Forgive me. (For so many things.) Quick note: I do want to thank those of you who have left comments so far, they mean a lot to me! Please keep letting me know what you think! Enjoy.

Alan and Quorra sat quietly next to the table in the corner of Paige's apartment. It was where they had been sitting for the past half hour or so, waiting for the rebel programs to get on with their planning. Paige was at the far end of the room, her back to them as she pored over whatever it was she was looking at on that screen of hers. The silence was punctuated by the occasional visitor, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone. They were ostensibly there to ask questions or check in before leaving to gear up for whatever they were instructed to do next, but that seemed to be more of an excuse to catch a glimpse of Alan than any real need for a visit. Some of them only glanced furtively in his direction, while others stared openly, curious or almost reverent.

Alan paid them no attention. He didn't bother even acknowledging their presence, keeping his gaze fixed on the table, fingers interlocked tightly in his lap. He had pulled the hood of his coat up to hide his face, grateful for the semblance of privacy it provided. His head was pounding dully once again, a counterpoint to the repeated images that kept running through his brain. Jeering programs, scarlet discs, a malicious grin in a too-familiar face.

He vaguely registered movement as Quorra glanced at him for the dozenth time, and knew she was worried about him. He hadn't said a word since Yori and Ram had signed off, too upset to do anything but sit and stare at his hands until Paige had asked him, in a slightly softer voice than normal, to move over by the table, out of the way. Quorra had followed him to the corner, angling her chair to put herself between him and the rest of the room. She was still holding her baton at the ready. He wondered vaguely if he should tell her he was okay, but he refrained. Talking would just give the unknown programs more reason to stare. Instead he reamained silent in his corner, staring down at the table, waiting for someone to tell him that it was time to leave.

The door slid open again. Paige turned from her place at the wall-screen, not bothering to hide her irritation as she let in yet another visitor—a woman in a white suit, her black hair pulled into a tight bun at the crown of her head. They were only a few feet away, but they may as well have been in another room for all that Alan registered their words. The pulsating pain had filled his head almost entirely. In the corner of his vision, he saw the program turn her head towards him a few inches, sneaking a look. Whatever it was she was expecting to see—a powerful User, or maybe the creator of the legendary Tron-Alan was in no mood to give it to her. He ducked his head a few more inches, wishing he could just be alone for a little while. He was tired of being looked at.

As he bowed his head further, a glint of light on the floor caught his eye. A handful of cubes were piled at his feet, formerly part of the chair Hopper had crashed into, reflecting a flicker from the screen across the room. His mind flashed to the arena once more, to piles of cubes rolling across the dark glass as shouts of approval roared from all sides. He tore his gaze away, lifting his head. Quorra glanced at him again, surprised at the sudden movement, but he ignored her, focusing instead on the sensation of his fingernails digging into the skin of his hands as he clasped them even tighter in his lap. Maybe that was what all these programs were trying to see—a glimpse of that dreaded, ruthless figure, a spark of cold viciousness, any possible sign that perhaps Alan had a bit of Rinzler in him too.

A sudden touch made him jump—a tentative hand on his forearm. He looked up. Quorra was watching him, and there was the concern he had been hoping to avoid, obvious in the way her brows were drawn together beneath her slanted bangs. He realized after a moment that she had said something to him, but he hadn't processed the words at all. "What?"

"You can put your hood down," she said. "We're alone."

He blinked, looking around. The apartment was empty save the two of them, and a little darker now, too. The screen had disappeared, leaving the wall bare and dull once more. "Where's Paige?"

"She left," Quorra said. "She said she needed to go to work, and arrange a meeting with Zuse, if she can. It's just us for now."

"Oh. Good." That was something, at least. He pulled his hood back down at last and leaned his head back against the wall with a sigh. "Finally."

"Are you okay?"

"Sure. Fine. I'm fine," he said. He took off his glasses and scrubbed at his face, sighing. "I'm just tired."

She nodded, but looked unconvinced. "You should rest until Paige gets back." She turned the baton in her hands end over end, then did it again, almost nervously.

The tic did nothing to assuage Alan's own nerves. He watched her flip the baton a third time. There were plenty of things for her to be worried about, he knew, but only one was sticking in his mind. She flipped it again, and glanced at him, perhaps noticing his silence. When she saw him watching her, she hooked the baton back on her boot and folded her hands on the table.

"Sorry," she said. "I don't like waiting. I'd rather be on the move." She smiled a little. "Flynn tells me I need to have more patience."

"That's rich, coming from him." Or maybe it wasn't, anymore. Things were so different now. Alan started polishing his glasses on the hem of his coat, needing something to occupy his hands as much as she did. "Did you know?" he asked abruptly. "About Rinzler?"

"No," Quorra said immediately, as if she had been waiting for the question. "I had no idea. I visit the city a lot, but I stay far away from Clu's enforcers. And even when I was looking for rumors, the only thing I ever heard about Rinzler was just…fear. Programs avoid mentioning him if they can. I guess now I know why." She leaned forward a little, looking him right in the eye. "If I had known who he really was, I would've told you, Alan. I promise."

The vehemence in her voice was enough to convince Alan that she was telling the truth. "…Okay," he said at last, "I believe you. But…" He hesitated for a second, but he had to know. "What about Kevin? Is it possible he knew and just didn't tell you-?"

"No," she said again, with a firm shake of her head. "He hasn't left the Safehouse in hundreds of cycles, Alan. Flynn can sometimes sense major shifts on the Grid, but something like this…he would have no way of knowing. The only news he gets is what I can give him. And Tron's death—what he thought was his death…it's one of Flynn's biggest regrets." She looked down, and added quietly, "He used to have nightmares about it."

The lenses of Alan's glasses were digging into his the palm of his hand. He slowly unclenched his fist, and gave Quorra a short nod. The thought that Flynn might have been hiding yet another secret from Alan was not something he wanted to contemplate. He supposed he would just have to ask the man in person. "As soon as we're done here, we're going back to the Safehouse," he said. "I need to talk to him about this. I just…I need to see him."

Quorra nodded, but kept watching him worriedly. He looked down at his glasses again, avoiding her eyes. "I'm okay. Really," he said, knowing how unconvincing he sounded. He didn't know how to explain to her what he was feeling—how he couldn't help but feel a strange connection to Tron despite never meeting him; how nauseating it was to know that Clu hadn't just killed Tron, but that he'd…brainwashed him, someone who was supposed to be his friend, into becoming a killing machine; how enraging it was that Clu had made Alan watch his own program—a program he'd made to help others-murder innocent people for kicks. He didn't know how to tell her how much it horrified him to know that the face beneath the black glass was his own.

He gritted his teeth reflexively, but instantly regretted it. Tensing the muscles in his jaw only made the bruise at his temple hurt worse. Trying to force himself to relax, he changed the subject. "Did Paige say how long she would be gone?"

"No, only that she would be back soon. We'll just have to wait and see."

Alan nodded again. Quorra seemed to take that as enough of a response for now, and leaned back in her chair. They lapsed into silence. Alan closed his eyes, the dark helping his headache a little. He was desperate for a little peace, but despite the quiet it didn't seem to be forthcoming—there were too many thoughts crowding around his head. He thought maybe he understood why Flynn had taken up something like meditation after all.

A sudden sound broke the silence: a short, four-note electronic melody. He opened his eyes to see Quorra drawing her hand away from the small box that still rested at the corner of the table, looking startled. She drew her hands back to her lap and said, sheepishly, "Sorry. I didn't think it was on."

"What is it?" he asked, eyeing the box. It had a grid-like pattern of raised buttons, and this close, he could see that whatever it was, it was old. Unlike the rest of the objects in the apartment, the corners of the box were slightly scuffed in places, as if it had been moved around quite a bit in the past.

"An instrument," Quorra said. "Look—" She touched one of the buttons, and it lit up beneath her gloved finger as the box issued another short melody. "I don't really know how to use it, but Paige is really good." She took her hand away, looking at the instrument pensively. "Or she used to be."

"How do you know each other?" Alan asked. "You seemed pretty shocked to see her."

"I was." She paused, and it went on for so long that Alan wondered if maybe he should just drop the subject. She looked at him, and something in her expression changed, as if she had made a decision, before she spoke again. "A long time ago, after the first major wave of the Purge, I used to go out looking for refugees in dangerous sectors."

"ISO refugees?"

"That's were being hunted...and I wanted to help. I used to be friends with a lot of ISOs. So I would find programs on the run and take them somewhere safe. I had to go through a lot of settlements that ended up like Palladium."

Alan remembered how upset Quorra had looked as they were all watching the footage from the decimated city. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what that must have been like."

Quorra shrugged. "It's okay. I got used to it. I got good at it, sneaking around, fighting off sentries." She glanced again at the music-box. "That's how I met Paige."

"She was a refugee?"

"A medic. One of the programs I was escorting was injured, and Paige helped her recover, but we let her think we were both Basic programs. I hated to lie, but it was impossible to tell who would be sympathetic to an ISO. Programs were turning in anyone who'd ever even associated with ISOs in the past." She sighed, staring down at her lap again. "So we kept it from her, until we couldn't anymore. We convinced her not to tell anyone, but we left as soon as we could. We couldn't risk getting caught." She looked back at the instrument, her expression more drawn than he had ever seen on her. "Afterward, we found out the sector she'd been working in was destroyed. Clu's forces put the word out that ISOs had derezzed everyone in the vicinity, but we knew the truth. We hadn't touched anyone."

…Any sector even rumored to have held an ISO was destroyed. That was what Paige had said earlier, Alan remembered, with that expression that had seemed so empty. "So she—she blames you? For losing her home?"

"I guess so," Quorra said. "I didn't think any program had made it out of her sector alive. Clu's always been relentless." Her voice was low, and her shoulders were hunched beneath her dark hair. "If we hadn't been there, he might have left it alone."

