Fuel To The Flames (Arc II 5)

The sounds of highly charged energy ring by was a familiar feeling. The orange colored plasma as it soared at an incredibly high velocity through the air, only to miss its target by mere centimeters, had quickly been a reoccurring event for the aerial assaults of the Defiance.

Bright ribbons of cast colors would fill the sky to face off against the orange armada. Bolts of light would tear ships apart and reign death upon machine and man alike, it seemed nothing was safe. Bombs would cripple flagships in the blink of an eye as heavy bombers broke through the front lines high above the ground with their escorts proving cover. Flak cannons and high speed anti air turrets were disabled and left the ships defenseless against the onslaught of artillery.

Planned, coordinated, and executed with speed and teamwork unrivaled, the Occupation stood little chance of preventing the guerrilla ambushes on their fleet.

"What are you doing? You imbeciles!" their General bellowed in his sickening grotesque voice at the crew inside the bridge. "Shoot them down! They're only fighters!"

"But sir, they've destroyed 85% of our anti air capabilities. And not all of them are fi-" the crew member decided to bite his tongue when he turned to face the deadly glare of Pavel. Eyes open in a mixture of disbelief at being talked back to, anger for being corrected by a subordinate, and a underlying current of crazed insanity.

"15% of our capabilities are still operation, soldier. That's more than enough to rid the sky of these miscreant criminals!" The primal rage was echoed perfectly into Pavel's voice straight into the soldier's face, and subsequently, his ears, which rang in pain after. "Are all our pilots out there? What is taking them so long?" Pavel snapped his attention to the captain of the carrier flagship at his position in front of the main console.

The captain, along with many of the other crew members in the bridge, wore less significant uniforms than most of the sentries and Black Guards stationed over the Grid. Assuming less armor and a lighter helmet, they looked less like the soldiers they were partially trained as, and more like the technicians and engineers they were programmed to be.

"The flights are taking off out of the hanger now, General Pavel," The captain answered, giving his best formal stance.

"Good. Perhaps they can take care of the renegades before we lose another of our destroyers," Pavel mumbled darkly mainly to himself, but was heard by everyone.

"Ridge, back off that jet! We're getting out of here!" Gavistan shouted over the radio in his helmet. One of the former gang members had started to pick a fight with one of Occupations jet pilots, causing him to stray out of the designated battle area, leading him dangerously close to the supporting warships with completely functioning AA abilities. The pilot he had engaged was clearly aware of his surroundings and was purposefully leading him away into a trap.

"Perl! Tell Ridge to get back or he's going to get himself derezzed!" the former soldier barked over to his fellow Specialist.

"Little busy!" she snapped back, the roar of her cannons firing could be heard clearly in the background. Gav swiveled his head around in an attempt to find her out of the dozens of jets and lights flying about. He quickly gave up on his search when he noticed four more squadrons of jets flying out of the hangar.

"This is Gavistan to all renegades! Fall back! Our mission is done! Get your asses out of here while you can!" Gav commanded over all radio frequencies. Taking a look back towards where he last spotted Ridge, the sight of a recently exploded jet along with an orange one returning to the fight made his stomach sink. They had lost a third person in this attack. Three Programs too many. Before the other fighter could reach him and start a dog fight, he flipped around in a vertical arc and punched his afterburners to make his escape back to the Outlands with the others.

"Repeat fall back!" he heard Zed calling over the radios.

It had been one of their riskiest attacks yet. Sticking mainly to the most stray and independent fleets to attack, the Defiance, lead once again by Tron, had decided on attacking one of the fleets on the edge of the massive horde of warships that loomed over Argon. Not as isolated, and with more fighters in patrol around the area, the fight had been more even for the Occupation. With more defensive capabilities, more allies, and faster response time, it was a miracle the Defiance hadn't lost more members.

Most of the rebels were grateful for Zed's cannon that had been installed on most of the jets. It wasn't the tide changer of the war by any means, but it did make attacking much easier. Only the Occupation kept their light ribbons on as they flew, which caused a massive amount of headaches and problems for both sides, but made it easier for the cannons to lock on and derezz the jets and their riders.

Zed's creation had saved many of his friends and brothers in arms, but whatever joy it brought him was drowned out by the sicking pit in his stomach that others were still lost.

The flight back was spent checking up on the survivors of the attack and checking if any serious injuries needed immediate attention. Thankfully, no one had been seriously wounded. Physically that is.

Gavistan was still trying to get close to the others of the rebel group, yet he still only considered himself close to Perl and the other Specialists. While time spent in Gage's gang was considerable, he still kept to himself and away from others, as he wasn't the only one of the group that were loner types. He hadn't felt the loss of a friend since the ISO wars, and while the loss of fellow soldier was hard, he knew he wasn't feeling the same as the others. That in itself made him sick to his stomach.

Everyone was exhausted, but not a single person had decided to head to sleep. Instead, they huddled up in the holo room to sit vigil for the friends they had lost.

And even though their tired bodies cried out in pain and requested sleep, every member sat to mourn their lost comrades. Only after half a pectro went by did the first program leave. Not too shortly after, the majority of the Defiance left the three large images of their fallen comrades and went to rest. Eventually, it was only Gavistan who starred from a distance at the static images.

"You need rest too," Perl said from his side. He didn't bother to acknowledge her, but she knew he was listening.

"Still doing the tough guy act?" She asked in a knowing and friendly tone, again she didn't expect a response. She sat down next to him and gently laid her hand on his knee. The man's brows crinkled in surprise as he finally tore away from his locked gaze.

