Initiate God Mode
Fandom: Tron

Kinkmeme Fill: Kevin Flynn left behind a master command line buried deep in the programming of the Grid. When Sam is suited up by the Sirens and his identity disk is plugged in, the command line activates, flooding Sam's mind with all the data Kevin's disk contains up to that present point, including memories of what's happened and all the knowledge of how to use User skills. Sam proceeds to kick digital ass and take digital name.

A/N: Another self-fill prompt oneshot written by hand on paper at 1:30am. I do not plan to expand this unless I dream up more ideas, but you're welcome to adopt this and expand it yourself if you become inspired. Just send me a message.


The woman – program? – nods to the other, and then something is slotted into place between his shoulders, and then-

Sam felt himself jerk involuntarily as something deep inside him unlocked. Across his vision, like a midair holograph off of Star Trek, words scrolled at eye level:

~ user-SamFlynn recognized

~ i-disk copying backup data

~ i-disk synchronized

~ activate file transfer hac-mem-fln?

"Uh…" Sam squinted, confused. It was a code interface, he understood that much. But how was he supposed to input anything? "Yes?"

~ command received

That seemed to do the trick.

~ copying masterkey-flynn to i-disk directory – progress 0%

Wait, what?

And the world went white.

Sam bent double on the armory platform clutching his head as a torrent (no pun intended) of information flooded his synapses. Knowledge of the grid; maps, info, names, places, timestamps, program identifications and functions; lists of abilities and how to wield them, both as Program and User; memories of over a thousand cycles. Clu. Tron. Rinzler. Quorra. Castor. Zuse. Anon. Gibson. Abraxus. The Sea. The Coup. The Uprising. The waiting. DAD.

It was too much; he screamed, his circuits flickering unsteadily, dim one moment and blindingly white the next.

And then he started to laugh.

The Sirens – he knew what they were called now, what their function was, how freaked out they must be watching him go essentially nuts – backed away from him in fear. Sam paid them little attention. He was lost in a sea of data. Everything his father had done and made and experienced, backed up to an ingenious hidden cache that only Sam or Alan Bradley could access. He'd intended it as a legacy, an introduction to the Grid and its history in just such an event, to give them an edge if they were ported in without warning.

He was partly right.

Because Sam was one of the Y Generation.

Because Sam had grown up nurtured by Alan Bradley, Encom's best programmer, who sat in the seat of power at one of the largest technology moguls of the modern age, during an era of massive technological advances and digital growth.

Because Sam had spent the better part of his troubled teenage years under the tutelage of ZackAttack and IsolatedThinker, cracking encryptions and hacking Encom servers before breakfast.

Because for all its advanced appearance and sophistication and incredible existence, the Grid was old. He'd taken apart the code of video games more complex than what Kevin had constructed here.

Sam grinned, the expression manic and fever-bright as he lifted his hands to the air, a conductor on a stage. His fingertips crackled with energy and potential.

"Game on, Clu," he muttered as he summoned a lightscreen to existence in front of him and calling up Rinzler's last known location – which happened to be rapidly approaching the armory, probably summoned by the Sirens.

"Time you learned what real User power can do."