"But—that's not your fault," Alan told her. "You didn't do anything wrong." She didn't answer, only continued to look in the direction of the instrument. He leaned forward and touched her hands, still folded in her lap. "Quorra," he said, "you were only trying protect a friend. You didn't have to go out and help ISOs, but you did. That's brave. If Paige doesn't understand that, that's her damn problem. You didn't ask for Clu to destroy her home—you didn't ask for him to be a—a genocidal dictator, or for him to go hunting the ISOs. You didn't ask for any of that at all. You were just trying to help someone. She has to understand that."

Quorra smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. For a moment she looked as tired as Alan felt. "I'm not sure Paige sees it that way. If we'd told her the truth from the start, we might have been able to get the help we needed without endangering anyone else. She hates lying as much as you do."

Alan paused, a little startled at the comparison. He did hate lies, but even he knew that the truth wasn't always the safest option. "Yeah, well…sometimes," he said, thinking of Sam and what they'd kept from him the last two decades, "you have to hide things from people to protect them. It's not…great, but it's better than putting them in danger."

You sound like Flynn now, murmured the Lora-like voice in his head. Alan ignored it. That was different. Flynn had lied about other things, too. "Anyway," he said aloud, "she can be mad at you all she wants, but once we're done here, we can leave, and then neither of you will need to deal with each other again. You won't have to worry about old lies anymore."

Quorra nodded, but she didn't look any happier. She was staring at her lap now, and Alan suddenly had the distinct feeling that she was avoiding his gaze. Before he could say anything, however, the front door slid open once more, and the pair of them looked up. Alan expected to see Paige again, stepping inside with an irritated expression, but instead, Hopper and Bartik entered. Hopper didn't bother waiting for the door to close before speaking.

"Hey," he said to Quorra. "The commander-Paige, she wants you to come to the End of Line."

Quorra sat up straighter in her chair, frowning. "Me?"

"Yes," Bartik said. "She got us in touch with Castor and we told him about you. Only your name, don't worry," he added at the look on Quorra's face. "Actually, he wouldn't take anything we said seriously until we mentioned you."

"We told him we're trying to help you, and a few others," Hopper said with a glance at Alan. "So he went talked to Zuse for us, but apparently the guy says he won't do a thing unless he sees you in person. Just you, he says. So Paige sent us to escort you there."

"I'm not leaving Alan here alone," Quorra said. Her shoulders were still hunched, but defensively now, the muscles in her shoulders and arms set.

Bartik's mouth twitched in a flicker of a smile. "Save your determination for Zuse," he said. "There's still some of our people outside. We wouldn't leave the User defenseless. It'll be safer for him to stay here. We'll get you there and back as quick as we can."

"We don't have much time," Hopper added. "If Clu's left Palladium, he could be heading anywhere on the Grid right now. Including back here."

"But…" Quorra looked to Alan, and this time she did meet his gaze, her brows knitting in concern again.

Alan hesitated before answering. The rebel programs seemed trustworthy enough—Bartik and Hopper had got them in contact with Yori and Ram, after all, which was definitely a positive in Alan's book, despite everything else. If Quorra went to help them, it might improve Paige's opinion of her, too. And besides, he had wanted a little peace. "It's okay," he said. He put his glasses back on and folded his hands in his lap, trying to look, if not comfortable, at least somewhat at ease. "Go ahead. I won't be much use out there until we can get into the arcade."

"Are you sure?" Quorra asked.

"Positive. Go on. Now you can get on the move, right?" Alan gave her a small smile, but Quorra but she still seemed reluctant as she nodded and rose from her chair. She crossed the room as the door slid open once more, Hopper and Bartik leaving as quickly as they had entered. Quorra lingered in the doorway for a moment, looking back at Alan. He waved a hand at her, trying to look nonchalant.

"Don't look so worried," he said. "That's my job."

Quorra did smile at that. "Try not to worry too much," she responded. "I'll be back as soon as I can." She waited for Alan to nod before exiting the apartment, the door sliding quietly shut behind her.

Silence fell. Alan sat back in his chair with a quiet huff of relief, grateful for the chance to just take a breather. It didn't last long, however; with nothing to distract him, it was harder to ignore the ache that had been pounding dully at his temples. He took off his glasses again, putting them on the table before folding his arms and laying his head down. It helped, though not much. After a few minutes he let his eyes drift shut. At least with them closed, he could almost pretend he was home.

Quorra took her first steps out of the apartment on uncertain feet. As the door slid shut behind her, she had the sudden urge to turn right around, go back inside, and tell Alan everything she had been keeping from him for the last few millicycles. It was followed immediately by the desire to run right down the stairs, rez up her lightcycle, and ride as quickly as she could back to the Safehouse. She did neither, instead remaining just outside the door as she closed her eyes. Take a breath, kiddo. Flynn had told her this dozens of times, trying to teach her how to just be still, tranquil. She flexed her hands, clenching them for a moment before letting them relax again. You need to learn to remove yourself from the equation.

She opened her eyes. That was easier said than done. She forced herself to move, taking the few short steps across the landing before starting down the stairwell to the alley below. She had been struggling to keep her emotions in check this whole trip, but every moment so far seemed designed to make it even more difficult for her. The last microcycle was especially hard. Telling Alan about her first encounter with Paige had involved unpleasant memories Quorra hadn't accessed for cycles, not to mention more lying. She hated to keep things from him, but the truth was just so hard to explain.

Sometimes you have hide things from people to protect them. She hoped Alan really believed that.

At the foot of the stairs, Bartik was talking quietly with a pair of programs Quorra recognized—they had visited the apartment not too long ago. Hopper slouched nearby, looking up at her as she made her way down.

"Don't worry about the User," he told her. "We aren't leaving him alone. And this won't take long, anyway."

Quorra didn't answer, just giving him a quick nod. Bartik seemed to have finished giving instructions, because the two unfamiliar programs broke away to take places at either end of the alley. Quorra frowned—two didn't seem like a very effective guard.

"There are two more on the roof," Bartik said. She looked up; he was watching her with that flicker of a smile. "And lookouts a few traces away. We're not amateurs."

"I know," Quorra said. "I've heard of you. Hopper and Bartik, anarchist revolutionaries. You've got a reputation."

Bartik smirked, but didn't bother asking if their reputation was good or bad. He simply said, "Let's go," and lead the way out of the alley.

The three of them made their way towards the central sector, their boots splashing through shallow puddles pooled on the roads. The rain had lessened, though short bursts of it still pattered the streets and buildings in certain areas. Quorra didn't recognize the route, but Bartik seemed to know what he was doing, so she followed in silence. She slowed before they turned a corner, meaning to wait and listen for the tell-tale sound of boots on pavement, or worse, the rumbling of a tank.

"You won't hear anything." Hopper had slowed beside her to match her pace. Bartik had continued on, crossing the street to another alley, and Hopper jerked his head, indicating for Quorra to follow. She did, Hopper right behind her. "Not that it wasn't a good idea," he told her as they entered the next alley. "You come into the city a lot?"

"Sometimes."

"I've never seen you around before."

"I keep to myself."

"Yeah, you don't seem like much of a talker. That's okay, neither is Bartik."

Quorra looked at him sidelong. "I think you talk enough for the both of you."

Ahead of them, Bartik let out a short laugh. Hopper threw him a dirty look, and Quorra couldn't help but smile, just a little. She slowed again as they reached another street, out of habit, but Hopper shook his head.

"We've got the patrol routes memorized. We won't run into any trouble."

"Probably," Bartik murmured ahead of them. "The sentries are still jumpy."

"Yeah, well, if we run into any, we'll take care of 'em," Hopper said with a shrug. "No problem." They crossed again, and Hopper glanced at Quorra as they turned another corner, waiting for a response, but she only nodded. He sighed. "Look, if you're still upset about us chasing you before, it was nothing personal. We were just getting a little desperate. It was starting to look like you two had disappeared off into the Outlands for good. "

"Especially with that vehicle of yours," Bartik added. "I've never seen anything like it, and we know a few impressive mechanics."

"It was more impressive before you blew it up," Quorra said. "It's inoperable now."

Bartik paused long enough to glance back at her. "Oh," he said. "That...was an accident. Sorry."

"Can you repair it?" Hopper asked. "We could call in a favor from some friends. They might be able to fix it up for you."

"It's being restored," Quorra said with a shake of her head. She didn't feel the need to mention just who was doing the restoring. These two programs might have been her allies now, but the less people knew about Flynn, the better.

"Can you make it back to…wherever it is you came from without it?"

"It'll be fine," Quorra told them. "Our lightcycles are modified to handle the terrain if necessary." Well, hers was, anyway. Flynn's was too, but that baton had been discarded. It didn't really matter now. If things went according to plan-the real plan-they wouldn't be going back into the Outlands at all.

Ahead of her, Hopper and Bartik exchanged a look as she fell silent once more, and Hopper shrugged. They continued on without speaking, trudging through intermittent rain. At last, they turned a corner and stepped out onto a relatively busy street, programs hurrying along the sidewalks under the gaze of a handful of sentries stationed around the square at intervals. Quorra took a step back instinctively, receding into the shadows of the alley, but Hopper nudged her as he passed by.

"Keep moving," he muttered, and followed after Bartik, who hadn't broken his stride at all. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Quorra hesitated only a moment before quickly following them across the square.

She rarely ventured this far into the city, but this sector was just as she remembered it. To her right was Flynn's old arcade, the sign mounted above the door gray and dormant, as it had been for cycles now. Programs passed it by without a second glance, just another building among hundreds. Across the street from the overlooked arcade was the central tower, taller than any other structure in the city. It stretched so high into the sky that its tip was hidden by clouds. A sentry stood near the entrance, and his helmet twitched as he watched them cross. Quorra kept her hands still at her sides, though she itched to take hold of her baton or her disc—she was unused to being so out in the open.

