A/N: Soooo...I'm apologizing in advance because I don't think I'm going to be able to submit these remaining one-shots with the plan I originally had. For one thing, my personal computer still isn't cooperating with me on accessing this site. For another, it's taking longer than I expected to write each one-shot-so that's why Morrotober for me is going to turn into Morrovember. (Don't worry-it won't take the whole month of November to finish submitting these, but it will just take longer than I expected.) Anyway, I hope that this little hiccup won't take away from your enjoyment of these stories, and I can't wait to hear what you think of everything I'm going to be doing from here on out!

Without further ado, here's Story #15!

Story #15: Encrypted: Loading Complete

Ninjago/TRON crossover (AU)

writing prompt: trying new things; baffled by technology; "Please don't touch that."

Summary: When Jay, in trying to "educate" Morro on the finer points of technology, ropes the wind-child into going with him to Borg Towers for an exclusive beta test for a new VR program Cyrus Borg has created from the remnants of the Digiverse code, Morro doesn't understand how exactly technology works and ends up in several hilarious accidents with tech, including getting stuck in an automatic door, cracking the glass on Jay's cellphone, and having a panic attack in the elevator. Jay helps him out of each situation with a smile and a playful laugh at Morro's bafflement at technology—but it's no joke when the VR program is hacked and begins to malfunction. With alarms going off everywhere, Jay, in a frantic frenzy to help Morro, doesn't realize his power is sparking until a sudden anxiety-triggered power surge stemming from Jay's Lightning shuts down Borg Industries' electricity. When the emergency generator kicks on, Jay is horrified to find that Morro is now trapped in what Cyrus calls a "technological coma." Upon learning that Morro's consciousness has been intertwined with that of a flash drive labeled only "TRON," Jay breaks down and begs Cyrus to find a way to get Morro back out. Cyrus says that he will do what he can, and Jay leaves Borg Industries, more than convinced that Tasha is going to wring his neck for this. Meanwhile, Morro wakes in the digital world, is nearly captured (and derezzed) by Clu's forces, and is rescued by Beck before it is revealed that he is now an untethered program (a program whose identity is not tied, or tethered, to a code disc) encrypted into the Grid.

"You cannot be serious."

Morro had been sitting stone-faced, adamantly facing away from Jay, who was grinning like a Chesire cat at his rather unwilling companion as the car continued to approach the skyscraper marking the place where all of Ninjago's technology was made—Borg Industries. Now the windchild was so lividly steamed about where the lightning-child was dragging him off to that he couldn't help but whirl around in his seat with an indignant, kicked-puppy look on his face as he sputtered in frustration and annoyance, "You mean you roped me into coming with you to Ninjago City for this? A skyscraper?! Really?!"

"Uh-buh-buh, not just a skyscraper, Morro." Jay chided cheekily, managing to keep the car moving forward even as he turned to momentarily glance at the sulky, somberly sullen windchild. "This skyscraper just so happens to be home to Borg Industries, the secret haunt of inventive genius and renowned recluse Cyrus Borg, the inventor of the hovercar and everything else that's cool in this world!"

"Zane's cool, and he wasn't invented by Cyrus Bored." Morro protested, still sitting there with his arms grumpily crossed, glaring ice-cold daggers at Jay and his impetuousness in dragging the wind-wielder out here for something so trivial as technology—technology that Morro had no interest in whatsoever.

"That's Borg." Jay chided once again.

"Whatever." Morro huffed, blowing his flyaway emerald-green hair streak out of his hair and turning to stare gloomily out the window once more, thinking to himself, This is the dumbest idea I've ever agreed to, and I let Jay rope me into this. I always let Jay do things like this. Why do I ever let him talk me into these things?!

"Explain to me again why this VR thing is so spectacularly cool to you." Morro mumbled morosely under his breath, just loud enough for Jay to hear him.

Jay sighed heavily and explained himself once again, "It stands for virtual reality, and it's super cool for everyone! It's like entering a whole new world without needing to go anywhere! And it's so interestingly intense and vivid that it feels like you're really there!"

"Really where?"

"You'll see, you'll see."

"Okay, fine." Morro caved once again. "Just remember—one hour, and then you're taking me back. I've got plans tonight!"

"Oh, yeah…" Jay's tone changed from frustrated chilliness to mirthful playfulness as he exclaimed, "Probably plans for going out with Tasha…"

"Don't—even—think—about it." Morro threatened, his tone laced with smothered bitterness and anger at the lightning-child's nerve. Somehow, Jay never failed to attempt to tease the wind-child about his budding romantic relationship with Tasha, the one official Ninja without powers—and Morro's girlfriend.

"Okay, okay, chill." Jay muttered, his face blanching as he just barely managed to dodge a threatening swing from Morro, who was very much not happy about being here in a place where he had no choice but to interact with technology—an area of expertise that Morro, having been trapped in the Cursed Realm for years on end, had little to no experience in using whatsoever.

"Oh, cheer up, you party pooper!" Jay lightly teased the wind-child once more. "You're trying new things! This is good for you! It's getting you out of your comfort zone and keeping you from spending the rest of your life cooped up in the Dojo!"

"I do not spend my life cooped up in the Dojo!" Morro hotly protested, as the car began to pull up close to Borg Industries. "I have a life outside the Dojo, you know!"

"Dating Tasha doesn't count!"

"Does too!"

"Whatever! You agreed to come—now don't be such a big baby about it!" Jay all but shrilly shouted as he parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt. "All right, all right, now you chill." Morro mumbled, his voice muffled by stifled anger as he unbuckled his own seat belt and muttered under his breath, "I'm going to regret this."

Ever since Morro and Cole had both regained their mortality after the Day of the Departed, both former ghosts were still adjusting to being human again. One of Morro's most poignant struggles, though, was the severe lack of understanding how technology worked. And for Jay, who was easily the most tech-savvy Ninja on the team, that fact alone was enough to give him the willies. He couldn't imagine what it was like to not know how a computer or cellphone worked, let alone how to handle a joystick or type on a keyboard or play games on a tablet or browse the Internet. So when Cyrus Borg sent an email asking if two of the Ninja could come out to beta-test his new Grid VR system, created from the remnants of the Digiverse itself, Jay eagerly signed both him and Morro up for the task—though it had taken much begging and pleading and wheedling to get the wind-wielder to comply, albeit grudgingly.

Now, though, it was becoming even more evident that Morro was hopelessly inept with handling technology of any sort. First, the wind-child got his back leg stuck in the automatic doors, and poor Jay had to stop and figure out how to extract Morro from the jaws of the door without tearing him in two. Then Jay handed his cellphone to Morro for just a second, and Morro, not knowing how to hold it properly, dropped it, the impact promptly cracking the screen. The worst part was when Jay had to literally drag Morro into the elevator, right before the wind-child—who had always been over-the-top claustrophobic—had a panic attack from being in such a small space that was steadily rising farther and farther away from solid ground, wolfishly howling and wailing and banging wildly on the walls of the ascending chamber, acutely aware and frightened that there was no way to get out as the elevator went up and up and up.

