I just wanted to clarify something before this chapter. In this it's assumed that the "everyone dies" format of disc battles was a response to Ram's fairly improbable survival (Rinzler's first battle was against Ram (seen in the first 1999 flashback)). I also assumed that the "everyone dies" format doesn't always happen because, otherwise, there really wouldn't be enough competitors. It happens when Clu wants it to happen (i.e. when he really wants to de-rezz a program involved). Otherwise, the winner stays alive, ala in the first movie. I hope that clarifies some things, and I hope you're all enjoying this. More answers will be revealed…and please review. I love getting advice ~Moore12~
Four
1999
I
"He can't be alive!" his master raged, pacing around the room in aimless circles. "That's impossible!"
He watched his master from behind the tinted shield of his helmet, trying to process what was irritating him so much. He had seen his master angry, yes, but he couldn't fully calculate why he was so upset now. To him, it just didn't compute why this was such a big problem when there were so many other things to worry about…namely those damn ISOs and Flynn. One conscript living when he wasn't supposed to? He'd de-rezz eventually so who cared?
His master did. Turning on him, he yelled, "I told you to de-rezz him! And what did you do?"
He knew better than to growl at his master, so he just stood there and listened to his latest rant quietly. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't argue with him—he was programmed not to argue with his master, just to take orders. But…still…this didn't compute.
"You had him!" his master continued, stalking over to where he stood. "You had him, and you didn't finish him off! Why?"
Why? He had never stopped to wonder why he didn't de-rezz that conscript, why he didn't finish him off like his master told him to after wrecking his face. Was it that he didn't de-rezz him or that…he couldn't?
His CPU balked at the thought. He knew he could de-rezz any program, ISO or User that stood in the way of his master's vision. That was what he was programmed to do, that was his sole purpose. He knew that because he was his purpose; a program was only his purpose, he knew, and nothing more.
So why couldn't he de-rezz that conscript? Why had it felt like his CPU was at war with itself when he stared that conscript in the face while preparing to de-rezz him?
His CPU felt like it was burning, and then he knew. He knew that conscript from somewhere. He knew him. He was…was…
"Rinzler," his master growled, glaring at him viciously as he circled him. "I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. I've heard rumor of a band of rebels stirring up trouble at the End of the Line Club. I want them taken care of, understood?"
He understood. That order computed, and he calculated quickly that this would be a fairly straightforward and simple mission. Nodding in the affirmative, he stalked away from his master, leaving all of his questions unanswered and entirely forgotten…
II
He stirred—his circuits flickering painfully back to life. At first, he didn't know where he was and honestly didn't care; his pain was too great for him to have any concern for his location. Finally, the pain subsided enough for him to haul himself into a sitting position and look around.
As memories flooded back to him—the memory of Rinzler de-rezzing his mask and revealing his true identity cut through him like a knife—and, for a moment, he thought he had been de-rezzed. He couldn't possibly be alive, not after what had happened to him. His CPU throbbed as he tried to make sense of what had happened to him.
Once he figured out that he was back in his cell, he knew he was still alive even though that made absolutely no sense to him. As he gazed around the familiar cell—staring at the lines that covered the walls as he always did upon his return from the games—he realized something that startled him.
There was something wrong with his vision. It felt as if he only had tunnel vision and nothing more; the gap in his vision terrified him, and part of him didn't even want to know what was wrong because he was afraid of what he might find.
Slowly, he reached up and touched the right side of his face and made a shocking and gruesome discovery. From what he could tell, Rinzler's—no, Tron's, he remembered with a pang—identity disc had left him without his eye and had left that entire side of his face dented and scarred. He ran his fingers across the damaged—no, completely destroyed, he thought miserably—coding, wincing with pain. This can't be happening, he thought as he stared vacantly at the wall. This can't be happening.
Finally—after a long period of anguishing over what had happened—he decided that, since he was still alive, he would keep fighting. He had to. He would keep fighting and would eventually expose Clu as the tyrant he was.
All I need is a new mask, he thought, trying his best to smile. But, for once, no smile came.
III
"I need a damned drink," Clu muttered darkly without any form of an introduction as soon as he sat down at the bar.
"Long day at the office, huh?" he asked, smiling at his "favorite" customer. Well, the only customer who offered him the chance to become a program of great influence in the system. "Don't tell me it's another grid bug infestation?"
"Shut up and make me a drink, Castor," Clu growled, glaring up at him as only Clu could. What was it about the program that gave him the creeps?
It felt unusual to make a drink in silence, but he did so because of Clu's request. As soon as the drink was done, he slid it across the bar to Clu, who didn't seem at all amused by his antics as he usually was. "So…" he began as he watched the administrator almost down the drink in one gulp. "Is the problem anything I should keep an eye out for?"
"What word in 'shut up' did you not get, man?" Clu snarled before drinking the last gulps in his drink and sliding it back across the bar at him. "Now make me another."