Hopper and Bartik, however, seemed totally unconcerned, heading for the elevator doors without even a glance at the guard. As they approached, its doors slid open with a soft ding, and there, arms crossed and expression grim, was Paige, though it took Quorra a moment to recognize her. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, though some of it still fell in front of her face, and her suit's usual black was replaced with the white typically reserved for Sirens. She uncrossed her arms with a sigh as they stepped up to the elevator platform.

"There you are," she said sternly, though she kept her voice down. "I was about to go and get her myself."

"We came as fast as we could," Bartik replied. "Security's still tighter than normal. We had to take an alternate route."

"You talk with Zuse?" Hopper asked quietly, taking a step forward, and Quorra wondered if it was only a coincidence that the way he had positioned himself hid her from view of the guard.

"Of course not. Castor's the one who does all the talking, you know that. No one talks to Zuse." Paige finally looked at Quorra then, eyes narrowing slightly. "Except you, apparently." She stepped to the side, and said, "Get in. We're going up."

"Should we wait?" Bartik asked.

"Don't bother," Paige answered as she punched a few buttons on the elevator's wall panel. "I'll take her back myself."

There was just enough time for Quorra to see the two programs exchange a look of surprise before the door slid shut, cutting off any possible response, and then it was just her and Paige, standing side by side in the elevator as it rose. It traveled quickly, passing floor after floor as it ascended towards the apex of the tower. Paige didn't say a word as they climbed, nor did she look at Quorra. She seemed determined to look anywhere else, in fact, staring resolutely out at the city stretching all around the tower. Quorra sighed inwardly. She could barely remember the last time she'd been able to interact with Basics so openly, let alone one she actually knew. Hopper and Bartik seemed alright—for the most part—but Paige…the hostility was disheartening.

"So…we're going to see Zuse?" Quorra asked, just to fill the silence.

"You're going to see Zuse," Paige said. "I'm only bringing you to Castor."

"Castor?"

"Zuse's assistant. He's the face of the End of Line now. Zuse doesn't make public appearances these days. I don't even know what he looks like." She glanced at Quorra before looking away again. "We're going up to the top block of floors, and then Castor will escort you to Zuse. You'll be meeting with him on your own. But I guess that won't be a problem, if he's really an old friend of yours."

There was something accusatory in her tone, and Quorra wasn't sure how to respond to it. She fell silent again. Zuse really was an old friend, but now that she was on her way to speak to him for the first time in what must have been hundreds of cycles, she wasn't sure that would be enough. She'd told Paige and the other rebels he would want to help her, but would he? Or would it be too dangerous, after all this time, for Zuse to help someone he'd had every reason to believe was dead? The fact that he'd apparently requested to see her was a good sign, or so she'd thought, but that didn't guarantee anything. She glanced at Paige again. She didn't seem to be having much luck with programs from her past lately.

The elevator began to slow, and finally stopped a few floors from the tip of the tower. The doors slid open with another soft ding, opening to reveal another program in white—a Siren with hair as pale as her suit, standing alone in the short hallway that stretched beyond the elevator landing.

"Gem?" Paige took a step forward out of the elevator, but as Quorra moved to follow her, she placed a hand on the door frame, blocking the way. "What are you doing here? I thought you were on arena duty this cycle."

"I go where I'm needed," Gem said. Her eyes flickered to Quorra for a moment, and then back to Paige. "You're looking for someone."

"What makes you say that?"

"Intuition." She stared at Paige unblinkingly. Paige didn't look away. Suddenly Gem smiled, and said laughingly, "And Castor told me you were meeting with him. Unfortunately, something came up, so he asked me to escort Zuse's guest instead." She glanced at Quorra again, and smiled.

Paige took a step forward but hesitated, hovering uncertainly in the elevator's doorway. "I'd rather wait for Castor, thanks."

"You'll be waiting a long time," Gem said. "He's a busy man. And there are other programs who need that elevator."

For a moment Paige didn't move, and then, with a sigh Quorra would have missed if she hadn't been standing so close, she exited the elevator. Quorra followed suit, wondering with no small amount of worry whether this Gem program was to be trusted or not. Paige didn't seem upset, however—or at least, nothing more than irritated by the change in plan—so Quorra gave Gem a nod and stepped up next to her.

Gem smiled at her again, and glanced at Paige. "I'll bring her right back. You're free to wait here." She didn't wait for a response, instead taking Quorra gently but firmly by the arm. "We should go. Zuse's time is precious."

Paige gave only a short nod as her answer, and looked at Quorra as if to say something, but stayed silent. Quorra barely had enough time to meet her eyes before Gem pulled her away, starting off down the hallway at a steady pace. At the end of the hall was a short staircase. Quorra glanced over her shoulder as Gem led her upwards; Paige was still standing resolutely by the elevator, her arms crossed, as she watched them go.

"Watch your step," Gem said, hand still on Quorra's arm, as they reached the top of the stairwell lead to another, shorter hallway with an opaque crystal door at the opposite end.

"Where are we going?"

"Zuse's private office. It's just through here." Gem guided Quorra down the hall, past two long narrow windows that showed only cloudy darkness—they were too high for even the rain now. When they reached the door, Gem pressed her hand to a small panel beside it, and it slid down into the floor, making not even a whisper of noise.

The room beyond was small but lavish, with thin lines of circuitry spanning from the doorway to the walls, outlining the furniture: a few seats, a compact but fully stocked bar glowing with the light of its contents, and a desk in the center of the room, illuminated by the same circuitry patterns that glimmered on the floors and walls. A high-backed, pitch black chair stood on the other side of the desk, facing away from the door.

Quorra stepped inside, the heel of her boot clicking against the glass floor. The chair, and whoever it held, did not move. She looked to Gem, who only smiled again before the door slide shut without a sound, leaving Quorra alone. Quorra stepped forward uncertainly, uncomfortably aware of how loud her footsteps sounded.

"Zuse?"

The chair spun, revealing its occupant: a program all in white and silver, pearly hair slicked back from a face that was just as pale. His expression was drawn as he turned to face her, but it brightened immediately as their eyes met, a wide white grin stretching across his face.

"Quorra!" he exclaimed. "My dear girl!" He shot to his feet and strode around the desk, coat flaring behind him. He reached for Quorra's hand and took it in both of his, then raised it to his lips, still smiling. "I'm so glad to see you safe!"

It was such a relief to see a familiar, friendly face after so long that Quorra laughed, for what felt like the first time in ages, and pulled him into a hug. Zuse laughed himself, patting her on the back before moving away, his hands on her shoulders. He looked her over a moment, and laughed again.

"You haven't changed, my dear," he said.

"You have," Quorra replied, and it was true. It wasn't a drastic change, but enough—his clothes were altered, his hair longer and whiter. The white cane leaning against the desk was a change, too. "I like the new look."

He placed a hand over his chest. "You're too kind. After the Purge, I needed to reinvent myself, and, well…." He straightened and spread his arms, looking down at his clothes as if admiring his own work. " It's been successful so far. I'm rather fond of it myself, truth be told. I even came up with a new name. I believe you were told that Castor would bring you to me?"

Quorra nodded. "Gem said he was too busy."

"Yes, yes," Zuse said. "Busy preparing to see you! Castor and Zuse are one and the same, you see. A little diversion of mine. If everyone knew I was Zuse, I would never get a moment to myself. Castor is a perfect proxy. And just as handsome, though not quite as charming." He bowed with a flourish, and she giggled. He grinned again, and gestured to the chair in front of the desk. "Please, sit."

Quorra did so, settling into the chair that was far more comfortable than it looked. Zuse didn't retake his seat, busying himself at the bar. "Drinks!" he said gleefully. "We must celebrate. It's been too long since I was able to entertain an old friend." He turned and handed Quorra a glass of glowing greenish-blue energy, which she gratefully accepted. Just a sip was enough to rejuvenate her a little, steadying hands that she hadn't even realized were beginning to shake with worry and weariness.

"So I've been told you're in need of my assistance," he said, taking his seat again. "When I heard your name, I must say, I was shocked. I'm happy to know you're alive, of course, but I do have eyes and ears all over. I didn't think there was anything that could surprise me anymore. I hadn't thought any of your kind had survived Clu's efforts."

"Only me," Quorra said. "I...had some help."

"Ah. Very special help indeed, to have kept you hidden for so long." He gave Quorra a significant look, tilting his head. Quorra only looked back at him, her expression as impassive as she could make it. Zuse laughed, and said, "I will allow you your secrets, my dear. We all must keep a few. What matters is that you survived. Now, as for the help you're needing..."

Quorra leaned forward in her chair. "What exactly were you told?"

"Merely that some mutual acquaintances of ours had been in touch with you, and that you required my services. I'm afraid your friends were rather tight-lipped."

That was good to hear. The fewer people who knew what was going on, the better. "All we need from you is a distraction. If you could keep help keep the attention of the sentries in this area for a while, we can do what we came to do."

"Well, putting on a show is certainly a specialty of mine," he said, "but I'm afraid I'll need you to be more specific."

Quorra hesitated. "I…can't tell you the details." Zuse was a friend, but she couldn't help the reluctance. She had spent too much time in hiding to be comfortable with giving out specifics of her situation.

"Ah." Zuse surveyed her a moment, his smile a little diminished. "I understand your hesitance, but if I'm going to assist you, I need something in return. Some information—not all," he said as his grin widened again, "as I said, I'll allow you your secrets—but a few details are necessary. Consider them a payment for my services."

Quorra paused, uncertain what to offer up in exchange. "…Alright," she said. "I'm trying to get into the old arcade."