"You've been like this since the first day I met you," she commented lightly. Her eyes wondered over to the three portraits. "You don't have to act so strong you know. Everyone feels pain and hardship. Living in Purgos teaches you that," she said with a slight frown. "I know you came from a place much worse, but that doesn't make the pain go away," she said turning back to face him. His still held most of his emotions behind the mask, but it was evident how the pain was slowly showing in his eyes.

"It's not that. I just..." a few different thoughts ran through his head at that moment. Still trying to figure it out for himself. "I don't know. Right now it's hard to think straight and..."

"I know," Perl said after he trailed off. "I just want to make sure you're okay," she said with a gentle smile, one of her genuine tells that she was open to her true side.

"I'll be okay, don't worry," he replied with his own curve of the lips. They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer. Sadly, the alarm that sounded through out the base broke their little world.

"What the hell is going on?" Gavistan asked as he shot to his feet. As if Tron had heard and everyone else's question.

"The industrial section of is being bombed! All able members report to the lower level to prepare for launch!" Tron shouted over the base's intercom.

It had barely been an pectro since the Defiance came back from their last sortie and already the enemy was making a counter attack.

"Why are they bombing the city?" one of the exhausted mechanics asked as he headed towards the elevator.

"Doesn't matter. We have to stop them before innocent Programs get derezzed," another one said with an equality tired tone, but with added vigor.

The first Program nodded his head with confirmation at his friend's state, and along with most of the rest of the Defiance headed for the lift. The weary pilots, knowing full well they would have to force their exhausted bodies into the air once more were understandably determined. Because of the consequences of what would happen if they decided to allow the Occupation to continue.

It almost felt unreal, like their small respite had only been a day dream. Filling the sky with multiple squadrons of fighters, the Defiance were flying as hard as they could push their baton jets to meet the enemy.

"I'll brief everyone as we go," Tron stated simply. "Pavel has ordered his bombers to level a section of the industrial area. Mainly, the areas around the garage. While he could be doing this because he thinks you mechanics are still occupying the structure, I doubt that's the true reason. This is most likely a trap. Keep your heads on a swivel and stick to your formations,"

The area around the bombing site had been cleared by the Occupation around the time the Super Recognizer had fallen, but since its total destruction, the area had been cleared and Programs were allowed to return back to their daily tasks.

The area was still heavily guarded and patrolled, the citizens with no where to go often forced to under go massive scrutiny and terrorism. The unlucky ones were taken away, never to be seen again. The Defiance could only watch as the population of Argon slowly dwindled under Dyson's hand and Pavel's twisted ruthlessness.

It wasn't long before they were nearing Argon's edge and could see the smoke trails.

"Were we too late?" one of the pilots asked in disbelief.

"No. The first bombing run must be complete, prepare for the second one. All pilots, engage," Tron commanded, hitting his after burners and heading toward the nearest flying capital ship.

"Is he nuts?" someone asked.

"He's Tron," another answered.

It wasn't long of a wait before a squadron of bombers and fighters came from the core of the fleet headed straight for Abel's garage.

"Engage!"

"Sir, the second set of bombers are approaching the target area,"

"Wonderful, hopefully this will be the end of some of those pestilent renegades," Pavel said in dark glee. His eyes were concentrated out the large viewing window of the bridge as he followed his third set of bombers leaving.

"General! We have reports of a lone fighter jet entering out perimeter!" one of the grunts called out from his console.

"What?! Just one?" the greasy Program shouted in outrage. How could only one fighter be there, they were bombing their precious little garage.

Surely… they couldn't have all been there… Pavel thought as his rage turned into joy, as evident by his gruesome facial expressions.

"Sir! It's avoided our bombers! It appears to be headed straight for us!"

"Perfect! Blast it out of the sky!" Pavel shouted. In the dark sky before him, he attempted to make out the small fighter. The moment he saw a sliver of white light, he blinked and realized that the lights weren't circuit lines, but energy bolts heading straight for them. He blinked again out of reflex as the glass and the entire room turned into chaos. Explosions caused by the jet's repeaters wracked the room in debris of computer and installations, most of the crew had been derezzed or suffered from a life threatening injury due to the attack.

As Pavel slowly opened his eyes again and rose from his fetal position on the ground, he looked down to find himself in otherwise perfect condition. He began a hard and loud cackle at his profound skill to survive.

Soldiers and other crew members started to poor into the bridge accessing damage and assisting the wounded. Their General ignored all of them as he walked into the corridor.

"Sir, where-"

"Prepare my pilots! I'll be taking down this imposter once and for all!" Pavel barked back as he continued toward the hangar.

Another explosion rocked the carrier slightly but Pavel paid no mind to it as he walked onto the hangar floor.

"Your Lordship!" another annoying sentry called out to him before he could get to his jet.

"What. Is. It. Soldier?" Pavel bit back with teeth clenched, his hands shaking in preparation to derez the Program.

"14 more squadrons of fighters have been spotted over the target area. They've shot down our second bombing formation,"

The Program was sudden lifted off his feet and flown towards the walls. The large thunk of his helmet and the disturbing smack of his body hitting the wall was the only sound before the roar of a large energy jet thruster consumed the ears of everyone in the area. Orange blurs flew through the hangar doors to meet the threat in the sky and cleanse them, permanently.

Maybe it wasn't the best option to attack the lead carrier head on, but Tron would have rather damned himself than let Pavel get away with animalistic chaos. He imagined that Beck would have probably fallen for the same temptation of anger, and felt proud at the thought. It managed to make him chuckle softly as he felt his admiration of Beck's determination to save life, even his greatest enemies. He was glad to find inspiration in his friend's mentality, even if he thought it was a weakness. Flashes of Paige snapped through his mind a nano after, making him question his belief. Maybe it wasn't always a weakness.

