PROMPT POST
ROUND ONE CLOSED!
Go for it, bbs.
P.S. If this does well, I will totes open up a delicious.com.
FLAT VIEW for easier browsing while we get the delicious together.
UPDATE: FILL POST for easier archiving. If you complete a fill please post it here! Further instructions on the fill page! :D THANKS ALL!
NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS, FEEL FREE TO ( Read more... )
Silence. The crowd fell silent in an instant. He looked around - the spectators were too far away from him to see their expressions. No other command followed from the dark, orange lit ship above. The only person he could read was the black suited warrior he had encountered in the arena just a few minutes before and who stood beside him now; but the black helmet was opaque from the outside. Yet there was tension: the grab on Sam’s forearm grew stronger, when he introduced himself and it became weak right after. Now Sam felt the hand on his arm trembling. He looked at the dark suited combatant again and saw that he was shaking visibly.
The theme of the arena changed again and the platform elevated. A door opened ahead and two sentries appeared. They were similar to the ones that had captured Sam at the Arcade; red circuits flickered on the black suits and both of them carried a staff. The crowd became to stir, excited chatter started. As they got closer, one of the sentries picked up Sam’s identity disc from the floor. Suddenly the gloved hand on his arm was gone. The boy looked there and saw the helmeted combatant turning away from him, shaking his head - denying what? The sentries grabbed Sam’s arms and he cried out from the fresh pain as the wound on his arm got clenched.
“Let me go!” he yelled. “You freaks!”
His disc snapped in its place and they started toward the door on the translucent wall.
Sam did not stop the yelling during the short ride in the elevator; doing that did not help his situation, yet he could not stop as he was relieved by getting away from the arena. Just get some answers and get the hell out of here. The walls of the elevator were transparent from the inside and he could see the whole field as they were lifted to the ship. There was a soft thud behind them and the sentries looked at each other. Sam turned his head as much as he could. His previous opponent was on his knees now in the corner, his hands grabbing his own helmet. The boy did not understand - he had never had the slightest chance to hurt him during their fight, he, Sam was the one who had gotten defeated and wounded; and yet it was his opponent who was crawling on the floor, apparently in pain.
“Hey” told Sam. “Your friend is having problems. Don’t you want to check him out?”
When they move, run. Will the door open if I tap on it? But the sentries did not let him go, they did not move, just stood next to him, staring ahead.
The doors parted and they stepped out to a large hall and crossed the room. There was another door at the other end of the hall and it opened up before them. The sentries dragged Sam inside. There were people; some of them were working behind large, oversized terminals, others were standing. The wall ahead was one big piece of glass or whatever loony-world-material; the huge window overlooked the digital field behind. Sam was shocked: the ship had left the arena and now was circling above the city - he did not remember feeling any kind of stir of movement. That’s about running. For now.
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A tall, dark figure was standing in front of the observation window. He wore a helmet and a black robe, his suit was lit by orange circuits. He turned away from the breathtaking view and looked at the newcomers.
“Where am I?” asked Sam. “Am I on the Grid?”
The tall figure walked closer to him, he did not reply.
“Who are you?” asked the boy. The helmet that covered the man’s face retracted suddenly and revealed a face. Sam gasped. Dad. Kevin Flynn. The way he last saw him, twenty years ago. Impossible.
“Dad” he whispered. The man smiled.
“I am not your father, Sam” he said. The boy felt a large, sudden shift. Sadness, relief at the same time. He knew now who he was facing.
“Clu” he said.
The tall figure did not reply and Sam realized that he was not looking at him. He followed his glance and turned around. The black warrior from the arena, who followed them to the observation room, was stalking around now. His motions were shaky and uncoordinated; he seemed to be drugged. He shook his head, whined softly.
“Rinzler” said Clu and there was a sharp edge in his voice, warning. The black suited combatant turned and looked at him; but Sam was standing right between them and despite of the opaque helmet the boy felt as their eyes locked together. One more hard shudder ran through the warrior’s body and he fell to the floor with a soft thud. The red circuits on his suit flickered for one last time and then all went out. A second later the lights came back, this time with the color of light blue. Rinzler did not move; he seemed to be unconscious.
Sam did not understand the scene. He looked at the people in the room: they looked terrified, except for Clu. For a moment Clu did not move and then he slowly walked to the lying figure. He stopped next to him, bent down and took Rinzler’s discs from their port with a quick motion. There was a grim expression on his face when he unbent. Sadness? Regret? What’s going on here? Then it was gone. Clu gestured toward the sentries who jumped immediately. They picked up the warrior’s body from the floor and took him out of the observation chamber. Clu walked back to the window and stared out, with the discs in his hand. Finally he turned back to Sam. He smiled, even though this smile was different from the one he had first greeted Sam with.
“I am not your father, Sam” he said. “But I’m very happy to see you.”
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