Please read the author's note at the end for more information...

U n b r e a k a b l e

"There's only one thing you really need to know," the little program said softly as he edged as close to the force field as he could without being subjected to a harsh jolt. He whistled softly, his eyes filled with sympathy and loss, before continuing in a low whisper, "Even when it seems like the rule can't be broken…never forget it can."

There was only one rule. Every program understood that from the moment they found themselves trapped in that dark place, locked in a vicious cycle until the inevitable finally delivered them from their pain and regrets. Escape in any other form was futile; once the force field dropped behind them, the only thing that could save them was the culmination of that one rule. They would fight until they failed, and each would eventually fail as the others who came before them did. That was the rule that governed every nuance of what occurred on the Game Grid. But…sometimes rules were made to be broken.

Or at least Tron thought they were at that point. He had been written with one core belief that guided all his actions: that everything about the system had to be changed because the Users never intended their creation to be the way it was. Even though he would never say he understood everything there was to know about them—programs weren't meant to understand the greater beings that created them after all—he still heard their call. The problem was that it was muffled underneath all of his new directives—fight, kill, do everything (and anything) he could to survive. And, in his darkest moments, sometimes he would calculate that the reason the call was muffled wasn't because it of all the distractions. Rather it was because…

Since he needed to stop thinking such things, Tron glanced through the force field separating his cell from the next, hoping to discuss some gaming strategy with Ram. When he saw that his friend was still in sleep mode, huddled against the back wall with his head cradled in his arms, he just shook his head. He knew the little actuary deserved a break from the crushing monotony of his life so he occupied himself by counting the hash marks that lined the walls of his friend's cell, each signifying a cycle he had been trapped there. He got to ten before he had a yet another terrible thought, brought on by the realization that Ram had been there even longer than him; all he had ever wanted to do was help the Users plan for their future needs, and they had left him to face his deresolution alone just because he believed in them. He posed no threat to the MCP (unlike him) and was entirely innocent so why should he suffer? Did the Users not care if programs blew each other to bits playing ruthless games? Worse, had they allowed it?

He was about to continue down that dark, heretical path when a guard banged on the ceiling of his cell with an energy baton signaling it was all about to begin again. Not even attempting to suppress a small growl, Tron glared up at the guard in a show of blatant defiance. Because he expected he was in for a round of Disc Wars—it was, after all, the only game he hadn't played that particular microcycle—he was surprised when the guard proceeded to bang his rod on the ceiling above Ram's cell as well. The little actuary rebooted with a start but quickly composed himself enough to mutter wryly as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, "Didn't your User teach ya it's rude to wake someone when they're sleeping?"

That quip earned Ram a few zaps from the energy baton as soon as he exited his cell, but he didn't seem to mind. Over time, programs built up a slight resistance to all the abuse; some, like Ram, even wore each scorch mark as a badge of honor. Shooting the actuary a grin, Tron chuckled, hoping to gain the guard's full attention, "They must not make programs like they used to, eh, Ram?"

Even though the subsequent shock he knew was coming hurt, Tron was glad to have distracted the guard enough to forget about Ram. He would never admit to his friend that he felt he couldn't tolerate all those shocks—as defying the guards was one of the things that helped him cope with his brutal situation—but he knew it was true. One glance over at Ram confirmed his suspicions; the little program was limping slightly and it was clear he was trying to mute the pain flashing in his eyes. Still, all he did when he noticed that Tron was looking at him was smile and exclaim (foolishly, in Tron's opinion), "Nah, it doesn't seem they do."

