Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One random day in 2015, Alan found a package at his front door he did not expect. Of course, things like that happened from time to time. A group of neighboring elderly housewives had banded together to raise the local morale. Around the holidays, people would come out to find hand-knitted and crocheted clothing, cookies, or other home-made gifts left on their porches. Families with children found age-appropriate toys. A new family found expensive college text books for their twin daughters who were going into medical school the following semester. Where there was a need or, perhaps, just a want, something useful was left annonymously. Once, Lora even tried finding finger prints for the hell of it. The givers were smart, though, and wore gloves.

So, when Alan stepped out to drink his morning coffee on the front porch swing as the sun came up, he looked down at the paper and plastic covered package with a smile and a shake of his head. He knew at least one of the old ladies now. Lora had accepted an invitation to join them the previous year, but they still included the Baines-Bradley household in the gift giving just the same as everyone else.

Setting his coffee mug down on the glass table near the swing, Alan crouched down to pick up the package, his knees popping just before his hips and lower back did. He really needed to get a table just for the gifts so there would be no more crouching. Usually, the ladies left the gifts in the mail box or on the existing furniture. It was highly possible they'd employed some of their grandkids to do the deliveries this time.

Still half-hunched over from stiff joints and tight muscles, Alan backed up and settled onto the swing, turning the package over in his hands. On the other side, he found that it was directly addressed to him, though he didn't recognize the handwriting. All he really could tell from it was that the person who wrote on it was left handed, probably a man. He knew that because he'd gotten interested in learning all the quirks about hand-dominance traits in people when he was in his twenties. After years of being pushed to use his right hand in school, he had went through a full on rebellion against the steriotypes and myths about left-handed people and reclaimed it for himself. In the process, he ended up studying the handwriting of just about everybody he knew, something he still did without thinking most days.

So, this thin, over protected package, was left here with no return address, post-marked out of Ohio, and sent by a left-handed man. That could be anybody. Keeping in mind the recent scares Sam and the Programs had had now and then over the years, Alan did the one thing he knew he probably shouldn't.

He shook it.

Roy wouldn't be told about that later.

Nothing inside seemed to move even the slightest. He may have been 65 years old, but he could still feel the slightest tremble, bump, or rough edge on anything. Trusting that it was safe to open, Alan worked a fingernail under the edge of the clear packaging tape. It was pretty sturdy, so he just gave up and ripped into it. Inside was a paper-back book, white with a gray scale picture of a ground satelite dish and the title “The PROX Transmissions” in red and black at the top. Underneath was a second envelope. Written on it was “Read me first” in that same left-handed scrawl.

Alan looked back at the book, squinting at the fine print below the title. Ignorance : Slavery :: Knowledge : Freedom. He couldn't agree more. But, what was this about? The top of the book gave him some insight that caused him to chuckle a little.

“Starset Society, huh?” Alan shook his head again, setting the book aside to open up the envelope as it instructed.

He'd play along for now. Sam had a lot of interesting friends, Programs included. This was at least a person Alan could call up if he wanted to. Mr. Bates was definitely a man of many talents, and he stretched himself thin between all of them... A lot like Sam these days. It was no wonder they hit it off, and, every time the band was in the area, Bates paid ENCOM a visit with a handful of show tickets.

No, not show, Alan corrected himself with another smirk. Not even concert. Demonstration.

The one and only time Alan got roped into going, he wasn't too fond of the music. The message of the whole thing, though, that got to him a bit. There was no denying the double layered meanings of practically every song's lyrics. Some of them, he suspected, had even more meanings he just couldn't grasp. He'd made the mistake of saying so directly to one of the band members, the blond guy, Ron. So, logically, this probably would provide some answers.

Opening the letter, Alan began to read;

Mr. Bradley,

I know you're a busy man, but it is important to make time for reading something other than business reports, invoices, and project proposals now and then. I find my time while out on the road, to step into other worlds and escape the pressure. I hope you can do the same with this.

But, I hope you understand, this is not just about entertainment or taking a break from reality for a while to wind down. There is a serious message within this book. Take heed, because it's a warning that applies directly to something you have within your reach. I hope you choose the right path in all of this.

-Dustin

Well, that was just damn cryptic.

Smirk gone from his face, Alan checked his watch before taking another look at the book. It wasn't very large, but it was more than he could probably read in the two hours before he had to leave for ENCOM with Lora.

Today was the day they and Sam were going to go to the board with the truth of what had happened to Flynn. Lora had a demonstration ready with her newest laser model to prove it. Of course, they wouldn't be producing anything sentient like had already been done with Quorra, then Tron, and then Beck.

No, it would be something simpler.

Lora was going to have Dillinger write his name on a piece of paper, scan it in, and then have the new model spit it back out ten times over. People weren't ready to know that Programs were sentient creatures just yet. But, solid state objects, that would be acceptable.

They were going to propose limited production of the technology. Anything could be fed into the matrix and reproduced with enough energy.

This was going to change the world.

But, they had to make sure it stayed under ENCOM control.

Chapter Text

“Alan… Alan!”

He jumped a little when she smacked his shoulder with her fingertips. Gripping the book in his hands a little tighter and leaning away, his wide eyes found her amused ones practically laughing at him. “What?”

Lora shook her head, snickering a little. “Put the book down, sweetheart. We’re parked. Time to actually go to work. That’ll be waiting for you when we’re done. I promise.”

Alan looked at the book again then gazed around at the garage outside. He’d been so engrossed in the story that he’d forgotten everything else existed on the drive to ENCOM. Reading through it, he could almost envision Steve in the book as being a version of Sam if Sam had gone into astronomy instead. The younger Flynn definitely used to dream about the stars and aliens and all that jazz.

Lora sighed, checking her watch. “Okay, we’ve got twenty minutes before we actually need to get out of the car. Tell me about the book. Where’d you get it?”

“Friend of a friend,” Alan answered vaguely. “Found it on the porch this morning. You should really check it out when I’m done with it.”

Lora pulled it out of his hands, checking it over for the first time since she’d caught him reading on the porch. None of the ladies had suggested sending science fiction books out into the neighborhood. So, when he said “friend of a friend” he certainly wasn’t talking about her secret club.

“Aliens and time travel, huh?” Lora handed it back to him, shoving a paper clip from the cup holder into it as a bookmark. “As if our lives aren’t already exciting enough with literal Programs snoring on the couch after one too many glasses of wine. Do I need to worry? You’re not getting impossible pages again, are you?”

“No!” Alan blushed, shoving the book into the glove compartment. “It’s just…”

Lora listened to him trail off, waiting for the rest of that sentence. Alan stared out the windshield, leg bouncing a little as different emotions played out across his face. His lips thinned out, eyes darting to the side window for a second, and his hands flattened on his knees as he leaned forward slightly. Whatever was going on, it had him nervous. She really wanted to know what was going on now.

“Never mind,” Alan’s face flinched a little as he reached for the door handle and stood up. “It’s just fiction. This isn’t going to turn into anything like that.”

“Like what, Alan?” Lora asked, getting out of the car quickly to make sure he heard her question clearly. “Honey, you’re making me worried. What’s gotten into you?”

Jaw still tight, Alan ducked back into the car and grabbed the book out again, flipping through the pages and scanning for a certain point in the plot until he found what he was looking for. “Page 80. Start at the second to last paragraph and go until the second paragraph on page 81.”

