to verify that both of his adopted programs were uninjured before returning to bob in the air above Feral's left shoulder; his glow shedding more light into the dim atmosphere.
'He still doesn't like traveling that way, does he?' Rinzler signed, shaking his head at the bit's antics.
Feral flashed a quick, rueful smile to her friend before answering, 'No, but I don't know of another way to bring him with me safely on the lightcycle.' She gave a small shrug of her shoulders before adding, 'Spike will just have to get used to it.' At her shoulder, she could see Spike changing shape as he disagreed, the bit's voice grumpy as he flashed a quick 'no'.
She triggered the lightcycle; activating the function to rezz it back to its baton form and clipping it to her right thigh. "Why are we here, anyway? Not that I don't enjoy coming to visit your favorite spot—I mean, it's great out here—but," Feral looked up again as she continued, "You didn't mention us taking time off this millicycle."
There was a rough stutter of sound from Rinzler as he rezzed his own lightcycle back to a baton. Feral had learned to recognize it as a sort of chuckle that Rinlzer had; the harshness of his usual damaged electronic growl smoothing out just a bit.
"We're not taking time off," he told her. "This…" Rinzler made a motion with his hand, encompassing the area around them as he did, "…is where we are training this millicycle."
"Training at what?" Feral asked skeptically. "There's nothing here..."
"You," Rinzler replied, "will be learning to use your environment to facilitate acrobatic and aerial maneuvers for evasion and offense."
She stared back at him with a stony expression on her face, one that Rinzler recognized.
Feral wasn't happy about what she had just heard for some reason. He wasn't certain exactly why; however, knowing Feral it would only be a short time before she told him.
In fact, Feral's hand was tightening on the baton she had just clipped to her thigh as she said, "You want me to practice flipping around in the air like a ninja."
It took a picocycle for his now-greatly-expanded memory and User reference files to offer up a match to the term; a figure in dark clothing using similar combat moves to his own.
"That is a reasonably accurate description for this training session," Rinzler agreed, his voice even as he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest.. "You don't use that portion of your coding efficiently. I believe that you are ignoring an important resource by not utilizing it."
Now, Feral crossed her arms and stared back at Rinzler; glaring uselessly at his blank helmet. "I don't need to use them," she told him.
"It has been demonstrated in enough matches that it can make the difference between winning and losing. With CLU determined to put you in the Games at the end of the cycle, you can't afford to not use those maneuvers,"he pointed out. "I don't understand why you don't want to practice them."
Feral scowled at Rinzler. "I don't know how to do them. I studied dance as a kid, not gymnastics or parkour."
Between them, Spike darted back and forth, making erratic orbits around the two figures standing on the shore while the waves quietly rolled in and out on the sand nearby.
Rinzler held up a hand, coaxing the agitated bit to him before speaking.
"You did well enough in our first match..."
"I nearly died in our first match!" Feral shouted suddenly, her hands in angry fists at her sides as she faced him.
"I don't know how to do those fancy tricks of yours, Rinzler. Backflip, cartwheel, somersault, forward flip," she held up a hand, counting off each move on a different finger as she listed them. "That's all I can do! I can't do what you do; I'll find ways to beat my opponents without them..."
"You're upsetting Spike." Rinzler's voice held more than a touch of irritated growl as he continued. "Of all the things I would have expected from you, Feral, whining-"
"Whining! I'm not whining-" Feral interrupted indignantly.
"You are," he said bluntly before continuing, "-like an alpha test program that doesn't want to complete their first tasklist was not one of them." Rinzler gently shooed the bit off to a safer distance, saying, "You have the ability, I know you have the coding, and you will have both of your feet in the air—at the same time—before we finish here."
"I'm not a whiner and there's no way you can make-" her voice cut off in a yelp as she jumped and twisted mid-air to dodge the disc that was now flying her way. She landed, stumbling after it passed by, barely missing her as it did so, to curve back to the hand that snatched it from the air. Feral looked over, startled, to where Rinzler's hand was still holding the disc up.
"The next time I throw both of them," came the cold voice, underlaid with the low rumble of Rinzler's irritated growl. "I assure you, if you don't utilize those maneuvers, you will see just how much it hurts to get hit with an inactive disc. I'm not going to hold back, Feral. Use the coding that I gave you, or learn the reason why you want to use it."
