Protector of Men Ch 77.

**See that up there? It says "Chapter 77". This is the third part of a story that I have been writing for a long time, and though it's not altogether necessary to read the first two parts, I'd recommend it. The characters in this story have already been introduced, and the plot has already twisted many times. So if you'd like to read the first two parts, click on my name and you should find "Protector of Men" Installments one and two. This is the last installment!**

"Hey honey," the Oracle observed, a grin spreading across her wizened face, "You're back again."

"I need to see Neo."

"All in good time," she soothed, "There's no rush. No rush at all."

"I have to talk with him."

The Oracle paused, tilted her head to the side as she postponed a puff from her cigarette.

"Why don't you trust me," she asked, "The others all do."

Zandra was silent; a part of her suddenly became very nervous. The Oracle sighed, and put out her cigarette in an ashtray to her right.

"Well I won't force ya, but you've gotta know – I'm on your side."

Zandra eyed her warily, but nodded.

"I know you're still confused, and that's why you're asking him. But I can still help."

"Then what do I do?"

"Play to your strengths, honey – let them see what you're known for." She paused, then continued a little quieter: "That's all I can tell you for now."

"Can I see him?"

"No problem kiddo: the door's on your left."

Zandra looked; it was there.

"Tell him I said hello," the Oracle called from behind her.

"Thank you," Zandra whispered before opening the door.

"Any time," the Oracle offered, and lit another cigarette.

It was darker than before, and emptier. There were wooden floors, wooden walls, and paneled ceilings. There were no windows, but light emanated from cracks in the shabbily dressed walls. Zandra ventured forward.

"Neo?" she asked, craning her neck.

"I'm here," he said, startling Zandra by his closeness. She could see the pale reflection in his dark eyes and followed him further into the room. He sat down, and she across from him in two lonely chairs.

"So did everything work out?"

"Almost. We lost one of ours to a sentinel."

Neo closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"They're getting thicker," Zandra mentioned, trying to draw information.

Neo nodded again. "They always will."

"What can we do?"

"Not much," he answered, looking towards the ground. Flashes of the past seared through his mind, leaving him temporarily thoughtless.

Sentinels.

Noise.

Searing heat.

Trinity…

"What did you do last time?"

Last time? Neo was shaken out of his trance, and tried to recollect. Last time was an age ago. Last time was a failure, the culmination of a weak link that broke the chain.

"Last time we failed."

Zandra was quiet.

"I have to know what to do," Zandra told him, her eyes straining from an exertion of focus. It was still dark, and she was becoming exasperated. There were no answers from Neo; and he was her last hope.

"They're looking to me."

"I know," he answered, equally quietly. "But what can be done?" His tone was hopeless.

"You can tell me the truth about everything," Zandra asserted. Neo closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed again. He seemed weary; as if he had no will to talk, to explain, even to live.

"Everything?"

"Tell me why I don't trust the Oracle. Tell me why Smith wanted you, tell me why I'm their leader but I don't know the way. I need to know."

"You won't like the answers," he told her, his eyes gleaming again in the dim light.

"But I can't lead if I don't know."

Neo paused; again he sighed.

"The Oracle isn't innocent. I don't want to ruin my safety, she's just not what you think."

"What is she?"

"She's been here since before I was around."

"She can't be human," Zandra whispered, now worried that the woman could hear her speak.

"She's not, and I don't know what side she's on."

Zandra was quiet, and he continued darker: "I thought she was helping us, but we ended up right where we started."

"But she's got so much sway."

"She always will. Just don't trust her too much."

Now Zandra sighed, and crossed her legs on the chair she sat. His answer was useless: Zandra already distrusted her, and he gave her no alternative. Neo's eyes still glimmered in the dark.

"Smith was made to destroy me," he continued, now looking around in the darkened room, "But he can't find me now."

They were both quiet for a while; Zandra followed Neo's example and let her eyes wander. The room was bare, only two chairs rested in the middle of the room, while crack-ridden boards comprised the walls of the hut. Sunlight - or what Zandra supposed was sunlight, streamed in from cracks and created emaciated rays of brightness in the gloomy area.

"What do I do?" she finally asked, breaking the long silence. Neo's head snapped back to her.

"Don't do what they tell you to do," he said, with a sudden intensity in his glare that Zandra was almost alarmed by.

"Tell me? Who?"

"Don't go to the Merovingian again. Only see the Oracle if you have to, and don't go to the Architect. Everything ends there; it can't happen again."

Another flash from the past:

Televisions.

Heightened language.

Trinity…

"What do I do instead?" she asked, becoming frustrated. Everywhere she went they told her what not to do, but no one knew the true answer.

"Unplug people," he answered in a monotone tenor. "Build up the army before they strike."

"How do I do that?" she asked, "It's so slow."

"I don't know. You'll have to figure that out yourself."

Zandra sighed again and stood up. Again, Neo was proving himself to be more of a burden than a help.

"What is it?" he asked, getting up as well.

"Just so many questions," Zandra answered. Neo's eyes were dark; they did not glint in the light. He watched her for a moment, looked into her. Sadness washed over him; he could remember when he too once felt the burning desire for knowledge, he once yearned for the truth. But in all of the years – alone – he learned that truth wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a peace that would never last; a peace that was unfeasible in the world that he lived in. Now that living was a technicality, it was different. There were no cares. There was no feeling. There was only the constant grief that had pervaded his being and made it a part of him. Sadness wasn't a feeling anymore; sadness was him. There was only a will to survive; a will that frustrated him in its very persistence. There was no survival in this world, only perseverance. There was no purpose in his being, but he still persisted. It was a life without meaning; a life without existence.

Thomas Anderson had become a program.

"I just don't know where I can find the answers."

Neo was still silent, and Zandra walked to the door. One last look at him, and she left.

A/N – wow. That's all I can say. Revolutions kicked my ass, and now this story seems ridiculous. I'm still writing it – don't get me wrong I love this story – but it just seems old. Reloaded is over. Revolutions is over. So sorry if the tone changes, but I think it's inevitable.