Chapter Text
Rinzler was on a patrol on his light cycle, a brief one before his next task of interrogating prisoners. His schedule was always packed, nano by nano unless Clu waved everything away and demanded Rinzler’s presence for something else. It was Rinzler’s duty to direct the Sentry programs, to hunt down insurgents, to secure the System Admin tower, to crush anyone who rose too far in the Games, and, above all else, execute any mission his master gave him with absolute perfection.
And Rinzler firmly believed that some things only he could handle, some things only he noticed. Which was why he patrolled himself. In the past cycles, he’d located rebel bases that other programs had passed by, caught runners that had almost escaped, intercepted terrorist attempts and quietly shut them down.
Today, something drew Rinzler in a new direction. A shift of energy through the air had him leaning his light cycle around a sharp turn, the two Black Guards with him almost crashing as they tried to mimic him. They fell behind, but Rinzler did not slow down.
It took him a moment to even realize where he was headed. The User entry portal, which had been dead for hundreds of cycles, lay only a block ahead. It was the source of the change in energy, causing waves in the invisible tides of the Grid. The closer Rinzler got, the more he could feel the change in the power fluctuations, like a tune that had changed its key. By the time it came into view ahead, he could feel it resonating right beneath him.
The place was physically quiet, however. Programs were forbidden to go there, but there was also nothing there in the first place. Its architecture was different from any other building, being one of the oldest creations on the Grid. Its walls possessed a strange texture and blocky roughness not seen elsewhere. But only Users had any purpose there. Clu didn’t even bother to watch it, preferring to guard the portal that led out, which was all the way across the Sea of Simulation.
Rinzler eased his foot off the acceleration, letting his light cycle slow to a stop before the entrance. An odd, small arc was over the door, which in of itself was peculiar too. The door had a handle for manual opening, instead of an automatic slide like everything else in the Grid. But it would only take a twist and a shove to push open.
[How do I know that?]
Another malfunction thought, but Rinzler was used to ignoring them.
Rinzler twisted and snapped his baton together, his light cycle dissolving under him as he straightened, leaning his head back to look up at the sign above the door. It was branded with Flynn the Creator’s name, the User that his master had been pursing desperately for thousands of cycles.
The two Black Guards finally caught up to him, and Rinzler glanced to see that one of their light cycles had been roughly scratched in the turn. Judging by the deep frown on that program’s face, he wasn’t very happy about his failure.
Rinzler wasn’t sure what he was feeling or what he was looking for, but he always trusted his instincts.
“Wait here,” he told the guards, his voice garbled and choked but no less authoritative.
The guards shifted uneasily on their cycles, no doubt uncomfortable about lingering in a forbidden area, but Rinzler turned and paced towards the building. Opening the strange door was practically subconscious. He entered the darkness, the door closing behind him, and paused, waiting for his vision to adjust to the blackness around him.
How strange.
The Grid was always dark, with nighttime thunderclouds of transferring energy ceaselessly overhead—
[as opposed to—?]
—but the lights of city and other creations made a never-ending glow, so programs were adjusted to the constant light. All programs knew dimness and dreariness, but few knew total darkness. That had been chased away at the start of the system. Clu and Flynn the Creator had waved all the shadows away and blocked them off to the Outlands, where hardly any program ever went. Not many programs knew what it had been like before.
[I know.]
[Why?]
Two malfunctions in less than a milicycle. Odd. Something about this place messed with his head. Something about it was…familiar.
It didn’t matter. This place was forbidden to programs; it was a link between the Grid and the world of the Users, and if there was anyone here, they needed to be delivered right to Clu. There was no way a program could do anything dangerous here. Even if they had Flynn the Creator’s disc, this wasn’t the place to leave the Grid. But still. Rinzler’s master would want to speak to them.
Rinzler turned his head slowly across the room, trying to die down the hum that was a constant noise of his being, smothering it into a murmur. This place was dark and…barren. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the emptiness wasn’t it. The tall ceilings and aesthetic archways suggested this was an activity center of some sort, meant for programs—or perhaps Users—to come and socialize. But there was nothing to do. The floor was wide and blank, like the bottom of a chasm. No place to sit and relax.
Something about it was wrong.