"There's no reason why I need—" Feral began saying—in what she insisted later was a reasonable tone of voice, and what Rinzler said was more whining—only to cut short what she had intended to say and replace it with a snarled, "Frag it, Rinzler! Knock it off!" as both of Rinzler's discs sliced through the air where her head and torso had been picocycles before. She straightened up from the stumbling backbend she had done to avoid Rinzler's discs and sent another angry glare his way.
"No more warnings!" came the short, snapped out reply from the security monitor. "React or be hit. Anticipate and act first or keep training until you do! I have nothing else on my tasklist, Feral. I can stay here even longer than you can. Use that coding!"
A picocycle later, twin discs whirled into the air, curving and rebounding off of the nearby rock formations to change trajectories to aim at a different area of Feral's anatomy.
It was almost the end of the microcycle.
Rinzler had kept his word; Feral had both of her feet in the air at the same time on numerous occasions during the training session. She had needed to use every bit of coding related to defensive and evasive moves to avoid being hit by Rinzler's discs; or, more than once, being injured by her surroundings as she dodged. No matter how many times he sent his discs flying in her direction, however, Rinzler could not get Feral to move past a grudging usage of her coding. Feral would use the maneuver that was the most efficient, or the easiest.
Despite repeatedly telling her that "...use of more visually dramatic moves and attacks will often disorient or dishearten an opponent; making it more likely that they will either make a mistake or simply give up..." Rinzler had not been able to convince Feral to take the offensive using the more acrobatic moves, either. Finally, his temper at an end, Rinzler found what it would take to get Feral to use her coding to it fullest advantage...and use it offensively, as well.
"What was that?" Rinzler demanded, catching his disc as casually as though it had been resting on a shelf instead of spinning back towards his head.
"It was a dodge—just like you wanted," came the sullen reply.
"A dodge!" The tall security program's frame was taut with suppressed tension as he threw the words at her, scathingly.
"That was the most pathetic, weak excuse for a—"
What ever Rinzler intended to call it, his voice was cut off by an angry shriek and a disc that suddenly burned his way.
But Feral had used the coding that he had been insisting that she utilize.
Further down the beach from where Rinzler stood, a figure was rising from were it crouched; helmeted head flung up, no doubt glaring angrily in his direction, as the returning disc was caught and flung again so smoothly it looked as though it hadn't actually been caught—only redirected once more in Rinzler's direction.
As soon as the disc left Feral's hand for the second time, she exploded into motion; beginning a series of forward flips that built up speed as she approached him, then twisting at the last picocycle to aim a roundhouse kick at his head.
Caught off-guard by the move, Rinzler was almost distracted enough to miss the disc curving at him when he began to move to avoid the kick.
Almost.
Instead of moving to avoid the kick and thus placing himself in line with Feral's disc, Rinzler stepped into it; simultaneously blocking the kick and grabbing Feral's ankle and twisting to try to throw her to the ground. The disc sailed by harmlessly, missing him by scant centimeters.
Feral moved with the twist to her ankle, turning it from a fall into an opportunity to bring up her other foot in a less powerful kick to Rinzler's chest. He dropped her ankle to step back, only to have her follow him. She moved towards him, upper body leaning as though to try to grab his left arm, only to change direction in a sinuous movement that brought her up to catch his right arm and, slipping behind Rinzler, pull it up towards his back in a action meant to keep him both from using his right arm and cause him to drop his disc. Feral's left arm hooked around Rinzler's left shoulder, the edge of her deactivated disc at his neck, just under the curve of his helmet's jawline.
Feral pulled up harder on his right arm, coming close to the point that would dislocated Rinzler's arm —which required her to stretch to do so—as she spat out in a voice hot with unbridled fury, "I am not weak."
Rinzler brought up his left arm, hooking it between Feral's forearm and his neck, he forced the hand holding the disc away from his neck before falling back onto her; using the weight of his body to drive her to the ground.
Feral hit the ground hard, grunting as Rinzler's weight drove the air from her lungs. She tried to bring her disc up again, only to have Rinzler twist over her. In a flash, he had her effectively pinned, knocking her disc to the side.
"I never said you were weak," came the irritated growl of his voice. "I said that your dodge was weak...and it was. Every tactic you used earlier was weak; that weakness in the arena will destroy you."
