Chapter Text
It should’ve been simple, really. Honestly, it was the same as he had always done it. Go in- come right back out- the day was only a couple minutes later than when he ‘checked in’. Of course though, today of all days had to be the day that the LA Power Department ran a 'system diagnostic' that would 'cause a small power surge'.
Cool. Okay. Yeah, no problem.
Well- sort of a problem when said ‘small power surge’ would be occurring at the exact time Flynn had set the laser to reactivate. Down to the exact millisecond . How he had the best and worst luck anyone could ever have? No one could say.
What Flynn could say was that rendering back into the analog world definitely felt… different . Like his whole body did a hiccup. Where, as his atoms went back and back and back into place - each atom feeling like someone painstakingly placing a piece of a mosaic tile in place - there was a stall. Like they had to take a brief moment to remember what they were doing.
And there was the shudder . Like the weird sensation that your body gets when you touch a fabric that isn’t quite exactly the texture you thought it was, or when you go to step on the final step of the stairs and there isn’t one. The shudder .
But then he was back. Just like always… He wasn’t dead or half rezzed in with only his torso or something weird. He took a shuddering breath, reaching his hands up to gingerly pat at his chest. The feeling of the cool, slick material of his members only jacket crinkled softly as he gripped at it tightly, grounding him to the moment. He could feel the material slide against itself and his dress shirt below. Faint rustling between the layers came out as an unsteady rhythm, his breaths slightly shallow and ragged.
Okay maybe he was a little freaked out, but maybe whatever that was would be normal? Right? He had just set up the laser in his arcade only like a couple months ago- maybe he had to readjust the settings a bit… Different humidity? Yeah- humidity… Flynn shook his head. He was being ridiculous- there was nothing to worry about.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing, and ran a hand through his hair, tussling it slightly to relieve some of his nerves. As he removed his hand, he noticed a silvery hair come back out with it, resting innocently in the palm of his pink hand. Huh. That’s… That’s new. And not right .
Flinging himself through the small door below, praying it locked itself behind him like it usually did, Flynn was now rushing out of the basement office space. A hand tracing the side wall of the skinny staircase, he took several of the steps at a time. Taking the last three steps as one, Flynn skidded to a halt in front of the Tron arcade cabinet. Grasping the side panels of the machine, his eyes darted to make out his reflection in the glass screen.
Pink. And white. Those aren’t his… usual colors…
Flynn stared, wide-eyed, his reflection staring back at him. Well, not quite his reflection. It looked like someone had taken a blacklight to all his features- a pink blacklight.
His usual… flesh-colored… flesh was now a striking bright pink. Even he couldn’t pretend it was the weird filtered lighting that existed only in his cramped work space anymore. And his hair… Oh damn… His hair was now a stark, blank white- like the kind of white you see when you've struck your head and are waiting for the ringing to just stop already.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
Speaking of ringing…
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
Damn- where was his pager…? Flynn did a spin around, patting his jacket pockets, his back pockets- no luck. Where the hell had he clipped the damn thing? The buzzing continued, an almost echo-y lilt to the vibrations.
The stairs.
Flynn doubled back behind the Tron cabinet to the crawl-space stairs to find the abandoned pager. There, on the second step down, the pager continued to buzz, the broken clip scattered another step down. Flynn let out a small curse, fumbling to grab the damned thing before it vibrated itself down the stairs (with his luck, he would’ve had to chase it all the way down to the bottom of the flight).
Squinting in the dark, Flynn could barely make out the message that had come through on the small LCD screen, the poor lighting in the stair-space left much to be desired. He let out a frustrated huff, annoyed with his previous unwillingness to simply upgrade to a newer model that illuminated the screen for him. He grabbed the opening of the wall passage, hoisting himself past the few steps left between him and the floor of the arcade to finally read the damned message. It better be important.
82-316-220-504 … #323-867-5309
Shit . The Board Meeting.
Alan was going to kill him.
The Board Meeting that started - Flynn chanced a glance at his watch (which, while the wrong color, was still thankfully legible)- shit two minutes ago. That’s what he was forgetting when he set the timer… No wonder the time stamp sounded so familiar- and why Alan had said, “See you in a bit,” when he left the office for ‘lunch’ (Lunch was a bit of a stretch for an excuse when he had left around four in the afternoon before their meeting…).
Jamming the pager into his jacket pocket and haphazardly shoving the cabinet back into place, Flynn booked it for the front of the arcade. Catching himself on the doorframe of the way up to his loft, he spun back in momentarily to flip the switch on the breaker to the lights and music. The fading voice of Steve Perry crooning the last verse of ' Something to Hide ' followed Flynn out as he locked the door and clumsily hopped on to his Ducati.
Okay. No big deal. Just going to work for an important Board Meeting- with pink skin… And white hair…
Crap.