Greetings, programs! I've been a fan of Tron Legacy for a number of years now, and a recent rewatch after a good number of cycles has rekindled my appreciation for the film, so much so that I finally was compelled enough to write about it, particularly as a contemplation of what would ensue after the ending with Sam and Quorra. The packet of datum below is a series of consecutive vignettes largely in Quorra's perspective, as she adapts to a reconfigured life on earth and learns about herself and those she is among, and what it means to be human, freed of the shackles of a predetermined and frankly bleak fate.
Expect introspection, reflection, and fluff stuff, because the movie teases Sam and Quorra, and I ship them pretty hard.
Enjoy!
For the entirety of her existence, it seemed that one word resonated with all that remained of her algorithmic duration; The miracle, the end-all, be-all, as the creator would remark, his gentle gaze betraying his voice, gruff and laden with age and lingering regret. The feeling of uncertainty was potent, often prompting her to look on into the pixelated void, wondering. What is a miracle to a user, anyway? What is the significance? Quorra had asked innumerable questions in search of understanding, and Flynn had adequately answered much about the human condition. It was vexing, however, that he had very little understanding about her, other than her profoundly complex construction. He had spoken of changing the world - the outside world - with her, but for an increasing number of cycles, they simply waited in the stark contrasts of their hideout, observing the distant metropolis glittering on the horizon.
Quorra was often consumed with uncertainty. There was no formal explanation or data entry for how she came to be, just that the conditions were right, and in one particular moment, she appeared among her kind. Was that how users came to form? How Flynn came to be? According to the log of the grid's fabrication, Flynn had simply appeared one day too.
Not knowing what the future would bring beyond the present moment gnawed at her, inevitably manifesting other emotions. An ache of loneliness was persistent, as the presumed last of her kind. That was not how she wanted to be considered a miracle, but the definition seemed accurate. Being the solitary entity of a slaughtered species was tragic, and it seemed anymore that Flynn was the only figure she knew by name that she could trust. Perhaps it was fortunate, to be in league with the most powerful entity on the Grid. Flynn was the mastermind and creator of the entire realm they inhabited, and he was her savior. Protecting such a deity and herself warranted her constant vigilance toward all that lurked in the realm's eternal night, and such efforts seemed to ensure their survival thus far. Quorra had few other choices than to be a practiced combatant to ward off encountered enemies, especially considering her peaceful origin as an isomorph nearly led to her deresolution in the Purge.
Despite such concerns, everything else that the creator hadn't already explained, vaguely hinted otherwise by text in the uploaded volumes lining the hideout's shelving, all of it seemed so mysterious. So full of intrigue and possibility. There was infinite knowledge to attain and comprehend beyond what Flynn had granted her, and she knew nearly all of it was out there, elsewhere in the other world through the distant portal beyond. It was curious at times, what Flynn would not speak of, but she was aware of. Flynn was brimming with wisdom and knowledge as long as she had ever known him. It was obvious that there was more going on with their existential companionship than he let on, but Quorra had secrets of her own she kept, confiding them to the peculiar portraits of users in the books she had read cover to cover.
Were all users as profoundly powerful and wise as Flynn? Jules Verne seemed a very powerful person too, enough to fabricate fantastic worlds of his own and record the travels through them as physical text. Such a being was able to imagine settings and personalities far beyond the scope and design of the system she inhabited. Flynn was much the same, but he had designed and built objects and machines with actual form and function, as opposed to simply describing them through writing.
Were all of the users like that? She had only ever met one, so the ponder remained unanswered. Then, the abrupt entrance of another from the great beyond and his subsequent rescue, gave her the answer.
Sam Flynn, as she discovered, was powerful in a format of his own, and not like that. Instead of creating and cultivating grand designs, his forte was reckless adrenaline, through force and speed. This user seemed to be drawn to high-risk situations - uncertainties - one after another, but even with such curious behavior, Quorra found the creator's younger likeness to be a welcome distraction and fascination after each of their escapes. An unread book, different in its story and its structure, but pleasantly familiar to the creator she had spent many cycles beside. Sam Flynn himself was an uncertainty; impulsive albeit determined, and much like her, an anomaly. Perhaps this singularity, as one of a kind, as the kinship of the man who saved her, was why her coding felt so distinctly compelled to guard him. Flynn's desire for his son's safety was a guaranteed duty, certainly, but Sam was another user, a human. Understanding that human-ness she was protecting and often following became an unspoken objective of its own.
