#cyrus pavel wins

[saratogaroadwrites]

Tron: Liberation (13/15)

Tron: Liberation | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount: 106,965 characters: Tron, Beck, Mara, Zed, Paige, Pavel, Tesler, Clu 2, Dyson, Yori, Quorra, Original Siren Character relationships: Tron & Beck, Beck & Mara & Zed, Tron/Yori other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Continuation, For Want of A Nail warnings: none

The Game has changed. The Revolution has begun. With Tron healed and once more in the fight for the Grid, the war has begun. But Clu will not give up so easily, and this is a war that will be fought in the streets. But it is a war that Beck and Tron intend to win, so long as they can do one thing first:

Survive.

[AU: Fanmade Season 2]

=

“Don’t try to be gentle about this, Eniac,” Tron said, sitting on the medical table in the Undercity’s small medical station. Yori sat at his side, holding his hand as Beck kept watch, leaning against the wall by the door. Programs ran about just outside, scrambling to deconstruct the entire base in the short time they had left before the Occupation came down on them. Beck had known Tron long enough to see through his almost easy posture, to see his free hand clutching at his knee, the lines around his eyes, and knew that he wasn’t the only one in the room worried about this. “Did any Viral get into my code?”

“No. Your firewall was clearly well coded,” Eniac said in her quiet voice, scrolling through Tron’s source code with a practiced hand. Beck watched, core in his throat, as Eniac continued: “I’m not seeing a hint of Viral code having gotten through it.” She handed Tron back his disk, though rather than dock it he held it in one hand. Her eyes softened. “Thank your User, I suppose, because we’re going to need you to get through this intact.”

“Yes, we are.” Yori sighed as Eniac left the room, long dark braid swinging behind her, to aid in clearing the space. “But there is one thing I need to know.” She leaned back enough to look Tron in the eyes and asked, “How sure are we that Cyrus is gone?” Tron and Beck exchanged a glance for a moment, but before either could speak both looked up as Paige entered the room, Zed and Mara at her heels.

“Unless he could survive a blast that made a three meter wide crater?” Zed sighed, “He’s gone. Long gone.”

“Like we should be,” Paige grumbled as she came to stand beside Beck, arms crossed over her chest. She gave him a sideways look and then turned to Yori, “If we don’t move up that timetable, we’re going to get caught down here. I can’t tell you how many programs will derezz if Ion gets his hands on them.”

“Is he that bad?” Mara asked softly, tugging on her fingers. Like Beck, she hadn’t been hurt by Cyrus or his blast. Like Beck, she was also still more than a little rattled by the milli’s events. Zed put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close.

“Worse,” Paige and Yori said in unison. The pair shared a look, before Yori shook her head. A distant look came into her eyes as she stared at the floor. Tron squeezed her hand, but it seemed to Beck no one could find the words and actually give the order. The room went silent for nearly half a micro, the only sounds their breathing and the rush in the halls outside. For a moment, if he ignored that, Beck could pretend they hadn’t almost been blown to bits and bytes. If he tried, he could convince himself that the distance coming into Tron’s eyes was that of remembering better times, not of a near-Viral scare that had made him pull away from Beck and Mara so quickly he’d almost fallen right over again.

“Then,” Mara’s voice broke into Beck’s thoughts, pulling him back to the present moment, “Paige is right,” She said firmly as all eyes came to rest on her, “We may not be entirely ready, but when are we going to get a better chance?” She pulled away from Zed, walking towards Tron and Yori. Beck could see the tense line of her shoulders, her fists clenched at her sides, and the concern in the frown on Yori’s face as she continued, “We have to take the shot.”

Yori looked at Mara for a handful of nanos, then looked to Tron. For a handful of nanos, neither said a word. They looked at each other with ancient eyes, saying things he’d never begin to understand in just that one glance, before Yori nodded. Tron’s shoulders slumped as she hopped off the table.

“We leave within the next sixteenth.” Yori said. She squeezed Tron’s hand again, then strode away from her partner. She headed to the door into the rush, shoulders straight and head held high. “Mara, Paige, with me. Zed, head to the garage and cobble together whatever you can with Avery; I want every program with a baton by the end of the sixteenth.”

Zed hissed through his teeth but turned on his heel, muttering about how there wasn’t enough code in the building for that kind of task even as he headed out the door a pace ahead of Yori. Paige squeezed Beck’s arm, then headed out with Mara at Yori’s heels. The door whooshed quietly shut behind them, leaving Beck alone with Tron still seated on the medical table, staring at his disk resting on his lap. Beck shifted his weight.

“You okay?” He asked, then grimaced to himself. That was a stupid question; they both knew what Virals meant to Tron. Beck was honestly a little surprised he was still actively functional. Or, at least, appeared to be so. Tron was silent for a few nanos longer before he took in a deep breath and finally docked his disk.

“Fine,” He said in a voice that was not fine at all. “But we need to talk about that stunt you pulled up there.”

Stunt? Beck frowned, confused.

“What are you talking about?” He asked as Tron looked up, “That thing with the truck?”

“Yes, that thing with the truck,” Tron hissed. Beck stiffened. “The next time I tell you to go, you go.” Tron’s eyes were hard as he continued, “This isn’t Argon anymore, Beck. You can’t expect to disobey orders and get away intact.”

“And leave you without back-up?” Beck raised an eyebrow, trying not to back down in the face of that stern look, “In case you missed it, Cyrus almost had your head back there. And don’t—” He raised a hand, “Say you would have been fine. You were on the ground. If we didn’t get involved, you’d have been derezzed.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Tron replied. Beck’s core lurched hard.

“Well it’s one that I’m not.” He shot back, startling Tron into silence. Beck took a deep breath, trying to ignore how it shuddered. Tron could handle himself. He knew that. They both knew that. But even with the triples behind them, Beck couldn’t quite shake off the image of Tron’s collapsing form in the Spire, and to see him at Cyrus’ mercy…the image stuck in his processor, Beck shook his head. “Besides, I’m not some helpless Beta fresh off his rez.” Beck frowned, “I can usually handle myself.”

“Dyson.”

“Usually,” Beck stressed with a narrow-eyed look. He swallowed a comment about how Tron hadn’t fared so well against Dyson, either, and instead lowered his hands to his sides. “You trained me to handle things like this, to take down soldiers, to protect others.” He pushed off from the wall, taking a step closer, “And that hasn’t changed. Even with all of this—” He waved a hand towards the doorway, where the rush of programs had become a white noise hum beyond the closed door, “We’re still a team. I’m not going to abandon you, even if you tell me to.”

“And if ends up with you derezzed?” Tron asked in a small voice. Beck drew up short, a realization shocking his core. They were the same. Tron wasn’t angry, he was afraid. Afraid of losing Beck the same way he must have lost nearly everyone else, the same way he could still lose Yori. Beck had lost Bodhi and Able, not to mention Argon, but Tron had lost all his old friends, his old team, a large chunk of his runtime to his unhealing injuries…Beck couldn’t blame him for being afraid, even if the thought of Tron so very scared made him want to quake in his boots right then and there.

