Anemone and Agent Darcy
Anemone lay back and tried to loosen up as Croc slid the metal prong deep into her brain. It felt odd, stangely odd, as if someone were numbing the back of one's head. She shuddered as it seated itself in its specified hole and briefly mused that it was scarily similar to sex. A tab sliding into a slot that was specifically designed for it. When she opened her eyes she was in the Real, standing in the empty space made especially for loading programs.
For a moment she imagined herself in her minds eye. Some people had different looks, when they came to the real. Unfortunatly her hair was still dull pale red/dishwater blonde, niether long nor short, and pulled into a simple ponytail and her eyes a dark gray. Croc had often mentioned that in certain lights her hair was shot through with gold, and her eyes a stormy sea but then again, Croc had been trying to get into her pants for years. She was on the shorter side, a mere five-foot two, with curves that scoffed at her dellusions about diets. No matter what she ate, gruel, nutrients, water, she kept the smooth rounded body and sighed in vain over the toned, slim bodies of the other girls.
Wrinkling her nose she banished those thoughts and instead concentrated.
"Load the shooting practice please, Croc." She said, slightly louder than normal.
"No problemo Mone'." Croc's voice echoed slightly in the illusion of the room. With a whoosh that seemed physical enough to whisk her hair about her face, the program downloaded. Seconds later she was in slim black jeans, a dark green tank and a matching black jean jacket.
Around her was a stereotypical shooting range, a long black metal row of open-backed boxes facing another line of red and white targets. Sliding a small gun from the holster by the door she slid on safety-glasses and took aim. The ear-numbing shot and kick-back brought her thoughts into line. As she let out an entire clip, hitting near the center of the target, she mused on the thoughts that led her to this, her sanctuary in times of distress.
Xerxes, Neo and Trinity's oldest son, a dreamboat in every sense of the word. He was tall, well, every guy was tall to her. With shining deep brown hair and sweet chocolate brown eyes. His body was nothing to scoff at either, sleek and muscled. He underwent surgery a while back to implant plugs into his body, but that didn't take away from his allure. He was soft-spoken and sweet with his fathers mysterious aura. Every girl in Xion between the ages of ten and fifty wanted him. Anemone most certainly was included, in fact, she believed she had come the closest to having him.
Freed at the age of twelve, she instantly fell into his gang, although he was a good three years older. She considered herself his friend, and felt that he believed it too. Then puberty hit and with it the horror of her crush. Instead of leaving, it intensified over the years and now, a full eight years later she was still mooning over him. Which was rediculous, she constantly told herself, especially with Dot around. Dot, the prim, prissy little piece of blonde tail that now had Xerxes' attention like a dog after a bone.
Teeth bared she reloaded and began anew.
"What was so important, Croc?" Morpheus asked, straightening his robe. Croc could barely tear his eyes away from the screen, where a girl was playing around in the real. To him it seemed she was using a trainers simulation, which aimed her gun for her.
"Morpheus, sir, look at her! Every shot a bullseye, even after I began the evasive manuevers. She's... she's amazing!" Croc replied, awed, not even looking at the tall black man beside him. Morpheus leaned down, taking a moment to watch. Indeed, the girl tore through the program like a pro, and began ripping the manuvering section to shreds.
"She is operating with training wheels?" He asked. Training wheels was slang for the automated, computerized help system.
"Heres the kicker, sir. She never has. Mone' never needed training wheels. Ever. She is a complete natural." Croc replied, smiling self-satisfiedly as he uploaded another, tougher level. In half the time it took normal trainees she was finished, demanding another set.
"Is this the first time she has been so good?" Morpheus asked when Croc obeyed the sweating girl. Croc hesitated.
"...no. No its not, sir. The first couple times I figured, beginners luck. When it became a regular thing I filed a report, but nothing came of it. So, I decided to show you." He typed quickly, sparing a glance at the radar. The he froze, before whipping his head back. Morpheus turned, just in time to see it.
"Electric storm, heading this way. Can you out manuever it?" He asked, calmly, quietly. Croc shook his head, as he furiously began steering the floating ship away from the fatal cloud of electrodes.
"Contact in ten seconds." He got out, choked on his own fear. In the last seconds, he turned his wide, terrified eyes to where Anemone was attatched. "Mone'."
Anemone had just destroyed a group of men running at her with bats when the program fizzled out.
"Croc? Whats going on Croc? This isn't funny!" She called out into the black space. "Come on-"
The breath was jerked out of her as a wave of what seemed like pure pain slammed into her. Anemone was swept off her feet, but she didn't fall, instead she paused in mid-air, convulsing in pain as another wave composed entirely of fire hit her with the force of a ton of bricks. Spasms unlike anything she'd ever felt before consumed her, head to toe, as she slammed into wall after wall of some odd electricity. Then she broke out, gasping in breath like a drowning man, before it was forced out of her again as she whammed into a warm, hard, entity.