Now that she was truly out of the Grid, out of the arcade, out in that mysterious world beyond, Quorra promptly discovered that what she was told, and what she found, were not matching sets of information. Twenty years, a thousand cycles, must allow for much to change. This system had evolved like the Grid. This system went on without Flynn, and as a result, she knew very little of this place aside from basic factualities. She arrived in this world merely knowing where she came from, what she had fought through, and who she came with. She knew her mentor had made the ultimate sacrifice for their sake, and she knew there were reasons and compulsions she never had the chance to ask Flynn about. (The Miracle, for one thing.) She knew he had intended for her to venture beyond with Sam, but she also knew that there was still much to be learned about Sam as it was.
In one distinct reversal, Sam Flynn had become her protector, her escort through this great unknown. Sam Flynn was the only familiarity, in a very big and multitudinous system, and she had hardly known him prior to their arrival. That feeling of uncertainty had returned, but here it seemed less threatening. Perhaps it was the pleasantly fragrant air and odors, maybe the lack of discharges arcing across the sky, or maybe the magnificent variety of colors that adorned every surface in sight. Quorra was awed by what she could only imagine before, but she was far from certain about how she'd go about changing this world that she barely understood in the first place. Many times she wondered whether she was actually able to, if she really was as special as Flynn beheld her to be. The mere fact that she was on another plane, of flesh and blood, seemed to imply something. She was a being now, not just an algorithm. She made the jump. She was worthy, or maybe just lucky.
For all that was uncertain of her destiny, of her span of existence she now identified as life, Quorra was certain that the fond smile on Sam's face that greeted her nearly every day, was its own sort of sunrise. Just as reliably as the beautiful sun greeted her and illuminated this new world, day after day, Sam was there with her to navigate it. To understand it. To enjoy and appreciate all that comprised it. In time, her curiosity found its way back to the man himself; to the warmth and scent of his exterior, the odd dextral malleability of his hair, the squints and perks of his brow, the kindness in his heart and the laughter in his chest - All of these senses and visuals and more, became her favorite parts of his programming. The distinct inflections of his non-digital voice, patiently explaining and answering, seemed akin to a narration, like that of stories regaled by his father. Now, the task of understanding this vast world and her boundless curiosity about it all seemed like a volume-spanning quest of her own; an adventure that had merely begun, as more than just a circumstantially fortunate program. A life as a person, in charge of her own destiny and free to pursue all that interested her - And how, she found, there were a great many things of interest that one could pursue.
Life among humans, as a manifestation in their image, could be uncertain. There were things that even the world's own population didn't know. Sam Flynn easily dismissed such a thought, however. The unknowns of this world were hardly of concern to someone in command of an empire, charting his own course. He took on each day and its challenges in stride, and no other programs - people - seemed to faze him. Most importantly, her own limited understanding and innumerable queries seemed to be of little burden. He seemed proud, in fact, to have her by his side, to teach her. It didn't matter one single byte that she wasn't necessarily human, and a number of times he had vocalized that she might as well be human. They both knew the truth of her origin, but she was a person in his eyes, a beautiful one, too. Many times he assured her they were always on the same team, no matter where, no matter what, and she believed him. He had never given her a reason to doubt his word, unlike programs of her past. The Flynns were loyal and protective of her to this end. It only made sense to be loyal and protective in return. How else could a solitary isomorph survive in this great beyond, if not by the hand of those that had granted her such a privilege?
It took several weeks of watching television and observing other programs in their forays into the world, for Quorra to realize that the gentle manipulations of her dark hair by Sam's fingers, and the comforting grasp of her hands by his - singular in public and doubly in private - meant that there was sincerity behind the words he gifted to her. She hardly pried any of it out of him, preferring to savor the spontaneous rush inside her form when the normally gallant and confident Sam became hushed and bashful, limiting his vocal output as if only she was allowed to hear him. After all, there had to be something important about the things he was saying if they altered his entire composure...
"Girl, friend?"
"Yes."
"What is that?"
"That's you."
Brow quirking, as Sam's response seemed to be an answer, but also not an answer to her own query, her legs folded together, bare toes wiggling on the couch fabric.
