Title: A Day in the Life
Fandom: Matrix
Timeline: Pre-first movie
Word count: 1895
Summary: The few things Roy knew for sure were that this Morphean person was a director and The Matrix was his newest project. This director had called him and told him the new role was perfect for him- in fact, he had spent his whole life preparing for it.
A/N: My first Matrix fic, though I've been active in fanfiction for quite a while now. Do enjoy. Check out my other stuff if you're interested in Twilight or Dexter.
The character of Roy Hill shared some resemblance to Keanu Reeves, so I changed him to fit that more- not in personality, but in history. Kinda. No offense meant to the actor.
Roy Hill, movie star, looked out the window and considered the sheeting rain.
He was supposed to meet a man- his name was Morphean, wasn't it? - for lunch, but it looked like he wouldn't be able to make it. After all, it was nearly five till one, and the restaurant was all the way on the other side of town. Roy had searched for the restaurant online; it was a hole-in-the-wall place, not the kind he usually frequented.
What was that the director had said? Something about not wanting to be seen together; apparently the role was top secret.
In fact, in the brief conversation Roy had had with him, Morphean had been pretty vague.
The few things Roy knew for sure were that Morphean was a director and The Matrix was his newest movie. He had called him, saying that the new role was perfect for him; in fact, he had spent his whole life preparing for it.
Roy had never seen the script, but the project interested him. He had mentioned that it was full of adventure, action, suspense- and possibly romance.
It sounded different from the other roles casting agents and directors called him with. Not that they called much any more. Mostly all he got were offers about cheap, stupid romantic comedies. He was an aging actor- and nothing was worse in Hollywood than an almost has-been. Forty was a criminal offense in Tinseltown.
It seemed all people wanted was a scandal nowadays. Since he apparently didn't have enough to offer, the paparazzi had turned against him. Those shallow bastards.
Not that he was bitter.
In any case, he had agreed to meet Morphean for lunch. Now it looked like he would have to schedule it for another day. Pity.
He stretched, his shirt rising above gym-toned abs and his expensive jeans skimming the floor. He walked across the room, sighing. The Hollywood star peeked out the window again, expecting to see his long, empty, winding driveway slicked with rain. Instead, a single black car was parked right in front of his house.
That very instant, the doorbell rang.
He jumped. Moments later, one of his uniformed maids entered the room. "Guest for you, Meester Hill," she said through a thick accent. He made a mental note to fire her later.
Roy had no reply. He followed her down the long, high halls- they seemed empty and eerie now- to his front door. She left him there, in the empty room. He stepped carefully across the front room. The squeaky clean floors accented his every move. His hands pulled on the dark brass handle.
It swung open silently. A man in sunglasses stood just beyond, equally as silent.
"Who are you?"
The man spoke in a non-descript, if slightly low, voice. "Morpheus sent me to pick you up."
"Oh," he said, at a loss for words. So it was Morpheus, not Morphean.
He followed him to a glossy black car. It was unobtrusive and anonymous: exactly the right car for a secret meeting.
The man- he really did look like a secret agent- opened the door to the back seats for him. Roy stepped inside.
The inside was nice, but not too plush. Roy attempted to make himself comfortable as the first man sat in the passenger seat. A near-identical man was perched in the driver's seat.
Secret-Agent-Man turned around and asked him the address. He recited it quietly. The car purred to life quietly and began making its way down his long winding drive. He stared out the window and watched the ever-spreading rain.
Minutes passed. The men in the front remained silent. Roy's mind began to wander. The rain was annoying him and he wished it would stop. It was making him feel even glummer.
He chanced to look at a street sign. His mind worked slowly to process the information.
Roy began to panic. "Wait, this isn't the way to the restaurant."
The man in the black suit turned around to face him. "We know, Mr. Hill."
The car bumped over a curb. The rain still made it impossible to see anything less than a foot away from the car. The man in the driver's seat eye's never left the road. At least, Roy assumed they didn't. The man was wearing dark sunglasses as well. He really wished they would take them off. They weren't helping with his growing anxiety.
He finally managed to speak after the long silence. "Where- where are you taking me?"
The suited man in the passenger seat turned again. "Don't worry, Mr. Hill, we only need to ask you a few questions."
Despite the fact he wanted to jump out of the car that very second and race back towards the comfort of his own home, he stayed in the car. Partially because it was going thirty or forty miles per hour and Roy didn't favor his chances of surviving a jump out of the car.
It was then that Roy noticed a car behind them. His stomach twisted. He wasn't sure whether to tell the driver or not.
Who were the good guys? Who were the bad guys?
The man in the passenger seat turned around to stare at Roy. The hairs on his neck prickled.
