00110010 // TEXT

[...]

Meeting unnecessary.

Already talked.

[Dotdotdot back at you, buddy. Flynn sighs on his end.]

Yori talked to me. I know what happened. To you. To Tron. I'd really like to meet in person.

I'm not Tron.

[And he'd be willing to bet Yori mentioned that already, Flynn. Less certainty on how much got through. But fine. You really need to prove it to yourself?]

40 micros.

[Have one (1) location ping. Empty parking lot, northeast corner of the fifth sector. And the usual specification:]

Alone.

Okay, I'll be there. [Then added almost as an afterthought:] And yeah. Alone.

[Maybe it wasn't the best idea, particularly because he'd already been prepped on how dangerous to others Clu had made him. But it wasn't something Flynn could just merely let go. His friend -- his close friend -- had been mind-screwed by his own creation.

He needed to see Rinzler face-to-face.

Flynn arrives roughly around the time Rinzler specified. Thanks to Ichigo, he's tossed the old "I <3 Abax!" sweater in favor of a long-sleeve shirt, jeans, and an unzipped jacket. The back of it is untouched; his disc is still missing for the time being.

So have an unarmed User, waiting patiently in the empty parking lot.]

[Rinzler's perched three stories up, scans wide, focus fixed to the most likely entry paths. And exits. Not a coincidence he picked this corner, at the very north-most edge of the city's map. Rinzler doesn't know what, precisely, Flynn's been told. Bad enough to assume full data on events in the Grid, a thousand cycles of Tron's failure and Rinzler's methodical, perfect kills. The enforcer had hunted down Flynn's miracles, tracked the user across the Grid. But it's here, less than a decicycle ago, that Rinzler injured Flynn's son of his own volition. Would have derezzed him.

Clu's not wrong.
And Flynn's broken worlds for less.

Whatever the user's intent, it's not hard to spot the approaching form. Alone. Unarmed, and his stare lingers on that empty back for more than a moment. Apart from the disk, the input's familiar, and it's easy to let old data sift up, memories merging and overlaid. Flynn. Clu. The latter association at least lets him stay wary.

But stalling only works so long, and Rinzler knows it. A last scan for other signatures, and the program pushes off, a slide and short flip to ground level and open view. He approaches, disk docked, mask rezzed, circuits lit in clear blue-white. Security. But not Flynn's, not anymore. The program stops several paces out of reach, opaque helmet angling to the side in silent prompt.

Your meeting, Flynn. Your move.]

[Movements catch his attention, and Flynn sees Rinzler for the first time since he arrived in Abax. His eyes land on the blue-white T-tetromino on Rinzler's chest, then slide up to the dark helmet that hides the program's face.

Tron.

Yori had told Flynn about the name preference, why Tron had decided to keep it as his own despite regaining his memories. And Flynn understood that, sure, especially after Yori had explained it. But it's hard not to see his old friend here. Harder still, after all that everyone had told him about what had happened.

His stare is open, searching. He's not sure what to say, out of the many words that want to spill from his thoughts into his mouth (like I can fix you). So Flynn starts with something laughably neutral:]

... How're you doin', man? [It has an easy over-familiarity to it -- Tron's still his close friend (has always been his close friend), after all. A thousand cycles may've changed that for Rinzler, but for Flynn they've only been separated by a few weeks time.]

[The mask makes things easier, but Rinzler's stance still tightens faintly as the lag draws out. Flynn isn't Clu any more than he fits Anon's profile, but the sensation of inspection still feels too familiar. Worse, almost, here. Flynn's looking for someone else.

The query gets a lag, half-incredulous stare. You called him here for more than that, user. (Flynn.) Flynn was Tron's friend. And then he left, and Tron died.]

Functional.

[Rote answer, default response. It comes out quieter than Rinzler meant. The voice is slightly harsher, slightly slower. Unsteady. A few months of practice here doesn't quite make up for centuries without a voice. Still entirely recognizable.]

Okay. Yeah. Good.

[The circuitry pattern is enough to confirm who Rinzler is on close inspection, despite the unfamiliar tension in the program's body language; the harsh, unused (familiar) voice only serves to cement it fully. A frown finds its way onto Flynn's lips.]

