Hey all! Sorry it took so long to update. This week has been crazy with my vacation coming up. Anyway...hope you enjoy it and please review. (Thanks to Cyberbutterfly for all of the awesome suggestions!). I love hearing what people think (and please no flames - there are probably more typos than usual). Enjoy and R&R! ~Moore12~
Fourteen
2001
I
It wasn't supposed to be like this. For the last few years, he hadn't been as bothered by what had happened all those long, painful years ago. High school was everything high school was cracked up to be—long sleepless nights, partying, SATs, girlfriends. It was all a welcomed blur of excitement and activity that had helped him to, for awhile at least, forget.
But now, about to walk onto the stage to collect his diploma, it all came back to him. All the pain, all the anger came back to him, and he just wanted to scream. This was supposed to be his special day but it wasn't…because he had lost both of his parents and was sharing it with—how should he describe them?—two of his dad's former employees who tried to act like they were family. It was exactly how, when he was a kid still thinking his father would come home, he had imagined his graduation to be…not.
Time seemed to stand still. It almost felt like everybody's eyes were on him—he, the young heir to the Flynn fortune, he who, one day, may end up running ENCOM—but he knew, deep down inside, they weren't. Nobody really cared what became of him; nobody really knew him for him. Few saw the scars that wouldn't heal anymore, few knew that behind all the bravado was a boy who still wanted to know the secrets of his past—secrets he already knew nobody could tell him. Not Uncle Alan who tried so hard to be the father figure he never really had, not Aunt Lora who had once—he had found out through the grapevine—dated his father. His grandparents before they passed away knew as much as he did. For all he knew, his father was dead, and part of him believed his life would be easier if Uncle Alan would just admit it…
And, as he accepted his diploma, he felt the overwhelming emptiness he had been trying to hide from for years and had to wonder what the hell he was going to do.
II
How many cycles had it been? He didn't even know anymore. Ever since he had been damaged, he hadn't been put in the games. Snorting under his breath, he guessed it wasn't because Clu was merciful—stupid viral doesn't know anything about that, he thought bitterly—that it wasn't because he had felt it necessary to spare a program he hated more than any other. No, this was torture, this was all part of a plan to make him as out of practice as possible so the next match would see him de-rezz.
And, for some reason, that didn't scare him like it used to. He had de-rezzed before and it wasn't too terrible—aside from the pain and the knowledge it was all about to end. Now the knowledge all this could end was welcomed; more than anything, he wanted all of this to be over and, well, if deresolution was his only route to salvation he would take it.
Hope? How could he hope for anything when he knew that nothing but a bunch of cold circuits would he waiting for him if he ever got out? And he wouldn't get out anyway because escape was impossible. All of the times he had told his fellow conscripts that there was still hope for them he had been telling lies; he was just trying to escape what he was becoming…what Clu was slowly turning him in to…trying to maintain what was left of his spirit—which, he had to admit, was already broken—what was left of his fire.
Forget it, Ram, he told himself, allowing the hopelessness and the sadness to finally wash over him. He's already won. It's official.
That was when a guard appeared at the entrance of his cell and lowered the force field. He didn't even need to be told what to do; he rezzed his new black tinted face shield, got to his feet, and walked out willingly, well aware that old functions die hard.
III
He dreamed of his son for the first time in cycles, and the meaning wasn't lost on him. Even though he wasn't the best at tracking how many cycles had passed, part of him knew he had, once again, missed an important moment in Sam's life.
Sighing deeply, he got out of bed, well aware that he wasn't going to be able to escape this memory like he was able to escape all the others. Flynn, you old fool, he thought sadly as he walked into the main room of his house. You went chasing after perfection when you already had everything you could ever want…
As soon as he was settled on the floor—ready to meditate to escape all of his terrible thoughts—Quorra emerged from the hallway and asked, "Flynn, are you okay? I heard somebody get up, and…"
"I'm fine, Quorra," he replied after a long moment where he contemplated whether he should share his grief. "I just dreamed of Sam again."
Quorra offered him a weak, knowing smile and asked him the question he was hoping she wouldn't, "Do you think you missed something again?"
Well, you might as well say something, man, he thought as he got up again to take a seat on the couch. "Well," he said softly, still not really wanting to admit what he already knew. "I'm not 100% sure, Q, but I think I missed Sam's graduation."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Surprisingly, he did; for once, he didn't want to avoid the reality that his dream had ruined everything…
IV
He looked out over the Game Arena—one of his favorite places in the entire system, he had to admit—and couldn't hold back a triumphant laugh. He would finally be rid of the little virus that had given him so much grief by planting the seeds of resistance in other program, by not just going to his deresolution silently, by surviving for an unacceptably long amount of time. It's over, man, he thought, still grinning. This is it.
But it wasn't, and he knew he had been wrong to keep the conscript in isolation for so long. There was something far more vicious about him; even after the ISO incident, he wasn't as ruthless, wasn't as quick to de-rezz a fellow prisoner. He de-rezzed his first opponent after catching his identity disc and throwing it into the corner—he proceeded to pin the defenseless program down and de-rezz him by smashing him in the face. The next, he angled a perfect shot off the back that sliced through his head; poor program didn't even know what hit him, he thought, well aware that his plan was failing.
In the end, Ram—under the new name "Rez" because he hadn't wanted anyone to know of Rinzler's failings—was victorious. Standing in the compartment, amidst the broken pixels of the last program he slaughtered, his gaze never travelled from the floor; never once did he look up at the crowd; never once did his turn to where he was sitting, watching his every move.
Broken but still fighting, he thought as he watched the Ram with a newfound respect…and fear. You have to give him some credit. But what the hell is he fighting for?
