Finally, a fan fic that isn't about Yu Gi Oh! Shocking...eh? First Matrix fan fic...but the only fan fics I can do right are where I'm making fun of people. Shit. I'm not the greatest fan fic writer in the world, no doubt, but I can act like it. To quote Smokey in the film Friday (the first, and the best),
"I was BULLSHITTIN', and you KNOW this, man!"
So let's go. I don't own the Matrix, or any of it's characters. Yes, this story is slightly inspired by Friday. It's not a crossover.
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Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins
------------------
8:27 AM, another bright morning. Tyler rolled himself out of bed, though not really seeing the point of actually getting up. He lost his job yesterday, on his DAY OFF. How embarrassing.
Hammering on his apartment door, probably more church ladies throwing pamphlets in his face. Phone ringing off the hook, definitely his crazy-ho girlfriend, accusing him of being with some girl he'd never met at some club he'd never heard of.
Dragging himself into the bathroom, Tyler splashed sub-zero cold water onto his face. He had to find a job or he'd find himself on the street. There were quite a few dealers who needed distro...quite possibly Tyler could jump on that...
He supposed, as he tossed a dress shirt and slacks onto the ironing board, that he could live without a job for a few months. Cut the cable, sell the PS2, cancel his cell phone service, start buying generic foods instead of name brand, learn how to cook more than mac and cheese (generic, mind you, not Kraft). Then maybe he could go live with his aunt, seeing as his mother would toss him right back out on his ass.
Tyler left his apartment, not too shabbily dressed, in hopes of finding another job. He knew perfectly well that this was a pipe dream, who would hire him after finding that he was fired because he was accused of stealing boxes?
He swore he saw something black flying around in the sky.
***************
"I am sorry, Mr. Jones, we are not hiring." The teenager at the McDonald's counter looked Tyler over a few times.
"You're fucking unbelievable! I have a fucking MBA, are you telling me that a pimply high school shit like yourself can get a job here and I can't?"
The pimply high school shit in question nodded and grinned. Oh, how Tyler wished to strangle that child where he stood. "If you have an MBA, sir, then why don't you put it to good use? There are plenty of corporations that could probably use you."
The vein in Tyler's forehead throbbed furiously. "Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I'm black?"
"Sir, may I ask that you not play the race card here?"
*************
He was now officially poor. No one was hiring. Period. He desperately wished to slap himself. How stupid could he be?? Getting fired on his day off, for allegedly stealing boxes?!
To tell the absolute truth, poverty wasn't entirely as bad as people made it out to be. He had some sort of freedom, so to speak. Not having to get up early in the mornings and answer to some fat capitalist pig...not having to worry about buying that new Corvette because you're too busy worrying about paying your bills...Tyler hadn't even spent a full day in poverty and already he was adjusting himself to it. He was fighting the urge to tear off his tie, nick a cup from the nearest Starbucks, rub dirt upon his face and sit on a corner.
At least he had a home still. For now. He arrived at the apartment complex and part of his body attempted to steer him away from the mailbox and the imminent, oncoming bills. Failure. Tyler stuck the key in the lock and squeezed his eyes shut as he thrust his hand into the box. Pulling out the envelopes as if they were something terrible like stinkbombs or rattlesnakes, he held his mail out in front of him by his fingertips as he slowly marched up to his apartments, as if he were marching to his (financial) execution.
It might have well been one. There was no way that, within a few months, he could feed himself and pay all of these bills. Cell phone, cable, DSL internet, he could, and would, cut. But car insurance? He needed that, no way was he going to get pulled over and pulled into deep shit for not having his insurance. No, he just had to drive carefully from now on, and pray to the good Lord that no one would be an idiot out there.
************
The next afternoon, Tyler decided to do something proactively in order to conserve his dwindling money supply. He was going to find a cheaper supermarket. This would require driving through downtown, something he was tentative to do owing to rising gas prices. His car had been gathering dust, but it was necessary, for he was much less willing to spend all of his pocket money on bus after bus.
He pulled out of his neighborhood and promptly reached the freeway. Wasn't too unbearably busy, for now. Spotting the sign for his respective exit, he headed directly for the business district of his city, searching for the proper street to turn on.
Tyler reached the intersection, and before he made his turn, he chose to be a good driver and check all of the other stops. He caught a glimpse of a sleek, black Escalade barreling down the street. Of course they weren't good drivers, but they had to have the ability to follow the simplest traffic laws. He examined the driver and passenger closely. Twins, very pale ones at that, with long white dreadlocks. Their clothing reminded Tyler much of pimps. Well, whatever, people were getting weirder these days, although Tyler was pretty sure that standing out of the window of an Escalade was probably against the law.
Regardless, he had his own issues to worry about. He prepared to make his turn, still assuming that some time the white pimp twins were going to stop. Poor naive man, for before he could do anything they had torn directly into the back half of his vehicle, nearly tearing it off. The sound of metal tearing apart metal echoed again and again in Tyler's ears as the Escalade didn't even bother to stop and help, but continue on it's way.
He swerved into the sidewalk, cursing and furious. Most would be grateful for not making physical contact with the Escalade, but not our Tyler. No, Tyler was poor now, and could NOT afford the jump in his insurance, just because some insolent white boys were too busy chasing someone (for God knows what reason) and shooting up the neighborhood as if they were straight Gs. No, my friends, Tyler was beyond any comprehension of fury, and he dug straight into the dashboard of his now worthless car. He was going to get the license number of those two punks, track them down, and make them pay him. No way were those shits going to get away with what they just did to HIS car.
It was a good thing, then, that he invested in a handgun the moment he turned 21.