But he couldn’t. Taking a deep breath, Beck closed the gap between them.

“Hey,” Beck hopped up onto the medical table, nudging Tron’s arm with his elbow, “Whatever happens, I chose to come back and fight, remember? However this ends, it’s still my choice.” He smiled, just a little, as Tron looked sideways at him. “Seriously, it’s not like you dragged me kicking and screaming.”

Tron snorted, hands clutching at his knees.

“I should have let Able drag you kicking and screaming away from all of this.” He shook his head, staring distantly at something for a moment before turning back to look Beck in the eye. “You might regret that choice, you know. I can’t see this ending well.”

A hundred programs against Clu and his army? Beck couldn’t either. Even so…

“Still my choice,” He said firmly as the pair of them hopped off the table. He reached up to clasp Tron’s shoulder for a moment, pinging a [calm] down his arm before letting go. “Come on. Before Yori comes back and asks what the hold up is about.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of her.”

“She’s scarier than you are!”

Tron just laughed, through the sound was tired. Still Beck smiled to himself as they stepped out into the hall, but then there was no time to talk and barely any time to think. Programs had no choice but to flee the Undercity in droves, head into the Outlands and the Capitol beyond. Screens were shattered, terminals destroyed so no data could be recovered from them. The makeshift Garage was emptied of all vehicles, and the Resistance, with Yori and Quorra at its head, left Lithium for the Outlands before the sixteenth was over. Red bled into the Dark Side on their heels, the Occupation forces having finally reached their mark, but no one was around to be found. By then they were already riding hard over dark stone and through storms so fierce the wind nearly blew them off their bikes. For a hard triple they rode, crossing kilometers and barely stopping for sips from a communal energy canister to keep riding. Some programs, too exhausted to continue, had to ride double and enter sleep mode on the back of a trusted partner.

Beck couldn’t blame them; even the ride to Gallium had never been this long, this tiring, this stressful. But then, nothing so important had ever hinged on a ride to Gallium. If they failed here, if they were derezzed, then the Grid would never be free.

They had to make it, somehow.

Tron City appearing over the horizon late in the downcycle roused everyone’s mood, the Resistance coming to a halt in a deep canyon not too far from the city’s western entrance. Other cells were already there, the milling crowd of black-suited renegades and rebels pockmarked with the gleaming white suits of their guiding Sirens. Yori slipped into the crowd like she belonged there, Quorra at her side, while Tron remained on the edge with Beck. He stared over the crowd; there must have been over a thousand there already, with more appearing over the hills and rises from every direction across the Outlands.

“Mara! Zed! Beck!” A familiar voice suddenly shouted. Crouched by her bike, Mara shot to her feet and turned on her heel.

“Ray!” Mara shouted. She took off at a run up a nearby hill, then laughed as their old friend tossed herself forward, the two of them meeting in a tangle of limbs and breathless joy. Beck watched for a moment, then looked up to see the rest of his former coworkers all piling over the hill. It was hard to count at first, the mass of helmeted heads blending together, but a micro or two later Beck heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

They’d all made it here in one piece. They were all still functional.

He looked up as Zed shouted, nearly knocked right over as Bartik and Hopper went at him with gusto, and had to swallow a laugh. He looked over the crowd a micro longer before tilting his head as he noticed a small detail he hadn’t seen while counting them before.

Every single one of them were in their blacks, but each and every one of them bore Tron’s mark on their chests. Their assignment accents were the same as ever, but the emblem was repeated nearly sixty times over. Tron was stiff beside Beck, staring at each of them in turn. He looked as Beck shifted his weight, boot scuffing against the stone as he gestured to the milling crowd in the distance.

“Think they’re all wearing that?”

Tron snapped his head to look over the larger crowd in the canyon, shoulders tense. It was impossible to read his face through his darkened visor, but his voice was thready, unsteady.

“I hope not…” He almost whispered, then seemed to shake himself, “They’ll get noticed in a nano if they keep it.”

“It does have that effect on programs,” Beck snarked, earning himself a wry snort from Tron. Calling it a win he turned around to stare at the city for a long moment. The lights of the Capitol, the city that shared Tron’s name, gleamed in the dark of the downcycle, just waiting for them to finally make a move. Beck shifted his weight.

“What’s it feel like?” He asked, “Coming home after so long away?”

“To be honest?” Tron said quietly, “I’d rather be anywhere but here. This feels like a trap.”

Beck sat up straight. So, Tron had that same feeling? He looked back out over the city, took in what he could see of its mazelike streets and sharp corners. If they got turned around down there they’d get lost, be easy pickings for any Occupation forces. Oddly enough, though, the city wasn’t red like most others he’d seen. Other than the yellow edged tower in the center of the city, there was no sign of the Occupation around.

In short, it felt very much like a trap. Beck shook his head.

“Not the first one we’ve dealt with.” He rolled his shoulders back, trying to work out the tension there. “We’ll manage somehow. Then you’ll be in charge and everything will be fine.”

Grid, he hoped so.

"You're taking this idea remarkably well," Tron said quietly, arms over his chest. Beck snorted in amusement.

"What, the idea of you being System Admin?" He smirked. "I don’t see how it’s going to change much. You'll still be telling me what to do, and I'll still choose to go about doing things my way."

"And needing someone to fish your disk out of trouble because of that," Tron groused, lightly shoving Becks head with the palm of one hand. Beck just laughed, easily catching his balance.

"That, too," he said before sobering. He reached up, clasping Trons shoulder. "But seriously, you'll be fine. Being at the top of command doesn't make you Clu."

Tron looked at him sharply. Beck shrugged, and the old program groaned softly.

"When did you get so good at reading me?"

"Lucky guess."

“And he’s been around you long enough,” Yori said from behind them. They both turned to see her walking up, Quorra and Paige trailing in her wake. She smiled at her partner, but her eyes were cold as she looked over the city. It had been their home once, Beck knew; to see it and know that it wasn’t home anymore…he wondered how they were taking that. “You’re not as hard to read as you think.”

Tron was silent, doubtlessly rolling his eyes beneath his helmet. Rather than justify that with a reply he instead asked, “How many are going in?”

“Just the five of us,” Yori said, hands on her hips. “Even if we go in in squads or groups, there’s too many programs entering at once. We’d get noticed by the border guards in a nano.”

“Which throws off the entire plan of lying in wait,” Paige said before Beck could open his mouth. “But why just the five of us?”

“Because a pair of partnered units being escorted in would be almost normal,” Quorra said with a sidelong look at Beck and Paige. They shared a look with one another, then looked back at her.

“He’s not—”

“She isn’t—”

Tron failed to swallow all of his laughter, prompting Beck to turn and give him a hard look even as Quorra broke out into giggles. The old program didn’t even seem phased, looking instead to Yori as she smiled and cracked open her baton. Why did everyone think they were a partnered unit?! Beck liked her, yes, but—

“The rest will all wait here.” Yori rezzed her helmet with a few quiet clicks, bending over her bike’s controls. “I’ll send a signal when we’re ready for them to come in.”

