John felt like he was being watched.
He had felt like this for at least a month or two, ever since he managed to hack into Metacortex's payroll system and see just how much his employers were actually earning from his hard work. Of course, he accepted the fact that just because he was the head programmer on the new software that was being marvelled by nearly every computer user on the Internet did not mean that he would get that great a cut in the profits. It just did not seem fair to him that his own employers would gain so much over him, he was the one who wrote the core of it after all. And so there was the little matter over his manager having his brand new Roll's Royce being towed away after so many tickets that had somehow accumulated on his now rather interesting criminal record.
It was not the first time he had done hacking. He had torn apart other programs when he started, just to see how one function or another had happened. But this was the first time that he felt he had gotten someone's attention.
It was Friday night. John had half-dumped his shopping onto the counter and was waiting for the pizza he ordered over an hour before. A signed Kevin Smith comic sat on his coffee table, and he idly flicked through it before turning on the TV. Channel-surfing had lost its appeal; a lot of stations were broadcasting shows about the first-year anniversary of when two terrorists stormed a government building, killing nearly every member of the security employed there for no apparent reason or motive. John had naturally been shocked over the incident; the building was only a few blocks away from where he lived and many of his co-workers knew someone who worked there, and so the day jump-started a major retaliation against terrorism. But, as worried over it as he had been, he and many other people got on with their lives. No group had ever admitted responsibility over the incident, although the capture and subsequent escape of the infamous Morpheus was being marked as the most popular theory. One show was even show-casing Morpheus, tagging him as the most-wanted person in not only the US but many other countries over the world. John however was getting tired over how it was being told over and over again on every station, even more so than when it had first happened, and so he decided to check his e-mail. Metacortex's Internet policy was severely restrictive; paranoid over either hackers or those who might try to send them viruses or other similarly nasty programs, they had set up their firewalls so tightly that it was not worth either the time nor the paperwork to go to anywhere other than the local network. John however had a fairly popular web-presence, and Frag usually had something interesting in his mail-box at least every couple of days. Any sense of paranoia had disappeared, and as his computer opened his account, his pizza finally arrived.
Two new documents were in his in-box. The most recent one was from the managers from his account, who warned him over how he had far too much data stored on it. The one just before it, was the reason for the first file. It was huge, at least over 99 gigabytes of data. John had just enough hard-drive space to download it, and even though there was stories about how there were now viruses that would not even require a trusting soul to click on the proceeding download option before installing itself, he decided to trust his own firewalls and anti-virus programs. But first he would read the read me file that came with it.
It identified itself as a puzzle of sorts, a virtual Internet that would have to be hacked into to reveal any answers. John had somehow gotten hold of someone's attention. If the document was anything to be believed, this someone was a hacker known as Neo who John had heard a little of. Neo was rumoured to be a Thomas Anderson, who had mysteriously vanished and was rumoured about to be kicked out of (company) before John joined up with them. In fact, John now was using his cubicle and computer, after it was finally returned by federal agents. Maybe this was a set-up, a joke of some kind. Or maybe his boss had found out he was responsible for the speeding tickets and was in for a little payback. John figured what-the-hell, figuring how he had nothing better to do and grabbing a case of coke set down to work.
It was Sunday afternoon when John finally looked up from the screen. He hadn't slept at all, but he had managed to finally crack the program. It was really just a puzzle, but it was something that he was good at. Rubix cubes were nothing to him. His screen dimmed to a black screen. John was about to start to panic that his monitor or something else had burned out when a sentence flashed onto the screen.
"Follow the white rabbit."
The knock on the door brought him around, and he stumbled onto his feet, rubbing cramp out of his legs and somehow managed to walk to the front door. "Who is it?" he managed to croak out.
"It's Troy."
"Yeah?"
"I've got the cash."
John sighed and opened the door. Troy stood there looking panicked, behind him some of his friends and next to him slouched Dujoir. "You have the money now?" John glared at Troy, and he countered by grabbing a fat envelope from nowhere. He handed it to John, who flicked through the cash, nodded in satisfaction, and went back inside only to return a minute later with a CD-ROM in a plastic sleeve.
"Thanks man! You have saved my soul!"
"Yeah, sure. A cracked version of Doom 3 beats going to church any time." John figured he knew what would happen to the disk. Although if he had the time he could do the same thing, he knew that Troy would be busy burning duplicate copies and selling them to kids at a fraction of the retail price while keeping a nice profit for himself. Piracy was generally considered theft of creativity however, and so if he was caught he knew that software companies would hire whoever they needed to make sure he received a hefty prison sentence.
Dujoir perked up finally, and started to ooze closer to John. "Say, we're going to a party. I know a lot of people who would love to meet you." John just smiled. "Sorry, tired. Gotta work tomorrow."