"Jeez, what's gotten into you?" he grumbled just aloud enough for Clu to hear as he made him his next drink.
As soon as he was done with that drink, Clu answered the question. "You remember that stupid little program you helped me lock up?"
Intrigued, he sidled over to where Clu sat and replied, "But of course I remember Ram. Nice, naïve little program. Didn't he de-rezz cycles ago?"
"No," Clu yelled, his voice filled with such rage. "And you want to know why? Rinzler couldn't de-rezz him!"
And as he listened to Clu rant, he knew he finally had something he could hold over the administrator's head to obtain what he wanted so badly.
2009
I
Rinzler landed in the compartment on his feet with ease and quickly surveyed the scene. With a cursory glance, he calculated that the young looking program wouldn't give him any trouble. Too inexperienced, doesn't know his strength, he reasoned.
As for the other, though he was small, Rinzler could tell he was dangerous, a seasoned veteran who knew what it took to get out of such battles alive. Even though he couldn't see his face—it was, like his own, hidden behind the dark tinting of his mask—he could sense the program was sizing him up. That alone made him the first target.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, man?" the younger program exclaimed as he removed his identity disc from his back.
The little program didn't respond; Rinzler watched as he slowly started walking towards him, his identity disc at his side. "Hey, Tron, fancy seeing you here!" the little program called in a mocking tone, confusing Rinzler. Tron? Tron? The name did not compute.
"That's right, Rinzler, I know who you really are," the little program continued, still using that mocking tone, but now calling him by his name which served to confuse him even more. Rinzler watched him as he circled, spinning his identity disc idly. "Are you confused yet?"
Was he even planning on fighting him, or was he just going to continue mocking him? Rinzler watched his opponent carefully, studying his movement. He was walking with a slight limp—the fall, he calculated, must have damaged his coding more than he's letting on. A sneer beginning to form on his lips, Rinzler realized that the little program was talking to stall, was talking to delay the inevitable. It was all talk, and no truth, mere mind games.
He wasn't going to fall for it. In one movement—precise and deadly—he removed the identity discs from his back and hurled them in quick succession at the renegade conscript. The little program seemed to see it coming because he artfully dodged the first and blocked the second with his own disc. "That all you got, Tron?" he laughed.
Rinzler—beginning to grow more and more furious—grabbed both of his discs out of the air and calculated that it would be best to go after the younger program first. He reasoned that the little program who was taunting him would slip up upon seeing the program he was naively trying to save attacked. That was the appropriate plan…
II
It's working, Ram thought to himself, fighting back a smile. I'm actually confusing him, keeping him from fighting. But he knew from experience that at any moment everything could change, and he could sense something was wrong.
Rinzler was staring at the User, and he was growling. Ram's smiled faded in an instant as he tried to figure out what he should do. It's too late for this, he thought desperately. Just do something!
Without even thinking, he hurled his identity disc at Rinzler as he backpedaled to adequately cover the User. As expected, Rinzler caught his identity disc but instead of hurling it back at him, he tossed it to the corner. This can't be happening, Ram thought miserably, feeling naked without the protection of his disc.
"Give me your disc," he ordered the User as soon as he was within an arm's length of him. He wasn't really thinking straight because of the panic coursing through him, admittedly, but he couldn't think of anything else to do.
"Are you nuts?" the User protested, staring at him like he was corrupted or something. "How the hell will I protect myself?"
Suppressing a Rinzler-esque growl, Ram did something he never thought he would. He had been hoping to get the User out of there, but, at the moment, it appeared the only way that would be possible was to expose him for what he was. In one quick, precise movement, he grabbed the User by arm, secured his identity disc for his own use, and pulled him in front of his body.
Even though the User struggled—swearing at him like a madmen—Ram knew he couldn't get away. He was holding him firm with his arms pinned behind his back.
It felt so wrong.
"He's a User!" Ram yelled, even though it was nearly impossible to do so because it made him feel like such a traitor. "He's a User!"
And, as Clu called off Rinzler over the loudspeakers, Ram knew he had bought the User time even though he had betrayed him to do so. The only thing uncertain was what his own fate would be.
III
"Dad?" The word caught in Sam's throat. He hadn't spoken it in so long, and now he was staring his father in the face. "Dad, is that you?"
After being escorted by Rinzler—and a handful of other guards—from the compartment to a large spacious room overlooking the entire arena, he was confronted by a program who had to be the leader. Like the program called Rinzler—or was it Tron? he was confused—and the little program who had gotten him into this predicament, this program was wearing a dark shield over his face. But he was different—he had on a cape, and his circuitry was yellow. And, when he de-rezzed that mask, it revealed a person—not a program—Sam had thought he would never see again.
"Hey, kiddo," his father smiled at him warmly. "How have you been?"