As he continued to avoid anti air fire and catch up to the third bombing flight, he was aware of another squadron of jets closing in on his location. By the looks of the 'V' formation, he could only guess Pavel had managed to survive his attack on the bridge.

He kept his focus forward for the time being and watched as the bombers rounded a small frigate. Once past the smaller battle ship he came to the open air battle that was over Abel's garage. To his shock, the Defiance had air superiority and even hijacked one of the bombers from the second assault wave, using it to destroy the heavy ships.

Tron was brought to his jet transmitter as it started picking up friendly communications again.

"Repeat! Third wave of bombers approaching combat area! Focus your fire on the targets," Tron heard one of overseer's of the battle call out over the radio. Another beep indicating new strategic information was about to voice rang through his helmet. "Tron has returned! Bogies on his six o'clock. All those not attacking the bombers, engage the incoming bandits!"

"New bandits are General Pavel and his personal fighters! Don't take them lightly!" Tron immediately cut in over the radio.

Another beep. "Check your IFF and make sure you don't fire on any friendlies!" Various squadrons called out in the affirmative before breaking off to take on their designated targets. Tron himself took a nose dive to separate himself from the others. Luckily, he had managed to attract Pavel to follow and was soon in a dogfight with the crazed Program.

"Stay with the other fighters! I'll take Pavel!" Tron commanded to the other pilots, before anyone could attempt to assist and likely get in his way.

A hail of shots ran around his canopy keeping him from pitching upwards or down. Slowly rolling to his right he yanked up on his controls and reduced his thrust to a minimum. A nano later, he heard, over actually seeing, his pursuer fly by under him. Tron leveled his jet out with a bit of extra power to the single turbojet engine, and was quickly on Pavel's tail. To his annoyance, Pavel had the advantage of using his light ribbon. Though they were a distance away from the others, Tron feared his trail would be hindering if not fatal to the other pilots in the air due to the shear quantity of them in one battle area. The new General of Argon's Occupation obviously had no concern for anyone other than himself.

Taking careful aim and making sure to avoid the orange light ribbon, the white clad Program squeezed the triggers on both of his flight sticks. The loud booming growl of the twin repeaters going off only a meter away from his head sounded immediately. His retaliation was sweet as he watched one of Pavel's wings get hit by a pair of rounds and combust into a cloud of fire and debris. Because of the damage, the jet yanked itself sharply to the left and began to lose altitude.

A beep was heard over his radio. "Tron, one of the bandits broke off and is headed your way,"

He looked over his shoulder and spotted the lone aircraft. His mind raced, weighting the best options for the current situation.

"I can't let Pavel get away, have a squadron deal with the pilot," Tron ordered over the radio.

"Roger. Wardog squadron, cover Tron as he deals with General Pavel,"

The General turned on his afterburners managing to make some distance between himself and Tron.

"This is Blaze, Wardog copies. Engaging," a completely new voice called out over the radio, one Tron hadn't heard before.

"Wow Kid, you're actually talking huh?" a much more jovial and shocked man called out.

"Knock it off, Chopper," a female voice said in an exasperated tone.

"He does have a point Edge," a distinctly younger and less confident voice spoke.

Tron was about to ignore the conversation and repoint his focus towards Pavel as he followed the jet that was turning back towards the direction of the Occupation fleet, but was pulled away one last time when the youngest sounding called out directly to him.

"Sir, this is Archer. Would you like help dealing with the General?" Archer asked Tron.

"No, I-" he started but was cut off by the one called Chopper.

"Don't be an idiot, man! We're deep in enemy territory, you may be Tron, but you're not invincible!" the loudmouthed pilot spoke vehemently.

"Chopper! That's Tron you're yelling at!" Edge reprimanded.

"Wardog, you take care of the lone bandit. I'll fly as Tron's wingman," Blaze ordered firmly over the radio. Tron figured he was the leader of their group as the other's complied with his orders.

Another beep over the radio. "All pilots, we have a massive amount of bogies incoming. Recognizers, Light Copters, Single, Double, and Triple seater jets are coming our way. Looks like they've finally got the rest of the fleet to mobilize their units,"

Tron held his curse in as he watched Pavel's damaged but still mobile jet in front of him. He damned his luck as he wished he could have weakened Pavel's engine to slow him down. His dark thoughts were broken by the arrival of another jet to his right side.

"Sir," was all Blaze said as he flew into the basic cover position.

"You shouldn't be here. You'll only slow me down," Tron said lowly, not trying to being harsh on account of his anger.

"We'll see,"

The pilot was confident, Tron had to give him that.

"Defiance, start pulling back. Their bombers are taken care of and their fleet has been heavily damaged. Our objective is complete. RTB," Gavistan ordered.

Tron was about to pull up on the his flight sticks but was interrupted by a volley of bullets coming from his left. Before he could react, his wingman was already firing back and headed straight for the incoming squadron. He was definitely confident but he seemed to be bordering on too cocky. Thankfully, Tron wouldn't have to be staying for anymore vigils as he watched in amazement as the brash pilot managed to down all four of the opposing jets.

"Damn! Kid's as amazing as ever!" Chopper called out. Tron glanced back and noticed the rest of the Wardog squadron closing the distance. Apparently Blaze had noticed their path as well and wasn't too pleased.

"Wardog, return to base!" He barked at them as he made his own way out of hostile air.

"Roger," Edge replied in a somewhat relieved voice. But she had relaxed too soon.

