igrab
in
the_grrrrid
"He fights for the users." | Tron/Ram
title. "He fights for the users."
author. igrab
pairing. Tron/Ram
wordcount. 1,309
summary. a story of Ram and Tron meeting
Ram liked to think he had a pretty good relationship with his user.
I mean, it had been a pretty long time since he'd gotten his directions and all, but Ram was really happy with the way he'd been made, and he'd loved being sent out into the world to do his little risk assessment thing. It was great. He supposedly helped keep people's (after)lives in order, which was fantastic because he loved helping. Anyone who was good at their job should have a right to be pretty happy about it, and when you think about it, it was his user that had made him like this. So yeah. He was, in general, a big fan of users.
But he hadn't really thought about it until Tron.
That was how his life was divided - before Tron, after Tron (though maybe if he'd had a chance to think about it again there would be a third category called 'after Flynn', but Flynn was different, Flynn changed everything). Before Tron, Ram didn't think about anything more than the task at hand, and then the next, and then maybe he spared a moment's consideration for the rumors about the MCP - but no more than that. They were just rumors. They didn't affect him. No one knew anyone who'd been taken, it was always a friend of a friend of a friend, so why worry? There wasn't anything he could do about it.
He was taken by the MCP with three of his system buddies, small programs that he interacted with on an almost-daily basis. They stood together, terrified. They went to the games together. Ram - through sheer dumb luck, maybe, or maybe he was programmed a little better (they were just number-crunchers, after all), but he survived the first round, and then bam, thrown into tiny little cells with purple forced fields and no foreseeable outcome of the future.
Ironically, if he'd been a user, this was exactly the sort of thing that Ram had spent his life preparing people for.
One small consolation was that they were allowed (or maybe forced to, though Ram enjoyed it) to watch the games of the other appropriated programs, while they were waiting for their chance to die. First, Ram liked it because it was less boring than staring at a wall in his cell.
Then, he saw Tron.
Most of the programs were bad at this. Ram picked that up pretty quick; he wasn't any great, either, which was probably why he was still alive. This guy, though. Oh, this guy was good. Like a planned disaster, like a perfectly balanced column of figures. All of his pieces fitting neatly into place. He was beautiful.
"Who is that guy?" Ram hissed to his neighbor, still watching, unable to tear his eyes away.
"Oh. That's Tron," and the guy said it like he was tired of hearing about it, which couldn't be right because he looked even younger than Ram. "He fights for the users."
He fights for the users. Which users? Why? What did that even mean?
Time was irrelevant in this place, so Ram couldn't say how long it took him to get closer and closer to this guy, this program that quickly became his obsession. He fought hard in the games and practiced harder in between them, because he couldn't get derezzed now, he just couldn't. Not without meeting Tron. Not without knowing him. Not without asking what he fought for.
Then, one day, he looked over into the next cubicle and realized that Tron was watching him.
He jumped - just in surprise, because he hadn't realized that cell was even occupied and it wasn't just Tron, it was Tron looking right at him.
"Um," he said. "Hi. You're Tron, aren't you?"
The program nodded quietly. The look on his face was an odd one - a wary look, but also intrigued, and Ram would give a lot to move that look all the way off the former and onto the latter.
"I asked about you. I saw how you play - you're amazing." He quickly shut himself up before he could start gushing, because, let's face it, they were still total strangers, even if Ram did spend every waking minute thinking about him.
Tron's eyebrows went up just the slightest bit - like he was surprised at the compliment, but he had to know how good he was. He was miles above everyone else. It was obvious.
"You, too."
They were the first words he'd said to him, and for a moment, Ram couldn't even understand them.
"What?"
"I mean," and he looked, of all things, embarrassed - "I've watched you too. You're almost as good as me, and - well, I've been here for..." He trailed off. It was like he couldn't even remember. "...A long time."
Circuits still bright from the compliment, Ram scooted forward until he could lean his elbows against the ledge between their rooms, only a shimmering purple force field in the way. He bit his lip. "...Someone told me - well, okay, a lot of people told me - that you 'fight for the users'."
Tron - who had looked away quickly after his little admission, peered back over one shoulder with one eyebrow lifted. "...Yeah. I do."
"What does that mean?" Before Tron even had a chance to answer, more questions tumbled out. "Does that mean you're here by choice? Did your user send you? Are you trying to take down the MCP?"
"Shhh." Tron held a finger up to his lips, stern, but when Ram nodded quickly he sighed and moved down closer to the force field. Their faces were inches apart; Ram could have leaned in and touched noses, if that wouldn't be extremely painful. "...Yes. The answer to all of those is yes."
"Oh." Ram blew out a soft breath - Tron's throat worked, and for a second he thought he'd offended him, but he realized that no, it wasn't a bad thing at all. The force fields would hurt them if they tried to move through it, but air apparently did not count. He could feel Ram breathing. "Then - how is that fighting for the users?"
Tron looked down at his hands, and in his face Ram saw a great and aching sadness - a sadness of something much bigger than the two of them, than the games, much bigger than even their entire world. He'd never seen anyone look like that. Not ever. He didn't even know if he had the capacity to understand it.
"...My user believes," Tron said quietly, "in a world of free programs. A world where users and programs alike can interact without the MCP controlling everyone, importing programs and forcing them into these games. He doesn't think programs are better than users, but he doesn't think users are any better, either. But they can see the bigger picture." The program reached up and held a hand out, hovering beyond the force field, and Ram had to - he had to - bring a hand up in response, almost-press it against his. He wanted it gone, wanted to feel Tron circuit to circuit, to create a current.
"And there is a bigger picture. Oh, there is." Tron's eyes were shining, and a smile lit the corners of his lips like a sun that Ram had never seen.
