Argon burned around them. A thousand fires reached high into the dark sky, singeing the bellies of recognizers and lightjets alike. Programs screamed, running for their very lives.
Some were still in control, trying to herd the panicked masses to some semblance of safety, but most just ran as far as they could, trying to escape the destruction.
And Paige couldn't blame them. Not when she was half-carrying, half-dragging Beck over the rubble.
Like the idiot he was he'd come to her rescue and gotten himself nearly derezzed; voxels dripped from open wounds on his chest like a defragging rain, leaving a macabre trail behind them.
She forced herself not to look down at it, not to follow the white of his suit down to the stump of one leg, the edges still raw and sharp, still glimmering in the blue firelight around them.
Like an idiot, he'd covered her and paid the price. She grit her teeth, hitching his arm higher over her shoulders and trying to ignore the feel of his wounds under her other hand.
She could fix them later. If they could just get to safety, then--the thought was cut off by another explosion, another bomb dropped onto Argon's once bustling downtown.
The ground rumbled, unsettling her footsteps. She stumbled, Beck's destroyed leg grazing the ground.
He gasped, remaining foot stumbling Paige grit her teeth, trying and failing to ignore her screaming fear circuit. He couldn't derezz here. They had to get back to the Outlands, back to Tron--
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