A hail of bullets surrounded Blaze and Tron, forcing the two to flank off in opposite directions. Edge's voice was a distant noise in the background as the two Programs danced their way through enemy fire. The tingling on the back of their spines was consuming. The G-forces, the cold, the wind all fell away to the sensation on their backs as they prayed none of the projectiles aimed at them would make their mark. Only bolts that were close enough to make the hair on their skin rise, the air to vibrate with deadly heat, and whisper a vile warning for what would be next, did they acknowledge.

In their struggle for survival, they had been lead south of the city, at the beginning of the mountain ranges. And eventually, they had managed to put some distance between them and the Occupation pilots.

"Blaze!" Edge's rasp shout brought the two out of their post hyper tension state.

"Edge, we're okay, where are you?"

"We were following you Kid! If it wasn't for us, you two would be nothing but blue sprinkles out here in this frozen wasteland!" Chopper yelled, his tone about their derezzed bits gave me everyone's stomach a sickening flip. Something about the imagery did not sit well.

Both Tron and Blaze looked back to spot the rest of Wardog squadron, but with the background of Argon's hazy lights and the large band of Occupation pilots chasing them, there was no sign of them.

"We're flying low and making our way over to you two," Archer informed.

"Hold out guys, looks like they're coming to reengage!"

Sure enough, the orange lines and dots were growing in size. If only fuel were infinite, they would be able to keep their afterburners on and escape the pursers.

"Blaze," the leader of the Defiance called out to get the man's attention.

"Sir," he complied.

"I know you can handle yourself, conserve energy, don't waste any shots. I'll make sure they don't get too close to your back,"

"I'm leading?" Blaze asked slightly taken aback.

"Between you and me... I'm not the best pilot. These things are past my time,"

He was met with silence and Tron figured the usually quiet Program had nothing else to say. The sharp exhale of air sounded over the radio and it took him a moment to realize Blaze had chuckled.

"Old man,"

The two broke left, with Blaze in the lead as the dogfight began. Their spines began their paranoid tingling once more as the munitions surrounded them.

"Break right! Try to get behind some of them!" Blaze barked as he dove straight down.

With a hard pull on the yoke, Tron was subjected to the intense forces of acceleration in a new direction. Before the energy could leave his head he leveled out and continued rolling and moving about to make it hard for his enemies to land their shots.

Another sudden pull, and he was headed skyward toward the clouds. He was surrounded by the mists of clouds with glowing foggy orange lightning blindly running parallel to him. The shots never stopped, even as he broke free of the clouds and yanked his jet once more. This time he flew upside down and could see the uneven ocean of clouds covering the vast expanses of the Outlands. These clouds were thicker than normal harmless clouds. They spoke of harsh rains and rolling thunderous crashes of lightning in the future. Large shattering spears of pure light and energy warping back and forth within unseen areas of the billowing mass.

Tron had only taken a second to let this thoughts wonder before he dove back into the clouds. He hoped his little detour through the clouds would buy him some time. When he reappeared below the growing plumbs of water vapor, he was surprised by the fight that had unfolded.

Blaze was hard on the tail of an enemy bandit with the others scrambling to get into position behind him. While Tron hadn't counted the exact amount that had followed him and Blaze, he was fairly certain his comrade had already taken out a few of their pilots. In such sort of time, it seemed almost impossible. Tron watched as the orange jet was fired upon and exploded into a fiery display of shrapnel and black smoke.

Before the two bandits could line up properly, Tron had reigned hell on one and pressured the other one with psuppressing fire.

Everything was reactionary in their dogfight. Enemy movements to avoid being derezzed were met with hairline precision to counter and eliminate. The small twitch of the yoke as he focused on the orange bird in front him. Digital lines of burning white code following behind the bird by a few meters seemed so natural, that when the target erupted into flames like so many others, it seemed odd that the constant stream of white was no where to be seen or felt vibrating through the jet as the repeaters blasted.

When the group that had followed Tron into the clouds had realized what had happened and returned to the combat zone the fight had evened out. No longer were the two alone but a full squad of trained aces soaring in the sky in tight formation.

"Good to see you still going Kid," Chopper commented smoothly.

"Captain's skill is no match for the enemy," the younger added.

"Blaze really is amazing," Edge complimented with soft airiness.

"Alright Wardog, cut the chatter. We're going to take care of these bandits and get home safely, got that?" Blaze's voice was bold and distinctly filled with determination that only leader's possessed.

"Wardog 2, roger,"

"Wardog 3, roger,"

"Wardog 4, roger,"

"Wardog, engage!"

The dark skies of the Outlands lit up once more with the timelessness of battle.

How many times could one sky house the battlefield of war? How many lives would have to be sacrificed for freedom and peace? When would the light of justice and righteousness prevail and overthrow the corrupt?

"Archer, on your six! Roll!"

Can a mountain truly be changed by a single pebble. Is change worth the cost of such destruction that the mountain is no longer recognizable.

Does it matter who sits upon the top, when all that's left is ash.

"Chopper! You're trailing smoke!"

"We have to run! There's more of them coming!"

War is senseless, but seemingly unavoidable. It is instinctual in human nature to fight for survival. Of course that trait would be passed down into man's intelligent creations.

"Go! I'll hold them off!"

"There's too many, Tron!"

"I'll lead them to the city! Get your squadron home safely, Captain. That's an order,"

No one wants to die.

That is true for all intelligent beings. But there are those willing to sacrifice the absolute most for their allies and friends. In hopes that they can right the wrong that was made.

"Wardog, return to base!"

"Tron you can't do this! We need you!"