Yori and Sam, they told me ... everything. What they knew. [His eyes slide to the side, briefly, then return to Rinzler.] Everything that happened, with Clu, with you ... it wasn't supposed to go that way, man. Nothing was supposed to turn out the way that it apparently did. Everything seemed like it was fine back then. [There's clear frustration present in his tone. To hear that the Grid had been basically torn apart -- by his own program, no less -- had been hard to hear.]

I thought I did my best to listen to you guys, you know. But I guess I gotta work on that more. [A short, humorless laugh.] Yori made that pretty clear ...

[Then there's a moment's lag, his own dark reflection bent and warped in the curves of Rinzler's mask.] It's a little weird to talk to you with your helmet like that, man. Could you take it off?

It wasn't fine.

[Fingers curl faintly through the user's speech, shoulders clenching inwards with unhappy tension. Still, Rinzler surprises himself as much as anyone when that comes out aloud. It doesn't fit either of the templates he's caught between—Tron's support, or the enforcer's silence.

Good.]

Told you before. [The sharp edge quiets slightly, helmet lowering a fraction.] And it's too late for supposed tos.

[Too late for a lot of things. And Flynn's not the only one who didn't act. Still, when the request comes, Rinzler shakes his head, and the mask stays rezzed.] Could. Don't think I want to.

Why are you here?

[Quiet:] Yeah. I know it wasn't. [And then, after a moment's pause.] Well. I do now, at least.

[After the whole of Abax's program population had hit him over the head with it repeatedly. He hadn't wanted to believe it, of course -- what they'd told him had been impossible to swallow. But once he'd accepted it, he'd been overwhelmed by it.

Murder? Genocide? Mindscrew? He'd never realized Clu was capable of any of that.

(And it was worth a try to get the helmet off).]

Why am I here? [Flynn sighs lightly and runs a hand through his hair.] I ... don't know, man. I guess I wanted to see you in person, face-to-face, after what everybody had told me. You're my friend -- one of my closest friends. I just felt that the whole conversation we had when I first got here wasn't the best.

I wanted to know, too, if there was anything I could do to fix this. I don't know how extensive Clu's edits were, or have been, but Yori mentioned you got your memories back. I could help you out with more, if you wanted.

[A long stare, but Rinzler doesn't comment on anything Flynn claims to know. In some ways, Tron's memories are the easiest to access, for all the hectocycles between—no unsynced gaps, or redirects dead-ending in locked filters. Easy to access. Easy to read. Easy to pull up a full hex of memories where he (Tron) had warned Flynn exactly what Clu was capable of. Tron had hoped his friend would listen.

A thousand cycles made a lot of difference in any hopes.]

Tron was your friend. [Harsh, but he pushes past the pang of mismatch.] I'm not the same. Didn't call you then looking for trust.

[Of course, what he'd expected from this meeting isn't long in coming. Rinzler can see the vector well before the user speaks the words, but he still can't stop the flinch. Or the wary step back.]

I don't want to be rewritten.

[He hides the flash of bleakness with a forced half-smile.] Yeah. He was. [A measured pause.] That doesn't mean you can't be too, does it? You're not the same program, I get that. [~~Not really, but he's trying to.~~] You're not Tron.

But we still know each other. There's still a basis of friendship there, isn't there?

[Then Flynn quickly raises both hands when Rinzler flinches and steps back.] Hey, whoa. Okay. I'm not going to rewrite anyone. I just want to know if I can help you.

[~~Translation: Let me fix you back to normal, brogram.~~]

I knew you. A thousand cycles ago.

[Fists are clenched, stance tightening into something far too close to the enforcer's hunch, and Rinzler's constantly, precisely aware of his planned exit path. He stops himself with a force of effort.]

What's my directive, Flynn?

[Sharp. Direct. Not doubt, or even real question to the tone. Interrogation. Example.]

When did I start speaking? How did I leave the Grid?

[Head shakes, short and quick.] You don't know me.

And you don't get to help.

[The questions settle into the air, followed by a lengthy silence.

Flynn has been everyone's punching bag (emotionally and physically) ever since he arrived in Abax, and he's rolled with it the whole time with a smile still on his face.

But this time? It's too hard. Especially faced with this shadow of his old friend.

His tone is calm, quiet.] Alright, Rinzler. I get it.

[It's still clear on his face that he wants to do something about this, help Rinzler in some way; but instead, he merely says:] I won't.