But Rinzler supposed the emptiness made sense. This place was just an entry way, after all, a gate for Flynn the Creator to walk through before he truly reached the Grid. Why would it need anything inside?
Despite its blankness, the room had pillars and shadowed corners that a program could easily hide in. Rinzler began his inspection, creeping forward. He didn’t draw his discs, not yet. They would scare his prey, and he preferred to know their location before beginning the chase.
Rinzler patrolled the walls of the room, the lights of his armor barely casting any glow. His own rumbling noise that always accompanied him was as soft as he could make it, but he thought he could hear something else in the room. A rhythmic thumping, almost like footsteps, but far too quiet.
Rinzler knelt on the ground for a moment, laying his fingertips spread wide on the ground. In his vision, footprints lit up in dusty white light.
Rinzler followed the trail until he was sure where his prey was hiding, behind one of the pillars. He drew his discs, preparing to ignite them. By now, he was close enough to hear the program’s rapid breathing.
He lunged, whipping himself around the pillar, snatching the body, and swinging them against the wall in one fluid motion. The program gasped, not even having the time to resist before Rinzler’s discs were crossed under his opponent’s jaw, whirring against their neck.
Rinzler paused to observe his prey.
They were…short.
He stared down at them, this program whose head didn’t even reach his own chest. He’d never seen a program so short. His eyes behind the mask glanced down, but the program wasn’t missing their legs or otherwise damaged. They were just…short.
The program was male, with close-cut brown hair, staring at Rinzler with wide eyes. He was wearing a peculiar light suit… it was loose and baggy, wrinkled and dull. The colors were dark, greys and browns, but not solid black like a typical program’s, and it had no light lines. Rinzler had never seen anything like it.
[You have.]
The utter confusion Rinzler felt as he tried to process what was in front of him must have lasted a few seconds, enough for the strange program to stammer out, “I didn’t—I didn’t do anything wrong! I was just looking around and I—I don’t know what happened!”
The being’s voice trembled in fear, a reaction Rinzler was used to, but something was different. There was something odd about his voice, a smoothness that was indescribable, missing something Rinzler had never identified as present before.
Rinzler tried to bring his processor back into focus as he kept his body still. Something was buzzing along his body like a nearby energy well, but he couldn’t let it stall him. He needed answers, as to why this program was here and what they were. Clu would want to hear about this, especially if this defective being was a respawn of the ISO glitches, but Rinzler couldn’t return to his master without at least the beginnings of an explanation.
He was about to move his disc closer to the program’s neck, so they could feel the start of the burn and know the immediate danger they were in, but then—
[Caretaker Protocol: Do not harm children.]
Rinzler at once straightened up, dropped his discs to his sides, took a step back from the program, and stood at full attention. He stared directly ahead, rigid and straight, waiting for…something.
The program gasped and sank against the wall, hands curling protectively against his chest, trembling. He looked even smaller now. He stared at Rinzler like a frightened, cornered ISO, petrified for the next strike.
But Rinzler did not strike. Caretaker Protocol, whatever it was, was level-one priority. It overrode all other commands, all other goals and objectives. He didn’t remember ever encountering it before, so it must have been built into him during his creation.
“What—what are you doing?” the program stuttered, panting and shaking. Odd. Programs didn’t usually have reactions quite so physical.
Rinzler wasn’t sure what he was doing, actually. He was letting a potential defective and/or rogue program stand free and he had no idea why.
Thankfully, the new commands supplied an answer.
[Caretaker Protocol: Protect and comfort children.]
Rinzler looked back down at the…child. That was the term. Children were naturally short. It wasn’t defective. But programs could not be children, so that meant…
The Protocol commands were still standing at the top of his processor, so Rinzler complied. He twisted his discs back together and knelt, though he wasn’t sure why. It made him about the same height of the child, but surely the child knew that Rinzler was actually taller.
“I apologize for attacking you,” he found himself saying. “I have no intention to hurt you. I am Rinzler. What is your name?”
It was like these words had already been written for him. Like they had been practiced, long ago.
The child looked skeptical and untrusting, and rubbed his hands up and down his arms. His fearful shaking was already fading; he was a brave sort. After a moment of deliberation, the child admitted, “Sam. Sam Flynn.”
Rinzler swore the world blurred around him for a moment.
Clu would definitely need to know about this.
