I own no part of the Matrix or any of it's related material, this is
just for fun.
It was two A.M. Outside my window, the rain roared over the city. Lights from a thousand different buildings burned brightly in the darkness, a second sky lurking underneath the heavens. My apartment was dark except for the white light cast by my computer screen. This was my time; this was the one time of day that I was comfortable.
My name is Aaron Stevenson. It's an ordinary name, nothing you would look at twice if you were reading over a list, or a phonebook. But it's a name that I suggest you remember, in case you ever find it spray-painted on your walls, or painted in blood on the faces of your loved ones. You should watch for it on your computer screen, glowing green letters floating in the darkness late at night when you're all alone. You should remember my name, like I said, it's an ordinary name, but who knows where it'll turn up.
I am nothing like my name; I am not a normal man. I do not get up early in the morning and join the masses on their commute. I do not sit in front of a desk working long hours for next to nothing. Mine is a life lived at night, lived in the shadows. I thrive off the moon and the light of the stars. My job is an illegal one; I have committed nearly every crime that has been outlawed. You can find me at those clubs where the average man fears for his life. I can do anything you ask, I have killed, stolen, blackmailed; both civilians and the government. And that is why you should fear seeing my name, anywhere.
That is not all there is too my life however. I also live inside computers. It's rather ironic, the authorities have gained my name ages ago, but they do not believe that a hacker would leave his own name wherever he went, they think it must be an alias. More than once I've entertained policemen and special agents, wondering if perhaps I am actually the hacker who shares my name, but they are fools. They've watched me for years, and they still believe I am just a normal man, a little bit lazy perhaps, living off a small inheritance left by my father. They haven't seen the room I've hidden in the back, behind a bookcase, cliched as that is.
That's where I keep my stuff, my computers, the real ones, not the piece of junk in the outer rooms, my guns, all of the equipment I might need for any job imaginable. One night, a few years, I was sitting in front of my computer, running a search for something, what it was doesn't matter anymore. A message popped up on one of my monitors, interrupting the search, saying that I had a new email message. I had nothing better to do at the moment so I cleared the search on that particular computer and brought up my Internet browser. There's nothing particularly special about the way I search the Internet; my browser is evil, just like yours. I use AOL in case you couldn't guess. I have several different email addresses, and the message was waiting for me in the one I use solely to set up jobs. I smiled as I clicked my way to the message, I was getting restless and hopefully this would give me something to do.
Mr. Stevenson, You're name came up in a conversation I was having with a friend of mine a while back, and I think that you and I may have something worth talking about. If you reply to this I'll assume that you are interested.
It was just like a thousand letters I'd gotten in the past, though it was somewhat unusual for the brisk, businesslike approach; my employers aren't usually the most civilized of men. I tapped out a reply, I knew that the writer would still be online, he had only sent the message a moment ago. Sure enough, in just a few seconds, a new email flashed its way into my inbox.
Mr. Stevenson, I am honored that you have consented to at least listen to my proposal. There is nothing particularly sensitive that I must share with you, but I would much rather speak with you in person. I hope that you do not have much trouble, I just like to get a feel for the people I work with, a face for a name you understand. Meet me at the Cage in half an hour. Unless I'm mistaken it is near your house, is it not? I am going to assume that you will consent to this meeting, and will be there in half an hour unless you reply to this message. I look forward to meeting you, and hope that we will have the opportunity to work together. Trinity
At the time the name was unfamiliar to me, though I guessed that it was a hacker's alias immediately. I knew the Cage, it was one of the many places where I advertised my business, or simply went to pass the time. I replaced a web of conflicted information and misguiding signals over my computers and left them to their search. Leaving my private little sanctuary, I always felt like I was a king leaving his kingdom. It was rather a depressing feeling.
My closet is full of different styles of clothing, everything from gangster to Wall-Street Investor, to drunken bum. But the Cage was the kind of place where you needed to look tough, like you meant business. I through on a black undershirt, a black and crimson button-up, left open, and the worn leather trench coat that followed me on most of my missions. The look was completed with several rings, steel bracelets and a variety of outlandish piercings on my face, all fake except for the earrings in each ear. Stopping in front of a mirror on the way out, I threw a cap over my black hair, the kind that are associated with thieves and covert soldiers in all the glamorous movies.