Edited (Grammah) 2013-01-24 11:13 (UTC)

[Silence, and stall. And then a response Rinzler wasn't expecting. The quiet surrender comes with its own twist of guilt, and he has to clamp down on the apology that hovers half-executed in queue. It's hardly Flynn's fault he doesn't know. That this iteration of the user never ran from Clu's betrayal, while he (Tron) failed and died and became something new. Rinzler lived every cycle of the millennium that followed, and Flynn never knew any of it.

But Rinzler doesn't apologize. Can't take it back. Because he doesn't want to be rewritten, and he doesn't want to be Tron. And there's something else there, too, more unexpected than the promise.

Flynn used his name.

The helmet dips, in the end. Acknowledgment. A fraction's pause, and then another, and the mask fractures, splits, sections folding back. Rinzler's glance stays fixed on Flynn for a long moment before reflex and discomfort tug it down. You said you came here to see him, face to face. And fix things.

One out of two, Flynn.]

[Much to Flynn's surprise, the mask melts away to reveal the program's face. He returns the stare fully, studying Rinzler, his expression soft and pensive. The features of the program's face are so painstakingly familiar -- it's the same face worn by his closest friends both out of (Alan) and inside (Tron) the Grid.

When Rinzler looks down, the frown on Flynn's face deepens.

I can fix you back. I can help you. He wants to say it; the thoughts are even still reflected in his eyes. But Yori's voice (strong, scolding, pleading) in the back of his head warns him away from it.

His own gaze finds its way away from Rinzler.] I don't know what happened those thousand cycles. I don't know why I wasn't able to help you, or why I couldn't stop Clu.

But I'm sorry that this happened to you, man. I really am.

...shouldn't be sorry.

[It's quiet. There's still a tightness to the program's voice that's not quite wariness, this time, or fear. Rinzler doesn't look up, but he shakes his head once, twice, quick and unsteady.]

You weren't there.

[And wasn't that the problem.

A moment's lag, and Rinzler's eyes slowly, reluctantly, come back up. His turn for inspection. Flynn mentioned Yori, and it's not hard to guess he's heard from others by now—about the Grid, and Clu. And Rinzler. But hearing isn't remembering, and it's not hard to guess whose side of the story Flynn's running off now. If he did know? No reason to think Flynn would be here now, either.

(Much less sorry.) ]

Tr— [Stall. Restart.] I failed.

Not yet, no. But at some point in the future I was there, and at that point I wasn't able to make things right then. [A heavy pause.] Or for the next thousand years, from what I hear.

[It's aggravating to be aware that such a bleak future is in store for him, to be confronted with all of its horrible aftermath, and yet be unable to easily mend it -- or even know why he'd been unable to stop it from escalating to such a level.

Flynn winced.] No, bud. It wasn't you that failed. I should've been the one to fix the situation, I should've been the one to make things better. And I didn't.

[The stare sharpens to a glower, repeat harsh and irritated.] Weren't. There.

[He's working hard enough to remind himself of that. This isn't the user he hunted. The user Tron died for; the user that ran as he was told, and never, ever came back. Not him, not yet, Rinzler doesn't get to blame this Flynn. Or ask why.]

Don't be sorry. Be different. If you get the chance.

[Bud gets another sharp look. Not Tron. But when Rinzler shakes his head, it's not the term he's bothering to argue with.]

Security, Flynn. Written to protect them.

[A bitter twist of the mouth. There's a quiet, skipping sound catching beneath vocals, Clu's lingering restraints locking in conflict at the thought. Rinzler ignores it. Clu's not here, and it won't make any difference now. But he still knows what Tron should have done.]

'Delete the threat'.

Yeah. If I get the chance. [If, somehow, Flynn could escape this hellhole and make it back home with his memories intact.] I will, if I can.

What everybody has told me since I arrived ... I hadn't realized so much was going on without my notice. I'd hope that if I was able to make it back, I wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

[Then, at the last bit, there's a momentary flicker in his expression; it's obvious who the 'threat' had been, way back then. And, despite the fact that Clu's deresolution would've meant the salvation of the ISOs, Flynn shakes his head.] I know that was part of your directive, but I wouldn't have wanted that. Deletion ... killing. It doesn't solve anything, and it's not right.

[Code manipulation, on the other hand? Not really out of the question.] I would've rather talked it out with him -- fixed the problem, if I was able to. Or figured out a different way to deal with it.

['I hadn't realized'. Rinzler's expression darkens visibly, but he bites back the retorts. He made them already, after all. Tron had told Flynn. Clu had told Flynn, even if he'd shaded every word with his own bias.

