Raze
By
The sign said "Welcome to New York". There was more writing underneath it, probably something along the lines of "The Empire State or "Buckle Up- It's The Law" or maybe even" Home to the Yankees", but Raze did not bother to look. All he knew was that he was running out of country.
Raze was drained. Not tired, not exhausted- he was beyond all those. He was drained. Walking was difficult, but he had no choice. He had to keep going, he had to keep moving. And whenever he thought to stop somewhere to rest, the echoing memories of the rings of phones pushed him reluctantly forward.
As frightened as he was by the things he had seen, he was so much more frightened by the sound of those phones ringing. Phones, in general, were cold, impersonal things. They rang continuously until answered, very impatient and demanding. Raze supposed some people somewhere might enjoy hearing the phone ringing for them, the possibilities of talking to friends or relatives exciting to them. But not Raze. Even before, he had disliked phones. They were a detached way of contacting people, he had always felt. The names turned into numbers to punch it, and talking on the phone was mainly an excuse to get out of talking and seeing them in person. If you got angry or bored, you could simply make up some ridiculous excuse and hang up and continue on with your life with no more hindrance for the person. You couldn't do that when you talking to someone face to face.
But now, now phones had taken on an even more sinister aloofness for Raze. They were the messenger and the gateway to both heaven and hell for Raze. He didn't want to choice between the two- he preferred his limbo over the possibility of infinite happiness and eternal torture.
Not to say that where he was currently was even slightly enjoyable. His life, or, to be more correct, his existence (for he was not living, just surviving, as he often reminded himself) was to him one long day, with him walking through it in a constant bumbling haze. Nights quickly faded into each other, and he had forgotten what it felt like to lay his head down on a cool pillow, pull his tired body into a bed and slip away to a restful sleep. He did miss sleeping, resting, but he did not miss dreaming for he was sure that his dreams would be only nightmares full of the endless ringing of phones.
Raze looked up at the nearing skyline of Manhattan. He wondered where he should go on from here. He could book a flight at Kennedy and fly somewhere- maybe Europe. He could go up along the east coast to Maine, and eventually Canada. He could go down along the east coast to Florida, and maybe continue on to Cuba. He could turn around and walk back the way he came from. Or he could continue out to Long Island and just walk into the sea, drowning like the coward he feared himself to be. Reminding himself of the discomforts of the south with its heat and the north with its cold, and the fact that he did not have a death wish, not yet at least, he decided to go to Kennedy and see where he could go from there.
Raze didn't even feel the strain on his legs anymore, despite the fact that he had been walking non-stop for hundreds upon hundreds miles. His legs had become machines, he determined ironically, machines that didn't need a mind anymore. Not that his mind was on walking anymore, anyway. It was everywhere else- turning over the "what ifs" in his mind, musing over his circumstances, and coming up with all the actions he should have done.
The sun was hanging low in the sun, threatening to go down. Raze wanted to be out of the city before nightfall, but he knew better than to quicken his pace. His legs wouldn't obey him anymore, and the pace they were going at was the pace they wanted. No more, no less.
Raze took the shortcuts. He walked efficiently down all the alleys, not pausing and ignoring all those around him that were throwing him dirty looks. He had the map for the city memorized in his head, as he did for every other section of every other country in the world. Five seconds jacked into a computer and he knew more about the roads of the world than most people would even consider knowing in a lifetime.
He reached Central Park just as the sun was beginning to set. He walked through the park, feeling secure in the fact that as long as the sun was up it was still a tourist site, a place for out-of-towners and business people and couples to walk hand in hand. It was not yet the dangerous mirage it was at night.
Something caught his eye. He turned his head, and caught a glimpse of a pale shadow of a girl, sitting on a park bench with her head in her hands. Her long, neglected looking black hair shrouded her face as she rubbed at something, probably her eyes. She straightened up, pushing her hair back and pulling her black T-shirt down. She rubbed her eyes again and yawned. And turned to look at him.
Raze's gait had slowed, almost instinctively. While he knew to be wary of other people, he was almost fascinated with them. He liked to watch them, and consider what they were thinking, what they were feeling, and how they were happy and comfortable in their ignorance. But this girl was different. As she locked her weary eyes with his, Raze saw all the weight of knowledge there. As well as recognition.