It wasn't far to the Cage and I opted to walk, despite the heavy rain and the late hour. As I walked down the streets, past fires in old garbage drums, past young gang members with lean faces and sunken eyes, I couldn't help but wonder what this world was coming to. Such things don't usually bother me, but when I walk down the streets by my rundown little apartment, I see so many things that people shouldn't have to see and that people shouldn't have to experience. It may not fit the stereotype painted by the media of killers and men like me, but if I could, I would give as much of my money as I could to helping these people. But if I started doling out cash the law would start wondering, so my hands are tied.
I heard the Cage long before I saw it. It's a normal metal club; stuck on a street with several other clubs and bars. I pity the people that have to live within five blocks of that place. The crunching sounds of heavy metal music fought viciously with techno beats and pounding bass-lines from several other clubs around. The men working the doors knew me, each night they were given a photo by the men who owned the place, associates of mine. Possibly the closest thing I had to friends at that time, friends were something I considered unnecessary and worthless. Stepping through the doors of the place I entered a new world, a world of flashing lights, moshing druggies and leather-clad whores. Virtually everyone in the place was dressed in leather and metal. The person wanting to talk to me hadn't said where to meet him specifically, but he seemed to know enough about me to recognize me, so I just assumed he'd find me.
I wandered about for a while, stopping at one of the several bars to pick up a beer, chatted with a few of my old associates, women mostly who had wanted me to do a job as an opportunity to get closer to me. It was well known around here that I had money, and more than a few people knew how, but none of them would ever rat me out. I was careful to get dirt on just about everyone who knew my name, so if I was ever betrayed I could take a whole lot of people with me. I firmly believe that if I was ever arrested I could start a massive gang war in this particular part of town.
There was the usual chaos that accompanies free-flowing booze and drugs and loud music. The band playing on a small stage hardly big enough for the group, surrounded by a mob of drunken fans, was one I had seen several times before, I believe they were called Disturbed. They've made it big now; everyone seems to know them. Anyway, I was weaving my way through the crowd of moshing fans, towards the bar for a harder drink, when a young lady crashed into me.
By the way she grabbed my hand and shoulder, I could tell that it had been intentional, and I should have just pulled away and left it at that, but I didn't. The lady, dressed, unsurprisingly, in a very tight leather dress that left her pale back uncovered, dragged me out of the crowd and stopped at my intended destination.
"My name is Trinity, Aaron. I have a deal for you." It was a definite surprise to find out that my next employer would be a woman, this Trinity did not seem to be the type to try and hound money, she was too serious.
"I'll listen, just give me a moment. Would you like anything?" I asked her, indicating the bar. She shook her head, looking grim and impatient. I went and ordered by vodka and came back, offering her a nip but she shook her head again, he blue eyes hard and clear. "Ok then Trinity, what can I do for you?"
"It's not a hard job, let's say it's more of a test. Aaron, I want you to go to this address." She handed me a folded bit of paper, pressing it firmly into my palm. "The man who lives there has something on his computer that I need. I want you to get it for me."
"Couldn't I just hack in and get it for you that way? It would be easier, and faster."
"No, I want you to go to his house and get onto his computer. Like I said, it's a test, I need to know what you can do."
"Fine, if that's what you want, I can do it. Three questions. Firstly, how hard will it be to get into his computer? Two, how big is the data I'm stealing and do you want him to know it's gone? Third, what do I do with it after I have it" "The man is a software programmer, he'll have some rather advanced locks for you to get through, but nothing too hard. It's a large file, about fifty gigs, and we don't want him to know it's gone. And when you have it, then I will send you an email address to send it to. Anything else?" I was about to ask more, but she suddenly straightened, her hand going to her ear, to a small microphone I saw attached there. Her eyes widened and deepened in fear.
"There's no time, I have to go." She said, leaning close and whispering in my ear. Then she took off, disappearing into the crowd of drunks, somehow managing to rush through them effortlessly. I turned at a crashing sound behind me to find three men in business suits sprinting through the Cage, shoving people aside without slowing. For some reason that pissed me off and I stepped forward to stop them.
The leader of the group hardly looked at me. His hand simply flashed out, planting a solid, crushing blow on my chest, sending me tumbling backwards. No one I have ever met has simply pushed me aside, except for them, except for the Agents.
There was nothing more I could do for the young woman, and there was no reason for me to stay at the Cage any longer, so I went home. Back inside my little cave I pulled one of my computers off its search and brought up a map of New York City. Pulling the folded bit of paper from my pocket I scrolled around the city, searching for the place. I finally found it; it was in a little community on my side of town. The guy, whoever he was, certainly wasn't poor.
