Please read: Sorry about the false alarm. I had way to much left to say, so I had to split my last chapter in two. So THIS is the second to last chapter (there is one more chapter after this and then an epilogue). Anyway, I hope you're enjoying this, and thank you to the people who have been reviewing. You guys are the reason I actually am this close to finishing this lol. So enjoy and please R&R! Help me reach 50 lol ~Moore12~
Twenty Six
2009
I
It was so close too. If he could, he would run to it—it would be a fitting ending to all of his struggles. Maybe, on the other side, he'd find something that would heal his scars and make him whole again somehow. The other side, he figured, held the keys to his salvation; the salvation he thought he would never reach during all those long, painful cycles he was trapped in a place he didn't want to be, a place he once thought contained everything he ever needed.
It was so close too, and he knew everything would change for the better if he could just get there. But he couldn't because he had one more painful challenge he would have to endure before he could finally escape. And, now, even thought salvation was so tantalizingly close, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get there, and he was well aware that he might have suffered for no reason.
Staring down his creation, staring down his creator, just trying to keep himself from plunging, each was so agonizingly close to finishing what he had alone had started but was fated to fall before he could ever hope to rise again…
There was so much Flynn wanted to say when he saw the hatred on Clu's face. Yes, his creation was a monster, there was no denying that, but after a little soul searching he realized he had, in a sense, betrayed the program. He wasn't about to blame himself for the atrocities Clu committed—no, he never wanted anything like that to happen—but he understood why he had done what he had. I told him to create the perfect system, he thought gravely as he pushed Sam and Quorra towards the portal. But there's no such thing as perfection, just what people (or programs) believe is perfect…and I was so wrong when I thought perfection really could be achieved. "Clu!" he yelled over the din, hoping to buy Clu and Quorra some time and maybe, just maybe, help his program recognize his mistakes. "I'm sorry. I never wanted this to happen, and…I'm sorry you can't understand any of this because I couldn't when I created you."
There was no way Clu could reply to the self-proclaimed creator who he knew was nothing more than a frightened, pathetic old man. Even though his CPU was still reeling—trying to calculate what was so imperfect about him and his plan to bring the perfection he was tasked to deliver to the User world—he suppressed a growl and forced a smile to give the User false hope. He's so naïve, he thought as he strode towards the User, who was blocking his way to the portal and to the User and ISO. He'll think I'm listening to him, but he doesn't even make any sense.
Encouraged by his program's smile—maybe, just maybe, there was still hope for him, he wanted to believe—Flynn continued, "The thing is, Clu, there's no such thing as perfect. And I'm so sorry I created you to believe in something that…isn't real."
He had heard enough. Nothing Flynn could say would make this any better; he knew what he had to do. He was so focused on his User—he would (like all the others) cower at his feet, he reminded himself, stifling a wild laugh before it could erupt from within—he didn't even notice the ISO push Flynn's son into the portal. Even as he pushed his oh-so-wonderful creator to the ground, he realized he had a big problem that could potentially derail all of his well laid plans and prove that pitiful little viral right. Flynn didn't have a disc on his back…And, based on the fact his son was being pushed to the portal by the ISO, it appeared the User would be escaping by using the disc that was rightfully his…
"Why?" he asked in a small voice, aware that, if he didn't do something fast, his adversary would defeat him. Trying to calculate the best plan—there's no time for this, he nearly screamed—he barely heard his creator respond: "Because he's my son."
Torn between his two options, Clu froze, the logic loop he never quite escaped causing his CPU to reel once more…On an impulse, he raised his hand to strike down Flynn thinking if he couldn't get out, he'd make this glitching system perfect by destroying the one who had betrayed him even though he was his creator…
The end was in sight. He couldn't calculate the odds, but he knew they weren't good; he was damaged beyond repair and didn't have an identity disc to protect him. Even the most basic of commands were becoming difficult to carry out, and he could hardly think anymore, let alone pilot his light jet. The pain consumed him but, fueled by rage and grief, he carried on. Clu would fall—the programs would be free once again, the Users (and Quorra) safe…Blinking to clear the fog from his eyes, Ram wondered if he was too late and then something that caused what was left of his spirit to plummet…
User, no, he thought, and, with that he de-rezzed the light jet and let himself fall…
So this was it? In a sense, he knew it would be the whole time. It's about time I practice what I preach, Flynn thought wryly, preparing himself to reintegrate Clu even as his son screamed at him to come with them. This needed to be done long ago and…He didn't even get to finish his thought or attempt to absorb his program. Because, in that instant, a small, slender program plunged from the sky (a fallen angel? no…it couldn't be) and crashed into Clu, pulling the administrator down with him.