He walked away.
"Hey! Wait!" a voice called, and he could only assume it was the girl. Sure enough, she was suddenly at his side, slightly out of breath with amazement and urgency.
"I know you," she said, reassuring both herself and Raze. "You were in the paper."
Raze half-nodded. He knew why she had heard of him. The Daily Times had jumped all over the story ,his story, of the police officer killed by a hacker. He didn't deny it. And he didn't apologize for it either.
"You're Raze, right?" she said, squinting. "I saw your picture in the paper."
He had seen it too. He remembered the spiky, rusty orange hair, his muscular arms crossed across his chest rebelliously, the smirk on his face, the cold, defiant glint in his eyes. He was surprised she had recognized him. He was so different now.
"You disappeared, didn't you?" she asked.
"I think we both know what happened to me," Raze answered.
"You were freed."
"I guess you could call it that."
"I also heard you were traveling across the country, teaching those who needed to know who you know," she said, looking straight ahead. "That wasn't in the paper."
He glanced down quickly at her. Whoever had told her about what he was doing had glorified him, like he was some traveling prophet.
"I warn more than anything else," he told her. "I assume you know something about the Matrix, already."
"I do," she affirmed.
"Have they contacted you, yet?"
"They have."
"And you're thinking your decision over in your mind, right?"
"I am."
"There's things they don't tell you, they won't tell you until its too late, things that could influence you-"
"I know," she interrupted, looking everywhere but at him. "I know everything you know."
"How?"
"My father." She looked up at him now, and he could see the curiosity and fear for her father she was trying to hide. "Do you know him? He was freed, too."
"What's his name?"
"Jonathan McCarthy. I think he used the alias Alpha, though."
Raze knew him. Alpha had often mentioned he wanted his daughter to be with him, that she was all alone in the cold, hard world. He looked down at the girl again. She seemed to be taking care of herself.
"I knew him," he confirmed. "Your father was a friend of mine." He was lying. Alpha had always seemed a bit unbalanced to him, too eager to embrace the painful reality of the truth. They had never really gotten along, but Alpha's daughter didn't need to know that.
"What's your name?" he asked, not really caring.
"Omega," she said."You're real name, I meant."
"That is my real name," she said, smiling.He was right. Alpha was unbalanced.
"So I assume you're not thinking of taking the red pill, are you Omega?"
She sighed. "I don't think I'm supposed to yet."
Her answer surprised him. "What do you mean?"
She sighed again, taking a deep breath. "I truly don't want to be freed to a world more terrible than this one, despite the possibilities that we will be free, and it could be made better. I'd rather stay in this simulation, knowing that it could be worse." She stuffed her hands in her pockets, looking up at the darkening sky. "But somehow I know that one day, I'll have no choice."
"I'm not getting you," he said.
"I'm not saying it's fate or anything, but everyone gets freed for a reason. You, Neo, Morpheus, my father, everyone. My reason is there, but its just not ready for me yet. One day, a sign will come, and then it wont matter what I want."
"Do you really believe that? That those freed were freed for a reason?"he nodded. "I think I know your reason. I'm just not sure of mine, yet."
"My reason?" he asked, incredulously. "What is it?"
She smiled up at him. "I heard about you and Cypher."
The blood froze in his veins. With all the things he had done in his life, before and after knowing about the Matrix, this was the only thing that he was ashamed of.
"I never told him to do what he did," he said, almost angrily. He didn't like how she smiled at him while talking about this.
"Of course not. You just helped him find his reason. Think about it, if he had never found you, never become so disillusioned with the Matrix, Morpheus would never have been in danger, and Neo would never had proven himself." She smiled at him again, almost admiringly. "You set it all in motion."
"Not consciously."
"Of course not."
He looked away. "I never knew Cypher would do what he did. I always thought he hadn't taken the red pill yet. I didn't know he was on the inside." "No one's blaming you."
"I am."
She patted him on the arm. "Then that's the problem, isn't it?" With that, she turned and walked away from him, leaving him once again alone with his thoughts and now with one more thought to ponder. He considered turning and following her. He had not yet met with someone that was like her, so young but with such wisdom. But she had left him, and he knew she had nothing more to say to him. So he continued on without once looking back.
