Stepping Stones Ch.2
Title: Stepping Stones
Rating: T
Universe: Tron
Pairing: None at the moment, will be developing
Word Count: 920
Sark nervously tapped his foot up and down as he sat in the holding chamber for the games. Other programs walked about, casually conversing with each other, showing off their 'killer' moves with extravagant swings and sometimes a spin.
The games were a place of enjoyment and leisure - for the flashier programs to strut and show their processing power. Sark had no interest in them, although the rush from simple nervousness was something new, not enjoyable, but new.
A program tapped on the wall of the holding chamber. "You're up." He said, "Prepare for transport."
Sark stood, crossing his arms uncomfortably as he prepared himself. Layers of light washed over him and he felt like his innards were somewhere else from his frame before being reconnected. He blinked, disoriented for a moment and wobbling on his feet. He heard a chorus of chuckles above him, and his gaze turned upwards. A few programs sat above the square pit that made up the disc arena, their legs hanging over the edge as they chattered and watched.
Four black squares were set down like points on a compass in the disc arena, and one was in the very center. Sark was in that center square, and his eyes darted about nervously for his opponent. On the square to his left, a few yards away, a program transported in. He was just as tall, shoulders broader and body thicker all around.
He didn't even wait for the starting bell - with a quick reach back and a throw, the program's dimly glowing disc was flying at Sark. He stumbled and ducked, the disc flying overhead and swinging around to return to its owner's hands. The programs observing went silent, watching with dopey smiles of amusement.
Sark reached back, his arm bending awkwardly as he tried to pry his disk off. He fumbled with his hand for a moment, stumbling back as he finally stretched enough to grab it. He tossed it, and it glided lazily in the air before sliding on the ground and simply laying there.
The observing programs guffawed, and Sark looked at his disk, confused. His opponent went in to a spin, and Sark watched, eyes narrowing. The disc seemed to flash as energy was charged in to it, and it catapulted towards him. He dove down, dodging again and scrambling across the floor for his own disc, snatching it. Energy transfer - that was it!
He sent a burst of power in to his disc, throwing it awkwardly upwards from his place on the ground, rolling over, the snapping sound of his opponent's disc hitting the floor close to his ears radiating in his head. He heard a thump and dared look up, only to raise his hand quickly to catch his own disc which was dutifully returning to his hand.
Catching it, he stood, venting heavily as his eyes widened. His awkward floor-throw had sent his disc straight up and smacked in to his opponent's face. The program was now on the ground, holding his nose. The other programs laughed, the severity of the situation lost to everyone but Sark.
The MCP had ordered no mercy - if a fraction of his energy being put in to the disk had caused the program minor damage, then more could possibly end up with a derezzing.
He walked over, trying his best to hide his fear as he approached. His opponent was waving his hand carelessly at him, still holding his nose.
"You win, you win." He said, voice sounding nasally as a result of his injury.
Sark hesitated, then raised his disk, energy pulsing in to it. It became brighter and brighter until it was fully enveloped in blue light. The program removed his hand from his nose, backing up a bit, his nose cracked slightly to the side, frame having shifted under skin.
"Hey-" he protested, "You win! Game's over, alright?"
Sark pulled back his arm and with eyes shut he brought his disc down. His opponent didn't have time to shout as the disc struck him in his core, body glowing and derezzing with a crackle of electricity.
The programs observing gasped, looking at each other in confusion, whispering to each other. Their eyes fell upon Sark, who caught his disk clumsily before clearing his throat and turning up to the observers. They stood, shuffling back a bit, eyeing him nervously like scared animals.
"I-" he stopped, raising his voice so he they could hear him. The realization struck him then that he had won, he had derezzed another program. And there would be no repercussions, no action against him from a higher authority because the MCP was the highest authority!
His voice was louder, threatening - or trying to be, "I fight…for the MCP."
The programs looked at each other, confused, but then turned back to him, expecting more.
Sark stuttered, what more was there to say? He fought for the MCP, he'd said it.