It took me a few days to get ready; Trinity had left me a message telling me the name of the file she wanted. I spent my time writing a clever little program that would cut through his passwords and anti-virus junk and copy the file to a small disc. Three days after I met Trinity, I paid my visit to the rich man's computer.
I don't own a car, I would hardly use it anyway and they have license plates so I don't see the use. It took me several train rides to get to the little gated community where the man lived. It was night, of course, and I was wearing all black, a bit cliched I suppose, but it really does have it's uses. There were a few guards circling around the community and a little shack with two men and a video camera at the beginning of the driveway. Security guards are really overrated. I pretty much walked right past most of them, not out of any particular skill but simply because men getting paid minimum wage don't really try that hard. The camera, on the other hand, was a bit of a pain. But I had thought there might be one and had brought another ingenious little program I had written. I crept directly under the thing; it was hooked to the overhanging roof of the house near the front door, spinning moronically as it surveyed the area. Carefully, so as not to disturb the movement of the camera, I pulled a few wires and reconnected them to a strange little boxy thing that contained my program.
It was designed to record half a minute of whatever the camera was seeing, one full sweep on most cameras, and then project it in a loop until I disconnected it. It worked like a charm and a minute later I was fiddling around with the various locks on the man's door. He certainly was worried about someone opening his door. The locks took maybe ten minutes, and I almost missed the keypad that would undoubtedly shut off some sort of laser grid on the other side of the door. The keypad fell victim to another one of my little devices, this wasn't the first time I'd done this and I was prepared.
The inside of the house was quiet and full of shadows, just the way I liked it. There were several sets of little lasers blocking doorways and narrow halls, and I was unable to find the master switch that would shut them all down. So I spent half an hour dodging weaving and rolling around the stupid little beams of light. It may sound horribly exciting, but it gets old after a little while, believe me.
Finally I found the guy's computer. It was in a little office like thing right next to his kitchen, and while I let my beautiful little program do its job, I made myself a sandwich. That was that and I left. The whole job took me perhaps and hour and forty five minutes.
Back home I made myself a copy of the data I had just stolen, I have discs and discs of info that I've stolen. The email address I was supposed to send it to was what_is_the_matrix@morpheus.net, a title that instantly caught my eye.
I sent Trinity her data, along with a little note asking about payment and such. Then I sat back to read what I had just stolen. That's when I first learned about the Matrix. My life hasn't been the same since.
It was two A.M. Outside my window, the rain roared over the city. Lights from a thousand different buildings burned brightly in the darkness, a second sky lurking underneath the heavens. My apartment was dark except for the white light cast by my computer screen. This was my time; this was the one time of day that I was comfortable.
My name is Aaron Stevenson. It's an ordinary name, nothing you would look at twice if you were reading over a list, or a phonebook. But it's a name that I suggest you remember, in case you ever find it spray-painted on your walls, or painted in blood on the faces of your loved ones. You should watch for it on your computer screen, glowing green letters floating in the darkness late at night when you're all alone. You should remember my name, like I said, it's an ordinary name, but who knows where it'll turn up.
I am nothing like my name; I am not a normal man. I do not get up early in the morning and join the masses on their commute. I do not sit in front of a desk working long hours for next to nothing. Mine is a life lived at night, lived in the shadows. I thrive off the moon and the light of the stars. My job is an illegal one; I have committed nearly every crime that has been outlawed. You can find me at those clubs where the average man fears for his life. I can do anything you ask, I have killed, stolen, blackmailed; both civilians and the government. And that is why you should fear seeing my name, anywhere.
That is not all there is too my life however. I also live inside computers. It's rather ironic, the authorities have gained my name ages ago, but they do not believe that a hacker would leave his own name wherever he went, they think it must be an alias. More than once I've entertained policemen and special agents, wondering if perhaps I am actually the hacker who shares my name, but they are fools. They've watched me for years, and they still believe I am just a normal man, a little bit lazy perhaps, living off a small inheritance left by my father. They haven't seen the room I've hidden in the back, behind a bookcase, cliched as that is.
That's where I keep my stuff, my computers, the real ones, not the piece of junk in the outer rooms, my guns, all of the equipment I might need for any job imaginable. One night, a few years, I was sitting in front of my computer, running a search for something, what it was doesn't matter anymore. A message popped up on one of my monitors, interrupting the search, saying that I had a new email message. I had nothing better to do at the moment so I cleared the search on that particular computer and brought up my Internet browser. There's nothing particularly special about the way I search the Internet; my browser is evil, just like yours. I use AOL in case you couldn't guess. I have several different email addresses, and the message was waiting for me in the one I use solely to set up jobs. I smiled as I clicked my way to the message, I was getting restless and hopefully this would give me something to do.