"Flynn's arcade?" Zuse's surprise was obvious in his voice. "Whatever for? It's been dormant for cycles now."

"I can't say, I'm sorry. Some of the rebel programs have agreed to help us out, but since your tower is so close by, we thought you might be able to help things go a little smoother. It''s very important that we get in and out without being spotted."

"We? You and your insurgent friends, I presume?"

She didn't blink. "Is that payment too?"

Zuse let out a laugh, high and loud. "Sharp as ever, dear Quorra! I don't recall you being this secretive before, but I suppose the cycles have changed us all." He eyed her slyly, grinning again. "I think your reticence speaks volumes, regardless. I had been wondering where that poor User from the lightcycle grid went."

Quorra stiffened, her hand tightening around the glass. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, aware as she said it how useless the words were—Zuse was watching her with an amused but knowing expression.

"Indeed," he said, "I'm sure you don't. Not to worry—my club's lounges are filled with theories on his whereabouts. Half the city is convinced he left before the portal closed, never to be seen by mere programs again. A few others think he's gone off with Clu on his tour of the Grid. His actual location is practically irrelevant—just his presence on the Grid has been enough to rouse nearly every program in the city. I don't think I've seen so many programs come through my doors since I first opened them cycles ago."

Zuse sounded pleased, but Quorra wasn't sure that was entirely a good thing. The more programs there were out and about, even sympathetic ones, the less safe it would be to move around the city. She needed to get things in motion as quickly as she could. She set her drink down and looked Zuse in the eyes. He raised his eyebrows, but put his drink aside too, and waited for her to speak.

"You know what I'm trying to do, and who I'm trying to do it for," she said. "Can you help us?

"Hmm." Zuse leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "This is a difficult proposition, I'm afraid. Keeping the sentries distracted without any undue harm to my patrons, potential property damage, not to mention all the discs that will need modifying afterwards…a difficult proposition at best."

Quorra clutched her glass. It wouldn't be impossible to get into the arcade without Zuse's help, but to have come so far only to be refused…she imagined the suspicion in Paige's eyes as she returned empty handed, the disappointment in Hopper and Bartik's, the distress in Alan's. "Please," she said, "I don't know who else could—"

Zuse raised his hand. "I didn't say it was impossible. We've both been through much more difficult things in our time, Quorra." He smiled, and then got to his feet, offering her his hand. "I will do whatever I can to help you, my dear."

Quorra stood and took his hand in both of hers, squeezing it gratefully. "Thank you," she said, "You have no idea what this means to me."

"I think I have some idea," Zuse said with a grin. "Let those revolutionary friends of yours know that they can make arrangements with me as soon as they are able—with Castor, I should say," he added with a wink. "I rely upon your discretion on that subject, by the way."

"Don't worry," Quorra said as he lead her to the door. "I'll allow you your secrets."

Zuse laughed gleefully. "My deepest thanks!" He touched the panel beside the door with his hand, and the door descended again. Gem was waiting in the hall; she smiled at Quorra as Zuse waved her outside. "Gem will show you back to the elevator," he said. "Good luck, my friend."

"Take care of yourself," Quorra said.

"Oh, I intend to," he said, smiling widely, and then he pressed his hand to the panel again. The door ascended, and Zuse was gone.

Gem nodded at Quorra, and they both set off down the hall once more. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked.

"I did," Quorra said, and she couldn't help the smile that spread over her face. She was just so relieved—her limbs still felt a little unsteady, but the energy pulsing through her made her feel like she could run the whole length of the city without stopping. Gem smiled back, and lead her past the narrow windows, down the stairs, and into the elevator hallway. At the end of the corridor stood Paige, her arms still crossed tightly over her torso. She looked up as the two made their way to her, standing up straighter, but didn't smile as Quorra approached.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"He'll help," Quorra told her. "He said any arrangements can be made with Castor."

"I'll find him," Gem said. "You can send your friends to the End of Line. He'll meet with them there."

"Good," Paige said. "Then let's go." She turned back to the elevator and pressed the button. Moments later, the doors opened with a soft ding, and she stepped inside. Quorra followed her quickly, and the doors slid together once more, leaving one last glimpse of Gem's smile before shutting entirely.

As the elevator began its journey down, Quorra took in a deep breath, and then another, still trying to shake off the excess energy. She allowed herself to savor the feeling, though, knowing it would most likely fade quickly. She smiled to herself and gazed out through the glass doors at the glittering buildings beyond. It had been a very long time since she'd truly been able to appreciate the city from such an angle, and though her trips away from the Safehouse had long since forced her to associate any major settlement with danger, the sight was still, in its way, beautiful. She snuck a glance at Paige, wondering if she should say something, but Paige wasn't looking at her. She was staring out at the city too, and unlike Quorra, she looked tired.

"I can make my way back myself," Quorra said. "If you need to go back to work."

"I found someone to cover the rest of my shift," Paige said shortly. She didn't look Quorra's way. "And it's not safe to be in the city alone right now."

Quorra couldn't help the feeling that Paige blamed her and Alan for that. She kept on, hoping she could find a subject that didn't make Paige upset. "You aren't a medic anymore, are you?" she asked. "I saw you still had that instrument of yours in the apartment. Do you still play?"

Paige finally looked at her then, and there was a hint of surprise in her visible eye as she studied Quorra for a moment before answering. "I make some of the music for the clubs," she conceded. "Not all of it, but some."

"That's great!" Quorra told her, and she meant it. She could remember the way Paige had looked when she played for her and Ada so many cycles ago, the focus in her eyes and the embarrassed but obvious pleasure that had practically radiated off of her when the song was finished. She smiled broadly at Paige, but the other program only looked at her a second longer before turning away, facing the city once more. Quorra hesitated, wanting to try again, but she didn't want to push too much. She sighed softly and turned back towards the city too. If Paige didn't want to talk to her, it was something she would just have to accept.

The tops of the smaller buildings drew level with the elevator car, then higher as they continued to descend. They drew near to street-level, and Quorra readied herself to exit, but then the car kept going, past the street and down into the dark tunnel below. They past one hatch, and then another, until finally the elevator came to a stop, opening out onto the sub-level below the city's main sectors. A solar sailer dock loomed nearby, glowing pulleys quietly loading freight into its many occupants.

"The sub-level?" Quorra asked. She had only been down here a few times, and usually only under duress. There were few programs down here, but those that did come down to the sub-level were usually sentries, and there were so many docks, storage units, and energy wells to navigate around that progress from one end of the city to the other was slow.

"It's better to take varying routes. And I know a short-cut," Paige said, and she set off without another word.

Quorra followed quickly, trying to glance around without seeming out of place. There was movement across a short bridge leading to the docks—two sentries, one holding a data tablet, emerged from one of the sailers. Quorra looked away, but Paige lifted a hand and waved, as casually as she would any other program. The sentry holding the tablet waved back, and he and his partner continued on, heading in the opposite direction down the docks without even a backwards glance.

"Do you know them?" Quorra couldn't help but ask, stunned.

"I know a lot of people," Paige said. "They're the ones who gave us the sentry patrol schedules. I knew they'd be on duty here, so we'd have an easier time getting through. Come on."

Paige lead the way across a short bridge to the docks themselves, turning right and walking along the platform just below one of the sailers. Quorra kept close, still a little rattled. It had been a long time since she had seen sentries as anything other than a threat. "Do you get most of your information from soldiers?"

"Some of it." Paige glanced at her. "Not all of them are happy with how things are." She looked for a moment like she might elaborate, but then she gave a little shake of the head and continued onward.

Quorra followed, glancing around occasionally. She half-expected another pair of sentries to come walking around a corner, but they encountered none as they traveled the length of two sailers. She stared up at them, a little awed. She hadn't been on a sailer in ages, and she had forgotten how beautiful they could be, the sails refracting light as energy flooded through them. High above the sails, on the ceiling of the sublevel, she could see pulsating lines that marked the alleys and roads of the main level above, and thought she could just make out the path they had taken on the way towards the central tower.

They reached the end of a third sailer and turned away from the docks, heading towards another, smaller elevator shaft. "We'll be close to the apartment once we get topside again," Paige told her as they entered the elevator. This one moved a little slower than the last, taking its time as it climbed the comparatively short distance to the main level. Paige seemed unconcerned, so Quorra folded her hands behind her back and waited, watching the sublevel fall away.

The doors opened onto an empty street, and after a moment Quorra recognized the buildings across from them—they really were only a couple traces away from Paige's place. She made to take a step forward, but a yell down the road halted her. Beside her, Paige leaned slightly forward, looking past the doors of the elevator towards the direction of the yell. Quorra looked too, and felt another burst of energy start coursing through her at the sight. A patrol of sentries, their backs to Quorra and Paige, was advancing on a group of cornered civilian programs, weapons drawn and armed.

Paige made a noise of disgust, and Quorra shared her sentiments. Even from a distance, it was obvious that this wasn't going to be a fair fight. There were five civilian programs and only three sentries, but the numbers weren't the problem—only one of the civilians had their disc drawn, and he was shaking visibly. The other four shrank back against the wall fearfully. One, a girl with short-cropped hair and the green circuits of a medic, glanced in the direction of the elevator, but did not call out. None of the sentries noticed, all of them too focused on corralling their targets. One of them swung a staff at the shaking program, who yelped and held his disc in front of him two-handed to block it. The guard laughed and swung again, hitting the program's torso. The program didn't derezz, but he did collapse to the ground, dropping his disc.

Quorra looked at Paige, and Paige looked at Quorra. Neither of them spoke, but from the blazing look in Paige's eyes, Quorra knew they were thinking exactly the same thing. She drew her disc, helmet rezzing up, and gave Paige a short nod. Paige nodded back, her own helmet encasing her head as she did so, and took off across the street, heading for the alley across it.

