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Super-Earth
- Joined
- Jun 3, 2011
- Location
- The Great White North
The Grid.
From afar, one could say it looked like it always had; The buildings reduced to no more than horizontal strips of light stacked on top of one another, some brighter than others, some higher than others. The surface of the grid shimmered and fluctuated, never staying the same shade nor the same gradient. It wasn't the ground that was moving. It was the people. Each citizen was lit up in a criss-cross of light. Each Light Bike that sped by cast fluorescent glow up the wall. The whole city was alive, bathed in light, as it had been since as long as anyprogram still functioning could remember. In fact, the only program that could still recall the great wasteland that came before The Grid was Tron himself.
But once you get closer, the real changes became evident. The streets were clean. No corrupt programs were lingering here and there. No Black Guard patrolled the streets. The whole Grid seemed safer, especially with the propaganda files littered about; "The Users Protect Us". Every program had a purpose to do, and even more amazing, they all enjoyed it. Save for one.
Zilch was on guard duty again. It was understandable. He was User: Neil's best firewall, but the fact didn't make him feel any honored, or privilaged. He was always the first line of defense, and when he wasn't on duty, his User prevented him from straying too far in case a threat was detected. That was rubbish. There was only one possible program that could pose any threat to his Users files, and Zilch had a mutual understanding with said virus. Regardless, he was always the prime choice to stand guard. He was tempted on more than one occasion to slack off, maybe lose some credibility, become a backup firewall. But he couldn't. Not just that he shouldn't, he couldn't. It went against his very programming to not be the best he could be.
And by the Users, he hated it.
So here he was, standing at his post in between the crimson double doors of the warehouse that held User: Niels personal files. He was a giant of a program, standing considerably over six feet tall. His black Light Suit was interlaced with broad bands of neon green light that ran from hip to hip, meeting and shooting up his spine. His muscle-knotted arms were completely bare, but inlaid in the pale skin were a grid of green that didn't stop until midway across his palms. Above a raised collar, his face was set with a almost permanently furrowed brow and a high, long nose. His eyes were half closed, almost bored as he looked out onto the street, his jaw set in a frown. His hair was black and cropped short into long sideburns that met his jaw, a ruffled green mohawk on the crest of his head.
The Data Disk on his back was trimmed with green as well.
So Zilch stood unmoving, unnatural neon green eyes looking out at the street, hoping that today was the day that some ruffian tried to tamper with his Users files. Make his job more interesting. But he knew this was not the day. Only one program came down here. A program he would be neither unhappy nor particularly happy to see.
As such was the nature of the best friend.
From afar, one could say it looked like it always had; The buildings reduced to no more than horizontal strips of light stacked on top of one another, some brighter than others, some higher than others. The surface of the grid shimmered and fluctuated, never staying the same shade nor the same gradient. It wasn't the ground that was moving. It was the people. Each citizen was lit up in a criss-cross of light. Each Light Bike that sped by cast fluorescent glow up the wall. The whole city was alive, bathed in light, as it had been since as long as anyprogram still functioning could remember. In fact, the only program that could still recall the great wasteland that came before The Grid was Tron himself.
But once you get closer, the real changes became evident. The streets were clean. No corrupt programs were lingering here and there. No Black Guard patrolled the streets. The whole Grid seemed safer, especially with the propaganda files littered about; "The Users Protect Us". Every program had a purpose to do, and even more amazing, they all enjoyed it. Save for one.
Zilch was on guard duty again. It was understandable. He was User: Neil's best firewall, but the fact didn't make him feel any honored, or privilaged. He was always the first line of defense, and when he wasn't on duty, his User prevented him from straying too far in case a threat was detected. That was rubbish. There was only one possible program that could pose any threat to his Users files, and Zilch had a mutual understanding with said virus. Regardless, he was always the prime choice to stand guard. He was tempted on more than one occasion to slack off, maybe lose some credibility, become a backup firewall. But he couldn't. Not just that he shouldn't, he couldn't. It went against his very programming to not be the best he could be.
And by the Users, he hated it.
So here he was, standing at his post in between the crimson double doors of the warehouse that held User: Niels personal files. He was a giant of a program, standing considerably over six feet tall. His black Light Suit was interlaced with broad bands of neon green light that ran from hip to hip, meeting and shooting up his spine. His muscle-knotted arms were completely bare, but inlaid in the pale skin were a grid of green that didn't stop until midway across his palms. Above a raised collar, his face was set with a almost permanently furrowed brow and a high, long nose. His eyes were half closed, almost bored as he looked out onto the street, his jaw set in a frown. His hair was black and cropped short into long sideburns that met his jaw, a ruffled green mohawk on the crest of his head.
The Data Disk on his back was trimmed with green as well.
So Zilch stood unmoving, unnatural neon green eyes looking out at the street, hoping that today was the day that some ruffian tried to tamper with his Users files. Make his job more interesting. But he knew this was not the day. Only one program came down here. A program he would be neither unhappy nor particularly happy to see.
As such was the nature of the best friend.
