When he finally arrived home later that evening- very late, which, he'd noticed, was an increasing trend- Sam discovered Quorra had curled herself up on the sofa with Marvin, who looked more like he was being held captive rather than participating in a mutual cuddle session, and neither of them looking particularly adrift at his untimely return.

"Hey." He called lamely, voice reaching into the room as he began to both divest himself of his outerwear and making no effort whatsoever towards putting the things where they were supposed to be when not in use.

"Hello Sam." Her unconcerned voice answered, though the majority of her attention was still obviously devoted to the daring adventures of the amazing Spiderman, which happened to be the selection currently gracing their TV. Marvin glanced over at him, then quickly dismissed his long-time owner's presence due to the apparent lack of doggy treats on his person. It was laundry day, and because of Quorra's still limited wardrobe, she was wearing one of his graciously donated hoodies in place of an actual shirt. It was odd how normal it had become to see her in something other than her Grid suit.

Sam straightened, boots hitting the floor loudly as he tossed them aside, and plodded into the living room with his jacket still on. This should have been a hint that something urgent had occurred, but rather than take notice Quorra simply tucked her legs up in order to make room on the cushion, her eyes fixated upon the screen dutifully.

The weight of a grown man plopping down next to them garnered a similar lack of reaction, and Sam immediately began to dig his laptop out of its carrier while his companions sat obliviously by his side, unaware of the momentous event slowly approaching them. The thing came out with little fuss, though his eagerness to get it free caused him to perhaps be a bit rougher then the sensitive technology rightly deserved. He had it opened and booting up before he'd even managed to set it on the coffee table, which was just find since Sam found himself needing to clear a space for it before he could actually do that. They really needed to work on the whole table-clutter issue. Most of it was his clutter, of course, but still; team effort, and all that.

"So something happened today," he quipped mildly, much to the disinterest of his company. Neither Quorra or Marvin turned their heads in his direction, and the amazing Spiderman scored another notch on the continuing Sam Flynn vs. Superhero battle for attention.

"Oh?" Quorra responded politely, fingers scratching playfully behind an appreciative Marvin's ears, who whined and wiggled and eventually pressed his butt up against Sam's thigh, as if trying to force his less-favored human from their mutual throne. Quorra's constant presence and fascination with animals had quickly caused her to usurp his position as Marv's best friend.

"Yeah." He responded lightly, fingers working quickly over the keyboard, his eyes the only pair not riveted to the television. Lines of Grid data were already open in front of him, and he was wasting little time in browsing down to the sections that he had done the most editing on already. He grinned at the information peering back at him, and- following his rising suspicions- opened up the folder that he had created earlier that afternoon, before he'd left for his drive home.

His grin widened, his suspicions confirmed.

"Sweet." He remarked aloud, not intentionally directing it towards Quorra, but being overheard all the same. The randomness of the comment seemed to finally earn him some of her attention, for she at last moved her eyes away from the TV and settled them inquiringly on his face.

He was already talking before she could open her mouth, however, and urging her with mounting excitement towards the laptop in front of him. "Look," he stated, gesturing towards it as he sat back, his smile now bright and triumphant. Quorra gave him a confused look before leaning over to get a closer look, and made an incomprehensive noise as she regarded the groups of code.

"What's this?" She asked finally, since it was obvious Sam was the only one in the room who understood what they were looking at, and probably wouldn't let the matter drop until that understanding had been passed on.

"You have to promise not to freak." Was his unexpected answer, and Quorra turned her head towards him sharply, eyebrow raised. His smile widened, looking mischievous for reasons she doubted would remain mysterious for much longer.

"I don't think I 'freak', Sam." She answered instead, gaze mildly challenging. The man just shrugged innocently, his smile not dropping by even an inch. Her brow furrowed, and at the silence she belatedly realized this was going to be a guessing game. She gave him a look, before turning back to the laptop and observing the information shown to her.

"It looks like the code for the Grid." She observed bluntly, and was rewarded with the affirmative noise from her companion, but nothing more. She narrowed her eyes, considering. "You've put it in a folder." She observed, to which Sam gave no response. Seeing that more was expected of her, her lips pressed together thoughtfully and continued. "You've separated it for some reason."

