Short Chapter is Short (Hold On 6)
Title: Hold On
Fandom: Tron (Legacy)
Rating: T - violence, mindfuckery, mild sexings. Oh, language too.
Disclaimer: I own my laptop and a sleep deficit. It's like owning the Tron franchise, except there's nothing in common.
Summary: There's a crash, a fall, and it's over. Only sometimes not. A different take on the lightjet scene: what if Sam ended up falling, too? AU end of Legacy.
Chapter: 6/11 - Lull
Wordcount: 775
Flynn stared. His breath caught, mind frozen in shock as he looked at the image, blinked back the tears that welled up.
Then he let them fall as he sighed, laughed, tension fading to relief and amazement and disbelieving joy. He closed his eyes, opened them, took it all in again. The glowing desk, screen still scrolling raw data as it transferred the information. The tangle of cords and cables, hurriedly patched together in a desperate bid at functionality. And Sam's tiny, vital video device, attached and processing and showing him a miracle.
The screen was dim, poorly rendered and even more poorly focused. There were faint lines and blurs, vague representations for system data Flynn hadn't bothered filtering. And then there was Sam.
Sam. Healthy, standing, alive. No damage Flynn could make out-and the picture might be distorted and oddly structured, but it centered on Sam, focused on the digitized code Flynn had run his search on.
And then there was Tron.
The program blended into the dark background, but the 'T' still stood out clearly, bright blue against the blackness. Flynn could make out the shape, reaching up from the ground to take Sam's outstretched hand. Face blurred, but unhidden by Rinzler's mask. Because it wasn't Rinzler anymore, wasn't Clu's weapon, Clu's threat against Flynn's system and friends. Wasn't a danger to Sam. It's Tron.
It was Tron, and Sam was safe, was alive and well. And Flynn wasn't too late, hadn't failed him after all.
He grinned, squeezed his eyes shut and let the moisture clear away. He wanted to watch it again, slow down the flickering data to a real speed and see everything, not just the timeskipped patches. If he refiltered and subdivided the scan data, he could probably set up sound as well. A rush of satisfied amazement washed through him as he looked down at the device in his hand. It was astonishing, so small, but fully equipped with video and audio and specialized data transfer capabilities even Flynn had trouble figuring out. He hadn't explored all it could do, but there were unique systems, processing power he was beginning to think surpassed the grid, and what looked almost like a phone function, of all things. Now that seemed weird. Still. I have to get one of these.
He felt his mind expanding at the possibilities, the conventional limits of technology peeling away. It was like in '82, before so much went wrong: a new world unfolding, ideas and potential branching off in every direction. A faint voice urged caution, reminding him of centuries of stillness, a devotion to a slower path. But now? Flynn laughed, shaking his head. I've been still long enough. Sam was safe; hell, Tron was safe. And he was out. For the first time in forever, everything would be fine. Everything was under control.
He looked at the device, tempted, then set it down, turning back to the touchscreen desk. All parts of his mind were in agreement that Sam came first-and in the minutes he had taken to set things up and contemplate, his son had doubtless been waiting awhile. By the time he'd even caught up to the now-paused screen, time in the Grid had far outpaced the image? An hour? More? He itched to watch, keep an eye on Sam, but it wouldn't help. Time passed too quickly there; he couldn't see and react fast enough to be of help, no matter what rate he ran the video at. Instead, his fingers flitted across the keyboard, calling up the digitizer controls, resetting the portal functions. What matters now is getting him out. Besides, Sam had Tron to keep him safe.
Flynn smiled. Tron. Against all odds, Alan's program had pulled through. Flynn's next priority had to be cleaning Tron's code, now that he knew for certain the program could be salvaged. He could even call in Alan if he had to-if he knew Bradley, he was going to have to give some explanation for his long absence. Though now that he thought about it, he should probably check more for Quorra first. His joy faltered slightly at the memory, but he calmed himself. If he could help her, he would.
He shook his head, lips twitching upwards. There were so many things to do, so many things he could do now. That they could do. He looked over the specifications, leaned in, and hit the key as he moved to the side.
"Portal activated." Flynn's eyes went to the video display, but he held off for now. He could wait. It shouldn't be long.
Come on, kiddo.