She shot forward in a blaze of light. A pace behind her, Quorra’s bike roared down the hill. Tron looked back at Beck with amusement dancing in his pale eyes before he too was gone, and then it was just them. Paige looked at Beck for a moment before her lips curved upwards.

“Come on,” She said with a knowing look on her face, “We don’t want to be late for the show…Partner.”

She was gone before Beck could reply, leaving him sputtering on the hill overlooking the city. Slowly, he shook his head.

Partners. Somehow that didn’t sound so bad.

--

Storms stretched out for kilometers ahead of what was left of the Convoy Clu had taken to Argon. What had been hundreds of ships was now less than a single hundred, his contingent cut in half and limping home like the loss of Argon was the loss of a limb.

Dyson was lucky Clu had him out tracking their rogue asset, Clu thought, or he’d have been the one chained up in a hold somewhere. Thunder rumbled outside as Clu rolled his shoulders, trying to keep his breathing even. The storms were getting stronger as more and more of the Grid began to fail and collapse around them, the signs unseen by most programs. They’d have to move some of the outlying cities population inward again. Of all the times to be dealing with a rebellion!

The door behind him swung open quietly. Without a word or fanfare, one of Clu’s remaining Honor Guard stepped into the room. A tablet glowed blue under his arm as he came to a halt several paces behind Clu.

“Word from General Dyson, sir,” his guard said. Clu gestured for him to continue and he said, “The rogue sentry has been derezzed. Tron and the beta are moving on the capitol, assisted by Yori and a force a hundred strong and should be there just ahead of you.”

Yori. Clu almost shuddered. Of all the luck that he’d found her in this disaster…

“Is that all?” He asked instead. His guard was silent for a nano, doubtlessly checking the tablet.

“Yes sir.” A shift in movement and then: “Should I send word to Jarvis?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Clu sighed, staring out at the storm clouds. “Send word to Castor instead. Have him prepare to meet our…guests. And—” He continued, “Send a message to Dyson: If he wants a chance at Tron, he has until we arrive to do it.”

“Yes sir,” Said his guard once more. Clu watched his reflection in the window as he turned on his heel and marched out to do his bidding. It was only when the door closed that Clu sighed more heavily, bending at the waist and putting his hands on his knees. He’d hoped, almost beyond all logic and reason, that the reformat of Argon City would have taken Tron out somehow. But it hadn’t, and both Tron and Beck were still functional. Worse still, they’d managed to find Yori and her makeshift army.

Tron and Yori had been legendary in the Old System, the tales he’d heard from older programs and Flynn both had said, instrumental in the destruction of the MCP of their old home. They were a bundle, not offshoots or part of the same code, but complimentary. Where one would step the other would follow with ease and grace. For the two of them to be together again, and headed for the Capitol…Clu had half a processor to stay in the air and never land again. At least then he’d see them coming!

He was breathing too quickly. Forcing himself to take a deep breath to cool his intakes, Clu stood up straight. He raked a hand through his hair, staring out into the storm. So what if Tron and Yori had reunited? So what if Beck had managed to stay functional. They were three programs with the help of maybe a hundred, and he knew where they were headed. Dyson would catch them and that would be the end of it.

Wouldn’t it?

Lightning struck a rock formation outside the ship. The Grid buzzed beneath his heels, as angry as always. He took another deep breath and pushed it out of his processor.

It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, Tron would be under his control.

Soon, all of this would be over.

--

The Capitol hadn’t changed in the past five hundred cycles. Tall buildings still reached up into the storm clouds, programs dressed in rain gear or holding transparent umbrellas filled the streets, heedless of the storm spitting rain down on their heads. Though their little group of five earned some odd looks, no one bothered to try and speak to them or slow them down as Quorra, helmet rezzed to hide her face, led them through the mazelike streets of the Capitol. Yori walked at his side, their hands brushing with every step. A step behind, Beck and Paige walked with their heads practically on swivels, small-town programs seemingly overwhelmed by the big city.

He knew better, of course. They were impressed, sure, but there was a solidity to their gazes that spoke more of watching the perimeter than being lost or out of place. It made a bit of proud warmth uncurl in his core, to know how very far Beck had come in so short a time. He could only hope to guide the young program a little bit further.

“Here—” Quorra said suddenly, coming to a halt in front of a non-descript building. Overhead, neon buzzed through a large sign that cast the entire street in blue light. She pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a repurposed cargo lift on a track. “Zuse runs the club and bar on the top floor. If anyone knows how to get to the Admin Tower, it’ll be him.”

Beneath his helmet, Tron frowned. Beck leaned back and almost fell with how far he had to go to read the sign blazing over their heads. He caught his footing and said,

“End of Line Club?” He looked to Tron, “Do you know the place?”

“I did, once,” He replied, stepping in and shutting the door to the lift behind them. It rose with a core lurching jolt. He looked to Quorra as she derezzed her helmet. “Wasn’t this further uptown before?”

“It was,” Yori said, derezzing her helmet and raking a hand through her hair, “Before Clu blew it up as payback for Zuse being an Iso sympathizer.” She turned to Quorra. “How did he survive that?”

The young Iso shrugged her shoulders up to her ears, hands laced behind her back. Paige turned to watch her instead of at the rapidly disappearing landscape out the dark glass that went from street to penthouse.

“I’m not sure,” Quorra said finally, “I guess if you survive as long as Zuse has, you learn a few tricks.”

Tron turned in time to catch Beck’s eyes. Slowly, Beck shook his head. So, he thought this was a trap, too. Tron frowned beneath his helmet as the lift began to slow, the pulsing beat of music beginning to shake the elevator. The late system time did nothing to deter programs desperate for a good time, and as the lift stopped the doors opened to the club packed full. Programs with all manner of designations and assignments bobbed and weaved, dances Tron didn’t quite recognize or could rightly call dances taking up every bit and byte of their attention. Paige made a disgusted noise behind him, but when he turned enough to look at her her helmet was still up, clean surface reflecting the flickering lights within the club.

With ease borne from many a trip through a crowd like this, Quorra stepped into the club and began to beat a path towards the bar. Yori was a pace behind her, holding onto the Iso’s elbow as they walked, Tron just behind her and Beck at the rear. The clang of the lift doors closing behind them was lost to a heavy bass note, one that made Tron’s entire frame vibrate and audio inputs ring. How anyone could stand this long enough to have fun, he just didn’t know. There were enough programs half-drunk on energy at the bar he really did have to wonder about the stability of their code, but as he watched the white-suited, pale-haired bartender turn around and freeze as he caught sight of Quorra, maybe that was the point.

Maybe no one around here wanted to be stable enough to think.

“Well—” The bartender said in a too-tight voice, “What strikes your fancy, hmm? Bit of High Rise?” He asked, never taking his eyes off of Quorra’s stern face, “Or maybe a little of Five Milli Fire? You look like the type who needs a bit of relaxation—”

“Cut the act, Zuse,” Quorra hissed, barely audible over the thumping music and laughing programs, “I know you.”