"This is more than me! You all can do this, with or without me! I fight for the Grid. I fight for the Users! You fight for each other!"

"Tron!"

Survival.

That's what I'm best at. Thank you Alan-1.

They knew. Out of the five Defiance members cornered in the unforgiving Outlands, they had followed and pursued Tron when he broke away from the rest. It wasn't hard to tell the difference. It was rare for Programs to have a complete set of white circuit lines, it only made sense that they follow him.

The engine gave a short cry and jolt as the energy suddenly faltered. The white light ribbon that followed him showed to have a couple breaks in it for the small error. The baton that stuck to his leg felt heavy to his senses, as if the necessity of it added to its weight.

His chest expanded and contracted as he took a deep breath. He had a very small window of opportunity to make his switch effectively. Too long and he wouldn't have anytime to pull up, too short and he wouldn't have the time needed to escape death by energy bolts. So he waited for the perfect moment.

The sudden jolt of the jet engine dying, and he flung himself from the seat. A quick guess with his eyes told him he had about one minute before his body would reach the ground. It would take him at least ten seconds to fully form his second baton, another seven to fully level himself out. He guessed that the Occupation wouldn't realize he wasn't in his old failing jet for at least another 15 nanos, that left him with a 28 second window to pull out the baton and increase his chance of escape. It left only one issue.

Program error. Like the Users that created them, panic can set it when a Program is in a high stress, life or death, situation. Fear grips any sane Program with an iron gauntlet and refuses to let go. Breathing shortens into panicked hiccups, thoughts slow to uselessness or quicken to frantic pandemonium. In the event of free falling without a Light Chute, one command cycles through the head.

Pull that damn jet out and stop descending to certain death.

While Tron was nothing close to a normal Program, he couldn't outright say he had felt calm about the ordeal. With nearly no visibility of the ground, he had to trust his judgement on it being only a minute drop. As the edges of Argon's lights became dimmer as he plummeted downward, he couldn't help but panic and think he had grossly overestimated the time he had to pull his baton. Another deep breath and control reigned over him. Whether he die crashing into the ground, he had no choice but to wait for his timeframe to come or else he die in the air.

…13…

…14…

…15!

The parts formed around his body, glowing with energy to move them correctly into place. When everything had finally come together he pulled as hard as possible on the yoke. The G-force was near unbearable for the short four seconds instead of seven he approximated, but he still thanked the Users for his luck. Then immediately cursed it.

He dove to avoid a high hanged cliff. With crazed maneuvering, he turned his jet sideways as it fell into a narrow ravine and found he could see the sparkling surface of the rough stone that was above his head. Before that sparkling stone became his death, he back upward out of the death canyon.

I'm getting to old for this… Tron mused, as he came into close view of Argon.

"Why aren't we going after him!" Chopper barked over the radio. For a moment, he was met with silence, and the burning in his ears only pissed him off further. "Guys! Are you serious!?"

"What else can we do? We probably don't even have enough energy to make it back to base, how are we supposed to help Tron? We'll just end up getting derezzed!" Edge snapped back violently.

"Or worse…" Archer added timidly.

"Or wo-"

"Chopper, shut it. We can't do anything to help Tron. If we did go, we'd only manage to get in his way, he's not like us," Blaze explained with clipped tones. They all loved Chopper, but sometimes, the loud mouth of the Wardog family could get in their nerves. They didn't blame him, but yelling and screaming about an impossible situation wouldn't fix it.

The buildings never seemed to hostile and predatory. Looming dark skyscrapers lined with orange red circuits dominated the area. Even in the darkness of the small clustered alleyway, Tron felt highly exposed by the peering gaze of the structures around him.

Patrols roamed the streets and other small back roads behind the buildings, every solider on high alert. He had been on the run for the past 20 minutes, and only just lost his seekers.

The burning in his legs was an old friend who had come to join him in his escapades. He had missed it. The excitement, the stress, the responsibility, everything felt right. While others broke under the pressure, Tron strived on it, was emboldened by its pressure and presence.

A light passed through the alleyway and he stilled his breathing as he heard the distant chatter of sentries. Boxes and garbage stood between him and the soldiers, which he heard getting louder and their footsteps becoming violent as they stepped on trash and other useless debris. Their distorted voices grew so loud, he could have sworn they were already on top of him.

Static electricity seemed to fill the air as he waited for the two to find him and sound the alarm. But to his relief, the footsteps started up again and quieted away.

He let out a long sigh and slumped against the dumpster. The weathered blanket he found and tossed over himself had apparently done its job of concealing him. If it wasn't for the smell of rotten goods, he'd almost consider his current placement comfortable.

Instead of enjoying the small respite, he took the chance to climb from his cover and make his way towards another hiding spot, and possibly to the coliseum.

Peering around the corner of a building, he observed the two squads of Black Guards and sentries walking in line with tanks. On the other side of the road, it was much of the same. If he ran through the street fast enough he'd probably manage to make it before any of them noticed. He'd just have to time it correctly.

Back at the Outland's hideout the Defiance were waiting with exhausted bodies for Tron and Wardog's return. The Specialists sat around the table in the meeting room. Mara and Zed rested there heads on their arms as pillows, Perl was leaning back in her chair to the point she was on the edge and in danger of slipping off, while Gavistan was the only one who managed to seem semi alert and awake in his seat.

A small red blipping single popped up on the major hologram monitor Tron favored. Before anyone could move to it, the elevator doors opened and the four pilots of Wardog filed out in a frantic state. The Specialists scrambled out of their seats and headed out to meet the squadron.