He moved back, rising until he stood next to her on the strand of beach, black-gloved hand extended in an offer of assistance.
Feral's helmet retracted, revealing hazel eyes that still held traces of anger.
"I'm not weak," she repeated, in a grudging tone.
"No," Rinzler agreed, "You're not weak."
He grabbed the hand that Feral then held out to him, pulling her up to stand next to him.
"You do have weaknesses," he told her, "However, that does not make you weak."
#
Feral appeared to ignore what Rinzler had just said; walking past him to make her way out to one of the smaller rocky outcroppings that thrust themselves into the Sea of Simulation like the fingers of a hand. She sat down grouchily and stared out at the water, silently. After a few moments, Rinzler joined her where she sat, settling himself down as comfortably and nonchalantly as a cat.
Feral turned, ready to glare at him, only to find that Rinzler had leaned forward until he was within a centimeter of her nose. The sheer ridiculousness of it—Rinzler had no need of getting that close to be able to see her, after all—made her grumpier.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. "You're being weird."
"I'm looking to see if I accidentally injured you during that last maneuver," he told her.
"What!?"
"I just told you that you have weaknesses and you didn't argue with me. You must have been injured..."
"Yes!" Spike flashed brightly, zipping in closer until he was floating near Rinzler's shoulder.
"See? Even Spike agrees with me," Rinzler said.
The corners of her mouth twitched up as she tried not to smile. "All I see is that you are both being weird," she said.
Rinzler shook his head and sighed. Turning, he addressed the bit at his shoulder.
"She's definitely been injured, Spike," he told the bit. "Otherwise, she would remember how useless it is to argue with a bit."
"Yes!" agreed Spike, happily twirling and then zipping around the two of them in a quick circle.
Feral ducked her head, attempting to hide the smile that had spread over her face. Grinning, she turned towards the program sitting next to her.
"Just who wrote your code, Rinzler?" Feral asked, laughing. "If he's even a quarter of the man you are, I would have liked to have met him." She shook her head before adding, "I only know one person off-Grid that can pull me out of a bad mood like that. Would have been nice to have met a second..."
Shaking her head and giving a frustrated sigh, Feral said, "Alright. You said I have weaknesses. What are they, so I can try to learn to deal with them."
'Why does it bother you so much to be thought of as weak?' Rinzler signed the question, curious as to the answer. 'Every time you think or feel that I-or anyone else-is even suggesting that you are weak, you lose your temper.'
Her face grim, Feral signed back, 'One of the strongest people I have ever known was often called weak. I was told I was weak because I resembled them in many ways.' She looked up and said, "I have spent most of my life proving the ones that called us 'weak' wrong."
"You need to learn to control your temper better. You let it control you," Rinzler told her. "I had to push and push to get you to use your coding to its highest level of effectiveness; however, when you finally did so it was because you lost your temper. You stopped using tactics that were both offensive and defensive; you were willing to be injured severely to win. I have seen you react in this way before...you don't realize who or what you are fighting at that point. You just fight...and you fight to destroy everything that stands before you."
There was a gasp as Feral gave Rinzler a mock-scandalized look.
"Are you suggesting that someone of good Scandinavian and Irish heritage NOT fight like a beserker?"
"I have no idea what that refers to, Feral," Rinzler told her.
"Hmm. Yeah, you probably don't." She hummed for a moment, a tuneless sound that was rapidly changing to match the music that began to play softly around them.
"Okay...some Users learn about their heritage so they can learn how it affected their families over time. In my family heritage, there were warriors called 'berserkers'. They were both highly respected and greatly feared in combat because when they fought, the only thing that mattered was if they defeated their opponent. They ignored bad ground, terrible odds, even the injuries that they sustained. Some of the berserkers would get so lost in combat that they would have trouble telling the difference between their friends and their enemies. Often, they would be the difference between whether their side won and their comrades survived or not."
Feral gave a small shrug of her shoulders before continuing, "My family always said that I had a 'take no prisoners' temper. I just never had to fight like this before."
Rinzler shook his head, lights from their circuit lines reflecting off the edges of his helmet as he did so. "You need to learn to control your temper when you are in the arena. Otherwise, an opponent is going to learn what kind of mood you are in and use that knowledge against you."