Besides, Flynn's still a targeting field off from the actual point.]

I didn't say if you get back.

[The rest of the lecture just gets a half-incredulous stare. Flynn knew Tron's function, if not Rinzler's. Had brought him across systems to make use of it, watched him derezz Sark's people and Clu's "terrorists" both without qualms. Of course, where Clu was concerned... Rinzler shakes his own head. ]

Know you wouldn't want it. Tron knew, too.

If he'd cared less, you'd still have your friend.

[And he'd done what Flynn has always done best when it came to those two; not listen.

A sigh.] Right. Well I'm doing my best, now, to hear you guys out. None of what you guys experienced has happened to me yet, so I'm still trying to come up to speed and see where I can do different. Better.

[And it wasn't the same, of course, when it came to his own program's deresolution. Clu, especially, since Flynn had taken special effort both inside and outside the Grid to create the admin. Sark's people and the terrorists, on the other hand, had deserved it.

His gaze settles on Rinzler's.] Maybe so. It all could've turned out differently, in the end. But what happened, happened, and you're the one here. [Flynn ran a hand through his hair.] I didn't talk to Clu when I should have. Didn't realize, when I should have. [And, in the future he'd been told about, it'd cost him so much.] That isn't your mistake, Rinzler. That's mine.

[Expression stays fixed, stare unblinking. Different. Better. The words sound reasonable enough, even to Rinzler. But Flynn always was good at promising. He'll wait to see how the script executes, this time.]

Didn't say 'perfect'. [Is that a sense of humor? Maybe? Hard to tell past all that lineface.] Step up.

[Now just stop asking to recode people, and he might almost be able to relax.

Head twitches sideways—disagreement, for all he's not willing to replay the same words. Maybe it's Tron's guilt, and maybe it's his own determination to be different, but Rinzler's seeing should haves on all sides. Still, hardly wise to discourage Flynn from finally claiming his own.]

Then don't repeat it.

Did they.

[ He doesn't want to talk to you, Flynn. Talking didn't stop you from killing him at the Portal.

~~But it's still difficult, somehow, to resist the urge to report, just like old times.~~ ]

Not interested.

Edited 2013-01-15 17:23 (UTC)

[Flynn intended to stick to neutral, toneless text, but he ends up switching to video after the program's answer. His hand is scrunched in his hair, eyebrows furrowed, a frown twitching on his lips.]

Clu, man. C'mon. [The tone in his voice is one part firm, one part urging.

It's frustrating -- no, more than frustrating -- to be treated with such coldness for a future that Flynn hadn't even seen yet. ~~And it was only those future actions, he assumed, that Clu could possibly be mad at him for~~.]

I want to understand it better.

Edited 2013-01-16 11:36 (UTC)

That's a first.

[ A long pause, but eventually a location pings Flynn's device. A first district rooftop, somewhere that makes for an easy escape via lightjet, if it comes to that. ]

Any of the others accompany you, and I'll destroy the disc.

[Flynn briefly grimaces at Clu. He'll let that first snappy answer slide for now.]

I'll be alone, don't worry. [He checks the coordinate ping, then glances back to the feed.] It'll take me a bit, but I'll be there soon. See you.

[Some time later, after Flynn's made his way across part of District 5 and all of District 2, the User will show up on the rooftop. His hands are stuffed in his jean pockets, and his gaze slides around the rooftop.

Excuse him for the slight, tense, readiness in his shoulders. He hasn't forgotten what Clu had done the last time they'd met up.]

[ Clu arrives nearly silently, dropping from a circuit-dark lightjet. He stands, eyes immediately seeking out Flynn against the darkness, his own suit throwing gold light on the rooftop. A familiar white disc is clenched in one fist, and he gestures curtly with it. ]

Well?

[Flynn glances to the disc in Clu's hand, then his eyes lift to meet the program's gaze. He's not particularly worried about the disc, although it'd be wonderful to have it back. Mostly, it's the blunt acrimony that he can feel almost radiating from Clu.

The corner of his mouth lifts at the non-greeting.] What, no 'hey man, I'm sorry I punched you in the disc dock'? You gotta know how much that stuff hurts. [A bad attempt to diffuse tension, probably. Flynn's not very good with dealing with people who are in a sour mood.

