CHAPTER 1: SEEING THE IMPOSSIBLE
"Are you coming or not, Wake?"
Three boys stood outside the gates of a large junior high. It was a cold night and was destined to snow sometime soon. Thick, dark clouds covered a beautiful full moon, and it was dark. The three boys were dressed in dark clothing so they would not be seen. They all wore sweaters with the hoods up, hiding their faces.
One boy had a bulky backpack on, full to bursting with spray paint cans, silly string bottles, and toilet paper. He was medium in height and had a good build, but nothing special. He had spiked brown hair that ended in bleached tips. His face was set with grim determination. His name was Richard Thornton, but his friends called him Rick. He would be turning 15 a week after school ended, which was two days from now. As a good-bye present to his worst teacher, Mrs. McGreer, the math teacher, he and his friends Gregory (Greg) and Thomas (Tom) had decided to vandalize her classroom. Just in case anybody was around to hear them, they were going by codenames. Greg was Voltage. Tom was Pistol. Rick was Wake.
"Well?" The boy who had spoken earlier spoke again, turning away from the fence. This was Tom, the group's vigilant leader. He was tall and lanky, with big ears and a narrow face. His hair was buzzed short, but hidden by the hood. Greg was his twin brother, and looked identical to Tom. Their faces appeared gaunt in the dim light of the moon, and their cold blue eyes focused on Rick.
"Yeah, let's do it," Rick said, and he hopped the fence. Tom and Greg followed him quickly, clambering up the fence noisily and dropping down on the other side. They glanced around to make sure nobody had heard them or seen them, and then slinked away onto the campus in the dead of night. They ran across the basketball courts and pressed their backs to the walls of the large gym. In the shadows they ran to classroom number 18. During the day Tom had jammed one of the windows open while Mrs. McGreer was out of the room, so they now crawled through the window and onto the low bookshelf she had on the side of the room, which was loaded with heavy textbooks.
"Well, let's get started," Rick said, dropping his backpack onto the nearest desk. He brought out two spray cans and ran up the chalk board, spraying "MCGREER IS SCHOOL'S SATAN" on it in red and green paint. Tom began running the toilet paper rolls around, wrapping up the desks. Greg took out the silly string and began shooting the pink and blue string everywhere. When the spray paint in the canisters in Rick's hands ran out, he plopped down at the teacher's desk. He switched on the iMac, aiming to erase everything on the computer. Instead of being greeted by the blue thing of the computer wallpaper, the screen went black. His face scrunched up with confusion. Then something was scrawled across the blackness. "Hello Wake."
What the hell? Rick thought. He tried to type back and succeeded. It reminded him of using AOL Instant Messenger at home. "Hi, who's this?"
A reply came quickly, and it sounded urgent. "I cannot tell you now. You must get out of there."
With that, the computer shut itself down. Rick sat there, staring at the blank screen. Had the computer just talked to him? How did it do that? He did not know what to make of it. He looked over at Tom and Greg, who were busy unscrewing a desk to make it loose, hoping that it would collapse on the kid who sat there tomorrow. They stopped when they noticed their friend sitting and staring. They were about to ask him what was wrong and if he had dismantled the computer yet, but they were stopped when the phone started ringing. Common sense told them not to answer it. Then the door knob to the front door started turning, and common sense told them to dive under the teacher's desk.
The door knob stopped turning, for it was locked. Then the sound of a sub-machine gun firing rang in their ears, and the door knob was blown off. The door opened easily, and in walked a man wearing all black and holding an Uzi. His black hair was shoulder-length, tangled and frayed. A trench coat swished around him, the glimmer of gun metal obvious under it. His eyes were hidden by a pair of dark, streamlined glasses. His boots clicked on the tile floor. Sweat dripped down his face, his hair matted, as if he had been running for a long time. Running for the desk they were hiding under, he reached for the phone.