She made a faint scoffing sound.
"How are they possibly going to find out what my mood is? All I have to do is not talk to them—"
"Your music," Rinzler told her bluntly. "Your music gives anyone who is paying attention an idea of what your emotions are at the time."
The music in the air cut off abruptly.
"You can tell what I'm thinking about—" she squeaked out.
"No, but I can often tell how you feel about what you are thinking about. If I am paying attention, sometimes I can guess what you are thinking about from that information."
"Oh. I'll—uh, I'll be more careful," Feral said, feeling the faint heat from a blush beginning to spread over her as she thought about all the things that could mean.
Feral stopped speaking and began humming quietly to herself as she looked out over the Sea. Rinzler continued to watch her, silently, for a while.
After several nanocycles, he reached over and lightly touched Feral on the shoulder, signing to her when she turned to look at him.
'What are you thinking...when you look at the Sea?' his hands asked, the circuit lines on his fingers flashing in the dim light. 'You have a far-off look in your eyes when you look at it.'
With a wry smile on her face, Feral said, "I wish that I could show my friend, Alan, the Sea..."
Rinzler's processes seized for a moment as he heard his own voice, rough with distortion asking, "Alan?"
No, it couldn't be Alan-1 Feral was speaking of...it must be some other User...
"Yeah," she continued, unaware of the effect the name had on him. "My friend Alan's a programmer—he works for a company called Encom—well, he's on the board of directors now. If you ask him, he will tell you he hasn't programmed anything in years; however, I've seen what he can do when he wants to...there are a lot of impressive security programs out there that are still being used years—I mean cycles—after he wrote them. At least, they were being used when I came here; I can't imagine them not being used still."
He would have loved to have seen this—an entire Sea of raw code—in a digital world. It's amazing, even for me. For a programmer...it's got to be incredible on levels I don't understand."
The look on Feral's face grew soft with an expression Rinzler didn't quite understand; part amazement, part longing, part sadness...and something more. Something he didn't have a name for.
Her gaze turned back to the water, Feral said, quietly, "How did the Grid creators even come up with the idea, much less manage to actually make a sea out of raw code?"
There was silence for a long period of time before she heard Rinzler's voice; rough, slightly agitated and with his growl faintly underlying it as he spoke.
"There was only one."
"One?"
"One creator. The Grid was created by only one User. I don't know how he managed to create the Sea...he never explained programming to me."
Feral stared, fascinated, at Rinzler. "One User programmed all of this—all of the Grid—by himself? Who was he?"
Rinzler was still looking at her. "His name was Kevin Flynn."
"Kevin Flynn?" There was excitement in Feral's voice, now. "He was a friend of Alan's! They both worked together at Encom. Tell me about him, please," she asked.
Rinzler looked out over the Sea.
"He created the Grid on his own; wrote the programs here himself," he told her. "He was my friend."
Feral couldn't seem to stop herself; she heard her own voice saying, "What happened to him? Where is Kevin Flynn now?"
Rinzler rose to stand at his full height, still staring over the Sea.
"He died," Rinzler said, his voice strained. "I failed to save him."
Having said that, Rinzler turned and began to walk away, back up the beach to where they had begun.
CLU leaned back in his chair as he went over the list of issues on the touchscreen pad in his hand. He sighed and rubbed his forehead in irritation, closing his eyes for a moment.
The need to perfect the system continued to drive him; refusing to allow him any peace.
Rebels in the cities, finishing the Rectifier, that strange energy spike that kept appearing near the Sea of Simulation….
One by one, unresolved issues made their way across his thought processes, like an 'itch that could not be scratched', as Flynn had once called the sensation. A thought that brought up the fact that—after all these cycles—he was still no closer to capturing Flynn and his disc.
And he needed that disc. No other program knew why; he had simply ordered the capture of Flynn or his disc at any cost. But not Flynn's deresolution. No, Flynn was needed to function. At least until CLU had integrated Flynn's disc and coding with his own.
Unfortunately, he didn't dare send out Rinzler. If Rinzler was ever close enough to Flynn to capture him alive, then Rinzler was close enough for Flynn to remove the over-writes that CLU had done to Rinzler's code. As the Grid's creator, he might not even need access to Rinzler's disc to do so.
