Disclaimer: I don't claim the Matrix or any part of it as my own. Got that?

Note: This story was originally entitled 'The Gambler'. I removed it and replaced it with this once the second chapter was written and before any reviews were given.

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Chapter 1

            Max walked out of the rain and into the lavishly furnished lobby. His wet sneakers left footprints on the carpet as he made his way to the casino. He stood at the doorway for a moment. Like a hawk, he scanned the surroundings. Then he stepped into the gambler's haven.

            He went straight to a roulette table. He felt around in his pants' pocket for a moment, then extracted a thick wad of bills and dropped it on the table.

            "Give me ten thousand dollars' worth of chips!" he commanded.

            Heads turned. Who was this big-spender? He didn't quite fit the description of a person who could just gamble away a few thousand dollars in a single night. Max looked like he was just out of college. He was wearing a T-shirt and a faded pair of cargo pants.

            "Well?"

            "Yes sir," said the dealer as he handed Max his chips. "Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen."

            Max bet $1000 on black. The wheel was spun and his $1000 was taken away. "Just not your night, huh?" an old man standing next to Max quipped.

            "Just getting started, my friend," replied Max.

            Once again, Max bet another thousand on black. The dealer called out "No more bets please", and the wheel was spun. It stopped and once again, Max was a loser.

The old man leaned over and said, "You're going to be broke before the night is over if you continue to play like that."

            "I wouldn't worry about it", said a smirking Max.

            "Place your bets!" announced the dealer.

            Max took a deep breath and placed his remaining $8000 on 24. He turned and gave the old man a ghastly grin.

            "Man, you're as crazy as chicken shit!" said the old geezer as he bet $20 on red.

            After the bets were placed, the wheel was spun again. The ball spun around in the opposite direction until it made contact with the wheel. Max stood calmly as the ball landed into the 24 slot.

            "Ladies and gentleman, we have a winner!" announced the dealer. Max's $8000 was returned to him, along with his winnings of $280000.

            "Oh my God!" gasped the old man.

            "Here," said Max as he handed his winnings to the old man.

            "W-what?' the old man just managed to blurt as he gawked at the small fortune in chips that was set before him.

            "Your wife needs it more than me; for her dialysis treatments," said the generous winner, "and please stop gambling. She hates that."

            "H-How did you know?" But when the old man looked up to face Max, he was gone.

            Max stepped out of the casino's back door and into the night. The rain had stopped but the puddles remain. Max took a deep breath of the cool night air, tasting the strangely appeasing smell of the rain soaked streets. He grinned. He had just helped an old man and he felt good about that.

            Suddenly, a familiar voice, "Mr. Jackson, I've been looking for you."

            "What-you! I've told you…"

            "You have outlived your purpose. It's time for your deletion," said a man dressed in a suit and wearing sunglasses. He had an earpiece in his ear.

            "I'm not a program! I'm human!" yelled Max as he whipped around to face his nemesis, the System's agent, who was leaning against the wall of the alley with his arms crossed over his chest.

            "Sure."

            "I can't be deleted! I'm not like you; a cold and merciless pile of complex codes strung together!"

            "Mr. Jackson, do you seriously think that just emotions make you human?"

            Through gritted teeth Max responds, "That's what makes me different from you! You wouldn't know anything about it!"

            "Ah, anger…do you seriously think that emotion can't be duplicated by lines of code? It is but a reaction of sorts to stimuli; you bare your teeth, clench your fists and behave aggressively. That reaction is easily programmed. The stimuli in this situation…..me," said the agent.

            "That's right!" said Max as he lunged at the agent like a bolt of lightning. The agent easily dodged him and swiftly drew his handgun. He fired three shots in succession at Max. Like the agent, Max could easily dodge them.

            "You still call yourself human when you can do that."

            "So can the person known as the One! Enough of talking!"

            Max ran to the wall of the casino and, bending the laws of physics, ran up the wall and spun around. He used the force of his spinning body to drive a hard kick into the agent's face. The agent flew across the alley, hitting the opposite building. The impact removed a large chunk of plaster.

            "Now that wasn't very nice, Mr. Jackson," quipped the agent as he adjusted his neck tie. He jumped backwards and kicked the wall behind him, propelling himself forwards. He swung a foot ahead, aiming for Max's head.

            Max put up both arms to block the agent's attack. It didn't help very much, as he was blasted out of the alley by the agent's flying kick. Max flew across the street and crashed through the display window of a bakery.

            He had knocked over a shelf and there was pastry all over the place. Blood was flowing into his eye from a massive cut on his forehead. The fact that the bakery's alarm system had gone off and was now blaring in his ears didn't help a bit.

            "That hurts doesn't it?" remarked the agent as he crossed the empty street, "too bad you were programmed to feel pain."

            "I'm not a program you bastard…"murmured Max as he struggled to get up. The agent was now stepping through the broken window. His polished leather shoe crushed a donut. The agent gave it a quick glance and continued towards Max.

            Max was already up when the agent was within striking distance. He had to act fast before the agent finished him off. He threw a half-witted punch at the agent. Of course, the agent easily grabbed the fist headed for his face, effectively stopping the weak punch.

            "Tsk tsk. You should have seen that one coming, Mr. Jackson."

            "I did," replied Max with a grin as he grabbed the arm that had stopped his punch by the wrist. In one swift movement, he threw the agent over his shoulder with just one hand. The agent landed hard on the ground.

            Before the agent could react, Max focused all his energy and drove his hand through the agent, disabling the agent. The agent disappeared in a flash of light. Max limped weakly out of the bakery and into the street.

To be continued.