Hey, guys, here's the latest chapter. There's just one thing you should know. I can't tell by the movie or in any of the writings about it if the End of the Line Club serves the program version of alcohol. So, since this is a rewrite (and, in some places, isn't even canon) I decided to make it into a traditional night club/bar, and that programs can go there to get drunk. So please no flames. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and please review! I really do want to hear what you think... ~Moore12~

Five

1989

He walked into the club, not caring at all what anybody thought of him. He knew as well as anyone that he didn't really belong there, but he needed a drink desperately and the End of the Line Club was said to have the best drinks in the city. So what if it was also said to be the hang out of some of the shadiest programs in town—programs who were hostile to the "great" creator Flynn?

He wasn't Flynn, and he didn't even know if he was on Flynn's side anymore.

The User's betrayal still stung, and he almost didn't notice that most of the programs in the joint had looked up from what they were doing to get a good look at him—the moral compass of the "great" creator, the "voice" of the programs…that nobody even bothered to listen to. Keeping his head down, he tried to ignore the stares. That's right, he thought bitterly. Here I am. Surprised?

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Zuse emerged from behind the bar to greet him, that fake smile of his plastered on his face. Normally, the site of the barkeep—who was far more than that, he knew too well—would be enough put him on edge, but now it just made him feel relieved. "Make yourself at home, Ram."

Shrugging hopelessly—he really didn't want all this attention and certainly wasn't going to make himself at home—he forced a smile and followed Zuse to a seat at the corner of the bar. As soon as he sat down, Zuse launched into a laundry list of all the different drinks he could order. "Just make me something," he muttered as he stared at his reflection in the counter, wondering what he was doing there. To his own amazement, the thought that this was wrong wasn't enough to make him get up and leave.

Zuse handed him his drink—still smiling that damn smile, he thought bitterly—and asked the question he was hoping he wouldn't: "So, what brings you here, Ram? Rumor has it you don't drink."

That was true. He hadn't had a drink in his life. Tron always joked he wouldn't be able to handle it, and Flynn claimed that, since he was a smaller program, it probably wouldn't be good for him. Besides, he had never felt the need to drink; he was perfectly content being the designated driver for Tron when, on occasion, he just needed to escape everything. And now he himself needed to escape; he could only hope this would be everything it was cracked up to be.

"Really?" he mumbled as he picked up the glass—filled with clear liquid that looked almost like pure energy—and took a hesitant sip. It didn't taste like he thought it would, but still…it was good. Just what I needed, he thought happily as he took another sip.

"Well, I guess that's not the case," Zuse laughed after he finished the first drink. "I'm assuming you'll want another because, well, you can't just ever have one!"

Deep down inside, he knew he probably shouldn't have another drink. Even though he was furious at Flynn, he had to admit he was probably right about him being too small to handle too many drinks. He had only had one drink, but he was already starting to feel slightly lightheaded. Or was that the buzz Tron talked about? Yeah, that has to be it, he thought. "Sure, why not?" he laughed, beginning to loosen up.

He drowned his pain, drowned his sorrows. It felt so good, and he didn't understand why everybody had told him he couldn't handle it. Grinning at Zuse—why had he ever distrusted him when he made such good drinks?—he ordered his fourth drink.

When Zuse handed him his fourth drink of the night, he didn't leave like he normally did. "So, Ram," he said secretively, still smiling at him, "what brings you here tonight? It's great to have you, but…you're not exactly a regular if you get what I'm saying."

He didn't feel too good. His processors felt like they had slowed tremendously. But…still…he felt better than he had; still felt the buzz he had hoped he would. And he couldn't see anything wrong with talking to Zuse. He needed to talk—release all his frustration and anger—and Zuse wanted to listen. Why not? he thought as he took a slug of his new drink. What can it hurt?

"It's Flynn," he blurted out, only partially surprised by how quickly he gave away his secret. "He…he just never listens to me, man!"

Zuse shook his head, a frown beginning to form on his face. "He doesn't listen to you? Why, that doesn't sound like Flynn…"

Even though he knew the barkeep was about to continue, he cut him off, his voice slurred and excited at the same time, "I know! But he won't even…even hear me out, man! I mean, seriously, man, if you ever try to say like…" He hiccupped and then continued without even stopping to think about what he was saying, "Like…anything bad about Clu, he'll like…de-rezz ya, you know? Even if…if you're like right!"

That was when he felt an arm coil around his shoulders. Startled, he almost jumped out of his seat, but, instead, he turned to face the program who had dared touch him.

Clu smiled back at him. "Now why would anybody want to say anything bad about me?" he asked innocently.