He wanted all of him. He wanted to understand even a fraction of what Tron was saying. He wasn't programmed for this. He wanted.
author. igrab
pairing. Tron/Ram
wordcount. 1,309
summary. a story of Ram and Tron meeting
Ram liked to think he had a pretty good relationship with his user.
I mean, it had been a pretty long time since he'd gotten his directions and all, but Ram was really happy with the way he'd been made, and he'd loved being sent out into the world to do his little risk assessment thing. It was great. He supposedly helped keep people's (after)lives in order, which was fantastic because he loved helping. Anyone who was good at their job should have a right to be pretty happy about it, and when you think about it, it was his user that had made him like this. So yeah. He was, in general, a big fan of users.
But he hadn't really thought about it until Tron.
That was how his life was divided - before Tron, after Tron (though maybe if he'd had a chance to think about it again there would be a third category called 'after Flynn', but Flynn was different, Flynn changed everything). Before Tron, Ram didn't think about anything more than the task at hand, and then the next, and then maybe he spared a moment's consideration for the rumors about the MCP - but no more than that. They were just rumors. They didn't affect him. No one knew anyone who'd been taken, it was always a friend of a friend of a friend, so why worry? There wasn't anything he could do about it.
He was taken by the MCP with three of his system buddies, small programs that he interacted with on an almost-daily basis. They stood together, terrified. They went to the games together. Ram - through sheer dumb luck, maybe, or maybe he was programmed a little better (they were just number-crunchers, after all), but he survived the first round, and then bam, thrown into tiny little cells with purple forced fields and no foreseeable outcome of the future.
Ironically, if he'd been a user, this was exactly the sort of thing that Ram had spent his life preparing people for.
One small consolation was that they were allowed (or maybe forced to, though Ram enjoyed it) to watch the games of the other appropriated programs, while they were waiting for their chance to die. First, Ram liked it because it was less boring than staring at a wall in his cell.
Then, he saw Tron.
Most of the programs were bad at this. Ram picked that up pretty quick; he wasn't any great, either, which was probably why he was still alive. This guy, though. Oh, this guy was good. Like a planned disaster, like a perfectly balanced column of figures. All of his pieces fitting neatly into place. He was beautiful.
"Who is that guy?" Ram hissed to his neighbor, still watching, unable to tear his eyes away.
"Oh. That's Tron," and the guy said it like he was tired of hearing about it, which couldn't be right because he looked even younger than Ram. "He fights for the users."
He fights for the users. Which users? Why? What did that even mean?
Time was irrelevant in this place, so Ram couldn't say how long it took him to get closer and closer to this guy, this program that quickly became his obsession. He fought hard in the games and practiced harder in between them, because he couldn't get derezzed now, he just couldn't. Not without meeting Tron. Not without knowing him. Not without asking what he fought for.
Then, one day, he looked over into the next cubicle and realized that Tron was watching him.
He jumped - just in surprise, because he hadn't realized that cell was even occupied and it wasn't just Tron, it was Tron looking right at him.
"Um," he said. "Hi. You're Tron, aren't you?"
The program nodded quietly. The look on his face was an odd one - a wary look, but also intrigued, and Ram would give a lot to move that look all the way off the former and onto the latter.
"I asked about you. I saw how you play - you're amazing." He quickly shut himself up before he could start gushing, because, let's face it, they were still total strangers, even if Ram did spend every waking minute thinking about him.
Tron's eyebrows went up just the slightest bit - like he was surprised at the compliment, but he had to know how good he was. He was miles above everyone else. It was obvious.
"You, too."
They were the first words he'd said to him, and for a moment, Ram couldn't even understand them.
"What?"
"I mean," and he looked, of all things, embarrassed - "I've watched you too. You're almost as good as me, and - well, I've been here for..." He trailed off. It was like he couldn't even remember. "...A long time."
Circuits still bright from the compliment, Ram scooted forward until he could lean his elbows against the ledge between their rooms, only a shimmering purple force field in the way. He bit his lip. "...Someone told me - well, okay, a lot of people told me - that you 'fight for the users'."
Tron - who had looked away quickly after his little admission, peered back over one shoulder with one eyebrow lifted. "...Yeah. I do."
"What does that mean?" Before Tron even had a chance to answer, more questions tumbled out. "Does that mean you're here by choice? Did your user send you? Are you trying to take down the MCP?"
"Shhh." Tron held a finger up to his lips, stern, but when Ram nodded quickly he sighed and moved down closer to the force field. Their faces were inches apart; Ram could have leaned in and touched noses, if that wouldn't be extremely painful. "...Yes. The answer to all of those is yes."
"Oh." Ram blew out a soft breath - Tron's throat worked, and for a second he thought he'd offended him, but he realized that no, it wasn't a bad thing at all. The force fields would hurt them if they tried to move through it, but air apparently did not count. He could feel Ram breathing. "Then - how is that fighting for the users?"
Tron looked down at his hands, and in his face Ram saw a great and aching sadness - a sadness of something much bigger than the two of them, than the games, much bigger than even their entire world. He'd never seen anyone look like that. Not ever. He didn't even know if he had the capacity to understand it.
"...My user believes," Tron said quietly, "in a world of free programs. A world where users and programs alike can interact without the MCP controlling everyone, importing programs and forcing them into these games. He doesn't think programs are better than users, but he doesn't think users are any better, either. But they can see the bigger picture." The program reached up and held a hand out, hovering beyond the force field, and Ram had to - he had to - bring a hand up in response, almost-press it against his. He wanted it gone, wanted to feel Tron circuit to circuit, to create a current.
"And there is a bigger picture. Oh, there is." Tron's eyes were shining, and a smile lit the corners of his lips like a sun that Ram had never seen.
He wanted all of him. He wanted to understand even a fraction of what Tron was saying. He wasn't programmed for this. He wanted.