AUTHOR'S NOTES: This chapter formally introduces Morpheus as well as hinting at Mary's darker side.
Fun Fact: Metallica's Master of Puppets album was one of the leading inspirational factors behind creating this fanfic. I also figured since the Wachowski's used the 'thrash' metal of Rob Zombie in the first film, why not Metallica?
A strong cold breeze entered through a cracked open window and slapped Mary's sleeping face awake. She painfully opened her eyes and was quickly reminded of why the window was open in November. The sharp smell of drying oil paint stung her nostrils and she faintly growled. The entire living room had been painted white with primer and most of her furnishings were shielded with old blankets and plastic shower curtains.
It had been two weeks since her encounter with the Terrorists. As before being forced out of hibernation, Mary devoted her time to cleaning up and rearranging the house, reading, playing countless hours of video games, and now even going as far as painting over the original wallpaper in her home. Anything to deprive her mind of her current predicament between the law and the delinquent cult was a good idea, even if it had cost her a job. Her computer had a deceased façade, both its power cable and the dial-up connection pulled from its tower. Amongst freshly printed real estate booklets and travel sections of newspapers, her library books sat beside the vacant monitor. She had read through each at least five times by now and was tempted to hook up her Internet again to seek more information on the FBI than she had previously found. She wondered if she had served whatever purpose she might have had for the Agents, as they had yet to make contact with her. Even if she had a purpose, what could a female who was barely out of her teenage years offer them?
Mary forced herself out of bed and into her workout uniform, preparing herself for another morning ritual. On her way into the basement she gobbled up an apple, and disposed of the remains in the laundry room before retrieving her weaponry. She returned to the acoustic room and commenced her training routine for the next two hours, the thrash metal roaring at her with songs about control and mental abuse. Afterwards, she returned upstairs to take a shower.
Walking out of the restroom wearing her bathrobe, Mary's face was curled into deep thought as she was trying to decide whether or not to risk going out to return her library books. She proceeded to the compact cassette player in the living room and was about to press the play button when a few knocks tapped at her front door. Her hands immediately clenched into fists as the knocking sounded exactly like the ones from Agent Pierce weeks before on her porch. With a stiffened posture, she cautiously made her way to the front door. When she rounded into the hallway, the morning sun silhouetted a single male figure that stood on the opposite side of the draped glass. Smith?
Mary unlocked and opened the door to find herself face-to-face with a Federal Express deliveryman. She immediately noticed a thin envelope under his arm as he offered her a clipboard with parcel documentation.
"Mary Simms?" He asked, his gruffly voice revealing that he had not had his morning coffee yet.
"Yes…" She finally answered after a pregnant pause.
"I have a package here for you. You'll have to sign for it." He beckoned her with a pen.
She folded her arms, and stated, "I haven't made any purchases. Where's it from? Who is it from?"
The courier checked the envelope to reply with, "It's a gift. There's no return address. It just says it's a gift."
Roused with irritation, Mary scribbled her signature onto the papers and seized her package.
"Have a good morning, Miss," the man waved and returned to his truck, leaving Mary on the porch staring blankly at the unopened envelope.
She gave the neighborhood a few thorough scans before reentering her home. After securing the door again, she closed and locked up the opened living room window. Once the room was silent, aside from the odd groan from the old house, she pulled open the envelope and grabbed the object it withheld. Her face turned a ghostly white as she realized she was holding a cellular phone identical to the one Agent Smith had found upstairs and the one the Terrorists had planted inside her backpack. Upon hitting the flesh of her hand, the phone rang.
Unnerved, sweat began to trickle down Mary's forehead as she hesitated to answer. On the seventh ring, she flipped open the phone and cautiously put it to her ear. She held it there, completely speechless as reality had set in once again after its prolonged absence.
"Hello Odessa, or if you prefer Mary, I can call you that. Which ever you feel comfortable with." The male's voice was deep and soothing like a priest to a confessor. "I would have had Mouse speak with you, but he respectfully refuses. I know why you are evading us, Mary. You're scared, confused, and you believe that no one in this world understands you because you feel like an outcast. You feel you've been branded a leper to society and there's no pathological reason why. You feel that there is something wrong with this world, but you can't pinpoint what it is. You feel bound and imprisoned in this sanitarium that no one else can materialize with his or her own eyes. I know this because Mouse once felt the exact same way. We have all felt this way, including myself. You're not alone, Mary. We have deciphered your message and heard your nightly cries. We can help you, we want to help you escape this asylum."
