![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Cache
Fandom: TRON
Warnings: Feels
Who: TRON
“Ram, Flynn, do you read me?!”
“Two escaped units derezzed…”
“NO!” Tron jolted up, his chest heaving heavily, the glowing blue circuitry dimming back to the soft ambient radiance. The security program placed his hands over his eyes as he drew his knees up, resting his elbows upon them. He took a shaky breath, trying to calm his electrical current.
Tron swung his legs over the edge of his bed, sitting a moment more measuring each inhale and exhale until they were even once more. He rose and walked to window, looking out over the expanse of the city. Free.
“Hey, it’s me! Flynn!”
“Flynn? You’re alive!”
“Yeah, greetings, program…”
He closed his eyes, sucking in another deep breath, holding it, before letting it out slowly. He could feel the pulse of his energy surging faster. Memories, cycles old now, replaying with vivid detail in his processor.
“Where’s Ram?”
“…He didn’t make it…”
“Neither did you…” He tried the breathing exercise once more. Deeply in, slowly out. When it failed to settle him TRON turned away from the window and paced the length of his room. It did nothing to relieve the restlessness he now felt. The program left his quarters, the three walls and one window suddenly reminding him too much of the small cramped cell he’d been imprisoned in for so long. He needed freedom. Freedom to move, freedom to think, freedom to be. The lit platform at the end of the short corridor took him to the street level of the grid road. He took out his baton, gripping it horizontally between his hands as the goldenrod lightcycle assembled around him.
-----
The lightcycle sped down the grid, making for the Input/Output Tower. As he rode down the streets of the system the only other vehicles he saw were tanks. His grip would tighten on the baton while he fought to remember that they were patrolling as a safeguard of the system now, to help ensure it remained free. A tank turned onto the street just in front of him, traveling in the opposite direction as himself. The program could feel his eyes narrowing into a hateful scowl. It was illogical, to feel hate. There was no way he could know which of the tanks had fired upon Flynn and Ram. No way to avenge his fellow program, his friend.
Tron turned his head, looking back as the tank continued on, not even slowing as it crossed paths with the security program. The Input/Output Tower grew in size as the distance between him and it was closed. Soon it was looming large and brightly just before him. However Tron didn’t slow his lightcycle. He continued onward, past it, watching it shrink into the distance once more.
He continued onward, going as fast as his cycle could. Eventually the structures of the city became sparse until they to shrank in the distance seeming to vanish as he traveled far beyond their reach. He passed the plateau where the fateful battle had taken place.
“Where’s Flynn?”
“It was incredible. He threw himself into the beam…”
Tron pushed his lightcycle harder, forcing it to accelerate still, flying down the grid. He shut his eyes, willing the memories to stop replaying. Stop reminding him.
“Come on Flynn, put a cork in it.”
“I’m what you guys call a User.”
“You gotta be good if you wanna survive.”
“…you know anyone who’s got an army for rent…”
“There’s just three of us…”
“That’s your name isn’t it?”
Tron slammed on the brakes, the lightcycle screeching to a halt. He released his hold on the baton, the bike pixelating into ones and zeros before only the baton was left. He tightly gripped it, chest heaving once more, his circuits flaring with emotion. The program looked around. There was nothing. No city looming in the distance, no raised ridges like mountains or the plateau. Just flat grid.
There was no program around to hear him scream in anguished frustration or witness him lash out in lonely misery. Tron reached back and removed the identity disc from his back, throwing it as hard and as far as he could. Over, and over, and over again, each time letting just a sliver of his anger, his sorrow, his desperation came out. Each time the disc returned the crack in his façade grew until at last it shattered. Tron fell to his knees, dropping the identity disc on the grid beside him.
When he closed his eyes again finally, finally there was silence. Just the sounds of his breathing, of his energy pulsing through his circuits. He moved off his knees, sitting on the grid and listening to the nothingness around him. He found comfort in the stillness of this place, this outland.
“Greetings, program.”
Tron’s eyes snapped open, reaching down and grabbing the disc which had laid beside him. He turned, arm raised, ready to defend himself. But the program found himself quite unable to move, eyes widened in a surprised stare. His eyes roamed over the other, standing just a bit away from him. Clothing unlike Tron had ever seen; black with illuminated strips, not so unlike his own, though far more simplistic, and a lack of a helmet. But the face, he knew that face. “Flynn…”
Flynn flashed that debonair smile and put his hands on his hips. “Long time no see.”