"Oh come on. Don't be a spoilsport." Dujoirs hands started crawling over John, and he wasn't sure just how happy her boyfriend would be to see her doing this. But then he saw her shoulder, pale looking and smooth like marble, with one interesting predominant tattoo.
One, rather natural looking, white rabbit.
"Can you guys give me an hour?"
After a twenty minute drive, John found himself in a basement that was exploding with lights and noise. He lost track of the bands that were playing. Sulphur mixed into Curve and Nine Inch Nails somehow collided with Static-X, Rob Zombie and Fear Factory all at once. John felt uncomfortable in this place. Troy and Dujoir were neighbours who somehow heard about his skills and were not people he considered friends, and he didn't know anybody else here. It didn't help that he was the only one here wearing stone-wash jeans and a shirt, as everyone else was either wearing leather or not much at all. And so he wandered off to the drinks-table and grabbed a bottle of vodka.
He didn't notice the woman slide next to him. "That's strong stuff you got there." It was so noisy that she had to talk into his ear. That got his attention, and he turned his eyes to look at her. She wasn't unattractive, far from it, but tight leather was defiantly a thing for her. John tried not to over-do his smile.
"I'm sorry. Are you flirting with me?"
"Don't tell me you have a thing for pickup-lines."
"No, no. It's just that I'm not exactly part of this crowd."
"You're different."
"Am I?"
"Yes you are Frag."
John stopped smiling and put the bottle down. "How do you know that name?" he managed to hiss.
"I know a lot of things about you. You like the puzzle?"
"So you sent it."
"Actually, my husband did."
"Now, is that Neo, or Thomas Anderson?"
She perked her eyebrow at that. "Both actually. I know that you sit at his desk. I know that your employer is lucky to keep his license and that any car insurance company will even look at him. And I know that you are being watched."
"By who exactly?"
"Two groups are interested in you. My group, and the other group."
"You're a different software company. And this is your recruitment drive? What's the dental plan like?"
"You are good with computers. Too good. That puzzle could only be solved by very special people. And you are one of them. My group want you alive. And the other group want you dead."
"Sure. Right." John reached for the bottle, but the woman got there first. "Listen to me. There are questions that you want answered. Your mind reaches out to solve anything to get to the answers. The white rabbit is a guide to a teacher, but only if you want to learn."
"And what would I want to learn?"
"How about what the Matrix is?"
Suddenly a light blew just above her, and the others soon followed suit. After a cacophony of curses and moans, the bulb was restored and the circuit-breaker fixed, the lights came back on. John panned around, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.
John waked at 6am the next morning with a mild hangover. He blasted himself with scolding water in the shower, crunched toast in his mouth and caught the sub-way to his work with one question rolling around his mind.
"What is the Matrix?"
Matrix sounded computer. The possibilities ran around his mind, although he saw the mural of flowers around the building that had been attacked just one year before and focused enough to get out at his building. He ran inside just as it started to rain, and grabbing a newspaper and chocolate from a vending machine, he walked to his cubicle.
John worked on some designs for a few hours. There were rumours buzzing around that he might be offered a promotion for the work he had done, although he did ask his co-workers if they had heard of a Matrix before. It had drew a blank with everyone, and although some people asked him where he had heard it from, he shrugged and mentioned that he heard it on some news-show he didn't properly catch. Just before he was scheduled to leave, the police arrived.
After politely asking him to come with them to answer some questions, John followed them outside, not before walking past his bosses office who he swore was gloating at him. Two men in black suits and sunglasses followed behind him and led him into a black car that screamed FBI at John. He decided to resist the idea to ask about Mulder and Scully and stared silently as one of the suits started the car and drove off into the road.
John found himself waiting for a few minutes in a typical interview room. Smiling nervously at the one-way mirror, he drummed his fingers until another suit came threw with a file. This suit seemed different however. He noticed that unlike the other two, he was not wearing sunglasses indoors. John would normally had politely asked why they felt the need to wear sunglasses indoors but resisted the idea. The other two seemed at least a little friendly. This one, without even speaking, felt emotionally cold. He pulled up the opposite chair and sat down.
"Mr Thomson. You lead a productive life. You pay your taxes on time. You work for a very respectable software company. And you donate to charity." John swore the other man would have spat that word out. "On the other hand, a persona that you have labelled Frag, is not so productive. That is yourself, is it not?"
John guessed that it would be impossible for them just to guess that he was also known as Frag. Hacker handles were not exactly dished out, and he knew no-one he had physically met who knew him as Frag. He nodded in acknowledgement.
"Frag, does not have a future, unless you consider rotting in a cell with only a convicted murderer for company. Mr Thomson however, may have a future."