But despite all the setbacks, Jay was gracious enough to help Morro out with a sympathetic smile and a gentle laugh. And soon it was looking like, perhaps, Morro was feeling calmer as well, as his petrified screams and shrieks slowly dissipated into soft, airy hiccupping coughs and he slumped wearily to the floor, gladly submitting to Jay's gentle back-pats and soothing circular stroking motions running up and down his taut shoulders and aching ribs. But the moment the elevator reached the top floor, the wind-child was once again wearing a glassy-eyed look of being bored to death with what was happening around him.

Jay sighed heavily. Getting Morro to be willing to be educated in the fine intricacies of highquality tech wasn't as easy as it had first sounded. In fact, in anything, Morro seemed to be shutting down even more than before. But Jay simply shook it off as nerves and poked Morro in the ribs as the elevator dinged and the door opened.

Morro was quick to scramble to his feet as Cyrus Borg wheeled his wheelchair forward and exclaimed, "Ah, Jay! It is so good to see you again after so long. And who is this with you?" he added compassionately, turning to face the wind-child hiding shyly behind the lightning-wielder. "A new friend of yours?"

"Sort of." Morro piped up, blushing a bit sheepishly as he shakily added, "My name's Morro, and before you ask, yes, I did try to destroy Ninjago—but I'm different now, I promise!" he exclaimed nervously at the worry-drawn look that flashed across Borg's face without warning.

But upon hearing the remorse and woe in Morro's voice, Cyrus smiled wryly yet encouragingly and answered, "Do not worry, Morro—all is forgiven. If Jay believes you to be trustworthy, then I trust his instincts. But come—we are wasting precious time simply chitchatting away! Why don't we proceed to the beta-testing station? I have it all set up for you, and I am just tickled pink with excitement to show you two what I've got!"

As Cyrus gleefully wheeled over towards his equipment setup, Jay looked at Morro questioningly, and Morro shrugged apathetically. If he was going to be subjected to monkeying around with tech that he knew absolutely nothing about, he might as well get it over with sooner rather than later. With that, Jay eagerly raced to catch up with Cyrus, while Morro plodded slowly behind, taking his own sweet time getting over to the setup, a look of rather intensified boredom mirrored all over his face as he did so.

"Now," Cyrus began, wheeling around and gesturing to the various pieces of equipment as he did so, "these computers allow me to monitor the VR system at all times to ensure that it is working properly. These intricately designed integration modules include both the seats and the headsets, which will allow the user to just sit back and relax while the VR system lets them explore the digital world. To access the Grid VR," he continued, demonstrating every step along the way, "you simply put on the headset, I'll turn on the Wi-Fi connection, and the antenna on the top will synchronize your brainwaves with the computer's code, allowing you to have a fully integrated, infused, immersive interface with the VR system! Mark my words—the Grid VR is sure to take you on a journey like none you have ever experienced before."

I'll believe it when I see it, Morro thought silently in the back of his mind. However, Jay wasn't a smidge as skeptical as the wind-child was. The whole time Cyrus had been explaining the Grid VR system and how it worked, the lightning-child's eyes had just been growing wider and wider by the moment and his face lighting up more and more with excitement and eager anticipation by the second. And now, it was beginning to look like Jay might explode with joy at any second as he cheered enthusiastically at the top of his lungs, "Su-WEET!"

By now Jay's eyes had grown so wide Morro was surprised they weren't popping out of their sockets right now. "Is there anything you can't do, Borg?!" the lightning-wielder added, literally hopping from one foot to the other out of sheer, raw, wild gleefulness.

"I do not think I will answer that question, Jay." Cyrus simply exclaimed, contemplatively folding his hands in his lap as he did so. "Now, who would like to take it for the first beta-test?" he asked—and before poor Morro could even open his mouth to protest, Jay took that as an invitation to push the wind-wielder forward and thrust Morro's right hand into the air as he shrieked, "Morro would! Morro would!"

"Wait, what?!" the wind-child exclaimed in shock, his eyes darting frantically about and his mouth hanging wide open, completely dazed and discombobulated by Jay's making him the guinea pig.

"Morro, come on!" Jay pleaded, on the verge of begging the wind-child to comply. "You've gotta try this! Please, Morro? PLEEEEEAAASSSEEE?!"

"Okay." Morro finally mumbled gloomily under his breath, sulkily hopping into the module chair and sliding the headset, which he thought looked suspiciously like an overgrown football helmet with a plastic visor rather than a face guard, onto his head. Jay then asked if he could look around for a cappuccino machine, and Cyrus gave him his permission. As soon as the lightning-child had left the room and Cyrus had turned back to his computer, Morro thought about slipping out of the chair, skulking downstairs, and heading back to the Dojo on foot—but then he thought better of it. If Jay caught him trying to sneak out the front door, Morro was positive that the lightning-wielder would simply drag him back up here and glue him to the chair until the beta test was done.

The wind-child then sat back and was surprised to find that the chair was soothingly cushy and the headset fit snugly on his head. He felt so relaxed and comfortable that he could have fallen asleep sitting up without even worrying about getting a crick in his neck or a stitch in his side. Sighing in unanticipated contentment and bliss, he leaned back in the chair—

And let out a squawk of pain when he felt some sort of hard plastic stick jabbing him in the elbow. Angry and annoyed at himself for not paying attention to his surroundings, he opened his eyes sharply and reached over to grasp the offending object and yank it out—

"Please…don't touch that!" Cyrus cried out warningly. Startled, Morro stopped, hand poised in midair as he blinked in surprise and great bewilderment. Realizing that the wind-child wasn't as apt with technology as he or Jay were, Cyrus sucked in a shaky breath and restated himself. "What I meant to say, Morro," he explained patiently, "is that you can't just yank a flash drive out of its port! You have to be very careful with such things. The circuitry of a single flash drive is very intricate, and extracting a drive the wrong way could lead to the drive being damaged beyond repair."

Morro blinked in confusion, then slowly nodded as the cogs and gears of Cyrus's technolog-ese gradually began to fit together in his mind. With that settled, Cyrus turned back to his preparation, and the wind-child leaned back in the chair again, this time watching where he rested his arms. A flicker of curiosity lit up in his mind, and he craned his head downward to see if there was any writing on the flash drive, any label or marking of indication whatsoever. All he could detect from his limited vantage point was a string of but four letters.

T—R—O—N.

TRON.

"TRON?" Morro murmured aloud, just loud enough for Cyrus to hear him. "What does TRON stand for?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I do not know, Morro. I have yet to figure out the meaning of that particular technological acronym." Cyrus replied apologetically, not looking up from his setup once. "All I know is that it's a very old flash drive—crafted well before my time. But I have had the IT department test it to see if it was compatible with our systems—and lo and behold, it was! I personally thought that it might be a good idea to begin beta testing with a program that has stood the test of time without malfunctioning, rather than trying to wing it with a new program the first time around."