There was no time to wait and see what Paige was doing—the sentries were advancing on the group. The collapsed program received a kick to the chest, and he curled into a ball, groaning in pain. The noise was loud enough to cover the sound of Quorra arming her disc, but she didn't bother to approach quietly. She ran towards the sentries, boots pounding against the pavement, and was almost on top of them before they could turn around. She took a running leap and crashed into the closest one, shoving him to the ground before using her momentum to roll back to her feet. Another sentry's staff whirled down, but she brought her disc up just in time to ward it off. Spinning on her heels, she kicked the fallen disc still lying on the ground back towards its owner before ducking another swing. The fallen program snatched it up, but didn't rise to fight, only stayed on his knees, looking as shocked as his companions did. Quorra didn't blame him. Not everyone could fight. But she could.

She plucked her baton from its holster and rezzed up her blade, blocking a swing of a sentry with her disc as she slashed at another. The sentry bore down, trying to push her to her knees, but suddenly he jerked forward with a choked gasp. She shoved him away, and now she could see the disc lodged in his back, and a blur of white over his shoulder: Paige was hurtling down the alley after her disc, already reaching out for it. The sentry derezzed, and Paige caught her disc just before it fell to the pavement. Another sentry charged her, but she seized his arm and whirled around, hauling him over her shoulder and into a wall.

"Nice!" Quorra yelled as she spun to block another blow. She thought, under the grunts of the sentries and banging of weapons, that she heard Paige laugh. Quorra let herself get lost in the movement, parrying and dodging, trusting Paige to watch her back. It had been a long time since she'd fought alongside another program, but the flow of it came back to her easily, the shifts and swerves so familiar. They made short work of the second sentry, his disc spinning away into the air as he derezzed. The last of them skirted away, though, still clutching his staff. He brought it down with a yell, slamming the end on the pavement, and the hexagonal tiles in the street before him began to descend.

The civilian programs had nowhere to go, still pressed against the wall. The tiles beneath them fell away, sending them all tumbling into the pit. Quorra backed away, moving out of reach of the receding tile. Paige backed up too, but not quick enough. The tile beneath her feet gave way, and she slipped on its edge. She flung her arms out, trying to regain her balance, and the edge of her disc lodged itself in a tile, halting her fall as she clung to it.

Quorra dropped to one knee at the edge of the pit, discarding her baton to free up a hand, and reached for Paige's own. Paige managed to grab hold of her wrist, and Quorra rocked back on her heel and pulled as hard as she could. She hauled Paige up and out of the pit, falling backwards with the force of her own pull. As her back connected with the ground, Paige kept moving forward, bringing her disc with her as she tumbled right into the final sentry. Circuits flashing, Paige slashed at him, and with a yell the soldier derezzed, cubes plummeting to the pavement below along with his staff.

Paige straightened up, docking her disc, and without a work she held a hand out to Quorra, who took it and let herself be pulled to her feet. She retrieved her baton and put it away, but kept her disc armed, keeping watch while Paige retrieved the fallen staff and slammed it into the ground again. The road tiles quickly ascended, carrying the civilian programs with them. A couple looked relieved, but others looked cautious or even scared. One stepped forward, about to say something, but Paige raised a hand to stop them.

"It's not safe to be out right now," she said, her voice distorted by her helmet. "Go home, and don't come back out unless you have to. Get going!"

The programs didn't have to be told twice. They hurried off, splitting into two groups. A couple of them looked over their shoulders at the two—the one who had drawn his disc, and the medic—but none of them stopped, and soon they were gone, disappearing into the city. Quorra watched them go, letting her helmet derezz with a smile.

"Hey," Paige said suddenly. She had removed her helmet too, and was watching Quorra with that almost calculating look again. "Thanks. For the save."

"Oh," Quorra said. "It was nothing." She shifted on her feet a little, unsure. She hadn't expected to be thanked. "We should go," she said, and Paige nodded, turning and leading the way back down the alley.

It didn't take long to reach the apartment. They made the short walk in silence, Quorra trying to figure something out. Paige had mentioned tightened security, but none of those civilian programs had seemed threatening at all, and it was still before curfew. There had been no reason to detain them.

"Is that what you were talking about before?" Quorra asked as they reached the stairwell. "Programs being rounded up?"

Paige nodded. "Even before the User showed up, programs were disappearing. Not just those in rebel factions, but the ones who kept their heads down and just tried to go about their lives, too."

"But why would Clu be rounding up programs indiscriminately? He always had a reason before, even if it wasn't a good one."

"He probably has one now. We just don't know what it is." She sighed bitterly. "I don't care what he's trying to do. I just want it to stop. If this keeps up, soon none of us will be left."

Quorra couldn't help but flinch, just a little, her hands seizing up before she could stop them. Paige froze as she registered what she had said, then hesitantly looked over her shoulder, her visible eye wide.

"I didn't mean—" she said, sounding horrified at herself. "I just meant that…sorry."

"Don't. It's okay." Quorra smiled at her, but Paige shook her head, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"It's not," she said. "I'm sorry."

"…Thanks." They stood together on the stairs, both of them watching each other tentatively, as if meeting for the first time. Quorra took a breath, and said, "I'm sorry too. About before, when we first met. I heard what happened to your sector after we left. I need you to know—that wasn't us, Paige. Ada and I didn't hurt anyone."

Paige pushed her hair out of her face, and now Quorra could see both of her eyes. They weren't angry, or even irritated. They looked almost sad. "I know," she said. "I found out about that cycles ago. I just...seeing you again, I didn't expect it. It brought back some memories I never wanted to think about again. And I didn't think you'd survived."

"I didn't think you had, either," Quorra said quietly. "We assumed everyone in that sector had been eliminated.

"Almost. I was the only one who made it out. Clu's soldiers eradicated every program who had been in contact with the ISOs. Everyone except me. I guess I should thank you-if you hadn't knocked me out, I would've been derezzed too." Her grip on the stair tightened. "When I woke up, the program who murdered my friends told me it was the ISOs, and I was so hurt and lost that I believed him. It never occurred to me that he would've lied." She laughed mirthlessly, and said, " I was so naive. I believed whatever anyone told me without bothering to wonder if it was true."

"You weren't naive. You were lied to," Quorra said. "You put your trust in other people. It's not your fault you were taken advantage of." She went up another step. "We should've told you what we were. We just wanted to be safe."

It took Paige a moment to answer."You know," she said slowly, "I didn't understand that for a long time. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I had helped you, so why lie? But I think I get it now." She looked down, some of her hair falling in front of her face again, but not completely. "That time in my life—I don't like thinking about it. After my sector was destroyed, I…went down a path I never thought I would take. Those sentries we derezzed—a long time ago, I would've been fighting alongside them."

"You were a soldier?" Quorra asked, shocked.

"I was. For a little while. After my sector was destroyed, I wanted to—to get stronger, to stop anything like what happened in Gallium from ever happening again. So I went to Argon, another little settlement on the edge of the Grid, wanting to protect it." Paige's eyes were distant and cold. "But Argon burned anyway. It didn't matter if I was a soldier or not. So I quit."

Quorra didn't know what to say. Even she had heard about what happened in Argon, cycles before—there had been rumors of renegade programs, riots, even whispers of an uprising…until the whispers had grown too loud, and Clu had sent his forces to quell them. There was no Argon anymore, only a scorched-out husk that had once been a city. "I'm sorry," she said.

"So am I." She sighed. "I tried to disappear after that. I didn't want to be a part of any of it anymore. But a really stubborn program wouldn't let me go without a fight, and I couldn't stop myself from trying to help people. It's how I was programmed. So here I am." She turned away, and started up the stairs once more. "It was a long time ago. I'm just doing what I can."

Quorra didn't respond—she got the feeling the subject was closed—but she nodded to herself as she followed. That seemed to be all any of them could do anymore.

The apartment was silent, the lights slightly dimmed, though they brightened as Paige walked inside. Quorra immediately looked to the table in the corner, expecting Alan to be waiting with his arms crossed uneasily, wanting to know how things had gone. Instead he was curled up in his chair, his arms resting on the table with his face buried in the crook of his elbow. His glasses were folded up just beside him.

He didn't raise his head as the door slid shut, nor did he move when Quorra approached. Standing this close, it was clear he was fast asleep, his shoulders rising and falling slightly with his breathing. She reached out to touch his shoulder, but withdrew her hand after a moment. If he needed more rest, she wasn't going to be the one to take it from him.

"Is he all right?" Paige was standing by the door in the corner, eyes narrowed in concern. "He's injured, isn't he?"

"He is," Quorra said. The bruise on his forehead was just visible beneath his hair. "He took a bad fall on the lightcycle grid. We were hoping he would be better after some rest, and whenever I ask he tells me he's fine, but I don't think he is…"

"And he won't admit it," Paige finished. "Well, he's not very good at keeping secrets."

"Not as good as me," Quorra said without thinking. To her surprise, Paige only nodded, looking thoughtful.

"His program was better at it, too. Sometimes." She hesitated a moment, then asked, a little quieter, "Does he know? Your secret?"

Quorra's hands twitched again, but she was able to keep them uncurled at her sides. She shook her head shortly. "I want to tell him, but I don't know how he'll react."

"If you want him to be honest with you, you might want to try being honest yourself."

Quorra didn't answer. Paige wasn't wrong, and she knew it, but the thought of telling Alan the truth—about being an ISO, about everything—sent a thrill of terror snaking through her limbs.

Paige must have misinterpreted her silence, because she cleared her throat and said, "Well, it's just a suggestion." She glanced around, uncomfortable, and her gaze settled on the instrument still resting at the edge of the table. "Uh—do you want to hear a song I've been working on?"