After a moment, the slight humor in his expression has dropped completely. It's not quite a frown that settles on his face -- disappointment, maybe. Sorrow.] Tell me why.

[ Clu's gaze is impassive; he's not sorry, and isn't going to bother pretending he is. Flynn should be grateful he even left him alive, given how their last (final) encounter turned out.

"Tell me why."

Clu's face darkens. No. He's done with Flynn's orders, has been for hundreds of cycles. ]

Do you have a specific query, User?

[A flicker of impatience and irritation shoots across his face.]

You know damn well what I'm asking, Clu. [His mouth briefly presses into a firm line.] How about this; I trusted you. I still want to, despite everything.

But you destroyed that the moment you decided to murder innocents. Why? What made you feel like that was the only option?

You trusted me?

[ That... was possibly not the best way to bring this up, Flynn. Clu barks out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. ]

You trusted me with what? A dusty box in your basement? The little diversion you escaped to when your precious 'real world' became too much?

You don't know anything about trust, Kevin Flynn. I trusted you with my entire world. I trusted you with the lives of the sixteen million programs who lived there, because you promised that we were going to build a perfect system.

You broke your promises.

[~~This is already going so well.~~]

Yes. I trusted you, Clu, to take care of the system -- I trusted you to take care of those sixteen million programs. Instead, you did what? Murder ISOs and Basics? Go crazy with other programs' code? What the hell went wrong?

[Flynn clenches a hand in his hair, then smooths it back through. His voice is a notch quieter when he speaks again.]

And broke what promises? We were building a perfect system, man.

No. You were building a perfect system for the ISOs. You didn't give two bits about the Basics that lived there, the ones that died in gridbug attacks or fell through faults or had their entire sector destroyed.

[ A venomous look. ] I had to fix it. I had to fix it every time you blew me off to go see your little pet viruses.

So I fixed things permanently.

Where are you even getting that idea? Of course I cared about the Basics too, you guys were important. I was already aware of the gridbug problem and was working on fixing it, and when I wasn't able to be there for whatever reason -- well that was your job, wasn't it?

[He shakes his head with a rough sigh.]

I wanted the system we built to be one where both ISOs and Basics could coexist together peacefully. Why has that been always so hard for you?

[At those last words, Flynn shoots Clu a heated look.]

They weren't viruses, man. They were part of the Grid.

[ Clu jerks back as though he was hit, a snarl on his face. His job? What would Flynn even know about his job? ]

My job is not to be your slave!

My people were dying. For every one I lost to segfaults, a hex of ISOs walked from the Sea to take their place. Except they didn't contribute to the system; they took and took, and you were perfectly willing to let them keep spreading their instability across the Grid!

[ He takes a step forward, gold circuits bruning brighter in his fury. ]

I waited two hundred cycles for you to find a solution, User. Or if you need a User metric to get it through you processor, two hundred years.

[ A sneer. ] More than enough time to realize that your creator doesn't deserve his title.

No Clu, your job is [~~to do what you're told~~] to perform your directive. Be my presence when I couldn't make it there. Maintain the system, not destroy it because you can't deal with a problem correctly.

Any problems the ISOs may have caused weren't ever intentional, so stop blaming them for everything. They deserved to live life just as much as any Basic on the Grid, no matter what you thought about them; taking that from them, massacring them all, isn't any sort of restitution for the loss of Basics. An eye for an eye makes the world blind, man.

[Flynn inhaled a sharp breath. He hadn't intended this to turn into any sort of argument, but Clu had a knack for saying the wrong things to him.] You don't even have a clue, an iota, Clu, of the amount of pressure that I was under back home. I needed you to be my backup, and from the sounds of it, you failed to be that for me.

[ And with that, his patience snaps. Before he even processes the motion, Clu hauls off with a punch aimed directly at his creator's (his own) face.

(He's both relieved and furious that even now, after a thousand cycles, he's still modulating his strength.) ]

I don't care about your world, Flynn. I care about mine.

[ A sharp exhale, but he doesn't back away. ]

"You will create the perfect system." I did. I did everything you ever asked, but you kept the real power for yourself. You set me up to fail.

[Flynn reacts a second too late; the punch connects with his jaw, and hard. The hit doubles him over forward, and his hand presses to his jaw out of instinct as a muffled curse escapes his lips.

After a moment, when the buzz of pain has faded just enough to concentrate, Flynn tries to straighten a little (even so, he's still bent forward somewhat). Bright red blood is oozing slowly from the side of his mouth where his lip has been split.]