"Ram?" The name caught in Flynn's throat and when he looked down he saw it was, in fact, the little actuary. Underneath him, Clu, who was clearly rattled, was just beginning to struggle, and he knew the badly damaged program couldn't hold him for long.
When his eyes locked with Flynn's, Ram just nodded, holding back a whimper of pain the best he could. Go, he thought, but the words didn't come, and he could only hope the User understood. Just…a little…longer, he reminded himself as Clu began to struggle, as he listened to Sam scream for Flynn to get over there. Come on…Flynn…go!
"Thank you."
There was nothing more he could say—words, for the first time in so long, failed him—and there wasn't any time. With that, Flynn turned and ran to the portal, and he managed not to look back only by focusing on Sam and Quorra. Together, they stepped into the portal, securing salvation for themselves and for the world he hadn't seen in so long and had missed so much.
It's over, he tried to tell himself as his son raised the disc, as he watched Clu throw Ram's limp body to the side. But, deep down inside, he knew it wasn't and he had so much more to do…
Screaming in rage, Clu got to his feet and turned around only to be confronted with a cruel reality. The portal had gone dark. Flynn was gone. His son was gone. Even the glitching ISO was gone. Everything he had worked so hard for had been stolen from him, snatched right out from under him, and someone was going to pay. He didn't care about what was right and wrong anymore; his rage was enough to temporarily free him from the logic loop, enough to make him want to destroy the pathetic little virus that had thwarted what he was convinced were perfect plans. Without even stopping to think, he walked over to where Ram was lying on his stomach and grabbed him by the neck, hauling him to his feet.
"I should have de-rezzed you long ago," Clu growled, tightening his grip around his neck as he did, preventing any form of stabilization from happening in the process.
Still, even though he could feel his processors failing, even though he knew a fatal error was coming, Ram managed to smirk in the face of his captor and reply, "Yeah…ya should've." Pausing for a moment because of a particularly bad burst of pain—User…please…make it stop, he prayed as his entire body shuddered—he added, "That's…why ya…ain't…per-"
Before he could even finish his thought, Clu snarled and threw him towards the entrance to the portal. The impact with the ground, which would under normal circumstances not even come close to hurting him, had him shaking with pain—his processors whirring unhealthily, his circuits sparking with pain, his CPU throbbing, he let his one remaining eye slip shut. And then, he felt a booted foot come down on his neck, and he would have screamed if he was able to. Data fragmenting…a dull flicker to his circuits…a silent prayer for it to be over quickly this time…The pain was too much for him to bear, and he barely heard Clu ask, in a cruel, mocking voice, "Any last words?"
Instead of answering, Ram just smiled to himself despite his intense pain. It's over, he thought, ready to just slip away into the welcomed blackness of deresolution. You…really…did it. And, when Clu pressed down harder on his neck, he gave into the pain and stopped fighting for the first time in countless cycles…
II
As soon as his feet hit the ground, Tron unhooked the discs from his back and took in the scene. A few feet away, his master (error – Clu is the enemy) stood with his back turned to him, one foot pushing relentlessly down on a smaller program's neck. "No last words, huh?" he heard Clu ask, a snarl in his voice that had him growling in return even though the question wasn't directed at him. "Well, Ram, I expected more from you."
He couldn't stand there and let this happen, but, for some reason, he just couldn't move. Conflicting prompts issued their commands—some telling him to attack, to destroy Clu like he had promised the siren (and himself) he would, others ordering him to go to his master and see if he required his assistance—and he almost screamed for them to stop. He knew, deep down in his core, what he should do, but his functions wouldn't initiate because Rinzler still lurked inside him, preventing him from doing what was right. He could only watch, one disc raised and ready to be thrown, as Clu unhooked his disc and laughed wildly. "Goodbye, you fragging viral."