2009

I

For the first time in so long, Flynn couldn't concentrate on his mediation. His mind began to wander—treading through painful memory after painful memory. One moment, he would see his son—see himself cradling him as an infant. The next, he would think back on the friends he had lost because of his…stupidity. Tron, Ram, even Clu…he had lost them all. More importantly, he had essentially lost his chance to change the world—to show everybody the error of their ways. Flynn, you old fool, he thought sadly. You thought you could achieve perfection, and that's the worst thing you could possibly do.

Sighing deeply, he got to his feet and looked around the digitized house he had called home for far too long. Even though he had created everything a man could possibly want to furnish his home, it never felt like home. No, it felt like a prison—he had lost both of his homes long ago, and he would probably never see them again.

Still, he knew this was where he belonged. If he tried to resist Clu, he would just fuel his anger and put Quorra at risk. He wasn't about to take that chance; he had stopped playing Clu's little games and that was how it was going to stay.

And, yet, he had to wonder if he was about to be sucked back into Clu's games, if everything he had worked to protect would once more be put in danger. The portal was…open. Even if he didn't want to admit it, he knew that spelled trouble.

What's Clu planning now? he wondered as he stared out over Tron City. And how the hell did the portal open?

Somehow, he already knew the answer to the second question…

II

Clu smiled at the young User, well aware of what his being there meant for him. He had never in his wildest dreams thought that Ram's message to Alan One would be answered so quickly and by Flynn's son none the less. When Flynn finds out, he thought giddily, he'll wish he never gave that stupid little actuary the ability to communicate directly with Alan.

"Dad," the User exclaimed, his smile so innocent. "Dad, I can't believe it's really you!"

"Yeah, it's me, kiddo," Clu walked over to the User and slapped him on the back. "You're big now. Wow, I must have lost track of time!"

Something about that comment must have upset the User because he gave him a dark look and scowled. Looks just like his old man, Clu thought, laughing to himself about what he was planning on doing to the naïve brat. I wonder if he'll give up as easy. "You lost track of time?" the User asked, his voice filled with pain, with anger. "You want me to believe that? That's your excuse? Dad…it's been twenty years…"

"Really it's been that long?" Clu laughed. He was just about to give up his charade but he was, in all honesty, enjoying breaking the User's heart too much to do so just yet. Besides, he needed to pump him for information, and he could only do that while pretending he was his father. "I never would've known, kiddo. Time does move faster here after all…Now, let me get a look at your disc..."

As soon as Rinzler handed him the User's disc, he activated it and looked over the User's information. Sam Flynn, he read, something about being paged. It worked too well, Clu thought triumphantly before handing Rinzler back the disc to give to the User. The game's on, Flynn.

"Dad…" the User's voice trailed off, probably stunned by Clu's nonchalance and interest in his disc and not him. "Dad, why didn't you ever come back?"

"Well, kiddo, there's a simple answer to that question," Clu grinned, ready to give up his ruse because he had already torn at the User's heartstrings and gotten all the information he wanted. "I'm not your father."

III

Clu wants me alive after all, Ram realized with a start as he watched the unsettling scene unfold before his eyes. Even though he was extremely worried about what his own future held—the guards who had dragged him up to the room were still holding him fast—he was just incapable of processing why Clu had to toy with the poor User.

Still, he had to admit he had bigger things to worry about than the User's, who was Flynn's son, he now knew, apparently fragile psyche. Sighing deeply, he kicked himself for ending up in this situation. They probably knew there was something different about him off the bat, he thought bitterly, and had me fight him to prove it.

But that didn't make any sense, and he knew it. He knew Clu and his stupid lackeys didn't have a clue there was a User in their midst, and he knew it was just by chance that he had been the one to fight him. And—what was it that Flynn had said about him all those cycles ago?—being the worthless program he was, he had walked Sam right into a trap. Things weren't going to end well…for either of them.

From underneath the black tint of his face shield, he watched Clu carefully, wondering if he had forgotten about him. Maybe I could take out the guards and run, he thought, smirking. Right…that'll end well, Ram. But would de-rezzing again really be that bad?

"Well, Ram, I've got to say," Clu turned to him—tearing him from his cynical thoughts—and laughed, "not de-rezzing you was the best decision I ever made."

"Oh really, is that so?" Ram snarled—wondering if Clu was actually being serious—as he went on the defensive yet again. "Aren't I messing with your perfect system by still being here?"

Clu just laughed, and Ram watched him, dread building within him. He laughed as if Ram had said the funniest thing he had ever heard, laughing like Flynn did when Ram first suggested that maybe Zuse wasn't really on their side. This couldn't be happening; it wasn't happening…

"I gotta give you credit, man," Clu snickered as he strode over to where he stood and slapped Ram on the back. "You turned out to be useful after all, which means there might be some hope for you yet."