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Quorra had never gotten a good look, up close and personal, to Rinzler until she handed Flynn her disc and went running. She really didn't have time to look him over, nor even the desire to, once he had her hands cuffed behind her back and standing before Clu. It bothered her how he knew, instantly, that she was an ISO, and automatically showed that fact off to Clu.
Between the moment she kicked him in the helmet and the moment he pulled down her sleeve, he should have had no chance to make the discovery. He never looked, and he couldn't go through her disc to find out. He didn't say a word to her. She didn't say anything to him. He should not have just known.
He didn't know Sam was a User until he saw the blood dripping on the floor. Sam had said very certainly that Rinzler's head hat turned to a cut on his arm before deciding to spare him. Neither Sam nor Quorra had ever met him before. Only Programs that knew Users would know blood. There weren't many Programs left from the days when Flynn mingled among them in cycles past. That got her thinking. Rinzler had to be one of the old Programs that knew Flynn personally. Flynn had never mentioned anyone by that name until after Quorra brought back news about the new enforcer to him. Instead of talking about Rinzler, Flynn asked several questions, just as cluless as the rest of them at the time.
Now, though, on the lift to the docked throne ship, her questions were answered. Rinzler put her back to the wall, keeping her hands away from the controls. He faced her, scanned her as they ascended. She could see all of his frontal lightlines. They were familiar in shape and position, only drastically different in color. She knew him, once upon a time.
“Tron?” Quorra couldn't stop from asking.
His clicking noise kicked up a notch, head jerking up, body less hunched. The clenching of his fists at his side were the warning she really should have paid attention to, but didn't.
“That's why you didn't kill Sam or me.” Quorra breathed out a sigh of semi-relief. “It's you. It's always been you.”
“Silence,” his glitched voice ordered.
She didn't obey. “Tron, please! Please remember who you are! You don't have to do this. Flynn will forgive you. You can't seriously let Clu win. Not now!”
In one swift motion, he held her against the wall, fingers wrapped around her throat. “Tron is trapped. Locked behind me. I must obey Clu.”
The lift came to a slowed stop, and he let go. Quorra was still coughing as he grabbed her arm and pulled her into the next room. She leaned into him more out of need than want as he pulled her along towards the door.
“Please,” Quorra begged, wanting her old friend back badly, “fight it again, Tron. I know you can. You're the strongest of us. You're stronger than Rinzler. You're stronger than Clu if you want to be. I know you're in there. Please!”
The door opened, revealing a command room. They had one more lift to take to get to the throne ship itself. Before they could go through the door, however, a shower of orange lit cubes sprayed across the floor from the hall to the far left. A white lit figure dressed for the Games walked into view carrying two discs.
Quorra panicked. If Tron didn't overpower Rinzler right here and now, Sam would be dead. He never should have come for her! “Sam! Go!”
Rinzler shoved her to the floor, drawing his discs. Then, the strangest thing happened. Program and User alike both threw two discs at one another. All four projectiles missed their marks. When it came to Sam, she could understand. He was new to using discs. But Rinzler?
Rinzler would never miss his mark, because Tron would never miss his mark. The only time he missed was because his shot was blocked or he pulled it on purpose. Rinzler would have no reason left to keep Sam alive, but Tron would.
Quorra used the opportunity. She kicked Rinzler off the ledge, praying he survived this just as Tron had survived everything else. There was hope for him.