No.
It was better this way; better that Rinzler not know that Flynn still eluded CLU's grasp. Safer that Rinzler did not even know that Flynn still lived. CLU had told the programs of the Grid that Flynn had been derezzed; and that they were searching for a rogue program, one of the rebellion's leaders. It was safer to have done so. Safer…for everything that CLU wanted.
CLU opened his eyes again on his room; his gaze going to the window overlooking the Grid as he let his hand fall to the arm of his chair. There was so much to do still, he mused. The system was almost at its maximum potential, it only needed a little more—
"CLU?" came a soft voice from behind him, interrupting his thoughts.
Without looking away from the window, he made a 'hmm?' of inquiry.
Feral almost never initiated any type of conversation. She rarely even asked for more information when she was given an order. What did she want?
"Why do you hate Users so much?" she asked him in that soft voice.
CLU sat silently in his chair, continuing to look out the window before him. A moment later, a small hand was laid on his left shoulder.
"I really want to know," she said, her voice still soft and quiet. "Please?"
CLU turned his head and inch and slanted a look up at Feral from the corners of his eyes. It was just enough to show him the black-gloved hand that rested on his shoulder. Thin red-orange circuits ran up her first two fingers and thumb, continuing up the back of her hand.
Like Rinzler's, he thought absently as he reached over and took her hand in his right hand. Tugging on her hand, CLU pulled Feral around until she stood before him.
"You really want to know, do you?" he asked suddenly, his mellow voice filling the quiet of the room. CLU eyed the slim, black-clad figure in front of him.
"And what are you willing to give to know that? Better yet…" he continued thoughtfully, "…what are you willing to do?"
CLU ran his gaze over Feral as she stood there, her hand still trapped in his. While the User had surprisingly minimal circuitry on her—only a few short lines on the insides of her wrists, the backs of her calves just below her knees, and the sides of her thighs and upper arms—one never failed to register them somehow. Unless you were watching the way that the two longest circuits curved down her body; one running on each side from her collarbones to her hips. Her circuits were much thinner than other programs, not even as wide as the tip of CLU's finger.
Unbidden, the memory file of overloading his circuits with her came to mind.
CLU had done so while trying to force a circuit overload on Feral as a punishment; knowing that she hated anything that showed he had control over her. What better way to show he had control than to control giving her pleasure? It hadn't worked out like planned; and while it was obvious that he had forced her to feel some pleasure, Feral had not had a circuit overload.
CLU had not thought when he decided to cause her to overload that he would actually enjoy the encounter much, considering Feral's minimal circuitry patterns and how little Users seemed to be attuned to the system at times. Even Flynn, the 'Creator', was not as aware as the newest bit would have been of the system on many levels. For all of her limitations, however, the encounter with Feral had proven itself to be surprisingly…intense.
He would not mind doing so again; especially with a more willing partner.
CLU tugged Feral's hand again, bringing her closer to him as he sat in his chair.
"What would you do to have the answer to that question?" he asked her again, his eyes on her face as he felt the thud of her knees bumping into the framework of the black chair he was sitting in.
He wasn't expecting what happened next.
Feral climbed onto his lap, straddling him as she placed her knees on the chair's seat. She looked into CLU's eyes as she placed her hands on his shoulders.
"To get the answer to that question; I will do a lot of things," she said, her hand sliding down from his left shoulder to stroke the first of the line of circuit bars in the logic ladder that ran down his chest.
CLU suppressed a shiver as he felt the slight electric tingle of the small circuits she had on the pads of her fingertips barely brushing his circuits.
"A lot of things," she repeated, her left hand creeping around his other shoulder, sliding across his back as though to pull him closer. "Even this…."
With that said, she pressed her right hand hard against the circuits on his chest, simultaneously slamming her other hand onto his disc.
Images roared through CLU's mind in answer to the voice that screamed in his head, "Show me! Show me where this all started!"
The ISO cities crumbling and burning…the problems he had with the Renegade…Rinzler cutting a swath through ISOs as they tried to fight back or escape... Rectifying, recompiling, and reprogramming programs to make them more useful… All the work that he had done to perfect the system…
"Further back," the voice demanded. "Go further back. Go to the last time you saw the User you took control of the system from."