Mary's eyes rolled across the floor to the basement door, her mind racing as she pulled an imaginary trigger at her head with the phone still in hand.
"…We both know that your getaway is not determined by a .357 Magnum bullet through your skull." His voice pressed further.
Mary's knees weakened and she stumbled to find a seat on the daybed.
"Do not sit down! We don't have time, they are coming for you!" The mysterious voice ordered her, making her jump back to her own two feet.
"Who? How do you know about-? How can you see-? Y-you don't give me orders! Who are you? Tell me or I'll smash this phone right now!" Mary snarled, beginning to pace her living room like a zoo animal.
"My name is Morpheus." He replied calmly.
"The Morpheus?" She was unconvinced and growing increasingly agitated.
"Yes… Mouse has told me a lot about you, and from what I have seen you're not ready to be freed just yet. But your articles and essays say otherwise. You are looking for the answer Mary. I have that answer. But you have to trust me." Morpheus explained, trying to calm Mary.
"This 'Matrix' is apart of the answer, isn't it? Well guess what? I didn't know a damn thing about you, your stinking cult, or this Matrix bullshit until that slimy supposed best friend of mine started messing around with my computer! Explain to me, Mr. Messiah, how I just magically stumbled upon restricted government documents about you and your scam?" At this point, Mary's face was gleaming with sweat.
"You and I both know that you are not technologically inclined to find such things on your own, Mary. You can read as many books as you wish, you can act to your full potential, but you are by no means a programmer nor software developer, or a hacker." Morpheus quietly chuckled for a moment, and then continued. "Those documents were planted there, but not by us. By them."
"Them… The FBI? Why would they? I'm nothing. I'm just a small time, unemployed life columnist. What could they possibly want with me?" Her voice was concerned now as she continued to pace.
"I'm not sure, but whatever the reason is, it cannot be good. You shoul-" He was promptly cut off.
"I'm nothing! Do you understand me? Nothing! I haven't done anything…" Panic flustered her speech and face.
"It's not what you have done Mary, it's what you have said. Every written allusion you've made, every sentence that suggests the existing painful truth of reality is a count that indicts you as a criminal. You threaten something that they hold on to very dearly. As long as you breathe, you cannot hide from them and you cannot run from them. Listen carefully; if you want to escape I can guide you to sanctuary. But you have to do precisely as I say, and most importantly, you must trust me."
"And… And you think you can help me? You can make me turn my back on all of this; everything that I have ever known?" she asked in a sorrowing whisper.
"I can't make you do anything, Mary. I can steer you onto the right path, but you have to walk the path alone. Now, are you ready?"
There was an extensive silence and then Mary finally answered, "Yes."
"Quickly, go to the back door and stay in your shanty for a few moments."
Mary instead began to fumble through a dresser for clothing.
"Forget about changing your clothes, you have to go. Now!" Morpheus ordered, irritation leaking into his words. "Mary, quickly! Mov-"
As Mary had been able to pull on a quick set of semi-matching clothes, the front door suddenly thundered with heavy knocking. Out of shock, her grip loosened and she dropped the phone onto the floor.
"Mary, leave! Run! Mar-" The phone disconnected as it snapped shut against the hardwood.
Mary gathered the phone hastily and threw it and the FedEx envelope into a dresser drawer and under some clothing. After slamming it shut, Mary attempted to gather herself as best as she could before casually walking over to the front door. She instantly recognized the three bulky silhouettes that stood on the opposite side. With a faint sigh, she unlocked the door and opened it to greet the FBI Agents.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Bright and early today, hmm?" Her voice was unshaken and her posture now relaxed. "I was beginning to think that my case had been closed."
"Not yet, Miss Simms." Agent Pierce answered swiftly. "We still have a few inquiries before we can wipe your slate clean."
She stepped back from the doorway so they could enter, "Is that so? Well, you might as well come in and make yourselves at home. Ignore the paint fumes. And my apologies but we'll have to sit in the kitchen. The living room is an absolute pigsty at the moment."
Before the Agents could enter the household, they all suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. Each extended an arm to reach their earpiece, evident that someone was barking orders to them. They exchanged silent glances from one another and directed their mirrored attention back to Mary. Their faces were void of any distinguishable emotion. She stood puzzled, feeling caterpillars cocooning within the depths of her stomach.
