Stepping Stones Ch.7
Title: Stepping Stones
Rating: T
Universe: Tron
Pairing: Developing
Word Count: 1,292
Disclaimer: I don't own Tron or anything affiliated with it.
Radiant was not a word that often came to a program's mind in the Grid. True enough the splendor of the light cycles and the vast sector cities were illuminating and vibrant but the light did not fill the darkness around it. Light in the grid simply penetrated through the black, but did not take up the empty space that surrounded.
Sark felt radiant, he felt akin to what a User must have felt like. It was like the cold and black of the Grid was no more and this feeling, this warmth, had filled every inch of it. The Grid was a cold place, there was no warmth to be found but with another Program and even then, they had functions and duties and time for frivolous activities was seldom to none.
Programs stared up in awe, the great Carrier hovering above the city and filling the void with majesty and a presence they had never felt before. The might and awe of such a massive vessel was the closest thing they would ever feel to gazing upon a User, Sark thought.
He knew the insurgency members were lurking about - beneath him was the sprawling network of passageways and buildings and several hundred alleys and unused spaces available for hiding. Sark was fully aware of this and more than eager to accommodate their violent streak. Five, five of his guards - derezzed. Unacceptable. Sark felt no emotional attachment to these programs now clad in red such as himself; however they served the MCP with the same loyalty as he. Their losses meant time spent recruiting new programs, or spending both time and data recreating them.
The Carrier lowered slightly, and Sark nodded at the operator to his left, who activated the digital teleportation, waves of light spreading over Sark and taking him apart layer by layer as they shot down to the center of the City square. He reformed, the rungs of energy lifting up and forming his body until he stood, whole and true before the generic data pushers and information programs that stared at him like a pillar of light in the darkness.
Two guards were also sent down, flanking him on both sides as he stood - sending his gaze over the Programs who whispered to each other in either fear or admiration.
"No need to be alarmed." Sark spoke, "We are investigating this matter for your security, this insurgency shall be put down both promptly and effic-"
Sark jumped, a guard behind him derezzing in a flash and snap of light without so much as time to scream. The programs who had watched his arrival fled, like cockroaches exposed to light as rebellion members made themselves known. It was easy for Sark to differentiate as he quickly backpedaled, the ones that didn't run were the ones he had to kill.
He mapped the area out with a sweeping glance, the city square was surrounded by buildings on all sides but the size was large enough that he could have landed the Carrier in it if he had so chosen. Four roads led away from the clearing in each cardinal direction. Sark had half a mind to snort at how uninventive the design of the city was, but it was a city of programs whose daily lives were made up of endless and unimaginative data streams. Didn't leave much room for imagination.
The bottom line Sark gathered from this - was that there was no place to hide, and there were at least five rebels, discs drawn, heading straight towards him.
"Watch my back!" he snarled to the guard, who turned and immediately set himself upon a rebel who had been a ways behind Sark. As he finished his sentence he looked up, hearing the crackle of energy that was still familiar to him even though many cycles had passed.
He drew his disc quickly and did an upward sweep, knocking the blue disc away and hurling his own. In a violent streak of red and orange, the attacker was gone - weapon disintegrating with him. This had left Sark open for an easy attack, and he found himself scrambling to catch his disk and avoid getting struck by the two that were diving for his chest.
Catch and throw, dodge and dive - his body remembered and he didn't have to think, he only did. Blue discs missed him by inches and centimeters, but he twisted to avoid the flying death with fearless precision. As Sark threw his disk, feigning a left throw, his disc instead turned to decapitate the rebel closing in on the right. He heard the telltale sound of a derezzing behind him but with no scream to go with it.
He knew two choices laid before him, turn and see who had been derezzed and leave himself open for an attack or trust that his guard had been adequate to take out the single insurgent he had been battling.
"Com-" Sark caught his disk as he heard his guard call out to him, but as soon as he prepared to throw it again a searing burn tore through his back and he met the floor. The first thoughts that ran through his head weren't about his injury, but rather that he should have been derezzed from such a laceration, yet he was still alive.
The world around him became nothing but sound and light, his eyes waxing over as he felt his body try to drag itself towards his disk that had been flung out of his hand. More pain, it was everywhere now. He felt the sharp burn and heat of another strike, this one down his lower back and leading to his thigh.
He grinned despite it all, the MCP's armor somehow holding him together through the would-be fatal wounds. Sark's vision became a mixture of reds and blues - he could hear shouting but it became so incoherent that he couldn't differentiate words. Blobs of blue came close to him, then blobs of red came from behind, glistening lights and gems of every color swarmed in his field of vision as he felt arms pulling him back.
A sickness filled Sark, and he didn't realize what was happening as the Grid seemed to warp and flow before his eyes. As quickly as it had set on however, it vanished - and Sark realized he was back in the Carrier. The hums and beeps of the Grid-map that filled up an entire wall were unmistakable; they comforted Sark as two guards dragged him to the podium.
The guards looked over at each other as they pulled the limp Commander across the floor to the MCP's contact station. They knew, priority wise, the MCP had stated firmly that any urgent news was to be given to him directly - and no one but Sark could operate the podium. The guards knew there was nothing they could do for their Commander, the concept of 'recovery' was a rare and tricky term on the Grid, and only applied to those with the smallest of injuries. Anything worse resulted in a slow, painful derezzing.
They lifted him up, trying to get their commander to stand as they wrapped his fingers around the handles of the contact podium, stepping away quickly to avoid being caught in the blades of light that quickly surrounded Sark, enclosing him in an opaque wall of blue light.