"Uh huh." Was his only helpful response, and Quorra glanced at him quickly, her gaze suspicious.

"Well alright, obviously you've figured out how to do something with this particular code, but you won't tell me what." She spoke, the clear tone of challenge entering her voice and taking the game up a notch.

"It's really exciting." Sam assured her, as if this would somehow justify his game of playing difficult and withholding information. Quorra gave him another look, then cast her eyes away in an exasperated roll.

"Can you at least tell me what it is I'm looking at in the folder?" She prompted, now reduced to begging for hints.

Sam obliged her, however, and spared a quick glance at the laptop as well. "Structures." He said shortly, obviously choosing to remain tight-lipped with his information. "Buildings."

Quorra's face hardened in consideration, then turned back towards the screen as she studied the code over again. A moment passed, before she hesitantly spoke.

"…but…that's not all." She raised a hand, and gestured towards a line that was distinct enough for her to recognize. "That." She tapped the screen lightly to further emphasis. "That's not a building."

"No it isn't." Sam agreed, looking and sounding pleased with himself, and she could tell from the expression behind his eyes that he was eager for the moment where she would understand enough that he could finally cave in and reveal everything. The game began to finally run along with her, eliciting a kind of reluctant enjoyment, and despite herself Quorra felt a smile fighting to emerge on her lips.

"It's program code." She continued, finger hovering over the mentioned line as if she could somehow physically touch whatever entity had once been a part of this line. It looked remarkably complete, too. Was Sam trying to repair the program? Was that what this was about? She turned to him expectantly, and their eyes locked just as he began to speak.

"Yup." He confirmed, and the excited, happy quality behind his expression seemed to increase. Huh. Quorra felt that her suspicions of him intending to fix the program were accurate. But she as she gained that small bit of confidence, Sam's next words blew it away unexpectedly.

"But I wasn't the one who put it in there." He revealed at last, looking far too pleased with himself as he watched her expression falter in surprise, then gradually morph into comprehension.

Quorra looked surprised, and somewhat disbelieving, though he could tell the implications of what he'd said had yet to fully sink in for her, because her reaction had been so mild.

"You didn't put the program there." She repeated back, voice dead panning slightly. A second later and part of the puzzle began putting itself together, because something resembling alarm appeared on her face. "You didn't put it there." She said again, only this time with dawning comprehension.

Sam just smiled. "I made the folder, put a few buildings inside it, and then drove home." He nodded towards the laptop, and continued. "And in that amount of time, that appeared in there too."

Quorra's expression was priceless; there was a lot about the User world that astounded her these days, and he was no stranger to seeing amazement and confusion on her face. But right then, in that moment, Quorra looked more shocked then he had ever seen her before- as if what she had just heard him say so far exceeded any expectations she had conceived, that she simply couldn't comprehend the full extent of their implications.

He loved it. A corner of his mind was giggling stupidly in wild, unabashed glee at the moment. He probably should have been ashamed, but he decided that laughing at her was a better investment of his time.

She was clearly too shocked to react to being laughed at, and instead was blinking dumbly at him with widened eyes and hanging jaw, momentarily lost for words.

Eventually, slowly, she began to work again; her voice coming out stuttering and hesitantly. "So…so…you're saying…"

Sam nodded, grin never falling. "The program moved into the folder on its own." He confirmed, and from the way Quorra visibly shook in response to his words, he might have well thrown the entire couch at her.

She gaped, then quickly rounded on the laptop with sudden intensity. "Then that means-,"

"Yeah." He interrupted, also glancing towards the screen, and with a single hand on the keyboard, began to scroll down the lines of code. As the data moved past them, a breathy laugh escaped him. "Look. Holy fuck Quorra, look."

Quorra looked, though she seemed too overwhelmed to understand anything at the moment, and only stared at the screen apprehensively, mouth slightly open.

He continued on unprompted, smile stretched across his face as if he'd won an award. "It's not just one, Quorra. There's dozens of programs in there now."

Quorra jerked, startling Marvin from his comfortable position, and stared at him with such a pale face that he suddenly began to wonder if she was about to faint.

She didn't faint, as it turned out, but her reaction had still been so utterly dramatic that it had gratified every bit of the inner prankster that still lived within him, hungering for an outlet now that ENCOM was no longer a suitable target, and Sam had basked in the glory of his accomplishment for the entire evening.

