Author's Note: me gusta the Tron: Legacy. Really, really.

I won't say it was perfect, and the ending had me wanting to throw something for an agonizing while, but Daft Punk, cool motorcycles, and pretty lights cover a multitude of sins. Jeff Bridges must have had a LOT of fun acting in that movie.

And I couldn't resist this bit of stupidity after all the gloom and doom I've just posted. Cheers!

Murtagh's breathing was hard and fast, like a cornered wolf as he faced Eragon, anguish written on his face.

"You have a right to know, Eragon," he said in a tortured voice, "I am...I am the son of Flynn."

Shock ran through Eragon and Saphira's bond, and Eragon's hand flew to Zar'roc reflexively.

The son of Flynn! Saphira repeated sharply, colored with disbelief.

What could he want with us?

But Murtagh tore wildly at his dark hair and cloak, and the wig fell away to reveal a head of sandy, spiky locks; underneath his rough clothes he wore a sleek black suit of some material Eragon had never seen before, glowing softly with strips of bluish light placed here and there.

On his back was a round disc of that same gentle shining material.

"You're a User!" Eragon shouted at last, shrinking back from his erstwhile friend as Saphira crashed through the trees, fangs bared and tail raised in threat.

Be careful, Eragon. He might try to reprogram us.

Looking back at that adventure, Sam Flynn found he did not mind so much the dragon-program's ire. He'd always preferred his puppy and his Ducati, anyways.

THE END