Here's the latest chapter. It may be the last for a little while 'cause I'm running out of ideas and motivation. Just wanted to thank the usual suspects...you guys are the only reason why this fanfic has gotten so far. Anyway, enjoy and R&R! (who knows, if you do I may think of something) ~Moore12~

Sixteen

1991

I

At least Clu is clearly in a good mood, he thought nervously as he watched the self-proclaimed "hero" of the system sit down at the bar. Rinzler—as social as ever, he almost smiled—stood a little way off, issuing his typical low growl. "What can I get for you today, Clu?" he asked, masking his fear behind his natural flamboyance; all he could do at this point was hope that Clu wasn't paying him a visit because of what he had allowed the End of Line to become.

"Well," Clu replied coldly, looking up at him with vaguely disinterested eyes, "for one thing, you could stop helping the ISOs."

Trying his best to look scandalized—all the while trying to figure what had given him away so quickly—he replied smoothly, "My dear, why on earth would I want to help those disgusting creatures? If you ask me, we're all better off without them."

Glancing over at Rinzler, Clu just nodded slightly. For a moment, he was convinced he hadn't really seen anything, that the nod was a figment of his sometimes overactive-when-nervous imagination. Besides, he thought fearfully, they wouldn't attack me with this crowd here. And then, Clu said, smiling a boyish smile at him that was so much like his User's, "I'm glad you feel that way, Zuse. So now you can do me a little favor…"

And now he's just playing with me, he thought bitterly as he forced what he knew would come out as a pained smile. "And what kind of favor are we talking about?" he asked, managing to maintain eye contact with Clu…just barely and only because he knew if he dropped his charade for a moment, Rinzler would pounce.

"You want to know what's funny?" Clu answered—a snarl to his voice that hadn't been present before—with just another question, leaving him to calculate what his real plan was, what he was really after. "I've just broken the most stubborn little viral you could ever hope to meet, and I can't seem to crack you."

Don't answer the rhetorical question, Zuse, he told himself, wondering if now was the time to back towards the exit slowly and then make a break for it. Don't let him see your fear… He wasn't at all surprised when Clu used his silence to continue, getting up out of his chair as he did to loom over him, "As for the favor I was asking of you…you should know it isn't optional. And it is imperative that it is done quickly."

His façade cracking, he only nodded numbly. He knew there was no getting out of this one; he knew if he refused, Clu would have Rinzler pounce and that would be it…he would be de-rezzed at his own club, made an example of. And if it was one thing that he really cared about it was his own survival. He put himself first in all things, his ethics and morals aside. Besides, he thought, I can always parlay this into greater influence for myself…just as I did when I agreed to help the ISOs.

"I'm glad we've reached an understanding," Clu snickered, a smile creeping across his face once more. "You see, Zuse, I have a little problem. The End of Line has become, well, a safe haven for ISOs—don't try to lie your way out of this one. But it stops. Now. And you will help me track down the last ISOs remaining, am I understood?"

"But of course, Clu," he replied; he had no choice. But, still, working for Clu couldn't be that bad. He had done it in the past and, even though he knew it was wrong, it had bought him more time…and it was arguably beneficial to have Clu has an ally rather than an enemy.

Clu just smiled and, motioning for Rinzler—and the rest of his guard (where in the name of the Users did they come from?)—the attack began…

II

He stared at the wall blankly, unable to process what he had just done, what he had allowed himself to become. He stared at the wall, the crippling pain washing over him, and knew he had been broken. It was truly over. Sighing deeply, he buried his head in his hands in an extremely futile attempt to hide from his pain, to hide from the atrocity he had just committed…

He didn't know how many micros passed, didn't know how long he stayed in that position, allowing the numbness and pain to wash over him. But, finally, something inside of him snapped. His CPU throbbing with pain—still can't figure out what the hell I just did, he thought wryly—he screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and when he finally stopped, he didn't feel any better…it was hardly the cleansing force he thought it would be.