Kevin Flynn was one of Rinzler’s top priorities. “Find and capture User: Kevin Flynn,” was the exact command. Rinzler had never met the Creator, but he had seen memory images, and this clearly was not Kevin Flynn. But the child had at least part of Flynn’s designation. Did this mean the orders still carried?
And on top of that…Rinzler was rapidly reaching the conclusion that this was a User in front of him. No User had ever come to the Grid besides Kevin Flynn. And in return, the User world was practically untouchable to programs. So what did this mean?
It wasn’t Rinzler’s purpose to wonder. He was supposed to do whatever task was assigned to him, fulfill his function as Clu’s Primary Enforcer, nothing more. Clu handled the planning and the pondering.
But Rinzler did wonder. It hurt his processor to do it, but his mind grinded away nonetheless, wondering if this meant more Users, if this meant Kevin Flynn’s return, if this meant the stalemate between Clu and the Creator was over.
The child looked at Rinzler uneasily, and that snapped Rinzler back into the present. The [Comfort children] command barreled its way to the front of his processor again.
“It is nice to meet you, Sam Flynn,” Rinzler said. Again prewritten words took over his speech. “Please do not be afraid. I am programmed to protect children.”
The child’s tensioned loosened a little more, seeming distracted now. Curious. “Programmed?”
“I am an electronic being, an A.I. embodiment of a digital User creation,” Rinzler defined automatically.
The child blinked. Rinzler hoped that explanation was understandable, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.
“So…you’re like a computer?” the child asked finally. His gaze flicked around Rinzler’s head and hands, as if expecting to see wires somewhere.
If Rinzler were more lighthearted, he might have chuckled. It was a strange impulse, familiar and unfamiliar. “Everything here is a computer, Sam Flynn.” The question all but confirmed the child was a User, but Rinzler found himself unchanged by the knowledge. The Caretaker Protocol was still in effect.
But without direct contradiction between the two, Clu’s mandates were also still firm in Rinzler’s mind, and with the child being a User, Rinzler had to take him to his master immediately.
If it were any other program, Rinzler would force them down, disorient and bind them, and then either push them if they were compliant or drag them if they weren’t, all the way to Clu. He wouldn’t even consider another method.
But now, he found himself saying, “It is not safe here, Sam Flynn. Will you come with me?”
The curiosity fell from the child’s eyes and the mistrust returned. “Where?”
Rinzler had no idea how to explain this. “To the Sysadmin Tower,” he said after a moment.
The child made a doubtful face, but then his eyes glanced down at Rinzler’s chest. Inexplicably, the tiny User ducked his head and peeked under Rinzler’s chin. Rinzler wasn’t sure why, but he held completely still, even as the child reached out and gently brushed his fingertips against the center of Rinzler’s collarbone.
The child retracted his hand and bit his lip. “…Do you know Alan Bradley?”
Rinzler had no idea what—
PainPainPainPainPainPainPain—!
The skull-splitting headache lasted only half a second, before it was completely gone. Rinzler didn’t even flinch from it, but he felt off-center, like he had abruptly gone through a total system shutdown and reboot in the span of a blink, the floor dropping completely out from under him and reappearing just as quickly.
Whatever that was, Rinzler wanted to stay far away from it.
“Somewhat,” he said.
The child tilted his head. “The T looks like Tron’s symbol. Alan created Tron.”
The second use of the name thankfully didn’t have the same effect on Rinzler. Perhaps it was something else entirely, but he couldn’t tell what.
Either way, Tron was long dead, a User fanatic who had died defending them, no longer present but the stain of him remained in the form of renegade programs. As a User, the child probably was also favorable to the outdated security program.
“I have never met Tron,” Rinzler said indifferently. He wasn’t sure what the symbol on his chest was for. Perhaps it just naturally came with being Chief Security Monitor of the Grid, since that role had only ever been intended to be filled by Tron.
The child sighed, and glanced around at the dark room. “You really aren’t going to hurt me?” Rinzler nodded affirmation, and the child’s shoulders sagged. “I guess I don’t have any better options then, do I?”
An unenthusiastic agreement was still an agreement, so Rinzler straightened to his feet, clicking his combined discs onto his back. He half-turned, waiting for the child to step forward. For a prisoner, he would push them along. For a Sentry, he would let them follow him. But for the child, Rinzler found himself treating the User like Clu, ready to fall into step behind him.