Quorra was a good sport, wise in ways he couldn't understand and experienced in ways he wished she never had to live through, but that didn't render her immune to his mischievous side. He should probably be at least a little repentant for his behaviour, but at the moment it was such a nonissue that he ignored his conscious.

Besides, she was too busy being absolutely astounded of his laptop to take much time to feel offended over his sense of humor; she'd been preoccupied with the lines of code since he had finally revealed their significance to her, and they had immediately decided that dinner was less important than figuring out exactly how many programs were currently inhabiting the folder.

Sam was the keener eye when it came to identifying the code, so it was more an issue of him going through the folder while Quorra huddled at his side and ignored the television, her earlier interests now long forgotten. Marvin was oblivious to the meaning behind their actions and had quickly moved to occupy the rest of the sofa's space; stretching himself out on his back while slumbering.

"So that's twenty four so far." Sam concluded at last, after finally reaching the end of the folder's contents. He sat back, withdrawing his hands from the keyboard as he processed the new information they'd just gathered, and Quorra took the opportunity to lean forward towards the screen, staring at it with such intensity that one might think she would discover a way to look through and into the world beyond.

"They're…alive." She said, sounding both awed and intimidated at the prospect. Her feelings were still muddy towards the Grid, but neither of them truly wished death upon its inhabitants—maybe some, but that was more of a self-preservation issue then any widespread animosity for the programs.

"Yeah I know," He agreed, not at the fact that there was still life on the Grid, but over the sheer amazing fact that that life had persisted after everything that had happened to it. "It's amazing. I can't- I don't-," he fumbled, finding himself clumsily handling his own sentences. "It's just amazing that they're still there." He concluded finally, because that was close enough to what he'd wanted to say.

Quorra made a noise, something he couldn't place, and leaned back so she was sitting normally again. Her eyes, however, had remained on the screen, and her hands were gripping the loose fabric of her slacks at the knees. "It seems hard to believe." She expressed, and Sam thought there might have been a tone of indecision in her voice. It attracted his attention, and he turned his eyes away from the laptop in order to look at her.

"How so, Q?" He queried, looking at her with interest.

She shrugged, looking like she didn't know how to explain herself. "It's just…after your father…" She fought at this point, and Sam knew that she was trying to speak of the Reintegration- which was not something that either of them had gotten to the point of being able to speak of yet. At least not easily.

"After Flynn defeated C.L.U, I hadn't expected there to be anything left." She continued finally, because they were getting better with it, really. It was just taking time. "He'd always told me…always said that Reintegration wasn't an option. That the event would have destroyed the Grid along with him. It's why-," she broke off, seemingly reconsidering her decision to keep talking, and lowered her face to stare at the floor.

Sam placed a hand on her shoulder, because that's what he wanted someone to do for him at the moment, and shook his head. "Dad had his reasons." As much as he still had his doubts over his father's decision to stop fighting and just wait for something to come save him,Sam had reached that part of the road that taught him when it wasn't worth dwelling on something. Quorra nodded.

But Kevin Flynn had been right about one thing; Reintegrating with C.L.U had caused immeasurable damage to the Grid, thereby proving once and for all the validity behind his decision to avoid Reintegration for all those long cycles of his imprisonment.

"The programs…" Quorra began speaking again, and her eyes were back on the laptop. "What do we do?" She questioned him, despite not looking.

And she had a point, really; what were they going to do? Sam sighed, and allowed her to see the fact that he didn't know the answer. "…I dunno." He admitted, as he leaned forward and supported his weight by placing his elbows over his thighs. "Honestly Q, I don't know if I can rebuild everything. Don't get me wrong; I wanna help and I know it's what they need… but it's way over my head. Dad created that place by being inside it, and that's not something I'm willing to do. The Grid's a mess…most of the programs are probably dead. Most of the damage is so vast I can't tell what half of it used to be. And I guess now we both know that the data even moves around on its own now, so…" He sighed.

Twenty four survivors out of what had once been millions? It wasn't like he didn't want to help- he did!- but how was he supposed to pretend he didn't see the reality of the situation?

"…I'm not dad." He admitted, apologetically. He couldn't make miracles the way Kevin Flynn had.