In all his cycles fighting for Clu, he had only known brutality. Even though he was ready (and all too willing) to fight for the program he had been repurposed to believe was his master, there was always something miss…always something just not right about it. That little voice trying to get through to him, trying to tell him something he couldn't grasp through all the harrowing error messages. That little voice he couldn't quite hear even after he remembered everything, remembered everything because of that little program lying helpless at Clu's feet.
He heard it now…
…I fight for the Users…
Without a second calculation, he hurled one disc—his own, not the one that Clu corrupted so long ago—at the administrator and watched as is struck him in the back, watched as it cut right through him…And, as the tyrant's pixels rained to the ground and scattered, leaving no trace of his existence, Tron knew he was free.
He wished he could relish the sensation, but there wasn't time for that. He could tell that Ram badly damaged, and he couldn't just leave him there to de-rezz. As quickly as he could, he ran over to where Ram was lying on the ground on his stomach, his dull circuits flickering rapidly. Kneeling down at his side, he realized he didn't know what he should do so he said in a weak voice because his confidence was fading fast, "Hold on, Ram."
He didn't get a response, as was expected given the little program's condition. Remembering he had a few vials of pure energy, he gently rolled Ram onto his back and, with a pang of grief and regret, he saw that the right side of his face was essentially gone; pixels were still flaking off right before his eyes. His left eye was closed, and his tongue had lolled out of his mouth…and he could tell by the way his circuits were flickering his injuries were fatal.
"Ram…" he began but his voice trailed off; he couldn't bring himself to say words of encouragement when he knew they wouldn't mean anything—no, he would never make any empty promises ever again. So, instead, he retrieved a vial from inside his jacket and, opening Ram's mouth, poured it down his throat. Watching the actuary's circuits brighten a little, Tron knew he had bought himself some time so he could calculate what he possibly could do (if anything) to help. But what could he possibly do?
And, as the rain began to fall, Tron realized he couldn't save everyone like he always thought he could before his transformation.
III
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It was raining; he knew that even though he couldn't open his eyes, knew that even though he could feel his system failing. It was raining, and he was de-rezzing, and that was all he knew.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
A shard of a memory—one of the happy ones that were few and far between—surfaced, brought on by the rain. Smiling silently to himself, he allowed himself to fall back into the memory, wanting to be happy in his last moments, figuring he deserved a little peace after everything he had been through…
There was so much to see. His neck hurt because he couldn't help but keep looking up at all the tall buildings in amazement, but he didn't care. No, he didn't have a care in the world; he was just thrilled to be alive and in a system that held such boundless opportunities. Walking back to the light runner after wandering around the city on his own for a little while, he still couldn't believe that this was really happening. Because, in many ways, it just didn't make any sense to him. When he got back to the complex, he would begin his new life as an administrator in this amazing system and, as far as he knew, he was just an actuarial program and wasn't at all qualified.
But he wasn't about to complain about it; no, he was absolutely thrilled for the opportunity to represent the programs, to give them a voice as Flynn created a system he claimed would be "perfect." Grinning to himself, he remembered being told by Tron (after Flynn confused him with his talk of being a "moral compass" and "a voice") that his directive was really quite simple: "You're basically fighting for the programs." And, if it was anything that Ram liked doing most of all, it was helping people and programs.
Drip.
What in the name of the Users was that? Looking up nervously at the sky, it happened again.
Drip.
Something was falling from the sky. They weren't pixels; they weren't even drops of energy. It was something new entirely, and, after calculating there was a 0% chance the sky was falling, he couldn't help but laugh. He knew then that living in this new system—where, apparently, there was always something new to see and learn—would be far different (and much more exciting) than living in the one he came from. Still laughing, he climbed into the light runner and took off…ready to start his new life and eager to help in any way he could…
Drip.
Drip.
The pain pulled him out of the memory, and he shuddered violently, a low whimper escaping him. He couldn't open his eyes; he couldn't move. Because he couldn't cry, the sky must be crying for him, he almost chuckled…Praying it would just end already—there was nothing left for him to do, he had completed his directive…and the pain was just unbearable—he felt a hand, heard a familiar voice tell him it would be all okay.
Even though he didn't believe him, he was happy not to be alone…and then he let the blackness overcome him, slipping away with a smirk on his face because he was finally free…