"What the...?" Rick heard Greg ask as a computerized noise filled their ears, originating from Tom. Rick turned to look at his friend, to see his body shaking, blurring, and then...disappearing. The dark Volcom jacket, the black pants, his gaunt face, all replaced by a different person. A man with thinning hair, combed straight and perfect backwards. He was wearing a dark greenish-black suit, a curling audio feed wire coming from the collar of his suit jacket to the audio feed in his right ear. A pair of polished leather shoes were very obvious and glinted in the moon light. He, like the other man, sported a pair of dark shades, though they were less streamlined and more square. He looked like an FBI agent, but scarier. Scarier because of what had just happened. Greg and Rick sat in fear next to the man, wondering what had happened to their friend.
"Time to put an end to this, Mr. Morrell," the man said. In an amazing feat of strength, he lifted up the desk and hurled it through the large window nearby. The telephone stopped ringing and was crushed under the weight of the desk, shattering alongside Mrs. McGreer's iMac. The other man, apparently Mr. Morrell, turned to run, but another person stepped through the doorway. He looked very similar to the man that had just thrown the desk out the window.
"You have no choice..." said the man who had just stepped through the door.
"...but to give in..." said the man who had lifted up the desk. Suddenly Greg's body began to blur and turned into another man, also very similar to the previous two.
"...Mr. Morrell," finished the new man. All three of the men in greenish-black suits stood and talked very organized, very coordinated. Almost monotonous. All three of them pulled pistols from the inside of their suit jackets and aimed for Mr. Morrell.
"No! I will not surrender to the Matrix!" he shouted. With that, all three of the suited men fired. Multiple shots tore through Mr. Morrell, his blood splattering on the desks, on the chalk board, on the floor. As one last action, Mr. Morrell fired his Uzi at the suited man next to Rick. Rick moved out of the way as the man became a blur of movements. First he was there, now there, and now he's there... Every single shot missed, the bullets shattering through the chalk board. The slate fell to the ground in splintered pieces. Mr. Morrell toppled over onto the desk that Greg and Tom had unscrewed, and it gave way beneath him. He was dead.
This was too much for Rick. He pushed his way past the suited men and made a run for the door. He ran as fast as he could, not stopping until he reached his house. He climbed up onto the roof and jumped through his open bedroom window and landed on the bed. He fell asleep there, and began having nightmares of men in green-black suits chasing him, shooting at him with their pistols. All he could do was fire back with silly string and spray paint, until they reached him...
"Are you coming or not, Wake?"
Three boys stood outside the gates of a large junior high. It was a cold night and was destined to snow sometime soon. Thick, dark clouds covered a beautiful full moon, and it was dark. The three boys were dressed in dark clothing so they would not be seen. They all wore sweaters with the hoods up, hiding their faces.
One boy had a bulky backpack on, full to bursting with spray paint cans, silly string bottles, and toilet paper. He was medium in height and had a good build, but nothing special. He had spiked brown hair that ended in bleached tips. His face was set with grim determination. His name was Richard Thornton, but his friends called him Rick. He would be turning 15 a week after school ended, which was two days from now. As a good-bye present to his worst teacher, Mrs. McGreer, the math teacher, he and his friends Gregory (Greg) and Thomas (Tom) had decided to vandalize her classroom. Just in case anybody was around to hear them, they were going by codenames. Greg was Voltage. Tom was Pistol. Rick was Wake.
"Well?" The boy who had spoken earlier spoke again, turning away from the fence. This was Tom, the group's vigilant leader. He was tall and lanky, with big ears and a narrow face. His hair was buzzed short, but hidden by the hood. Greg was his twin brother, and looked identical to Tom. Their faces appeared gaunt in the dim light of the moon, and their cold blue eyes focused on Rick.
"Yeah, let's do it," Rick said, and he hopped the fence. Tom and Greg followed him quickly, clambering up the fence noisily and dropping down on the other side. They glanced around to make sure nobody had heard them or seen them, and then slinked away onto the campus in the dead of night. They ran across the basketball courts and pressed their backs to the walls of the large gym. In the shadows they ran to classroom number 18. During the day Tom had jammed one of the windows open while Mrs. McGreer was out of the room, so they now crawled through the window and onto the low bookshelf she had on the side of the room, which was loaded with heavy textbooks.