"…that is all…" he cracked out, turning to exit the arena.
Rating: T
Universe: Tron
Pairing: None at the moment, will be developing
Word Count: 920
Sark nervously tapped his foot up and down as he sat in the holding chamber for the games. Other programs walked about, casually conversing with each other, showing off their 'killer' moves with extravagant swings and sometimes a spin.
The games were a place of enjoyment and leisure - for the flashier programs to strut and show their processing power. Sark had no interest in them, although the rush from simple nervousness was something new, not enjoyable, but new.
A program tapped on the wall of the holding chamber. "You're up." He said, "Prepare for transport."
Sark stood, crossing his arms uncomfortably as he prepared himself. Layers of light washed over him and he felt like his innards were somewhere else from his frame before being reconnected. He blinked, disoriented for a moment and wobbling on his feet. He heard a chorus of chuckles above him, and his gaze turned upwards. A few programs sat above the square pit that made up the disc arena, their legs hanging over the edge as they chattered and watched.
Four black squares were set down like points on a compass in the disc arena, and one was in the very center. Sark was in that center square, and his eyes darted about nervously for his opponent. On the square to his left, a few yards away, a program transported in. He was just as tall, shoulders broader and body thicker all around.
He didn't even wait for the starting bell - with a quick reach back and a throw, the program's dimly glowing disc was flying at Sark. He stumbled and ducked, the disc flying overhead and swinging around to return to its owner's hands. The programs observing went silent, watching with dopey smiles of amusement.
Sark reached back, his arm bending awkwardly as he tried to pry his disk off. He fumbled with his hand for a moment, stumbling back as he finally stretched enough to grab it. He tossed it, and it glided lazily in the air before sliding on the ground and simply laying there.
The observing programs guffawed, and Sark looked at his disk, confused. His opponent went in to a spin, and Sark watched, eyes narrowing. The disc seemed to flash as energy was charged in to it, and it catapulted towards him. He dove down, dodging again and scrambling across the floor for his own disc, snatching it. Energy transfer - that was it!
He sent a burst of power in to his disc, throwing it awkwardly upwards from his place on the ground, rolling over, the snapping sound of his opponent's disc hitting the floor close to his ears radiating in his head. He heard a thump and dared look up, only to raise his hand quickly to catch his own disc which was dutifully returning to his hand.
Catching it, he stood, venting heavily as his eyes widened. His awkward floor-throw had sent his disc straight up and smacked in to his opponent's face. The program was now on the ground, holding his nose. The other programs laughed, the severity of the situation lost to everyone but Sark.
The MCP had ordered no mercy - if a fraction of his energy being put in to the disk had caused the program minor damage, then more could possibly end up with a derezzing.
He walked over, trying his best to hide his fear as he approached. His opponent was waving his hand carelessly at him, still holding his nose.
"You win, you win." He said, voice sounding nasally as a result of his injury.
Sark hesitated, then raised his disk, energy pulsing in to it. It became brighter and brighter until it was fully enveloped in blue light. The program removed his hand from his nose, backing up a bit, his nose cracked slightly to the side, frame having shifted under skin.
"Hey-" he protested, "You win! Game's over, alright?"
Sark pulled back his arm and with eyes shut he brought his disc down. His opponent didn't have time to shout as the disc struck him in his core, body glowing and derezzing with a crackle of electricity.
The programs observing gasped, looking at each other in confusion, whispering to each other. Their eyes fell upon Sark, who caught his disk clumsily before clearing his throat and turning up to the observers. They stood, shuffling back a bit, eyeing him nervously like scared animals.
"I-" he stopped, raising his voice so he they could hear him. The realization struck him then that he had won, he had derezzed another program. And there would be no repercussions, no action against him from a higher authority because the MCP was the highest authority!
His voice was louder, threatening - or trying to be, "I fight…for the MCP."
The programs looked at each other, confused, but then turned back to him, expecting more.
Sark stuttered, what more was there to say? He fought for the MCP, he'd said it.
"…that is all…" he cracked out, turning to exit the arena.