"I know Sam." She responded softly, turning to him as she lifted a hand to touch the side of his arm in a consoling gesture. Had they been on the Grid and wearing their suits, her fingers would have been settled over the bright line of a circuit, which would have allowed her to transmit a pulse of consoling energy into him in that way that weird second language programs had. In the User world, of course, there were no circuits, and instead her fingers found the end of his t-shirt's sleeve. "I don't want you to become another Creator."

He glanced at her, and offered a grateful look for her understanding. "Doesn't make me feel any less of a failure, though." He said, with a half-smile lifting his lips that expressed little in the way of happiness.

She shook her head, and the consoling hand on his arm turned into a light push. "You're a User." She countered, as if that somehow freed him from all uncertainty. It didn't, but it still made him smile more genuinely this time, in appreciation.

"Yeah…I guess that's what they want too." He mused, and his eyes wandered back to the ever entrancing screen of his laptop. Quorra tilted her head, looking at him curiously, too sharp not to pick up on the hint he'd just dropped.

"What does that mean that?" She questioned. Besides the obvious.

Sam glanced at her for a moment, then turned back towards the laptop, his gaze distant. "…you gotta make me another promise not to freak out." He said.

Quorra raised a brow, though didn't take his warning lightly despite her willingness to challenge it. "You've already told me that." She pointed out.

"Yeah, but this time you really gotta promise not to freak out." Sam insisted, and his gaze rolled back to look at her seriously. Quorra's expression smoothed slightly, and she regarded him with a silent sobriety that told him she was waiting.

He hesitated. "…the...look. Uh…" He bowed his head, bringing a hand up to rub nervously at the back of his neck, and only made her expectant look grow impatient. He swallowed his anxiety. "The folder thing… it wasn't my idea."

There was a short moment where Quorra simply stared at him confusedly, obviously not picking up on what he was trying to allude towards, and Sam grimaced as he forced himself to continue. Why did it feel so… weird to talk about this? "Remember when I said something had happened today…?"

Quorra was giving him that get on with it Sam look again.

He sighed, and somehow found the balls to look her in the face as he spoke. "Well, one of them surprised me this afternoon by… giving me a call." He said bluntly, his initial resistance now crumbling in the rush that came with his confession.

Quorra's expression clouded confusedly, obviously not certain how to interpret his words, but Sam was done talking for now, so she'd have to figure the rest out on her own. Thankfully, she seemed ready to do that. She also didn't seem to need him to provide any clarification that he wasn't referring to any of his coworkers, either. "You're saying that… you were contacted?" She asked finally, her voice slow and uncertain, hushed in a way that struck him so suddenly that his mind flashed back to an earlier time, when he'd been standing in his dad's hideout in the heart of the outlands, and discussing going behind the old User's back. She carried that same hesitant carefulness that had been with her then, too, only this time there was no portal, no Kevin Flynn, no escape from the Grid at stake. She wasn't hopeful here; just wary and slightly confused, looking as if she wasn't quite sure whether she wanted to believe him or not. Maybe half hoping she'd misunderstood his meaning.

She'd be disappointed then. That, or potentially horrified. Sam nodded anyway, then shrugged in a way that, had the world worked by his rules, would have instantly absolved him of any associated guilt. "I was working on the code as usual when this…" He trailed off, and lifted his hands up to mimic some invisible shape in the air. "…letter box popped up, and text started appearing in it. The next thing I know, I'm talking to my computer." He stated, while giving her a look that said, in his own unspoken Flynn-language; it's not my fault, right?

That last part was probably a bit unnecessary, but sarcasm had always served as a good shield to mask himself with when he was feeling uncomfortable, so it didn't take much for him to bring it out now.

Quorra had already been frowning before this, but now her expression was so pronounced it had taken on a rare severity that he didn't see on her often. Not since that time he'd had to explain to her what a 'food chain' was, and how pretty much every ecosystem on the planet was built around multiple creatures eating each other. That such a thing was the very basis of how this world worked, not only expected but also natural. That the 'system' of the User world required it to function. That it was, in a very simplified way, the system itself; life.

