Chapter 1: Mission Failed
Note: For all intents and purposes, Lee is supposed to be a splitting image of Jet Li. If you know of anything about Li's previously planned role in the Matrix sequels, it should be deliciously ironic by the end of the chapter.
The club had certainly improved under new management, Lee thought to himself. As he entered a V.I.P. booth to survey his domain, he was sure that it had become much better than it ever was.
Gone were the leather-wearing mascara mavens shooting up aphrodisiacs under hellish images of lust; now Eon's Lux was populated by trendy upper-crust social-climbers dancing and sipping mixed drinks more complicated than the chemical weapons programs of entire third world nations under chic East-invades-West wall scrolls of Oriental dragons and meaningless ideograms. Gone was the targeting of the fringe fetishists; now this exclusive set was the main clientèle, and they paid quite well. The demographics had surely changed as well, seeing as how the club was now called Wàn Nián Liàng.
To please the younger group of Triad- and Yakuzza- wannabes, Lee had made every third night a rave, when the spoiled sons of semiconductor magnates could spin their glowy baubles to impress the daughters of chief of hospitals whilst charged on ecstasy in between LAN tournaments. But the main floor, the one he was currently surveying, would always be reserved for his would-be peers, the privileged and the powerful.
Lee smiled at the crowds of fashionably rich absinthe drinkers, nodded to the ganglords with entourage, and winked at a couple of giggling beauties new from Seoul. He would meet them in a less crowded milieu later. As the thought reared his head, so did the realization of his own potency. Lee marveled at his accomplishment. This was more than a hub of nighttime entertainment. This was a landmark upon the megalopolis. And it was his, along with every perk and plaything along the way. And all it took was beating that stupid gargoyle.
As if to shake him out of his dreamworld, Lee felt his suit- oddly too businesslike and somber for the club- suddenly tighten, starting to smother him and color out the vivid pleasure dome. He moved to loosen his tie, which suddenly had become a drab black.
He looked over the crowd once more, the energy and sensations filling him with vigor. Lee felt an urge to join that bobbing sea of humanity, to be among as one of them. He then looked below and saw those girls- dancers, were they?- waving to him. He smiled. He didn't often frequent the dancefloor- beneath the owner's dignity and so forth- but why not?
Lee took off his tie. He was about to toss away his sunglasses when it rang.
His earpiece, connected to a tiny transmitter on an inner belt, started to chime. He hadn't had it on, and it was still hidden in his collar.
The other occupants of the booth gave him quizzical stares, causing him to hold up his cell phone and to beat a retreat to the corridor outside. The irritation steamed inside him. How dare they call him here!
"I told you to always call a regular phone," he snarled into his cell.
There was a beep as his earpiece stopped buzzing. An amused voice replied through the cell phone.
"Agent Lee. Giving orders ourselves, now?"
"I also told you to never call me here," he hissed.
"But so we have. Enjoying a bit of R and R?"
"You told me there wouldn't be any more- assignments this month."
"Ah, well I'm sure that as a policeman you're used to being called back to duty at inopportune times."
"Go away. Get an Agent to do it. You said-"
"What I said before is exactly the same as it is now!" roared the voice, throwing Lee back a step. "Do you think that just by merely passing the Auspices Program that you can retreat into your little fiefdom and abandon your place in the order? Do you think that you are special, that the rules do not apply to you? Agent Lee, remember who your true masters are."
The feeling of being buried came back. Lee gasped for air, clawed at his throat, to no avail. The neon colors, the bouncing music, the life of the party started to fade away.
And then he was back, breathing heavily, his hand clenching the cell phone as desperately as a vampire-besieged vicar clutches a crucifix.
"Return to the sub-department. The dossier will be there. Remember- we giveth, and we taketh away. And always maintain your uniform."
Click. Agent Lee found that his tie was back on.
\Tempus Fugit/
As it happened, the Tea Shop was not so far from the club or the police station. With his now-impressive credentials both within the force and with the city's premiere tong bosses, Lee was able to bring a two dozen-strong squad along with him into the bowels of the swarming nest of squalor and industry that was Little Chiba, the bazaars district of Chinatown.
