“The one thing that sucks about your place is that I can’t walk around with my hood up.” Ant said to Harm as they walked through one of the many thin alleyways.
“Just that?” Harm asked, staring ahead.
“Yeah. This is the only place where programs like to pull on my hair.” Ant pointed to her two long hair… prong… things. They looked so bizarre compared to the rest of her hair, which was thick, gray, and stopped just at her shoulders. The prongs were long, thin, jagged, and stuck up. When she’d put her hood down, they’d stick out a good foot away from her face. They always reminded Harm of antennas. He always suggested she could cut them off, but Ant declared they’re ‘too iconic’ to be removed.
“Buuut you’re here, so that cancels out the negatives.” She flashed her friend a smile.
Harm stared at her before facing the streets again.
“Another left.” He said as they were approaching a fork in the path. Since most of the pathways were surrounded by towering walls, it was easy to get lost, so Harm had his own way of remembering where to turn to reach the center of the city, a place where he and Ant would spend most of their time together.
The heart of the city was a hassle to get to, but it was probably the best part of the inner city. While most people had to enter buildings through windows, vents, or by crossing over sloppily bade bridges because most places were cramped together, and the alleyways were so thin that many doors could hardly open all the way, the heart was a wide open area. The structures surrounding the area created a large square border that could make any program feel boxed in, but you could actually see the sky thanks to how spaced out the buildings were. There wasn’t any scrap metal hanging overhead, no wires, nothing.
Harm looked ahead and spotted a wall covered in neon-colored graffiti, most of the writing and crudely painted characters were unrecognizable. It was one of the landmarks Harm used to guide his way through the area. “Right.”
The two took a sharp turn then continued walking straight. They could hear distant chatter getting louder. A bunch of programs loved to hang out at the heart, who could blame them? Plenty of room, good stores, good food to eat as you watch a great fight happen, and the chances of getting jumped were real slim. Harm personally loved to windowshop. There were always plenty of weapons and gears on programs that’d catch his attention.
The two finally exited the thin alleys and began roaming around the heart. Just as Harm expected, it was crowded. The groups of people scattered throughout the area, all loudly talking to one another as the faint buzzing of broken billboards could be heard, the graffiti on the walls, the flickering lights from both buildings and street lamps, and the odd aroma of burnt rubber fused with a cooked meal were far from charming, but they gave the city life.
Ant suddenly nudged him, “Yo, look over there.”
She pointed to a lady. Her face was narrow, her hair was white and in a sleek, high ponytail. Her circuitry colors were nothing special, white being her main one, and secondary being teal. She was with a group of friends, hands on hips, laughing at whatever was being said. She looked pretentious.
“What about her?” Harm stared at her, unamused.
“No, no, you’re not looking.” Ant guided his head to the lady’s heels.
Harm’s eyes lit up. Attached to the side of the heels was a light gray baton, one that’s able to generate a light cycle, no doubt. She must’ve been from another part of the grid, who else would be stupid enough to have their baton out in the open like this?
Harm clenched his fists. Man, just thinking of all the great parts he’d get from dismantling one of those… It electrifies him. Programs in this part of the city would do anything to get their hands on a light cycle. Nobody cared about the fact that driving through the thin, jagged roads was a death sentence, they just wanted to be fast.
The two watched the lady glance to the side, motion ‘One moment’ to her group, then walked into an alleyway.
“Now’s our chance, whaddaya say? You follow from behind and I go above?” Ang asked, a big, confident grin on her face. That was their usual tactic whenever they saw something they liked.
Harm was about to agree, he was almost ready to start tailing behind the program, but he stopped himself. His shoulders slumped and he let out a groan. “We can’t.”
“What? Why not?”
“There might be guards around.” Harm explained.
“So? That’s never stopped you before.” Ant said.