"Oh." Morro answered thoughtfully, and then fell silent again as Cyrus—once again—returned to his work. For several moments, the air was filled with nothing but the rhythmic clacking of computer keys, the thrumming drone of the AC system, and Cyrus's humming to himself thoughtfully as Morro grew more and more relaxed in the cushy plushiness of the VR module chair. Surrounded by these comforting, soothing sounds, the wind-child closed his eyes, feeling his awareness slowly drifting away from him as a strangely tranquil, tender voice began calling out to him in his mind, Morro…Morro…

Unbeknownst to him, the TRON flash drive was beginning to glow with a gentle icy-blue light, its intricate programming sending out tiny thread-like beams of light, unseen and unfelt, beginning to spiral up his arm, to send their currents of coding rippling through his veins, seeping into his bones, swirling into his joints, illuminating his nerves, flooding into his core, transforming him, changing him, morphing him into something new, something intricately designed, something different, slowly but surely shifting him from a mortal into an untethered pro—

"Morro, can you please buckle the straps?" Cyrus's dim, dusky voice pierced the tender warmth and silky cocoon of drowsiness and numbness that had begun to cloak the wind-child in peaceful slumber and deep, healing sleep.

"Huh?" Morro murmured, his voice slurring a bit as he slowly stirred awake and pried open his Deepstone-weighted eyelids. His blurry vision swam bleakly and mistily, taking several seconds to warp into crystalline focus again before he detected Cyrus looking straight at him. In a flurry of panic, he felt his chest heave with fear and his body jolt forward, nearly sending him sprawling headlong to the floor as he snapped fully alert, panting and coughing raggedly from being taken by surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Morro. I didn't mean to frighten you." Cyrus exclaimed apologetically, quickly wheeling over to the dazed, discombobulated wind-child and rubbing his wrist in soothing circular motions to get him to calm down. Slowly, very slowly, Morro felt the balled-up, twisted knots in his stomach unwind and the tightness in his chest loosen up as his cramping, stiff muscles relaxed and his breathing grew deep and even again. He let his eyes fall closed for a second, then reopened them, staring remorsefully and melancholily at Cyrus, silently apologizing for his frightened fight-flight-or-freeze reaction.

"No harm done." Cyrus replied, sensing what Morro was thinking, before continuing, "What I was trying to ask you was to…you see those straps attached to your module?"

"Yes." Morro replied, taking notice for the first time that there was some sort of buckle-and-strap system on his chair, almost like the one for a child's booster seat in a car. The four straps were designed to cross over his chest and meet in the middle, buckling to each other like the four points of a compass coming together. "You want me to strap myself in, right?" the wind-child added, putting two and two together as to what he was supposed to do.

"Why, yes." Cyrus answered. "That buckle will keep you from sliding off the seat while the VR is activated. It has limited flexibility—very much like a seatbelt—and is custom-designed to keep you upright while using the Grid VR. We can't have people getting hurt while exploring the wonders of virtual reality, now can we?"

"Guess not." Morro agreed, already on the ball with taking the straps and buckling them to each other. When he was done, he gave Cyrus a shy, nervous smile and a hesitant thumbs-up to say, All set—let 'er rip…I think.

"Are you ready, Morro?" Cyrus said, smiling fondly at the wind-child. Morro gave a slight gulp and then answered shakily, "Ready as I'll…ever be."

"Then just sit back…" Cyrus answered, wheeling incredibly quickly over to his station before continuing, "brace yourself, and away we go!" As he said this last part, he grasped a big lever on the dashboard of the station and pulled it slowly down. There was a whole bunch of whirring and buzzing noises as the VR roared to life and Morro's vision changed. Within moments, it was as if he were not in the room anymore, but sitting inside a pulsing, glowing blue chamber racing with lines of 0s and 1s slowly trickling past him, humming, throbbing, thrumming with an energy unlike any he'd ever seen or felt before. It seemed to vibrate and beat with a life of its own, almost as if it was a sentient force of power and majesty…

"How are you doing in there?" Cyrus's voice filtered in through the headphones on his helmet.

"Um…" Morro's voice was shyly hesitant and uneasy, but he finally managed to stammer, "I'm okay…I think. I'm not sure…"

"Don't worry, Morro. It's perfectly natural to be nervous, especially if you're not familiar with the tech." Cyrus reassured him. Morro was about to answer that when something…very unusual happened. The chamber seemed to be…flickering, flashing, glitching erratically in and out of existence as a buzzing, staticky sparking sound began to drown out the sounds of the real world.

"Um, Borg?" the wind-child's voice quavered, his breathing beginning to grow dangerously short and sharp and strained and strangled as a strange white-cold tightness gripped his chest and began constricting his rib cage so hard he began to cough raggedly and breathlessly. He struggled to speak, but his voice kept hitching in his throat over and over again as he coughed and sputtered and hacked, suddenly finding it very difficult to draw in even a single breath. The chamber was flashing in and out even more erratically and arrhythmically than before, and he panicked as he realized the chamber seemed to be growing smaller all around him, shrinking bit by bit by bit, its wall closing in on him faster and faster by the minute.

"Borg?!" he cried out, feeling great and terrible fear growing inside of him. What if the walls should come together and crush him?! What would happen to him? Would he die? Would he be ejected from the VR? Or would he be cast back into a long sleep—just like he'd been when he was cubed in Prime Empire?!

His hands were beginning to convulse—his whole body was shaking—every nerve and every fiber in his frame was trembling and quaking with sheer, raw, wild fear. Pain was beginning to radiate through his veins, zapping into his joints, causing his muscles to cramp and stiffen, his very mind to recoil in horror at what was happening to him.

Something wasn't right.

He didn't feel well.

Something was trying to infiltrate his body—to seep into his core—to penetrate his heart—to cast his mind into a deep, dreamless slumber the likes of which he had never seen before. And it hurt. It hurt so much he could barely stand it.

Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Every puffy gasp of air that he pulled in seemed to sear his lungs to ashes. Every twitch of a finger or wiggle of a toe brought with it an agony so great he wanted to shriek like a banshee. It was as if a thousand bees were swarming him, and if he moved so much as a thumbnail, all those bees decided to sting him all at once.

Pins-and-needles were twisting into his legs. His arms were crawling with seething heat and frigid chills combining. His vision was swimming and his hearing was fogging up.

He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could barely even breathe.

Desperate, he began to thrash and writhe, to toss and turn, to wiggle and squirm even within the restraints of the seat. It took him several seconds, but he finally managed to breathe sharply and hoarsely, "I want to come out! I want to stop!"

He could faintly hear the shuffling noises of Cyrus scooting around in his wheelchair, fumbling for the lever to turn the VR system off. He heard Cyrus grasp it, and then prepared to come back out of the VR. But then his heart sank all the way to his toes when all of a sudden, there was a sharp clunk as the lever jammed and Cyrus let out a gasp of horror, exclaiming, "Oh, no! Oh, my! I seem to have lost manual control!"