"Is that, good?"
"If you're good with it, yes."
Rolling back in a seep of exhale, squishing into the cushion behind her neck, Quorra eyed the sleeping program - Dog - beside her knee, resting on a folded blanket.
"If that's my designation now, what do I call you?"
Peeping toward Sam, his arms folded onto the couch back beneath his chest, expression beaming with amusement from her naivety that he still seemed to be surprised by.
"Well... I'd be your boyfriend, then."
"Mm. Boy-friend. As in male?"
"Yes."
"And as the female, I'm... Girl-friend."
"Yup."
Eying Sam's teeth, peeking out from his lips with mirth, her chin rose.
"Okay."
"It's completely normal, I assure you."
"Are you telling me this because you're tired of saying my name?"
Slumping lower onto the seat with a laugh, Sam then nudged closer, bumping his shoulder into hers with a closure of proximity that nudged a smile of her own onto her cheek.
"Not at all. People call each other those words when they're with someone important. Someone that they like, and care about a lot."
"Oh."
Flitting over, looking directly at the young man that was teasingly close, enough so to feel his breath issue against her nose, her intensely blue irides broadened amid a realization.
"...That makes sense then."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. You're important to me. I care about you."
Letting her innocently released honestly linger in his mind, Sam's throat buzzed in a hum beneath his fond gaze.
"I care about you too."
"A lot?"
"A lot."
Nudging against her nose already so near, seeing her comely and otherworldly features fade from view beneath a cautious descent of eyelids, their lips formed together in a simple and soft collision, and Quorra found her mind racing and bosom aching, from the physical gesture she had only recently experienced. Somehow, that quiet little datum transfer was far more fulfilling to experience than to see, one of those things that Sam would bashfully attribute as a romantic gesture.
Quorra came to enjoy sharing these moments with Sam, eliciting the lesser-seen crimson color in his flesh (she later discovered it on her own, too), and oftentimes disrupting his composure on purpose. She learned there were right and wrong times, and right and wrong places. She learned that there was more movement with these transfers - Kissing - than met the eye. She learned that the ache of a kiss goodbye was balanced by the magic of one as a returning greeting, and that opening her eyes to the one she trusted most, at any particular point of any cycle - hour - was its own sort of magnificence.
Opening her receptors to the clashing palette of dimly colored steel, in an immediate adjustment to the ceiling of this earthly reality, Quorra shifted in a stretch of full length on the couch, contorting in a twist, and then realizing with an exhale that Sam was seated near in a chair, a thin book - magazine - open on his lap, and a canned beverage in his hand. Inspecting the sight of the idly reading male, her neck immediately warmed from his eyes meeting her with hardly a movement to suggest he had noticed.
"Have a nice nap?"
"Mmm."
Legs retracting closer, remaining prone and gazing at Sam, her vision then followed his finger's point to the coffee table, and the broad carton residing upon it, producing a distinctly savory odor.
"Got pizza."
Reaching out and prying the carton open, a partitioned disc of food greeted her receptors in a released waft, and she shoved herself upright, inspecting the consumable offering. Plucking a slice and plopping it onto a plate awaiting such a duty, she delivered the pointed end of the slice to her mouth, processing the explosion of flavor with continuous mashing, and then grinning as Sam eyed her amid a gulp of his beer.
"Good?"
"Yesh."
Sitting back on the couch, crossing her legs and lowering the plate onto her groin, Quorra then noticed Marvin's arrival, seated by the table and licking his chops.
"He already ate, don't be fooled."
Swallowing, and returning to Sam's features just across, her pizza-laden arm lowered, waiting for the returning flit of his irides to meet hers. Lately, it seemed even the simplest of moments with Sam Flynn filled her insides with an expansive ache, as if her core was preparing to detonate. The only relief was to be near him, to see him, her wide eyes studiously taking in all that he was.
Is this... Love?
Flynn had described it in the past, a short and distinct and odd little word, pertaining to feelings much broader in scope than it implied. A sacred and treasured emotion kept by those infatuated with another. It seemed accurate. She adored Sam, and she could viscerally feel something in her bosom, moreso with him near. It was nice, really, being able to define why her fair flesh would tingle and the thrum in her chest would accelerate when she thought of him, and saw him after hours on her own. Brimming with such energy about someone was just as wonderful as it was to gush about something. It took hardly any effort, and it was a treat to be so giddy, especially toward a member of the Flynn legacy.