---------------------------
First chapter, fin. Dayum, I'm proud of myself. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated...I'm always trying to be a better writer. Warn me, also, if this is leaning on the Gary Stu side. I don't wanna swing that way.
"I was BULLSHITTIN', and you KNOW this, man!"
So let's go. I don't own the Matrix, or any of it's characters. Yes, this story is slightly inspired by Friday. It's not a crossover.
-------------------
Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins
------------------
8:27 AM, another bright morning. Tyler rolled himself out of bed, though not really seeing the point of actually getting up. He lost his job yesterday, on his DAY OFF. How embarrassing.
Hammering on his apartment door, probably more church ladies throwing pamphlets in his face. Phone ringing off the hook, definitely his crazy-ho girlfriend, accusing him of being with some girl he'd never met at some club he'd never heard of.
Dragging himself into the bathroom, Tyler splashed sub-zero cold water onto his face. He had to find a job or he'd find himself on the street. There were quite a few dealers who needed distro...quite possibly Tyler could jump on that...
He supposed, as he tossed a dress shirt and slacks onto the ironing board, that he could live without a job for a few months. Cut the cable, sell the PS2, cancel his cell phone service, start buying generic foods instead of name brand, learn how to cook more than mac and cheese (generic, mind you, not Kraft). Then maybe he could go live with his aunt, seeing as his mother would toss him right back out on his ass.
Tyler left his apartment, not too shabbily dressed, in hopes of finding another job. He knew perfectly well that this was a pipe dream, who would hire him after finding that he was fired because he was accused of stealing boxes?
He swore he saw something black flying around in the sky.
***************
"I am sorry, Mr. Jones, we are not hiring." The teenager at the McDonald's counter looked Tyler over a few times.
"You're fucking unbelievable! I have a fucking MBA, are you telling me that a pimply high school shit like yourself can get a job here and I can't?"
The pimply high school shit in question nodded and grinned. Oh, how Tyler wished to strangle that child where he stood. "If you have an MBA, sir, then why don't you put it to good use? There are plenty of corporations that could probably use you."
The vein in Tyler's forehead throbbed furiously. "Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I'm black?"
"Sir, may I ask that you not play the race card here?"
*************
He was now officially poor. No one was hiring. Period. He desperately wished to slap himself. How stupid could he be?? Getting fired on his day off, for allegedly stealing boxes?!
To tell the absolute truth, poverty wasn't entirely as bad as people made it out to be. He had some sort of freedom, so to speak. Not having to get up early in the mornings and answer to some fat capitalist pig...not having to worry about buying that new Corvette because you're too busy worrying about paying your bills...Tyler hadn't even spent a full day in poverty and already he was adjusting himself to it. He was fighting the urge to tear off his tie, nick a cup from the nearest Starbucks, rub dirt upon his face and sit on a corner.
At least he had a home still. For now. He arrived at the apartment complex and part of his body attempted to steer him away from the mailbox and the imminent, oncoming bills. Failure. Tyler stuck the key in the lock and squeezed his eyes shut as he thrust his hand into the box. Pulling out the envelopes as if they were something terrible like stinkbombs or rattlesnakes, he held his mail out in front of him by his fingertips as he slowly marched up to his apartments, as if he were marching to his (financial) execution.
It might have well been one. There was no way that, within a few months, he could feed himself and pay all of these bills. Cell phone, cable, DSL internet, he could, and would, cut. But car insurance? He needed that, no way was he going to get pulled over and pulled into deep shit for not having his insurance. No, he just had to drive carefully from now on, and pray to the good Lord that no one would be an idiot out there.
************
The next afternoon, Tyler decided to do something proactively in order to conserve his dwindling money supply. He was going to find a cheaper supermarket. This would require driving through downtown, something he was tentative to do owing to rising gas prices. His car had been gathering dust, but it was necessary, for he was much less willing to spend all of his pocket money on bus after bus.
He pulled out of his neighborhood and promptly reached the freeway. Wasn't too unbearably busy, for now. Spotting the sign for his respective exit, he headed directly for the business district of his city, searching for the proper street to turn on.
Tyler reached the intersection, and before he made his turn, he chose to be a good driver and check all of the other stops. He caught a glimpse of a sleek, black Escalade barreling down the street. Of course they weren't good drivers, but they had to have the ability to follow the simplest traffic laws. He examined the driver and passenger closely. Twins, very pale ones at that, with long white dreadlocks. Their clothing reminded Tyler much of pimps. Well, whatever, people were getting weirder these days, although Tyler was pretty sure that standing out of the window of an Escalade was probably against the law.
Regardless, he had his own issues to worry about. He prepared to make his turn, still assuming that some time the white pimp twins were going to stop. Poor naive man, for before he could do anything they had torn directly into the back half of his vehicle, nearly tearing it off. The sound of metal tearing apart metal echoed again and again in Tyler's ears as the Escalade didn't even bother to stop and help, but continue on it's way.
He swerved into the sidewalk, cursing and furious. Most would be grateful for not making physical contact with the Escalade, but not our Tyler. No, Tyler was poor now, and could NOT afford the jump in his insurance, just because some insolent white boys were too busy chasing someone (for God knows what reason) and shooting up the neighborhood as if they were straight Gs. No, my friends, Tyler was beyond any comprehension of fury, and he dug straight into the dashboard of his now worthless car. He was going to get the license number of those two punks, track them down, and make them pay him. No way were those shits going to get away with what they just did to HIS car.
It was a good thing, then, that he invested in a handgun the moment he turned 21.
---------------------------
First chapter, fin. Dayum, I'm proud of myself. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated...I'm always trying to be a better writer. Warn me, also, if this is leaning on the Gary Stu side. I don't wanna swing that way.