"What's happening?!" Morro whimpered, his voice little more than a wolfish howling wail as he struggled to free himself from his straps.

"This is madness! My beautiful creation has been hacked! I've lost control of the Grid VR!"

"What?!" Morro rasped. But then things took a turn for the absolute worst. A burning sparking of energy lit up in his chest, sharp and poignant and agonizing, and all of a sudden, without any warning whatsoever, he curled into a tight ball, clutched frantically at his chest, opened his mouth, and let loose a raw, wounded scream.

The moment the alarms went off, Jay was so startled he dropped his very full cappuccino cup on his foot and howled in pain at the searing heat of it. Crumpling to his knees on the floor, he hunkered down into a little ball and was about to cower and cover his ears when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. The air began to hum with energy, and that's when he felt it.

The Grid VR was malfunctioning.

Someone from the outside had hacked the signal.

And Morro was still in Cyrus Borg's office—beta-testing the program.

"Morro!" Jay breathed in a choked whisper. Without a moment to lose, the lightning-child scrambled to his feet, wove frantically through a sea of customers and employees, mashed the button for the elevator, dove in as soon as the elevator door opened, and fired up his Lightning Powers to speed up the elevator's flight. He got a bit lightheaded from his ears popping, but he shook it off. Morro could be in danger and Jay was the only one who could help him!

As the elevator continued to rise, the lightning-child's mind raced with all the horrible possibilities that could have befallen the wind-child. Maybe he had been electrocuted! Maybe he was suffering from a concussion—or a panic attack—or maybe he was unconscious from a power surge! Could he have been trapped in the VR?! Was he scared?! Was he crying right now, right at this very moment?! Worse yet, was he injured?! Was he bleeding?! Was he…dead?!

Jay's mind was so filled with fear that he didn't even realize his Lightning Powers were starting to fritz and buzz and spark on his fingertips. His thoughts were so worry-stricken that he didn't sense the increase of static electricity in the air—or the intensifying hum of the elevator's controls—or the way the alarms grew steadily louder and louder.

But when he got to the top of the elevator and burst into Cyrus Borg's office, his hands flew right up to his mouth as he let out a terrified gasp.

Morro was curled into a tight little ball on the VR module chair, not just screaming, not just crying, but bawling—howling—screaming—shrieking—blubbering—wailing—caterwauling— sobbing at the top of his lungs. His body was shuddering, shaking, trembling, convulsing, jolting, quaking incessantly as he thrashed and writhed and fretted and fussed. He was clutching his chest painfully, his knees having been drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as he continued to wail and howl and sob. It was as if his very mind was splintering—his heart, being mortally wounded—his body, breaking—his core, shattering. Currents of violent, vicious blue electricity were rippling through his veins, coursing all through his frail, feeble, helpless frame. His almond-tone skin was blanching—his glassy, milky emerald-green irises were darkening to sage-green rapidly—his pupils were dilating dangerously fast—his eyes were red and puffy from hot, steamy, stinging tears pouring like twin waterfalls down his reddening, sweaty cheeks.

"MORRO!" Jay screamed at the top of his own lungs, rushing forward to help him. But then, all of a sudden, several things happened at once. Jay's Lightning Power flared—blue light exploded in a flash-bang—and then everything went completely dark and still and silent as the lightning-child collapsed languidly and listlessly to the floor and the lights in all of Borg Tower were snuffed out.

There was a click and a hum when the emergency generator kicked in and the blackout that had stricken Borg Industries receded. The Lightning Ninja groaned as he stirred awake, feeling his head spin and seeing black spots dance in front of his eyes as he shakily scrambled to his feet and stood, silently blinking, on wobbly legs for a few moments. As his wits flooded back into him, he suddenly let out a sharp gasp as he realized that the oddly unconscious Morro, his sagging form slumping downward in the Grid VR chair, wasn't moving!

"Morro!" the lightning-child screamed again, dashing over to him at the speed of his element, scrambling to unbuckle the seat restraint, and shaking him vigorously, shrilly crying, "Wake up! Morro?! Can you hear me?! Wake up! Wake up!"

Morro didn't move—didn't wake—didn't even stir. Jay could feel his eyes watering with tears, his lip quivering as he whispered, "Oh, no. Oh, no—oh, no—oh, no! You have to wake up! You just have to wake up!"

But Morro didn't respond.

"I killed him!" Jay sobbed, his voice cracking as he released Morro's unconscious body and sank hopelessly to his knees. "I killed Morro! How could I have been so stupid?! Why did I bring him here?! Why didn't I pay attention to my powers?! Why'd I let him be in here alone?! Why—"

"Morro isn't dead, Jay." Cyrus's voice broke through the fog of Jay's despair and mournful, melancholy guilt. The lightning-child looked up, blinking in shock as he took this in. Not dead? Not dead?! How could he not be dead?

"Morro isn't dead." Cyrus repeated, turning around in his wheelchair and slowly wheeling over to the unconscious wind-child. He gently touched two fingers to Morro's chin as he checked his pulse and then placed his hand on Morro's heart to feel for his heartbeat. Then he wheeled back a few feet from the shell-shocked, frightfully stunned Jay and explained, "When your powers flared up, it caused an energy surge to supercharge the Grid VR's electricity and inner workings—while Morro was still using the VR system. And it seems that…I don't know how to explain this," he stammered nervously, as he turned back to his computer and pulled up a strange page that looked like an energy scan, "but it would appear that your friend's brainwaves have intertwined with the computer system's central coding. So you see, Morro is not, in fact, departed—but he's, unfortunately, trapped within some sort of technological coma."

"'Technological coma?' What does that even mean?!" Jay was totally confused, and it was mirrored all over his face with his head cocked to one side, his furrowing eyebrows, and his squiggling line of a mouth.

"Do you recall how digitalization works, Jay—from when you and your Ninja friends were temporarily integrated into the Digiverse?"

"Well, yes. We fell asleep here and stayed asleep in the real world—but we were alert in the digital world at the same time."

"Exactly. It would appear that this artificial slumber is what has befallen your friend."

When Jay heard that, his heart sank all the way to his toes. Morro had been digitalized—and it was all his fault! He should never have brought the wind-child here. If he had known that one of his former enemies/new friends was going to wind up stuck in the digital world of the Grid VR, he would never have roped Morro into coming here! And looking at Morro's evenly rising and falling chest and listening to the deepness of his breathing only made things even more heartbreaking for the lightning-child.

"Can you get him out?!" Jay asked, clasping his hands together and turning towards Cyrus as he pleaded, "Please—you've just got to get him out! He can't stay in there! You have to get him out! You have to wake him!"