"But…how is that possible?" It wasn't so much a question directed towards him as it was an uneasy statement on her part. Sam could tell that Quorra was thinking aloud now, and the unsettled expression that had come over her also bespoke of how she might not be entirely comfortable with the thought of Sam talking with one of the programs they were currently looking at through the computer.

Sam just shrugged, and she shot him a dark look that hissed you're not being helpful in its unspoken reproach.

In reluctant acknowledgement to this, he gave a quiet mutter; "Wasn't my idea. I didn't even know they could do that, honestly."

Quorra awarded him a pointed look, before abruptly turning her attention onto the laptop and leaning forward. Despite her renewed focus, Sam knew there was nothing she could do to bring the communication window up again; he'd tried to do it himself, and he knew more tricks then she did. Quorra seemed to know this as well, as she made no move to try fiddling with the computer, and instead just stared at it closely, as if waiting for the program that had talked to Sam to somehow sense her attention and make an appearance.

The laptop's screen didn't change.

"…what did the program say?" She questioned finally, once she acknowledged the futility of her expectations. Sam glanced off to the side, his mind casting back to the conversation he'd had earlier that day, and after a few moments supplied his best assessment.

"To find out who I was, I think." He answered, as he glanced at the screen resting in front of them. It looked perfectly innocent at that moment, nothing unusual aside from the Grid code. "And what I was doing with the Grid's code."

Quorra glanced at him, her head tilted in a confused manner. "You're a User." She pointed out, as if that somehow explained everything, and she was answering to the program in Sam's stead.

He chuckled weakly, though not really because he found her statement funny. "Yeah, that was definitely made apparent." He mused aloud, and at the questioning look she sent him, he elaborated. "The uh, program preferred to call me 'User' instead of my name."

Quorra blinked, frowning slightly, and obviously shared his opinion of how that was an odd thing. Though technically referring to Sam as 'User' wasn't incorrect—just extremely formal. Or rude, if Sam had requested to be called by his name instead.

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but Sam abruptly found himself cutting her off; his mouth suddenly beyond his control as it spilled his inner thoughts into the air between them.

"Actually there's another thing I need to tell you- about the program." He started carefully, his body tensing slightly because he had no idea how to bring this up without feeling awkward and, in some ways, insensitive. Part of him was insisting that he was overthinking this and there was no reason to be self conscious. Another part felt like not being conscious of it would somehow be cruel. Because it was an ISO-thing, and as such a Quorra-thing. "The… uh, program mentioned something to me, before it cut our communication. The reason it told me to put the folder in there was to defend against something called Gridbugs-," her eyes sharpened, recognition flashing through her demeanor as he said the world, "-and during all that, it mentioned something about how it wasn't able to combat the bugs itself because of something that had happened to it."

Quorra was looking at him expectantly now, and the fact that she wasn't bracing herself or even seemed remotely suspicious of sensitive subject matter being raised, helped Sam bolster that side of himself that insisted he was just being overly conscious about it. He pressed on, and the slight tone of uncertainty that had been carrying in his voice faded.

"It said that it was corrupted. Apparently because of a virus it got after falling into the Sea at some point."

He didn't mention the involvement that C.L.U apparently had in the matter, both because he wanted to keep his revelation simple, and because he just didn't want to mention the bastard and make this any heavier than it was. Potentially was. Possibly was.

…actually, the more he watched her, the more Sam began to suspect that the heaviness might be all on his side; Quorra didn't look even remotely alarmed at the mention of what had been one of the key blows in the genocide of her people. She just blinked confusedly for a few moments, seeming more confused over the concept he'd just proposed then the subject matter that had been brought up.

"…the Sea?" She said, and he just nodded. She blinked again, and tilted her head in puzzlement. "…that's…I've never heard of that happening." She stated, not knowing what to think of it.

"I don't think the program had a reason to lie about it." He pointed out, and Quorra leaned back, making a quick gesture of dismissal with her hand.

"No, I didn't mean that I was discounting it. I just meant that as far as I know, that sort of thing hasn't ever happened." Her perplexed demeanor was accompanied by a permanent downcast of her eyes, as she spoke. "I mean… C.L.U made that virus for ISOs, not Basics. And as far as I've heard, it only ever stopped the Sea from creating more of us. It didn't infect programs the way a normal virus would have. It was…" She made a frustrated expression here. "…self contained. Directed?" She sounded unsure of her own words, as if she was half looking to Sam for confirmation that she was on the right track at all.