Mr. Stevenson, You're name came up in a conversation I was having with a friend of mine a while back, and I think that you and I may have something worth talking about. If you reply to this I'll assume that you are interested.
It was just like a thousand letters I'd gotten in the past, though it was somewhat unusual for the brisk, businesslike approach; my employers aren't usually the most civilized of men. I tapped out a reply, I knew that the writer would still be online, he had only sent the message a moment ago. Sure enough, in just a few seconds, a new email flashed its way into my inbox.
Mr. Stevenson, I am honored that you have consented to at least listen to my proposal. There is nothing particularly sensitive that I must share with you, but I would much rather speak with you in person. I hope that you do not have much trouble, I just like to get a feel for the people I work with, a face for a name you understand. Meet me at the Cage in half an hour. Unless I'm mistaken it is near your house, is it not? I am going to assume that you will consent to this meeting, and will be there in half an hour unless you reply to this message. I look forward to meeting you, and hope that we will have the opportunity to work together. Trinity
At the time the name was unfamiliar to me, though I guessed that it was a hacker's alias immediately. I knew the Cage, it was one of the many places where I advertised my business, or simply went to pass the time. I replaced a web of conflicted information and misguiding signals over my computers and left them to their search. Leaving my private little sanctuary, I always felt like I was a king leaving his kingdom. It was rather a depressing feeling.
My closet is full of different styles of clothing, everything from gangster to Wall-Street Investor, to drunken bum. But the Cage was the kind of place where you needed to look tough, like you meant business. I through on a black undershirt, a black and crimson button-up, left open, and the worn leather trench coat that followed me on most of my missions. The look was completed with several rings, steel bracelets and a variety of outlandish piercings on my face, all fake except for the earrings in each ear. Stopping in front of a mirror on the way out, I threw a cap over my black hair, the kind that are associated with thieves and covert soldiers in all the glamorous movies.
It wasn't far to the Cage and I opted to walk, despite the heavy rain and the late hour. As I walked down the streets, past fires in old garbage drums, past young gang members with lean faces and sunken eyes, I couldn't help but wonder what this world was coming to. Such things don't usually bother me, but when I walk down the streets by my rundown little apartment, I see so many things that people shouldn't have to see and that people shouldn't have to experience. It may not fit the stereotype painted by the media of killers and men like me, but if I could, I would give as much of my money as I could to helping these people. But if I started doling out cash the law would start wondering, so my hands are tied.
I heard the Cage long before I saw it. It's a normal metal club; stuck on a street with several other clubs and bars. I pity the people that have to live within five blocks of that place. The crunching sounds of heavy metal music fought viciously with techno beats and pounding bass-lines from several other clubs around. The men working the doors knew me, each night they were given a photo by the men who owned the place, associates of mine. Possibly the closest thing I had to friends at that time, friends were something I considered unnecessary and worthless. Stepping through the doors of the place I entered a new world, a world of flashing lights, moshing druggies and leather-clad whores. Virtually everyone in the place was dressed in leather and metal. The person wanting to talk to me hadn't said where to meet him specifically, but he seemed to know enough about me to recognize me, so I just assumed he'd find me.
I wandered about for a while, stopping at one of the several bars to pick up a beer, chatted with a few of my old associates, women mostly who had wanted me to do a job as an opportunity to get closer to me. It was well known around here that I had money, and more than a few people knew how, but none of them would ever rat me out. I was careful to get dirt on just about everyone who knew my name, so if I was ever betrayed I could take a whole lot of people with me. I firmly believe that if I was ever arrested I could start a massive gang war in this particular part of town.
There was the usual chaos that accompanies free-flowing booze and drugs and loud music. The band playing on a small stage hardly big enough for the group, surrounded by a mob of drunken fans, was one I had seen several times before, I believe they were called Disturbed. They've made it big now; everyone seems to know them. Anyway, I was weaving my way through the crowd of moshing fans, towards the bar for a harder drink, when a young lady crashed into me.
By the way she grabbed my hand and shoulder, I could tell that it had been intentional, and I should have just pulled away and left it at that, but I didn't. The lady, dressed, unsurprisingly, in a very tight leather dress that left her pale back uncovered, dragged me out of the crowd and stopped at my intended destination.
"My name is Trinity, Aaron. I have a deal for you." It was a definite surprise to find out that my next employer would be a woman, this Trinity did not seem to be the type to try and hound money, she was too serious.