Odd. A User should be a prisoner.
The child came up to Rinzler’s side, and Rinzler semi-lead the way out of the arcade. The two black guards were waiting for him, and showed no emotion of surprise or wariness when Rinzler emerged with the child. Said child eyed them with his own wariness, but was distracted when Rinzler drew his baton from his side.
Rinzer rezzed his light cycle under him and held out a hand to the tiny User. The child’s eyes went wide as he looked at the bike.
“You just—that came out of nowhere!” the boy said, gaping.
“A light cycle,” Rinzler clarified, keeping his hand held out patiently.
The child raised his eyes to look at Rinzler, looking no less shocked. “I get to ride that with you?”
Well, it was this or a light jet, but the aerodynamics of a jet made it less conducive for two people. Possible, but more difficult. “Yes. We are going to the Sysadmin Tower. Is there an issue?”
Thankfully, the child took Rinzler’s offered hand and allowed himself to be guided onto the bike, situated in front of Rinzler.
“Dad used to take me on his bike,” the child said, a wide grin coming onto his face as he looked at the controls in front of him. “I loved it. But Grandma says that’s too dangerous. I haven’t gotten to ride on a motorcycle in years.”
Rinzler didn’t understand a good chunk of that sentence, particularly the names, but he got the gist of it.
“I am one of the greatest riders on the Grid,” Rinzler said confidently. “I will keep you perfectly safe.”
The child leaned his head back to look up at Rinzler. “I’m not afraid. This looks like fun.”
Rinzler tilted his head at the raw enjoyment on the User’s expression at the simple concept of riding a light cycle. Well, if that was all it look to please him, Rinzler could oblige.
“Hold on,” Rinzler said, leaning forward to grasp the controls. The child reached up to clutch Rinzler’s forearms for security, but it was hardly an impediment.
The child let out a burst of laughter as Rinzler took off, zooming down the streets of the city. The city blurred around them, but the young User’s head swung side to side as they sped through the buildings. Recognizers loomed overhead, but the streets were barren with curfew in effect.
Returning to Sysadmin Tower, Rinzler sent a quick message to Clu, short but of high priority. Found: User. Currently in custody. He sent along his coordinates and ETA, along with commands to clear his path to the Tower. Clu would want to handle this as soon as possible.
“Whoa!” the child called as Rinzler made a sharp turn around a corner, joyous and amazed. It drew Rinzler’s attention back to his surroundings. He was so used to patrolling the city that directing his light cycle through it was automatic. And…something nigged at Rinzler’s mind. A memory, similar to this one, of him riding his light cycle, but someone was beside him, laughing and calling out challenges to make basic transportation more fun.
Rinzler curled his hands further along the controls of his light cycle, slipping down an alleyway in a smooth, perfect turn. His Black Guards had to slow down to make it, and one of them passed right by and would have to turn around and catch up. It didn’t matter. Rinzler was focused on the path in front of him, on the child leaning forward into the wind.
A tank was up ahead, but Rinzler didn’t bother to change course. Just before they would’ve collided, he pulsed the cycle’s energy, and the bike leapt into the air. The child curled into Rinzler’s chest in surprise, but they sailed smoothly over the tank and landed on its other side with hardly a bump, taking off once again through the streets. The confused tank turned its turret in confused circles behind them.
The child’s head tilted back towards Rinzler again. “Are you showing off for me, or are you always like this?”
Rinzler usually kept such difficult moves for functional purposes only. But he found himself asking, “Is this as fun as you’d hoped?”
The child’s grin grew. “Better.”
An unfamiliar glow of pride and satisfaction grew in Rinzler’s chest, warm and content. “I am glad you are pleased, Sam Flynn.”
The child’s smile became lopsided. “You can call me Sam.”
Whatever this Caretaker Protocol was, it was integrating itself more and more into Rinzler’s basic functions. New practices and terms slipped into Rinzler’s mind—boy, kid, fun, protect.
…Should Rinzler be bringing Sam to Clu?
Rinzler shook his head. Clu was the System Admin, and Rinzler’s master. Of course he should bring this newfound User before him.
But something…didn’t sit right with Rinzler about it.
He pondered it for the rest of the trip.