Greetings, Program! My name is Tron. They call me the "User Champion", although I'm just fulfilling my objective for my User, Alan One. I'm sorry, I'm really not used to talking to that many Users - I've only met one, after all. But feel free to talk to me!
((-Is now the official Security Program of Drama Free Disney!-))
M!A: - is blind for one day
-is Canarychirped's servant for one day
FC: Br... you know what? If you don't know who Tron's face claim is, go get derezzed.
I TRACK THE TAG XFIGHTSFORTHEUSERS. IF YOU DID NOT TAG IT, I PROBABLY DID NOT SEE IT.
Tron’s eyes followed Castor as the latter took his time in answering his question. It was nearly impossible to tell if Castor was taking this seriously. He seemed like the kind of person never to take anything seriously, but that was only a first impression. This wasn’t the best time for jumping to conclusions, anyway.
When Castor finally got around to talking (Tron couldn’t help but notice the drink that Castor had prepared himself; something told him that it really wasn’t the type of Energy that he was comfortable with), Tron took in every word he said with a great amount of contemplation and intensity. The gears in his head were spinning as he attempted to make any familiar connections between this place and the System that he was familiar with.
“The Grid?” Tron repeated, almost with the same skeptical tone as Castor had used upon learning Tron’s name. “That’s what this System is called?” Most of the words Castor lightheartedly used in his explanation were very unfamiliar to Tron; the End of Line Club, Tron had already connected to the building he was in. However, “the Grid” seemed to be shorthand for the Game Grid, and nowhere in the Game Grid did Tron remember seeing an establishment like this… did Castor call it a “night club”? What was a “night club”? And who exactly was CLU? Tron wanted to continuously fire these questions on the poor Program next to him, when he suddenly had an epiphany. Since his companion was a Program, the next question Tron planned to ask would hopefully give more answers than he needed.
“Who’s your User?” he asked inquisitively.
Castor could see the questions buzzing around in Tron’s mind. He waited for his information to sink in as he leaned against the counter and brought his drink to his lips. His eyes seemed to twinkle with information and cunning.
“Who’s your User?”
He nearly choked on his drink, half spilling it on himself. Quickly, he brushed it off his clothing and went for a rag to soak up the excess. As soon as he had composed himself, he looked him straight in the eye. “My User? I stopped believing in Users long ago, my friend.”
Out of all the answers that Tron had expected to hear, this was not one of them.
How could anyone not believe in the Users?! Users were the creators of everything Tron had ever known, and perhaps even more than that. Tron’s expression softened; he frowned at Castor’s reaction to his question (coincidentally, Castor had produced a similar reaction to his very name) and at his response. Castor was a very odd Program, and this made Tron all the more determined to find out what was going on.
“You stopped believing in the Users?” Tron asked, his expression hardening again, not even bothering to mask his disbelief. It was one thing to have never known about the Users in the first place, but to have once believed in them and then stop… “Why?” At this point, it was more of a demand than a question. Tron wanted to know exactly what would cause a Program to grow independent from his loving User. It was unfathomable. It truly was.