"Don't worry about it. We're taking care of it."
The driver pressed his foot ever so slightly on the pedal. The car shot forward and the buildings around them seemed to melt away. The pursuer grew smaller and smaller in the distance.
The danger was gone. Or was that his last chance at hope?
"Let's try this again. When did this Morpheus character first contact you?"
Roy stared at the cracked table before him. "I've told you a dozen times, I have no idea what you're talking about." His eyes wandered to the bare bulb above his head, avoiding the hidden eyes of the driver, now sitting in front of him. The harsh light bounced off the bare concrete walls.
This felt to Roy like something out of an old mob movie.
The first man, now sitting in a corner, commented again, sighing as he did so. "We already know you talked to him. You humans are so stupid."
Roy could have sworn these two were paparazzo, except for the man in the corner constantly commenting on humans and their many flaws. This was too strange to be Us Magazine or Entertainment Weekly. Perhaps it was that show on MTV- Punk'd, wasn't it?
The man in the corner finally stood up and walked slowly towards Roy. The second man held up a hand, but he walked on.
He leaned down, inches from Roy. His breath washed across the old star's face. It wasn't hot or cold. It had no odor either.
He whipped his sunglasses off, revealing bloodshot eyes. "If you don't tell me," he started, gritting his teeth, "you're going to get hurt."
Images of a smashed up nose and a ruined career shot through Roy's mind. He leaned back hurriedly. "I'll tell you whatever you want," he squeaked. Telling them just a little couldn't be too bad.
The other man grinned in a scary way. The first one slid his sunglasses back on. "You humans are so vain." He took his old place in the corner of the room.
The first man continued questioning him. "When did he contact you?"
"A- a week ago," Roy stuttered, still fearful.
"And what did he tell you?"
"He wanted me for a new project."
The one in the corner looked up in interest. "What's it called?" he asked.
"I can't tell you that."
"What…" he gritted his teeth again, "is… it… called?"
Roy stood his ground. "I can't say, sir."
He leapt up from his chair and flew at Roy. "I asked you what it was called!" he yelled in outrage, swinging at Roy's face. In an unusual display of quick reflexes, he dodged it and the punch hit his arm instead of his nose.
The other man finally acted, pulling the angry one away from a very frightened Mr. Hill. His arm throbbed.
Roy panted for a moment and tried to regain his dignity. He felt all of five years old. The hot-tempered one didn't sit in the corner again. Instead, he paced.
The calmer one looked at Roy. "I need you to tell me what the project was called."
He glanced at the pacing man with fearful eyes before staring at the floor. His mout set in a hard line. "The- the Matrix."
Everything went black.
He jumped up, surprised to find himself in his own bed. Breathing heavily, he scanned the room. Completely empty, other than him. He ran his fingers through his hair. That dream had been so vivid…
Already it was escaping him. There had been a car… rain… two men…
The rest was just fragments of thoughts. Almost nothing came to him.
His maid spoke from the doorway. "There was a call for you, Meester Hill."
Roy rubbed his eyes. "About what?"
"Uh… I cannot remember. Something about a romantic comedy? I have their number."
Excellent. A job. "Listen, I'll call them back later. Just leave the phone over here."
"Sure, sure." She set the phone next to his bed with a small scrap of paper. She turned to leave, but stopped. "And Meester Hill?"
"What?" he asked, eyes narrowed.
"The rain stopped."
Rain… rain… He tried to remember the last time it was raining and failed. He would have asked her that, but she already had left.
Roy stared at his reflection. There was a purple spot on his arm. That hadn't been there before, had it?
His dream flooded back to him for a moment. He fought to keep it there, but it drifted away.
His hand scrabbled for a pen to write down whatever thought was escaping him. He found none, and the idea continued its departure.
A weak smile spread across his face. Almost robotically, he grabbed the slip of paper and dialed the number written there. He could at least get a job. The phone rang for a minute or two until someone picked up.
"Mr. Hill?"
Perhaps he had Caller ID?
"Yes?" Roy said, hesitantly, though it came out as a question. The voice- it sounded kind of like Mor… Mor… He struggled to pronounce the name just beyond his reach. "I'm so sorry I couldn't make it today." The words flowed out of his mouth.
When was I going to meet him?
"It doesn't matter now." The voice was gruff. "It's too late now." The short conversation was clearly over.
"Wait!" he said, feeling rather helpless and small. "Please… don't hang up. Please… help me remember." A twinge of hope filled him. Maybe he could help him figure out everything that had happened today. What was today, anyway? How long had he been out?
Most importantly, what the hell was happening to him?
"The Matrix has you."
The line went dead.