"With Flynn's disc removed, and Clu deprived of his way out, I had hoped that the resistance would stop the bomb. Maybe they did, I'll never know. But I wouldn't have been able to stop them myself, and it wouldn't have mattered if I had. With the shockwave of Clu's reintegration. . . There was nothing anyone could have done.

But, despite everything that's wrong with this system, perhaps that's exactly how it was supposed to end. Sometimes, it's not within our control. We're subject to the forces of the unseen.

"And then, here we are."

We're sitting again, facing each other and near to resting against one another, and I pick up his disc again absently as I trail off. Gently twisting my wrists, I draw them apart. He leans in to examine them more closely.

One is still the orange color that I assume belonged to its original owner, but the other, like Tron's circuits, pulses with blinding, pure, white light. It had rebooted itself inexplicably by the time I landed my jet again, mere minutes before the last, distant echoes of the reintegration shockwave threw me off of my feet and sent me sprawling across the hard outland ground where I'd stopped to further examine my quarry. They'd been easier to wear after that, and I've hardly removed them since. I've been carrying them with me, working around them and with them, all this time. Looking at him now, though, I realize that the burden of another's identity is no longer mine. It's time for Tron to be reunited with them, once and for all.

I press them back into one unit, and present it to him on my open palms. For a moment, he seems uncertain. And then he looks at me.

"Yori," he begins, but I stop him.

"Always," I say, and he understands what I mean. He nods, looking warmly into my eyes, and takes the disc in his own hand, feeling its energy. He looks at it for a moment, and then it whirrs to life, activated. He raises it, and stares the weapon down for a moment. It retains its color. Then he shuts it down again, the saw blade of its edge halting and becoming dark. His face is defiant, his mouth set, his eyes slightly narrowed as he stares it down. He looks amazing in his moment, so impossibly like himself; even some of the color almost seems to have returned to his face.

"This code disc means freedom," he says ruefully, reflecting, on something his eyes say he remembers, but that I myself must never have witnessed. It's a defiant choice of words, as we both know that having a backup could be the deciding factor in whether he stays Tron, or returns to Rinzler.

But he has made his choice, and there is no turning back now. His voice is clean, cutting, but gentle, and quiet as he speaks. He is ready.

He places both hands on the disc, and takes a long look at is as he prepares to return it to its rightful place. I place my hand on his folded knee. I can sense his energy flowing in unison with my own. We've survived to see this moment. And we will continue to do so. Together, we look upon the disc in his hands as he begins to raise it.

Eager, anxious, and hopeful, we wait to see what will happen next.

End of Line.