A/N: Honestly, when I heard that Blaine's surname was Anderson I just couldn't resist this. I think things are going to get sillier rather quickly. Cue disclaimer - obviously I don't own the Matrix or Glee. Just the unhealthy imagination which decided it would be a good idea to merge the two.

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Wake up, Blaine.

Blaine Anderson's eyes stirred behind his lids as the light cast from the computer changed. He grimaced, clicking his jaw and rubbing his stubble-shadowed cheek where it had been resting on the binder spine. The grimace shifted to a frown – the screen was dark, and someone had interrupted his download. Someone who knew his real name.

I know what you are searching for.

His hand froze above the esc key, and he took a sip of day old coffee, alert now but still trying to shake off the last of his uneasy sleep.

And the best way to find David is to find Goliath.

Imperceptibly hazel eyes widened, illuminated eerily green in the artificial light. Blaine sucked in a breath and clicked the mouse, typing furiously as he attempted to break into the IP that was delivering the messages. Nothing appeared but static and a green message at the bottom.

Bye-bye Blaine.


"F – " Blaine glanced at the clock, and realized he didn't even have time to swear if he wanted to make it to work at a half decent hour. The twenty something shrugged on a pressed suit, fixed his tie and put down enough product to tarmac a motorway in the hopes that his hair would stop attracting small families of birds.

Come ten past the hour though and he was, unsurprisingly, in his supervisor's office, getting chewed out like he was twelve years old again.

"You have a problem with authority Mr. Anderson." His mechanical, grey-tongued supervisor looked archly at Blaine over the spire of his hands, imparting his words with the kind of gravity usually reserved for church. If he could the supervisor (in Blaine's book he didn't have enough personality to merit a name) would have them all wearing uniforms.

"The Warblers is one of the top software companies in the world because every single employee understands that they are part of a whole. Thus if an employee has a problem, the company has a problem. I hope you understand that the whole, Mr. Anderson, means much more to me than the parts."

Blaine kept his caustic response to himself and left the office, his shoulders tensed with irritation. It was made all the worse because he could still remember when he had been like that, when all that had seemed to matter in his life was the drill of work, eat, fuck, sleep without dreaming. Rinse and repeat.

When he returned to his cubicle there was a parcel on his desk. Blaine turned over the envelope in his hands and glanced about sharply. The envelope was blank on both sides, there wasn't even a stamp and he wondered who had left it there. But curiosity had his fingers working open the package before he registered what he was doing, and his hand closed around a phone.

That nearly gave him a stroke when it started to ring.

To the tune of Train's Hey Soul Sister.