Please read: Hi, all! Here's the latest installment. It's an especially important chapter, so make sure you're paying close attention. Also, I just wanted to tell you I am officially out of flashback ideas so...if you have any burning questions you wanted to ask or issues you wanted me to resolve, now is the time to bring them up. And...please review guys. You make me so happy when you do, and I was really hoping to top 45 reviews with this. So...anyway...R&R and enjoy! Because this chapter took so long to get up, it's especially good :) ~Moore12~

Twenty Two

1985

"Why'd ya think Flynn hasn't come back?" Ram asked hesitantly without even looking up from his glass of pure energy.

Taking another slug of his own drink—he was honestly hoping his old friend wouldn't ask that question because he couldn't answer it—he replied, "I don't know, bud, alright? He's a User so he has other things he has to worry about. He'll come back when he comes back. Don't…worry about it."

The words felt hollow to him and clearly didn't make Ram feel any better because he just sighed heavily before taking a sip of his own drink. It almost felt, to him at least, that his question was still hanging in the air, sucking the joy out of everything they did. He hasn't come back since he told us his wife died, he thought, trying his best to calculate what was wrong. So…It still doesn't make any sense. That was when Ram said quietly, his voice cracking slightly, "He's not comin' back, is he?"

But that couldn't be…Just the thought that Flynn would just decide to walk away from his own creation one day was enough to make the error messages start popping up. He wouldn't just walk away without warning one day, he reassured himself. He couldn't do that…and he hasn't done that. He probably just needs—what is it that he always says?—a little alone time. I know I needed it after Yori… "Ram, he'll come back when he's ready. He's got a lot on his mind right now, and I don't think being here is the best thing for him right now…"

"…because seeing you only makes it worse."

After nastily finishing his sentence for him, Clu sat down at the bar next to Ram and wrapped his arm around the smaller program's shoulders. "But don't worry, Ramster," he said coolly, sounding way too much like Flynn for his comfort, "He'll come back…eventually."

"Clu," he cut in warningly, looking over Ram's head to glare at Flynn's program, "now isn't the time for this. We'll all talk when we get back…"

But it was too late to stop this; he saw the dangerous twist to Clu's smile. "Come on, Tron," he protested indignantly, slapping Ram's shoulder repeatedly while he did so, "It's not like it's really Ram's fault…per say. He can't help it that he was…rewritten."

Glancing from Clu back to Ram, he was relieved to see his old friend didn't look too fazed by anything Clu was saying even though, admittedly, he was. As he pulled away from Clu—a sneer forming on his face—Ram growled, "What in the name of the Users does me being rewritten have to do with any of this? Are ya glitchin' again? Got a virus?"

"I dunno, man, you tell me," Clu replied steadily, and it was clear to him he wasn't joking around anymore. "From what I overheard, you really upset Flynn…"

"Clu…" he growled, starting to get up from his seat because he figured he would end up having to pull them apart before someone got hurt soon enough. Flynn did a great job leaving us in charge, he thought miserably. We can't even coexist…

"What! You think this is my fault!" Ram snapped with an edge in his voice that had been reserved for Sark and his cronies back in the old system. "I just said I knew what it was like!"

He could only watch as Clu's eyes filled with understanding…and with anger. Looking around, he noticed that many of the programs in the club were staring at them, and he said softly, "Come on, guys, let's…"

Clearly Clu was way too focused on Ram to notice him (or any of the other programs for that matter) because he just yelled, his eyes growing colder by the micro, "That's what the problem is! You don't understand. And now you probably have Flynn thinking—if I know how his mind works, which I do—that he should've been able to save his counterpart like he saved you. Calculate the odds that happened, you glitching actuary!"

"You don't have to be an actuary to calculate those odds," Ram snickered even as his eyes betrayed how upset he really was. "There's a 0 fragin' percent chance you're right."

Picking up on how unconvinced Ram sounded, Clu went on the offensive again: "Who could blame Flynn really? Seeing you—alive and well, all because of him—must be painful, especially when he couldn't save a User who mattered more to him than you ever will. If you ask me, you're the only reason why he hasn't come back yet when our world is far better than where he comes from."