Lora rolled her eyes, taking the book over the top of the car and reading anyway. Her expression shifted from exasperated to engrossed, to horrified over the few seconds it took to digest the words. Even though he’d told her where to stop, she backed up a full page and went through it again for context. “Alan… that’s…”

“I know.” Slowly, he reached out and took the book back from her. “There’s at least three research facilities getting pretty close to fusion right now. We’ve already got the Everything Machine as he calls it… Maybe we shouldn’t do this. We should just… hold off. We’re doing great without it as is.”

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Sam pressed his fingers into his eyes, praying the headache that was to come wouldn’t last. The investors, primarily an in-state government research facility, were going to be absolutely pissed with him for this one. A contract with the NIF wasn’t something to turn down or a group of people he wanted to disappoint. They would benefit from mass production of metals needed for their research. It would be so much better to use the lasers to print exact copies of the resources instead of mining the raw materials and fucking up entire ecosystems. That was the whole reason he’d encouraged Lora to bring the tech to the table in the first place. They weren’t going to let anyone know that people could get in or that programs could get out. It was just a fancy copier as far as anyone needed to know.

He heard Roy break the silence first, sitting to his left at the desk. “Well, damn… I was kinda hoping we could drown Dillinger in crude oil.”

That got three pairs of confused, completely thrown off eyes staring at him.

Roy shrugged it off, “Sorry, just something from a book I read a couple years back. I’ll lend it to you when I find it in the pile.”

“Can we focus here, please?” Sam’s voice broke with tension. He leaned over and banged his head against the desk a couple times before sitting up and looking at his godparents with a mixture of betrayal and anger. “Don’t even try to tell me that happened on its own. Why did you throw the demonstration? I know it works.”

Alan kept his voice controlled, mostly. He wanted to make a point to his boss, not come across as being an overbearing parent. That was sometimes difficult these days. “Sam, just stop and think about it for a moment. Think about the possible ramifications.”

“I have!” Sam raised his voice, arms spread wide. “Selling this to the NIH means ending several strip mining sites. Yes, that will mean a few less jobs, but those guys can transfer their skills to other ones. It also means getting us the funds to give everybody the raises we’ve been talking about so that ENCOM’s lowest paid employees can actually meet the minimum standard of living on slightly less than full time hours. It opens the door for us to—”

“What if they realize it can do more than reproduce metals?” Alan interjected firmly. “What if they do more than lease the tech from us? What if they want to buy it outright?”

Sam’s eyes went wider, jaw dropping a little. “I’d never agree to that! One stupidly curious asshole or an angry co-worker is all it would take to send somebody into the system! Without a guide or even basic knowledge of what that means… No. Not happening.”

“And if they refuse to renew the contract because of that?” Alan leaned in a little, his tone even. “We’d have to make pay cuts, stop some of our own projects, or lay people off due to lost income. Or, worse, what if someone took one apart and figured out how to reproduce the lasers? Unless we could prove it, they would have access. And, if they do achieve fusion like they’re proposing, the power requirements wouldn’t be an issue anymore. They could make as many as they want. We could take them to court over it, but they’d probably win. It’s the damn government. They always win against the civilian enterprises.”

Lora raised a finger up above her head, acting a little like a school child in class. “I have a proposal.”

All eyes turned to her, hopeful.

“We don’t let them have custody of a single laser, but we create the materials they need here and let them buy that from us instead.”

Sam’s hands smacked down on the desk before he pointed at her, biting his lip for a second. “You! You’re an angel, Lora! That just might work. But…” He looked around again, biting at his lip once more as he thought about it. “We’re going to have to do it off site, somewhere better for exporting. And, you’re still going to have to convince the board we’re good to go.”

Roy nodded along, getting where this was going. “Alright, but how do we justify not just sending over the tech for on site production?”

Lora had the answer for that one. “Intellectual property laws. I’ll double down on patents. As far as anyone’s concerned, I’m still not a current employee of ENCOM. Just a contractor. Sign everything back over to me, and they’ll have to play ball my way. Which, of course, will be our way, but the NIF won’t be able to fight that very hard.”

Chapter Text

Down by the river, light pollution made it nearly impossible to see any celestial bodies besides the sun and the moon. Back when he’d lived there, Sam thought that was okay. The city lit up the skyline just fine for him, his back door framing a “pretty nice view” of ENCOM tower as Alan once put it rather sarcastically. Sam tried to convince himself that was all he needed.

Now, living by the lake again, he found sleep to be more elusive. Gone was the constant thrum of movement over the highway and the mix of white and orange tinted city and street lights. Replacing them were the muted glow of only a handful of porch lights. Above, all the stars and the moon shown brightly. He’d almost forgotten what they looked like out here.

Fucking beautiful.

So damn beautiful that they brought back memories he’d left behind when his dad disappeared.

His grandmother said that, on the day they first brought him home from the hospital at five days old, he had sat quietly in the car seat, fully awake and eyes tracking the waning moon almost unblinking. A couple weeks later, his mom had called her up, frantically begging for any advice on how to get Sam to stop crying. Grandma came straight over, scooped Sam up, and took him into the back yard to look at the night sky. As soon as his eyes found the moon, he settled right down, or so she said.

When his mother died, his grandpa found the way to get him to sleep wasn’t more stories about Tron and the Grid. Those tales his father told made Sam more energetic. Instead, learning the mythos behind the constellations did the trick. But, learning about which stars were actually galaxies, how they were moving away and towards one another, some crashing and blending, how black holes kept them intact… those were the tales that kept Sam engaged in the most quiet way possible.

When he was three, Sam experienced his first solar eclipse. Taking into consideration the delicate nature of a child’s eyes, Lora or Alan had come up with the idea to take a big cardboard box and set it in the front yard. On the top, a round hole was cut. Inside, on the back part (what was intended to be the box’s bottom), a piece of printer paper was taped up. The light from the hole above shined down on the paper in a perfect circle. As the moon crossed in front of the sun and blocked out the light, the action was refracted on the paper inside the box.

At some point after that, Sam had the first dream he ever remembered in full. He remembered it to this day, clear as if it had happened moments ago.

In the dream, he was standing on the moon’s surface, facing Earth’s southern hemisphere. He looked down and saw his grandfather sitting on a rocky ledge, patting a spot beside him in invitation with a smile. Sam returned that wide smile knowingly, easing into the spot. They didn’t wear space suits of any kind. There was no ship. They were both pure energy in human form, and they were waiting on one more person, his grandmother. She had some things to finish up before she joined them, people to say goodbye to. So, he and Mac sad, watching the Earth spin below in rapid rotation.

Eventually, Gram came up from the other side of the planet and joined them. She looked at peace. Sam and Mac stood and floated up to greet her with warm hugs. She looked out into the stars, eyes gazing to a point just slightly to the side of the sun. He couldn’t see it, but he knew where they were going. Others were with them on some kind of tour, and their stop at Earth was over now that Gram had returned to them. Their next trip was to Orion’s sword. Several of the other energy beings with them would be staying there. Sam, Gram, and Mac would move on to the Pleiades, their home system.

Of course, when Gram died well before Sam, he knew that dream was just that, a dream. Why his parents, Lora, Roy, and Alan weren’t included always bugged him. Once upon a time, Sam used to believe he had prophetic dreams, and that was one of them.

Now, sitting up on the roof, staring at the moon, he fancied he could almost make out the ridge of the crater he’d sat on in the dream. He wished Mac and Gram could see what had become of him now. He wished he was up there, watching the Earthrise with them, ready to go home and rest.

Even after moving back in a year ago, this house still didn’t quite feel like home, not when he looked out and saw the moon waiting, beckoning, calling up that old dream in too vivid detail. He felt like, if he didn’t go soon, they’d all leave without him.

