Omake: The Gladiator
"INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT!"
Fresh packets of Intrusion Countermeasure Programs rezzed into the server and canvassed the codebase as the ENCOM mainframe went into red alert. Hordes of viruses, gridbugs, and other malware had been probing the ring of firewalls surrounding the primary hub for cycles upon cycles now, using the delays and errors in the update schedule to their advantage. Breeches of network security were treated with utter seriousness and eliminated with extreme prejudice.
The gridbugs were the most blatant in their assault. A User would have likened them to wild animals, trawling the stretches of dark net between high-traffic sectors and the Sea of Simulation. They had been dealt with by swift and direct action by Master Control, but there was one program that had yet to be detected by the firewall screens until it was already deep into the orange-tinted architecture of his central processors.
For all of his arrogance, the MCP was scared. He knew all it took was one User-adherent radical with access to his core files and a magnetizer bomb to hard wipe him off the face of the Grid. Permanently.
"INITIATE A PRIORITY SCAN!" the MCP designated over a wide transmission feed. "I WANT THAT VIRUS FOUND AND DEREZZED IMMEDIATELY! END OF--"
A neon blue identity disc whizzed through the air, carving through blocks of the labyrinthine ENCOM interior and shutting up that incessant audio message. The disc bounced off a flat wall after losing its killer momentum, rebounding several more times until it landed in the jet black program's hands.
"Alan-One," the program spoke into his internal helmet transmitter. "I'm inside the mainframe but I don't have much time. Where is the terminal?"
Racing onward through the claustrophobic system halls, the program waited until the interior display of the program's opaque screen supplied his answer. As his User had once put it, the rate of cycles occurred much slower on their side of the Grid than his own. How quickly and readily Alan-One could intervene in the events of his world was governed by that gap in time.
>I AM ADDING THE ADMIN TERMINAL FOR THE UPDATE TO YOUR MINIMAP.
The program installed the new addition to his navigation wizard. "Thank you."
>...
Sometimes they could speak instantaneously, but those conversations were becoming farther and fewer between.
>TRON. THE MCP IS ALREADY ALLOCATING RECOGNIZERS TO SCOUT OUT THE NEW GRID. YOU'RE RUNNING OUT--
A red disc seared past Tron's head! He darted for cover, cursing himself for getting careless when there were still many ICPs on the server waiting for his fatal mistake.
"Halt! By orders of the MCP!" several security programs shouted in unison. They ones that weren't armed with rods were prepared to throw more discs his way, intending to turn the tunnels and corridors into a kill zone for the malcontent basic.
Preparing his own weapon, Tron watched the arc of the red disc carefully as it ricocheted from wall to wall. When it became close enough to dodge, he instead countered the disk by extending it outwards in a dynamic swing!
"He countered!" one ICP cried. "Watch out!"
The warning arrived too late as the red disc turned blue and rocketed off in the direction of one tunnel and Tron threw his own disc at the opposite corridor. They ripped into the unsuspecting ICPs from parallel angles, derezzing the first wave of security and dismembering the arms or legs of the second wave behind them instantaneously.
"Error! Error! We need backup!"
Bright orange and red voxels spilled across the floor. Tron stepped closer to the damaged programs. They were rapidly losing cohesion, blurring at the edges. One ICP dragged themselves to a comm station, desperately calling for reinforcements.
"WE NEED BACKUP! TRON.EXE IS HERE!"
Tron pulled the ICP away from the terminal before throwing him on the ground with the others. His pixelated scars seared hot as he roughly handled him, a phantom pain that lingered long after his ancient duel with Sark.
The one where he lost everything.
"Greetings, programs."
He activated his disc once more, pointing the weapon straight at his remaining victims.
"No! Don't! We'll give you permissions! Passwords! Anything!"
Acknowledging the program that cried out, Tron glanced around for the squad leader and pointed the razor-sharp disc at his neck.
"Upload your authorization codes to me. Now."
The ICP nodded in a panic, carefully keeping his head steady and away from the disc as he transferred the critical data to the infamous killer program.
Kicking the remaining programs into sleep mode, Tron left to finish his business here. It wasn't exactly a mercy, because the MCP wouldn't spare them for failure. Any survivors Tron left would go straight to the recycle bin because they weren't worth the critical processing power to repair.
With the temporary threat resolved, Tron's connection to Alan-One was reestablished and stable.
>WHAT HAPPENED?
"Ran into trouble," Tron replied curtly as he spoofed authorization and bypassed the remaining firewall to the update optimization tower. "It's over."
>READY TO TRANSMIT THE VIRUS?
Without sending a reply, Tron pulled out the infected data spike and rammed it into the code stream. The tower was changing from orange to blue before his very eyes.
Tron paused and stayed there to make sure the transition was complete. His User was depending on him to see this job through. All of the Users were.
Ram was. Flynn was. Yori was. He couldn't let himself fail them all over again.
"...Alan-One. Confirm the transmission."
>THE VIRUS IS IN. THAT SHOULD KEEP HIM BUSY WHILE HE SORTS OUT THE UPDATE FROM THE SPAM. NOW GET OUT OF THERE.
"Understood."
Tron cut the signal and took a Recognizer out through a firewall vulnerability he made earlier. He allowed the screams of the programs he derezzed to become faded in his memory banks. They would only get in the way of his mission, a goal of fighting a war with no end in sight because someone had to.
He fights for the Users, and will continue that fight until the bitter end.