"Well…nobody asked you!" Ram snarled through gritted teeth as he lunged at Clu, sending both of their stools clattering to the ground in the process.

When he finally managed to pull Ram off Flynn's program—which took longer than expected because Ram actually struggled, clearly not wanting to let go of Clu's neck—he pushed him roughly against the bar. "Stay there!" he yelled, furious at both of them for making such a scene (it was hard, at least for him, not to notice that almost every program in the club was staring at them).

With that, he offered Clu a hand to stand up—not because he really wanted to (Clu arguably was asking for it, and he'd make sure to tell that to Ram when he talked to him about this)—he snarled, "And, you, go home." When he was met with casual indifference and a smug smile, he added forcefully, "Now!"

Before he left, Clu took one last parting shot: "He should've never brought you back! It would've saved us all so much aggravation!"

As soon as the elevator doors shut behind Clu—the club had grown eerily quiet, and it was hard for him to ignore all of the amazed stares raining down on them—Zuse emerged from behind the bar. "Nothing to see here, folks…" When that did nothing to return the club to its party atmosphere, he exclaimed, "Oh, what the heck: free drinks for everybody!"

Shooting the barkeep a grateful look as the cheer went up he grabbed the suddenly unresponsive Ram by the shoulders and led him out of the club without incident. After an awkward elevator ride that felt longer than normal, he was about to lead Ram to the light runner—I didn't have too much to drink, so I'll just drive, he thought—but the little program stopped dead, a flicker of defiance in his unusually pain filled eyes. "I'm not going back there," he said quietly.

"User, Ram, Clu was just trying to rezz you up—which he did a pretty good job of, by the way." He didn't mean to raise his voice, but he did anyway; he just couldn't believe what he was hearing and was still fairly angry at both of them for fighting in public. "What he said can't possibly be true!"

Sighing heavily, Ram replied, his voice betraying his sadness, "Tron, he's probably right. Flynn…well…I was de-rezzed. Gone. And…he brought me back. But he can't bring back his…"

"You're going to believe Clu? Ram, you know you can't listen to anything he says. He just doesn't like you because he didn't think we needed another admin, alright? So, he takes every opportunity he can to rezz you up, to make you look like you're glitching in front of other programs. This isn't about Flynn. It's only about Clu."

"Clu's Flynn's own program," Ram muttered sorely when he finished his speech, clearly not understanding what he had been trying to say. "He knows him better than ya do."

Maybe that was true. He didn't know, and he certainly couldn't calculate where Ram was coming up with all of these ideas. Catching himself wondering about the User world again—programs aren't meant to know everything about them, that's just how it is—he sighed. "Come on, bud, are we even talking about the same program anymore? Clu just thinks he knows more than us because Flynn wrote him, but, seriously, what does he know? Did he survive on the Game Grid for all those cycles? Did he help Flynn take down the MCP?"

That earned him a small, though hesitant, smile from Ram. So, he decided to continue even though part of him knew he shouldn't. "Clu doesn't know anything! He just likes to think he's better than us, and being Flynn's program just fuels his ego. And he doesn't like you because, in a sense, you're Flynn's program too because he…" he stopped when he realized he was about to remind Ram of what Clu had attacked him over in the first place.

He could only watch helplessly as Ram's eyes darkened again. Sighing again, he forced a smile and said unconvincingly, "Yeah, you're right. And, besides, he'll come back…right?"

"Of course he will," he replied forcefully because…if it was one thing he was certain of anymore, it was that.

2009

There was nowhere to run. They'd have to stand and fight, and he was more than willing to. If this was going to be his last stand—which he calculated there was a 95% chance it would be—he would go out with a bang. Unhooking his borrowed identity disc from his back and rezzing his black tinted face shield, Ram gave Sam and Quorra—who also were preparing themselves for the fight as the guards closed in around them—a nod. First chance they get, they better get outta here like I told them to, he thought as he quickly calculated what the best plan of attack would be. Alright…let's go.