"Jay…" Cyrus tried to answer, but Jay paid him no mind as he began to ramble once again, "You've just got to wake him up! You have to get him out! You just gotta! 'Cause Tasha's going to bite my head off and howl worse than a wolfhound if you don't!" By now, Jay was clutching Cyrus's hands as if groveling for mercy, squeezing so hard poor Cyrus's knuckles were turning a ghostly pale as Jay trembled and sobbed, "Please, Borg, please! You've got to get him out! You've just got to! There has to be a way! There has to be some way to get him out of there! Oh, what if he's scared and lost and all alone and he panics and gets himself injured, or even killed?! Oh, Tasha would never forgive me! Never, ever, not in a million, trillion—"

"JAY!" Cyrus's booming voice roared, and Jay immediately blanched in utter mortification, going as silent as a statue out of sheer embarrassment before letting go of Borg's hands and withdrawing with a sheepish laugh. Cyrus sighed heavily, mentally rolling his eyes at the childishness of the Lightning Ninja, and explained with all the patience and compassionate consideration he could muster, "I will do what I can to find a way to extract Morro's consciousness from the VR's integral code, but you must understand that this will be a prolonged, delicate task. I cannot rush things like this, no matter how quickly you might want me to. If I try to draw Morro's psyche and subconscious out of the computer system without thinking things through, I could very well succeed in destroying your friend's mind—or his body.

"For now, the best I can do is have your friend placed in a zero-grav stasis pod so that he will be safe and comfortable while I research a way to separate his mental self from the computer's systems. And the first step after that will be to trace the source of the hacking virus. Without that source code, I will not be able to effectively pull Morro out without running the risk of his mind being compromised."

Jay was disappointed—but he slowly nodded in understanding. He didn't like the idea of Morro's mind being trapped in some unknown computer system—but he didn't want to hurt or even kill Morro by pushing Cyrus too hard to untangle and extract the wind-child's semiconscious from the Grid VR system. So if this was a choice between acting too quickly and harming Morro, or taking time to think this through and hopefully wake Morro from his technological coma without any hitches, the lightning-child decided he wanted to go with the latter.

Within moments, Morro was carefully moved and placed in a zero-grav stasis pod, just as Borg had said he would do. The wind-child looked so peaceful drowsily sleeping in there—but it still pained Jay's heart to see one of his best friends locked in a deep sleep, a dreamless slumber that could last indefinitely. And when Jay finally screwed up the courage to leave Morro in Borg's care, he could feel quivering chords of despair and trepidation balling into tight knots in his stomach as he pulled out his cellphone, murmuring to himself, "Oh, Tasha is going to wring my neck for this—I'm sure of it!"

Meanwhile…

Rebooting…

Rebooting…

Rebooting…

Program loading complete. Initiate integration and activation.

…

Blip, blip, blip, blip…

Morro softly stirred. His fingers twitched. His hands twinged. His toes wiggled weakly and his eyelashes fluttered rapidly as he slowly, very slowly, woke from the unexplainable spell of slumber that had been cast over him back in Borg Tower.

His eyelids felt weighed down by Deepstone as he slowly pried his eyes open and sat up, gazing in wonder and bewilderment at his surroundings. He seemed to have woken up in an alleyway of a ginormous city, but he didn't recognize where he was. And as he stood up, checking himself over for injuries, he realized that he wasn't in Ninjago City anymore.

The skyscape he was gazing up at was nothing like the skyscape back home.

Scratch that—the sky itself was nothing like the sky back home. It was a deeper, darker blue than he had ever seen in a sky—but it wasn't nighttime yet. So, why was the sky so dark to him?

On top of that, he couldn't see any trees, or birds, or any sort of life around here. There weren't even any stars out—no moon or sun, either. Everything around here seemed to be crafted merely from metal and light.

Okay…I've either hit my head really, really hard and been unconscious for hours on end—or I'm not in Ninjago anymore, he thought nervously to himself, his eyes darting all around, trying to take in everything at once. But…he hesitantly continued in his mind, if I'm not in Ninjago anymore, then…where in all the Sixteen Realms am I?

This didn't look like Prime Empire or the Underworld, and it certainly wasn't the Cursed Realm—he'd seen enough of that place that he knew it like the back of his hand, and he didn't recognize this place at all. But then…where was he? More to the point, was he even in the Sixteen Realms anymore? And if he wasn't, then how did he get here?!

His questions went unanswered when a voice boomed from behind him, "You there. Identify yourself."

Morro's shoulders stiffened. His hackles went up. Every hair on the back of his neck tingled with adrenaline, preparing him to fight—or to flee. Whirling around to face his attackers, he was startled to find that they wore strange black suits and red-visored helmets—yet they were not Red Visors, at least not the kind he knew of. Instead of blasters, the three soldiers who were approaching him had in their hands strange discs that seemed to be lighting up with some sort of pulsating energy the likes of which Morro was unfamiliar with. Realizing he was in big trouble, the wind-child began backing up little by little, occasionally risking a glance over his shoulder to see if anyone was trying to sneak up behind him.

"Now, now, fellas, c-can't we talk this through?" he ventured sheepishly, desperately fighting to keep his involuntarily quivering voice steady. "Maybe just go and chat over a cup of coffee? You guys look like you could sure use some!"

The way the soldiers kept leering at him and quickened their approach made it very clear that Morro was fighting a losing battle. He could feel his heart beginning to race, pounding frantically in his chest as his breathing grew dangerously short and sharp and shallow.

"O-okay, not coffee then. How-how about tea?" the wind-child choked out, thinking morosely to himself that he was starting to sound just like Jay while, at the same time, trying desperately not to scream as his attackers loomed closer and closer. It was clear that they weren't interested in tea, either—and it was then that Morro lost his nerve and took off, shouting behind him, "I guess you hate tea!"

The soldiers immediately gave chase, and Morro knew that this was now not just a frantic flight but a matter of life and death. In a desperate attempt to lose his pursuers in a nearby open market, he ducked and dodged his way through crowds of people, both merchants and customers—bobbing and weaving and zigzagging this way and that—trying with all his might to get away, to flee! But the soldiers just kept coming, and they were gaining on him fast!

"Please, let me through!" Morro screamed at the top of his lungs as he continued to run. "Make way! Coming through! Pardon me! Excuse me! I need to get through!" Startled men and women cried out in shock and fright as the wind-child zoomed past them, struggling with all his might not to get caught or captured by his pursuers. As he scurried and scrambled in a frantic tizzy to lose his attackers, Morro couldn't help but notice that everyone here seemed to be wearing discs on their backs similar to the ones his pursuers carried. But what were the discs for? And what did they do? More to the point, why did they have discs and he didn't? What was happening to him?!

And then all of a sudden—CRASH! Morro, lost in an aura of confusion, tripped headlong over a strange electrical staff and tumbled head-over-heels into a bin of loose metal tech parts. Before he could extract himself from the catastrophe, he felt rough hands clamping down on his shoulders, yanking him out furiously and beginning to drag him backwards as he scrambled to regain his footing and let out a raw, wildly frightened scream, "Let me go! Let me go!" His kidnapper then clamped a hand over his mouth, and Morro gagged at the stench of the soldier's glove—which had clearly not been washed in a week—as the soldier continued dragging him away. In a frantic frenzy, Morro began to thrash and writhe in the man's grip, kicking and screaming in a muffled shrieking voice, struggling desperately to tear himself out of the soldier's hold and run as far away as possible. But it was no use. The grip would not let go, and he thought he was a goner for sure!

