THE MATRIX
DREAMWORLD SHUTDOWN (WORKING TITLE)
AUTHORS NOTE: This is probably going to be the hardest story I've tried to write so far in my fan fiction career. It's my first Matrix fan fic (not my first fan fic), and from the looks of things you're quite a tough bunch to impress. Nevertheless, I'm in need of some feedback and it looks like this is the place to come if I want constructive criticism. By the way, if anyone does actually like this story, it may take a little time for updates, as at present I don't have my own Internet connection, I'm borrowing someone else's. So anyway, if I haven't scared you off yet with my rambling, read on and enjoy. maybe.
PROLOGUE: THE KITCHEN
The man watched the motherly looking woman slumped in her chair, her ample frame filling its wooden confines to almost bursting point. Her dress was covered in flowers, bright yellows and reds that seemed to shine brightly in the dimness of the kitchen. Outside the rain hammered hard against the window, beating out a staccato rhythm that played over and over inside his head.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. This wasn't real. None of this was real, the rain, the window, the room and its peeling wallpaper. Nothing here was real, save him and the woman. There was a slight ping from the oven nestled in among the kitchen units. The woman smiled. Slowly she stood and made her way across the kitchen, opening the oven and clutching tightly to the warm bowl of cookie dough.
She clung to this place, clung to this false reality as if it were the real world. The man sneered at that. He'd seen the real world and it was looking quite the worse for wear these days. It was a world where the flowers that littered her dress were nothing but rotting mulch, where dark clouds boiled in the sky and lightning ripped apart the remains of the surface. He shivered at the memory of it all. It was the world he lived in.
The woman dipped her finger in the dough and tasted it. She hummed with pleasure.
"Not to sound too conceited here," she said with a smile, "but this does taste good. Here, try some." The man shook his head at the proffered bowl.
"I didn't come here to eat." He said, glancing disdainfully at the dough. "Besides, it tastes wrong." The woman gave him a knowing grin.
"Or it tastes right. The truth is, you just don't know."
"And I don't care." The woman shook her head.
"Still trying to deny existence?"
"I'm not trying." He replied sharply. "This place doesn't exist."
"Only to your mind." The man gave her a dark smile.
"I have a unique perspective." He said.
"Not so unique as you'd like to think." The woman said, turning her back on him.
She began spooning the thick dough onto a greased tray, carefully measuring each dollop out, before cutting away the excess and flattening the dough. The man gave a frustrated grunt. Always double talk with the old witch, as if there some meaning behind it all, some ultimate truth that so far no one besides her self had cottoned onto. But he knew the truth. There was no meaning, no secret underlying this nonexistent world. He'd seen this world laid bare before his very eyes. Everything he'd ever known had been washed away in an instant as he'd gazed at that glowing green rain. He hated the truth.
"You haven't seen beyond this." He said, motioning with at the peeling walls of the kitchen. "But you still think you know the truth."
"Truth isn't always appearance." She said knowingly. A brief growl escaped from behind the man's clenched teeth.
"How much more double talk? I need new recruits, our numbers are dwindling and you're the best supplier we have." The woman paused for a moment, staring critically at the shaped cookie dough. She gave a slight harrumph and made her way over to the sink. The sound of running water drowned out the rhythmic thudding of the rain.
"This batch isn't ready yet." She said, wiping her hands dry on her apron. "The ingredients are two raw. In time they'll be ready."
"I need new blood, and I need it now. You can't just expect me to wait around while you drill your philosophy into them."
"If you want them to be any use to you, then you would do better if you let me teach them."
"Teach them then, but I need at least one." The woman let out a short sharp breath from her nostrils, a derogatory snort grated on the man's nerves. Her methods were too slow for him. Slowly, she closed her eyes and sighed.
Long minutes passed. The man took to staring at the rain as it streaked down the window. The patterns it followed were exacting, a perfect exercise in mathematical precision. There was nothing in the least bit organic about them. Suddenly the woman's eyes opened wide and she smiled again.
"I've seen one who may be of use to you." She said. The man turned his sneer to her again.
"And where is he?"
"Now, now," she said wagging a finger at him, "I can't just go telling you about people. That wouldn't be ethical." The man frowned.
"We're not in the business of ethics. We're in the business of survival, and I intend to go on surviving. Now tell me who this person I need is." The woman's shoulders slumped in surrender, her whole body sagging visibly.
"I can't tell you who he is for certain, because I'm not too sure myself. All I know is a name."
"A name!"
"Oh come now." The woman said, sarcasm ringing in her voice. "With all those resources you like to boast about at your disposal, finding someone from just their name shouldn't be too difficult."
"Fine." Said the man, doing his best to bite back his rising fury. He could destroy this place completely with little effort, bring the woman to her knees in moments if he desired, but the cause needed her. Humanity needed her, and no matter how much he disliked her, he had to admit that he needed her.
"Tell me his name then."
"Morpheus." Said the woman slowly. "His name is Morpheus."