Without giving any warning—the guards probably thought we'd go quietly, like that would happen, he thought dryly—Ram attacked the nearest guard, slashing at him with his identity disc. The guard blocked each of his blows but then, when he saw another guard about to attack him, he deftly spun, kicking the attacking guard's legs out from under him and sending him tumbling into the other guard. While they were disoriented, he quickly cut through them both before turning to face down the next guard.

User, there's too many of them, he thought, beginning to grow frantic even as he de-rezzed the guard after knocking his identity disc from his hand. In a relative moment of calm, he glanced over to check on Sam and Quorra. Quorra was more than holding her own—he had to admit, he was impressed by what he saw, especially when she managed grab one guard by the arm and throw him to the ground with ease. Sam was doing alright…maybe they would make it out alive after all…

Seeing a disc flying towards him tore him instantly from his thoughts, and he easily blocked it, deflecting it right into an enemy guard. That'll teach you to throw a disc in close combat, he almost laughed in spite of himself. User, they don't make programs like they used to…

But then, the tide of the battle turned. It was becoming harder to fight off the guards, they just coming and it was growing harder for his functions to initiate his commands. User…I need a recharge, he thought miserably as he bravely turned to face down two more guards. How many of these virals are there, anyway?

Still, he had a few tricks he had picked up from the countless battles he had fought in his life—back in the old system, you had to fight most of the time without getting to recharge, he reminded himself—and he figured it was time to use them; if he wanted to make sure the User and Quorra lived to see another cycle, he had to try. Even if it saw him de-rezzed…Taking a few steps away to remain out of range, he saw there were only seven guards left standing…I can take them, he thought…Aw, who are you trying to fool, Ram? You've got a 0% chance of walking outta here alive.

"Go!" he managed to choke out, hoping they would understand what he was telling them to do, hoping they would remember his one rule. If I can distract them all, they can get out of here…get to Flynn, he told himself, trying to force his smirk, well aware what would happen to him in only a few micros.

Quorra, who was fighting nearby, clearly heard him because she defiantly yelled "no" as she de-rezzed another guard. But he wasn't about to listen to her, wasn't about to let her sacrifice herself for what? For him? I can't let them get hurt, he thought, the sadness being replaced completely with resolve. And then…he was finally ready. Holding up his disc, a defiant smirk forming on his face, he shouted, "Hey, ya glitchin' virals! I got the disc!"

Almost immediately all eyes were on him—even Sam and Quorra, who looked stunned that he had given himself up so easily, were staring at him instead of running like they should be. So, still smirking, he continued, preparing himself to run like he had never ran before, "And…if ya want it…ya have to come an' get it!"

As he ran, glancing over his shoulder to see that he had tricked four of the guards into following him (Quorra will make quick work of those other two, he told himself), he decided not to think about what was happening. There were so many better things to think about while he still had time…Smiling to himself, even though part of him remained aware the guards were gaining on him, it was almost like he was back in his original system…before the MCP came and changed his life forever…just a regular actuarial program, helping Users plan for their future needs…living without drama, without fighting…

But then again…so, so many cycles had passed since those days, and he couldn't really remember what that life was like. Most of what he remembered was fighting…so why wasn't he fighting now? Smirking—based on the footsteps hammering in his ears, the guards were almost there—he swerved, identity disc at the ready, only to be met by one of the guard's fits because he had misjudged the distance between them.

Stumbling backward and dropping the disc, he still managed to stay on his feet. CPU pounding, he tried frantically to collect himself only to be punched again right in the face, this time even harder…User, I wish I had been designed to be able to take a few hits, he thought, chuckling silently to himself even though he was well aware he was staring deresolution right in the face. His vision foggy, his processors whirring in pain, he was somehow able to kick out the guard's legs, sending him crashing to the floor; his small triumph was short lived because he saw a fist coming right at his face.

His prompts screamed for him to move, to do something—anything—to escape, but he couldn't: his functions just wouldn't initiate their commands. And, when the fist struck him, rattling him to his very core, he slumped to the ground, the world slowly fading into welcomed blackness…