Rating: T
Universe: Tron
Pairing: Developing
Word Count: 1,292
Disclaimer: I don't own Tron or anything affiliated with it.
Radiant was not a word that often came to a program's mind in the Grid. True enough the splendor of the light cycles and the vast sector cities were illuminating and vibrant but the light did not fill the darkness around it. Light in the grid simply penetrated through the black, but did not take up the empty space that surrounded.
Sark felt radiant, he felt akin to what a User must have felt like. It was like the cold and black of the Grid was no more and this feeling, this warmth, had filled every inch of it. The Grid was a cold place, there was no warmth to be found but with another Program and even then, they had functions and duties and time for frivolous activities was seldom to none.
Programs stared up in awe, the great Carrier hovering above the city and filling the void with majesty and a presence they had never felt before. The might and awe of such a massive vessel was the closest thing they would ever feel to gazing upon a User, Sark thought.
He knew the insurgency members were lurking about - beneath him was the sprawling network of passageways and buildings and several hundred alleys and unused spaces available for hiding. Sark was fully aware of this and more than eager to accommodate their violent streak. Five, five of his guards - derezzed. Unacceptable. Sark felt no emotional attachment to these programs now clad in red such as himself; however they served the MCP with the same loyalty as he. Their losses meant time spent recruiting new programs, or spending both time and data recreating them.
The Carrier lowered slightly, and Sark nodded at the operator to his left, who activated the digital teleportation, waves of light spreading over Sark and taking him apart layer by layer as they shot down to the center of the City square. He reformed, the rungs of energy lifting up and forming his body until he stood, whole and true before the generic data pushers and information programs that stared at him like a pillar of light in the darkness.
Two guards were also sent down, flanking him on both sides as he stood - sending his gaze over the Programs who whispered to each other in either fear or admiration.
"No need to be alarmed." Sark spoke, "We are investigating this matter for your security, this insurgency shall be put down both promptly and effic-"
Sark jumped, a guard behind him derezzing in a flash and snap of light without so much as time to scream. The programs who had watched his arrival fled, like cockroaches exposed to light as rebellion members made themselves known. It was easy for Sark to differentiate as he quickly backpedaled, the ones that didn't run were the ones he had to kill.
He mapped the area out with a sweeping glance, the city square was surrounded by buildings on all sides but the size was large enough that he could have landed the Carrier in it if he had so chosen. Four roads led away from the clearing in each cardinal direction. Sark had half a mind to snort at how uninventive the design of the city was, but it was a city of programs whose daily lives were made up of endless and unimaginative data streams. Didn't leave much room for imagination.
The bottom line Sark gathered from this - was that there was no place to hide, and there were at least five rebels, discs drawn, heading straight towards him.
"Watch my back!" he snarled to the guard, who turned and immediately set himself upon a rebel who had been a ways behind Sark. As he finished his sentence he looked up, hearing the crackle of energy that was still familiar to him even though many cycles had passed.
He drew his disc quickly and did an upward sweep, knocking the blue disc away and hurling his own. In a violent streak of red and orange, the attacker was gone - weapon disintegrating with him. This had left Sark open for an easy attack, and he found himself scrambling to catch his disk and avoid getting struck by the two that were diving for his chest.
Catch and throw, dodge and dive - his body remembered and he didn't have to think, he only did. Blue discs missed him by inches and centimeters, but he twisted to avoid the flying death with fearless precision. As Sark threw his disk, feigning a left throw, his disc instead turned to decapitate the rebel closing in on the right. He heard the telltale sound of a derezzing behind him but with no scream to go with it.
He knew two choices laid before him, turn and see who had been derezzed and leave himself open for an attack or trust that his guard had been adequate to take out the single insurgent he had been battling.
"Com-" Sark caught his disk as he heard his guard call out to him, but as soon as he prepared to throw it again a searing burn tore through his back and he met the floor. The first thoughts that ran through his head weren't about his injury, but rather that he should have been derezzed from such a laceration, yet he was still alive.
The world around him became nothing but sound and light, his eyes waxing over as he felt his body try to drag itself towards his disk that had been flung out of his hand. More pain, it was everywhere now. He felt the sharp burn and heat of another strike, this one down his lower back and leading to his thigh.
He grinned despite it all, the MCP's armor somehow holding him together through the would-be fatal wounds. Sark's vision became a mixture of reds and blues - he could hear shouting but it became so incoherent that he couldn't differentiate words. Blobs of blue came close to him, then blobs of red came from behind, glistening lights and gems of every color swarmed in his field of vision as he felt arms pulling him back.
A sickness filled Sark, and he didn't realize what was happening as the Grid seemed to warp and flow before his eyes. As quickly as it had set on however, it vanished - and Sark realized he was back in the Carrier. The hums and beeps of the Grid-map that filled up an entire wall were unmistakable; they comforted Sark as two guards dragged him to the podium.
The guards looked over at each other as they pulled the limp Commander across the floor to the MCP's contact station. They knew, priority wise, the MCP had stated firmly that any urgent news was to be given to him directly - and no one but Sark could operate the podium. The guards knew there was nothing they could do for their Commander, the concept of 'recovery' was a rare and tricky term on the Grid, and only applied to those with the smallest of injuries. Anything worse resulted in a slow, painful derezzing.
They lifted him up, trying to get their commander to stand as they wrapped his fingers around the handles of the contact podium, stepping away quickly to avoid being caught in the blades of light that quickly surrounded Sark, enclosing him in an opaque wall of blue light.