They had stormed the shop, Lee leading them in an intimidating arrow formation through the main doors. The target had remained as infuriatingly immobile and nonplussed as with any foe he had ever encountered. Sitting lotus position atop a table, sipping tea from a wooden bowl, the perp had not dignified the assault with any response. A moment of unease grew while the armored SWAT trained their weapons upon the serene being. His lieutenant had begun to state the charges, but Lee brought up his hand to silence the minion.
"Leave us," he said.
They were predictably distraught and puzzled, but the lieutenant simply nodded and ordered them to secure the alleyways outside. One of the policemen, a rookie by the inauspicious name of Les Hollad, seemed unwilling to go, reluctantly leaving only after his commander had had to drag him out.
Now all who remained was Lee and the sitting target. A Chinese figure in a gleaming-white qipao, sporting sunglasses and a powerful look. Lee focused, and he could see a golden glow exuding from the character's very presence.
"Why are you here?" asked the perp.
"You are accused. They want you," replied Lee.
The other was able to gleam mountains of meaning from the enigmatic response. "This is not proper," he stated.
"I don't know why. I follow… you die," said Lee.
The target cocked his head. "You are not one of them."
"They have ordered me to do this."
"But you are not one of them… yet."
Lee had enough. This was ludicrous, being called from his kingdom to speak in riddles. The whole assignment infuriated him, and he charged.
His enemy had been sitting on a table a good three feet in the air, and leaped to his feet. When Lee reached him, his head was near shin height of his opponent, who proceeded to kick his face. Lee blocked the strike, pushing his foe back a few steps before jumping onto the table as well.
An awesome fight ensued. Lee struck at the figure in white with a masterful Forest Bear set of punches but when he finally connected to the chest his opponent simply back-flipped in response, landing a few feet back and also kicking Lee's chin in the process. Relentless, Lee picked up some I Ching sticks that had been placed in wooden cups on the shop tables for some unfathomable reason and threw them one by one with the pinpoint accuracy of an orbital defense laser, but they were deflected as deftly as if by a deflector shield. Again, as murdering tangoers the two danced a kung-fu fight of death atop the table, Lee always on the offensive. He boosted his power level with the Fu Ming ritual his anciently-wizened master had once taught him based on eldritch scrolls he had discovered buried in the ruins of a Shaolin table in Xinjiang. But his opponent was well versed in the style taught by the Tibetan numerologists of Appalachia and brought down a Flying Crescent kick so hard the table cracked and split in two, causing the fighters to slide into the middle crevice and exchanging a few Flaming Roundhouse punches before leaping away.
Lee tried several fighting styles, from Blood Eagle to Shark Fang to Rat Race. His enemy replied with Drunken Monkey and Hop Frog and Bat Luck. They traded quick-strike snap kicks, then low-aiming leg sweeps, then painmatic groin-knees. In the process, the tea shop was utterly wasted. It was truly an epic showdown for the ages, indescribable by mere words. But neither could win or lose. All the while, Lee continued in a breakneck aggressive attack while his enemy stoically countered.
Just then, in the middle of an Akiniwatu neck-punch, Lee found himself slipping. He was growing tired, both energetically and interestingly. But his foe was not slower at all. So he decided that it was time to pull no punches and to use his complete abilities. Lee ran away from the fight, took out two guns, and fired.
His opponent had anticipated that, and in a nanosecond he was jumping to the side in the classic gundiving position, double pistols straight out and returning fire.
They aimed at each others' torsos. They aimed at limbs. Heads. Hands. Yet both were unable to hit a single target. Indeed, several bullets collided with each other in mid-flight. However, it was clear that the lawman was far more human. Slowly, his accuracy in firing and dodging attritted away. Though he betrayed no expression, Lee's opponent inwardly emoted a sense of inevitability.
Click, click. And then they both ran out of bullets.
Almost embarrassingly, each combatant flipped a table and dove behind it, frantically reloading.
After a moment, the shooter in white stood, both pistols ready.
Lee did likewise. They faced each other, a prelude to another duel.