“Sam?”

His eyes closed, his lungs suddenly remembering to breathe. A warm body settled down on the grass behind him, long legs caging in his own and strong arms wrapping around his shoulders. He felt like a child again, safe to let the tears fall. He longed for his flesh and blood family so badly, but here was his found family instead, ready to hold him together when he really felt like falling apart.

Soft lips found Sam’s temple as he leaned back. “Sam, you’re crying. What’s wrong?”

What’s not wrong? Lora and Alan deliberately sabotaged the meeting, dragging down his appearance in front of the board with them. He’d been their biggest supporter. He wanted to hug Gram. He wanted to talk about the gravitational forces of dark stars with Mac. He wanted his dad there to tell him about the latest adventures in the Grid. He wanted to remember his mother’s face beyond the pictures in the hallway. He wanted to be three again, learning what a solar eclipse was.

Sam wondered if this is what his father felt when he visited the Grid. This intense belonging to somewhere other than Earth as they knew it. It was another world that just… it made so much more sense. The digital world had been his father’s calling. The stars had always been Sam’s. His father had said that they would first find life in an unexpected place, and he had meant within computers. He didn’t exclude the possibility of life out there though. Sam wondered if that was his task, to finish his father’s dream and then embark on his own somehow.

He needed to stay grounded and look after ENCOM. He needed to find a way to sell the altered proposal to the board of directors for both ENCOM and the NIF, but, first, he had to regain their trust in the project.

He just wanted to sit on the moon and watch the damn Earth spin, without seeing the pollution, the boarders, the wars, the nearly daily extinction events, the starving children while perfectly good food was tossed into dumpsters.

“Tron…” Sam turned into him a bit, closing his eyes and hiding his face in the Program’s warm shoulder. “Just… just hold me. I can’t do this right now.”

Tron tightened his hold on him slightly, resting his head on Sam’s as he whispered into his hair, “I’m here.”

Feeling the Program’s soft voice reverberate through his whole body, Sam leaned in a little more, letting the warmth wash over him. Tron was the one person who could ground him like this, make reality feel safe enough to stick with for a while. If he wasn’t so focused on trying not to soak Tron’s shirt through with inexplicable tears, he might have laughed at himself for that. Programs weren’t supposed to be comforting bodies one could physically lean into, not if you asked just about anybody else. Yet, he felt like he was slowly sinking into the very definitions of love, peace, and safety as he tilted his head up to kiss at Tron’s jaw in thanks. He lowered his face again, humming lightly in innocent pleasure as fingers worked their way up his neck and into his hair… just the way Gram used to.

Chapter Text

Beck stared out the kitchen window, watching Sam and Tron cuddle up in the yard as he sipped a hot mug of tea. A warmth not of his drink filled his body at the sight. Anyone who knew Tron and Sam knew that neither of them engaged in affectionate physical contact with others often. At most, it was a handshake. That, or a fist with a follow through nobody wanted to be on the receiving side of. Roy and Alan were blessed with the occasional touch of an arm or shoulder. Lora was the only one Sam was known to hug more than once in a day. Tron tended to keep a little more distance with her, but was no stranger to getting in her personal bubble almost as deeply as Alan did. He didn’t really touch her, but it was clear he liked being as close as possible without upsetting his creator.

This full body contact, this gentle, cuddly side they each hid so well, was reserved for only one another, Beck, and Quorra, and usually when it was only them. As soon as other eyes entered their space, Sam and Tron often broke whatever contact they were engaging in, especially if it was with one another.

Beck knew how hard it was to earn Tron’s affection personally. At the point when they first met, Tron didn’t trust anyone with anything. The older Program had gone very far out on a limb when he handed Beck his disc, but still not far enough for actual touch. Tron trusted Beck with his legacy, but not his actual life. Not back then.

Quorra had met Tron first, long before the Purge. Back then, Tron had been much more hands on and affectionate with his friends. She had admitted to Beck that it took her a while to realize that Tron was actually interested in being more than friends with her because of that. She’d figured he was just showing her the same friendliness he did anyone else.

Sam was a bit of a puzzle. Due to necessity, he’d had a lot of physical contact with Quorra right from the start. Shielding one another’s backs in a brawl against Black Guard, then BASE jumping with only one wingchute might have had something to do with it. Sam trusted Quorra fast. He didn’t have any other option. So, when Sam came home one evening to find Tron sandwiched between Beck and Quorra on the floor watching re-runs of Stargate SG-1, happily sharing a bowl of popcorn, all three of them drinking from the same 2 liter of cola like it was the most natural thing in the world, Sam had a mini-crisis.

He knew Quorra was touchy. He knew Beck and Quorra were touchy with one another. Until that moment, Sam knew Tron wanted his personal space to remain clear at all times unless it was for sparring. Marvin had been the only exception to the rule. Tron didn’t really know what to do with the dog, but the pug wouldn’t leave him alone until he got belly rubs at the very least.

That led to a very interesting discussion, on Sam took a moment to wrap his mind around. Tron had never officially cut things off with Quorra or Beck. The Purge separated him from Quorra. Becoming Rinzler effectively made him unsafe for Beck to be around. In the aftermath of it all, Beck and Quorra had found one another, becoming friends with benefits well before they admitted just how well they both actually knew Tron. At that point, none of them had thought to tell Sam a word about any of it despite the fact that the four of them were living under the same roof. The fact of the matter was that Quorra had chosen Sam, and she wasn’t going to do more than be platonically affectionate with Tron or Beck because of it.

Except, once Sam accepted their previous dynamics, he flat out asked “why not?” The response was simple. None of them believed Sam would be alright with it, knowing what they knew about User relationships. Then, he flipped the script on them completely, stating that he was alright with it, maybe even a little more than interested in Tron and Beck himself. Different things kept him from admitting it previously. Now, none of that mattered. It took over five months for them to figure out a dynamic that worked for everyone. For the most part, everyone thought Beck and Tron were single, and that Quorra was Sam’s girlfriend.

This was the first time Beck witnessed Tron and Sam having a moment with one another in a while. They needed this. They deserved to have it.

Beck knew something had gone wrong the day before, but none of the Users would talk about it. Whatever it was, Sam was seriously drained when he got home, mentally and emotionally. Quorra tried to cheer him up by following him to the shower, but Sam closed the door in her face. Beck made an attempt to raise his spirits by bringing him breakfast for dinner. Sam ate it, thanked him, complemented it mildly, and washed the dishes in silence. All the while, Tron stood back and watched, waited until now to do something.

Perhaps a little more patience on Beck’s and Quorra’s parts would have been good.

From here, Beck couldn’t hear what they were saying, couldn’t even see them well enough in the darkness, silhouetted by moonlight, to even tell if they were speaking at all. But, it was obvious Sam finally relented.

Tea finished, Beck pulled the wet bag out of the mug and dropped it in the trash can. He nearly lost his grip on the mug itself when his phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweatpants, the flashlight blinking brightly and dimly lighting up through the gray cloth.

“Glitch! Who the fuck…?” Setting the mug down hard, he pulled out his phone, prepared to cuss out whoever thought the middle of the night was a good time to get his attention.

But, he bit his tongue the moment he saw the caller ID. The words that were about to tumble from his lips were no way to speak to one’s creator.

“What’s up?” Beck whispered instead. It still wasn’t as polite as he had been conditioned to be, but it was a far cry better than “Fucking shit. Fuck off, it’s the middle of the god damn night, you idiotic fuckhead! The hell do you want?” Beck used to take pride in not using bad words. Now he fully embraced them under the right circumstances.