"W-what sort of inquiries did you have in mind, Agent Pierce?" Mary questioned, attempting to remain fluent as she tried to comprehend if she was truly in danger like Morpheus had stated.
"Just some procedure follow-up questions before we can take the final steps to closing your file." Pierce replied, and then directed her attention to Smith. "Agent Smith will stay to interrogate you. Agent Bryce and I have some other matters to sort through. Have a good morning, Miss Simms."
Interrogate? She blinked frantically as she watched Agent Pierce and Bryce descend off of her porch. Before she could see them to the sidewalk, Smith had guided her back into the hallway where he closed the door behind them. Her thoughts drifted back in time to the conversation they had shared in her mother's room, and she subconsciously began playing with an invisible pocket watch. Smith briefly noticed this behind his sunglasses, but directed his attention to the white walls of her living room.
"What color do you intend on using, or are you leaving it white?" He asked, walking into the blanketed room to survey her paint job.
Being caught off guard by such a question, as her focus was more concerned on her dresser, she had to gather her thoughts in silence. He turned back to her, waiting for a response as she pretended to daydream.
"Um, I was thinking something along the lines of a nice burgundy, or perhaps a blissful blue. Anything but the green it used to be. I hate green."
"Why's that, Miss Simms?" Agent Smith persisted, walking slowly through the room as he scanned the furnishings behind his tinted glasses.
"It reminds me of being stuck in this gray concrete prison day in, only to be rewarded by bathing the sky in orange light pollution day out. And while I like the natural green of the wilderness, it doesn't look good on me. My mom said otherwise, saying it suited my nurturing personality… But I have to admit, I'm a bit jealous of you and your partners. I love your suits." Mary's eyes caught Smith smirk while he eyed her pile of mixed literature. "Have you ever seen the mountains about five hundred miles north of the city, Agent Smith?"
He remained focused on the books and newspapers, now flipping through her collection of literature.
"No, I haven't. But it appears that you plan to." He found the computer books that were buried and Mary's heart began to pump furiously. "Computer programming? Tell me, Miss Simms, how do you plan to reformat your computer when the power source is severed? Or is there something you wish to tell me that you've withheld from us during our previous visit?"
His austere voice pounded into her, fuelling her anxiety and making it a challenge to breathe normally. Despite this, Mary did not allow her posture or facial expressions to reveal her growing uneasiness. Instead, her eyes grew colder as she was now determined to dig deeper into Smith's psyche.
"Okay, you caught me. I may try to sell the house and see if the owner of the chateau up in the mountains will rent me out a room. Or I could just take a trip there –I don't know for how long or when. It's where my mother's boyfriends used to take me hunting and paintballing. I read books or fished and trapped while they retired to the campsite. They enjoyed their time together, and I enjoyed being off by myself – although my mother said I was sick to enjoy being alone. But I found it very therapeutic, being separated from others allowed me to discover myself as an individual." She watched Smith carefully as he walked and stopped beside her dresser. "But I'm afraid that sense of individuality vanished some time ago…"
"What became of it?" He asked, resting an arm on the top of the dresser while facing her.
"I…it conformed with society. I was a child then, but I had to grow up and pull my head out of the clouds." Her eyes fell below his gaze, recollecting why she was truly isolated from civilization. "And those books are for leisurely reading. Odd I know, but that's how I aced through dramatic arts. Knowing your character inside and out through theory and improvised practical experience. The human psyche is very much like a wild beast. But knowing the habits and routines of your prey tips the balance of the hunt in your favor."
Agent Smith was seemingly speechless at this statement, never mind motionless. Mary could have sworn he was frozen in time until he removed his sunglasses and placed them on top of the dresser. He directed his eyes to the license plate above her fireplace.
"'LU 1224'. If I'm not mistaken, an allusion to the "Luke 12:24" passage?" Smith stated.
Mary stood completely dumfounded, and replied, "Yes… 'Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap; which neither have storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better than the fowls?' My mother was a bit of a religious fruitcake, but ironically, that's the only piece left of the metal coffin she died in."
Mary motioned Smith to follow her into the kitchen, which he did. He took a seat at the kitchen table where a chessboard sat. She prepared a kettle for tea, and prolonged the conversation.
"Truth be told, I have a lot of respect for your line of work, Agent Smith. So much so that I even wanted to be an FBI agent like yourself for the longest time. You get to travel, meet interesting people, get to wear nice clothing, put your life on the line, you sacrifice a social life, and in your case, a relationship –unless you're not wearing a ring to protect Mrs. Smith?" Met with silence, Mary continued. "… I didn't think so. You're far too work-oriented for that."