“Yeah, but before we were only dealing with one or two guards who were stupid enough to wander in. Last cycle, there were about five. The big ones too.” Harm started walking through the crowd, squeezing through clusters of people or shoving aside any program who didn’t pay attention to where they were walking. If he couldn’t snatch goods off of programs, he’ll have to look through the abandoned buildings. It’s not as fast--and it’s certainly not as fun--but he didn’t want to put up with programs making a scene and getting unwanted attention.
Ant’s eyes widened, “Woah, what happened yesterday? Did’ja get ratted out? Did they find you hackin’ off limbs?” She followed behind.
“No. Some random program busted into my place and the guards were tailing behind him. He made me break a window.”
“Someone broke in!? Man, I KNEW I should’ve visited yesterday!” Ant snapped her fingers.
“Yeah, made a dent in my schedule.” Harm grumbled. Harm thought of a small building not even a block away, it has--well, had--a large glass dome as a ceiling, and was one of the best looking places in this city. It wasn’t cramped between other structures, it wasn’t completely trashed with wires and broken metal, the programs who used to live there--scientists, apparently--took good care of their workplace despite living in this trashhole. That changed several cycles ago. Harm remembered waking up to a loud explosion one night, and when he roamed the streets the next cycle, programs were talking about how an ‘accident’ occured, how an experiment had ‘gone wrong’ and derezzed everyone inside.
Harm’s been wanting to rummage through that place ever since. No one’s tried to fix it or demolish it; other programs have probably already searched through it, looking for whatever goods those brainiacs had on them. Hopefully there’s still some decent things left.
“Hey, no rush with my suit, a’ight?” Ant pat him on the shoulder, “I know you got commissions you’re dealing with, and if I gotta use those disgusting chute suits for a few cycles, I don’t mind.”
“Aren’t those the same thing as your wingsuit?” Harm raised a brow. He paid no mind to the other programs giving him glares and spiteful comments as he shoved them aside.
“No, you do not understand how ugly those chutes are. They don’t even FLY, they just glide me down like some stupid paper airplane.” Ant groaned, “And they’re SO fragile. The Renegade could sneeze on them and the wires would snap in two.”
Ant’s mentioned the Renegade before, mostly ranting about how he’s made her work harder, how he keeps destroying their property, and how he’s giving Tesler constant headaches. He doesn’t blame her for going off, he sounds like a pain to deal with.
“Some programs are saying he’s Tron, which I hope isn’t true, cause I never imagined Tron sounding so whiny!” Ant got several strange looks from surrounding programs. There’ve been rumors here about the Renegade--about Tron--recently, and hardly any of them have been good. There were mentions of a potential reward if one were to capture and turn in this Renegade, or anyone working with him.
Harm could see the shattered dome just up ahead. He grabbed Ant’s hand and pulled her along, “Let’s go before these creeps get the wrong idea.”
“Whatever, my boss can kill ‘em!” She waved her hand dismissively.
“Yeah, well your boss isn’t here right now.”
They made it out of the sea of programs and arrived in front of the ruined building. A battered sign was placed on the wall, right beside the hole where the door once was. “Minu… Sinimo… Lab” That’s all Harm could make out.
He welcomed himself inside, Ant coming in as well. They both looked around. This was probably one of the better places they scavenged through. This lab managed to withstand an explosion from the inside and remain in one piece, the only missing chunks of this small, octogonal-shaped structure were the windows, the front door, and the giant glass dome above them. Only a quarter of the glass roof was still standing, it was a dustier, lighter orange compared to the neighboring buildings, which had a much more vibrant version of the same color. The remains of the roof were scattered all over the floor and furniture, glistening from the city lights.
Harm noticed a crooked staircase that led to the second floor--well, it was more like an indoor balcony. It was trapezoid shaped, placed comfortably between the walls, and there was a thin black railing that stretched across the edge. It made the lab feel much less hollow, and Harm was impressed to see the black columns supporting it still standing. He was also surprised the programs here had the blessing of stairs instead of needing to use vents.