John decided to butt in at this point. "Sorry, but who are you guys? And don't I get a lawyer? Am I actually being charged here? Are you even being recording this?"
The suit looked irritated at the interruption. "Yes, this meeting is being recorded. This machine just here is recording it." At that he slowly swooped his left arm to indicate a tape recorder that was busy picking up every sound in the room. John was positive it was not there before, but quickly dismissed the idea.
"We work for the government. We are not charging you with anything just yet, Mr Thomson, and you do not have a lawyer just yet, as we hope that you will consider our offer first before they try to convince you otherwise."
"And what would this offer be?"
"Have you heard of someone calling himself Neo, Mr Thomson?"
John again nodded.
"We have reason to believe that he is responsible for the massacre of last year."
"Hang on. A hacker, managed to take on fifty highly-trained guards without a scratch? Geeks aren't exactly known for their health, let-alone for killing people." John knew this was a common stereotype, of hackers being pimply teenagers or older men who didn't know how to maintain a beard, and he was happy that he had managed to avoid it. But the idea was impossible. Conspiracy theories had bounced around since the incident, but not one came close to what these people were saying.
"That is what the facts appear to suggest. We have reason to believe that he came into contact with you. We are prepared to offer you a deal."
"And that deal is?"
"As long as Frag stops his illegal activities, John Thomson will not be accounted for any of his alternates past."
"What do I have to do?"
It was ridiculously easy. John never met Thomas Anderson, but if Anderson was Neo, and was responsible for the killings, then he would help out these government guys. He never knew anybody who was killed, but he had seen how upset some people were, who had lost husbands or brothers in the shootings, and John decided to act patriotically. He mentioned the puzzle on his computer, and reluctantly handed it over to them when they finally convinced him that it would be returned intact, although the puzzle would have to be backed-up and removed. He told them of the party and the woman in leather. He didn't mention Troy or Dujoir though, since he didn't want to instigate them and he didn't mind them. After all, in a twisted sense, if he was caught anyway, he would probably be waiting to go to trial for computer crimes, so he figured that they helped him have a second chance. He was given some food and water, and although he was starting to feel tired, and even though he dozed off for a few minutes on the road back to his work, he also asked them about the Matrix, but it was fobbed off; the suits were not sure exactly what it was themselves and did not want to compromise national security by telling a civilian what they did know. John wasn't sure if they were lying or not, but went along with the deal. His manager didn't mention anything when he arrived the next day, and the feds gave him signed letter to explain how he was asked to come down as he appeared to look similar to a suspect in a bank-robbery case, but had been cleared of any suspicion.
John managed to get some shopping done before the store closed and decided to relax that night. The suits said that they would be in contact later on to tell him of any progress, after repeating over and over that if he was taken by these people he was to try to get any information that he could that would not compromise his own safety. John showered, changing into jeans and shirt before throwing something in the microwave. The TV was uninspiring as usual, and he had no computer, at least for a few weeks, so he pondered the idea of getting a video out or going to the local movie-house. The phone rang just as the microwave pinged.
"Hello?"
A high-pitched scream came out and John dropped the phone. He rubbed his ear to try to get rid of the ringing, swore he smelt plastic melting, cautiously grabbed the handset and brought it to his other ear.
"Hello?" He managed to hiss out, still rubbing his ear.
It was the leather-woman's voice. "Do you want any answers yet?"
John swallowed. He knew the phone had been tapped and was praying it was working. "So, what is the Matrix?"
"You really want to find out?"
"I guess so. Plus the dental plan,
pension, you know."
Leather-woman blurted out an address that John vaguely recognised and suddenly hung up. "I hope you guys are getting this" he spoke into the mouth-piece before he put the phone down himself.
Rain poured down around him as John tried to shelter under a tree and failed miserly. It felt like forever until finally a black car pulled over next to him. The back window rolled down and leather-woman stared at him.
"In or our?"
John shrugged and went for the door handle. "It's not going to shock me or anything is it?" Leather-woman shook her head and John climbed in. The driver he did not recognise. He looked like a kid, probably not old enough to drive, and he was focusing on the road ahead as he slowly drove off.
"Take off your shirt." Leather-woman said.
"What!"
The kid suddenly span around and pointed a gun at John's head.
"Jesus!"
The kid smirked. "Now will you take off your shirt?"
John unbuttoned the shirt and peeled it off while leather-woman grabbed something out from the passenger seat and pulled it back. John thought it looked like a leaf-blower crossed with some psychopathic surgeons toys. He started to worry when leather-woman pointed it at his gut.
"What the hell is going on?"
"You're bugged."
"There's nothing in my shirt!"
"I didn't say there was anything in your shirt."