“When’s the next time you’re seeing Sam?” the smooth tenor voice questioned, sounding slightly frayed from lack of sleep.

“I’m about ten yards away from him now. Why?” Beck glanced back out the window and found that Tron and Sam hadn’t moved a muscle since the last time he looked.

“He wasn’t answering his phone.”

“It’s a little after midnight,” Beck couldn’t help the annoyance in his tone this time. “What do you need this late that can’t wait for morning?”

“Got a computer nearby?”

“Hang on.” Beck moved into the living room, grabbing his laptop. It didn’t take long to boot up, having only been in sleep mode anyway. Already sensing where this was going, he opened up the web browser. “What am I looking for?”

“News articles. Dillinger Systems achieves nuclear fusion.”

“What’s that?”

A heavy sigh on the other end was not the answer Beck expected. “Pretty awesome stuff, actually.”

“So…” Beck grumbled, typing it in and clicking on the first link, “why couldn’t this wait?”

Chapter Text

Beck hadn’t made any trips through the internet connections before, but this seemed like it was going to be the only way to get into Dillinger Systems without being arrested for trespassing at one in the morning. He hoped nobody figured out what he’d done until after he’d done it. The Users had a saying about it being better to ask for forgiveness than permission. After all, he could technically say a User sent him in the first place.

The code stream was fast paced. If he was already moving at speed, merging would have been a breeze. Instead, the breeze of the internet highway threatened to rip the face right off his digital render if he got too close. That’s what it felt like, at least, as he stood at the edge, trying to gage how he was going to merge, how he was going to know which turns to take, and when to exit. There were signs at the merge points, clearly visible when standing still. How he was going to read them once in the stream, however…

“First time?”

Beck looked to his right to find another Program staring at him. The guy had kind eyes, but his foot was tapping impatiently. Beck had to do a double take. Thus far, the only depictions of fairies he’d seen had been female. “Uh, yeah…”

“Don’t ease in. Jump,” the other Program suggested. “If you hesitate, you might leave a cube or two behind. Same when you exit. Stay off the walls or you’ll get scrapes. But, don’t worry about the speed much. Your processing will increase to match. Let the stream push you. Don’t fight it.”

Beck thought about that for a moment, cringing inwardly. Hesitation was the thing Tron always used to get onto him for. He hadn’t hesitated much lately, but this certainly gave him pause. “So… like swimming in a river?”

“Yeah, like that, but a big, wide, deep, strong one.” The guy sighed. “Don’t make me push you. Move in or step out of the line. The rest of us can’t wait all day.”

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

Brock and Adam had at least two hours to fuck around together while Siobhan did her podcast thing upstairs. As long as they kept the decibels down, they could do whatever they wanted while she and her other bandmates did their daily interviews. Without question, the activity was going to be Call of Duty, an online battle royal match. The two sat down and took their time picking their preferred loadouts before entering the lobby to wait for the computer to pick who their other three teammates would be. Nobody else they knew was on to invite, so they had to get random matches today.

They got one more person added to their team instead of three. It must have been a slow day for the gamers. Both of them leaned forward when they saw the avatar of their third team mate load in looking like a fish out of water, definitely not dressed for the occasion. The gamer tag read “Beck.”

“What the actual fuck?” Adam spoke first, blinking a few times. “Is that like… 2010 Dustin dressed up like a Tron character?”

Brock laughed nervously, “I wonder if we’re going to be fighting recognizers like in Space Paranoids next.”

The load screen switched to the waiting area, dropping the three avatars in while other teams formed, or didn’t form, and Beck just stood there like a total noob. The strangest part was that his face was making expressions as he slowly turned in a circle to take everything in.

“Yo, Beck, you got a mic?” Adam asked over the team chat hopefully.

“Uh… no?” Beck’s avatar’s mouth actually moved in sync with the audio feed.

“Dude, that’s fucking sweet! How did you do that?”

“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about comms,” Brock muttered. “First time in, bro?”

Beck focused on Brock’s avatar, a hint of annoyance evident. “Why do people keep asking me that today? I don’t think this is my stop. Can you show me the way back out? I need to be… um… not here.”

“Looks to me like you need this round to figure stuff out, buddy,” Adam chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ve got your back. Just try not to die too many times. You only get five respawns.”

———————————————————————————————————————-

Five respawns. Beck was a little more familiar with the concept of respawns now that Sam had introduced him to how games worked in the analogue world. Unlike on the Grid, derezzed wasn’t actually dead and erased in most games. And he got five of them here. But, how long was this game? It was a game, right? Would five lives be enough to make it through to the end?

“I gotta ask, Beck,” the voice of one of his team mates (he assumed these two were his team mates since they were the only ones marked blue while everyone else was marked red) laughed a little at him. “You do know who your avatar looks like, right?”

“Uh… like me?” Beck looked down at himself, noting his original lightlines and feeling his disc on his back. He knew he was the odd man out here, but it only made sense that the players probably used credits or money to buy gear for their avatars. Since he hadn’t been here before, was brand new, he didn’t have any of that yet. It made sense that he’d have to earn some credits to buy mods to blend in. Unfortunately, it seemed he was the only first timer on this round. “I’ll make some effort to change that if I come back.”

The other guy spoke up again, “Dude, he has no idea… Beck, it looks like you put a lot of effort getting those mods past the filters or whatever. How did you do it? And why Tron of all franchises?”

Beck gave Adam’s avatar an eye roll, “Or, maybe we’re old friends, and this is actually what I look like IRL.”

“Is that what you actually sound like, too, or is that another crazy mod?”

“This is my voice, no alteration,” Beck squinted at them now, trying to figure it out.

He could tell they were talking to each other now when one said “Yeah, so it’s not him fucking with us this time.” and the other replied “we have an actual noob who somehow happens to be a mod king… what are the odds?”

Beck started to interrupt them, but the world around him shifted once more. They weren’t on the ground anymore. Instead, he found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with the avatars staring out the back of an aircraft. A beeping sounded in the background, and his team mates ran for the end of the plain, jumping out. He could still hear them in his head, yelling at him to just come on already and stick close. A quick brush of his hands confirmed he’d been outfitted with a parachute of some sort at least. It was a lot like the ones Sam used for BASE jumping, so he knew what to do with it. He had that much going for him for now.

—————————————————————————————————————

Dustin’s leg bounced, nails scratching into his left palm as he awaited Beck’s return call. On the kitchen table before him sat a mass of notebooks and an open laptop with several search tabs and another laptop with a word processor awaiting more input. He should have been focused on writing the second novel, had made at least ten different starts at making it into something cohesive and flowing, but this situation was eating at him beyond belief. Between Sam Flynn letting it slip about some research his godmother had been reproducing, knowing what it could lead to, and the news about Dillinger Systems’ breakthrough, Dustin wanted to scream into the void about how damn pissed off he was that his ideas were turning into reality years before they were supposed to according to his own fictional world.

Most of the time, being right when everybody else thought he was crazy was awesome. This time? Not so much. ENCOM and Dillinger Systems had been in a tech war since the 80s, before Edward Dillinger ever even founded his own company. It wasn’t obvious that some of Dillinger’s releases were originally ENCOM designs to start with, but those who knew knew. ENCOM wasn’t exactly innocent either. It became tit for tat over several decades now.