"A song?" Quorra was grateful for the change in subject, but she couldn't mask her surprise. "Really?"

"Sure," Paige said, though the way she refused to look Quorra in the eye said that she was already regretting the suggestion. "It's not finished yet, so it's not that good, and I don't usually play demos for anyone, but—"

"I'd love to!"

Paige paused, and then she smiled, and retrieved the instrument from the table before going back to the corner door. "Come on," she said, opening the door, "I don't want to wake the User."

"Good idea." Quorra glanced one last time at Alan, still asleep, before she put aside her troubled thoughts and followed Paige out of the room.

A gentle melody tugged Alan out of the haze of unconsciousness. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, drifting along with the tune-the beat of it pulsed softly as notes overlayed themselves one after another, muffled but audible. He shifted a little, still half-asleep, and just listened to the melody, letting his breathing coincide with the rhythm. It was the voices that woke him fully, two familiar ones, and they sounded, against all odds, friendly. He slowly lifted his head off of his arms, propping himself up on one hand, and rubbed his eyes a little. Even with his blurred vision he could tell the door across the room was open slightly. The music, and Quorra and Paige's voices, were floating through the crack. While he was awake enough now to hear a sort of caution to their tones, there was no trace of anger or unhappiness.

"They must've had a hell of a talk," he muttered. Now that he was mostly awake, the medley of aches that seemed to be ever-increasing made themselves known, though his head did feel a little better. As he rubbed at the muscles in his neck, strained from falling asleep at the table, the melody drifting from the doorway changed, now a little more upbeat. He heard Paige ask a question, and then Quorra laughed, her voice rising in volume before dropping away again. Maybe they were trying to stay quiet for him. He resolved to let them think he was sleeping a little longer. If they'd been able to work things out, all the better for everyone else, and besides, Quorra sounded happy. At least someone was.

Alan pushed the chair back from the table, stretching his legs, and heard a sound almost like marbles rolling across tile—he had kicked some of the remains of the broken chair, still piled up nearby. He tensed immediately, hands balling up, but forced them to open again as he reminded himself that these were just pieces of an object, not a program. It didn't make him feel much better. Object or program, the remains still looked uncomfortably similar.

He shook himself a little, silently admonishing himself to get it together. It was just a piece of a chair, there was nothing to be upset about. They were just like the pieces that had broken off the damaged light-runner back in the garage. He flexed his left hand, remembering the static-like shock that had sparked against it when he touched the cracked section of the vehicle. Would these feel the same way? He leaned over, eyeing the pile, and reluctantly reached out a hand. He stopped just before touching the cubes, his hand hovering just an inch away, before making a frustrated noise and scooping up a handful of the tiny voxels.

There was no shock, which he half-expected—these were inert, unconnected to a whole. They were strangely heavy for their size, and a little cold to the touch. He rolled them around the palm of his hand, the opaque cubes clinking dully against each other. They piled together in the center of his palm, and as he touched a couple with the fingers of his other hand, he didn't notice the warmth rising up from his arms until the cubes began, just barely, to glow. He almost dropped them in surprise, but close his hand just in time, keeping them in place. He opened it again to find the cubes had fused, still glowing warmly, into an uneven strip.

He stared at the strip, and then slowly reached down for another handful of cubes. His hand was still warm, and they began to glow slightly as he examined them. Shrugging to himself, he pressed them into the strip. They found their places easily, thin blue lines demarcating exactly where they were meant to go. He held onto the now-longer strip for a moment, letting the tingling warmth flow from his hands into it, before setting it down tentatively on the table. It held together, uneven but solid, and when he glanced downward to check, he could see that it looked very similar to the legs of the chair he was sitting on.

"Not bad," he murmured to himself, running his fingers over the edge of his new creation. As he touched it, an image flashed into his head, but it wasn't of the arena or the lightrunner—it was a partial line of code. No, not quite; it was more the feeling of code, the intention behind a line as you typed it. Each cube was one more little piece, filling in gaps, yearning to be useful. He laughed under his breath, wondering how an inert piece of data could yearn, but it was the only word that fit. He reached down for another handful, but stopped himself, remembering what had happened with the lightrunner. It wouldn't be a good idea to waste all his energy playing with a handful of chair fragments, but he couldn't help but want to continue. He almost enjoyed way the cubes melded together so easily, the satisfaction of a new piece fitting just so into a gap.

Carefully, he scooped up one last handful, and pressed them gently to the end of the uneven bar. They quickly found their places, completing the leg of the chair. He turned it over slowly, inspecting his work, and felt oddly satisfied. It looked pretty solid, and matched the legs of the chair it had come from, which was still leaning against the wall nearby. He looked at the chair, and then at the leg, and got up out of his seat. Kneeling down, he took the chair in one hand and hefted the leg in the other, matching up the edges, before carefully pressing the uneven sections together.

More of the strange warmth rose slowly up out of his arms into the two pieces as he concentrated, trying to guide the energy along to the proper areas. Half-formed pieces of data found their missing sections, sealing themselves back together one by one. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched chair become nearly whole once more-but then his head throbbed, a bright streak of pain right behind his eyes. The warmth disappeared from his hands as he brought his hand up to his head, dropping the chair. It landed with a loud thump on its newly-attached leg, which snapped, and the rest of it went down with another thud.

The door to the back room slid fully open, and Alan looked up to see Paige and Quorra staring down at him with identical looks of surprise.

"Uh," he said, still on his knees, the chair laying on its side in front of him. "Hi."

"Are you okay?" Quorra crossed the room to him and knelt down. "Did you fall? Are you hurt?"

"Oh—no, no," he said, wondering if he really looked that fragile. "I just dropped this," he continued with a gesture at the chair. "I was trying to fix it."

Quorra laughed a little, sounding relieved, then looked up at Paige, who had moved her side. Paige glanced down at the chair, then at Alan, frowning.

"Don't bother," she said. She picked up the chair and leaned it against the wall, out of the way, before rounding on Alan again. "You shouldn't waste your energy on something like that. You'll need it later."

"All right, sorry," Alan muttered, bristling slightly at being scolded. He got to his feet and sat back at the table, a little peeved. He had only been messing around, and he really did feel fine. The feeling was already coming back in his fingers, the coldness dissipating quicker than it had before, and the pain in his head had receded.

"Just take care of yourself," Paige went on, not noticing Alan's irritation. She glanced at the bruise still lingering below his hairline. "If you get hurt, I don't know if I'll be able to help you."

She sounded uncomfortable at the thought. Alan remembered what Quorra had told him earlier, that Paige had been a medic. Maybe her brusqueness was just worry after all. Feeling a sudden wave of sympathy—he knew he could be just as snappy when he was worried about something-Alan nodded to her, and she seemed satisfied with that, because she went went back through the door again. It stayed open, and Alan could see a small bedroom beyond. On a little table near the door was the square instrument, the buttons still lit up. She tapped a section on the side of it, and their light went out.

As she stepped back outside, shutting the door, Alan spoke up. "Did you write that song?"

She stopped, taken aback. "What?"

"I heard music when I woke up. It sounded nice," he said. "You're talented."

"Oh," she said. She looked at Quorra, who nodded happily in agreement, and then away from both of them, and it occurred to Alan that maybe she was embarrassed. "Thank you," she said, and then she suddenly crossed the room to the front door. "I'm going to check on things. I'll be outside if you need me." She was out the door before either of them could say another word.

Alan blinked, a little surprised, and looked at Quorra. She looked similarly mystified, but as their eyes met, she let out a small giggle. Alan grinned as she tried to hide her laughter behind her hand, and chuckled a little himself. It felt good to laugh. "I think I flustered her," he said.

Quorra nodded, sitting down beside him."I don't think she meant for you to hear her play."

"I only heard a little bit. It really did sound nice." He looked at her over his glasses, still smiling slightly. "You two seem to be getting along better. Did you have a talk with her?"

"Something like that," Quorra said with a returned smile. "I think we're on the same page now."

"I'm glad you cleared things up," Alan said, and he meant it. Quorra seemed a little more spirited now. "How about that person that wanted to see you—Zuse? How'd it go?"

"It went okay. It took some bargaining, but he agreed to help us."

"Bargaining?"

"He wanted some information in return. Don't worry," Quorra said quickly, "I didn't tell him anything big. Just that I needed to get into arcade without being seen. I didn't say who was with me or why." She hesitated, then said, "I think he assumed you were nearby, but here are a lot of rumors going around about where you went after the lightcycle grid, so that isn't too big a deal. As long as we can get this done, we should be all right. As soon as everyone's in place, we'll be able to get going. It won't be long."

"If you say so," Alan said. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the specifics of those rumors, remembering the rebel programs who had come with whispers and glances. He raised a hand to his forehead almost automatically to ward off the incoming stress-induced twinge.

"Are you feeling okay?" Quorra asked. "I didn't expect you to fall asleep again."

"Oh. I didn't either, actually," he said. "It just…happened. I feel a little better than I did before, though." He smiled at her, trying to ignore the niggling feeling that perhaps she was right to look as concerned as she did. No matter how much sleep he got, he always seemed to need a little more. But there was nothing he could do about it if he wasn't totally alright, anyway. Once this was over, they would go back to the Safehouse, and he could rest up as much as he wanted while they waited to see what would happen next. "I should probably take it easy after all of this," he conceded. "But it'll be fine. Don't worry."

"If you say so," she said with a smile, but it didn't last long. She looked at him for a moment, then opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but quickly shut it again.

"What's wrong?"

"I…" she said, then trailed off. She took a breath and started again. "I need to tell you something."

Her tone was suddenly much graver, the playfulness gone.. An involuntary thrill of worry spread outward from his core, settling coldly in his limbs. "What is it?"