As darkness fell on Manhattan, Raze did something he never did before. He found a hotel, an old run down hotel on the edge of the city, and he entered it. There was a young woman on the phone behind the desk, smothered with too much makeup and talking too loud. He stopped in front of her desk, his legs lurching to a stop. It felt odd to be not moving. He looked straight at the woman, who was trying her best to ignore him, and began talking even louder than she was.
"I know the codes," he said, almost shouted. She looked at him, annoyed. "I'll have to call you back," she said into the phone, and hung it up. "Can I help you?" she said with disinterest.
."I know the codes," he repeated. "The codes to Zion."
"What?" she said, glaring at him. "What are ya talkin' 'bout, nutcase?"
"The codes to Zion," he repeated.
The phone began to ring. The woman, her eyes still on him, reached to pick it up.
"Don't!" he yelled. "Don't touch it!"
She obeyed, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.
"Zion!" he yelled once again. The woman began to flicker, and all at once, she wasn't there anymore.
In her place was an agent.
The phone rang with more urgency.
"I want to make a deal," Raze said to the agent, the words sticking in his throat.
"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Colbert," the agent said smoothly, his face blank as ever.
"I know the codes to the mainframe of Zion," Raze said again. "So you've said. What do you want in return?"
The phone seemed to ring almost louder.
"I'll tell you after I give you the codes," Raze said, swallowing hard, the sound of the phone echoing in his brain.
"All right." The agent paused, touching his ear piece and concentrating momentarily. "May I ask how you've acquired this knowledge, Mr. Colbert?"
"Morpheus. He talks in his sleep."
The phone gained in volume again, and Raze was sure that he heard the sound of running footsteps approaching quickly.
The agent nodded. "Tell me the codes," he said, "and then we'll make our deal."
Raze swallowed hard. He had fulfilled his purpose. He opened his mouth, ready to tell the codes, the agent leaned forward, his eagerness betraying his cold exterior, the footsteps grew closer, the phone grew louder...
Somewhere else in the real world, a cord was unplugged.
And back in the Matrix, Raze fell limply to the floor, dead, finally allowed to sleep.
By
The sign said "Welcome to New York". There was more writing underneath it, probably something along the lines of "The Empire State or "Buckle Up- It's The Law" or maybe even" Home to the Yankees", but Raze did not bother to look. All he knew was that he was running out of country.
Raze was drained. Not tired, not exhausted- he was beyond all those. He was drained. Walking was difficult, but he had no choice. He had to keep going, he had to keep moving. And whenever he thought to stop somewhere to rest, the echoing memories of the rings of phones pushed him reluctantly forward.
As frightened as he was by the things he had seen, he was so much more frightened by the sound of those phones ringing. Phones, in general, were cold, impersonal things. They rang continuously until answered, very impatient and demanding. Raze supposed some people somewhere might enjoy hearing the phone ringing for them, the possibilities of talking to friends or relatives exciting to them. But not Raze. Even before, he had disliked phones. They were a detached way of contacting people, he had always felt. The names turned into numbers to punch it, and talking on the phone was mainly an excuse to get out of talking and seeing them in person. If you got angry or bored, you could simply make up some ridiculous excuse and hang up and continue on with your life with no more hindrance for the person. You couldn't do that when you talking to someone face to face.
But now, now phones had taken on an even more sinister aloofness for Raze. They were the messenger and the gateway to both heaven and hell for Raze. He didn't want to choice between the two- he preferred his limbo over the possibility of infinite happiness and eternal torture.
Not to say that where he was currently was even slightly enjoyable. His life, or, to be more correct, his existence (for he was not living, just surviving, as he often reminded himself) was to him one long day, with him walking through it in a constant bumbling haze. Nights quickly faded into each other, and he had forgotten what it felt like to lay his head down on a cool pillow, pull his tired body into a bed and slip away to a restful sleep. He did miss sleeping, resting, but he did not miss dreaming for he was sure that his dreams would be only nightmares full of the endless ringing of phones.