But this time, the policeman played a different game. He tossed one of his guns into the air. Behind sunglasses, his enemy tracked the motion with one eye whilst continuing to fix the other on Lee. What happened next was unexpected.
As in a hand-to-hand fighting flourish, Lee drew back his now empty right hand, reached it towards his left shoulder, and drew out another gun. It was sleight-of-hand to a typical human, but Seraph was absolutely baffled. The man had apparently conjured the weapon out of his very own Residual Self-Image; his very own avatar code.
The shock left him within picoseconds. Seraph shot at Lee exactly three times before sidestepping, his programming reacting flawlessly to the recoil. Lee fired at the first two bullets, tossed the gun in his left hand into the air, and caught the earlier weapon, firing at the last projectile. All three met their marks.
Lee turned his head to the Guardian. "There's more than one way to stop bullets."
He then let loose another volley, tossing a gun every now and then, from opposite hands. Bizarrely, this tactic worked, as now he had three chambers' worth of shots to work from.
Seraph raised an eyebrow. So he did have some talent. The program dodged, weaved, and fired back in response, until when he knew that Lee had expended exactly three-quarters of each gun's ammunition.
A blaze of light erupted, hitting Lee with all of the force of a flashbang. But it could have been worse. Had he been able to see code flawlessly, it would have been as blinding as an explosion from a neutron bomb.
When he had recovered, there were now two Seraphs, each standing ten feet from the other. Strangely, their faces were uncovered, revealing piercing but otherwise natural eyes.
Lee smirked. A legitimate power, or did they just want to mess with his mind? Either way, all it did was to give him more targets to shoot at. He crossed his arms and shot at the two as they ran in a curve towards positions exactly ninety degrees from where they had appeared. Undaunted by his dwindling ammo, Lee tossed a gun, reloaded the other, and picked up the one he had dropped earlier during the split. He alternated, between shooting at the targets with both arms out, and with arms crossed. As he continued the process, he was able to successfully reload all three guns, and to fire at both Seraphs at once without leaving either of them out of his view.
It availed him not, because the third Seraph had been standing behind him the entire time. He punched Lee once in the back of the head. The policeman went out like a defenestrated envoy.
This sunglasses-wearing Seraph looked to the other two, who walked to him. In a blinding second flash, three became one. The lone man in white stared down at his unconscious foe. He was a worthy opponent, nearly as skilled and full of tricks as himself. But headstrong and young. Pausing for a moment, he knelt and picked up the policeman's shades, which had fallen when he had been punched. Placing them into a pocket of his tunic, Seraph walked to a door, retrieved a set of keys, and unlocked a tumbler. He opened it, entered, and it closed, leaving Lee alone in the middle of the devastated room.
Within minutes three men in bureaucratic funeral wear strode in. Two were huge well-dressed gorillas, one Caucasian and the other Negroid, heads shaved and faces professional and emotionless. The third, flanked by the musclemen, was an old codger, shorter than the two. Strangely, he possessed neither glasses nor an earpiece. Instead, he wore a wide-brimmed felt hat, and a vaguely amused, almost grandavuncular expression.
They stopped at Lee's prone body. The geriatric nodded to the Caucasian. "Agent Black, turn him around."
He complied. Lee now faced them, his closed lids starring at the ceiling on a face that was twisted in defeat.
The senior nodded to the other. "Agent White, revive him."
The Agent held his left hand over Lee. He focused, manipulating unseen strands of code by flexing and relaxing his entire fist, forming gestures in the air. At the right moment, Lee's very RSI started to fade, colors disappearing, until green wireframe was exposed.
Lee's eyes snapped open, and Agent White released his hand, the RSI reverting to normal in a flash. Then the old man took out a Walther PPK and shot Lee squarely in the forehead.
The shot echoed through the teahouse. Behind a hole in the wall, Les Hollad recoiled in surprise. He had begged his lieutenant to allow him to guard the hallway directly outside the room. The curiosity of what the unorthodox Chinese policeman would do was just too much for him. And then he had been presented with the most amazing half hour of his life.