The gizmo suddenly spat out four hypodermic needles that looked like individual claws. John wanted to pass out. Then it shot a tube over his belly-button, and blue lightning danced around it. John screamed and felt something pull inside him.
And finally the pain disappeared. John was grateful he wasn't wearing his shirt, as it would have been dripping with sweat then. He felt a slight breeze as the window was pulled down and shut again, and he passed out.
He awoke outside a derelict hotel, and the woman and the kid led him upstairs to the top floor. John guessed he was outside some sort of function room, as there were double-doors facing him compared to the normal single door.
Leather-woman looked at him, and whispered in his ear. "Be truthful to him, and he will show you truth." The grand door opened out, and he stepped inside.
The man stood by the window and as he span around John saw he was smiling. He thought he looked like that guy out Bill and Ted, and expected a yell of "Dude!", but no such bad luck. "Are you the head PO guy here?" The man just smiled and offered John a leather chair. John warily sat down, and the other man followed suit.
"Mr Thomson. Or Frag. I am Neo."
"Otherwise known as Thomas Anderson."
"You must have many questions."
"Not as many as your wife seems to think that I have."
"What do you wish to know then?"
"How about what the hell is going on?"
The smile disappeared. "Time, is not on our side just now. And so, to offer you the truth, we have a short-cut. Some things you must be shown to accept and to understand." Neo opened his left hand. "This blue pill, will not give you answers. But if you don't want answers, take it. If you want answers, take the red pill." Both looked like normal prescribed drugs. The table in-between them had a glass of water sat on top of it.
"What's in them, how do I know I'm not allergic to them or something?"
"Or they are poison?"
"Or LSD. Peyote. I don't know. Why don't I just walk out of here?" John started to stand up, and found himself looking down the barrel of a gun that Neo had suddenly brought to his other hand.
"You don't have a choice." John eased back down. "Now, blue pill, or red pill."
"How about this for a question."
"Go for it."
"Did you really kill those people in that building last year?"
Neo sighed. He didn't look comfortable talking about it. Finally he nodded his head. John reached out, took the water, and swallowed the blue pill. "If I have to take one of these things, it's gonna be so that I don't have to be with terrorist bastards like you!" he spat out.
And started to cough.
John collapsed onto the ground and struggled to breathe. His head started to swim and he fell to his side. A door behind him opened and closed, and he saw a tall black man wearing sunglasses and a heavy duster coat. John struggled to recognise the man.
Morpheus?
He caught garbled pieces of speech. "Shame, he had potential," and "he was going to lead them to us" were being debated between the people. Half the voices were compassionate and called him misguided, the other half called him traitor. Finally he blacked out.
And never woke up.
John's body was found two days later riddled with bruises and bullet wounds. His wallet and keys were missing, and he was labelled the victim of a random mugging. His apartment was found empty by police. They never found out that John's neighbours had gotten hold of an exclusive signed Kevin Smith comic. The funeral was fairly large, with his friends and family there, along with two federal agents who later revealed to the press that John had been helping them in their inquiries about something he had witnessed that they could not reveal for national security, but they would help in the investigation to bring his killers to justice. His cubicle at Metacortex was whispered as being cursed, and was never again used as a mark of respect.
Neo sat on a bench in one of the training programs and watched as non-descriptive people walked by him. The only one who stood out was a gorgeous blond in a red dress. Neo knew that she was programmed to turn into an agent as soon as he stopped paying attention to her, and so he kept on focusing on her. He kept on staring as Morpheus entered the program and sat next to him.
"You are thinking about Frag."
"Why did we have to kill him?"
Morpheus nodded at the crowd. "He was one of them. Still plugged in. If the agents knew he knew anything about the truth, they would have killed him themselves."
"It's not that. We are meant to save these people. He could have joined us. We didn't give him a chance."
"He had a choice. He chose the wrong side."
"So, because he talked to the agents, that made him choose the blue pill?"
"Maybe."
"I was a terrorist to him."
"What about the IRA? They used to resort to bombings to convey their message."
"I killed people. It doesn't matter to him that they could turn into agents. I killed innocent people."
"Yes you did."
They sat like that for a while. The woman in red's dress changed colour as Neo played around with reality until he finally got the courage to ask Morpheus something else.
"If I took the blue pill, would you have killed me like we did Thomson?"
Morpheus stared into nothing. "In war, you do not trust the opponent. You trust yourself, and those you know are loyal to you, and no-one else. Thomson was too dangerous to be allowed to live if he knew even what little he knew. Remember Neo, if you're not one of us." Morpheus stood up and nodded towards the people who swarmed in front of them. Businessmen, teachers, students, artists. Morpheus suddenly clicked his fingers together, and the swarm turned around to face them both, before morphing into agents with guns levelled at them.
"If you're not one of us, you're one of them."