But then all of a sudden, there was an ear-piercing clonk and the iron-hard grip released its hold, sending Morro sprawling weakly to the ground as the soldier collapsed in a heap beside him, knocked out-cold by the tip of a short metal staff. The wind-child sucked in several shaky breaths of air, panting and coughing raggedly as he gasped for breath, before finally screwing up the courage to look up at his rescuer. Craning his head around, he saw that the person he'd been saved by was a teenage boy not much older than himself. He was wearing a black suit with long electric-blue stripes on the sides, his face was shrouded by a matching black mask with a black visor, and when he bent down to ensure that the enemy was most definitely unconscious, the wind-child saw that he had a disc just like the ones that the soldiers had on his own back— but it was white instead of black.

Had Morro's jaw not been attached, it would have fallen off his face and onto the ground. Who was this guy, and what did he want with a wind-wielding former-ghost-general? As if in answer, the teen turned towards Morro and offered him a hand up, murmuring, "Come with me. It's not safe here."

Not knowing how much choice he had in the matter, Morro shyly took the hand, and the teen hoisted him up off the ground and back onto his feet. As he scrambled to regain his balance, Morro couldn't help but notice that the teen was more than two feet taller than he was and seemed to have built up a lot more muscle than the wind-wielder could ever hope to himself. The wind-child then opened his mouth to ask, who are you?—but then there came yet another shout from behind the two of them: "Hey, you! Halt!"

Letting out a squawk of panic, Morro dove behind his rescuer's legs, clutching the teen's suit protectively as a whole legion of red-visored soldiers flooded into the courtyard, surrounding both boys on all sides. Morro gulped. There was no way they were both going to get out of this one—not in one piece, that is! Burying his face in his rescuer's suit, he cowered away from the mean-looking men who probably held no qualms about wounding or even killing their prey to fulfill their mission, whimpering softly under his breath.

"That child is ours, program!" one man cried.

"We're under orders from General Tesler to take him to Clu—immediately!" another shouted.

"He wants to know what makes this one tick." a third elaborated. "He's not like the other programs—and Clu knows it well!"

A fourth voice then rang out—"It's obvious he's not an Iso—nothing about him says he's a User—and he's too fresh to be a Stray—but he has no code disc. He's a point-blank anomaly, and Tesler has given us direct orders to turn in all anomalies to Clu himself. This one will make an interesting competitor in the Games—if Clu lets him live that long."

Program? Iso? User? Stray? Code disc? Anomaly? Games? Clu?! What are they talking about?! And what do I have to do with all of this?! I don't understand what's happening!

By now, Morro's wolfish whimpers were quickly morphing into howling mewls like those of a wounded animal. His body started to quail and tremble uncontrollably, and his chest was heaving mercilessly with sobs as he felt hot, steamy tears sting his eyes and trickle mirthlessly down his cheeks. He couldn't stop crying—he was just so scared and confused and forlorn. And then, all of a sudden, he stopped crying as he felt his rescuer kneel down and right there, right in front of all the enemy soldiers, whisper gently and kindly to him, "It's okay. I'm not going to let them hurt you, young program-child."

"Give it up, program!" a soldier barked at Morro's rescuer. "He's not worth your time!"

"Yeah, well…" the wind-child's helper exclaimed as he stood up and faced the attackers, "no can do—that's kind of my job." Before Morro could even blink, his rescuer's form began to change. The black suit swiftly morphed into a white one with brightly glowing pearl-white lines and a strange insignia on the chest plate, created from four boxes all arranged in a rough T-formation, with the three-boxes-long top half of the T being longer than the one box on the lower half of the T.

The soldiers—who seemed to be less like foot-soldiers now and more like high-ranking officers—began whispering to each other, "It's the Renegade! What's he doing here? How do we capture him? We have to alert Tesler!"

"Enough!" the soldier who appeared to be the troop's leader barked out just moments later. "Renegade or not, this program is coming with us! And there's nothing you can do about it, you Tron wannabe!" he growled at Morro's rescuer, addressing him directly for the first time since he and his comrades had cornered the two.

Morro opened his mouth to ask, Why does everyone keep calling me a program? Who's the Renegade? And who's Tron? when the white-clad teen leaned down and murmured in a voice only the wind-child could hear, "When I tell you to run, run." Before Morro could even blink, the teen then stood back up again and declared, "Nice try. But you'll find that Clu isn't getting a new program today. YOUNG ONE, RUN!"

Morro, hearing his rescuer tell him to run, ran, dodging swinging discs and ducking through soldiers' legs as he went. But as he scrambled out of the soldiers' reach, he couldn't help but hear the sounds of a multi-man scuffle ensuing behind him. Ducking behind some cardboard boxes, he peeked out secretly, watching with every nerve on edge as the soldiers attacked the white-clad hero with their…what were they called?...their code discs. The hero seemed to be trying his best to dodge and lunge and thrust and flip out of harm's reach, but it was clear that he was facing too many men to deal with on his own—even though he was using not just his disc, but his short black staff as well.

One code disc nearly slashed him across the chest. Another missed the side of his neck by mere inches. Yet another hit his leg, and he almost immediately crumpled to the ground, just barely managing to jam his staff upward and strike an attacker in the groin as part of his leg began to fritz and glitch in and out of focus.

"Oh, no." the hero groaned, clutching his injured leg and hissing painfully through his teeth as he added, "Not again. Tron's going to kill me."

One of the soldiers who was less than winded by the advance saw that the teen hero was down and began staggering over to him, lifting his disc for the strike—

"NO!" Morro screamed at the top of his lungs, ignoring all common sense and charging headlong into the fray. His Wind Powers swirled all around him, selkie-silver currents of power streaming out from his hands and blowing multiple soldiers off their feet, knocking them helterskelter and willy-nilly into crates and brick walls, picking them up and flinging them cataclysmically catawampus onto the rooftops of nearby buildings. Morro just kept going, kept running, his emerald-green irises shining with a fiery silver light as he barreled forward like a catamount-torpedo of sheer speed and stamina and mighty power. Falling to his knees, he flung himself headlong onto the teen's side, trying to shield him from a fatal blow—and was stunned to find that when he touched the teen's leg, the glitching and sparking and fritzing stopped almost instantly. Pixel-like code scales reminiscent of skin cells began to form, grafting with the scarred, wounded portions of the teen's leg, and within moments the injured leg was restored to normal.

Morro blinked, stunned and dumbfounded as he scrambled off of the teen's side and let him sit up. The teen too seemed boggled, as he scratched his head in wonder and asked, "How can you do that?!"