Underneath the platform were multiple tables pressed against the wall with an array of items laying on top of them, mostly beakers and test tubes. Come to think of it, there were a lot of tables in this place. Right when they walked through the front door, Harm could see nine tables broken into rows of threes. Maybe if the programs spent more money on better security than tables, they’d still be here.
There were other bits of furniture besides the tables, there were chairs--of course, whiteboards with wheels that had smeared writing, and random chunks of machinery that got crushed by debris.
“Check it!” Ant grabbed onto a short metal pipe sticking out of the rubbage and yanked it out. The pile of trash collapsed and scattered over the floor, the loud tumbling causing Harm to cringe.
She tossed the pipe into the air then caught it again before holding it over her shoulder, “A replacement for my bat!”
“You have a disc.” Harm pointed out as he approached one of the tables, shoving aside the chunks of cement and metal on top. A nice variety of tools were hidden under the garbage.
“Yeah, but…” Ant lowered her head, “Not a fan of it. Bats are cooler.”
“You don’t know how to use it.” Harm said as he picked up a power drill, observing it to make sure it was still usable. He’s never seen Ant use her disc before. Granted, what she was programmed to do didn’t involve any fighting, just keeping her ears open for information and sharing it with her boss.
“I kinda do. Oh, hey!” Ant’s eyes lit up and she scurried over to Harm’s side, “I could totally teach you the few moves I do know!”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that next time I want to derezz myself.” Harm grabbed the rest of the tools on the table and held them firmly. He made his way to the stairs.
“Come on, you won’t even give my idea a go?”
“I don’t know if walking in here made you forget what the rest of this dump looks like, but Argon has much more open space compared to here.” Harm stated, sounding rather aggravated. He stepped over a couple of broken steps and observed the platform. It had far less rubbish on it compared to the first floor, only broken parts of a large pipe and shards of glass laid on the ground. Lab equipment, more machinery, many of the inventions here had already been dismantled, making it nearly impossible to figure out what they once were.
A wide open folder splayed on top of a counter, which laid parallel to the rails, caught Harm’s eye. He wandered over there, looking through the giant hole in the ceiling. The specs of orange light coming from the towering buildings above looked quite nice, honestly. Reminded him of stars.
He set the tools down and grabbed the folder, tons of crumpled papers sat beside it. He started flipping through the contents, a grin began to form on his face.
“Nice…” He said to himself.
“Ooooh, whadja find?” Ant’s footsteps could be heard rushing up the metal steps.
“Blueprints.” He flipped through the pages to show Ant. The tears and incredibly messy handwriting would’ve made it difficult to decipher what the blueprints were going on about, but luckily the refined drawings provided clarity. Ant could spot sketches of disc enhancements, upgrades for tanks, and batons that could summon all sorts of tools.
“The programs here were making weapons. No wonder they were attacked.” Harm said.
Ant stopped and pointed at one of the pages, “Hey, I’ve seen those! Tesler commissioned a whole bunch of ‘em at one point for the guards.”
She held her pipe vertically with both hands, “They, like--I think there’s a button facing them, or they twist the top a certain way, so when they lift it up and hit the ground, it causes these weird quakes? Well, not really ‘quakes’, but it moves the ground a whole bunch. Cool stuff!”
“Mhm.” He didn’t express it, but that did sound cool. He wondered if there was a way he could use that feature in the future. As he closed the folder, he started fantasizing of all the weapons he could make and modify for himself, the upgrades he could give to other programs, the money he’d make. It’ll be great.
“You wanna keep lookin’ around?” Ant asked. “I got all I need.” She spun her pipe around.
“Same here.” Harm walked towards the railings and lept over them, landing on his feet with a loud thud that echoed throughout the lab. Ant landed beside him.
“I got the tools,” Harm continued, “and plenty of work to keep me busy.” He said as he eyed the thick folder, the electrifying feeling running through him again.