To his amazement, the guard didn't shock Ram; no, he just snickered, a cruel smile playing on his face, as two other guards emerged from the shadows to help lead them to whatever torment they would have to endure this time. And that was when he realized that something wasn't right about this situation. The guards were leading both of them down the long hallway leading to the Disc Wars arena when the conscripts would normally be split up to face members of the MCP's Warrior Elite (unless, of course, they were forming a team of three for a light cycle match). It was how the game was always played. There were no exceptions—just as there were no exceptions to that one rule. But there were only two of them and…

It all became blindingly clear in an instant, and it almost felt as though he was about to shatter into a million pixels. He wanted to scream, and the rage he felt towards the MCP was growing to more dangerous levels than ever before. Because what was about to happen was the very definition of wrong, and it couldn't possibly be what the Users wanted for their system… Because Sark and his cronies had finally found a way to punish him—to possibly even break him if all of this was really happening—and he wasn't even the true innocent victim, left to face down deresolution alone and helpless…

Because he was going to be forced to fight Ram, and only one of them could live.

This was a game Tron wasn't willing to play, and he was going to make that clear to whoever was watching the scene, to Sark (or even the MCP himself) who had cruelly ordered this to happen. Mustering all the bravado he could—which, he knew immediately probably seemed forced—he turned to Ram and said fiercely, "Everything's going to be okay. I'm going to find a way out, and we'll stop all of this. Together!"

The little actuary just stared right through him—most likely at something that wasn't really there—with dull, vacant eyes. Ram knew; the expression on his face gave that away immediately, and he ducked his head when he realized that Tron was trying to make eye contact with him. Words escaped Tron because it was then he knew there was nothing he could do to stop any of this. For once he felt truly helpless in the face of fate, of that one rule that he had been convinced couldn't really be applied to him. He fought for the Users, true, and he had been designed to help them at all costs, even if it saw his deresolution. But surely they wouldn't want him to kill his innocent friend…right? Was this all just some (no, no it couldn't be) game to them?

He could feel himself slowly unraveling, could barely hear the prompts ordering him to complete his mission at all (and any) costs because the buzzing in the back of his CPU was adequately drowning it out, and he knew his fight was slowly leaving him. If this was what the Users wanted, then…Torn from his thoughts by the realization they had reached the entrance to the arena (and that he hadn't even put up anything resembling a fight along the way), he once again turned to Ram only to see that a small, thin smile had crept onto his lips. That only made things worse, but it was too late to change anything, too late for futile actions or even words. The guards thrust them inside the arena, the door slammed shut behind them, and Ram, his head still hanging, walked to his side without a single comment. Before he even realized what was happening, his prompts had issued their commands, and he found himself walking slowly to his side—the side that normally housed one of Sark's warriors. So it was true then…wasn't it? It really had come to this…

Tron could sense his fear, could sense that the self-proclaimed "great" commander truly was afraid of him. Or, at the very least, he was afraid of what he stood for—the hope he brought to other programs, his clear defiance towards the rule of the MCP, his strong, unwavering belief in the Users. It was a wonderful feeling, provoking such a reaction from a program that was supposed to be all powerful.

The fear was fleeting though, replaced with mild respect though after he finally put his disc down after holding his typical pose. Sark's voice crackled over the loudspeaker, filled with clear amusement, "Well, well, well, you won again. Somehow that doesn't surprise me anymore."

Fighting back a wild smile, Tron shot back, "And don't expect it to change!"

To his amazement, Sark just laughed at his defiance, laughed at what he thought was going to intimidate him further. When he stopped laughing, there was a sinister glint in his unnaturally cold eyes. "The system is changing, Tron. You just have to accept the truth—that the Users don't care about us, and it's up to us to forge our own future." For a moment, he paused, clearly trying to find some weakness to exploit, and then he continued, "I'm going to make you an offer, and I advise you to think carefully before you refuse…"

"Like I'd accept any offer from you!"

Shaking his head, Sark chuckled wryly, "You should really learn to calculate before you speak, Tron. You could learn a thing or two from that irritating actuarial program you became friends with. I'd bet he'd tell you the odds aren't in your favor right now because of your outburst…"

"What does Ram have to do with any of this?" Tron regretted the question as soon as he asked the question because he didn't want to give Sark an excuse to take any of his rage out on Ram. And, based on the near gleeful—though in a rather sadistic way—look on Sark's face, Tron had given him a way to make it so he couldn't possibly refuse his offer.