Raze looked up at the nearing skyline of Manhattan. He wondered where he should go on from here. He could book a flight at Kennedy and fly somewhere- maybe Europe. He could go up along the east coast to Maine, and eventually Canada. He could go down along the east coast to Florida, and maybe continue on to Cuba. He could turn around and walk back the way he came from. Or he could continue out to Long Island and just walk into the sea, drowning like the coward he feared himself to be. Reminding himself of the discomforts of the south with its heat and the north with its cold, and the fact that he did not have a death wish, not yet at least, he decided to go to Kennedy and see where he could go from there.
Raze didn't even feel the strain on his legs anymore, despite the fact that he had been walking non-stop for hundreds upon hundreds miles. His legs had become machines, he determined ironically, machines that didn't need a mind anymore. Not that his mind was on walking anymore, anyway. It was everywhere else- turning over the "what ifs" in his mind, musing over his circumstances, and coming up with all the actions he should have done.
The sun was hanging low in the sun, threatening to go down. Raze wanted to be out of the city before nightfall, but he knew better than to quicken his pace. His legs wouldn't obey him anymore, and the pace they were going at was the pace they wanted. No more, no less.
Raze took the shortcuts. He walked efficiently down all the alleys, not pausing and ignoring all those around him that were throwing him dirty looks. He had the map for the city memorized in his head, as he did for every other section of every other country in the world. Five seconds jacked into a computer and he knew more about the roads of the world than most people would even consider knowing in a lifetime.
He reached Central Park just as the sun was beginning to set. He walked through the park, feeling secure in the fact that as long as the sun was up it was still a tourist site, a place for out-of-towners and business people and couples to walk hand in hand. It was not yet the dangerous mirage it was at night.
Something caught his eye. He turned his head, and caught a glimpse of a pale shadow of a girl, sitting on a park bench with her head in her hands. Her long, neglected looking black hair shrouded her face as she rubbed at something, probably her eyes. She straightened up, pushing her hair back and pulling her black T-shirt down. She rubbed her eyes again and yawned. And turned to look at him.
Raze's gait had slowed, almost instinctively. While he knew to be wary of other people, he was almost fascinated with them. He liked to watch them, and consider what they were thinking, what they were feeling, and how they were happy and comfortable in their ignorance. But this girl was different. As she locked her weary eyes with his, Raze saw all the weight of knowledge there. As well as recognition.
He walked away.
"Hey! Wait!" a voice called, and he could only assume it was the girl. Sure enough, she was suddenly at his side, slightly out of breath with amazement and urgency.
"I know you," she said, reassuring both herself and Raze. "You were in the paper."
Raze half-nodded. He knew why she had heard of him. The Daily Times had jumped all over the story ,his story, of the police officer killed by a hacker. He didn't deny it. And he didn't apologize for it either.
"You're Raze, right?" she said, squinting. "I saw your picture in the paper."
He had seen it too. He remembered the spiky, rusty orange hair, his muscular arms crossed across his chest rebelliously, the smirk on his face, the cold, defiant glint in his eyes. He was surprised she had recognized him. He was so different now.
"You disappeared, didn't you?" she asked.
"I think we both know what happened to me," Raze answered.
"You were freed."
"I guess you could call it that."
"I also heard you were traveling across the country, teaching those who needed to know who you know," she said, looking straight ahead. "That wasn't in the paper."
He glanced down quickly at her. Whoever had told her about what he was doing had glorified him, like he was some traveling prophet.
"I warn more than anything else," he told her. "I assume you know something about the Matrix, already."
"I do," she affirmed.
"Have they contacted you, yet?"
"They have."
"And you're thinking your decision over in your mind, right?"
"I am."
"There's things they don't tell you, they won't tell you until its too late, things that could influence you-"
"I know," she interrupted, looking everywhere but at him. "I know everything you know."
"How?"
"My father." She looked up at him now, and he could see the curiosity and fear for her father she was trying to hide. "Do you know him? He was freed, too."
"What's his name?"
"Jonathan McCarthy. I think he used the alias Alpha, though."
Raze knew him. Alpha had often mentioned he wanted his daughter to be with him, that she was all alone in the cold, hard world. He looked down at the girl again. She seemed to be taking care of herself.
"I knew him," he confirmed. "Your father was a friend of mine." He was lying. Alpha had always seemed a bit unbalanced to him, too eager to embrace the painful reality of the truth. They had never really gotten along, but Alpha's daughter didn't need to know that.