Nails digging into the palm of his hands—he was too numb to feel the pain but it was enough to cause some pixels to flake away—he felt the silence descend upon him once more, felt its weight and its gravity…it applied greater pressure than ever before and almost felt like it could crush him. Why did I do that? he wondered bitterly, holding back another scream. What am I?

And then it hit him, and he made a vow he knew he would never break, a vow that, if he got the chance, he would make the viral that had destroyed so many innocent programs pay. Even if it caused his deresolution…

III

It was easily the most difficult decision he had ever had to make. The decision to run away, to hide, to essentially give up when he still had some fight in him, was agonizing. But it was necessary…all too necessary. The portal had closed, he would probably never see his son again, the ISOs—his gift to the world—were being massacred, Tron and Ram had most likely been de-rezzed long ago, and Clu was in complete control. The more he resisted, the stronger he seemed to get; the more adamant he became about completing his objective, the more vicious he became.

Still, he had something left to do. Something vitally important, the one thing he wouldn't allow himself to screw up. Well, Flynn, he thought sadly as he looked out over Tron City from his perch in the midst of the Outlands, you fucked everything up. But…you can still change the world…if you ever get out of here.

And, so, turning into the shadows, he knew it was time to play the waiting game. It was time to wait for Clu, for Rinzler, to slip up so he could save at least one ISO to be his gift to the world. Once that was done, there was nothing left to be done and nothing he could do. He accepted his fate…he accepted the reality he alone had created for the first time…

2009

I

"Are you glitching?" Ram snarled menacingly as he easily pushed her off of him and got to his feet. "You'll let him get away!"

Quorra just stared at the program for a moment—well aware that he was going to de-rezz Castor (or was it Zuse? she wasn't quite sure)—and blurted out the only logical thing she could think of under the circumstances, "Shouldn't we get some information out of him first?"

Turning towards where Castor was being held by Sam, a small growl escaped from Ram's throat but he didn't make another move. All I can do now is hope he doesn't do anything stupid, Quorra thought as she watched the little program closely, trying to determine what exactly was going on in that CPU of his. Finally, he just de-rezzed his face shield and offered her a small, defeated nod before turning away.

As soon as Ram had acknowledged she was correct, Castor broke in, his voice an exaggerated plea, "Oh, darling, you can't let that awful viral near me. His CPU is on the fritz, and I have information you may want…"

Before she could reply—tell him that this wasn't a game to her and she would get the information out of him even if he didn't really want her to—Ram, who had stalked across the club, pixels of de-rezzed programs crunching under his feet, shot back, "Go frag yourself!"

"Language, dear," Castor just laughed before turning his attention back to Quorra, a sly smile forming on his face. And then he continued, keeping his voice low as if the "secret" he was telling them was incredibly important, "As I was saying, darling, I have some classified information that is—shall I say?—vital for you to know…"

"Stop playing games," Sam growled angrily, a scowl forming on his face. "Just tell us what we need to know now."

"You really do have an odd taste in friends, don't you, Quorra?" Castor chuckled as he pulled away from Sam and took a few small steps towards her. Out of the corner of her eye, Quorra noticed that Ram had circled back and was watching the program intently, almost like one of the hunters she had read about in one of Flynn's books. "Well, then, I won't hold it against you…First, I have a question. Sam—that is your name right, dear?—how did you get here?"

Sam just glared at the program before replying coldly, "I took the light cycle. But you already knew that, didn't you, Zuse? Or…should I call you Castor? Either way, I know you're lying because you're the one who called those programs in!"

Shrugging exaggeratedly, Castor sighed, "Either is fine, my dear User. And the fact that I called in the Black Guard doesn't really matter right now, not when your grave mistake may end up costing you all everything you hold dear…"

Finally, Quorra got a word in edgewise. "Are you trying to say that they can use the light cycle to find out where the hideout is?" she asked, trying to conceal the panic in her voice. If that was the case—and she hoped he was just lying in order to buy himself some time, the sneaky virus—then he was right: everything would be lost if they didn't do something.