"Nothing," Sark simply replied, a cruel smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. "Nothing at all."

But he still tried to tell himself that it couldn't be. And, when the buzzer sounded to begin the game, Ram unhooked his identity disc and, seemingly without a second calculation, hurled it directly at him. Because he was so stunned by the development—he honestly didn't think his friend would come out fighting—he had to dive to the ground to avoid meeting his end. The disc just missed him, and he staggered to his feet, his CPU scrambling for both solutions and answers. Watching the disc ricochet off the back wall right back to Ram, who caught it with ease, he unhooked his own disc and cradled it for a micro to determine the proper course of action. Deep down inside, he couldn't believe that Ram was really trying to win—he told himself that he must be acting, putting on a good show for Sark as he calculated the odds of a possible escape. But one look at the smirk on the actuary's face—that small, devious smirk usually reserved for the enemies—told him otherwise even though he wasn't willing to believe it.

"Ram, stop it! We'll figure something out. I promise!" he heard himself yell, his voice a little too strained to be at all reassuring, as he lobed an easy shot back at the little actuary. He was about to continue—well aware by then that it was more for his own benefit than Ram's—but he couldn't because he had to duck out of the way of another one of his friend's good shots that just missed hitting him directly in the head. For a micro, he was convinced he was going to de-rezz, convinced he was going to fail his User (and all the other programs as well) just because he had compassion for a program that clearly didn't have any for him based upon his most recent actions. And, even though he knew it would hurt, he would look out for himself too. After all, he should have never allowed himself to become friends with the feisty little actuary in the first place, and, in the long run, the system needed him far more…

It had been a particularly brutal microcycle, and, after just surviving a light cycle match that nearly saw the deresolution of both him and Ram, Tron couldn't contain his rage anymore. He could still see the light cycle of their ally shattering, could still see Ram boxed in between two of the Warrior Elite…Sark had to have noticed his rash decision to go rescue him, to put his own life in jeopardy just for another conscript. Yes, conscripts lived and died by their allies on the Game Grid, especially in the light cycle arena, but…no conscript would actively attempt to save another. It was an unwritten rule: work together when possible, save yourself when the odds aren't in your ally's favor.

"Who does the MCP calculate he is?" he finally snapped, glaring through Ram and out towards the ship he knew was housing that awful coward Sark. "It's bad enough that they restrict our energy rations and give us inadequate training…Now they're actively trying to de-rezz the programs who have been here the longest!"

Noticing that Ram was watching with dull, uninterested eyes, idly flipping his disc in his hands, Tron snarled in frustration. His friend clearly wasn't listening to anything that he was saying, clearly didn't care that this intentional targeting of veterans was wrong. His glare focused on Ram, and he said scathingly, without even thinking of the consequence of such words, "What'd you care anyway? They've probably already figured out you're not a threat and don't have much left in you anyway."

Steeling himself for the completion of his most painful directive yet, he hurled his own disc at Ram with all of his might, hoping not to drag this terrible game out more than it had to be. He wasn't surprised when his friend managed to block it, sending it ricocheting off the ceiling; despite his innocence and underwhelming stature, he was the consummate survivor, and he couldn't allow himself to underestimate him. In fact, the actuary would most likely prove to be his most dangerous enemy ever. Growling with rage and frustration, he caught his disc out of the air and glared at Ram; even if it was meant to be just a game, it never had been and wouldn't be now. A flicker of understanding—a shadow, its true meaning hidden—appeared in Ram's eyes and he smiled. Smiled like none of this meant anything to him, smiled like he did the first time they met, back when he first revealed he was fighting for the Users, back when his faith had yet to be shaken. But the smile was fleeting and it was replaced with a smirk almost as soon as it appeared—he couldn't help but think he had probably imagined it. He was torn from his thoughts by his friend's identity whizzing towards him, and he blocked it almost too easily.