5 - Corruption 7 - Meetings
Fandom: Tron (Legacy)
Rating: T - violence, mindfuckery, mild sexings. Oh, language too.
Disclaimer: I own my laptop and a sleep deficit. It's like owning the Tron franchise, except there's nothing in common.
Summary: There's a crash, a fall, and it's over. Only sometimes not. A different take on the lightjet scene: what if Sam ended up falling, too? AU end of Legacy.
Chapter: 6/11 - Lull
Wordcount: 775
Flynn stared. His breath caught, mind frozen in shock as he looked at the image, blinked back the tears that welled up.
Then he let them fall as he sighed, laughed, tension fading to relief and amazement and disbelieving joy. He closed his eyes, opened them, took it all in again. The glowing desk, screen still scrolling raw data as it transferred the information. The tangle of cords and cables, hurriedly patched together in a desperate bid at functionality. And Sam's tiny, vital video device, attached and processing and showing him a miracle.
The screen was dim, poorly rendered and even more poorly focused. There were faint lines and blurs, vague representations for system data Flynn hadn't bothered filtering. And then there was Sam.
Sam. Healthy, standing, alive. No damage Flynn could make out-and the picture might be distorted and oddly structured, but it centered on Sam, focused on the digitized code Flynn had run his search on.
And then there was Tron.
The program blended into the dark background, but the 'T' still stood out clearly, bright blue against the blackness. Flynn could make out the shape, reaching up from the ground to take Sam's outstretched hand. Face blurred, but unhidden by Rinzler's mask. Because it wasn't Rinzler anymore, wasn't Clu's weapon, Clu's threat against Flynn's system and friends. Wasn't a danger to Sam. It's Tron.
It was Tron, and Sam was safe, was alive and well. And Flynn wasn't too late, hadn't failed him after all.
He grinned, squeezed his eyes shut and let the moisture clear away. He wanted to watch it again, slow down the flickering data to a real speed and see everything, not just the timeskipped patches. If he refiltered and subdivided the scan data, he could probably set up sound as well. A rush of satisfied amazement washed through him as he looked down at the device in his hand. It was astonishing, so small, but fully equipped with video and audio and specialized data transfer capabilities even Flynn had trouble figuring out. He hadn't explored all it could do, but there were unique systems, processing power he was beginning to think surpassed the grid, and what looked almost like a phone function, of all things. Now that seemed weird. Still. I have to get one of these.
He felt his mind expanding at the possibilities, the conventional limits of technology peeling away. It was like in '82, before so much went wrong: a new world unfolding, ideas and potential branching off in every direction. A faint voice urged caution, reminding him of centuries of stillness, a devotion to a slower path. But now? Flynn laughed, shaking his head. I've been still long enough. Sam was safe; hell, Tron was safe. And he was out. For the first time in forever, everything would be fine. Everything was under control.
He looked at the device, tempted, then set it down, turning back to the touchscreen desk. All parts of his mind were in agreement that Sam came first-and in the minutes he had taken to set things up and contemplate, his son had doubtless been waiting awhile. By the time he'd even caught up to the now-paused screen, time in the Grid had far outpaced the image? An hour? More? He itched to watch, keep an eye on Sam, but it wouldn't help. Time passed too quickly there; he couldn't see and react fast enough to be of help, no matter what rate he ran the video at. Instead, his fingers flitted across the keyboard, calling up the digitizer controls, resetting the portal functions. What matters now is getting him out. Besides, Sam had Tron to keep him safe.
Flynn smiled. Tron. Against all odds, Alan's program had pulled through. Flynn's next priority had to be cleaning Tron's code, now that he knew for certain the program could be salvaged. He could even call in Alan if he had to-if he knew Bradley, he was going to have to give some explanation for his long absence. Though now that he thought about it, he should probably check more for Quorra first. His joy faltered slightly at the memory, but he calmed himself. If he could help her, he would.
He shook his head, lips twitching upwards. There were so many things to do, so many things he could do now. That they could do. He looked over the specifications, leaned in, and hit the key as he moved to the side.
"Portal activated." Flynn's eyes went to the video display, but he held off for now. He could wait. It shouldn't be long.
Come on, kiddo.
5 - Corruption 7 - Meetings