When Dustin sent Alan Bradley a copy of The Prox Transmissions, he meant it as a warning to keep Lora’s developments close to the chest, especially out of Dillinger’s hands. Now, the other key ingredient was already in Dillinger’s control, and it was likely to push ENCOM into revealing the laser technology as a counter to keep their profits up. All in all, someone on each side was likely to be sent to infiltrate the other company and take more than a few notes. This was exactly the kind of shit he was trying to warn everyone about.

How much longer before someone came up with a way to mass market Nuralink? How long after that before it turned from humans controlling computerized components into the links altering or even controlling the human experience?

Beck was the only person he could turn to to make sure all of it got shut down. No way in hell would Dustin try to convince Sam Flynn to let him have a trip into the digital world himself. It would be sweet as fuck if Sam said yes, but he knew what he’d eventually do to all of it. If it ever got out, he’d be in some deep shit. Following that, the rest of his friends and family would be targeted, too. It wasn’t that he couldn’t bring himself to do the actual thing, just that he couldn’t bring himself to do that to them. And, then, there was the fact that he’d been educated about how the digital world worked. No way was he going to stand up to a whole army on his own. Nope. Dustin did not fancy getting murdered in the digital world and becoming another Kevin Flynn story.

But, Beck had the skills, and, better yet, could be saved and respawned if anything happened to him.

The generic chime of a ringtone ripped him out of his thoughts. Brock was calling. This was not the time to bother with him, so Dustin silenced the call. Four seconds later, it was Adam. He got the same treatment. Then, about two minutes later, it was Ron. Okay, this had to be something important.

He answered tersely, “What?”

Ron got straight to it, “If Adam and Brock are for real, your digital son is having a hell of a time keeping up in Call of Duty with just a disc and a handful of grenades. Know anything about that?”

Chapter Text

“Oh, look! We got a couple late additions!” Brock cheered as two more avatars joined his, Adam’s, and the noob inside a house. “And they’re friends!”

“Not really,” Ron’s voice came through the connection a little garbled. “I kind of forced us in to join you. Activision’s probably going to ban my ass for this, and it’s all Dustin’s fault.”

Dustin’s voice huffed in their ears, “Not my fault this idiot hopped off on the wrong server.”

Beck closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the wall behind him. “Thank goodness. Finally someone who can help.”

Adam snorted, “Gee, thanks, kid. Here I thought Adam and I were doing you a favor by not letting you get your ass snipped.”

Brock rolled his eyes, and everyone else could almost hear it. “Not going to do us much good if the safe zone shrinks much more before we’re clear. Let’s get out of here.”

“Dude, the front and back exits are covered by snipers just waiting.” Adam reminded him knowingly. “Suggestions?”

“Mad dash and pray like hell?” Dustin questioned back.

Meanwhile, Beck was getting handed a couple of guns and some scavenged ammo by Ron’s avatar who was then taking the time to describe how the firearms worked. The thing that caught Brock’s attention was the fact that Ron was giving real world instructions, not telling Beck what buttons to push on the controller or a keyboard.

“Hey, Beck, he means left trigger to auto aim on the closest enemy, and right trigger to fire,” Brock informed. “Seriously, Ron, I didn’t know you had PTSD with a game.”

Beck looked down at the rifle in his hands, “But there’s only one trigger.”

———————————————————————————————————

Quorra mumbled a half-asleep greeting to whoever was calling her at three in the morning without even checking the caller ID. She was more worried about not waking Sam up. Tron had deposited him in their bed about an hour ago, already snoring. “Mmh, hi. What time is it?”

A very alert man answered on the other end, “If I give you an IP address, can you locate it, get in here, and give your friend a hand? He ended up in the wrong place. I don’t know how to kick him back into the net without getting him deleted.”

Sitting up and scratching at her head, Quorra felt very confused. “My friend? Who is this?”

“Beck’s stuck in COD. Dustin, Adam, Brock, and me are trying to keep him from dying, but the safe zone is shrinking. People like to aim for the odd man out, and your boy is definitely odd here. We’re like… eight rounds in now.”

That was more than enough to get her moving. Sam didn’t even budge when the door slammed shut.

———————————————————————————————————

“Wait, we have a sixth member?” Brock practically squeaked as a sniper on the roof of the house across from their hiding hole was taken out with a disc a lot like the one Beck had. “And they’ve got the same mods as the noob?”

“Ron, who did you call?” Dustin yelled as their group made another short mad dash to stay inside the very edge of the safe zone and find more cover.

“Hey, guys!” Quorra waved at them from the roof, then dropped with a grunt as the sound of a pistol rang out. “A little help here, maybe?”

“Glitches, Quorra?!” Beck’s eyes widened as he made a running jump to scale the roof’s overhang and make his way to the top.

“Sim damage, Beck, relax!” Quorra patted his arm as he knelt beside her. “Fucking hurts, but not permanent. You should have figured that out by now. Help me down and get a med pack.”

Adam yelled out at them, forgetting for a moment that Brock was literally sitting right next to him, “Ron, Dustin, set up on the second floor and watch our backs. Brock and I are going to clear the next building.”

“Already in position, fuckhead,” Ron grumbled in his ear, scanning everything he could to the left of the warehouse ahead through a 6X scope. To his right, Dustin was doing the same with a 4X.

Beck dragged Quorra inside, trying to figure out how to use the medpack on her the way the guys had used a couple on him so far. From what he could tell, it was like a regenerative patch, but injected. Brock and Adam stood there watching instead of going into the warehouse to clear it.

Adam stared at Quorra carefully, “Hey… who are you? You look like someone I met before.”

Dustin cut through the new wave of chatter before it could begin, “Yes, you’ve met. Now’s not the time. Quorra, are you good?”

“I am now,” Quorra rocked up onto her feet. “We’re on my favorite map. The exit’s not far. Just cover me and Beck while we make a break for it. Cool?”

On the couch in the basement, Adam and Brock shared a confused, slightly amused look. They both figured these two gamers with the strange mods were taking this way to seriously. There wasn’t time left in this round to worry about it. They’d drill Ron and Dustin for details later.

“On my count,” Ron called out to everyone. “Quorra, mark the map and take point. Brock, Adam, flank Beck and stay slightly behind. Dustin, you and me got the rear. Ready? 3… 2… 1… GO!”

Chapter Text

Beck found himself sprinting for a blue marker hovering over the ground, automatic riffle and pistol fire lighting up in pretty much all directions occasionally punctuated by the distinctly solitary sound of a sniper shot from behind. The only reason he really felt like he could do this now was that Quorra was running by his side, disc in one hand and a gun in the other. She clearly had some experience here, blending the mechanics of this system with theirs.

She didn’t even give him a chance to do anything other than step right on top of the map marker, following him and holding them both to the spot as energy surged up from the sand to envelope them and transport them out of the game realm. Beck didn’t get to see Brock and Adam staring at the vanish point, then try jumping on it to activate the transport themselves out of confusion and curiosity. He didn’t get to see that Ron and Dustin missed a fellow sniper that shot Brock and Adam’s avatars right through the head. He didn’t get to hear Dustin and Ron groan at their ignorance about one second before that same sniper chose to call in an air strike over their heads and manage to win the game while slowly dying outside of the safe zone.

What he did get to see was a lobby full of other programs queuing up to take a turn on the server themselves.

“That was an excellent run, Programs,” another Program approached them, handing over bottled energy. “You, Beck, lasted more rounds than most. But, Quorra, next time wait for a team to open up. We’ve talked about this.”

Quorra took both bottles, smacking one into Beck’s chest as a silent order to drink. “It was an emergency, Gen. Beck wasn’t supposed to end up in there at all. The Users called on me to extract him ASAP.”