After catching his disc in his hand, Ram surveyed him in the same manner one of the members of the Warrior elite would, with an arrogant glitter in his cold, calculating eyes. Finally, he smirked and asked in a low, cruel voice so unlike his own, "What's one more in the name of your precious Users?"

The question hit him like an identity disc straight to the CPU, and his prompts began firing conflicting commands—some ordering him to de-rezz Ram on the spot, others demanding he try to work things out reasonably. It felt as though his vision was blurring, and his CPU throbbed violently with pain born of his indecision and anger. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't possibly calculate what the reasonable course of action really was, so, instead, he acted on his programming alone. Without a single calculation, without even really being aware of what he was doing, Tron hurled his identity disc directly at Ram's head. And then, still lost in the fog, he shut his eyes and allowed himself to fall into a memory…

"Name's Ram," the little program grinned, jokingly extending his hand as close to the force field as he could get it. "I'd say welcome, but I doubt that's what ya want to hear right now."

Casting Ram a cursory glance even as he wondered how in the name of the Users a program like him could still possibly be alive in a place like this, Tron just snorted. It certainly wasn't the greatest feeling to wake up on his back, covered with scorch marks, in the middle of a cell. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't give this nobody any of his attention—he was meant to take down the MCP after all, not converse with ordinary programs—but the darkness flickering in Ram's eyes told him that maybe he could help him understand what was happening. "Where am I?" he asked shortly as he hauled himself to his feet to tower as menacingly as possible over the smaller program.

"Well…" Ram paused for a moment before continuing—clearly not at all intimidated by the slightly amused glint in his eyes— in a wry and bitter voice, "The MCP has determined that he requires your service on the Game Grid. Not the most glorious directive in the system and one of the most fatal, but…"

The little program's voice trailed off yet again, and Tron wished he would just stop talking. Because all he could hear is the words "Game Grid" pounding in his ears, and it finally dawned on him that he really had been captured and had utterly failed his lone directive. To keep himself from screaming, he actually tuned in when Ram continued after a small, miserable sigh, "They'll give ya some training, and I hope ya make it."

Why did he say that? Tron wondered immediately, his CPU scrambling for a plausible answer. He had heard about the games, knew that allowing yourself the luxury of friends just made the experience more difficult, as nobody (until he became the exception, of course) survived. But, based on the expression on Ram's face and the earnestness in his eyes, he had meant what he said. Maybe there's more to this program than I calculated there was, he thought, sizing him up again only to find he was still unimpressed. I mean, clearly he's been here awhile… So, he actually introduced himself and Ram clued him in on what would happen next, that sad smile still on his face.

Finally, the conversation turned away from what would happen on the Game Grid and the horrors Ram had seen. Finally, he found himself telling the actuarial program (he'd have to take his word for it because he had never heard of one) all about his quest to destroy the MCP, to bring freedom to the system again, to restore it to the visions the Users had when they had created it. And when he was done, his belief in the Users was that much stronger, his resolve even greater. He would get out of there for Alan-One, for all the Users…and for the programs too. He was on the verge of continuing when, to his amazement, Ram piped up, his eyes filled with hope and eagerness, "Count me in!"

"What?" Tron started, his CPU reeling. This was his mission. His mission alone—it was what he had been designed to achieve, and Ram couldn't possibly understand…could he?

"I said count me in!" the little actuary grinned, his eyes wide and filled with excitement and hope. And then he added quietly, his voice quivering slightly, "This all has to end…even if ya are glitchin' at least you have a plan. So I'll help."