The scene rose in CLU's memories, playing itself out.
He watched as Flynn walked across the intersection of the plaza with CLU's friend, the security monitor—No…he would not think that name, would not see his friend's face as he walked with Flynn, speaking to the User as he did so. He would not hear that voice, even in his memories. He had long ago put a lock on those memories to avoid them—
Flynn was telling the security program that he '…worried too much, that everything was going to be just fine…' as CLU stepped out and called to him to gain his attention.
"Flynn!" he had called out, his voice echoing through the empty streets. "Am I still to create the perfect system?"
Flynn had looked at CLU then…still not understanding.
"Yeah…" the User had said, in a voice that was filled with confusion as he looked at CLU. They were no longer dressed alike, and Flynn did not seem to realize the significance of CLU changing his attire from a jacket, t-shirt, and jeans like the Flynn's—to the sleek black gridsuit with bright yellow circuits that CLU was now wearing.
His old friend the security program did.
The only one that was closer to CLU than Flynn. Who had spent more time with him than even Flynn had done. HE had understood as he saw CLU step back, CLU's helmet rezzing around his head. For a moment—as four members of CLU's new BlackGuard had stepped out from around corners to surround Flynn—CLU had hoped…CLU had thought…surely his old friend would see and understand how necessary this was…? Would join CLU in perfecting the system. They were both programs; they understood each other in a way that no User could, didn't they?
And then the tall security monitor had stepped forward, taking his disc in hand.
"Go…" he had said to Flynn. He did not need to hear it said, now. Even with the voice of his friend blocked from this memory, CLU knew what had been said.
CLU turned away from the security program who the BlackGuard were now engaging in battle. He had hoped he would not need to do this himself. Watching as his User lingered near the battle—unwilling to simply leave, and apparently unable to help the program that even now was fighting for the User—CLU understood that it was up to him to deal with the User…his User. It was always meant to be him, and attempting to avoid it would only cost CLU more time and energy. It was better if he faced that fact and fulfilled his task—CLU would do what would have been unthinkable once, but now was the only option available.
Had he not just been told he was still to create the perfect system? There was no room for the vagaries of Users in the perfect system.
CLU quickly caught up with Flynn as he tried to escape. Grabbing the User by the throat, CLU had lifted and thrown him down the walkway. "You've been corrupted," he had told the User, who was now scrambling backwards, watching wide-eyed as CLU advanced.
"Why…why…" the User had stammered, trying to crawl away backwards, his eyes on CLU.
CLU had been so close, about to take Flynn's disc and end this once and for all, when a weight slammed into him from behind…knocking him down.
It was his friend; blindly loyal to the Users, even now.
CLU had fallen on his back, and was punched by the slightly taller program. The security program had looked up then.
"Flynn…GO!" he had yelled, urging the User to flee even as CLU grappled with him to get a grip on the security monitor. CLU had tossed him off then. He rose to his feet, flipping the security program onto his back as Flynn ran from them both.
Furious at his friend for helping Flynn to escape…for not understanding why this HAD to be done…for betraying him…. Why didn't he understand? Flynn was allowing the ISOs—those errors—to roam the Grid unchecked. Worse, Flynn was ignoring the needs of the Basics. Flynn had created the Grid—had created THEM—and now had set them aside for something new. Flynn had betrayed them all. His friend had seen all of this…why had CLU's friend done this? He had to know that the only way to save Flynn was to sacrifice himself; CLU controlled too much as system administrator for anything else to be able to make certain that Flynn would escape.
Angered beyond reason at his friend's willingness to be destroyed if it would save Flynn; CLU raised his disc above his head in both hands, bringing it down as the other program's scream of defiance and outrage was heard.
"All the way back," the voice insisted, even as he brought his disc down. "Go back to the very beginning. I need to see it…"
CLU didn't want to. Didn't want to see himself; new and naïve, believing in Flynn—in his User. But he could not resist the voice that was urging him there.
The first thing that he was aware of was himself; kneeling before a …mirror? a hand up to touch…his hand? No, touching Flynn's (how does he know this name?) hand. Flynn had stood at that point, Flynn's fingers still touching his as what had been a pane of …something…disappeared. He rose to his feet to stand also.
The figure in front of him…his—User? the word rose in his thoughts—had spoken to him, looking him in the eyes at the same time.
