Tron: Deliverance

GAME OVER

Now that the pathogenic code was neutralized, Tron rolled back his helmet. There had been gasps from the crowd when Alan-One had revealed his face, but now they were mixed with shouts of surprise as programs saw Tron's likeness twice over. The smarter ones likely putting together what that meant. Tron glared up at Dyson. The malware scar on his face burning slightly. It didn't matter how long it had been since Dyson's betrayal. It still burned and ached.

But Dyson had his back to Tron. The Supreme Commander was instead staring up at Alan-One. Even from this distance Tron could see his Creator putting his hands in the pockets of his robe and fixing Dyson with a cold stare.

Alan-One shouted down into the Arena, his voice carried by the amplification software that allowed those sitting in the viewing platform to make announcements to the crowd.

"Greetings program" Alan-One called to Dyson. His voice sharp and civil with the promise of pain beneath it. It was unlike anything Tron had heard coming from his Creator. It made even his core run cold with its sheer malice.

"You're Dyson right? I've heard a lot about you"

"Who are you? You're not...You can't be" Dyson spluttered, crackling and uneven. He couldn't seem to get his statement out, the possibility lodged in his throat.

"The name's Alan Bradley. Although around here I think you call me Alan-One" The User cocked his head and stared down at Dyson with a chilling half-smile "I think you and I need to have a conversation"

Dyson stiffened up. The truth of who was before him seemed to take a moment to process.

Then he turned and jumped from the platform.

The Supreme Commander rezzed a light jet and shot up into the sky.

"Coward!" Tron spat, taking a running start off the platform and rezzing his own jet before anyone else had even processed that Dyson was trying to flee.

He shot up after the fleeing Commander, spinning around his orange light wall.

While Dyson had always been an excellent fighter, he was never the best pilot. They wove around each other. Then with a well-placed shot from his guns, Tron blew off one of his opponent's wings. The orange light jet derezzed and Dyson fell. Tron drew his disc and sliced off Dyson's wing chute as he fell past. The Supreme Commander plummeted.

Tron banked and snagged Dyson by the ankle as he zoomed by, not particularly caring as the program slammed against the side of the light jet with the inertia. When he was about a dozen feet away from the floating platform where his team stood, Tron carelessly tossed Dyson. Then banked around to come to a more deliberate stop, collapsing the Jet.

"The User said he wanted to talk to you" Tron said coldly as he stalked between his team and Dyson, who was struggling to his feet. The Supreme Commander looked at him wildly, fear etched on every facet of his being. Then, that fear mixed with hateful anger as he collected himself.

"I have nothing to say to any User of yours" Dyson hissed drawing his disc and extending the light lash attached to it.

"No, but he and I both have a lot to say to you"

By way of an answer Dyson lifted his hand to signal his guard. All the floating platforms lowered swiftly. Within a few nanos everyone inside the oval of the coliseum were on even ground. Eight programs and three Users versus over a hundred guards. At least that's probably what Dyson intended. The Supreme Commander looked around, his lips curling as he saw the white light lines on the guards around him. By the looks of things, Tron estimated that about 60% of Dyson's guards had been repurposed. That left around 40% of the guards who had joined Dyson willingly at some point and still had orange light lines. It was still a formidable force.