It was the beginning of a friendship that stood so many tests, survived even when it seemed that continuing to fight was pointless…

But, even then, he should have known it wouldn't last…

As soon as Tron let go of the disc, the fog cleared from his vision and the memory retreated back to the depths of his CPU. And what he saw was worse than any of the horrible things he had during his time in the games. Ram had lowered his disc, a small, sad smile on his gaunt face. Tron tried to scream but couldn't, and he felt himself rushing forward in a futile attempt to stop the disc, to save his friend as he had promised him he would in the first place, before he let his needless rage consume him. But Ram just smiled, resigned to fate it seemed, the pain and sadness in his eyes giving him the answer to all of his questions. "I'm sorry," he whispered just as the disc hit him directly where Tron had intended…he didn't even try to block it…

Glittering red pixels, hanging in the air, were all that was left of his friend. His words—both the apology and his well orchestrated question—hung there as well, threatening to swallow him and all of the visions of a free system he once cherished. None of it seemed to matter, and instead of doing his defiant pose to honor his User, he just hung his head and stared at the ground. When he finally looked up, blinking miserably, he saw that the red pixels were finally dissolving away… and then they too were gone, wiping out any sign of his brave little friend's existence…

"Ya glitching?" Ram chuckled wryly as he flipped his disc idly in his hands as he always did to pass the time. "You're just letting him get to you."

Still pacing a ragged circle around his cramped cell, Tron had to fight to suppress a growl but couldn't help but glare at the little actuary. "And you don't think I realize that?" he asked sharply. When he realized how cruel he sounded, he paused for a moment to glance at the hash marks lining the walls of Ram's cell, reminding himself it could be far worse. "Sark will pay, just like the MCP will when he's exposed for what he really is. In a few micros, I'll have a way to escape all planned out…"

Unfazed, as usual, and still smiling, Ram just laughed, "So much for escaping right now, huh?"

If anyone other than Ram had said that, Tron would have launched into another tirade. But, because he knew the actuary was joking, he just laughed weakly before continuing seriously, hoping that he would understand where he was coming from, "It's different this time. It's almost like the MCP is targeting me…trying to break me at the expense of anyone else who gets in the way…" For a long moment, he paused, seeing the glimmer of realization, of pain, in Ram's eyes. He decided then it would be best not to continue his train of thought.

To his amazement, his friend just sighed heavily, clearly trying to close off his emotions and mask the pain in his eyes, and said softly, "Well, none of that really matters, right? So…I sorta got a plan, and the odds of it working are pretty good at 50%!"

Even though he knew Ram was just trying to distract him from his troubles—and that, if he really did have a plan, it probably had less than a 10% chance of survival—he couldn't help but smile. Anything to distract him from the brutal reality of the games, from the shadow of an identity disc looming over him, was fine by him…especially if it involved finding a way to escape. "Come on, Ram," he exclaims in mock indignation. "Don't leave me hanging! You're the one who's tasked with the odds of future outcomes after all!"

Laughing mischievously, the little actuary automatically launched into an account of how, back when he still worked for his insurance company, he once stole a Recognizer (by accident evidently). By the end, he had Tron laughing hysterically, all of his anxieties and pain forgotten in that one happy, carefree moment. While it was still there, lurking in the back of his CPU, ready to pounce as soon as his friend had completed his tale of bending the rules for fun, at least it wasn't all consuming in that moment.

Finally, Ram reached the conclusion; he paused dramatically before saying: "So…I vote we steal a Recognizer on the way to our next game!"

"You're glitched," Tron howled, having fun for a chance because, well, it was rather therapeutic to joke about escaping given that nobody ever had. And then he added seriously, not wanting to stop the joking right away, "But…we really do have nothing to lose…"

For a moment, there was silence, and Tron wondered if he had said something that had somehow upset the actuary. When Ram finally spoke, his voice wavered slightly despite its edge: "That's where you're wrong. We could lose everything."

And, at that moment, it felt like everything had been lost. Meekly following the guard out of the arena—he didn't have any fight left in him to resist—he suddenly didn't care about the call anymore or his stupid directive or his clearly uncaring User who had allowed him to commit such a terrible crime. At that moment, part of him wished that he had allowed Ram to live because he had to admit the actuary had always had a better grasp on what being alive actually meant…had nobly fought for the Users even when it wasn't his task…had given up his life…

He couldn't keep thinking about that. But, even after he had been deposited back in his cell, even after he squeezed closed his eyes, he couldn't forget. The image of Ram's glittering pixels slowly fading away, of his soft, sad apology, haunted him.