"I'll listen, just give me a moment. Would you like anything?" I asked her, indicating the bar. She shook her head, looking grim and impatient. I went and ordered by vodka and came back, offering her a nip but she shook her head again, he blue eyes hard and clear. "Ok then Trinity, what can I do for you?"
"It's not a hard job, let's say it's more of a test. Aaron, I want you to go to this address." She handed me a folded bit of paper, pressing it firmly into my palm. "The man who lives there has something on his computer that I need. I want you to get it for me."
"Couldn't I just hack in and get it for you that way? It would be easier, and faster."
"No, I want you to go to his house and get onto his computer. Like I said, it's a test, I need to know what you can do."
"Fine, if that's what you want, I can do it. Three questions. Firstly, how hard will it be to get into his computer? Two, how big is the data I'm stealing and do you want him to know it's gone? Third, what do I do with it after I have it" "The man is a software programmer, he'll have some rather advanced locks for you to get through, but nothing too hard. It's a large file, about fifty gigs, and we don't want him to know it's gone. And when you have it, then I will send you an email address to send it to. Anything else?" I was about to ask more, but she suddenly straightened, her hand going to her ear, to a small microphone I saw attached there. Her eyes widened and deepened in fear.
"There's no time, I have to go." She said, leaning close and whispering in my ear. Then she took off, disappearing into the crowd of drunks, somehow managing to rush through them effortlessly. I turned at a crashing sound behind me to find three men in business suits sprinting through the Cage, shoving people aside without slowing. For some reason that pissed me off and I stepped forward to stop them.
The leader of the group hardly looked at me. His hand simply flashed out, planting a solid, crushing blow on my chest, sending me tumbling backwards. No one I have ever met has simply pushed me aside, except for them, except for the Agents.
There was nothing more I could do for the young woman, and there was no reason for me to stay at the Cage any longer, so I went home. Back inside my little cave I pulled one of my computers off its search and brought up a map of New York City. Pulling the folded bit of paper from my pocket I scrolled around the city, searching for the place. I finally found it; it was in a little community on my side of town. The guy, whoever he was, certainly wasn't poor.
It took me a few days to get ready; Trinity had left me a message telling me the name of the file she wanted. I spent my time writing a clever little program that would cut through his passwords and anti-virus junk and copy the file to a small disc. Three days after I met Trinity, I paid my visit to the rich man's computer.
I don't own a car, I would hardly use it anyway and they have license plates so I don't see the use. It took me several train rides to get to the little gated community where the man lived. It was night, of course, and I was wearing all black, a bit cliched I suppose, but it really does have it's uses. There were a few guards circling around the community and a little shack with two men and a video camera at the beginning of the driveway. Security guards are really overrated. I pretty much walked right past most of them, not out of any particular skill but simply because men getting paid minimum wage don't really try that hard. The camera, on the other hand, was a bit of a pain. But I had thought there might be one and had brought another ingenious little program I had written. I crept directly under the thing; it was hooked to the overhanging roof of the house near the front door, spinning moronically as it surveyed the area. Carefully, so as not to disturb the movement of the camera, I pulled a few wires and reconnected them to a strange little boxy thing that contained my program.
It was designed to record half a minute of whatever the camera was seeing, one full sweep on most cameras, and then project it in a loop until I disconnected it. It worked like a charm and a minute later I was fiddling around with the various locks on the man's door. He certainly was worried about someone opening his door. The locks took maybe ten minutes, and I almost missed the keypad that would undoubtedly shut off some sort of laser grid on the other side of the door. The keypad fell victim to another one of my little devices, this wasn't the first time I'd done this and I was prepared.
The inside of the house was quiet and full of shadows, just the way I liked it. There were several sets of little lasers blocking doorways and narrow halls, and I was unable to find the master switch that would shut them all down. So I spent half an hour dodging weaving and rolling around the stupid little beams of light. It may sound horribly exciting, but it gets old after a little while, believe me.
Finally I found the guy's computer. It was in a little office like thing right next to his kitchen, and while I let my beautiful little program do its job, I made myself a sandwich. That was that and I left. The whole job took me perhaps and hour and forty five minutes.
Back home I made myself a copy of the data I had just stolen, I have discs and discs of info that I've stolen. The email address I was supposed to send it to was what_is_the_matrix@morpheus.net, a title that instantly caught my eye.
I sent Trinity her data, along with a little note asking about payment and such. Then I sat back to read what I had just stolen. That's when I first learned about the Matrix. My life hasn't been the same since.