"You…are CLU," the User said, his voice sure and proud.
"I am CLU," he had replied, happy that he had made his User—Flynn, his programming helpfully supplied the information his User's name again—proud.
"You will create the perfect system," Flynn said.
"I WILL create the perfect system," he responded; an engulfing purpose filling his being at the words.
Flynn had smiled then, chuckling to himself in satisfaction as he reached out and clapped CLU on the shoulders. He had given CLU's shoulders a slight squeeze and shook them lightly.
"Together, we're going to change the world, man," his User had said then. CLU had smiled—happy—as his User draped his arm around CLU's shoulders and led him away to begin life on the Grid.
The memories raced through CLU in less than a picocycle, and yet took cycles to show them all to the voice.
If another program had been in the room, they would have seen CLU and Feral; their heads thrown back, teeth gritted, backs drawn in tightly arched bows as the energy of the feedback loop flashed through their circuits.
And then it was over.
With a cry, Feral pulled her hands away from CLU's disc and circuits. She fell onto the dark gray floor in her haste to move away from him, and started scrambling backwards until she hit the black walls of the room.
CLU's hands slammed against the arms of his chair as he came to his feet, his face contorted in rage. A few angry strides and he was standing in front of the User who had just rifled through his memories. Feral was shaking her head, mumbling the same thing over and over.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, CLU. It should never have been done to you…"
"No, you should not have done that. And you will be a lot sorrier that you did so in just a few nanocycles," CLU snarled at her.
Feral shook her head again, and raised a tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. "No, CLU," she said. "I'm sorry for you. Flynn made a mistake."
"Of course he did!" CLU raged. "The ISOs—"
"Not the ISOs," she interrupted. "You. Flynn made a mistake when he was creating you. Your primary goal directive is flawed. All of this has come about because of a flaw Flynn made when he programmed you."
It's not too late," she continued, her voice almost pleading with him for understanding now. "You can stop this. I'll help you. You need to ask Flynn to fix your coding."
"There is nothing flawed in my coding," CLU hissed at Feral, his eyes narrowing. "My primary directives are simple and complete. I will create the perfect system; and I will change the world. FLYNN is the one who is flawed. His…infatuation with the ISOs led to him betraying us."
"Flynn was wrong to ignore the rest of the Grid," Feral agreed. "However, if he had properly coded you…. God, Alan could explain this so much better…" she muttered as she ran her hands up over her face and threaded her fingers into her hair.
"CLU, if you will just listen…" she began to say, lowering her hands from her face.
Feral barely had time to register the sense of movement before the back of CLU's fist crashed across her face.
"The only thing needed is for you to be silent, USER," CLU spat at her.
Feral looked up at him from where she had fallen sprawled on the floor.
"CLU—" her voice broke off with a pained wheeze as the toe of his boot connected with her ribs. Curling around herself, she tried again to look up and focus on the sysadmin program as he stood above her.
"I feel sorry for you, CLU," Feral gasped. "It doesn't change that what you are doing is wrong."
CLU had been drawing his foot back again to deliver another kick to her ribs. He stopped and took a step back, looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Get out," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.
Feral looked up at him as she slowly and painfully picked herself up off the floor, an arm wrapped around her aching side where he had kicked her. CLU watched as she made her way over to the door. At the doorway, she hesitated.
"It hurts, doesn't it," she said, not looking at him. "To want to do something, to try so hard, and no matter what; it's not enough. There are some goals that you can't reach, CLU. And if it's the goal, not the search, that is driving you..." Feral shook her head at the thought.
"Flynn didn't know what he wanted when he coded you. You can't give someone what they want or need, if they don't know what that IS."
I know what that feels like."
"Get out. Before I derezz you myself."
The door opened, and Feral left.
Rinzler had not been back from patrol long. He was in the quarters that he shared with Feral when the door opened and Feral entered.
Rinzler took a quick look at her as she slowly came into the room. Taking in the rapidly blooming bruise on her face, and the way that she held an arm curled protectively around her side; he gave a growling sigh.
"What happened?" he asked her bluntly.
Feral's tired voice answered him. "I was taking a walk down memory lane and tripped." She settled herself, sitting on the floor next to the black wall and leaning her head back with a small groan.