Quorra later learned that Sam shared her same sentiment, the same tender and genuine affirmation of her significance to him. It seemed an inevitability, being in the other's presence so often. They had already established designations weeks before, and various outings on his light cycle - motor cycle - had further cemented their emotions. Even before then, the simple truth of mutual attraction throughout their digital travels had wound its strings around them. They had fought valiantly for the other's sake, and both of them kept utmost trust in the other, after all of their struggles and sacrifices. The path forward, it seemed, was to heal together, and carry on.
In time, she learned that their actions were just as able to convey emotions as words were, and that even the smallest of gestures could mean a great deal. It became a game at times, to counter Sam's stealthy kindness with operations of her own, anything to bring that sunrise smile to his cheeks. Being ever-attentive to Sam's nuanced manner of speaking, differing from characters on television, she also learned that human communication comprised a confusingly broad range of formats, and was easily misconstrued. She was certain, however, that it was just as capable of resolution, too. They could surmount any and all challenges and conflicts, just as long as they could communicate.
Communication wasn't only interpersonal, either. She had hardly considered the presence of other languages, and music. (She never forgot the ethereal experience of Sam turning on a stereo and playing a variety of music he had come to appreciate.) Mastery of these formats for humans occurred over their whole lives, and probably wasn't intended to be accomplished quickly. Mere understanding of it all, even in a general scope, was another colossal task for someone that was still trying to understand herself in the meantime.
Nevertheless, Quorra often found herself turning on Sam's stereo while he was away.
At one point, as peculiar of an experience as it was, Quorra learned that there was a purpose for the component parts nestled in her haunches. Sam assured her he was willing to help her understand her human body as often as she felt necessary. She learned that he wasn't the only one of them that benefited from such mutual labors, denuded of exterior cladding; the act was a form of communication all its own, indicative of emotion and one's state of mind. It was pleasant, fascinating, and certainly rewarding. It was a connection, an extension of romance. Intimacy. There were many pretty words tethered to it, many ways to describe it, and very few places for it to occur. For as popular as a subject as it seemed to be in public media, in practice it remained sheltered, in privacy and behind closed doors. Sam hardly spoke of it until after it had occurred, and in most cases, it began without any vocalization to initiate. His expressions tended to speak for him anyway, his gentle eyes feasting on her corporeal construction in the throes of passion. She was his, and he was hers. They couldn't be any closer in the same space, in a combinatory embrace. They were companions, comrades, a couple, plopped into the other's sphere and facing the future. They were alive, and they were together, and often times that was all that mattered.
Staring at her reflection on a smudged bathroom mirror, with one of Sam's faded short-sleeved shirts on her shoulders, Quorra turned her dark locks in her grasp, fascinated by the fact that it was increasing. Formerly static attributes were operating involuntarily and required differing forms of maintenance, but none matched the pace of expansion as this.
Turning the end of a tuft upward between her central digits, perking in attention to the noisy raising of the broad garage door, she leaned aside. Gripping the door-frame edge of the ribbed steel in a lean, alighting upon the return of Sam and his diminutive companion Marvin that promptly trotted elsewhere, she waited until Sam noticed her silent presence.
"Is it normal for hair to get longer?"
Half expecting the smile curling onto his expression as he dropped a gathering of mail onto the table in front of his couch, Sam coiled the leash around his palm and began a lackadaisical meander nearer.
"Did you just now notice it?"
"Yes."
"It is normal."
"Even for me?"
Exhaling as he leaned onto the door frame just beside, her vision lowered from the late-morning amusement on his cheeks, to the gentle approach of his fingers that brushed through her lengthening locks.
"Guess so... I like how it looks. How you look."
Blooming with elation, she clasped her fingers around his wrist, only for him to draw his hand lower and gather her palm.
"Sam."
"Quorra."
"What age would I be, in human time?"
"Your age?"
"Yes. What would you say, if you guessed?"
Mouth moving, from what was ordinarily a risky question to answer to anyone else, Sam's shoulder rose in a shrug.
"Twentyyy, eight? Maybe thirty."
"Is that old?"
"Not really."
"How do you determine that?"