[Throws a random snippet from the 2nd Chp. onto this blog]
“Thanks, I’ll remember that next time I want to derezz myself.” Harm grabbed the rest of the tools on the table and held them firmly. He made his way to the stairs.
“Come on, you won’t even give my idea a go?”
“I don’t know if walking in here made you forget what the rest of this dump looks like, but Argon has much more open space compared to here.” Harm stated, sounding rather aggravated.
I just saw your tron uprising posts in the tag, and I wanna say that I love your art style so much! It really stands out from all of the fanart I've seen so far :)
I MEANT TO RESPOND TO THIS SOONER BUT!!!!! THANK YOU!! VERY MUCH!!
There’s a small city on the grid. If you were to hop on a Light Rail system in Argon, it’d take you a couple of hours to reach it. You might be surrounded by several programs who are returning to said city--their home--who wear these scowls, these tattered clothes which they deemed their ‘best’, and cold eyes that turn to frigid glares the moment you glance at them. They give anyone more than enough information to know what sort of city they’re about to enter. If you tried to get there with a speedboat, going in a straight line to the right, you’d know when you’d be getting close. You’ll navigate through towering scraps of metal and waste that seem to get more and more hazardous the more you progress, and there’s this odor… This foul, foul odor that hangs over the sea and only gets stronger. The smell always hits you when you think you’ve finally gotten used to it. Of course, you could always drive there, but why would you do that? Does sitting through the hours of traffic, because some reckless programs leaving that terrible city couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to the road and crashed head first into a truck, sound more appealing to you than the sickening sea and the terrible train?
Don’t go to that city.
It’s not worth it.
There’s no appeal.
If the smell of smoke and burnt rubber doesn’t ward you away, the programs there certainly will. They’ll corner you, scam you, threaten you, do what they can to shake you up because they know you don’t belong, and that’s the only reason they need to treat you terribly. They can’t even take care of each other. It’s not uncommon to see programs become good friends one cycle, then try to derezz each other the next. Store owners know how desperate others are to get their hands on any sort of weapon or advancement on their discs, so they charge high. If you need medical attention, expect a ridiculous fee and mediocre treatment. You’re better off making your own weapons, caring for yourself, and trudging on. Friends here aren’t worth the hassle.
The only thing keeping this town together are, strangely enough, Clu’s guards. They roam the streets in clusters, immediately putting a stop to any fights they see, or tearing apart any program who’s stupid enough to try and take them head on. Some people have learned where they patrolled at which hours to avoid them, others like to test their luck and throw chunks of metal at them from the rooftops.
However, even the guards know better than to march through the heart of the city, where the buildings cluster together, alleyways get tighter, and the programs get tougher. The inner city felt less like a ‘city’, and more like a horrible maze; a claustrophobe’s nightmare. You’d have to squeeze your way through the jagged paths between the structures, some need to suck their gut to get through, and it’s so incredibly easy to get lost, even if you’ve lived your entire life there. One thick street can branch out into tens of other thin, tangling paths that all seem to never end.
Scraps of metal hang over the ledges of these buildings, on the verge of tipping over and crushing the next unfortunate program who happens to be passing under them. The metal blocks off most of the sky, making the sparks from torn wires and the orange lights from windows the only proper source of illumination.
It’s a miracle this city’s still in one piece, it’s a miracle people still visit this city, it’s a miracle people still live in this city.
Nothing good has ever happened here. And nothing probably ever will.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Nice...” A program said as he observed a small, black, thin cylinder in his hand, which had blue light rings that stopped just before both ends. He pressed the blue button in the center and the ends shot out, creating a staff just a foot shorter than him. Two, sharp pointed tips appeared at the ends and glowed a bright blue as well; white sparks were coming from them. “Real nice.”
“Yeah, try not to trash this place with your new toy.” The other program at the desk said. He turned his chair around to face his client and brushed the thick, black hair out of his face.
“Relax, I won’t.” The customer retracted the rod and held it firmly with his long, skinny fingers. His whole figure was like that; lanky. The staff suits him.