DREAMWORLD SHUTDOWN (WORKING TITLE)
AUTHORS NOTE: This is probably going to be the hardest story I've tried to write so far in my fan fiction career. It's my first Matrix fan fic (not my first fan fic), and from the looks of things you're quite a tough bunch to impress. Nevertheless, I'm in need of some feedback and it looks like this is the place to come if I want constructive criticism. By the way, if anyone does actually like this story, it may take a little time for updates, as at present I don't have my own Internet connection, I'm borrowing someone else's. So anyway, if I haven't scared you off yet with my rambling, read on and enjoy. maybe.
PROLOGUE: THE KITCHEN
The man watched the motherly looking woman slumped in her chair, her ample frame filling its wooden confines to almost bursting point. Her dress was covered in flowers, bright yellows and reds that seemed to shine brightly in the dimness of the kitchen. Outside the rain hammered hard against the window, beating out a staccato rhythm that played over and over inside his head.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. This wasn't real. None of this was real, the rain, the window, the room and its peeling wallpaper. Nothing here was real, save him and the woman. There was a slight ping from the oven nestled in among the kitchen units. The woman smiled. Slowly she stood and made her way across the kitchen, opening the oven and clutching tightly to the warm bowl of cookie dough.
She clung to this place, clung to this false reality as if it were the real world. The man sneered at that. He'd seen the real world and it was looking quite the worse for wear these days. It was a world where the flowers that littered her dress were nothing but rotting mulch, where dark clouds boiled in the sky and lightning ripped apart the remains of the surface. He shivered at the memory of it all. It was the world he lived in.
The woman dipped her finger in the dough and tasted it. She hummed with pleasure.
"Not to sound too conceited here," she said with a smile, "but this does taste good. Here, try some." The man shook his head at the proffered bowl.
"I didn't come here to eat." He said, glancing disdainfully at the dough. "Besides, it tastes wrong." The woman gave him a knowing grin.
"Or it tastes right. The truth is, you just don't know."
"And I don't care." The woman shook her head.
"Still trying to deny existence?"
"I'm not trying." He replied sharply. "This place doesn't exist."
"Only to your mind." The man gave her a dark smile.
"I have a unique perspective." He said.
"Not so unique as you'd like to think." The woman said, turning her back on him.
She began spooning the thick dough onto a greased tray, carefully measuring each dollop out, before cutting away the excess and flattening the dough. The man gave a frustrated grunt. Always double talk with the old witch, as if there some meaning behind it all, some ultimate truth that so far no one besides her self had cottoned onto. But he knew the truth. There was no meaning, no secret underlying this nonexistent world. He'd seen this world laid bare before his very eyes. Everything he'd ever known had been washed away in an instant as he'd gazed at that glowing green rain. He hated the truth.
"You haven't seen beyond this." He said, motioning with at the peeling walls of the kitchen. "But you still think you know the truth."
"Truth isn't always appearance." She said knowingly. A brief growl escaped from behind the man's clenched teeth.
"How much more double talk? I need new recruits, our numbers are dwindling and you're the best supplier we have." The woman paused for a moment, staring critically at the shaped cookie dough. She gave a slight harrumph and made her way over to the sink. The sound of running water drowned out the rhythmic thudding of the rain.
"This batch isn't ready yet." She said, wiping her hands dry on her apron. "The ingredients are two raw. In time they'll be ready."
"I need new blood, and I need it now. You can't just expect me to wait around while you drill your philosophy into them."
"If you want them to be any use to you, then you would do better if you let me teach them."
"Teach them then, but I need at least one." The woman let out a short sharp breath from her nostrils, a derogatory snort grated on the man's nerves. Her methods were too slow for him. Slowly, she closed her eyes and sighed.
Long minutes passed. The man took to staring at the rain as it streaked down the window. The patterns it followed were exacting, a perfect exercise in mathematical precision. There was nothing in the least bit organic about them. Suddenly the woman's eyes opened wide and she smiled again.
"I've seen one who may be of use to you." She said. The man turned his sneer to her again.
"And where is he?"
"Now, now," she said wagging a finger at him, "I can't just go telling you about people. That wouldn't be ethical." The man frowned.
"We're not in the business of ethics. We're in the business of survival, and I intend to go on surviving. Now tell me who this person I need is." The woman's shoulders slumped in surrender, her whole body sagging visibly.
"I can't tell you who he is for certain, because I'm not too sure myself. All I know is a name."
"A name!"
"Oh come now." The woman said, sarcasm ringing in her voice. "With all those resources you like to boast about at your disposal, finding someone from just their name shouldn't be too difficult."
"Fine." Said the man, doing his best to bite back his rising fury. He could destroy this place completely with little effort, bring the woman to her knees in moments if he desired, but the cause needed her. Humanity needed her, and no matter how much he disliked her, he had to admit that he needed her.
"Tell me his name then."
"Morpheus." Said the woman slowly. "His name is Morpheus."