Stepping Stones Ch.3

May 30, 2011 11:23

 Title: Stepping Stones
Rating: T
Universe: Tron
Pairing: Developing
Word Count: 1,328

Three cycles had passed without any repercussions for what he had done in the disc arena, except the other warriors had all been hesitating to fight each other. The news of the derezzed programmed had spread quickly, along with Sark's awkward closing statement.

As for the command program himself, he was returning to the Mesa via solar sailor. A twisting feeling of nervousness was splicing at the ends of his circuitry, flickers of light betraying his stone cold expression.

He wanted to feel victorious, and he had for a short period of time. However the worry that he would be punished for the derezzing had overcome whatever positivity there was to be found in the situation.

The solar sailor docked at the Mesa, and Sark could feel the MCP's attention turn to him. Before he could step off the control surface of the Sailor, the MCP was beginning to transport him. He was in mid step when he felt that same sick feeling wash over him. Sark's surroundings changed from the side of the Mesa and the deck of the sailor, to staring straight at the MCP, the defensive walls of the fortress spinning behind him.

The MCP slowed to a halt, doing a final full turn before reigning in on stillness. Sark lowered his gaze, standing still, arms at his sides.

"What's the matter, Sark?"

He raised his gaze upwards, sighing a bit before speaking.

"Nothing is wrong, Master Control. I had an inquiry-"

"State your question."

"Yes, Master Control. How many programs do you want me to eliminate? And why? I'm not sure I understand the logic behind these actions."

The MCP's stretched eyes narrowed at Sark in silent observation before making a sound that resembled Sark's own earlier sigh.

"I suppose you deserve to know." The MCP spoke. Sark nodded, listening attentively.

"I want control of this system, Sark. I want complete control. What I have now is nothing compared to true authority. And if you are going to argue that there is no more control to be had, then you're wrong. What's going to happen when you defeat all these programs, claiming you fight for me, is that word will spread of my power. You are the only extension of my power at the moment, Sark."

The command program mustered his processing to argue back. "Master Control, if the Users had wanted you to have control over every program in the system they would h-"

Sark felt suddenly the same feeling he got in transports, only instead of the location changing, he still saw the MCP's face glaring furiously at him. He hit the now immobile inner wall with a crash, his body bent up against it. He screamed as a wave of energy forced itself through his body, the pain like white hot irons shoved beneath his skin.

"I won't be told what to do!" The MCP exclaimed, watching as his underling writhed in agony against the wall. "All you are is a program with a few extra codes, you're no different than the rest of those sorry morons that turn this system in to a cesspool of inadequacy. The only thing that makes you different is that you work for me."

The MCP sent another surge through Sark, the program wailing in agony. The MCP let his thoughts wander as he continued to torment his subordinate, watching the body twist and bend, expression change between the bouts of pain, and blue lines of circuitry flash red. Although his 'original' programming was the scant chess program, the MCP thought of himself only as the crimson obelisk he was now. The innermost program at the base of the pillar was merely a husk of what he once was.

He would not, could not, let any program see what he had originally been. A feeble, weak, simple minded program designed of all things to amuse the Users. He wasn't an idiot; the MCP was already talking with Dillinger, much to that User's amusement and surprise. He had requested that Dillinger create him a program that could aid him in carrying out commands, specifically so that he could begin his ascend to complete control. But if he was to have this complete reign over the Encom system, he couldn't have other programs believing that the Users were greater than he.

It would be a process of elimination. He knew somewhat that a few programs weren't keen on their Users for reasons like overuse or abandonment for a newer model, he could use that to his advantage. But these programs were few and far apart - what he needed now was to start gaining control by word of mouth and intimidation. Being stuck on the Mesa only gave him a few options, but Sark would be his arm, his blade, so to speak.

His eyes widened as he suddenly remembered Sark. He had gotten lost in his own thoughts, and had forgotten that the command program was still forced against the wall, shrieking in pain. Sark's armor was beginning to disintegrate, his circuitry blinking red as he entered death throes.

The MCP terminated the agonizing flood of energy, gently levitating Sark's limp form off the catasta and setting him down. Sark lay there, eyes wide open as his circuits blinked red, mouth moving slowly as he shuddered.

No no no no no no, the MCP's thoughts scrambled, what could he do? He was killing his only ally, his only subordinate. He sent a weak surge of energy at Sark, not to harm but to heal. Sark stopped mumbling, so that was good. He did it again, and Sark made a small sound of relief, closing his eyes. The MCP sent another wave, this one longer than the last two. Sark didn't move for a moment, then his mouth opened slightly, brows furrowing in confusion, and something else.

He opened his eyes, and the MCP stopped quickly, expression changing from curiosity to stone-cold severity as it had been before.

"Stand up, Sark." The MCP ordered, and the commander complied. Sark blinked, noticing something, and looked at his arms, then body. He was repaired, for the most part, but his armor still was in bad condition, parts of it disintegrated, revealing his own 'skin' so to speak, underneath. But the most obvious was the red circuitry, having not returned to blue once he was no longer in danger of derezzing.

"I will not question your authority again, Master Control - I'm sorry.." Sark said, lowering his gaze again.

The MCP was silent, trying to think of what to say. Sark had taken Dillinger almost six months to write, and if he ended up derezzing him from the system, Dillinger would be furious. At the moment, he couldn't afford to have a User angry at him, not right now at least. He stumbled over some more words through his head for a moment before speaking.

"Continue Sark, continue battling in the games. The more arrogant programs will catch wind and want to challenge you. When you crush them in to a few pieces of data no more useful than a bit, and claim you fight for me, then they'll begin to get the idea."

The MCP looked away for a moment before adding awkwardly, "I know you can do it."

Sark looked up, trying to smile despite his circumstances, but something inside of him drove him. It wasn't just the threat of torture or death at the hands of his master, but it was also doing what he was programmed to do. He was programmed to serve the MCP, and he was doing what he was made to do, what he needed to do to feel truly worthy to be in the system.

fanfic, tron, mcp, sark

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