"Usually by counting birthdays."
"Birth... Days?"
"Ahm, yeah. It's a thing... We celebrate."
"Ooh."
Seeing her eyes sink, her dark irides then flew back up to him after a visible consideration.
"When would my birthday be?"
"Do you know when you came into form? As an iso?"
"I don't. I just happened, and... There was no record that I ever found or knew of."
"Well... I guess your first day here on earth, would be your birthday in a sense."
"When was that?"
"A couple months ago."
"When do we celebrate it?"
"A couple months from now."
Feeding the eagerness in her voice and seen in her eyes, Sam squeezed her palm, turning toward the open door to the river beyond.
"I know how we can find out."
A later visit to Flynn's Arcade, confirmed that fateful day as April 10th.
Sam never ceased to be amused by the wonder in Quorra's eyes, as she took in detail of all that surrounded them, both grand and mundane. Everything blasé and familiar to him in the depths of the city was new and delightful to her. Her youthful fascination, meandering among denizens and vehicles navigating the footings of monolithic structures occupying entire blocks, seemed like that of a tourist. He was her guide, and her companion in more than one sense, and the light in her eyes did well to chase away the darkness of his troubled past. With Quorra, it was easy to smile. She was infectious, she was beautiful, and she was his. There was no need to hide from the world when someone so wonderful wanted to see the world.
He came to enjoy showing Quorra the places he knew, oftentimes becoming adventures of sorts. A public library one afternoon immediately became one of her favorites, and he admired her cautious plod in among the shelves spread across the muted realm, much like a bank of server towers. Looking in all directions with her distinct enamorment, her attention flitted back to Sam, hair landing on her shoulders with a toss.
"Are you coming?"
"Gonna work on dinner if that's alright. You take as long as you want."
"Okay."
"I'll be back."
"Promise?"
"Promise. Text me?"
Flitting down to the noisy object that had begun to live in the pocket of her pants, Quorra nodded in relinquishment and continued on, beginning a hunt.
Computer Science, Fiction... Ohh, my gosh, that's a lot. And there's more, and...
Grinning as she plodded further along the shelving, she revolved in circumference mid-stride.
I don't even know where to begin!
"...I gotcha, Alan. At the library right now... Yes, with Quorra. I told you she's a big reader. We'll be there by five."
Ending the call and pocketing his phone, Sam peeked through the interior of the library with opposing leans, finally spotting his girlfriend's distinctly dark and freely falling hair. Stealthily approaching her, nose deep in a novel with several more stacked around her, the chuckle that exited his chest from the sight immediately revealed his presence.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Found a few, huh?"
"I did. I've never heard of these writers, and there's still more."
Stepping closer, delicately placing his hands onto her shoulders and nudging her with his nose near her ear, she leaned into him in a returning sway.
"Mister Bradley wants to meet with me at the company office."
"Right now?"
"Soon. We'll eat there."
"Aw. I just found all of these."
"I know."
Turning into him with a pout, her hands sank onto the middle of the novel in her lap.
"You said I could take as long as I want."
"I did. The great thing about libraries is that you can borrow their books."
"You can?"
"Yup. Checkout counter, right over there."
"Oooh, okay, that's... How many can I bring?"
"As many as you can fit in your backpack."
Springing into motion out of her seat, Quorra then paused as quickly as she had started.
"Have I been there? Encom?"
"Not upstairs, and not outside of business hours."
"Is that different?"
"A bit quieter. Fewer people... You'll see."
Dragging his fingertip in a scroll along a wide tablet, with its screen also on display as a large projection in the corporate conference room, Alan Bradley then paused the movement, pressing and holding onto a paragraph of text to highlight it.
"See?"
Glancing aside as Sam turned the projector remote on the table, brow furrowed in feigned consternation, both men then glanced toward the spin of the office chair at the end of the table as Quorra revolved in place, plunking a bookmarked volume onto the table, and with another revolution, plucking a cup of tea from the giant glass surface. Realizing with a cheeky smile that she had garnered their attention, the bright-eyed and mysterious woman twisted her chair around in the opposite direction with a push of her leg, producing the only sounds in the otherwise vacant and spacious room.
"Sam."
"I see it. Are you concerned?"
"No. Slightly. Frankly, it just launched, but that's still the front end."