"I don't know!" Morro admitted, but before he could ask or say another word, the teen warned him, "BEHIND YOU!" The wind-child whirled around and scurried to his feet once more as he realized that a code disc had missed slashing his back by mere inches. Struggling not to trip over the teen hero still lying on the ground, he began to retreat rapidly, ducking blows coming left and right at him, dodging the hits with his spryly fleet feet and blocking every strike that he could with his Wind Powers. But he wasn't watching where he was going and all of a sudden, he stumbled and almost fell over a deactivated electro-staff lying unattended on the ground. The soldier took the clumsy fumble as an opportunity and struck out faster than Morro could blink, striking dead center at Morro's chest.

"NO!" the hero cried out in fright as Morro flew backwards with a long, loud, banshee-howl scream. Pain raw and excruciating tore at the wind-child's chest as his own frame began to spark and fritz, glitching and flickering horridly in and out of focus as he crashed hard onto his back. Black-and-gold spots danced in front of his eyes as he continued to howl and caterwaul and wail, blubbering and bawling, screeching and shrieking like a lost, wandering spirit as he curled into a tight ball, shaking and trembling and twitching uncontrollably, waiting trepidatiously for the end to come.

And then, all of a sudden, the pain and agony and misery and anguish was gone—completely vanishing into the night. Morro's heart stopped pounding like a gong of shattering in his ribcage, and the pain in his chest dissipated into a dull ache, still slightly buzzing and vibrating uncomfortably, but having dissolved enough that he could unravel and uncurl without wanting to shriek and sob his very heart out—without feeling like he was going to explode into a thousand crystalline shards of frigid ice and fall headlong into an empty, hollow void of nothingness and instant doom.

The teen hero was scrambling to his feet and dashing over to the weak, winded wind-child, his words tripping over each other as he stammered and stuttered, "Are you okay? That was quite the blow you took! Why didn't you derezz?! I've never seen anyone who got hit that hard and didn't derezz! Are you sure you're all right? How do you feel?!"

"Augh…" Morro groaned listlessly, rolling languid eyes up at the hero-teen, as he hissed drowsily and lethargically through his teeth, "Sore…dizzy…drained…a bit winded…" Even at that moment, he could feel his alertness leeching out of him, numbness beginning to seep into his fuzzy nerves and tired joints as he grew sleepier and woozier and hazier by the second…

Suddenly, he let out a squeak of panic as the hero-teen picked him up in a fireman's carry and raced him over to a speeder-like bike. He then plopped Morro down on the seat, clambered onto the seat behind him, and took off, barely taking enough time to say, "Hold on!" before he fired up the engines and zoomed away. Morro was so startled he couldn't help but let loose a wild, exhilarated scream as the bike began to accelerate faster and faster—until the two were going so fast, everything and everyone sped by in a misty blur of motion. Exhausted and dazed, Morro slumped limply back against his rescuer's chest, as his companion decided it was safe to take his mask off and retracted the visor and helmet, revealing his face for the first time.

He had raven-black hair, kind of like Morro's, and his eyes were a deep, soulful blue with an intuitive keenness and attention to detail unlike any Morro had ever seen before. The curiosity in his gaze and the rapidness of his gestures reminded the wind-child a lot of Jay—as did the earlier nervous rambling. I guess some things never change, Morro thought to himself. But before he could ask the teen's name or where he was or why he hadn't "derezzed" as the hero had expected him to, the wind-wielder felt his eyelids drooping closed, a wave of tiredness rippling through his battered, bruised body, and his mind being gently beckoned away by the tenderly warm currents of deep, healing slumber.

"You were supposed to remain incognito, Beck! Do you realize what could have happened back there if anyone figured out your identity?! This whole uprising could have been compromised!" Tron barked at his young apprentice.

"Saving people trumps incognito, Tron!" Beck protested, feeling his cheeks flush red-hot from guilty shame and smothered anger combining. Sometimes Tron could be so hardcore, it was hard to believe he had ever cared about anyone—let alone enough to stick his neck out for Clu way back when the "perfect carbon-copy" had betrayed his creator, Kevin Flynn.

"And an untethered program?" Tron continued to question Beck. "Are you sure?"

"I've never seen anyone like him before. He took a lethal blow, yet he did not derezz." Beck explained. "And when he charged in to defend me, he regenerated my wounded leg with just a touch, and he has an influence over code-currents like I have never seen before! He has to be an untethered program—I just know it!"

Tron let out a long, wistful sigh, struggling to calm himself as he explained, "Beck…it's simply not possible for a program to be untethered. The mere idea of an untethered program is the stuff of myths and legends."

Beck just cocked his head to one side, raising one eyebrow to say, Then you try and work it out, Tron.

Tron gave him a look back to say, Don't you dare give me that impertinent look!

Case in point, Beck sent back at him, still resorting to nonverbal communication. Tron shot him a withering look at that, and Beck sulked in submissive silence as his mentor and friend let out another long, heavy sigh.

"Maybe you're right, and maybe he is an untethered program, but we still don't know for sure, Beck." Tron reprimanded firmly yet gently. "And there's only one way to find out for sure if he is truly untethered. Come. I think it's time to speak with our new charge firsthand."

"Are you sure that putting him in the healing chamber was a good idea?" Beck questioned incredulously, changing the subject in a desperate attempt to distract his mentor from his goingout-of-incognito blunder from before. "What if you need it more than he? You can't survive without it, not with the injuries you suffered in your battle against Clu."

"At this moment, this young program's life is more important than mine." Tron answered, Beck's blatant mistake seeming to be forgotten. "If that means I weaken by the end of day, then so be it."

With that, Beck fell silent, trailing softly behind his mentor as the two of them approached the healing chamber where the raven-haired program-child with the green-and-black garments and the singular emerald-green hair streak hung suspended in stasis as he slept and healed from his wounds. Tron deactivated the chamber and the program-child dropped unceremoniously to the ground, stirring slightly and letting out a soft moan before rolling onto his side, laboriously cracking open his stasis-weighted eyelids, and looking up in confusion at the two heroes standing before him. For a few seconds, he just lay there, staring blankly and distantly up at Beck and Tron, stunned bewilderment and shock written all over his face as he just stared and stared, not saying a single word to them—and making Beck feel a little uncomfortable and antsy in the process. But then, to Beck's great relief, the child sucked in a shaky breath and began to speak.

"What happened?!" he whispered wheezily, as if some weakness from his injuries still remained. "Where am I?" he added, his eyelids drooping closed intermittently, as if the mere effort to keep them open was draining him of his remaining strength and energy.

Tron shot a look of concern at Beck, and the younger of the two programs (in terms of mentality) shrugged. It was then that Beck slowly bent down and began to rub the boy's back in soothing circular motions, breathing encouragingly in the program-child's ear, "Don't worry—you're safe now. I can assure you that Clu's forces will not find you here, young one."

Slowly, very slowly, the child started opening his eyes for longer moments, until he could look Beck in the eyes without feeling as drowsy and numb as he had been before. Then the child slowly hoisted himself upward into a shaky sitting position so he could look upward at Tron. As he sat there, blinking in silence and shyness, he hugged himself tightly, shielding his chest, as if to stop embracing himself was to open himself up to destruction.

