'What will they do to her?' It fell from his lips as a murmur, a redundant unease that curled within an edging dread. Incredulity, that was poured within a basin which tinted with disbelieve, shock and scepticism- swirling within the confine of his gut with uncertainty. There was a stillness that was barely cut by the ever beating rain, quiet but further stirring the potent blend till bile burned his throat. He turned to the other in discomfort; the man he had scarcely understood but undisputed depended upon, like a child on the verge of comprehension but still franticly denying what skittered on the edge of his mind. This stern, shadowed-filled man; unbothered by the triviality of the rain that slicked his hair and drenched within the unyielding black of his blazer and harsh white of his cuffs. Impassive to the definition and inaccessible to the ordinary man. Had emotion ever drawn the lines on his vacant face, or had they been painted like an incomplete canvass that mirrored life. Unfinished, apathetic but irrefutably perfect in shape and mass, in every gesture and tone, to the last polished strand that slicked the rain of his dull brown hair and his sharp slapped shoes-
'What result to all terrorists that threaten the state, Mr. Anderson.' And the cultured, clipped voice that remained detached under the facade of professionalism. His eyes veiled under ominous black shades that were further shadowed by the late evening and the muted clouds, Thomas shivered. The rain had stolen the warmth and wrapped a shawl of wet that clung to his white shirt and skin. He felt cold, and the blank model that stood beside him, did not offer him any human warmth.
'You mean she will be tried.' Thomas clarified, his chin dipped slightly as auburn eyes flickered briefly to the other's, encasing himself tighter within his arms. His fingers, Thomas noted, were they white with tension or was it the cold? Yet in question, his shoulders curved slightly and his hands clamped fatally upon his bicep for the quest for warmth. The silence choked him, in a way that words and lack of breathe could not and he was certain that the man had consequently dismissed his existence, until he turned a 90 degree turn towards him.
'Her trial has been held and the verdict implemented. The government wished to commend your exemplary courage as an upstanding citizen and extends its gratitude hence. Your detention at the station is acquainted and all criminal records of the adversity 'Neo' have been, so to say, wiped clean.' The reiteratating words were telling in its tone, matched by the concise crisp quality that fitted faultless like his tie that strangled the words forth. Thomas nodded but it was shallow, equivalent to the detached reflection upon the man's shades.
'Should another terrorists approach you, the government will expect your satisfactory corporation as you have previously shown.' The daylight dimmed further and to Thomas, it was as if the light was sucked into the void that represented the other's eyes. Had he been any less of a man, he would have ignored the misgiving that eluded him, had he been a child he would have been pacified by the indefinite response, but he wasn't. He had been blackmailed, bribed by a legal system that should have been condemned him. He knew theoretically, he should have served 5 years maximum in a low risk prison camp whist rubbing two piece pence for a cigarette. Should have lost his job, his databases, been blacklisted and tailed for however long they alleged necessary if not for the rest of his life. Yet at this instant-Thomas had to acknowledge, he had sold another's life for the flimsy excuse of his liberty. A liberty that was only in name but not in essence, abruptly he felt repulsed by the man. His cold, mechanic approach to the circumstances, hadn't even blinked when her desperate eyes met his in animalistic fury and passion yet pierced Thomas from his certainty and illusion. And he wondered, had he followed the right person that night- the representative of the government, cut in his black suit or the woman who had breathed warmth in his ear for a few heart stopping seconds, under the flashing lights of the club. Trinity that had promised the answer of an incoherent and unvoiced question- What was the matrix? Something of his doubt must have reflected in his eye, or perhaps his actions, for Mr. Smith tightened his tie in a deliberate and precise motion, and stepped inflexibly forward which caused Thomas to step instinctively back.
'Of course' he muttered, his eyes wary, for what else could he say. He had made his choice that night, whether it was the right one was a matter of perspective. He only hoped, he still had a job.