What the hell, man? What's your damn problem? [He pulls his hand away and sees the blood, then tries to wipe it off with the back of his palm. As he does, he winces as sharp, fresh pain blossoms in its wake.

There's burning anger in his eyes as Flynn looks to Clu, now, but he doesn't move forward to retaliate physically. His voice is low, firm:] And I cared about your world, too. I was the one who built it in the first place. [He wipes again at his lip, flinching at the pain but keeping his eyes fixed on his program.] When did I ever ask you to murder a whole population of programs? When did I ever ask you to break and humiliate Tron and turn him into some monster leashed to your command? When, Clu?

[ The blood is startling, but Clu's too furious to even register the code-deep feeling of disquiet. ]

They were not programs.

[ It's snarled out, vicious. Haven't you been listening, Flynn? ]

You stopped caring about the Grid the nano your precious ISOs appeared. The only thing you cared about after was how important they were to your world. Tell me, User - what were you going to do with the Grid once you brought your little viruses to your "real world"? Shut us down? Derezz us all? Or just let us languish in your basement until the Grid fractured itself apart?

Edited 2013-02-01 03:54 (UTC)

[Flynn grits his teeth, holding the back of his hand to the corner of his bleeding mouth.]

That isn't true, Clu. How many times do I have to tell you that?

[Talking made him wince with pain, but he pushes through it.] I cared about Basics and ISOs both, I always have, and I did what I could when I could. Why can't you accept that?

[Then his other hand flies out in a wild gesture.] And I don't know! I don't know. I would've figured it out when it came to that, whenever that was. But I wouldn't have left the Grid to waste away. It was my project, my baby. I wouldn't leave that.

[Clu's last questions were valid ones to ask, really; Flynn hadn't actually ever planned that far ahead. He'd always figured they could work that out once it (hypothetically) happened.]

Wouldn't you? You left it often enough for your 'real world', and your ISOs hadn't even been brought there yet.

[ A sneer. ]

You always promised to fix things in the future, Flynn. The gridbugs. The ISOs. The resource allocation. The energy issues. You never did.

[ He shakes his head, disgusted. As far as Clu's concerned, Flynn has never been willing to see. ]

Why did you decide to call us Basics, User?

I would like that, yes. I'm sorry I've been otherwise occupied. [Things like your son getting shot have been taking most of his attention, sorry Flynn!]

Don't worry about it man. Is there a place around here we could meet? Maybe out of the apartments somewhere.

[As much as he's trying to settle in, it's getting a little claustrophobic.]

Of course. [He sends a location ping for a little cafe nearby... coincidentally, the same place where he once met with Sam, a long time ago.] I'll meet you there.

[He'll be waiting there, sitting at one of the tables out front. The cold doesn't bother him, but he'll go inside if Flynn isn't warmly dressed.]

Got it! Be there soon.

[Some time later, Flynn will arrive at the cafe decked out in a jacket and jeans. He looks a bit weary and worn-out (~~talking to both Rinzler and Clu all in one afternoon will do that to you~~), but genuinely happy to see the program.

He plops into a seat opposite of Tron and leans back with his arm draped over the chair's back. According to Yori, this still wasn't quite the Tron that Flynn knew back in '89, but it's good to finally see a program who isn't immediately glaring at him with hate or distrust or some mixture of both.]

It's good to see you, man. How've you been?

[Tron smiles genuinely upon seeing Flynn approach. He's realized already that this one is much younger than the one he'd ~~hunted~~ left behind in the Grid, and wonders how much he knows.]

Functioning within parameters. [His continued smile should show that it's the closest he comes to a joke, most days.] It's good to see you too, my friend. Even if it is in this... strange place.

[~~Mostly Everything, thanks to Abax's resident League of Programs & Sam.~~]

Hah, I'm glad to hear it.

[Flynn nods, a humored smile on his face.] Honestly, this place gives me the creeps. I think Anon or someone mentioned that there were more Users kicking around here, but I haven't seen many other people -- if any -- since I got dropped in the morgue a couple weeks back. This whole place feels like it was plucked straight out of a horror movie.

[He tilts his head back to scan around the outside of the cafe, then glances back to Tron.] Not the best place for a first-time introduction to the real world, huh?

Edited (Fixin stuff) 2013-01-29 12:12 (UTC)

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