“Zuse, hmm?” The program almost whimpered, drawing the attention of a Siren nearby, “No, no, can’t say I know the name. My name is Castor, my dear, and I—”

“Very funny,” Quorra said flatly, “but I think I’d recognize my old friend a kilometer away.”

Silence. Then he sighed. “…Yes,” the Program said with an oddly tight smile across his face, “I suppose you would, my dear. Ah, well,” He sighed again, and his smile became a hint more genuine. “It is quite good to see you in one piece, my dear Quorra—after the Purge, I assumed you derezzed in Arjia City.”

Quorra grimaced. “Not quite,” She said, “but it was close. I had help, and now I need yours.” She gestured with one hand at Yori, and at Tron standing behind her with every circuit on his suit turned off. Zuse blinked, before his eyes went wide.

“Goodness,” Zuse said, looking the two of them over, “I never thought that you’d find—” He put a finger to his own lips, stopping himself from saying another word. He smiled beneath his finger, then cleared his throat. “Well, this is certainly a momentous occasion! Come, come—” He moved to step out, gesturing to the Siren with a single hand. She watched them with pale eyes even as Zuse said, "Gem, my dear," He gestured to Quorra with his chin, "Watch the place for a bit? Something calls my attention."

"Of course," Gem replied with a look at Tron and Yori. She raised a hand and the music changed, the heavy notes and synth covering Zuse's footsteps as he came out from behind the bar to slip an arm around Quorra's shoulders.

"This way, my dear," He said with a tight smile that set Tron's shoulders to tense, "best to have this conversation in private."

He led Quorra away from the bar with that guiding arm. Yori glared at Zuse’s back, quickly falling into step behind him. Tron turned over his shoulder for just long enough to gesture for Beck and Paige to fall in, the pair somehow already used to moving together. He smiled, unseen, beneath his visor. They could say whatever they wanted, but he’d know a partner-bundle when he saw one. If they survived all of this, they’d be good for one another.

Though that was still a very big if. Tron stepped through the door to Zuse’s office and looked around as Beck and Paige stepped inside, the door closing behind them. There was a small bar across the room, glowing canisters and carafes of energy just waiting to be consumed. The music was muffled here, quieted by the couches and curtains. A sleep-bunk was carved into the back wall, no doubt Zuse’s or perhaps meant for two, but it saw no use as Zuse let go of Quorra, turned on his heel and once again stared at Yori and Tron.

“I’d heard the rumors,” He said, “we all had, but to think…Tron and Yori, both alive and functional?” He shook his head, render desaturating as he rested his hands on the head of his cane. “Clu must be roiling like a storm right about now.”

“I’ll count us all lucky if he is,” Yori said firmly, “But we’re not here to talk, Zuse. The Admin Building.” She watched as he lowered himself to sit in an overstuffed, over-designed chair. “We need access. Quorra says you can get us in there.”

“I most certainly can,” Zuse replied, leaning back in his chair, “But what would be in it for me? If you fail, Clu will know I helped you and then…” He spread his fingers in a mimicry of an explosion, “Once again I must crawl my way back to the top.” He cocked his head to the side. “What do I gain from this little arrangement, hrm?”

“A free Grid doesn’t count for enough?” Beck said, arms crossed over his chest, “You’ve obviously managed to rebuild before.”

“Not with any measure of joy, my young friend,” Zuse sighed, buffing his nails on the front of his coat. He pondered them a moment, then closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. “But I see your point. I certainly would rather enjoy not having Clu breathing down my neck all the time.”

“So you’ll help us?” Paige asked. Zuse looked to her, at his reflection in her helmet, before he rose to his feet.

“I’ll do better than that, my dear program,” He said with a grin, holding his cane tight in one hand, “I’ll take you to the top of the building myself.” He gestured with two fingers for the five of them to follow before heading to the back wall. Without a word he reached up to a light fixture bolted just above his bunk, turned it counter clockwise, and then stepped back as a wall panel slid upwards to reveal a smaller lift. Beck whistled softly as the lights clicked on. Zuse grinned.

“Straight into the tunnels for us.” He turned to glance back at them, “I do hope none of you are afraid of tight spaces.”

“We’ll manage,” Tron said flatly, the last to step onto the lift. Zuse used his cane to shift between Quorra and Paige’s arms to press a button near the doorway, sending them down at speed. There was no way to monitor their depth, but Tron’s internal clock told him this descent took longer than the ascent to the club from the street. It made sense: the tunnels beneath the Capitol were deeper than the ones beneath Argon, having never been used for drainage or races. Flynn had built the ones here much like the ones in Lithium: for storage and extra living space if it had been needed. In the past programs had used them, but now…Tron frowned as they stepped off the lift and into the dimly lit tunnels.

Now, no one seemed to use them. Yori frowned, rezzing her helmet as they passed through stale air.

“When’s the last time anyone was down here,” She asked softly. Zuse shrugged.

“Before the Purge, I’d say,” He said as he began to guide them down the long stretch of tunnel, “Now there’s quite a bit more space up in the city, so programs see no need to come and stay here.”

Quorra flinched back away from him. Yori put an arm around her shoulders, her spine straight as a staff as she stared at the back of Zuse’s head, doubtlessly glaring at him for his unkind commentary. Tron brushed a hand across her shoulder as they walked, transmitting a gentle [calm] through to her. She sighed, looking at him, but didn’t release Quorra. From his other side, Beck shook his head.

“Not even Clu’s soldiers have been down here?”

“Oh, they don’t quite see the need,” Zuse waved a hand in the air, “And they’ve been ever so busy squashing rebellions and resistances since word of Tron’s continuing survival got out, you see.” He swung his cane as they walked, back and forth like a pendulum. Tron frowned. “All those little rebellions have certainly been giving Clu some real trouble. Nearly a million programs all up in arms against him? It’s really a surprise we haven’t had more reformats yet!”

Beck made an oddly pained noise in the back of his throat. Paige took his hand as they walked, but remained silent. Barely a micro later, Zuse stopped them at a doorway. It was locked with a keypad, but four presses and quiet chimes later, it swung open. Still unseen, Tron’s frown deepened. How had Zuse known the access code to the Admin Tower? Another of his tricks of survival? Or perhaps something more.

There was no time to think on it. Zuse led the little group into the maintenance hatches of the Tower, straight down the corridor and one right turn into the elevator. There, another code sent it up at such a pace the ground seemed to lurch beneath them. Tron caught his balance, looking out as glass reappeared. They were headed up, up, up, high into the airspace around the Capitol. Higher than most Lightjets dared to fly, the only ships up here would be Clu’s convoy. He looked around for the yellow-lined command ship, set to arrive within the milli, but it was hidden from sight at this angle. It must have been on the other side of the building.

“Why do you have the access keys for this building?” Beck piped up from behind Tron. Zuse blinked, then turned that same smile back over his shoulder. Everyone stared at him, the edge to his smile tighter now, before he turned away.