"How do you feel?" Beck softly ventured, not making any sudden movements as he continued to kneel there beside the program-child.

"Sore, but not as dizzy." the child answered, hissing slightly between his teeth as he did so and giving a slight shiver as he added, "Kinda cold, though." Indeed, Beck could see the child's body beginning to convulse and shudder with frigid chills as his teeth chattered and his chest heaved with frantic panting breaths. His eyelids were flickering closed again, and as he crawled slightly forward and slumped listlessly against Tron's leg, he looked not just fatigued but thoroughly exhausted—not to mention so snoozy and sleepy that it was miraculous that he was staying awake at all.

Beck blinked in alarmed recognition, scrambled to his feet again, and swiftly gave Tron a pleading look, silently begging him to do something to help the boy. Tron let out a short, breezy huff as if saying, Fine, just this once—and then slowly got to his own knees before enveloping the child in an awkward hug, letting his own tender warmth and gentle peace flow unhindered into the program-child's circuits, sinking deep into the child's core, coaxing his bundled data sensors to unwind and untangle, soothing his harshly cramping muscular processes into a quiet, blissful numbness and relaxation. The thrum of the child's central energy source began to settle down, growing even and steady in its tones and timbre as he grew warmer and more wakeful in Tron's arms. With a start, Beck swiftly realized that while this child had not been derezzed, he had been gravely injured by the strike to his chest and was still suffering from lingering weakness, tiredness, and soreness.

But it was then that Tron switched gears and began asking questions that a Stray wouldn't be able to answer. "Who are you, young one?" the older program asked softly and kindly, "What is your name?"

"Morro." the child answered, his voice growing clearer and stronger by the moment as he murmured, "My name is Morro."

Tron looked puzzled by the name, but he kept on going with the questions. "Where do you come from, Morro? Do you remember the name of it?"

"Ninjago." Morro answered in an instant. "I'm from a realm…called Ninjago."

Once again, Tron was confused but not shaken by the answer. "Do you remember how you got here?" he asked, not missing a beat with the searching questions.

It was then that Morro's face blanched, scrunching and twisting into odd contortions as his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed and puckered in confusion. Clearly, he was struggling to fish for a suitable answer—or was it that he couldn't remember at all?! Beck began to panic. Was Morro glitching? Was he becoming a Stray?

But his worries were somewhat abated a second later as Morro shakily answered, "I remember…alarms going off…someone dressed in blue—I think it was my friend, Jay—rushing towards me…I think he was trying to help me. There was this…horrid pain in my chest…and I was crying…and screaming…I think I was strapped in some sort of chair with a helmet…on my head…and there was just so much noise, so much…chaos…equipment sparking…and fritzing…and buzzing…and then there was just this big explosion…and then everything went as black as the midnight…"

"Do you remember what happened afterward?" Tron asked, his tone laced with worry and fretful fear. "No…" Morro moaned, his voice beginning to choke up as he sobbed, "I don't know how I got here, or what happened to me, or where I am, or how to get back, or…or…" And then he found he simply could not go on, as he buried his head into Tron's chest plate and wept his very heart out, balling Tron's suit into little knots in his tightly clenched, ghostly pale fists as he whimpered and wailed and howled and sobbed in sheer, raw anguish and agony-driven despair. His chest heaved erratically, and wetness from tears and snot combining began to soak into Tron's suit as the program-child continued to blubber and mewl from unbidden sorrow and grief.

It was then that Beck heard something. It was faint and breezy in its tones, but still as clear and clarion as the smooth surface of a frozen sea.

It was a heartbeat.

Morro's heartbeat.

But only Users had heartbeats—and Morro wasn't a User—so how could this be?

Before Beck could ask his mentor about this, Tron raised his head and mouthed at his apprentice, "He's not glitching—I've seen glitching too many times before, and this isn't it." Beck blinked in surprise—and relief. Morro wasn't glitching—sure, he was having trouble remembering things, possibly due to his injuries, but he was not in danger of becoming a Stray. All the same, it was clarion that the program-child was very much distressed and distraught from his harrowing experience—and being tormented by his uncanny confusion over where he was and what had happened to him.

It was then that Morro's sobs grew steadily louder as his sorrow and heartsickness grew even stronger and he began to whimper, "I wanna go home. I just wanna go home. But how can I get back when I don't—sniff—know how I got here?!"

"Shh, shh, shh." Tron murmured soothingly in Morro's ear, showing a tender fatherly kindness he rarely showed (even towards Beck) as he leaned forward to stroke Morro's back comfortingly and run a gentle hand through the wailing wind-child's shaggy, wispily silky raven-black locks. As he did so, he began to rock slightly back and forth on his heels, crooning tenderly, "There, there, Morro. It's all right. You're safe. It's okay. It's okay, Morro. That's it—breathe, Morro. Just breathe. Relax…and breathe."

Morro pulled slightly away from Tron, laying his chin wearily on Tron's shoulder as he repeated breathlessly in an impossibly small, strangled voice, "Breathe...just breathe. Relax and breathe." Beck raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask why Morro was reacting this way, but another wilting look from Tron silenced him in an instant.

And then Beck too felt even more sorry for the young, lost program-child. Kneeling down himself, he joined his mentor in seeking to comfort young Morro as the child continued to sniffle and sob, his breaths deepening slowly yet surely as his sobs dissolved into delicate, hiccupping coughs and his bizarre heartbeat became steady and even and strong. But then the program-child clutched his head with one hand and moaned wincingly as hot, stinging tears squeezed out of his eyes and his face began to flush crimson with searing heat and frigid, bitter cold intertwining.

"Are you okay, young one?" Beck asked, speaking for the first time since Morro had awakened from his healing slumber. "My head…my head hurts." Morro admitted before letting out a stream of hoarse, ragged coughs.

"I think you might have a virus, Morro." Tron expressed worriedly.

"No, no…" Morro protested, "my head hurts and my chest hurts, but I don't feel dizzy or lightheaded anymore. And the cold's goin' away…"

But before he could protest further, the program-child let out a very loud yawn as his body began to go limp again. His eyelids drooped woozily shut as he sagged downward in Tron's grasp, slumping listlessly and sluggishly into a heap of muscle, bone, and sinew on the floor. He managed to crack open his eyes one last time before he could fall asleep entirely, and Tron gave a short, wry laugh as he murmured, "I think you need a rest, Morro. It's been a long day for all three of us."

"Can't argue with you there." Morro mumbled, his slurry voice muffled by a fuzzy, heavy drowsiness and deep-seated tiredness. He was about to ask who his new friends were and what this universe was called exactly, but already he could feel himself falling back into a deep, healing slumber. But before the wind-child was beckoned away from the waking world entirely, he thought he heard someone saying to him in a distant, echoey voice, "Welcome to the Grid…Morro."

And that was the last thing Morro heard as he felt his alertness leave him and the new world he had been integrated—nay, encrypted—into fade slowly away into a gripping sleepiness and a deep, dark, drowsy oblivion and peace.