Fanfiction: Walking Among US (Tron: Legacy)
Title: "Walking Among Us"
Status: OneShot; Complete
Fandom: Tron: Legacy
Characters: OCs, Kevin Flynn (mentioned)
Disclaimer: The big mouse owns half the world, both Tron movies included.
Rating: PG-13
Beta: All mistakes are mine at the moment. Anyone offering to remedy that?
Note: This was written for tronkinkmeme. Prompt: "During the fight scene in End of Line, when Flynn appears, you can see some of the programs kneeling and completely enraptured by his presence, and it's implied that the rebels' sudden boost in strength came in part from Flynn's mere presence as well as from any beneficially programming. Even though he's supposedly 'gone' and Clu seems to have control, there are still faithful programs who believe in the Creator. Let's have something from their point of view, anons! Even through the dark times, there are those who still have faith in Kevin Flynn!"
Summary: Some lost faith and others still believe in the Users...
Walking Among Us
You don't notice him, at first.
It's because you cling to your energy cocktail with too much focus, and your head is ducked to avoid the looks of others. You shouldn't have come here.
CLU's sentries are everywhere, lounging lazily in their seats, talking with entertaining Siren's or moving between the dancers, lost in the trance of the MP3's music.
And you have to wonder if they are really as distracted as they seem or if they just decide that their function be damned, they are off duty.
They can't be. The rebels are here as well, showing themselves openly as if this is a safe place. You know them by their scars, the traces of dead data marring their coding; the hollows. You are close enough to overhear snippets of their conversation with Castor. They demand an audience with Zuse, but the entertainer is his usual, silver-tongued and mocking self, intent only on wasting their time with jokes and chatter. The latter is full of hidden insults and it makes you wonder what Castor's original function might have been.
You get up as inconspicuously as you can manage, draining the glass and setting it down in the movement. Your circuitry flickers, but you hope that no one will notice.
The hum of the system rises in pitch and you start for the door, knowing that it's now or never. You pass a Siren at the exit, she accompanies a program with unusual, blue-white circuitry - a pulse races through you, like the long forgotten call. It reminds you of memory files long discarded, of preaching tower guardians and a name that should be lost in the old system.
You know that program now, all customers here must know that face from the Games. It is the Creator's son, Sam Flynn and he is walking straight into a trap, because you feel the hum that promises Black Guards...
You hesitate, but only for a klick, before you move towards the elevator. Your faith has crumbled long ago, vanishing with the Creator, and you are no fighter anyway; that was ripped from you by the MCP.
So you leave, because a User's Call and blessing have lost all meaning to you. Your primary function is to survive, and although you might secretly cling to hope, you know that all is lost.
But hope whispers, deep in your code: 'If he truly is a User, than he will not derezz here.'
XXX
Everything changes with his appearance, but not immediately.
First, there is only a silhouette, a program in a cloak, standing in the door, without any distinct features. That changes as it - he - steps out of the shadows and onto the white tiles.
A pulse of brilliant energy announces his presence without fail, striking a line of coding in the core of every program present, no matter whether they believe or not. It is like the Call, only stronger.
Every frame of reference, time and space, reality and memories falls away, as he accesses the Grid with a simple touch. All motion ceases as those who believe drop down with their hands raised to worship, while others are frozen in their fear, knowing they follow the path of blasphemy.
A god walks among us, the Creator himself.
The knowledge gives strength to those who resist CLU's reign and chaos erupts in the club, as sentries and rebels meet over the hum of charged Light Disc's; their edges clashing, shearing off sparks of red and blue.
You fall to your knees because you have always known and hoped and prayed for a sign. The chaos cannot touch you and the danger is nothing to you.
The User has returned.
End
Status: OneShot; Complete
Fandom: Tron: Legacy
Characters: OCs, Kevin Flynn (mentioned)
Disclaimer: The big mouse owns half the world, both Tron movies included.
Rating: PG-13
Beta: All mistakes are mine at the moment. Anyone offering to remedy that?
Note: This was written for tronkinkmeme. Prompt: "During the fight scene in End of Line, when Flynn appears, you can see some of the programs kneeling and completely enraptured by his presence, and it's implied that the rebels' sudden boost in strength came in part from Flynn's mere presence as well as from any beneficially programming. Even though he's supposedly 'gone' and Clu seems to have control, there are still faithful programs who believe in the Creator. Let's have something from their point of view, anons! Even through the dark times, there are those who still have faith in Kevin Flynn!"
Summary: Some lost faith and others still believe in the Users...
Walking Among Us
You don't notice him, at first.
It's because you cling to your energy cocktail with too much focus, and your head is ducked to avoid the looks of others. You shouldn't have come here.
CLU's sentries are everywhere, lounging lazily in their seats, talking with entertaining Siren's or moving between the dancers, lost in the trance of the MP3's music.
And you have to wonder if they are really as distracted as they seem or if they just decide that their function be damned, they are off duty.
They can't be. The rebels are here as well, showing themselves openly as if this is a safe place. You know them by their scars, the traces of dead data marring their coding; the hollows. You are close enough to overhear snippets of their conversation with Castor. They demand an audience with Zuse, but the entertainer is his usual, silver-tongued and mocking self, intent only on wasting their time with jokes and chatter. The latter is full of hidden insults and it makes you wonder what Castor's original function might have been.
You get up as inconspicuously as you can manage, draining the glass and setting it down in the movement. Your circuitry flickers, but you hope that no one will notice.
The hum of the system rises in pitch and you start for the door, knowing that it's now or never. You pass a Siren at the exit, she accompanies a program with unusual, blue-white circuitry - a pulse races through you, like the long forgotten call. It reminds you of memory files long discarded, of preaching tower guardians and a name that should be lost in the old system.
You know that program now, all customers here must know that face from the Games. It is the Creator's son, Sam Flynn and he is walking straight into a trap, because you feel the hum that promises Black Guards...
You hesitate, but only for a klick, before you move towards the elevator. Your faith has crumbled long ago, vanishing with the Creator, and you are no fighter anyway; that was ripped from you by the MCP.
So you leave, because a User's Call and blessing have lost all meaning to you. Your primary function is to survive, and although you might secretly cling to hope, you know that all is lost.
But hope whispers, deep in your code: 'If he truly is a User, than he will not derezz here.'
XXX
Everything changes with his appearance, but not immediately.
First, there is only a silhouette, a program in a cloak, standing in the door, without any distinct features. That changes as it - he - steps out of the shadows and onto the white tiles.
A pulse of brilliant energy announces his presence without fail, striking a line of coding in the core of every program present, no matter whether they believe or not. It is like the Call, only stronger.
Every frame of reference, time and space, reality and memories falls away, as he accesses the Grid with a simple touch. All motion ceases as those who believe drop down with their hands raised to worship, while others are frozen in their fear, knowing they follow the path of blasphemy.
A god walks among us, the Creator himself.
The knowledge gives strength to those who resist CLU's reign and chaos erupts in the club, as sentries and rebels meet over the hum of charged Light Disc's; their edges clashing, shearing off sparks of red and blue.
You fall to your knees because you have always known and hoped and prayed for a sign. The chaos cannot touch you and the danger is nothing to you.
The User has returned.
End