“When you survive as long as I have, you learn a few…tricks,” Zuse said as the elevator dinged their arrival. He stepped out as the doors opened, his white-suited back quickly darting off down the golden lit hall before Quorra could grab him. Tron looked at Yori, who looked back at him with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. It was obvious now that this was a trap, but what choice was there? They had to strike now. If they didn’t, if Clu had a chance to mount a proper defense of the tower or offense against the Resistance, what chance would they ever have again?

The thought caught in his processor, Tron stepped off the elevator and after Zuse. This high up they were above the storm clouds, and he could make out the other towers through breaks in the clouds. He could also see that Zuse had come to a halt in the center of the half-lit room, looking out at the storm brewing around them, and at Clu’s convoy just now visible over the Outlands on its way home. Frowning, Tron held out an arm to keep Quorra from walking over to him. Zuse took a breath, nodded once to himself, and then began to speak.

“You see,” Zuse clasped the head of his cane in both hands, “The reason Clu was breathing down my neck most recently? I knew where you were, my dear,” He strode backwards past Quorra, who’d gone stiff as she finally realized what they walked into. “And hadn’t told him a word. But,” Zuse smiled, “My dear Gem passed word to his command staff the micro you came with me.” Everyone turned. Paige snarled and reached for her disk. “So, I suspect you’ll see Clu quite soon indeed.” Zuse stepped back through the doorway. “I am rather sorry it’s come to this, my dear Quorra, but…such is the way the disk has fallen.”

“Zuse, you—” Quorra screamed, charging for him with circuits overload bright. The white-suited program gave a jaunty little wave as the door closed and locked with a harsh click. Alongside Quorra Paige threw herself at the doorway but it wouldn’t budge. Beck grabbed the bypasser wrench off his hip and slammed it to the wall, watching the code stream past.

“It’s locked,” He said after a nano, emitter glowing a soft blue-green as he tried to work, “It’ll take a sixteenth to get through all this encryption!”

Tron opened his mouth, then stopped. Footsteps echoed through the room. He reached back for his disk.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” He said. Everyone turned around, watching as, from the shadows, strode a red-lined program. There was a sneering smile on that old familiar face, hands clasped at the small of his spine.

“Well,” Dyson said in a falsely warm voice, “this is certainly a surprise.” He looked over the little group with knowing eyes, gaze lingering on Beck before Tron stepped in front of him. “Tron, Beck, our former Commander Paige, and—oh my.” He paused, eyes going wide as he finally saw Yori standing beside Tron. Her circuits were flaring overload bright, shoulders rising and falling in a forcibly steady rhythm. She glared at Dyson as he continued, “Yori. What a pleasant surprise! And look—” He turned his gaze on Quorra, her disk still in hand. “You brought us an Iso.” His eyes narrowed and all trace of amusement dropped from his tone. “The last Iso.”

Quorra drew in a sharp breath. Her render went pale; she stepped back behind Yori as Dyson’s eyes narrowed with unhidden hatred.

“Clu will be very pleased to see you again, I’m sure,” He finally sneered, taking a step forward towards them. Tron shifted his weight, hearing two disks kick on behind him as Beck and Paige took their stances. Paige then gasped softly in alarm, before Beck hissed something that Tron just couldn’t make out. He didn’t dare take his eyes off of Dyson but then Beck stepped up beside him and took his stance despite a fine tremble to his frame. Dyson just cocked his head. Then he opened his mouth--

“Quorra!” Tron shouted, “Get out of here! Go!”

“But—” She started to protest, only for Paige to shoot forward, grab her by the wrist and forcibly pull her along. She stumbled, reaching out for them, “Tron!”

“Go!” He and Yori shouted in unison, Beck’s voice echoing a nano later. Dyson shifted his weight, made to charge after the two female-designates, only to have to leap back as Yori’s disk nearly carved his head off his shoulders. He landed with a snarl, glaring at the her. With a breathy sob Quorra turned away; she and Paige took a running leap out the window, glass shattering and batons cracking open. Two light-jets flew out of the city, blue-white and green trails bright in the darkening sky. Dyson sneered as he rose to his feet.

“That won’t protect them, you know,” He said, pacing a wide circle around the three of them, “Clu will be here any micro. He’ll find the Iso and finally be done with the threat to the Grid.”

“The only threat around here is you,” Yori hissed, staff extending from her baton, “And we’re going to be done with you!”

Dyson smirked.

“I’d like to see you try,” He said with a huff of laughter, reaching back to grab his disk, “But then…you never were very good at fighting, Yori.”

“We’ll see about that.”

And then they moved. Tron and Yori charged forward in the same nano, side by side, while Beck went around to flank Dyson. Dyson pivoted on his heel, moved to throw his disk at Beck, only to find Tron there to clash with instead. Beck went low as Yori went high, the two of them aiming for Dyson’s port as if they’d trained together for cycles. Dyson snarled, forced to drop the clash and drop to his knees, spinning out a whirling kick to force the three of them to jump back or lose their footing. He popped back to his feet and charged at Tron again, only to have to jump back as Yori swung her staff wide. He almost slipped as the Tower rattled. Tron looked up, snarling as he saw the yellow-lined command ship of Clu’s convoy docking at the top. Clu had arrived, and they were still here dealing with Dyson? There wasn’t time for this! He stepped sideways, towards the steps that would lead up to the highest level of the Tower.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” Dyson shouted, taking a run at Tron again. Tron braced his stance, brought his disk up—but then Yori was there, staff in hand. Dyson leapt back rather than be skewered, a frown creasing his brow as he landed and stared them down.

“You two go,” Yori said firmly, holding Dyson back at the end of her staff, “I’ll deal with him.” She turned her head enough to meet Tron’s gaze, “Stop Clu.”

“Yori—” He reached out, but she reached back with one hand and shoved him back. He stumbled, eyes wide as she turned to face down Dyson. He couldn’t leave her to fight him! Five hundred cycles of skill or otherwise he’d derezz her! He reached out to her, “Yori, no!”

“Go!” She shouted. Dyson’s frown became a sneering little smirk. He looked at Tron over Yori’s shoulder, eyes gleaming with malice. There was a promise in there, too, Tron knew: Dyson intended to derezz Yori, and then come for him. He needed to stay, to end this threat once and for all, but—

“Tron,” Beck shouted from the stairs at the other end of the room, “Come on! We have to go now!”

For a nano, Tron hesitated. He looked from Yori to Dyson, then to Beck halfway bent over the rail of the stairs. Core lurching in his chest, he turned away.

“We’ll come back!” He shouted to Yori as he hit the stairs. Ahead of him, Beck was taking them two at a time. Tron looked down for only a nano, then forced himself to turn his eyes forward.

They had to stop Clu. That was all that mattered.

Soon, one way or another, this would all be over.

[cyruspavels]

Happy Fucking New Year

I leave 2018 with another grin on my chin and multiple bodybags under my belt. Don’t worry, one day you will get here and see that it’s not all we crack that shit up to be; Trust me. 

But still, it’s nice to have more wins than losses in anything you do. More champagne and less pain.  More jackpots and less busts. 