Why had he given up his life for him? Why had he willingly allowed himself to fall prey to the rule he had vowed he would never let destroy him? Why had the Users decided that he meant so much more than the little actuary? None of it made sense, so he fell back into his memories of happier times, back when he had hope and a friend he knew he could count on…

For a moment, Tron fell silent, allowing the gravity of what Ram had just said to wash over him. Hearing such a claim come from a program that hadn't even been designed to combat the MCP gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, the programs would challenge his rule and his lack of belief in the beings that created them after all. That maybe, the programs still believed in the Users and would hear their call once again. He was about to chime in—remind Ram of his purpose, confirm that he would break the rule by disposing of the tyrant once and for all, just as his User intended—but the actuary continued before he had a chance.

A small, wry smirk playing on his gaunt face, mischievousness glittering in his otherwise tired eyes, Ram murmured so softly Tron had to strain to hear him, "You break it by not letting it break you."

That was when he realized he something that was so painfully obvious, it hurt to know that he hadn't seen it before. Ram had sacrificed himself to save his life, had allowed him to de-rezz him, because he believed in him. He believed in the Users, believed that he could contact Alan-One and bring freedom to a system that desperately needed it. His last act was made in defiance of all that the MCP stood for, made in defiance of the rule that governed the Game Grid. Yes, he had met his deresolution and lost his life…but he had de-rezzed for a cause, de-rezzed a program not broken by the oppression of Sark and his cronies.

Nothing Tron could ever do would bring Ram back, but he wouldn't let his deresolution be in vain. He would break the rule in the literal sense—he would survive and wouldn't let this break him. As Ram had broken the rule in a figurative sense, slipping into deresolution, in the final form of freedom, whole and with his beliefs in tack, he would escape and destroy the rule once and for all. Closing his eyes once more, he remembered the small smile that crept across Ram's face right before his identity disc cut through him and smiled quietly to himself…

In the end, Ram had done the impossible and had been a greater threat to the MCP's power than anyone would have ever guessed. All he stood for fueling his already fervent belief, Tron vowed that, even if it saw his own deresolution, he would make the Users as proud of their system as they must be of poor, innocent Ram who did what so many believed to be impossible…

"Where am I?" A strange, confused voice tore Tron from his thoughts, and he looked up and saw a new program—now occupying Ram's old cell, he realized with a violent pang of regret—stumble into the force field.

Sighing deeply—remembering his old friend's unwavering cheerfulness and hospitality—Tron refrained from offering a biting retort as he watched the program wince in pain and said kindly, "You better watch the force fields. Trust me; you don't want to go into the games injured."

To his amazement, the new program just laughed, his eyes lighting up with joy. "Games? That's the best he's got? This isn't going to be a problem…"

And, even though the pain of losing his innocent friend nearly overshadowed his hope and belief in the promise of a new system, he somehow knew that everything was going to be alright…

Hey all! Hope you enjoyed my first fanfiction since I finished "The Fourth" (shameless plug, check it out and review it so I know if I should write a sequel lol). Also...in regards to this story: I really hope you enjoyed it. I spent a lot of time working on it (and the philosophy behind it) so please tell me what you think. I even read the book to get a better grasp of the philosophy behind the movie (and incorporated honors stuff into it as well). If I actually get reviews, this may become more than a one-shot, with significant twists on the movie. Anyway...I hope you liked my characterizations and the twists and turns in this. Let me know what you think (and I'll see about adding more). Thanks for reading! Please review! ~Moore12~ P.S. This was partially inspired by Cyberbutterfly's "Crazy like us" (I actually started writing this right after I read that chapter) and the Hunger Games Trilogy. Thought you should know...