2009
I
After excusing himself for a moment—what the glitching actuary was doing, Quorra didn't know—Ram reappeared, a small, rather triumphant smirk on his face. Even though she wanted to know what he was doing and what had taken him so long, she didn't because they didn't have time for an argument. "Let's go already," she muttered, ushering the smaller program to the "garage" (well, that was what Flynn called it).
She was about to get into the driver's side of the light runner when Ram pushed her aside, a—it couldn't possibly be—real smile on his face. "I get to drive!" he exclaimed, climbing in without offering an explanation as to why he was qualified.
"Are you glitching?" she asked, wanting to pull him out and strangle him. "This is my light runner! Flynn gave it to me…"
Quorra was about to continue but something about the way the program was looking at her made her stop. He looked unbelievably hurt and also slightly angry. But, almost immediately, the look morphed into what his usual smirk and he quipped, "Well, it was mine long before you even rezzed so yeah…I drive."
Who was this program? She had to wonder even as she climbed into the passenger's side, a position she was willing to take only because they didn't have time to squabble over who was going to drive when Sam's life was evidently in danger. She had to wonder even as Ram started the light runner and shot her a crooked, understanding smile; he knows I'm confused, she realized with a start. And he's…he's enjoying it.
Somehow, she already knew Ram wouldn't be inclined to answer any of her questions.
II
Quorra had been right; Zuse had found him. Sitting on a stool in Zuse's private lounge—listening to the program speak of forged identity discs and the like while wondering if Gem was hitting on him—Sam didn't even stop to wonder if he was truly safe there.
That was when he heard the sound of windows crashing and the sound of screaming, and he realized he had been wrong to trust the barkeep that went by Castor. Cursing under his breath, he leapt down from the lounge and into the heat of the action; he had willingly walked into a trap and he would get himself out of it.
The moment he hit the ground, he was attacked by a member of what he assumed was the Back Guard—his dad had mentioned them and said they were particularly vicious…and they were. After de-rezzing the first guard with relative ease, he found himself trying to fight off two at once…and it wasn't going well.
Sam was about to admit defeat and surrender—all he could do was hope that Clu wanted him alive—when, out of nowhere it seemed, Quorra appeared in front of him, wielding a sword that reminded him of one of the light sabers from Star Wars. "What took you so long?" he asked jokingly as she de-rezzed one of the programs that had been giving him the most grief. He couldn't say he was surprised that she didn't reply…
But, still, even with both of them fighting there were just too many of them…too many especially given he barely knew what the hell he was doing. Just as one of the Black Guard pinned Sam to the ground after shoving Quorra away—she had been taking the brunt of the abuse—Ram (where the hell did he come from? Sam had to wonder) came up behind the program and sliced through his head, a small smile on his face.
"That all you got, User?" he snickered as he turned and—casually, so very casually—de-rezzed the program that Quorra was struggling with. "Let me handle this."
III
It was almost too good to be true; his plan was coming together absolutely perfectly, as most of his plans did. Clu could already see all of his plans coming to fruition, could see himself leading his army into a new—and soon to be conquered—frontier. Sam turned out to be just as dumb as his father, he thought, a smug grin growing on his face. Probably never thought we could track the light cycle back to its previous location.
They had finally done it; they had finally located where Flynn had been hiding out—the coward that he was—for all those countless cycles. Walking into the small house—well, he's probably been living the life, Clu thought, with a smirk—he quickly scanned the premises for danger. Nodding to Rinzler to search the house, he looked around and tried to fight back the amazement he was feeling…it looked exactly how he always pictured a User home to be…
Brushing the thought off—he would not (and could not) give the coward User any recognition for his accomplishments—Clu just waited for Rinzler to return, flanked as usual by two of the Black Guard. It looks empty, he thought, wondering if he had missed his chance at finally taking Flynn down. But that doesn't make any sense…
Just as he was about to curse the Users—curse Flynn in particular for once again slipping out of his grasps—Rinzler emerged from the darkness of a nearby hallway, leading a surprisingly unresponsive Flynn by the arm.
Clu could almost feel his circuits light up at the site and—well, why not? he thought—couldn't fight back a laugh. It was over; finally over—he had won. "I'm surprised, Flynn," he managed to say though his laughter, "That you haven't put up much of a fight."
"Well," Flynn replied—what was that look on his face? sympathy? it possibly couldn't be—a sad smile on his face, "Some things aren't worth fighting for."
Snickering at the thought that this wasn't worth fighting for—because, after all, Flynn had to know as well as him that his disc held the keys to everything—Clu stalked over to where the self-pronounced "great" User was standing. He circled Flynn for a moment—allowing his latest (and most likely greatest) accomplishment wash over him—before roughly unhooking the identity disc from his back. "Not so tough are you now, eh?" he growled.
To his surprise, Flynn clearly wasn't afraid of him—there was no cowering, no fear in his eyes. Instead, he still was wearing that look on his face—that irritating pitying stare—that was enough to infuriate Clu further. He couldn't understand how he could possibly pity him when he was the most pitiable creature Clu had ever had the misfortune of meeting. When Flynn finally replied, his voice cracked slightly, "Clu, I'm sorry you don't understand the truth. Just…give me a chance to explain everything, alright?"
Explain? Explain what? His incompetence? His fear of perfection? Why he wanted to remain shackled to the altar of imperfection? No; the time for explanations had passed and now was the time for action….the time to carry out his objective and change the entire world. Grinning, he didn't answer Flynn. Turning to Rinzler, he ordered, "Take him to the light jet."
The time had come.