My life has been progressive for nearly a decade.  Yes, I was once a mess like you, too. 

2018 was full of less hate and violence, and much more love.  I’m grateful for all of it, though.  Grateful for the great times, Grateful for the disastrous ones. 

I have noticed that our revolutionary conversations have dissipated, tremendously. Don’t think I forgot. We will do what we set out to do. But everything in good time, my dear friend. Everything, in, good, time. 

For 2019, I will become even scarcer than I’ve ever been. Take no offense to unanswered texts and unreturned phone calls. I have a baby to raise, and if the reason you need to speak to me isn’t about how that is going to elevate his future and secure it nicely—I want no parts of it. 

I want no parts of your dreams because you’ve never asked me about mine.  I want no parts of your plans because you really have none, they are just dreams.. (see previous sentence.) I want zero parts of your love because that shit is notorious for being temporary, anyway, right?. Tell me I’m lying..  I want nothing to do with your memories because I am a ghost. You have no pictures of me, and that was done for a reason. I want absolutely nothing to do with your life because I never existed in it. Can you honestly say that there was ever a ring?

Hopeless romantics love to pretend that no one knows what is going on in their hearts, but that’s bullshit. It’s bullshit because you know, very well, that I have always known what was what, even when I made you believe that I was clueless. 

In 2019, I will become a ghost. I will change my settings and surroundings. I will continue to share what I want you to purposely know. I will post temporary stories and delete them when I choose to do so. I don’t follow any fucking rules. I subtly dictate them; always have.

Most of you spend your lifetimes looking for the master—the teacher....  Me? I spend my time influencing those you have been looking for. In the long run, you’re just walking on the paths I have laid out and decided all the choices to. 

And once in a while, I will disappear with no trace only to respawn in some other form. The OG’s following me know. One day, you will get it, too. 

—CYRUS PAVEL

[cyruspavel]

Amazing

Don't let negative thoughts consume you, ever.  Remain positive through the worse of storms.  Staying this way will lighten your head and shoulders, and you will feel the difference immediately in your body.  

Remember, that the body cannot function without the mind, so in essence the mind controls the body, which is pure logic.  You would be surprised at how many people still don't get this.  People that let anger consume them so much so that they themselves draw the worse situations to them.

Lose your ego.  Be humble in everything but never let anyone run you ever.  Be as stern and as stoic as possible without losing your jovial attitude.  

Want to learn the secret to remaining young?  Act like a child does in a sense that they are fearless, forever curious and always in love with the world as they discover it.  Everything is amazing to them because it truly is amazing.  

Find the amazingness in everything. It's easy when you're looking for it. 

cp'13

[cyruspavels]

What We See

The truth is that I miss you.  The reality is that I dissed you.   My other truth is that the pain hurts much less than my love for him.  And another reality is that all of my love was solely bred for Grey to win.

The lie is,  That I am free. 

The sin became, The fact that WE were ever meant to be. 

And any duality only exists when I close my eyes. Your reality is probably so very different than mine. 

—CYRUS PAVEL

[cyruspavels]

The Colour of You

I think we have to be honest with ourselves. More honest with ourselves about how things are. About the reality of what things are. 

I know that most of us are taught to dream big when we are little. I think that has a lot to do with a winning attitude, so don’t misinterpret what I’m about to say. 

I think that if a girl doesn’t text you back right away, then she’s just not interested and maybe you should stop texting her altogether. 

I think that when a man tells you that he doesn’t go out with you in public because he doesn’t want to claim you, then what more is there to say? 

I don’t think we should let our hurt of what reality is to affect or trigger anger within us. I believe that anger from hurt is immature and childish. There is no place for it in grown up interactions and relationships. 

I believe that it is fine to move along the sandy beaches of the world in search of the perfect one. I think the pursuit of it is beautiful. I believe that it is only when we give up on that pursuit that life becomes stale and grey. 

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the grey areas. There’s only something wrong in not telling others that want to interact with you and that you allow into your circle, that you prefer grey to color. 

A colorful being can never be happy with one who indulges in the greys. A grey being will never understand one that constantly only sees color. 

—CYRUS PAVEL

[cyruspavels]

forever more

Why does it take the love of other women For you to feel me?  Why does it take the scent of another woman For you to see me? I’m tired of this game, Why don’t you hear me?

I can’t put things in reverse.  I was never good at moonwalking, Were you? 

And I don’t want to think about us anymore.  I don’t have that vibe in my heart, anymore.  You get mad when I’m honest, But I know that you would be PISSED If I wasn’t. 

I don’t win either way.  I don’t get to choose, If I can stay.  And I don’t want to decide anymore.  I’ll just keep loving, Forever, more. 

—CYRUS PAVEL

[cyruspavels]

Gliding Dots

I hated slot machines, but you insisted I take the wheel of fortune spin you just won, in your place. That spin would go on and win you two grand, but any stranger would have thought that it won you at least twenty. Your eyes lit up and the child came out. I can’t recall a better version of you. 

But when I think of the road trip back from Atlantic City, I can only remember me and the road and our ride. Ninety miles per hour is flying, to me, so I’ll say that the grey road trip that Sunday was an enjoyable flight of meditation. 

Through polarized blue Ray Bans, the world look vivid. The grasses on the sides of the highway were a luscious Jurassic Park shade of green. The sky colored in a Hollywood Blue. The white lines of the highway’s lanes being eaten up like they were Power Pellets. My vehicle feeling more like Pac Man itself, gliding over the streets, enjoying the curves of the road. 

We said nothing. Maybe we were both just pigshit-happy about the blissful weekend we just had... Maybe we could smell the end, nearby.

—CYRUS PAVEL

[cyruspavels]

Slowly, Slow Down

Sometimes I want to be back on the coast of Amalfi (past) with her—driving that stick shift mini vehicle up and down those rolling hills. Bobbing and weaving in and out of sharp turns—staring at her every moment I get. 

Other times I can only see myself in Queens with him (future), watching him grow, making him laugh, holding him tightly so that he knows his father always has him. 

But mostly I want to live and breathe Manhattan. She’s given me everything I ever dreamed of. We dream differently, anyway, so don’t you worry about me. 

There are days that go by and feel like a blur. I guess that’s a sign that our minds are living life way too fast. I’m going to slow down for a while because I have some things that I need to execute. Businesses and a body to build. Wealth and a baby boy to grow. 

We have the power to live multiple lifetimes in this life. I’m choosing to start an entirely different one. At the end of the game, you will see me hitting the grand slam at the bottom of the ninth. Only that this time there will be no outs, no strikes and no balls. We’ll win with plenty of time left because we learned how to slow down today. 

—CYRUS PAVEL

[cyruspavels]

Oh eM Gee

God has given me everything I’ve asked for. I now ask for more specific things, but less often than when I was young. I don’t ask for the Yankees to win anymore World Series games, or the Knicks to win a championship for once in my lifetime. I ask for small bits of tender love. Whispers from the wind to let me know that someone out there loves me. You know? Those types of silly things. 