Sam was left feeling momentarily torn between relief that the mention of the Sea's virus hadn't garnered any kind of personal reaction, and the bemused embarrassment that he had been expecting anything less than the cool, stable demeanor that he should have never stopped associating with her.

No sooner had he thought that, however, and Quorra's head was snapping back up with a startled expression across her face. "Wait- are you saying the program is Infected?" She asked, her voice now carrying a different tone. There was apprehension there now, and Sam figured that she'd just now finally realized the same implications he had a while ago.

He nodded, his own face grim. "I kinda figured that wasn't a good thing." He stated wirily, one shoulder rising up in a half shrug that turned his entire posture into awkward sheepishness. Immediately afterwards, however, he added; "I'll admit it's got me concerned. I dunno how different viruses are on the Grid, but in a regular computer they can do some nasty shit."

He gave her a meaningful look now, which contained the unspoken so what do we do about this virus-carrying program?

Admittedly, Sam already had a lot on his plate when it came to the Grid, not to mention the other numerous and equally—if more—demanding factors of his life, the biggest of which were now ENCOM (definitely) and Quorra. (The latter not as much anymore.)

Worrying about a virus carrying program when the rest of the Grid was already in shambles with only a literal handful of survivors that neither he nor Quorra wanted to keep waiting was frustratingly time-consuming. Especially since they couldn't decide whether the Infected program should be considered a threat or not. Common sense told him that if the Infected program was carrying a virus then that was potentially lethal for what remained of his father's legacy, and a part of him was trying to urge the rest of him to take action in a very definitive, permanent way.

His conscious, on the other hand, informed him that this was one of those handful of survivors and, honestly, despite the mad dash he'd run through while in the Grid and his willingness to Derezz programs then, he wasn't so okay with it now. Whoever this Infected individual was, even though they weren't one of his father's precious ISOs, was still technically alive in a sense. Maybe more than just 'a sense'—just alive, period, only in a different way than Sam and Quorra now were.

He had killed enough programs while on the Grid, and Sam felt there was something to be lost of himself if he didn't show reluctance to do it now.

There was also the factor that this program had been the one with whom he'd spoken to, and even though they had been confusing and difficult to talk to, it just didn't sit right with Sam to search this program down in the lines of code and delete them.

It would be almost like a betrayal. Part of him had already bought into the whole line of thought that, more or less, equated to; this person reached out to me for help, and now I'm considering deleting them for something they probably can't control.

Quorra was a little more insistent on the 'virus equals bad' dilemma, but in the long run was also reluctant to end the program's existence for what had, as far as Sam knew, been C.L.U's fault. He was sure the program didn't ask to be dropped into the Sea and catch a virus for whatever crime that megalomaniac had found him or her guilty of.

In the end, neither knew how to address the issue of an Infected program on what remained of the Grid, much less when that program had been the one to reach out to its User, presumably for assistance on the Grid's behalf.

If only there was a way to get in contact with the Grid again—but short of going back down to the Arcade and moving all the data back where it had originally been, and then jumping inside with the still-present laser, Sam honestly couldn't think of one.

And of course that was so far from being one of his options that he cringed at the very thought of it.

At some point late that evening, after much deliberation, Sam had picked himself up from the sofa cushions and dragged himself reluctantly towards the kitchen, intent on making the both of them some dinner. Marvin, who had immediately jumped up from his lounging position on the couch when he'd noticed Sam's movement, leapt down onto the floor and raced after him excitedly, yapping sharply in demand for his own meal, something which Sam knew he should shush the dog for, but found himself unable to care about at the moment.

Since his mind and heart were obviously elsewhere that night, he settled for nuking a pack of macaroni in the microwave, knowing full well that it would taste terrible, and then finally caved in and served Marvin the only substantial meal of the evening; a whole bowl full of his veterinarian recommended dog food.

It might not have been the same as a fresh, juicy steak, but Sam fed Marvin enough fast food and left overs that he really did owe it to the little dog to give him something healthy for a change. Besides, his vet would give him the hairy eyeball if she ever found out what he'd been giving his dog, especially after the condition Marv had been in when Sam had initially adopted him.