"I haven't told you everything," she said. "I've been keeping something from you. I didn't want to, but I thought it was the best way…"

A dozen thoughts raced through Alan's head—what had she been hiding? Was she alright? Was Flynn alright? Had something gone wrong?—but he only took a short breath through his nose, and said, trying to seem unconcerned, "Okay. Go ahead."

"I'm—" She looked down at her lap, but raised her head again almost immediately, and took another breath. "I'm an ISO."

There was a pause. Quorra stared at Alan almost blankly, looking frozen, as if she couldn't believe what she had said. Alan stared at her, trying to figure out how to react.

"Oh," he said. That wasn't at all what he had been expecting, but it was still a shock. "I—oh. You are?"

It took her a moment to nod. "Yes."

"I'm—I'm sorry, but I thought they were all—"

"Gone. They are. It's just me. I'm the last of them." She crossed her arms around her torso, not meeting his eyes. "The rest were hunted down. I thought it was only a matter of time until I was too, but then…Flynn found me. He saved me. That's why we've both been in the Safehouse. He wanted a place we could both be protected."

"From Clu." Alan remembered the steely look Quorra wore every time he was mentioned, the distance as she spoke about the ISOs. "Well. Things makes a lot more sense now." He watched her, but she didn't look up. Certain other things were starting to have more clarity now, too. "Paige knows, doesn't she?"

Quorra nodded. "She's the only program who does. I don't want any of the others to know."

"I don't blame you." Alan reached forward and touched her arm. "They won't hear about it from me. I promise."

Quorra glanced up at him, and after a moment she placed her hand over his, and gave him a small smile. He squeezed her arm, wanting to alleviate at least a little of her obvious discomfort.

"Thank you for telling me," he said. "I'm sure it was hard."

She nodded again, but didn't speak. She still looked troubled, her smile fading again. Alan tried to think of something to say—but what could you say to the sole survivor of a genocide? What could you do to make them feel better? He was out of his depth once again. He was saved from having to worry further, however, by the opening of the front door. Quorra let go of his hand as Paige entered, and Alan let go of her arm, reluctantly leaning back in his seat. Paige didn't notice the looks on either of their faces—she lingered by the doorway, a hand on the frame to keep it open.

"We just received word that Clu's ship has been spotted over the Outlands," she said. "Come outside."

"He's what?" Alan shot to his feet and hurried after her, Quorra right behind him. "He's coming back?"

"Not quite," Paige said. "The trajectory's wrong, he's heading somewhere else. It might just be another leg of his tour of the Grid, but we don't have time to wait and find out. We need to get going now."

"Is everything set? Did Zuse get in touch?" Quorra asked as they traipsed single-file down the stairs to the alley below.

"Bartik spoke with Castor. They set everything up."We're just waiting for the go-ahead."

"What's the plan?" Alan asked.

"A group of programs are already waiting at the top of the tower. Zuse is providing them with a place to wait, and some extra weaponry. He gave us the patrol schedule for his sector, too. The rest of us are going over from here. Once we arrive, they'll make some noise and distract the sentries while we get in and out as fast as we can."

"Sounds simple enough," Alan said, trying to ignore the was his hands had gone clammy. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, a few programs came into view, including Hopper and Bartik. The group seemed to be talking, but very quietly. Bartik gave them a nod, but quickly resumed his conversation—it looked like he was giving instructions. Hopper broke away from the group and headed towards the trio, carrying something in his hands.

"Here," he said, "it's the sector we're all supposed to meet up at if we get separated." He held out what looked like a thin hexagonal token, almost translucent. Alan went to take it, but as soon as he touched the token, something flashed behind his eyes: it was like he was driving quickly through numerous alleys and passages under what looked like a massive ceiling covered in circuits, turning corners at breakneck speed, before arriving suddenly at a building, squat but wide, at the edge of the city. The rocky terrain beyond it was dark and empty, and he thought he could see a glimpse of what looked like the ocean much further in the distance, before the vision was gone just as quickly as it had arrived. Alan shook his head, bewildered, as he tried to clear it.

"Sorry," Hopper said, though he didn't bother to hide a snicker, "I forgot you've probably never used one of those. The sector information's been uploaded onto your disc now, you won't need to take this."

"A warning would've been nice," Alan muttered, though he did have to admit it was a handy tool. He DID know exactly where this building—a garage, the word came to him softly—was now, on almost the opposite end of the city from where he and Quorra had entered hours before. He knew intuitively that he could walk to it now, on his own, without any issues, as long as he didn't run into any sentries on the way. It was a strange sensation, but not bad. "At least I won't get lost."

"That's the idea, User. Hey," Hopper added suddenly, frowning at him. "Where's your baton?"

"What? Oh," Alan said. He'd almost forgotten that he'd taken Flynn's baton in the first place, let alone that Quorra had hidden it. "I, uh…I lost it."

"Seriously?" Hopper shook his head and unhooked a second baton from his side. "Here," he said, tossing it in Alan's direction. Alan caught the baton clumsily, but managed to hold onto it. Hopper smirked, but his tone was only teasing. "Nice catch. Try not to lose that one, okay?"

"I won't," Alan said, a little surprised. "Uh…thanks."

Hopper gave him a thumbs-up before turning back to the group, who seemed to be wrapping up their discussion. Alan carefully attached the new baton to its intended place on his thigh, making sure it didn't snag on his coat. After a moment he reached over his shoulder, making sure his disc was still in place too. His fingers brushed the edge of it, and he could feel the weight of it as the slight movement tugged at the dock. He lowered his hands again, and hoped he wouldn't have to use either tool until they reached the arcade.

The group at the mouth of the alley at last dispersed, the programs leaving in pairs or trios, waiting a few minutes between groups. Paige remained near the stairwell, arms crossed as she watched the others leave. Bartik gave another short nod to Alan and the flicker of a smile to Quorra as he exited with a pair of programs, and shortly after Hopper flipped them all a salute before leaving on his own, the last of the group. Paige went to the end of the alley, and turned back to face them, beckoning them towards her.

"You two next," she said as they joined her. She looked to Quorra, saying, "You know the way. Don't rush, but don't take too long either. I'll be right behind you."

Quorra nodded. "See you soon," she said, and she started off, heading away from the alley. Alan quickly followed, putting his hood back up again. As they reached the end of the street and took another turn, he glanced back. Paige was still watching, and she gave him a short twitch of the head before turning on her heel and disappearing back into the alley.

The trip to the center of the city was short, or maybe that was just because of Alan's nerves. He couldn't stop thinking about what he was about to do, repeating Flynn's instructions over and over to himself. Once you get to the arcade, all you need to do is hold your disc over the terminal. It'll be pretty obvious how to proceed. Send a message if the terminal works, but leave as quickly as you can. He didn't want to think about what he would do if the terminal DIDN'T work.

He stuck close to Quorra as he walked, trusting her to lead the way, and eventually her footsteps slowed to a halt. As they drew closer to the mouth of the alley they were in, Alan suddenly recognized the area—there was the enormous tower he had seen through the arcade building's doors upon taking his first steps onto the Grid, looming over the rest of the buildings. It was hard to believe that was only, at most, a few days before. It felt like months.

The plaza was busier than it had been upon his arrival. A few programs milled about near the elevator, waiting for it to touch down; a couple others were chatting on the sidewalk nearby. None of them looked in the direction of any of the sentries who were surveying the area, stationed at intervals along the road. Alan and Quorra lingered, remaining in the shadows. As they did so, Alan noticed Bartik among the group near the elevator entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. A few moments later, there was movement from across the plaza: Hopper was walking with another program, strolling along the sidewalk in the direction of the main tower.

"Wait for the signal." Alan jumped-Paige was suddenly at his shoulder. He hadn't heard her approach at all. She edged past him, eyes focused on the plaza ahead. "We'll need to be quick."

She drew her disc, and Quorra followed suit. Alan wondered if he should draw his too, but a flash caught his eye: the elevator was approaching the ground, illuminating a row of lights built along its track with each floor it passed. Below, with only the barest of glances towards their own position in the alley, Bartik slipped something behind his back, and then pushed off from the wall, heading in the direction of the elevator entrance with the other programs. A small red circle remained on the wall where he had been standing, and as Alan watched, sections of the circle began to blink out.

He felt Quorra and Paige tense up beside him, and curled his hands into fists, readying himself to run. The elevator slowed, settling at last, and a soft ding announced its arrival. The note echoed quietly across the plaza just as the final red light of the circle on the wall disappeared. An instant later, the wall shattered with a clap of thunder, chunks of it hurtling into a nearby sentry. Simultaneously, a crowed of programs poured out of the elevator, discs raised and blazing, shouting just audible above the explosion. They swarmed another sentry before he could even draw his disc.

"That's our cue," Paige said. She grabbed Alan by the arm and pulled him out of the alley, veering off to the left. Quorra followed right behind, disc raised in one hand as she hefted her baton in the other. They raced down the sidewalk toward the arcade door; yells and more bursts of thunder filled the air. Alan threw an anxious glance over his shoulder as they reached the door, fearing pursuit, but there were no sentries behind them, no one looking in their direction at all. The rebel programs were edging away from the arcade, drawing attention, and the plaza was already hazy from smoke and flying debris as yet another wall suffered the effects of a light grenade.

Paige wrenched open the door, and the three of them slipped into the darkened interior of the building. "Where now?" she asked, making sure to shut the door behind them.

"Downstairs," Alan said, and he shot off across the empty arcade floor, heading for the door he knew would be at the other end. It was almost too dark to see, but he relied on his memory of the arcade layout. The Tron cabinet would've been just about… "Here!" he said, as his hands found what his eyes couldn't. He wrenched the door open and sped down the hallway beyond, the girls right behind him. The door to the basement room was still slightly ajar from when he had flung it open upon exiting before. Alan hurried into the room, Quorra entering right after. Paige didn't step inside, staying just beyond the doorway.