Speaking to you on the phone makes me realize how important love is for me. Some people will trade all the love in the world for money, but I just take the most coveted love and hide it and pretend that I don’t know what you’re talking about when you ask me about it. I wouldn’t give up the love from the two loves of my life for anything in this world. Not for money, not for gold, not for diamonds. Those things couldn’t love you back anyway, right? 

Last night I went to sleep like a baby. I felt love from your voice. I felt love emanating from his room. I felt so much love that I slept on a soft cloud right under God’s armpit. 

I cry less, these days. But sometimes I want to cry out of love. Does that happen to you? That you find yourself staring out the window of a perfect French cafe and the view and sunlight and wind are so flawless that you can feel your eyes swelling up with tears because of all the beauty you’re engulfed by? 

If I knew that God listened to me so much I would have asked for some different things. I think, though, that had I asked for those different things then we wouldn’t be here—right where we need to be. I think God knows exactly what to do for us whenever we don’t. I think God loves us more than we realize; more than we understand. 

If you asked me just two days ago to explain love, I would have cockily and over confidently given you two explanations. But today? Today, I’m not so sure that I know, anymore. I think there is a third explanation for love. One that you and I have no inkling of how to comprehend. I’ve felt that in talking to you and staring at him, last night. I love you. 

—CYRUS PAVEL

[cyruspavel]

The Shift.

The Shift is that point in a relationship when you feel and know that it's just not going to work.  Now, I'm not talking about those insecure points of a relationship, I'm talking about that moment when you know that there is no real future with you and said partner. 

It is at that very crossroad that we have a choice to make.  Those choices are simple: you either create the very hell you are about to embark onto full of stomach churning fights, splitting headaches, shouting matches, and just overall some very negative energy, or, you go about your way with your head up high ready for positive energy from places, people, and things that you have never seen. 

Most of us feel The Shift and we ignore it.  We live in our heads for those moments for too long and disregard our conscious's warning system, and then we get stuck in a rut that becomes harder and harder to escape from.

But, at what point do we grow up?  

At what point do you begin to recognize the patterns that seem almost cyclically continuous in your lifetime?  At what point do you tell yourself that you WILL listen to your warning system?  That because you have been down that path before, and it looks familiar, that you know with all certainty where it will lead. 

I can't tell you a specific age when you should come to these realizations because some of us get it at a very early age and others just never do.  But I can tell you that if you are reading this, then now you know even further, and it's really up to you, and those very fears that continue to make you powerless, to overcome. 

cp'13

[cyruspavel]

Why Wait? "Body Music", an album by AlunaGeorge.

I sometimes forget that I have this outlet, my tumblr, to write down notes and ideas.  To very literally write about anything I want, and not have to wait. 

"Body Music", an album by AlunaGeorge.

I discovered AlunaGeorge back in February of 2011 with their "Disobey" record. I instantly fell madly in love with Ms. Francis's vocals. I wrote a brief blog about it on April 2011, because I had just gotten back to sunny ole California. 

Fresh off of a highway super race-car high, back from a quick day trip to Manhattan Beach, I walked into my apartment facing the hills on the 11th floor of the only modern hi-rise in town, no obstructed views and a sick! balcony to take it all in, "Disobey" was playing on the surround sound.  Almost as if on cue, as I looked straight through the place and out to the balcony from the front door, her vocals and the quirky dreamscape of sounds were magically turned on, if only to make the memory of that moment that much more magnificent.  

So I wrote about it at the time, or at least what seemed like "writing"...

I left my laptop on and the sonos attached to it; all connected to the apartment's surround sound.  It all made sense. 

2 years and a few months later I find myself listening to their album, and after about 11 days or so of sitting with it, I had to write something about it. 

I give the album 3.5 out of 5 stars, and that, is great. 

First of all, I hear the growth in their sounds, and I can now clearly define the things that I love about the duo. 

As a duo, they have been paying a lot of attention to sound.  Their sounds are superb and probably some of the better quality that I have heard from anyone lately.  This goes hand in hand, and side-by-side, right along with Daft Punk's latest release (album), Yeezus and J. Cole's "Born Sinner" album.  What I mean by this is that they are clear, sharp, heavy where you would want to hear them be the heaviest, crisps in the claps, and just great use of filling up the spaces with other extraordinary great-quality sounds.  If you listen to the introductory song on their "Body Music" album: "Outlines", you will be able to hear exactly what I am referring to.

Listen to it while trying to count the number of unique sounds you hear on the song.  

Aluna's vocals are still able to maintain your attention the entire way through.  The writing on the album is poetic, beautiful and profound—artistic, in the most absolute sense of the word. 

Track 2.) "You Know You Like It".  I had heard this track already for some time now and was always pleased with the mix of the song.  I only realized that it could have used a touch of mix engineer: Duro on the bottom (bass) after hearing his mix on the Magna Carta track titled "Oceans".  But even without that bass with a "life-of-its-own", the bottom was perfect to balance the pop aspects that make this song so easy to listen to.  As usual, Aluna's opening lyrics/line come across as a cheeky street-savvy chick that's just fresh.  Not fresh in a sense that it's new, but just fresh in a sense that says "confident" and "cool-as-fuck"... at all times. 

Track 3.) "Attracting Flies". The horns, or what sound like horns from the beginning, spill out an easy 6 note melody that sticks to you from the very instant you hear it.  The song is well written, has the quirky sounds they have known to be responsible for found blaring out of my laptop speakers on several occasions, and, it's simply: 'superbly-catchy'.  I used to think that the tagline was: 'Attractive Lies', but was by no means mad when I found out the truth.  The writing, again, is so poetically thought out.  

Ms. Francis, if you do not have a pub deal in the states, please contact me.

Track 4.) "Your Drums, Your Love".  The cleanup hitter is the hitter who bats up fourth in the lineup.  Although the third man up is generally the hitter with the highest batting average, cleanup hitters often have the most power on the team and are typically the team's best power hitter.  

"Your Drums, Your Love" is AlunaGeorge's cleanup hitter. 

Boasting another set of quirky sounds polished by crisp snare sounds, a bottom that moves you from toe to chest, and exactly just in that sequence; basically from the "bottom" and up, like a Drake record.  In a club, the bass or subs are felt from the feet first on the ground, then resonating up and out towards your chest.  You get that on "Your Drums, Your Love" along with some sexy words, sang through heavenly vocals.  

"I've been treading water for your love,

whether I sink or swim,

it's you I'm thinking of. 

The track titled: "Diver" on the album is another example of their proven formula.  Strong sounds, great vocals, and beautiful high notes by Aluna.  The vocals are soft and sensual, and do an incredible job of pulling you right into the song and keeping you there. 

"Lost & Found" has heavy R&B-from-the-90's influences.  The sounds of course, follow suit in the sense that they too play on some of the same influences, yet they have been souped-up for maximum space aged listening.

"Best Be Believing" is one of the more funner sounding records on the entire album.  It's poppy in a way that's nowhere close to cheesy, and cute in a way that gives it the potential to get VERY commercial, fast.  Think advertisements, background music for a target commercial on primetime, or some new movie/television-show trailer.   "Superstar" is similar. 