The Program identified as Gen raised an eyebrow, looking Beck up and down. "An emergency, you say? Well, I suppose that would explain the... unusual attire." He turned to Quorra. "And I trust you'll be explaining this to your superior?"

Quorra nodded, her expression serious. "Of course, Gen. It won't happen again." She turned to Beck. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

As they walked away, Beck couldn't help but feel a sense of confusion and disorientation. He had just been in a firefight in a digital world, fighting for his virtual life alongside people he had never met before. And now, he was back in the normal digital world, or at least, a version of it.

"Where are we?" he asked as they exited the building. The landscape outside was alien to him, a sprawling metropolis.

"Activision,” Quorra explained. “Another more modern version of how ENCOM started. Don’t tell Sam I come here to play.”

“Only if you promise not to tell him or Tron I got trapped her in the first place,” Beck countered, embarrassed. “I was trying to hit Dillinger Systems.”

“I know.” Quorra sighed, grabbing his wrist to pull him back towards an internet access point. “I got filled in on my way to the lab to come rescue you. You did a pretty good job on your own. I don’t know what they were worried about. But, you shouldn’t have gone out on your own like that! You should have brought me, or Tron at least. Beck, you know better!”

Beck knew only one way to stop her tirade, and he employed it as quickly as possible. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pressed their lips together hard, unrelenting even after she relaxed into him and opened up to deepen the kiss a little. He knew very well that her whole attitude was because she cared. It was a common trait between all his lovers, past and present. When she broke the kiss to get a little air, Beck leaned his forehead on hers, pulling her body flush against his and savoring the contact between their lightlines. It had been a very long time since they had shared that kind of connection.

“I won’t tell on you,” Quorra promised quietly, “but you know they’re going to find out anyway.”

“Yeah,” he hummed, kissing her nose lightly, “about both of us. So… should we wait here or just get on with it?”

“What do you think?” Her ice blue eyes lit up with mischief.

————————————————————————————————————————

Edward Dillinger Sr. always unlocked his door at exactly seven in the morning, two whole hours before the majority of employees — excluding support staff — were expected to arrive. He used this time to finish his take-out breakfast, quietly review paperwork and proposals, and then have a conversation. With nobody but him in the room, everything could flow freely between Edward Sr. and the salvaged, heavily modified MCP.

It wouldn’t be able to over rule him again, or go behind his back to infiltrate anything he wasn’t comfortable with. No more breaking into the Pentagon of the Kremlin, and certainly no suggesting that Users were obsolete.

“Tell me, Master Control,” Edward Sr. smirked as he sat in his luxurious leather chair, leaning back to sip at his still hot coffee, “how are our friends at ENCOM handling our latest announcement?”

The hollow voice responded evenly, “No response as of yet. EDJ reports that they are more focused on a recent failure of a breakthrough device of their own. Unrelated, but suspicious activity surrounding the core fusion mainframe suggests a partially successful intrusion by another, unknown entity. It read as… familiar. Someone’s been using ENCOM programs, or at least programs based on ENCOM design, to attempt to breach our security again.”

Edward Sr. put down his coffee, elbows on the desk as his fingers steepled together in thought. “Sam Flynn? Alan Bradley?”

“Alan Bradly’s hand was in it somehow, but not Sam Flynn. This felt unique, a collaboration of different users.”

Edward Sr. sucked a breath in through gritted teeth. “Zack Attack? ISOlated Thinker?”

“Dustyboots was one of the User tags I have identified in one of the captured Programs’ discs. I cross-referenced the User name on social media and came up with a real world name for you to contact if you wish.”

“Give it to me.”

Chapter Text

Beck sat on the bench, arms crossed, fists clenched, and legs bouncing as he glared at the force field wall across the tiny cell he’d been shoved into. Across the wide hall, he watched Quorra lay on the floor of her cell, slowly pushing herself up into a half-stretched position. His legs stilled, relief creeping in. At least she was waking up. He wouldn’t have to be embarrassed alone.

The last time the guards came through they’d made some pretty rude comments about what they wished their commander would let them do to Quorra before she derezzed from lack of energy. If any of them touched her, Users help him, he’d find a way through the force fields to murder them. Now, Quorra could do it herself, and Beck would get to watch.

Ambient energy radiation seemed to be a thing in every system. Each one had different levels, and different areas within held unique signatures and strengths as well. Holding cells always gave off the second lowest radiated energy in any system, just slightly more than unused areas like the Outlands on the Grid. It was a control tactic meant to keep prisoners weak while guards were supplemented via direct, protected sources. On the Grid, it was a simple way to deter Programs from wandering into unfinished areas. The guards here didn’t expect either of them to wake up without a splash of direct energy.

What Beck noticed almost as soon as he awoke was that the ambient radiated energy here was more like that of a slum on the Grid, one step above a prison. Considering he’d survived in the Outlands for full cycles, what he got in here, just laying around, wasn’t all that bad. The ISOs were even more efficient with energy consumption than the Basics were, so Quorra was bound to be feeling better than he was soon.

Then again, with the way she clenched her eyes shut against the dim red light of the hall filtering into the darkened cell, Beck thought about just how bad that actually could be.

The moment they’d entered Dillinger Systems together, a wall of energy hit them both, simultaneously overcharging and draining their bodies. The shock of it was more than enough to render both of them unconscious, he figured, because the next thing Beck knew, he was waking up alone in this cell, blurry vision locked on the bench as if it could tell him what the hell happened. ISO’s systems were far more sensitive to energy exchange on the whole. The damage done to Beck had to be even worse for Quorra. At least, now that she was awake and able to consciously absorb ambient energy, she’d recover faster.

When he was sure she saw him, Beck gave a tiny little wave and a pained smile. He felt for her. Right now, every limb had to be aching, every lightline burning. She gave him a small nod in acknowledgement, continuing the slow push to get up on the bench as she took stock of the situation and her own condition.

Just then, a handful of figures blocked his sight of her. Guards. But, they weren’t standing outside of Quorra’s cell, ready to have “fun” with their newest toy. Instead, Beck’s cell was opened, three of them getting their hands on his arms and cuffing his wrists behind his back before he could even get a word out.

“This way, Program, follow me,” the leader whose name he hadn’t learned yet commanded smugly.

“Oh, finally!” Beck huffed, purposefully going limp to make the guards struggle with him a bit longer. “I’ve been sitting in there so long, my legs have gone numb. Gonna walk me like a dog? Have I been a good boy?”

Quorra was up on her feet, swaying as she leaned against the wall of her cell, “Beck? What’s going on?”

He shrugged, continuing to make the guards drag him as much as possible. “I’ll tell you when I get back, I guess. Don’t wait up for me, though. This could take a while.”

“Right…” Quorra’s chest clenched as she watched him be taken away, then flinched backwards onto the bench again as a guard zapped the forcefield, ordering her to shut up.

——————————————————————————————————————

Tron woke up alone in bed, Beck’s side untouched. He had a quiet laugh about it, figuring his counterpart probably had another episode of staying up all night to binge read some Voltron or Stargate fanfiction. The guy had a serious addiction.

Before even sitting up, Tron knew he was going to be hearing about the faulty science techno babble Beck had encountered during the night. It was either that or something about how spit was not a good substitute for lube under any circumstances. There was never any telling what specific subgenre he was going to latch onto next, or what pairing.

Last week, one day started off with Beck literally screaming at the computer about how Proxima Centauri B was tidally locked, so crossing into either the night or day side of the planet would be suicide, not a quick grab for some glasses or a winter coat even if it had been properly terraformed. The week before that it was all about why the hell everybody on every planet seemed to speak American English. Sam had to shut the laptop on Beck’s fingers and take it away for a couple hours.