"What's your name?" he asked, not really caring.
"Omega," she said."You're real name, I meant."
"That is my real name," she said, smiling.He was right. Alpha was unbalanced.
"So I assume you're not thinking of taking the red pill, are you Omega?"
She sighed. "I don't think I'm supposed to yet."
Her answer surprised him. "What do you mean?"
She sighed again, taking a deep breath. "I truly don't want to be freed to a world more terrible than this one, despite the possibilities that we will be free, and it could be made better. I'd rather stay in this simulation, knowing that it could be worse." She stuffed her hands in her pockets, looking up at the darkening sky. "But somehow I know that one day, I'll have no choice."
"I'm not getting you," he said.
"I'm not saying it's fate or anything, but everyone gets freed for a reason. You, Neo, Morpheus, my father, everyone. My reason is there, but its just not ready for me yet. One day, a sign will come, and then it wont matter what I want."
"Do you really believe that? That those freed were freed for a reason?"he nodded. "I think I know your reason. I'm just not sure of mine, yet."
"My reason?" he asked, incredulously. "What is it?"
She smiled up at him. "I heard about you and Cypher."
The blood froze in his veins. With all the things he had done in his life, before and after knowing about the Matrix, this was the only thing that he was ashamed of.
"I never told him to do what he did," he said, almost angrily. He didn't like how she smiled at him while talking about this.
"Of course not. You just helped him find his reason. Think about it, if he had never found you, never become so disillusioned with the Matrix, Morpheus would never have been in danger, and Neo would never had proven himself." She smiled at him again, almost admiringly. "You set it all in motion."
"Not consciously."
"Of course not."
He looked away. "I never knew Cypher would do what he did. I always thought he hadn't taken the red pill yet. I didn't know he was on the inside." "No one's blaming you."
"I am."
She patted him on the arm. "Then that's the problem, isn't it?" With that, she turned and walked away from him, leaving him once again alone with his thoughts and now with one more thought to ponder. He considered turning and following her. He had not yet met with someone that was like her, so young but with such wisdom. But she had left him, and he knew she had nothing more to say to him. So he continued on without once looking back.
As darkness fell on Manhattan, Raze did something he never did before. He found a hotel, an old run down hotel on the edge of the city, and he entered it. There was a young woman on the phone behind the desk, smothered with too much makeup and talking too loud. He stopped in front of her desk, his legs lurching to a stop. It felt odd to be not moving. He looked straight at the woman, who was trying her best to ignore him, and began talking even louder than she was.
"I know the codes," he said, almost shouted. She looked at him, annoyed. "I'll have to call you back," she said into the phone, and hung it up. "Can I help you?" she said with disinterest.
."I know the codes," he repeated. "The codes to Zion."
"What?" she said, glaring at him. "What are ya talkin' 'bout, nutcase?"
"The codes to Zion," he repeated.
The phone began to ring. The woman, her eyes still on him, reached to pick it up.
"Don't!" he yelled. "Don't touch it!"
She obeyed, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.
"Zion!" he yelled once again. The woman began to flicker, and all at once, she wasn't there anymore.
In her place was an agent.
The phone rang with more urgency.
"I want to make a deal," Raze said to the agent, the words sticking in his throat.
"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Colbert," the agent said smoothly, his face blank as ever.
"I know the codes to the mainframe of Zion," Raze said again. "So you've said. What do you want in return?"
The phone seemed to ring almost louder.
"I'll tell you after I give you the codes," Raze said, swallowing hard, the sound of the phone echoing in his brain.
"All right." The agent paused, touching his ear piece and concentrating momentarily. "May I ask how you've acquired this knowledge, Mr. Colbert?"
"Morpheus. He talks in his sleep."
The phone gained in volume again, and Raze was sure that he heard the sound of running footsteps approaching quickly.
The agent nodded. "Tell me the codes," he said, "and then we'll make our deal."
Raze swallowed hard. He had fulfilled his purpose. He opened his mouth, ready to tell the codes, the agent leaned forward, his eagerness betraying his cold exterior, the footsteps grew closer, the phone grew louder...
Somewhere else in the real world, a cord was unplugged.
And back in the Matrix, Raze fell limply to the floor, dead, finally allowed to sleep.