“You really outdid yourself this time. I bet this bad boy’ll work as good as it looks! Heck, it even goes with these suckers!” The customer showed off his silver wrist gauntlets, the other program rolled his eyes. They were these thick, metal bands with blue streaks that covered up half of his forearms, leaving his hands visible.
‘They’re worth a lot, you know!’ He would always brag out loud whenever given the chance, as if it wouldn’t make him a target for mugging. He must’ve been ripped off. They looked clunky, quite frankly. It did match the silver streaks in his dark gray hair, but that’s not necessarily a compliment.
“Right, your pricey jewelry. Cool.” The other program leaned forward, “Speaking of price…”
“I gotcha, I gotcha! You know I’d never leave you hanging like that, especially when you make me some fine weapons like--”
“I’d like a portion of the payment now, Reggie.” The program shot up from his seat, glaring down at Reggie with his cold, blue eyes.
Reggie shrunk down, “Right! Gimme just a minute ‘ere--”
He dug around in his other pocket and pulled out a thin wad of cash. He handed it over to the inventor, who snatched it away, his glare remaining.
“Li--” Reggie cleared his throat, “Like I said! A quarter this cycle, then another after a few more, I’ll pay you off in no time! When’s the last time I’ve ever left you empty handed?” He gave a crooked smile.
“You’ve been real close before.” The program said. Reggie couldn’t see their mouth, it was hidden by the black and orange turtleneck, but he just knew there was a scowl under there.
“Right, I know, but--I need to go!” Reggie started heading to the door of the store.
“Thanks again Harm, and don’t you worry…” He said as he opened the door, “You’ll get your money in time! Like always!”
Reggie slammed the door, leaving Harm all alone.
Harm stood there and watched Reggie through his orange tinted window until he was out of sight. He then made his way back to his desk. His workplace--just like his attire--was mostly made up of shades of grays with bits of bright orange to pop out. His clothes, however, were cooler grays, while his place was mostly warmer.
He approached his desk, one of the few pieces of furniture that was oil-black instead of that dark, warm gray; the other furnitures being tall, wide shelves placed on both sides of his desk, creating his own personal cubicle. He pulled open the thin drawer and shoved all the tools, nails, and shards of glass into there without care. Now that he finished his commission, he could finally focus on upgrading his friend’s wings, and he needed a ‘clean’ workplace.
His desk was the only thing he ever cleaned anymore. The rest of his place isn’t a ‘dump’, but it isn’t absolutely spotless either. If a program happened to be looking through the big window right beside his front door, they could easily see the wires hanging from the ceiling, missing tiles, pipes of various lengths and widths he has leaning against the corners, the piles of scraps and junk he has laying on top of counters and boxes that he uses for his creations. It’s real easy to trip over something and crack your head open, especially with all the sharp edges out in the open.
Two thin strips of orange lights outlined the bottoms of the walls, while one thin one outlined the ceiling. There were a few other strips that crawled their ways across the walls, but most of them were cut off due to chunks of his creations flying all over the place during the process. You can even see the faint orange cracks from where they hit.
The other part of his place that was lit orange was his desk. He has a few small lamps placed on and above his workspace. Sure, he could just move the shelf on his left side that’s covering his largest window, but he wasn’t too fond of the wonderfully bright, headache-inducing orange light that the city produced.
He turned on and grabbed the top of his small, black desk lamp, and adjusted it so it’d shine on the floor, where plenty of blueprints and crumbled up papers laid. He knelt down and pushed a few sheets aside until he spotted the messy sketches of a wingsuit. He picked it up, making sure not to smudge any of the graphite, and placed it on the desk’s top.