Fandom: TRON
Warnings: Feels
Who: TRON
“Ram, Flynn, do you read me?!”
“Two escaped units derezzed…”
“NO!” Tron jolted up, his chest heaving heavily, the glowing blue circuitry dimming back to the soft ambient radiance. The security program placed his hands over his eyes as he drew his knees up, resting his elbows upon them. He took a shaky breath, trying to calm his electrical current.
Tron swung his legs over the edge of his bed, sitting a moment more measuring each inhale and exhale until they were even once more. He rose and walked to window, looking out over the expanse of the city. Free.
“Hey, it’s me! Flynn!”
“Flynn? You’re alive!”
“Yeah, greetings, program…”
He closed his eyes, sucking in another deep breath, holding it, before letting it out slowly. He could feel the pulse of his energy surging faster. Memories, cycles old now, replaying with vivid detail in his processor.
“Where’s Ram?”
“…He didn’t make it…”
“Neither did you…” He tried the breathing exercise once more. Deeply in, slowly out. When it failed to settle him TRON turned away from the window and paced the length of his room. It did nothing to relieve the restlessness he now felt. The program left his quarters, the three walls and one window suddenly reminding him too much of the small cramped cell he’d been imprisoned in for so long. He needed freedom. Freedom to move, freedom to think, freedom to be. The lit platform at the end of the short corridor took him to the street level of the grid road. He took out his baton, gripping it horizontally between his hands as the goldenrod lightcycle assembled around him.
-----
The lightcycle sped down the grid, making for the Input/Output Tower. As he rode down the streets of the system the only other vehicles he saw were tanks. His grip would tighten on the baton while he fought to remember that they were patrolling as a safeguard of the system now, to help ensure it remained free. A tank turned onto the street just in front of him, traveling in the opposite direction as himself. The program could feel his eyes narrowing into a hateful scowl. It was illogical, to feel hate. There was no way he could know which of the tanks had fired upon Flynn and Ram. No way to avenge his fellow program, his friend.
Tron turned his head, looking back as the tank continued on, not even slowing as it crossed paths with the security program. The Input/Output Tower grew in size as the distance between him and it was closed. Soon it was looming large and brightly just before him. However Tron didn’t slow his lightcycle. He continued onward, past it, watching it shrink into the distance once more.
He continued onward, going as fast as his cycle could. Eventually the structures of the city became sparse until they to shrank in the distance seeming to vanish as he traveled far beyond their reach. He passed the plateau where the fateful battle had taken place.
“Where’s Flynn?”
“It was incredible. He threw himself into the beam…”
Tron pushed his lightcycle harder, forcing it to accelerate still, flying down the grid. He shut his eyes, willing the memories to stop replaying. Stop reminding him.
“Come on Flynn, put a cork in it.”
“I’m what you guys call a User.”
“You gotta be good if you wanna survive.”
“…you know anyone who’s got an army for rent…”
“There’s just three of us…”
“That’s your name isn’t it?”
Tron slammed on the brakes, the lightcycle screeching to a halt. He released his hold on the baton, the bike pixelating into ones and zeros before only the baton was left. He tightly gripped it, chest heaving once more, his circuits flaring with emotion. The program looked around. There was nothing. No city looming in the distance, no raised ridges like mountains or the plateau. Just flat grid.
There was no program around to hear him scream in anguished frustration or witness him lash out in lonely misery. Tron reached back and removed the identity disc from his back, throwing it as hard and as far as he could. Over, and over, and over again, each time letting just a sliver of his anger, his sorrow, his desperation came out. Each time the disc returned the crack in his façade grew until at last it shattered. Tron fell to his knees, dropping the identity disc on the grid beside him.
When he closed his eyes again finally, finally there was silence. Just the sounds of his breathing, of his energy pulsing through his circuits. He moved off his knees, sitting on the grid and listening to the nothingness around him. He found comfort in the stillness of this place, this outland.
“Greetings, program.”
Tron’s eyes snapped open, reaching down and grabbing the disc which had laid beside him. He turned, arm raised, ready to defend himself. But the program found himself quite unable to move, eyes widened in a surprised stare. His eyes roamed over the other, standing just a bit away from him. Clothing unlike Tron had ever seen; black with illuminated strips, not so unlike his own, though far more simplistic, and a lack of a helmet. But the face, he knew that face. “Flynn…”
Flynn flashed that debonair smile and put his hands on his hips. “Long time no see.”