"Sam, the battery is getting low." Quorra informed him warningly, once he'd made the return trek back to the living room, and both of them were trying to force themselves to eat the cheesy noodles. Sam glanced up at the laptop's screen as he poked unenthusiastically at the macaroni with his fork, and was grateful for the excuse to put the bowl down.

It was as he was digging out the laptop's power cord from his carrier bag that a thought suddenly struck him, and he turned his entire body around to shoot Quorra with a contemplative look.

"It's been three months since I moved the programs onto the stick." He pointed out, perplexed frown in place. "That's… a long time on their side. A long time without power. So how come they're not…" He trailed off. What was he supposed to say? How come the programs hadn't starved to death from lack of energy? …well, yeah, that was technically what he was asking, Sam supposed.

He just gave her a, well you know, shrug instead, and Quorra didn't fail to get his meaning.

"I…never thought about it like that before." She admitted, now regarding the laptop and its low battery warning with newfound thoughtfulness. "The Grid never seemed to lose power, so I've never experienced something like that myself. But…" Her eyes trailed over the laptop's surface, taking in its shape and probably, Sam suspected, trying to grasp at the fact that this was the kind of thing that her world had once existed in. "…but, well, you can turn a computer off for days, even weeks, and when you turn it back on the programs are all still there." She concluded finally, as if somehow it was just that simple.

Sam supposed that it was the only plausible way either of them could really hope to look at it, considering the perspective they now lived in. And anyway, it wasn't like she hadn't just made a very valid point.

"I guess you're right." He acknowledged, before finally shuffling across the short distance to the nearest outlet, and mercifully plugging the cord in. The laptop removed its warning popup and, as if satisfied, changed the battery icon to its charging state.

Sam had half hoped that they would find something to talk about after that, but he was to be disappointed; the following minutes were spent in a kind of anticipatory silence, with the both of them pecking at their lackluster dinners while stealing glances at the computer screen. Sam figured that they were both hoping for the same thing, but was not surprised when he found himself disappointed when no mysterious box magically appeared.

He sighed, leaned back against the back of the couch in defeat, and cast his eyes onto the television. He wanted to say something, start conversation, find something to occupy the restless, impatient energy stewing inside him without means of escape.

Quorra was the one who beat him to it, by speaking up with a sudden proposition that left him blinking.

"Sam, could you code a message to the programs?" She questioned him wonderingly, large eyes regarding him with a hopeful eagerness that had him immediately reminded of just how brilliant she could be when his own inspiration failed.

He turned to her, immediately intrigued. "Like how?" He asked, even as his mind supplied him with a completely unnecessary mental image of a giant, floating, neon billboard hovering over the vast city of the Grid, presumably bearing whatever message he'd be bold enough to actually slap on for all to see.

Quorra's mind didn't seem to be all that far off from his at that moment, either, which was a little terrifying actually. "I don't know- a sign, maybe? Something to let the programs know we want to talk to them? If the communication can only be started on their end…"

It was such a ridiculously preposterous idea that Sam immediately realized it was absolutely everything he needed to be doing right now.

Honestly, Sam had no idea what the code he'd just written actually looked like inside the Grid- much less a shattered, virus-infested post-Reintegration Grid at that- but he had defined the rough shape of an object amongst the cluttered mess of code, and had put it in the folder where the programs had migrated to during his trip back home.

Eventually, he also created an additional 'sign' for outside the folder as well, just in case the program that had contacted him earlier that day was avoiding the other programs due to its… condition.

Quorra had been the one to suggest that possibility; apparently, Infected programs underwent something that, to Sam, seemed to resemble the symptoms of rabies. He was reasonably sure that they didn't froth and drool at the mouth, but Quorra did tell him that virus-infection tended to manifest in one of two ways.

The first one was similar to the typical association with a rabid animal, which Quorra referred to as Extroverted; aggressive to an extreme, actively wandering about the Grid in order to spread its virus to other sections and programs. They even had their own version of mouth-frothing; Quorra had called it 'circuit bleeding', and apparently it involved a program's circuits literally bursting open and leaking the program's own energy fluids over itself. The leaked energy then acted in a similar way that a rabid animal's saliva would have, by transferring the virus through direct contact.