“Tape measure, utility knife, and the suit…” Harm mumbled to himself as he walked around the right shelf. On the other side were a couple of dark gray lockers he once found in an abandoned building, they were nice for extra storage. He kept repeating the three materials as he scanned the inside. He eventually spotted his utility knife with the blade uncovered and buried underneath his other tools, and the tape measure a few shelves down, still unraveled. He made sure not to prick his fingers--not that it would hurt, he was wearing long, thick, black gloves--while grabbing the knife, and cussed to himself when several spare screws fell and scattered all over the ground when he pulled out the tape measure.
Harm then turned around, facing the small storage behind him. The room was a lighter sort of warm gray compared to his main room, and it had a small window--big enough for him to crawl through--that wasn’t as obnoxiously bright since another building was placed in front of it. There were plenty of messy shelves full of tools, smaller inventions, and items Harm managed to snag, along with containers on the ground stacked on top of each other, filled with who knows what. Some of his older, bigger inventions were in here, covered haphazardly with raggedy cloaks, wires sprawled out, definitely not the safest storage in the city.
Below the small window was his friend’s wingsuit, carefully folded and placed on top of a container. Ant, his friend, asked if he could improve it, to make it faster.
“I wanna keep up with Tesler’s ship. It might be huge but it’s real fast.” Ant stated in the past.
“I just think it’d be funny to see his reaction when he sees me keeping up with him.”
Tesler is Ant’s boss, and it’s honestly a miracle she hasn’t been derezzed. She’s openly bragged about being late or skipping meetings to hang around with the enemies, she’s supposed to gather information and distribute it promptly, but she spends hours flying around the grid.
Harm once asked how she still has her job, to which Ant responded with: “I just give him a snippet of what he wants to hear seconds before he derezzes me, then it gets him all frustrated and he HAS to keep me alive to hear the rest. It’s real funny, I need to show you his angry face one day.”
Harm approached the table and unfolded the black and bright blue-lined suit before placing it on the top, letting the long flaps dangle off the edge. It looked like a regular outfit, it had long sleeves with holes at the end to stick your thumbs through, and a rather large hood to fit over Ant’s thick hair, but where the thumb-holes were, there were tiny buttons you could press that’d change the black flaps into blue wings. That’s the part he’s currently working on.
Just before he could begin his work, there was a loud banging on his door. Whoever that program was was shaking the door--and the rest of his place--with each booming, desperate knock.
That’s probably Ant.
They were supposed to meet tomorrow, but she tends to arrive unannounced to share the latest updates about her job, or to ramble about whatever. She usually likes to kick the door open and announce her presence, so this door banging was an improvement. Maybe she just really wanted her upgraded wings.
Harm rolled his eyes and trudged to the door, the knocking wasn’t stopping, and it was getting hard to hear his own thoughts.
“I told you,” Harm started as he got closer to the door, “your wings won’t be ready for another six cycles at least--”
The door swung open and slammed right into Harm’s face, causing him to stumble back.
The program immediately shut the door behind themselves. Harm shook his head and scanned them quickly. This wasn’t Ant. They were tall--taller than him, definitely--and burly. The helmet covering their face was just plain black, Ant had drawn a toothy grin on her’s. They were breathing quickly.
“Hey,” Harm grit his teeth, “how about you--”
“Hide me.” The program said quickly. Their voice was deep and muffled.
That caught Harm off guard. That sounded like an order.
“So you think you can just hit me in the face with my own door and--” The program grabbed Harm by his arms, his grip was strong. This wasn’t a program he could shove out of here with ease.
“Hide me.” They said again.
“Guards are following me, if you help me lose track of them, I’ll get out of your sight.”
“Guards?!” Harm jumped. He didn’t have the cleanest record here, the only reason he hasn’t faced any consequences was because the guards hardly ever went here, and now they could arrive at his front door?!
“You can’t--I’m not gonna--!” Harm was too shocked to think straight. He grabbed the program’s hands and dragged them to the lockers.
He frantically opened all three of them--he knew one of them had enough space to fit someone in there. The middle one!
