Orphan
Chapter 1
Well, this is my second stab at a Matrix fic. Hope this goes well.
Summary: This is the story of an Orphan of the Matrix, and of Zion.
Disclaimer: The Wachowskis and Warner Bros. own all. I own nothing. I am in no way affiliated with the Matrix. I'm just taking the brothers' world for a spin.
Here goes nothing. . . . . . .
He sat in his room, in silence. Well, he sat in what passed as silence. Somewhere, someone was crying. 'New one,' he thought. The new ones always cried loudly, but then they learned to cry quietly, got used to this place or were moved so far away that almost no one heard their cries any more.
He didn't remember crying when he'd arrived. Then again, he didn't remember how he had gotten there in the first place. He didn't remember what is felt like to cry. He felt pain often, but he never cried. He couldn't see the point. All crying could do was get him in trouble. He was in trouble often enough as it was.
He paid no more attention to the cries. They were a common occurrence in a place like the one he was in. The people saw it as a prison, a punishment. They hated it. He hated it as much as any of them. It was a prison, but it was also the only place he remembered living. He knew that he had to get out. He would, but first he needed to find the answers to his questions. If he left, he would not have access to computers, to the Internet. The streets weren't lined with modems after all, so he stayed. He lived in crap, and he knew it, but at least it was shelter. Shelter was not free though. There was always payment. So, he paid for his shelter, his modem, and his prison with his blood, while so many others paid with their tears.
That night he was taking care of a sprained wrist, a few scrapes, and the reopened welts that crossed his back. He had gotten off easy, considering. It had been worth it, though. He had learned much. He had hacked into the FBI archives, and he had gotten another glimpse of his face. Morpheus. Morpheus was considered to be one of the most dangerous terrorists on the planet, but that's not how he was in his eyes. To him, Morpheus was a mystery, and the solution of that mystery, would result in answers. He had questions, and Morpheus had the answers. He knew it. All he had to do was find Morpheus, and all of his questions would be answered. If he could meet Morpheus, and live long enough to ask, he knew that he would get his answers.
What is the Matrix? That question had plagued him for over two years. That was quite an amount of time, considering that he was only fourteen years old. He didn't know why he was sure, he just was. Nothing around him ever seemed right, except for Morpheus. He was he only thing in his world that made sense. That was why, he was willing to pay in blood for any scraps of information that would help him unravel him the mystery that was Morpheus.
He winced, as he touched his wrist, making sure that it really was just a sprain. It was.
The next hours were passed cleaning cuts, wincing, and listening to the chorus of quiet sobs.
He would get out. He had to. Morpheus would help him.
. . . . . Well, that was my first chapter. Hope it was okay. Reviews? Please?
Chapter 1
Well, this is my second stab at a Matrix fic. Hope this goes well.
Summary: This is the story of an Orphan of the Matrix, and of Zion.
Disclaimer: The Wachowskis and Warner Bros. own all. I own nothing. I am in no way affiliated with the Matrix. I'm just taking the brothers' world for a spin.
Here goes nothing. . . . . . .
He sat in his room, in silence. Well, he sat in what passed as silence. Somewhere, someone was crying. 'New one,' he thought. The new ones always cried loudly, but then they learned to cry quietly, got used to this place or were moved so far away that almost no one heard their cries any more.
He didn't remember crying when he'd arrived. Then again, he didn't remember how he had gotten there in the first place. He didn't remember what is felt like to cry. He felt pain often, but he never cried. He couldn't see the point. All crying could do was get him in trouble. He was in trouble often enough as it was.
He paid no more attention to the cries. They were a common occurrence in a place like the one he was in. The people saw it as a prison, a punishment. They hated it. He hated it as much as any of them. It was a prison, but it was also the only place he remembered living. He knew that he had to get out. He would, but first he needed to find the answers to his questions. If he left, he would not have access to computers, to the Internet. The streets weren't lined with modems after all, so he stayed. He lived in crap, and he knew it, but at least it was shelter. Shelter was not free though. There was always payment. So, he paid for his shelter, his modem, and his prison with his blood, while so many others paid with their tears.
That night he was taking care of a sprained wrist, a few scrapes, and the reopened welts that crossed his back. He had gotten off easy, considering. It had been worth it, though. He had learned much. He had hacked into the FBI archives, and he had gotten another glimpse of his face. Morpheus. Morpheus was considered to be one of the most dangerous terrorists on the planet, but that's not how he was in his eyes. To him, Morpheus was a mystery, and the solution of that mystery, would result in answers. He had questions, and Morpheus had the answers. He knew it. All he had to do was find Morpheus, and all of his questions would be answered. If he could meet Morpheus, and live long enough to ask, he knew that he would get his answers.
What is the Matrix? That question had plagued him for over two years. That was quite an amount of time, considering that he was only fourteen years old. He didn't know why he was sure, he just was. Nothing around him ever seemed right, except for Morpheus. He was he only thing in his world that made sense. That was why, he was willing to pay in blood for any scraps of information that would help him unravel him the mystery that was Morpheus.
He winced, as he touched his wrist, making sure that it really was just a sprain. It was.
The next hours were passed cleaning cuts, wincing, and listening to the chorus of quiet sobs.
He would get out. He had to. Morpheus would help him.
. . . . . Well, that was my first chapter. Hope it was okay. Reviews? Please?