"What happened out their? Where's Tron?" Gavistan was first to speak.

"He headed back towards Argon to get the Occupation off our tails," Archer responded before bending over and propping himself on his weak legs. He, like his team, were breathing hard and out of breath.

"What? Why didn't you-" Mara started but was cut off.

"No energy in our batons, don't you think we would have helped him if we could?" Edge snapped with aggravation.

"We have to go then! We can't let him get Repurposed!" Zed exclaimed.

Before anyone moved, the lights in the entire hideout started to dim and a feminine voice spoke out.

"Alert, Priority 3 protocol. Alert, Priority 3 protocol,"

"The hell is that?" Perl murmured.

"Let's find out," Gav was already entering the conference room and headed to the main monitor with the others catching up.

He tapped the red blipping alert and it enlarged to an personnel information document titled Rinzler. Little was on the actual page. There wasn't a picture and the only noted information stated that the Program was a trusted highly ranked member in Clu's army.

In large glowing orange letters that flashed across the middle of the document it read:

TARGET DETECTED WITHIN ARGON

The first step Tron took he knew it was a mistake. The guards seemed to turn and face him, tanks and bikes were angled in his direction and two Black Guards appeared from the alleyway he had planned to duck into.

His boots slid across the ground as he tried to bolt back into the alley he had just come from, only to hear a soft purring emanating from it.

Slowly turning around, he was met with a Black Guard. At first, he didn't have any defining features that made him stand out besides the soft purr, but on closer inspection the subtleties were there.

The Program's helmet was more angular in the front, it was the largest discrepancy from other guards. The bottom of it was angled like a bobbed haircut, where it met in the front with a flat sheet of the visor. The Program didn't have any tubing running to the mask so he figured there wasn't a filter.

Based on the body structure, Tron figured it was indeed a male as he suspected. Looking over the armor that looked more like the titan hard scales of a dragon than a regular suite. The small circuit lines that all Black Guards had near their shoulders, waist, and feet were present. What was different were the faded circuit lines that ran through suite. Neither removed or destroyed, the circuit lines that were purposely faded and masked appeared to be the remnants of the owners natural circuit lines. Large circuits would have passed over his chest leading down to his belt. Smaller paths followed a similar path from his upper abs. The belt region had two circles over where his hip bones would be, followed by lines that ran around his waist and met with other circles in the back. Each circle had a medium sized circuit running down his legs and ended behind his knee. The theme was similar upon his arms where the circles above his collar bone area had circuits running down his arms and met with circles on the top of his hands.

The helmet, the circuit lines, the taut battle ready stance all pointed to one Program.

Anon...

Flashes of memories ran through Tron's mind. Radia, Abraxas, Clu's betrayal... then first time meeting Anon popped through the terrible sequences of flashes.

He had been sent to the far out I/O Tower by Flynn to pick up his new security Program. The "rogue" Programs he had encountered on his way to the tower were suspect of course, but at the time how could he have known about Clu's mutiny? Especially since he was too focused on his own feelings about the new System Monitor.

Tron had been unsure of introducing a new System Monitor to the Grid, at least one of Tron's caliber, possibly greater. He had berated himself for feeling jealous and focused on his primary function. This new monitor would help secure the Grid, he would be an ally, not a replacement.

This was Flynn's Tron. Who had supposedly sacrificed his all to save the last ISO. Apparently not.

"So, he's turned you too," Tron spoke slowly almost defeated. Another friend lost to Clu's corrupted power and wrath.

Anon didn't respond, simply turned his head slightly as if curious or confused about the statement. His purring continued.

"You don't even remember your name do you, Program?"

The soldiers circled around him and closed off any escape. He was truly trapped without a way out.

"The User himself created you. Flynn! Your name is Anon, do you remember any of it?" Tron barked and stood closer, the anger clearly radiating off his body.

It was dangerous to get close to this Program, but it was probably more of a risk keeping distance. Flynn had told him about the upgrades he had made to the Program after he sent him to save Quorra. This Program was no longer at Tron's level of skill and power. He was far above it.

When Rinzler made no response to Tron's accusations it was clear nothing remained within the young Program. Tron took a step back and pulled his disc out and readied his stance. The mass amount of soldiers and vehicles that tracked him seemed to grow tense and prepared themselves. Rinzler slowly pulled his disc from his dock and held it loosely at his side, his body relaxed for such a serious fight.

"I see,"

"Rinzler,"

It was suspiciously empty in the large hangar. A majority of the jets, Recognizers, and light copters were missing, presumably lost, while the personnel that usually floated around and maintained the hangar were no where to be found.

Pavel had returned alone, his squadron lost to the skies because of their incompetence. The rest had been sent after the supposed Tron. He knew it wasn't the real hero, just an imposter slandering a once great Programs name and legacy. Another vile ruffian to further cause more issues and annoyances to the progress of a more refined city.

The door opened automatically before he passed through it and into the maze of halls that was his flagship. Something told him things weren't right as he continued, but he brushed it off as nonsense.

It wasn't until the fourth turn in a series of corners did he finally realize why his instincts were nagging. There weren't any crew members or soldiers at their posts. The ship was empty.

He disk sparked on and felt his circulator beat rapidly. Adrenaline mixed energy coursed through his body as he quickly headed to his chambers. A wave of security washed over his senses as he thought of his savior.

He internally breathed a sigh of relief when he came to his door. A quick code entry and he was in. In an instant, his closet was raided and found the box that held the disc mod. It felt on the brink of hot in his hands, the power melting through the thin digital code of storage container. He was blinded by the short flash of light as the box derezzed and in his hands was... nothing.