"Well, fire off one of those emails of yours, and I'll talk to Dillinger about fixing it, yeah?"
Blinking from Sam's conclusion, Alan reclined back in the chair with a seep of breath.
"Alright. Thanks for the sandwich, by the way."
"You bet."
Finding Quorra had now risen to her feet, glancing toward the windowed hallway behind them, the young woman drug her hand along the top of each chair in passing, descending onto Sam's head and nuzzling his hair with a comforting intake.
"Going to explore."
"Don't get lost."
Eyes closing from his unconcerned whisper, she hummed and squeezed his shoulder, continuing onward with her curiosity-driven strut. Waiting until the door had opened and closed, with her footsteps echoing into the hallway, Sam then glanced toward his chairman.
"You really found her, on the Grid?"
"She found me."
Fingers intersecting, Alan nodded from the younger male's simple affirmation, listening to the heaviness of the sigh that left Sam's lungs afterward.
"...Dad told me to take her. Bring her here to our world."
"For you?"
"For everyone... And for me."
"Ah, huh."
"She's the miracle, Alan. You wait and see."
Standing on a rooftop perch much higher, with the bright glare of the giant ENCOM sign just out of view, Quorra looked on through the mighty constructs and towers to the far reaches of the metropolitan cityscape, with its colors glossy and rough all fading beneath the descending gloom of dusk.
Sometimes, this world isn't so different... From the Grid. Maybe just this part, with all of the movement, and lights fighting the darkness.
Taking in the playful buffet of a breeze, swirling up through the prominent architecture to reach her, the reserved approach of footsteps beside garnered her attention with the slightest of turns. Then, with the arrival of opening hands landing on both sides of her waist, only for their arms to come forward and encircle her stomach in a tender squeeze, she turned into Sam's cheek, warm from his jacket and his embrace alike.
"Been thinking about a plan."
"What kind of plan?"
"Our living situation."
Lips pursing, she looked on.
"Situation...?"
"Yeah. Thinking we need to change it."
"Why?"
"I want to get us somewhere bigger."
"I like your home."
"I like it too, but you're in my life now, and... You need your space, to be yourself."
Tracing the perimeter of the railing ahead, she then followed one of the gaps in the segmented concrete.
"You don't have to change things for my sake, Sam."
"I want to. You're part of the equation, and... I've been learning the art of sharing. If that makes sense."
"It does." I think. "If you're sure that's what's best, then... Well... You know I don't have much of a choice anyway."
"Yes, actually, you do. We're going to do better than shipping containers, and I want you to be with me when we go looking."
"I'll be with you."
"We'll find somewhere better, together."
Finding his idle hands, she squeezed his knuckles, trying to imagine what even could be better.
"Your place is the first home I've had here, so... I'm just..." Uncertain, again.
"It's alright. I know it is. We'll make the next one even better, and we'll make it our own space."
Twisting aside, she eyed the stubble on his chin, vision rising along his patient and handsome features.
"Somewhere where we can see the sun rise...?"
Eyelids settling closed, knowing nearly all prospective homes provided that anyway, he chuckled.
"You got it."
Quorra realized that 'space' in human terms, was a volume of much greater quantity than programs were ever allotted, so much so that even with all their combined belongings moved and unpacked and placed, this new abode still seemed vast. Sam assured her that two bedrooms were needed, even though only one was ever occupied at night. She soon learned this meant that the spare room was able to be reconfigured to their whim, and it wasn't long until said room was laden with a computer terminal, bookshelves, and per Quorra's request, a giant bean bag seat by the window. Mere days later, the room received a coating of dark grey paint, several diode light strips were fitted in various places of the bedroom-turned-reading-nook, and Sam often found Quorra nose deep in literature, in a low-lit place of Zen made to be familiar to a world she once knew.
Looking back to her boyfriend with every noticed passage of the always-open doorway, with his Boston Terrier often sprawled by the windowsill near her feet, she simply smiled in greeting, regardless of the time of day. In most instances, it wasn't long until Sam had shed his belongings and sank beside her on the bean bag, sharing kisses and highlights of their adventures fantastic and not.
Our own space.