"And in Grid terms…?" Rinzler asked, cocking his head slightly.
Feral gave a tired sigh. Shifting her gaze from the ceiling to the program in front of her, she signed to him.
'I hacked CLU's memory files.'
"WHAT!?"
She winced at the sound. "If you're going to shout, could you sign it? I promise I'll watch."
'Which memories?' came the signed question.
In a weary voice, she told him. "Virtually everything since he took control of the Grid…the coup itself…and his creation."
"What were you processing, Feral?!" Rinzler yelled at her. "CLU might have derezzed you for that!"
"Do you recall that part about not shouting?" she said, a pained expression on her face.
The tall program threw his hands in the air in frustration. Turning away, he crossed his arms and went to stand at the window, looking out over the city below. She had noticed that he often did that when he was upset or unsettled about something; it seemed to set off his monitor coding, making Rinzler want to watch and see that the programs below him were safe. From where she sat, she could see the tension in him now, evident in the tight way that he held himself.
Several nanocycles passed that way.
"He misses the way it was in the beginning," came a tired voice from behind where Rinzler stood. "The three of you together."
This was met by silence.
"He thought of you as his best friend; even closer to him than Flynn was."
More silence.
"I know that you considered him a friend, as well."
"Flynn was my friend," was Rinzler's growled reply. "CLU was the sysadmin."
"Yes. Only the system administrator. Which would be why you tried to have a fist-fight with him instead of using your disc to derezz him when he was distracted," Feral said, not bothering to keep the irony out of her voice.
"That's why—even now—CLU refuses to remember."
"Remember what?" came the growled question.
"Your voice, your face, what your name was."
"He…. You didn't…."
Feral fought the urge to sigh at the unasked question in Rinzler's voice before answering. "No, Rinzler, I didn't. Your privacy is still complete. CLU put a lock on some of his memory files. Even he can't access them without a passcode," she said, her voice tired.
"The worst part is…this could all have been avoided. It didn't have to happen." She waited, watching him. The tense muscles in his back and the angry distorted growl were the only signs that Rinzler was still listening to her.
"CLU has a flaw in his coding. His primary directive is flawed; so no matter what he does, he fails to reach his goal. CLU's trying so hard, and he's going about it the wrong way," Feral said, speaking to the security program's back.
"Are you trying to say that CLU isn't responsible for what he's done? To the Grid, to…to…everything?" snarled an angry voice by the window.
"No, CLU's responsible for what he's done." Her voice grew even softer. "And so is Kevin Flynn."
A moment later, Feral was hauled upright and off her feet by Rinzler's hand; his fist gripping the throat of her gridsuit. She looked into the sharp angles of his solid black helmet as he jerked her nearer.
"Flynn loved this system!" he snarled at her. "He would never have coded anything that would have hurt it. I knew him, you didn't. You will not talk to me about the User I failed to save like this! Do you understand?"
Feral looked into the empty blackness before her; her gaze searching for eyes that she had never seen.
"You didn't fail," she told him. "CLU has never found him."
Rinzler froze at her words, holding her up in the air in front of him for a moment longer. Abruptly he released his grip; leaving her to fall in a heap on the floor. Turning away, the security program walked to the door. As soon as it opened, he went through it, leaving Feral to stare at the door that rapidly closed behind him.
Feral looked at the closed door for a long moment before speaking, her voice still quiet and full of heartfelt conviction.
"Damn you, Kevin Flynn. Damn you and your arrogance. Do you even understand what you have done to them?"
A/N-Let me guess...
You love Spike. (How could you not?)
You were surprised by Feral but you were shocked by Rinzler's actions at the end of the chapter.
Well, he has a temper. Don't be so surprised; Tron had a temper too, remember? Rinzler is Tron, pulled and twisted into something different; however, you can only use what is at hand when you do so.
I never promised you heroes in this story. You have to decide for yourself what is the definition of a hero.
Is it someone who is always nice, polite, good...the one with great hair who never gets hurt and never hurts anyone but the bad guys? Or is it the one who does their best no matter how much or how little that is? The one who is trying to protect their charges as well as they can?
And if that is a hero...how can you tell who the villains are in the story?
What if they are also doing the best that they can?
Feel free to comment/PM/review. I'd love some feedback on these questions.