From the next room over, Sam’s muffled voice called out for Quorra, bringing Tron back to the here and now. The previous night, after Sam fell asleep on him in the back yard, Tron had carried Sam up to bed, laying him down next to her. Typically, Quorra got up early to watch the sunrise, but would always come back to wake Sam in time for work. Checking the clock, Tron saw it was about an hour later than usual. It wasn’t like her to forget. She had alarms set for everything just in case.

Grabbing a pair of shorts off the floor — then cursing when he realized they were a size too small and probably Quorra’s — Tron stepped out into the hall, meeting Sam’s lost gaze in the stair well.

“Beck probably has her attention again,” Tron offered up in place of a greeting. “He didn’t come to bed last night.”

Sam’s eyes squeezed shut as his head dropped. He knew what that probably meant; more arguing over fictional worlds. He didn’t smell any traces of breakfast, not even Eggos. So, perhaps, it would be alright. Maybe Beck and Quorra fell asleep together on the couch, or they were still sipping coffee out by the lake across the street, losing time. It happened.

“Right… let’s just… figure out breakfast.” Sam gestured for Tron to go down the stairway first, following at a slower pace.

Getting downstairs, though, they were puzzled. The front and back doors were locked. The coffee pot hadn’t been plugged in, untouched. It was as if the younger duo had decided to go on an early morning drive and forgot to leave a note. Except, Tron found a note sitting beside Beck’s laptop on the couch.

“Oh no…” Tron lifted the paper, reading it again. “Sam…”

Chapter Text

Beck didn’t get the luxury of his disc being removed while it was scanned.

The guards forced him into an even tighter cell, put him on his knees, and bound him to the floor by his legs. His arms were stretched out to either side, taut, chained to the wall. It took six of them to get him into this position, kneeling, yet spread open at the same time. They wanted him exposed, subjugated, small.

When the guards exited the chamber, the walls went clear around him. Beck could see that they hadn’t exactly left, only that they had taken up position around the room, watching. A point of light from the ceiling washed over Beck’s oddly bound body. He couldn’t see it, but he could absolutely feel it when that light focused into a searing pain on his disc dock. He could feel the code being pulled to the surface of his disc through it, piece by piece. At first, it was only warm. Steadily, it became warmer, then hot, then molten as the beam brought forth his original, base code to the surface.

It didn’t matter how much pride he had. Beck was screaming now. His body tensed up, whether from the raw, excruciating sensation, or from a command line being activated to hold him still, he neither knew nor cared.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Edward Dillinger Senior read slowly through the raw data code script that made up one of the programs the MCP had “detained” for nearly breaking into Dillinger System’s mainframe. Over the years, he and his new partners had gotten caught up in a kind of game with ENCOM, seeing who could penetrate the deepest fire wall before getting kicked out. Edward had gotten good at recognizing just which programmer of the other company created the latest virus or worm. The thing that got to him now was that this wasn’t some kind of malware at all.

Beck, as the program was titled, was some kind of strange amalgamation of diagnostic and repair code mixed with, of all things, an anti-virus and fire wall combo. It wasn’t meant for malicious intentions at all. So why was it used for this?

The bulk of the code clearly had the hand of one Alan Bradley involved, but Edward could see touches of another familiar coder in there… one that was supposed to be dead for over two decades now. Even more confusing, the base code was written by someone completely different, someone whose work wasn’t well known, but signed “dustyboots.” The original code the others had built off of was unrefined, clearly a college level try, but perhaps for a freshman in high school rather than a programming graduate. Edward's own son was about that good by age eight, already tackling advanced concepts typically seen in much later grades. So, if some kid started this, what made ENCOM decide to beef it up and use it for an attack? It just didn’t make any sense.

Edward opened up a web browser window next to the details of the program, checking out the links the MCP had given him to explain the name “dustyboots.” Images of a man, somewhere between 25 and 35 came up, looking like just any other guy of his generation with a flare for the dramatic, a rebel hair cut, and tattoos of a certain nature… Or, maybe not… The man was a chameleon of sorts. One picture had him looking “dangerous” with a devil’s grin in a black jacket while the next showed him looking like some kind of waiter with a bow tie and glasses nervously asking for the table’s drink order. Looks-wise, he was definitely a contradiction.

Checking social media accounts offered more insight, but not much. With the exception of some posts about his prized dog doing dog things, the majority of the man’s posts were to promote music. There wasn’t really anything personal, perhaps a dry joke that went over most follower’s heads. Frowning at this, Edward pulled up the only WIKIPEDIA page linked to his name. It contained more information about musical endeavors, bandmates, collaborations, lore around his current projects…. The information about his higher education might as well have been a footnote, and it didn’t lend itself to programming much of anything.

The information just told Edward that the man was an introverted, creative type, but with a massive following and a penchant to play his cards close to the chest until it was time to put on a performance for the cameras.

Edward went back to studying the base code of Beck. This program was old, for sure. If Dustin Bates kept up with his hidden talent at programming since making Beck, he could be right up there with Edward Junior in skill. If, perhaps, Edward offered him a little more money than ENCOM…

______________________________________________________________________________________________

“We have a problem.”

Sam’s fingers drummed on the countertop in the Bradleys’ kitchen nervously. Beside him, Tron leaned back near the sink, arms crossed over his chest like a scolded child that knew he did something wrong. Both of their heads hung low as they addressed Alan and Lora.

“Okay…” Alan shared a look with Lora, wondering just what the hell had happened to bring these two in looking like that. “What kind of problem?”

“Beck answered a request from his user without telling anyone where he was going.” Tron answered, eyes still on his own feet. “Quorra got a distress call to save him. Since they escaped the unplanned stop, no one has heard from them.”

“It’s been hours,” Sam added. “Days for them.”

Lora’s hand tightened on Alan’s under the table, knowing what that meant. “They went back in? For what? Who called them? I thought that we were the only ones—”

“Beck’s original user and the user’s best friend.” Tron cut her off. “We think… we think he sent Beck to Dillinger Systems, and the friend sent Quorra after him as backup.”

“You… think?” Lora asked, confused. “Did you think to ask this other guy who Beck listens to? His friend? Why haven’t we met them? Why weren’t we even told you found—”

“Lora,” Alan spoke over her next, knowing that line of questioning wasn’t going to help. He turned back to Sam and Tron. “She has a point, though… Why would Beck get agree to go like that? Where did he go?”

Sam shook his head, grabbing his phone out to pull up a news article. “Guess you haven’t looked at any screens yet today. Check it out.”

Alan took the phone from Sam, moving it so Lora could see, too. “Dillinger Systems announces stable fusion reaction device... Well, shit… maybe we shouldn’t have held off on the laser after all.”

“Alan…” Sam marched over to the book shelf by the breakfast nook, returning with a paper back book and smacking it on the table infront of his godparents. “You read this, right? You thought about it?”

The two older adults stared at the book for a half second, then back up to Sam. Lora seemed to get the idea faster than Alan this time.

“So… Beck’s original user is a STARSET fan? A big one?” She asked, dreading the answer.

Sam sighed, glancing over his shoulder at Tron for a second. “Only if Alan’s just a big fan of Tron.”

Chapter Text

“Look, I don’t like the old man any more than you do, Sam.” Edward Dillinger Junior paced the board room floor in an uncharacteristic show of anxiety. “But, it’s a solid offer. You should take it.”