Seeing Marvin amble onto the squishy seat from the arrival of his owner, she eyed the curious and odorous creature, as happy to see Sam as she was. Looking on past his stubby tail through the window pane, to the shafts of light permeating a fractured overcast of clouds, her hand alighted upon the stiff white and black fur of the canine, caressing it with the same delicacy that she parted Sam's short hair with on occasion.
...Where the sun will always rise.
Listening to the wheeze of Marvin near, the rambunctious animal having found sleep much easier than herself, Quorra lay still beneath the light sheet of their bedding. With the gentle draft of a ceiling fan caressing her arms and chest, juxtaposing the warmth beneath the blanketry bundled around her rear and legs, she felt a sense of equilibrium, comfortably sunk into the squishy mass beneath and feeling nearly weightless, like that of Flynn's meditation block. Discerning a shift of Sam's hand, resting on her bare stomach from a previous embrace, she glanced tiredly toward his gentle and half-buried expression. Admiring the peace of the heat factory that was very much asleep like his pet, and then looking opposite through the shuttered windows to the dark urban silhouettes beyond, a sigh filtered from her nose.
It would have been very easy for me to not be here. So much could have gone wrong... With CLU hunting us, and everything else working against us. I must be lucky. To meet them, the Flynns. Kevin Flynn. And later... Sam Flynn.
Swallowing, she eyed the low-speed revolution of the fan blades above, letting the dark object blur in her sight.
I could have been destroyed like the others, never to know any of this. Never to know what it would mean to experience a life. Living, instead of surviving in hiding. Somehow, I became their last glimmer, their miracle, and somehow, I was worthy to take Flynn's place... And for that, for that kind of selflessness, I will be forever thankful.
Reaching down, heart beating, she gently placed her hand atop Sam's, imagining the last time she had seen the creator - her mentor - smiling toward her, proud of what she had achieved, and what she had become.
Thank you, Kevin Flynn, for granting me life, and a future. I will do my best in this world. For Sam, and for you.
Seated on a padded chair, somewhere in an upper story of a medical facility, Quorra maintained a firm hold of Sam's hand, her anchor in all of life's uncertainties, as a strange long-tipped tube sank into her upper arm with a distinct prick of piercing, drawing a tiny stream of blood into its chamber. Finding the needle withdrawing seconds later, and a bandage immediately stuck onto its place of penetration, Quorra then eyed the pair of dark shapes imprinted into her bicep's fair skin just above. Discerning the hollow hexagon and turnstile that had been tattooed beneath her shoulder, a belated birthday gift and an odd experience of its own, her vision rose higher to the blue-garmented human that had turned with her drawn blood and retreated into an adjacent room for analyzation.
"Huh."
Flitting forward to the male she kept hold of, seeing his phone lower from his ear, he then tapped his thumb on the screen several times and turned it up toward her.
"...You're popular."
"What do you mean?"
"Got a voicemail, and an email. People want to interview you."
"Inter, view, what?"
"People want to talk to you. About your health."
"Why, because I've never been ill?"
"Yup."
"Is it that weird?"
"Weird isn't the right word... Remarkable, maybe."
Reading the text on the screen, she then looked above the device to the patiently smiling human holding it.
"You're the miracle, remember?"
"I remember."
"That's why we're here."
"To see my, um, blood?"
"That, and possibly more. Once we know what's going on with you."
"Is this what your father desired?"
Eyes narrowing in a pensive furrow, lowering to the microchip on his necklace, Sam adjusted his posture, leaning closer and slackening their arms onto his knee.
"Could be. He wanted to get you out, but he didn't say what to do from there once we did."
"Well, I've been here for some time now."
Peeping up toward her with a hint of a smirk to follow, he drug this thumb along her knuckles.
"You have, and now you're going to change the world, for the better."
Adjusting her grasp, feeling his digit rise and fall between the bumps, she crossed her legs beneath.
"You'll change it with me, right?"
"Of course. Same team."
Turning away, cheekbones tinted with elation from her mentor's returning phrase, Quorra glanced aside at her tattoo once more, briefly wishing the marking would glow how it used to, but thankful to have it back all the same.
There is one thing I am certain of, after everything we've been through.
Imagining their various struggles strung along a distant digital frontier, as the mere beginning blooms of their companionship, she then closed her eyes to better see echoes of her past, only to reopen to the future directly in front of her.
I'm glad I can have this life of mine, and I'm glad that it's being shared with you.