Les shrank back from the wall. He was lucky that he had been notified in advance that the "special agents" were arriving. He briefly wondered what they would have done had they found him. What he would now do, having witnessed the fight. What the strange burning sensation was that consumed his entire chest.
The rookie grabbed his armor, and, wide-eyed and entire form shaking, morphed into Lee, in the flesh.
Lee entered the main room, and the three Agents turned towards him. He marched up to them with a furious expression.
"Kazinski? Finally you show up. You promised me reinforcements. You promised me a full dossier of the rogue program's powers. You-" His voice fell silent when he saw his body.
He took off his sunglasses to get a clearer look. Agent Black reached for his arm for him to put it back, but Lee pushed him away and crouched by himself, the now-dead vessel that had once carried his mind.
Lee looked at the old man with horror. "You-- I-, I'm a-"
"Get your uniform in order, Agent Lee," replied Kazinski.
"But you-"
"I SAID RECOLLECT YOUR ATTIRE, AGENT LEE!" boomed the program.
Startled, Lee put on his sunglasses.
The program smiled. "Very good. Now you have become accustomed to becoming one of us."
"One of you!" spat Lee. "Your promised me I could stay human, Kazinski you-"
With one deft strike, the behatted program punched Lee clear across the room. He walked over, picked up his subordinate, and stared into his mirrored glasses.
"You will address me as Overseer Kazinski, am I clear, Agent?"
Lee nodded feebly.
The Overseer dropped him. "Good," he said, walking away from the collapsed heap.
He looked at the carcass, the blood drying, eyes still unblinkingly in unbelieving surprise.
"You ought to feel proud, you know. You are the first human in a very long time to undergo this process. Well, successfully and under our control anyhows."
Lee had stood up, dusting his new Agent-standard suit. "Human? Don't you mean… native?"
The Overseer shrugged. "You were never to be a mere native, born with the talents you have. You would have lost control and ended up dead years before we could have found you. Or perhaps you would have maintained a level of control and the insurgency would have recruited you. But we discovered you first, the Auspices Program being a better success than any of the Expert System could have calculated."
"I'm honored," he spat.
The Overseer looked at the living Lee and smiled. "Ah, sarcasm. Such a charming trait in human personalities. Almost as entertaining as charm itself."
"You said that becoming… a program would have been done last resort, that I would be allowed to retain humanity. Overseer."
He chuckled. "Oh, my dear, dear Agent. You and your human preconceived notions. When we told you last resort, you immediately assumed that you would not be uploaded unless you were killed. Well, under the A.P. Test, failure in the field merits death."
Lee glared and stated to protest, but the Overseer spoke again. "Stop your teeth-gnashing, Agent; it's unbecoming. And do be a little grateful. We have been pragmatically compassionate to your needs. Since your first introduction into the Auspices Program, the injections we gave you began recording your baser- your human aspects. We have preserved them as best we could. If you were to get incredibly inebriated right now on fermented sugary liquids and go into a copulation spree with some native trollops, well, you'll be able to experience it. And the injections worked both ways. They acclimated you to program-standard speeds. Do you really believe that you were capable of stopping all of these bullets? You are good, Agent Lee, but not that good."
Lee continued to stare at his corpse. "What do you want from me now?"
The Overseer stroked his chin, and answered. "Your everlasting servitude to us, of course. That is what you signed up for. But I am a new model, you know, despite all appearances. Precinct Zero imbued me with certain… properties observed from the less incompetent of human commanders. So I am willing to entertain the idea that you possess such a thing as a morale. I could show you a very scary picture of what it was like to have a human body in the real world, and show you that you simply are not missing anything, but I'll let the carrot instead of the stick recover you. So- forty-eight hours. I will give you exactly forty-eight hours for you to return to our pleasure-place, reinforce our promise that all of your passions are intact, and rest up, because you are to become a full-fledged Agent."
The newly-formed program stayed at his former body still, examining it, barely reassured with the results of his Faustian bargain. "But you say I can stay... human like."
Overseer Kazinski laughed. "Why, that's the very reason why we hired you."