A moment he froze, his mind spinning like a tire on ice, unable to find traction and understand the situation. For a second it felt like a dream, as if he had just fallen asleep and once he opened his eyes the power would be there, in his grasp. But when he blinked and nothing changed the anger set it.

His closet erupted into a tornado as the items were launched from their homes on the shelves. When everything was moved, damaged, or best destroyed, he moved onto the rest of his room. It suffered the same fate.

All his power, the strength, the coherency of thinking and moving ten times than normal, the unbridled, pure intoxication of anger that flowed from the disc mod, gone.

He felt his arms and fists bruised and batter from their assault. Soft stinging pain that wasn't truly registered, only noted. His mind was too far away to give it the time of day.

Who ever had stolen HIS modification, HIS POWER, would be executed. Anyone who was found in content with the heist would suffer the same fate. No one would escape his judgement.

It wasn't until the large doors of the main hanger appeared before him did he realize he had walked himself through the ship. It was convenient. He was going to find Dyson and force an explanation out of him about his men.

When he stepped into the hangar, he remembered one small but important issue. His jet was still damaged from the dog fight with TRON.

It was not Pavel's best cycle.

The repetitive tapping filled the room as the soldiers and their leader waited. Four Black Guards, former system monitors that worked along side Tron, stood around the room with a single man in the middle. His fingers drummed against the table impatiently waiting for the General of Argon to appear before him in a fit of rage.

It was all planned. Once Pavel had failed to operate a fleet appropriately and lost a few of the larger Destroyer and Frigates to the Defiance, Dyson knew that the General was a mistake. The fleet he had sent over the Industrial District was small compared to the majority of Clu's fleet that was left behind, but the fact that he had carelessly thrown them away for no results had made it deplorable.

Drunk with power. Dyson thought idly. He had once been that way, when Clu repaired his code to his damaged face. From what he remembered, Clu had simply mirrored the code on his right side and formed it to cover his left as well. It fixed the issue, but it also meant that any damage to his body would be reflected to the other side as well. There was an easy solution to that small problem. Don't get hit. Perfection was that simple.

Now, he knew better. He was not perfect, not by any means. He was not invincible, nor was he clever in the same way Clu was. But that's where he shined, he knew his limitations, and he was better for it.

Dyson sighed and looked at the others around him. He wished he could've said the same about the others in Tron's former task force. Apparently, the other system monitors weren't of the right mindset to be unaltered. Times like this, he wished they had been. Ever since their reprogramming they were dreadfully boring and robotic like many of the others. Clu had mentioned that they weren't modified as much as others, yet Dyson could hardly tell the difference. Only their unique body types separated them from any average Black Guard.

"Anything on your mind? Anything running through your heads?" Dyson made small talk, expecting the usual response.

"No sir, we are ready for the General's arrival," one of them said. Dyson had forgotten that the other thing that made them stand out were their voices. Darker, flatter, and harshly digitalized by the helmets, there base sounds were the same. But he hadn't cared to keep track of them anymore. So when they responded, he honestly didn't know which one it was that said it.

"I'm sure you are…" Dyson drawled, his eyes rolling in his head.

God it was lonely to be intelligent.

Time passed slowly until one of their communicators went off.

"Sir, General Pavel has arrived,"

"Send him up. I'm dying of boredom,"

It took far longer than he expected, or wanted, for Pavel to finally appear in the entrance with four Black Guards escorting him.

"Ahhh Pavel, I've been waiting for you, for… how long has it been?" Dyson started in an upbeat tone.

"One pectro, and thirty seven micros," one of the guards answered.

"Longer than I was hope-"

"Where are my soldiers?" Pavel snapped, his hands slapping down on the table between him and Dyson. The pure rage that filled Pavel's eyes amused him. It was just as he expected; the fool would act so uncivilized.

"Your soldiers? I believe these are Clu's soldiers. This is his ship. We are under his command. This is his army,"

"I know he's not here! You did this!"

"Seeing that you're so well informed, do you know that he left me in charge? You may have been General of this city, but clearly you follow in the same footsteps as Tesler. Incompetent, grossly underestimate your enemies, blind, and weak," Dyson stood from his chair and starred down Pavel's flinching frame. Each jab at his character had made him twitch backwards ever so slightly, his rage now internalized and no longer flowing off him in waves, only his eyes held any remaining fury.

"Y-You can't do this! I control this contemptible city! It is nothing without my direction!" Pavel spat flustered.

"Oh, it is worthless then?" Dyson said as walked around the table and started to pressure Pavel outside of the room. The eight Black Guards followed with a lag.

"Without my influence it is!"

"Then why would our supreme leader wish to contain the sector? Why would he care if it was so contemptible as you say?"

"I-"

"Let me tell you this, Program. You are insignificant to Clu's grand design for the Grid. You are powerless without his permission. You have squandered your power, sooner than I imagined you would. So as his faithful accomplice, I and stripping you of said power,"

Dyson continued until they reached a small hangar on the side of the carrier. His hands were held tightly behind him while he walked confidently. Pavel still walking backwards, not able to stand his ground.

"You are worthless without us," Dyson muttered darkly. A repulsive glower stained his face as he waited for Pavel to react.

A wild gab was thrown at his face, which he easily dodged. It was followed by a furious holler and Pavel's disc swinging down on him in Pavel's offhand. Again, he easily ducked out of the way and continued to easily move away from the blind swings that were aimed in his direction. The guards stood back, waiting patiently for any signal for their assistance.