Anemone's training forced her aching eyes open, and practice focased them. When one is Freed, everything is an effort of will and one learns how to control one's body. She took inventory while her eyes adjusted. Her body throbbed with every beat of her heart, which stuttered oddly. She was twitching slightly, but not bleeding as far as she could tell. When her eyes cleared she finally turned her weary mind to what she landed on.
An agent!
Reason, logic and training flew out the door as she stared in open-mouthed shock at the black-sunglassed eyes staring at her.
"I-I'm in the Matrix?" She gasped, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.
"Yes, you are." He answered in the odd, slow way agents talk. She had a quick moment to notice he was not like other agents, before the Pain Wave hit her. Surprised at the enormous shock of pain, she fisted her hands in a death grip on the Agent's suit. His arms went up around waist as she shook and trembled and cried with pain, before she was falling again, and the world went dark.
~_*_~
"Her heart stopped again. Paddles."
"My god, she's still living? The Electro-storm was one of the highest we ever-"
"We know, get the physician."
"Yes sir."
Anemone opened her eyes, which was harder than it had every been before and vaguely focased on the kind face above her.
"Morpheus?" She whispered, feeling warm, thick fluid seem from her mouth. His wise brown eyes met hers and he smoothed a hand over her forehead.
"Rest. Help is coming." Gratefully she slipped back into oblivion.
~_*_~
Anemone came too a second time, feeling cotton-mouthed and fuzzy. She was very, very tired, her eyes were tired, her heart was tired and her mind couldn't seem to wake up fully. Also, beneath the cottony, numb feeling of the drugs floating in her system a headache pounded at her temple. In fact, it was less of a headache and more of a body-ache, dimmed slightly by the narcotics, but still persistant. With a force of will that was way more tiring than it should have been, she put the ache in the back of her mind. Disinterestedly she looked around.
The pale, green walls of the infirmiry greeted her, with various insterments of healing around her. She was lying flat, wearing an asexual hospital gown and several I.V.'s. Her room was relatively empty except for her bed, a chair, and the Agent standing in the corner staring at her. For a moment it didn't click.
"Oh. Hullo." She croaked, waving a limp hand at him, wincing as the body ach intensified. The Agent assessed this, then came forward.
"You are drugged." He announced, his voice deep and slow, and not at all as horrible as she was told.
"Higher than a kite." She agreed cheerfully, lazily blinking and lowering her hand. She missed the bed and it fell off to her side, hanging in the air.
Anemone observed it, hanging limply, and tried to lift it again. The shock of pain that hit her was without equal, and without struggle she let it fall. The Agent observed her, then came forward and grabbed her wrist. Anemone gasped, feeling every bit of the ache evaporate instantly. The Agent assessed this, viewing her as if she were some sort of experiment doing something new. Then, he deliberatly released her hand.
She gasped anew as the pain winged through her with avengence. The drugs seemed to have no effect on them now, and they played havoc on her nervous system. With half an ear she heard the beeps of her heartbeat on the moniter increase dramatically as pain wrung her every muscle dry. Just as soon as it became too much and she felt oblivion darkening the edges of her vision, he grabbed her pale, limp wrist.
"God, please, please don't let go." She gasped, lacing her fingers with his. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat. Anemone would have gladly begged Satan to touch her at that point, ardrenaline having erased the previous drugs and the I.V. too slow to refill the need.
Agent nodded once, abruptly, and tightened their entwined fingers gently.
"I will not release you." He answered. Anemone nodded, the I.V. finally doing its work and drugging her again. A goofy smile curved her lips.
"Good. Good, very good. It hurt so much, Agent dude-man. I mean, so much." She slurred. Then she viewed him through half-lidded eyes. "Here, lay with me. It'd suck muchly to have to stand while I pass out like a good girl. No, seriously. Lay down."
Anemone tugged ineffectually at his hand, until the Agent nodded and lay next to her on his side. Completely out of it, she wrapped her arms around his waist, glorying in the feelings that arose. The more of him she touched, the better her body felt. And he was warm too, odd if she thought about it so she didn't, instead snuggling deeper into him. Anemone took a quick minute to adjust one of his expensive-feeling suit arms around her waist, before burrowing deep into his chest again and breathing in.
"Hey, Agent Dude-man, you smell good. Really good. How do you do that?" She slurred drunkenly into his collar.
"Not all agents are mere programs. I am an older model." He answered her softly, voice rumbling through his chest and to her ears. "-and its D. Agent D."
"D. Agent D. Dragon, Drake, Drawers, Dumbeldore, Dumbo, Delicate, D'Argo, Darcy. Darcy. Agent D?" She asked, voice fading with each random word.
"Yes?"
"Can I call you Darcy?" She asked, voice a mere breath.
"...yes."
"Kewl. You really don't look like a Dumbledore anyway."