Harm didn’t know if he was getting jumpy, or if guards were getting closer to his building, but he heard more voices. He wasn’t taking any chances. He shoved the program into the locker--which was nearly impossible for this program’s size--and slammed it shut.
‘They aren’t stupid.’ Harm told himself.
Does he really expect the guards to not search this place--that the program they’re chasing after just magically disappeared? What if they took HIM instead?
Harm looked back into his storage room and at the small window. He hurried inside and picked up a heavy wrench, reached his arm back, then chucked it at the window. A loud crash came, and glass flew everywhere.
He heard his door being swung open. He only has a few more seconds.
Harm then grabbed the nearest shelf and ripped it down, leading to it--and the other shelves above it--collapsing and crashing down on him. He yelped loudly, trying to sound as pathetic as possible, and got the attention of the guards.
The large, black-armored programs with long pikes in their hands rushed over and stopped right in front of the storage room’s entrance.
Harm tried to sound as scared as he could, “Th… The scary program attacked me and… and then escaped!” He pointed towards the shattered window.
The guards looked at the scene, then at one another, muttering amongst themselves before leaving. Not even bothering to help Harm out.
They slammed the door once they left, and for the next few moments, it was silent.
Once the coast was clear, the other program opened the locker and pushed themself out, grunting.
They took off their helmet, revealing their dark skin and black crew cut. His expression seemed that of displeasure, but after he shoved the shelves off of Harm and helped him to his feet, a smirk formed on his face.
“ ‘Scary program’?” He repeated, brushing Harm off.
He’s smiling? Yeah, this is probably soooo funny for the guy that didn’t get nearly crushed by junk, had to break his own property, and nearly put themselves at risk to help some random program.
“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Harm growled and pulled away.
The program’s smile dropped when he raised a brow, “Thank you. Sorry for all of this. Your store was the first place I spotted, and I needed to lose them.”
Harm stared at him for a moment, looked back at the storage room, then back at the program.
“What’s your name?” Harm asked as he made his way to his desk. He grabbed the first pen he saw, clicked it, then tore out a strip of paper.
The program followed behind, “Cutler.”
“Congratulations, Cutler.” Harm replied, jotting his name down. “You owe me a new window.”
Cutler blinked, “I’m sorry?”
“I don’t know if you think it’s easy to get money around these parts, but it’s not. You owe me at least 200.”
“Now hold on, you chose to break your own window.” Cutler argued.
“Yeah, and if I hadn’t done that, the guards would’ve searched this place. You’re welcome, again.” Harm said.
“I’m not even from this city, I just came here to tell others about Tr--”
Harm cut him off, “Well, if you’re not willing to pay, I’m sure the guards would give me a wonderful sum of money if I turned you in…”
“Alright.” Cutler stepped in, “I’ll find a way to get your money.”
“Great.” Harm raised his brows, “Glad we could come to an agreement. I expect my payment sometime next week.”
“Fine.” Cutler said coldly, facing away from the other program as he approached the front door. “Next week.”
Harm watched Cutler crack the door open, scan the area, then put his helmet back on before running through the streets. What a shame, not even a goodbye.
Whatever Cutler’s determined to tell others about must be important, especially if he’s trying to get word to spread in this terrible, terrible city.
Like to think that even though my friend (( @angletic )) and I have our colors swapped, if someone like. chucked a disc at us, our original code/colors are revealed and it RUINS OUR COOL AESTHETIC >:(
I’m out here tryna look good in ORANGE but Beck HAD to come along and give me a BLUE SCAR
(Also i just think that the scars/wounds in Tron Uprising looked sick and wanted to try that out!)
And here is MY Tronsona!
He ain’t a villain, he just thinks he looks good in orange. It’s real confusing for everyone ELSE. The grid’s got this whole color system and my friend and I just completely ignore it.
Kinda based his look off of a volcano! When he puts his hands together he creates a BIG OL shockwave that shakes up his surrounding area.
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
yousharknotpass
2087
baratheonpilled