"Miss Simms, while your compliment is appreciated, I would like to continue on with my investigation." He noted, nodding his gratitude at a cup of tea she placed in front of him. "The sooner you've cleared our analysis, the sooner you can put your past mistakes behind you and move on with your life."
Mary took her place at the table across from him, and took a sip from her own teacup. Silently, she started setting up a new game; he was white and she was black. He exhaled impatiently through his flared nostrils, and also took a sample of the hot beverage.
"Of course, and because you are a guest in my home and I want you to feel comfortable, I will oblige." The serenity of her voice refrained him from mutiny. "However, on the condition that you give me something in return. And don't say 'protection' either. Pompous Pierce has already used that and as much as I feather for more 'Suits' at my doorstep, there's something I desire more."
"We are not a babysitting service, Miss Simms. We do not negotiate our time, nor do we hand out petty calling cards. If you do not cooperate-"
"-You'll do what? My life is so far down the drain you can't possibly have any relevant leverage on me. The only thing that matters now is my mind, and my acquired skills. For all I know, you could be slipping me horse pills under my nose and everything that's happened is just a hallucination and I'm just talking to my own shadow. Well the problem is, Agent Smith, I know you haven't been slipping me saltpeter. I'm apparently too valuable to be smothered in such nonsense. But even so, how don't I know that this isn't all just a mirage? Why should I trust you over Morpheus?" By now they had started a game of chess, but Smith's focus remained on Mary.
"So they have contacted you -When was your last contact with them?" He ignored her invitation to continue the game.
"If you were doing your job properly, you wouldn't have to ask me that. As I said before, 'you scratch my back, Agent Smith, I scratch yours'. Yes, or no?" Mary waited a few moments and noticed his hands desperately trying not to coil. "I'm waiting… Truly, I want to cooperate with you but you fail to recognize that I have deadlines too. We're both amateurs waiting on fate to extend its grimy hand to us."
Smith's face slowly unfastened itself from a permanent frown as he realized what she was hinting at, "Advancement?"
"Precisely. Now, I don't know the real reason why the 'Big Brother' has taken a fondness to my work, but I can tell you that I am by no means a threat to the general public. Chaos does not interest me, and that sort of corruption would only prove to betray my very being. I want to be… a shepherd. A shepherd amongst these meek little lambs herding across the asphalt terrain." Mary explained, capturing one of Smith's bishop pieces. "Considering that you are carrying a Desert Eagle .50 Action Express pistol under that handsome, gold-lined jacket of yours, and that real FBI special agents carry Glock 22 or 23 Model pistols, you aren't being fully honest with me, Agent Smith. Which leads me back to why I should trust you over a so-called terrorist? Or maybe you and your colleagues are espionage access agents, seeking out potentials by providing profiling information that can help lead to recruitment into an intelligence service?"
"Why should we trust or invest in a rattled adolescent who suffers job instability and chronic boredom?" Smith counter offered, seizing one of her knights.
"Taking into account that you've been prying into my life for obviously a decent enough amount of time, I should already be enrolled and replacing you as a rookie agent." She took out one of his pawns. "I have over twenty-twenty vision, a valid driver's license, firearms training, no physical attachments to any other human being-"
"-No academic degrees or education. There's a difference between pretending to be a member of law enforcement, and being one, Miss Simms." He finished her qualifications list while stealing her remaining knight.
"Hmph, denying someone a career because they don't have a silly piece of paper given to them by a man in a dress. That type of mentality has always fascinated me. The hive minds of society continuously climbing the rungs of the corporate ladder, just completely blinded to the corrupted rank system." She took out another bishop and pressed on. "That's why I gave up on becoming an agent, as well as an actress. No matter how much skill you have, you are no closer to the top than the amount of bootlicking you dish out. They call it determination or loyalty. I call it a leash."
She took a few gulps out of her teacup and continued, "I went through fast food jobs, big box stores, sewing repair shops, car washes; you name it, I've worked it. Being a psychiatrist or social worker has always intrigued me, but it becomes far too easy to crack minds of the same caliber on a daily basis. I briefly thought about being a detective since in many ways it's like hunting, but then I turned to philosophy. There is no right or wrong in philosophy, but no answer. But like history, it repeats itself until you're blue in the face. I think I'm more suited towards being an espionage agent since it combines everything I love and am good at. You know, someone who does their job so well that you wouldn't notice."