"Well, let's get started," Rick said, dropping his backpack onto the nearest desk. He brought out two spray cans and ran up the chalk board, spraying "MCGREER IS SCHOOL'S SATAN" on it in red and green paint. Tom began running the toilet paper rolls around, wrapping up the desks. Greg took out the silly string and began shooting the pink and blue string everywhere. When the spray paint in the canisters in Rick's hands ran out, he plopped down at the teacher's desk. He switched on the iMac, aiming to erase everything on the computer. Instead of being greeted by the blue thing of the computer wallpaper, the screen went black. His face scrunched up with confusion. Then something was scrawled across the blackness. "Hello Wake."
What the hell? Rick thought. He tried to type back and succeeded. It reminded him of using AOL Instant Messenger at home. "Hi, who's this?"
A reply came quickly, and it sounded urgent. "I cannot tell you now. You must get out of there."
With that, the computer shut itself down. Rick sat there, staring at the blank screen. Had the computer just talked to him? How did it do that? He did not know what to make of it. He looked over at Tom and Greg, who were busy unscrewing a desk to make it loose, hoping that it would collapse on the kid who sat there tomorrow. They stopped when they noticed their friend sitting and staring. They were about to ask him what was wrong and if he had dismantled the computer yet, but they were stopped when the phone started ringing. Common sense told them not to answer it. Then the door knob to the front door started turning, and common sense told them to dive under the teacher's desk.
The door knob stopped turning, for it was locked. Then the sound of a sub-machine gun firing rang in their ears, and the door knob was blown off. The door opened easily, and in walked a man wearing all black and holding an Uzi. His black hair was shoulder-length, tangled and frayed. A trench coat swished around him, the glimmer of gun metal obvious under it. His eyes were hidden by a pair of dark, streamlined glasses. His boots clicked on the tile floor. Sweat dripped down his face, his hair matted, as if he had been running for a long time. Running for the desk they were hiding under, he reached for the phone.
"What the...?" Rick heard Greg ask as a computerized noise filled their ears, originating from Tom. Rick turned to look at his friend, to see his body shaking, blurring, and then...disappearing. The dark Volcom jacket, the black pants, his gaunt face, all replaced by a different person. A man with thinning hair, combed straight and perfect backwards. He was wearing a dark greenish-black suit, a curling audio feed wire coming from the collar of his suit jacket to the audio feed in his right ear. A pair of polished leather shoes were very obvious and glinted in the moon light. He, like the other man, sported a pair of dark shades, though they were less streamlined and more square. He looked like an FBI agent, but scarier. Scarier because of what had just happened. Greg and Rick sat in fear next to the man, wondering what had happened to their friend.
"Time to put an end to this, Mr. Morrell," the man said. In an amazing feat of strength, he lifted up the desk and hurled it through the large window nearby. The telephone stopped ringing and was crushed under the weight of the desk, shattering alongside Mrs. McGreer's iMac. The other man, apparently Mr. Morrell, turned to run, but another person stepped through the doorway. He looked very similar to the man that had just thrown the desk out the window.
"You have no choice..." said the man who had just stepped through the door.
"...but to give in..." said the man who had lifted up the desk. Suddenly Greg's body began to blur and turned into another man, also very similar to the previous two.
"...Mr. Morrell," finished the new man. All three of the men in greenish-black suits stood and talked very organized, very coordinated. Almost monotonous. All three of them pulled pistols from the inside of their suit jackets and aimed for Mr. Morrell.
"No! I will not surrender to the Matrix!" he shouted. With that, all three of the suited men fired. Multiple shots tore through Mr. Morrell, his blood splattering on the desks, on the chalk board, on the floor. As one last action, Mr. Morrell fired his Uzi at the suited man next to Rick. Rick moved out of the way as the man became a blur of movements. First he was there, now there, and now he's there... Every single shot missed, the bullets shattering through the chalk board. The slate fell to the ground in splintered pieces. Mr. Morrell toppled over onto the desk that Greg and Tom had unscrewed, and it gave way beneath him. He was dead.
This was too much for Rick. He pushed his way past the suited men and made a run for the door. He ran as fast as he could, not stopping until he reached his house. He climbed up onto the roof and jumped through his open bedroom window and landed on the bed. He fell asleep there, and began having nightmares of men in green-black suits chasing him, shooting at him with their pistols. All he could do was fire back with silly string and spray paint, until they reached him...