Dyson quickly grew tired of Pavel's aggression. With practiced swiftness, he took his disc out and blocked Pavel's oncoming swing. It reflected the attack and set Pavel up for another immediately after. This time, Dyson deflected the disc purposefully outward, leaving his enemy open. He quick stepped forward and elbowed the General in the face with lightning speed. He watched as Pavel stumbled backwards and eventually fell onto the ground.

What a pitiful excuse for a General.

"Pavel, from this moment, you are no longer General of Argon. You, and pray I don't decide to change my mind, are being demoted back to your Commander status. I believe Clu did have something in mind for you when he promoted you instead of the much more proficient Commander Paige, so you may thank him for me not derezzing you at this very moment,"

Pavel glared up at Dyson's retreating form. It was over in a flash, defeated by one move and left to the Black Guards who began to circle him.

"You are to report to the Demonstrator immediately, Commander," one of the guards informed him. A sick gleam came to Pavel's face as he thought of something would sate his anger.

Bolting up, he lunged at one of the Black Guards with his disc ignited. He expected it to be easy, cutting through and destroy the code of the guard without any resistance, but when his disc was parried once again, he felt surprise, shock, and lastly, fear well up inside him.

"This is your one and only warning, Commander," the group around him ignited their discs and even though he couldn't see their eyes, Pavel could tell they were all glaring with premeditated thoughts and actions at the ready.

"You will go the Destroyer Demonstrator and await further orders. Any action that do not meet this directive will be met with hostility and you will be derezzed,"

"Understood…" Pavel answered weakly, swallowing with his mouth dry as salt.

Definitely his worst day.

Boots marched on through the main hangar of Tesler's old command ship. Dozens of Black Guards, sentries, and other personal escorted the one prisoner. One Program with enough skill, experience, and strength to derezz everyone around him. His disc was locked and his limbs were chained together by light cuffs, retaining him from fighting back.

Tron gazed around with his eyes as he was lead by Rinzler and half of the stationed troops to whatever prison cell they'd be keeping him in. His mind raced with what decision would have to be made.

Should he wait for the Defiance to attempt a rescue? Surely Rinzler would have his prison guarded with maximum security, the losses for the resistance would be far too great for one man.

Could he make his own escape? Possibly, but the chances of it were slim. At least it would mean the Defiance would be out of harms way.

Should he take his own life? As a last resort, he had to. If Clu managed to repurpose him as he did with Anon, then all hope was lost.

Were there any other options? He knew his luck wouldn't be so great to have an escape from an inside source again. Cyrus had been a fluke, and Tron knew it. Paige, the one Program to have any chance of getting him out by herself and escaping with him was thousands of kilometers away. Pavel? Tron had nothing to offer the slim ball to convince him to change sides, at least to help him get away. He knew that the Program had no sense of loyalty to anyone besides himself.

Tron looked up to watch Rinzler's back. He wasn't sure how far gone Anon was, if Clu wanted to keep his advanced system monitor abilities and disc mods intact, he couldn't have fully repurposed him. For what he could tell, that was the case. His stance, his attire, and the purring, someone fully reconfigured wouldn't have those. But at this point, could he be saved?

His musings continued as they locked him in his cell. Apparently, a good majority of his resolution would be spent in prison cells. Whether they be under Sark's and the MCP's watch, or Clu's.

He didn't respond to Rinzler's prolonged stare from outside the light barrier and only looked up when everyone besides the guards had left. Clu was, hopefully, still in Tron City, and the Super Recognizer had been destroyed. His repurposing was sometime off, which Tron thanked his User for. It gave him plenty of time to strategize and plan.

His eyes caught the empty cell next to his, and he let his mind wander away from the planning. He imagined that he wasn't alone. In the next cell over, he imaged Ram flipping his older style disc, practicing, and preparing for combat. His infectious smirk always aimed towards Tron, one he seldom returned.

He was so serious back then. When his programming was all he knew, Users and following their instructions. It was a different time, in a different world. Now, resistance was met with detainment, but not for the sole reason of fighting in the Games. It only meant a fate worse then deresolution. But even some of the Programs from the old system weren't so lucky to die in the arena. Dumont, and the other Tower Guardians, were drained of their functions, their power, their energy. The already too powerful Master Control drinking it in with pleasure.

Maybe times weren't so different as he thought.

If only Beck were here. He would shine a light on the situation.

Or maybe he'd be off with his Commander. Tron mused with a smirk. You were right about her.

With his youth's pairing, he thought of his own partner.

Yori… Dozens of images flashed through his mind, all of them bringing a smile to his face.

Even in death, the two brightest lights in his heart still shined on. A boy who had captured the same desire and determination that inspired Tron. And a woman who granted safety, security, and warmth that he hadn't known before.

Though they were gone, he still had one light to count on. The one who helped him secure the Grid, all those cycles ago.

Flynn.

AN: Here's another chapter! Sorry for the wait.

If this chapter seems different in dialogue and style in general, that's because this is inspired by an older game I used to play and couldn't help myself. I did want to make this story more war stylized while keeping the… cartoon like nature, but oh well.

Other names and characters in this chapter are taken from Ace Combat 5: The Unsung War, but they won't be delved into. Just minor characters that help fight the battle.

If you have a PlayStation I would recommend playing the game. It's missions are slightly repetitive but if you let yourself get involved in the story, it feels super intense. Just watch the trailer on YouTube.

At first I wanted to have Pavel and Dyson rough it out more, but as I was writing I realized how poor of a fighter Pavel really is. I figure he's a cheapshoting SOB who doesn't have any real fights, just slashes people when they can't defend themselves. So, no experience, doesn't train cause he's arrogant, and was relying on the disc mod more than anything.