"You really are sharp, aren't you?" Castor smiled. "That's exactly right."

II

No! It couldn't be. Sam wanted to scream, wanted to beat the crap out of someone or something…preferably the stupid program that had delivered the bad news. He couldn't believe he had been so stupid, had essentially given up where his father had been hiding for all those years. Stifling a choked sob, he managed to ask necessary question that he already knew would be answered with more bad news: "Do you think they already made it there?"

"I'm sorry, kid," Ram replied softly from where he stood across the club, his eyes filled with real sadness. "There's a 100% chance they did…"

Quorra just shook her head—she won't even look at me, Sam realized with a pang—without saying a word. He wasn't surprised when Castor broke the uncomfortable silence, acting as if it didn't even exist: "Well, now that you all are no longer in need of my services, I think I should be going…"

Honestly, he was too numb, too preoccupied to have registered what the program had said because he didn't even move to stop him. Quorra took a few steps—but clearly didn't seem too interested in stopping him either. The realization that everything was on the verge of being destroyed far outweighed either of their fears about what Castor would do should he escape…

Unsurprisingly, Ram wasn't about to let him get away. Before Castor even came close to reaching the elevator, he bolted across the club and easily tackled him to the floor, causing Castor's identity disc to skitter away. For a moment, he wasn't sure what was happening, and Quorra was slow to react as well. "Ram, don't!" she finally yelled just as he was about to bring the identity disc down—he doesn't seem to care about de-rezzing programs at all, Sam thought in wonder. "We need him alive!"

"Why?" Ram spat, his circuits flashing red for a split second (or did they? I could have imagined it, Sam had to admit). "Why should we let a traitor live?"

"Ram, he could be of help," Quorra argued, clearly trying to keep her tone even despite her anger…man, she's pissed, Sam thought. But why would she be? He did try to kill me…

"No," Ram snarled viciously, shaking his head harshly. "No, he won't. And after what he did, after what he caused…"

"My dear," Castor said smoothly, clearly unperturbed by the fact Ram was about to de-rezz him, "Why do you blame me for acts that you alone committed?"

III

Ram just stared at Castor, trying desperately to calculate the meaning behind what he had just said. When it finally hit him, it was almost like taking an identity disc to the gut, and he let out a small, low whimper. Because, deep down inside, he knew Castor was right to say what he had said; he had to admit that he had been the one to de-rezz all those programs…not Castor (or Zuse, or whatever he was calling himself anymore)…not Flynn…not even Clu. Some moral compass you turned out to be, he thought wryly, allowing a small smirk to sneak onto his lips. You don't even have any morals of your own…

This has to end here, Ram told himself, fighting his own prompts that were urging his functions to de-rezz Castor. This has to end. Biting his lip a little too hard—he was too numb to feel the pain of his teeth digging into his lip—he got off of Castor…even though his functions protested.

Brushing off the sensation, he stalked away, turning his back to the enemy even though he knew better. Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll de-rezz me, he thought cynically, his smirk changing to a sad, bitter smile. Wouldn't that be nice? Knowing Castor, there's an 80% chance he'll strike when I'm not looking.

Sure enough, he heard Quorra gasp, heard Sam yelp in surprise—and, spinning around rapidly because he couldn't help himself—he saw Castor coming right at him, his identity disc raised. Without even stopping to consider everything he had just thought about, he threw his disc—striking the barkeep directly in the stomach. And, as Castor's pixels rained down, he slumped to the ground, burying his head in his hands and biting back a scream. He tried to justify his actions—he was going to de-rezz you and he deserved it for landing you in the games! his CPU screamed—but the cruel reality remained, torturing him.

A micro passed before he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up at Quorra—stay strong, man, don't let them see you're weak, he told himself—he forced a pained smirk and quipped, "Who needs him anyway? Bet he learned…"

"Ram," she said softly, cutting him off as she offered him a hand to stand up, which, to his own surprise, he took. "It's going to be okay."

And, for some reason, he believed her.