"Just A Touch" is another opening lyric anthem that I was already familiar with, and then there is the title track: "Body Music".

 "Body Music" is four minutes and two seconds of music bliss.  It's as if one angel is strumming a harp and the other is singing to the universe.  

This is not a review by any means, these are just my thoughts on a duo that I feel I have grown with through the last two years.  As they continued to learn about every aspect of their craft and expand themselves, I continued, and still continue to learn about every aspect of me, expanding myself in the process. 

Thank you for your music AlunaGeorge please don't stop. I cannot wait for album numero dos. 

cp'13

[cyruspavel]

You suck!

I'm not sure how to say this, but you are fucked up in the game.  

Sometimes, the only way to wake people up is to be arrogant and brag about the shit you have and they don't.  And why do you think it works?  I'll tell you why, because human beings are just a very jealous species.  You want, what I have, period. 

Well let me tell you why you are fucked.  You are fucked because you don't know how to think positive.  You are fucked because your retarded self always thinks of the worse possible outcomes rather than the best.  You are fucked because you don't really believe that learning another language can be easier than learning how to chew a stick of gum.  It doesn't end here.  I still have more reasons why YOU, ARE, SO FUCKED. 

You are fucked because you create the negative things that happen around you.  No! There is no magical, invisible boomerang called "karma" that returns all the negative shit you do.  It is simply your mind.  

If you walk in the rain, you cannot catch a cold, but ALL of you do...

Have you heard the one about the wife who is constantly being accused of cheating, so much so, that she decides to just do it and cheat?  Yea, we have all heard of that one.  Newsflash geniuses, her husband created it.  

Have you ever worried about something so much that when it happens you find yourself saying to yourself: "just my luck"?  Well, you are right, it is JUST your luck, and you should simply come to terms with the fact that you are a loser, so in reality you don't even get surprised anymore.  

I don't have your problems.  Everything I want, I create.  Happiness?  I have extra, you want some?  Because I have so much of it that the birds around me never stop singing.  Love?  I get so much love from people that just look at me as I walk amongst the rest of you peons, that I have a hundred fold of it to hand out. 

Stop complaining, get a life, and start creating the world and the reality that you want to live in.  Otherwise, let me do it for you, because you, after all, are just a human being who is so used to "convenience" that you might as well let me create the perfect world for you. 

I'm going to do it anyway, and you are going to be a part of it, but, I would rather you be awake than the half-witted half-asleep idiot you are now, because you will be useless to me. 

cp'13

[cyruspavel]

My Weekend:

Last night, a friend asked me how my weekend was, to which I replied:

Fuh. King. Awe. Some. 

This weekend I continued to live in my now.  It was amazing.  I met people I had never met before, went to places I had never been before, tried foods I had never even heard of before, drank liquids I didn't even know existed, and, felt an energy that I had not felt in some time.  That's what made my weekend so awesome. 

Sometimes we are so afraid of opening doors that look so appealing to us.  The door can be anything that our eyes think is pretty, or beautiful, yet we are afraid to even see if the door is unlocked by turning the handle.  So what do we do?  We just stare and admire it from a distance while fantasizing about the beauty that could be right behind it. 

This weekend I opened every door I saw.  It was amazing.  I now think that "awesome" was an understatement. 

;) 

CP'13

[cyruspavel]

Does the Matrix have you?

Have you ever realized that most people don't know what they want?  Ask someone what they are going to order five minutes after you sit down at a table the next time you go to a restaurant.  Most commonly, the answer is always: "I don't know, what are you thinking about having?". 

People want you to give them options, so why not simply give them the options that you want them to choose?, so that way, no matter what option they choose, they will pick something you wanted them to pick, but they will still believe that they have ultimately decided on their own. 

I say again, let's give them what they don't even know they want yet, because all they do know is that they want something, but what that it is, they are leaving up to us. 

See yet?

CP'13

[cyruspavel]

Triple Bypass...

I love a song that can project emotion my way and make me feel it so intensely that I'm the one that's singing it.  I'm the one in the video, I'm the one going through the pains and the dramas of the lyrics, and I'm the one heartbroken throughout it's duration. 

I know I've broken this down before: http://cyruspavel.tumblr.com/post/24680105186/i-never-knew-love-would-hurt-this-fucking-bad but it just popped up on my Spotify and I had to shout it out aloud! 

Yesterday I was with a friend (Heather), who asked me why I am so chill about love these days.  I responded to her by telling her that if I lose the love I have now, I wouldn't cry or be sad again, not because it wouldn't hurt, but from the excitement of whatever love is coming after her, because for every time I've been in a relationship that has ended, a much greater one has come right after. 

CP'13

[cyruspavel]

Newsflash.

It kills me to hear people say how much they "know" someone who they just met.  It kills me even more to see them try to understand why this someone they just me, and "know" so well, would do something suddenly that they think is "out-of-this-person's-character".  

Newsflash: YOU don't know SHIT about this person. 

So let's do some basic math, but before we do that let's understand the concept of the false world's you are all living in as explained by "Maum Meditation".

—People take pictures of everything – including elementary school, middle school, high school, college,and everything in society- through seeing with the eyes, hearing with the ears, smelling with the nose,tasting with the mouth, and feeling with the body. Moreover, they store such pictures in their minds.They live through these pictures they have stored in their minds, and thus, they live in the false world, the delusional world.For example, the existence of Manhattan is real as it is, but a picture of Manhattan is not the real Manhattan.Living within their mind worlds they have created is false. This mind world is a non-existing delusional world.People live in their mind world as the main character of their movie. There is no life in that film. The main character livingin that film which is within oneself does not have life, and only lives according to the script.—

The math comes when you start to realize that the person you just met has lived their entire life the same exact way.  They have lived every second of their life, up until you met them, as the star of their own movie.  That in itself is another problem that we will discuss some other time—you have to understand the basics before you can get to the egos.  

So you meet this person that you have fallen head over heals for, and they, like you, are about 24 or 25 years old.  You've been intimate with them, you've been hanging out and "dating" for over eight months now, and suddenly they seem to have changed on you.  There is the problem.  The only thing "sudden" that has happened in their life for them to change any, was YOU.

24 years multiplied by 12 months equals?...288.  

So, for 288 months, they have existed and now you got scripted into their lives just a short eight months ago, which in the process of figuring out this math problem is 2.77% of their lifetime.  How logical do things seem now?  You know someone for 2.77% of their lives and you thought you knew them?

What if I gave you a brand new McLaren P1 car that you knew nothing about and gave you no lessons on it; in fact, I only gave you a 8,544 page manual which I told you that you had to read before driving.  Would you read through 2.77% of that manual before you felt comfortable driving this machine and saying you "knew" it in-and-out? 

I'm sure a part of you laughed a little at your stupidity and ignorance prior to this basic math solution, partly because you've realized how right I am, and how naive you could be. 

Awaken.  There is still a lot more. 

CP'13