The second variation of virus-infection struck Sam as being similar to dumb rabies, only considerably more disgusting; unlike with the 'furious' version, the second- or 'dumb' ("It's called Introverted." Quorra interjected), as Sam had come to identify it in his mind- type occurred when the virus had a more devastating effect on the Infected program then the environment around them. From what he could discern from Quorra's reluctant explanation, this 'dumb' virus-infection broke down the body of the program it inhabited, often rendering the carrier incapacitated or just paralyzed. It also drove the Infected to behave in almost the complete opposite of the furious version; compelling the Infected to seek out a secluded area to hide in until the devastation took place. The general idea behind this behaviour was to get the Infected to avoid detection until the virus could establish a strong root in the system. It was also the more troublesome variation because of this, due to its ability to hide.

Then Quorra had gone and made the whole moment even more disturbing by telling him that it was not uncommon for the bodies of such 'broken down' programs to attach onto the area around them, like flesh grafting to the surface of a building, and fester and breed the virus until it corrupted the surrounding infrastructure.

He knew his understanding of viruses and their effects on programs wasn't entirely accurate- he had influence from his own world that caused him to view it all like a biological virus rather than a digital one- but Sam felt he had a pretty good concept worked out. After all, it didn't seem like that hard of a thing to understand; basically, virus equals bad.

"There was a program that was Infected a long time ago, during the start of the Purge." Quorra said, after the main explanations had been given, and they were left to sit on the couch awkwardly. The former-ISO's gaze was fixed steadily upon her hands, which she had clasped together over her knees while she'd talked. "The way an Infected behaves is always influenced by the virus that's infecting them, of course, but…" She shrugged. "I know the Sea's virus is unique; it was made to serve a purpose and a function, to do one thing in particular and ignore everything else that went near it. It's why I don't understand how a program could become Infected by it; it doesn't Infect programs. It was never written to."

Sam couldn't provide an explanation for why that would have changed now, or any explanation at all really, considering the fact that he knew even less about this then she did, and even then Quorra seemed pretty confused and lost about it all. Again, the thoughts that the program might have lied or simply been mistaken crossed his mind, but he dismissed those as unlikely without much consideration; he was reasonably sure that a program would be able to recognize if they were Infected or not. …right?

He shot her a wondering look, now compelled to ask her. "Do you think an Infected program would be able to communicate the way this one did?"

Quorra's mouth twisted, her expression hardening seriously as she thought it over. "…possibly." She said at last, while glancing up towards his face. "Extroverted Infected can retain processor awareness even during moments of extreme aggression. But their…" An odd expression crossed her face now, and Sam suddenly realized that she was speaking from memory. From personal experience. "…their minds are not the same." She said finally, voice breathy. Her head dropped, almost mournfully. "…not the same."

He knew then, without a doubt, that Quorra was speaking of something from her experience, not just… the past. He felt tempted to ask, to question, to say who was it? Who did you know?

He threw the temptation down, and moved onward to question her about things that weren't forbidden and none of his business.

"The program was pretty erratic." He acknowledged, then continued. "So then maybe…?"

But Quorra shook her head. "No." She said, and Sam wondered why she sounded so sure of herself now. Why she could lift her head up and regard him with such solemn, grim knowing. "No…it's not the same. You'd know, Sam."

Sam decided that Quorra knew what she was talking about, and let the subject drop with a nod.

Quorra closed her eyes, breathed out slowly, and settled back against the couch in silence.

Far away and yet closer than could ever really be understood, a fractured, shattered hand rose into the air, offering up the damaged remains of two barely connected Identity Disks, and spread its fingers wide as the familiar light of the I/O tower accepted the symbiotic items and brought them upwards.

Water spilled, dripping onto the floor of the chamber to collect in a growing puddle around two black clad feet, before finally spreading outwards in distinctly un-water-like fashion.

And all around, echoing from the walls and ceiling and hallways, was the misplaced sound of the Sea, crashing against a non-existent shore.

/User/

(End Chapter)

I bet none of you thought I was going to update this. Heheheh.

In other news, I'm still without a roleplay partner for Tron, and it huuuurts. :(

Special thanks to Ridyr for betaing a LARGE portion of this chapter and helping me with my weird Canadian grammar. IOU.

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