𝘼𝙣𝙤𝙣

Anon would shift—; an uneasy silence filling him, he didn’t exactly know how console someone. He understood what she meant. In a perfect world, a perfect Grid there wouldn’t have been the travesties that fell before them. “. . . I wish the same thing. Had Clu not —

“Not without Flynn.” Slotting his disc back onto his back; the program shifts to settle down on a chair nearby, head tilting. “Though. . . I have to ask. Why are you here? The only user I’ve ever seen was Flynn and he’s. . . Been gone a long time.” The male —

Removing his disc from the wall; he approaches, holding it flat before her so the display hologram would project before her. “I derezzed. . . Died.” He remembers very little of his recompilation. “However, I woke in the Outlands. . . Wounded yet stable. . . It —

“You don’t need to be afraid to speak.” He utters with it even looking at her. It was a little trick he had picked up studying Tron, though he does cast a quick glance over his shoulder to her. “You’re safe, and I don’t intend on judging your thoughts. If that is —

“An old friend would often use proverbs. Perfection is in the eye of the beholder, ma’am.” Finally halting his picking; he’d move to remove his disc from his back, slotting it into the wall to examine his code. Damaged, faulty yet still holding together. “Your —

A sigh escapes, arms folding over his chest as fingertips seemed to fidget with a corroded piece of code in his forearm. “Safety is. . . Never guaranteed. As you’re familiar with the regime won’t stop until everything that doesn’t align with Clu’s perfect world has —

“Thanks is unnecessary.” Slowly pushing the door open; he beckons her in first, the immediate interior not being anything livable. Though once he enters, he shuts the door before opening a secret entrance. Within was a quaint living space, clearly the opposite of —