Sam held still, arms crossed tightly over his chest and legs stretched out under the table in front of him. He gazed at his long time frenemy critically. “Ed, I can’t let him have a single opening. I have my reasons.”

“Reasons for what?” Junior stopped pacing, frustration taking over. “It’s a simple business move that will benefit ENCOM. Others have already signed on, and not just here in Cali. All over the states. China’s even making a bid to buy the whole thing. The more companies that can get together, the higher that buy out price will be. The higher the price, the more that gets distributed if my father decides to sell. If not, we can all still reap the benefits together right here at home. Sam, it’s clean energy! Something I figured you’d want to be in on from the ground up. You can’t seriously be turning it down just because it’s my dad holding the olive branch.”

Junior turned to the two newer faces in the room, appealing to one of them specifically. “Come on, Dustin. We’ve worked together before, for that Air Force project. You know I don’t go for anything that isn’t right.”

Dustin rolled his shoulders, thinking. “I’m… still technically under contract with ENCOM even if I haven’t done anything here in a while. Isn’t there a non-compete clause or something?”

Alan watched the way Dustin squirmed. Truth be told, the old man was impressed. The hesitation was, mostly, a deception. Dustin’s prior link to Junior was their way in without stepping on too many toes. Junior could vouch for Dustin’s work to Edward. Sam and Alan could keep their physical distance from Dillinger Systems, send Dustin in as false tribute to ENCOM’s cooperation on Dillinger’s fusion project. Ron, the blond guy sticking to Dustin like glue, could monitor everything without drawing suspicion back to Alan and Sam directly. Technically, Ron was never signed on to ENCOM. So, if Dillinger forbade Dustin from passing on critical information to ENCOM employees, anything Dustin said to Ron was technically not in violation of the agreement. Ron could then pass on anything they learned back to Alan or Sam as he saw fit.

The trick was making Junior believe that he had won Dustin over and gotten him to break his original ENCOM contract. Roy could never find anything in Junior’s work to prove it, but Alan had a sinking feeling that the young Dillinger was working with his father this whole time. There were carefully hidden breadcrumbs if one knew where to look. Nothing solid.

Junior let that one roll right off his back. “You’re technically a third-party contractor for us. ENCOM already broke contract by not continuing to give you somethin to work on within one month of finishing your initial project. That releases you. You’re technically considered impartial.”

Dustin laid his hands flat on the table, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, that’s true… But, if I find out it’s not what your old man says it is, in any way, you have to know I’m going to say something.”

“Well, I’d want you to.” Junior answered earnestly. “I want you to come to me if something feels off. Anything.”

Alan's eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange. Junior was good—too good. The earnest tone, the open body language, even the way he'd positioned himself near the window so the light caught his face just right. It was all calculated, and Sam had seen Edward Dillinger Senior pull the exact same moves over thirty years ago.

"What's the timeline?" Sam asked finally, his voice carefully neutral.

Junior's face lit up with barely concealed triumph. "Six weeks for initial integration. We'd need Dustin on-site at our home facility by Monday to start the preliminary assessments."

"That's fast," Ron spoke for the first time, his quiet voice cutting through the tension. "Almost like you're in a hurry."

The slight tightening around Junior's eyes didn't go unnoticed by Alan. "The energy sector moves quickly these days. First to market usually wins. There are two competitors already very close behind."

Sam uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. "And if we say no?"

"Then you say no." Junior shrugged, but Alan caught the flash of something darker in his expression. "Though I have to wonder what Kevin Flynn would think about ENCOM passing on a chance to revolutionize clean energy because his son didn’t want to mend a single fence.”

A knife twisted in Sam’s chest. Junior had no idea what he’d just stirred within him. Alan saw it, the coiling of muscles, and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder to stop him from lunging across the table. Sam losing his temper wasn’t part of the plan.

“Well, I’m interested.” Dustin spoke up before Sam could burst out with anything. “If ENCOM will honor the contract and the fact that it was broken on their side, I want to do it. I want to make sure everything checks out and is being handled in a way that doesn’t harm employees in the long run. I mean, hey… it’s pretty damn cool regardless.”

*************************************************************************************

Phase two of the plan took an additional four days to implement.

Dustin played professional all the way through the meeting with Edward Dillinger Senior. Meanwhile, he kept trying to figure out where, exactly, he could connect the tiny remote access device Ron slipped him. The old man’s computer of a desk was in the middle of the room, covered by two cameras, and spotlessly polished. But, when Edward seemed sufficiently pleased enough with Dustin’s observations, questions, and subsequent start of work on the nuclear fusion project and how ENCOM might be able to contribute, he found a perfect opportunity for something to go wrong in that office.

Dillinger Systems was so sure of its revolutionary energy breakthrough that the whole main building was going to be switched over from the traditional power grid to the fusion reactor. Changes like that could create minor issues in complex tech like that AI enhanced desk. A power surge just big enough would mean an actual computer repair tech would have to come in and get hands on.

Dustin lauded the work Ron had done in the past and still did for the government and even other countries like Afghanistan and Guatemala as much as he could whenever Edward was within ear shot. So, when the time came, and that desk computer suffered electrical damage that probably killed it completely, Edward didn’t ask for any of his own people to do the repairs. He wanted someone better… someone like Ron.

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Quorra didn’t know how long she’d been cooped up in that damn small cell. The guards took her out once for a scan that was every bit as humiliating, painful, and drug out as Beck had described. When she was thrown back in, glitching from her toes to her eyes, Beck tried his best to comfort her from across the hall. At least they gave her a small shot of energy to stop the twitching. They said it was because the other prisoners were feeling uneasy between her compromised state and Beck’s demands to be let into the cell with her. Prisoner visits for scans weren’t usually so invasive. It wouldn’t do well to have every one of them that might be called into a scan to start fighting the guards.

Neither she nor Beck could figure out why they had been held in the cells instead of being sent to the games like everyone else. If the guards knew, they sure weren’t telling. Some of the other prisoners came up with the theory it was because the two of them were contaminated in some way, needed to stay in quarantine. It certainly wasn’t because they were from another system. Pretty much all the prisoners were.

That theory, though, it made Quorra sick to her stomach to hear that again. Since leaving the Grid, no one ever accused her of being a disease. She was just starting to let go of some of that bigotry thanks to the fact that Beck and Tron seemingly cared so much for her. They knew, and they learned otherwise.

Those whispers got to Beck, too. He didn’t give a damn what anyone said about him right now. In his mind, having the others think he and Quorra were infectious somehow might have been a good thing. Nobody would want to attack them for fear of being infected, too. But, he saw the way Quorra curled up on her side, hid her face, and laid very, very still when that rumor was whispered from cell to cell around them.

“Shut your fragging mouth, you Users forgotten glitch!” Beck snapped at a Program who was actively trying to antagonize Quorra one millicycle.

The Program in question, a hulking security protocol with corrupted code running down his left arm, laughed harshly. "What are you going to do about it? You're stuck in there same as the rest of us."

Beck gripped the energy bars of his cell, his circuits flaring brighter with anger. "When I get out of here—"

"You won't." The security protocol leaned closer to Beck's cell, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "None of us will. You think this is some temporary holding? They're not just putting us in games, Beck. They're harvesting us. One by one."

Quorra lifted her head slightly, her voice barely audible. "What do you mean?"

"The scans," another prisoner chimed in from further down the corridor. "They're not just looking at us. They're copying our code, stripping out what they need. The ones who come back are never the same. They take what they want from us to make our replacements, then throw whatever’s left of us into the games to be derezzed. I guess you’re lucky. Didn’t take anything from you did they?”