Then she took a moment and started to chuckle, "Unless of course you were on the opposite end of the barrel."
"Why don't you have friends?" Smith asked sincerely, scowling at losing his queen. "Someone of your age is usually thriving in a social group of some form."
"Most people my age are ignorant, and the rest only care about how fast they can get into sinking their claws into a sexual relationship. I have had friends in the past, but I suppose I should tell you the same thing I've told each and every one of them." She met his eyes with cold saucers that could stare a hole through a wall. "I only give you one chance. If you mess it up, it's over. You deal with the consequences. There's no such thing as accidents, only the stupidity behind the choices people make. Like an animal crossing a highway, you face the possibility of becoming one with the asphalt because you chose to cross it."
Agent Smith was clearly unfazed by the statement, although he took pride in capturing another black piece.
"Family wise, they had deserted my mom before I was even thought up, and probably don't even know I exist today. Like my mother's boyfriends, many people came and left in my elementary years. Most chose to screw me over despite my warning, which resulted in their own humiliations. Some were subtle; others resulted in expulsion from school. Once high school hit, those who befriended me in class just for the use my skills to ensure themselves with positive grades were met with severe punishment. Some buried themselves into deep depression, some I was forced into saving, and others I watched as their lives fell apart –some quite literally. But it was their choices that led to their downfalls, not mine. Nor did I assist or bully them. Their choices were driven by fear, and every choice we make is a product of fear. Fear is the parliament that governs our very existence."
Now she had Smith's undivided attention as he appeared pinned to the chair. He could not comprehend the information he just heard, and it showed through both his facial expressions and body language.
"I used to see a counselor at school and eventually a decorated shrink, but they proved themselves worthy of being in the 'hot seat' – one quit his job and the other ironically ended up in a mental ward. But then I turned to philosophy and thought I had found my true therapy. One of the two best friends that I had back then at the time was interning at a local radio station. She had told the talk show host about my work and I was invited onto the show as a guest. My appearance was both a success and a disaster though. I eventually landed my now ex-columnist job through it, as well as I was humiliated and criticized on air about being openly asexual. Within a month my friend and I were not on speaking terms as I had the talk show host fired, who apparently was my friend's entry ticket to a full time job there after graduating. So now I've just chosen a life of solitude. Check."
Mary had put Smith's king piece into check using her two rook pieces. He was able to evade, but only briefly, and now it was a game of cat and mouse.
"How about you Agent Smith, do you have any friends? And I wouldn't classify Pierce and Bryce as friends. You cannot have a friendship with no base of trust –or a leash tied around your neck." She asked, watching his face grow slightly flustered, as she had almost pinned his king into a corner.
"No… I don't really have time to worry about such matters, Miss Simms." He was still struggling for words at this point, for many reasons.
Mary looked into her empty teacup and smiled, which prompted Smith to cock an eyebrow. She tilted her cup towards him to reveal tealeaves that were spread and shaped into what appeared to be a flock of birds.
"A flock of birds means exciting news in tasseography… But if they're crows or ravens it could be grief or a life alternating experience. Although personally, they look more like rooks to me because of the white at the base of their bills. A parliament of rooks, how charming." She said sarcastically, and then she stood up and peered into his empty cup. "A single crow. Sorry to break it to you but that's unlucky or bad news. Consider yourself warned."
Smith examined his deciphered tea reading and casually shrugged his shoulders.
"Divination. What nonsense. How can you believe in it? Or rather, why do you choose to believe it, Miss Simms?" He asked, his eyes following her rooks as they swarmed in on his king.
"I don't, I just find it amusing. The same way I find conspiracy theories amusing. Let me ask you this then, Agent Smith. Why does a clearly intelligent man such as yourself believe that shuffling through the daily grind really makes a difference? Do you somehow believe that living through this hostile world will reward you in the end? Do you believe that ignoring this conspiracy theory that's been pulled over our eyes will grant you some form of liberation?" She watched with a hint of delight as he refused to make eye contact with her and adjusted his tie.
"Why do you choose to wear a necktie everyday? How clever is it to start the day by tying a little noose around your neck?" She grinned, watching his eyes slowly rise to meet hers as she made her final move. "Checkmate."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first fanfiction story that I have ever written... Constructive reviewswould be highly appreciated!