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Sam, what are you?
I've asked myself that question so many times throughout the years. I suppose it began the very day Flynn announced he and Jordan had just had a baby. It was... odd. Jordan had definitely not been pregnant. It wouldn't have been so unusual if you had been adopted, but adoptions took years. Flynn and Jordan had been together for less than a year at that point.
Soon, you started to grow. And grow. You were growing faster than you should have been. And it wasn't just physically, but developmentally as well. You raised quite a few eyebrows, Sam, including my own. After all, it's not every day that a one year old is three feet tall, and is starting to learn to read.
Then, that day. The day you lost your mother. Flynn was never the same after Jordan's death, and neither were you. He began to grow increasingly negligent at ENCOM, and also with you. It was like he was awake all night, and then tried to be awake during the day. It never worked.
As for you, Sam, you pulled away. Because of how fast you grew, you were never truly able to make friends, but you tried. After Jordan passed. you gave up. Instead, you grew closer to books, and games as if you would never out grow them. That's when I got you your first puppy.
The night Kevin disappeared, well, the other shoe dropped. ENCOM's board, who had become incrementally less forgiving of Kevin's absences and master plans, kicked me out. I know that paled in comparison to losing your father. I tried to be the best father I could to you, Sam. You were just so angry and disbelieving. Truth was, so was I. You pulled away even more when your grandparents gave your custody to me.
I never told you why they did, did I? Well... Your voice broke, Sam. Your voice broke, and you were only 7 years old. I suppose it disturbed them. That didn't mean that they didn't love you, but they simply didn't know what to do with a 7-year-old teenager.
I took you to the doctors, and they quickly diagnosed you with early puberty. Unfortunately, none of the drugs they pushed worked, and you kept growing. By then, however, you seemed to be growing normally. At least, at the same rate as your average teenage boy. On your eighth birthday, I gave you a Sega Genesis. That night, I caught you with a girl. I never thought I'd be giving a safe sex talk to an 8-year-old.
That night also marked the first real fight we had. You'd gotten a tattoo on your left bicep, and you kept insisting it was a birthmark. A perfect hexagon with an arrow could not ever be a birthmark, but you never stopped denying that you had always had it. Somewhere in me, I knew you were telling the truth. I just didn't want to believe it.
It wasn’t until your 10th year, that you were officially declared a genius. You had an IQ of 164 and you wanted to go to Cal Tech, just like Kevin had. I tried to discourage you, but you were your father's son.
Two years later, you dropped out. I remember I was about to lecture you, but instead, you were the one who talked. All the reasons why I thought you had dropped out were wrong. Your age, inexperience with the world, it turned out to be nothing like that. Instead, you were an outsider. You were not only the 10-year-old boy who looked and acted like any other freshman, but you were also Kevin Flynn's son. Kevin Flynn, Cal Tech's poster boy for years before his disappearance. Living under his shadow plus always feeling like a pariah took their toll on you, my son. I never pressed you to finish or do something else. I knew by then that you'd probably never fit in with the world. So I let you be.
Years passed, ENCOM grew greedier, and you found a direction of sorts. Fixing up cars and bikes was below your potential, but it gave you purpose. I was happy for that. To this day, I swear the happiest day of your life was when you got your driver's license. I have that photo of us on my desk, Sam. I try not to notice how you haven't aged a day since then.
At 18, you disappeared for a couple years, and you never told me where you went or what you did. You sent me the occasional email to let me know you were still alive, but that was all. I know when you finally returned, you knew how to fight. And fight well. To this day, I wonder just where you learned it all from.
After that, it was 7 years of sitting in that apartment of yours by the lake, and pulling the yearly prank on the company. I kept hoping whatever it was that made you do it year after year would make you realize what you really needed to do. Finally, it has happened. All it took was a mysterious page from the arcade.
That was over a month ago. In that month, you have changed so much, Sam. You've made me proud. You're making this company what it was before your mother died. I never thought I'd see the day. Maybe it's that girl, Quorra, who's doing you good. I can tell your relationship isn't remotely romantic, and I'm happy about that. She's your friend. Probably, the first true friend you've ever had.
I've asked you more than once what made you change, but you didn't seem to know how to answer me. At least, not until last week. I waited for you in my office like you asked, and I thought I was prepared for what you were going to tell me. When my secretary told me you had arrived, I was surprised you brought two people with you. I asked myself who else besides Quorra would have been with you. I became lightheaded when I saw the man beside you and Quorra. A man who looked like I did 30 years ago.
“Alan-1,” my young doppelganger called me. I eyed every inch of him, when I noticed the mark on his left bicep. Same tattoo, same position as yours, Sam. My eyes then darted curiously at Quorra's arm, and she had a similar mark as well. I asked myself why I hadn't noticed before. I glanced up at you, Sam, with what must have been a million questions in my eyes, but only one came out.
“Sam, what are you?”
Sam, you smiled coyly and replied, “It's a long story.”
That was a week ago, and I'm still trying to get my head wrapped around it all. The Grid, Basics, ISOs... you. I suppose that's why I wrote all this out, Sam, even though you will never read this. And after all these years, I finally know what the hell your father's books were about.