"Whatever it is you're going to do, do it fast," she said. "I'll keep watch. Head back upstairs when you're finished." She whirled around and disappeared back up the stairs to the upper level, leaving them alone.

The basement was unchanged from when Alan had last been in it. There was the desk, and the grating above it, though the light coming in from the street above was murky. Distant shouts and crashes drifted down to them, muffled by the glass and concrete. Alan approached the desk, wanting to get this over with quickly-god only knew how much time they had. Quorra lingered in the doorway, looking around the room.

"The terminal's over here," Alan said to her over his shoulder. He reached up and undocked his disc. Once you get to the arcade, all you need to do is hold your disc over the terminal. He gripped it in both hands, hesitating for a moment. What if this didn't work? Flynn said he wasn't sure it would. And if it did work, if he was able to send a message, what if there was no one to read it? What if Lora or Roy never found the basement after all?

"Alan?" Quorra was at his shoulder now, her face pale in the hazy blue light.

"Sorry," he said. All of those things were out of his control, but this wasn't. He had to trust that his family would find them, and this was how he could help them do so. "Here goes nothing, I guess." He took a deep breath and extended his arms, holding the disc in the air above the terminal.

Another explosion echoed from somewhere above, the shock-wave vibrating through the walls and floor. The terminal remained dark, its surface unchanging. Alan lowered the disc a few inches, gritting his teeth against the sudden panicked thought that this wasn't going to work after all—and then the outer edge of the disc began to glow.

A ring of concentric circles blinked into life on the desk's surface directly below the disc, rippling outward rhythmically. After a few pulses, a faint beam of light rose from the desk towards the disc, hot and bright. Alan stepped back instinctively, pulling his hand away. The disc did not come with him; it slipped out of his fingers, stationary in the air above the terminal. The beam between the disk and the terminal brightened, and handful of hexagonal shapes of varying sizes drifted down lazily through the beam, disappearing just before they touched the glass below.

The surface of the desk darkened, and then flared up again. Thin lines radiated across the surface, forming into a keyboard identical to the one on its real-world counterpart. A small text box extended above it, its cursor blinking in readiness. Alan let out a breath, smiling in relief, as the disc raised a few inches higher, giving him room to lean over the desk to type. The ring of light at its edge pulsed gently as particles of data floated above it, forming into the now-expected rendition of a face. The particles quickly began to settle, but even before they had finished assembling into familiar features and planes, Alan's smile had slipped away. The face he was looking at, revolving gently in place as the faint light from the grating shone down on it, was not his own.

It was Flynn's.

The floor beneath Alan's boots trembled from the force of another explosion. Some of the yelling sounded closer now, fiercer. Alan continued to stare uncomprehendingly up at the display.

"Wait," he murmured. "That's not..." He looked at Quorra, expecting the same confusion, but she was watching the display grimly, her hands balled into fists at her sides. As she looked back to Alan, there was a flash of light from the window, illuminating her face for a moment. There was no sign of surprise in it at all.

Alan looked helplessly from her, to the disc display, and back again."That's not my disc," he said weakly.

"I know it's not." Her voice was soft, almost cautious. She took a step closer. "I'm sorry. I'll explain everything, I promise, but-"

"I-I don't—" The reality of it was sinking in achingly slow, his confusion mounting. "Where's mine?"

"Flynn has it." Light flashed outside again, red and blinding. Quorra glanced up at the grating before touching Alan's arm. "Alan, I'm sorry," she said again, "I'm sorry I lied—I wanted to tell you, I tried-but we don't have time right now-"

"You tried?" His mouth was dry. He took another breath. "This is what you wanted to tell me—not about the ISOs, it was this—"

"I am an ISO, Alan, that wasn't a lie—but I wanted to tell you, I did, but Flynn asked me not to," she said, almost stumbling over her words, "he said you'd be upset, that you wouldn't understand!"

"But why would…" She was right. He didn't understand. He didn't WANT to understand. "Why would he switch them?" Quorra was shaking her head, but he grabbed her hand, his fingers wrapping around it so tight that his knuckles went white. "Quorra, why did he switch them?"

She didn't flinch away, but her eyes squeezed shut—out of pain or guilt, it was impossible to tell—before she looked at him again. "I'll tell you everything once we get out of here, but right now we have to hurry," she said, and the building shook again, punctuating her words. She took another step forward and pushed him closer to the terminal. "Please, Alan, I don't know how much time we'll have-you need to write your message now!"

They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Alan let go of her hand, and with one last glance at the face rotating serenely above them, he leaned over the terminal, his fingers finding their places above the keyboard. His hands were trembling. He swallowed and forced himself to take a few experimental taps at the keys. They registered instantly in the text box.

$This is ISOlatedThinker

He blew out a shaky breath, flexing his fingers. It was the only thing he could think of that would convince either Lora or Roy beyond a shadow of a doubt that the person who had left the message was him. He gave himself a little shake, trying to concentrate, and kept going.

$SHIVA laser active and functional
$Flynn was using it for human digitization—successfully
$I digitized myself too
$Flynn is alive, in hiding
$Programs hunting for him—they're like people, there are whole cities in here
$This was Flynn's project but the programs turned on him and he couldn't escape
$The laser turns off automatically after a while and there's no way back out if it's off
$Turn it back on, but DO NOT DIGITIZE YOURSELF
$Keep it on as long as you can
$I don't know how long it will take for us get out
$Please don't leave until we're back outside
$I'm sorry
$I love you

Alan's fingers slipped, and he had to take a moment to catch his breath. His fingers hovered over the keyboard uncertainly, but not because he didn't know what else to say—he had too much to say, his mind racing with all the information he knew he needed to convey. His hands wouldn't stop shaking; he kept having to delete lines and retype them, fearful of making any mistakes. If Roy or Lora didn't understand what he was trying to say, there was no telling what might happen. He tried to continue, typing a few more lines.

$Too much to say
$Programs fighting each other but we have some help
$Trying to fix everything
$Program C.L.U. dangerous, delete if possible

His hands were shaking too much to continue, his fingers sliding over the keyboard unsteadily. That would have to do. From the sounds echoing from outside, they didn't have much time left anyway. He struck the enter key twice instinctively, hoping it was the right move. The text window glowed, and then parts of it seemed to dissolve, drifting out of the screen itself and upward towards the disc, pixel by pixel. As the first particles reached the disc, its edge went dark, and then a small section illuminated. Another section lit up about ten seconds later as more pieces of data uploaded themselves.

The ring a third of the way full when a massive explosion from just beyond the grating, so close it made Alan's ears ring, shook the foundation of the building. He stumbled against the terminal, holding himself up by the edge, as a handful of dull cubes rained down from the ceiling. Quorra looked around apprehensively, her gaze shifting to the grating above. The light was much dimmer now, the haze above too thick for anything to shine through it. The shaking continued, as if something massive was moving along the street outside.

Quorra grabbed Alan's elbow. "I think something's wrong—that sounds like—"

The door behind them slammed open, rebounding off the wall as Paige rushed inside, her disc drawn. "We need to go!"

Quorra drew her own disc automatically. "What's happening?"

"Tanks," Paige said, "Carrying Blackguards. They know we're here, they're right outside—we have to go now!"

"Wait," Alan said helplessly, looking from her to the disc—it was only half-illuminated. "I'm not finished—"

"It'll have to be enough! There's no time!" She grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to pull him away from the terminal. He shook her off, about to protest again as one more segment of the circle lit up, but another explosion rocked the building, sending all of them stumbling as a tremor ran through the floor. The wall around the grating cracked, bright blue lines radiating upward and out as the structural code began to deteriorate. Paige struggled to her feet, reaching for Alan's shoulder again.

"User," she said, "we need to go!"

The building was truly beginning to quake now; the shaking didn't relent as the rumble outside grew to almost deafening levels. Alan staggered from the tremors, catching himself on the wall. The ceiling began to fracture too, sections of it going translucent as the cracks in the wall continued to spread. A blue-white vein split the concrete beneath Alan's palm, and he could feel the data beneath with a surge of heat, the code rending itself apart. Energy and information burned into him; he tore his hands away with a yell, but even as the pain registered it was muted by the sudden knowledge, clear as glass, that Paige was right. The building was only a few blows away from caving beneath its own weight, and the basement would be buried in the collapse, taking all three of them and the terminal, their only chance, with it.

He shoved himself to his feet and lurched for the terminal. The circle was not yet complete, but he reached up with both hands and seized the disc still floating motionless in the air. The disc was hot, almost searing, as he wrenched at it. It shifted a few centimeters but resisted, the swirling light connecting it to the terminal flickering unsteadily. He braced his heel against the edge of the terminal and pulled as hard as he could, grunting with the effort. With a huge jerk, the disc dislodged from its position, and Alan pitched backwards, falling—and stopping just a couple feet above the still-trembling floor as Paige caught him roughly under the shoulders. Quorra quickly grabbed his wrists, and they hauled him back to his feet as well as they could.

"Let's go!" Paige yelled, her voice just audible over the rumble of the building, and the pair of them together took Alan by each arm and steered him to the exit. He looked frantically down at the disc in his hands as he was carried along, and he felt his heart sink into his stomach as he saw the edge of the disc, fully illuminated save for a single segment. He wanted to scream, but there was no time to stop—Paige was tearing up the stairs ahead of them as Quorra held the door open for him, still clutching at his arm. Alan docked Flynn's disc and took her hand, and together they bolted up the stairs to whatever was waiting for them above.

Chapter soundtrack:

"Spies" - Coldplay
"Cascades" - Metric
"I'm Fine" - Hazel English
"The Weight of Living, pt. II" - Bastille