A/N: Gasp, an update! Sorry this is a bit late, but it's also the longest chapter so far, so I hope that makes up for it.


BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP—

"Shit."

Neo slams his hand down on his alarm clock, only minorly relieved when it stops buzzing. It's 9:18 AM—and it's Monday.

"Oh shit. Shit..."

He shoves the covers away and forces himself out of bed.

Damn it.

He had been dreaming, though by the time he's dressed and fully awake, he can barely remember the dream at all. It had been something impossibly surreal—a new dream—something he wouldn't have wanted to forget.

It's gone now.

He pours himself a hasty cup of coffee and rushes through the apartment door. This is typical—he halfheartedly runs the first of three blocks to the train station and stops. It's raining. The train will be late either way. He walks the latter two and watches the puddles forming on the ground.

This is so—very—typical.

It's 9:45 when he gets on and he sits down near the back, picking a spot where he can lean his head against the window. It's not as crowded as it should be. That's a perk, at least.

The rain forms an interminable set of smudges on the glass.

You should know when you're dreaming. It's the sort of thing you should be able to rely on—if nothing else—know whether or not you're awake. The smudges blur the tracks into a single, solid line. Neo watches them drip. It's just something you should know.

And it's really very unnerving—when you don't.

The answer is out there, Neo. It's looking for you. And it will find you, if you want it to...

"You have a problem with authority, Mr. Anderson."

Neo stares down at his shoes. He should have known this was coming. It's 10:07 AM by his boss's desktop clock—and he's screwed.

The man behind the desk gives him a look and sighs.

"You believe that you are special, that somehow the rules do not apply to you. Obviously, you are mistaken."

There are two window-wipers on a scaffold outside and every now and then there's a squeak—a long, flat, monotonic squeak—roughly every three seconds. He's counting.

"This company is one of the top software companies in the world, because every single employee understands that they are part of a whole. Thus, if an employee has a problem, the company has a problem."

That phrase—how many times has he heard that phrase?

"The time has come to make a choice, Mr. Anderson."

Neo turns back to the desk, fairly certain he knows all too well what that "choice" might be.

"Either you choose to be at your desk, on time, from this day forth, or you choose to find yourself another job."

And there it was.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Neo sighs. There's really only one way he can respond to that, "Yes, Mr. Rhineheart, perfectly clear," and he takes his leave from the office.

His cubicle is the fifth on the left, four rows in, almost directly in the center. To get to his boss's office from there you'd take a left, go straight for six rows, then another left. To the bathrooms, it's a right, four rows straight, then a left. To the exit, right, straight, right. To the fire exit, left, straight, left, straight, right. The fluorescent lights are always on. The whole room smells like plaster.

It would be fitting if the cubicle looked smaller than usual, more cramped than usual, more claustrophobic than usual—but it doesn't. It looks exactly the same as it did on Friday, and the day before that, and the day before that—exactly the same as it will look tomorrow, assuming he isn't fired. It looks like a cubicle. Neo sits down at his desk and stares at the blank screen of his computer. He doesn't turn it on.

His head aches. There are bits of last night floating in and around his mind, many, in fact. But sorting them into their respective categories of "real" and "dream" is proving to be more difficult than it should. He had spoken it out loud—the question—for the first time, in real life, to another person. He'd said it. He'd been asked to say it. And there had been someone there to hear it. She'd been real in that moment. And, then, had anyone even spoken at all? He has no way to know.

This is all becoming very bizarre.

And at the same time, he's really not sure what he'll do if it all turns out to have been just another dream.

"Thomas Anderson?"

Neo turns to see a delivery boy standing in the doorway, holding a Fed-Ex package and a clipboard in his hand.

"Yeah, that's me." He suppresses a sigh as he says it. Some days he's not sure how happy he is about that.

The clipboard and the delivery are exchanged—the delivery boy gives him a smile, "Have a nice day."

Neo doesn't respond.

He waits until he's alone to turn back to the package. It's light—roughly the size of a manila envelope, cardboard, nothing special—though why anyone would be sending a delivery to his work address is beyond him. He tears the top open with a little interest and slides the contents out into his hand.

It's a phone. A small, black cell phone sitting in the palm of his hand, and—it's—

—ringing.

He jerks it away instinctively, staring at it for a moment before answering the call. That's not supposed to happen—what's left of logic gives a violent protest—that phone had been off.

After another moment, he lifts it up, muttering a shaky, "Hello?" into the mouthpiece, and waits.

"Hello, Neo. Do you know who this is?"

He freezes, pulling down below the wall of his cubicle—suddenly feeling very certain that he does, "Morpheus?"

"Yes."

Neo catches his breath.

No—no—no, this is insane.

The voice on the phone line continues, "I've been looking for you. I don't know if you're ready to see what I want to show you, but, unfortunately, you and I have run out of time."

Morpheus pauses and Neo closes his eyes, leaning his head against the wall, trying to focus on what the words are actually saying and not just the fact that they're being said. It's more difficult than it should be.

"They're coming for you, Neo, and I don't know what they're going to do."

They're watching you, Neo.

"Who's coming for me?"

"Stand up and see for yourself."

"What, right now?"

The voice takes on a hint of impatience and Neo shudders. "Yes. Now. Do it slowly."

He does, peering over the edge of the wall as Morpheus informs him, "The elevator." They're there. Three heads turn in unison to stare at him.

I brought you here to warn you.

Neo ducks, falling against his desk in the process, "Oh shit!"

"Yes."

"What the hell do they want from me?" He drops to the ground in the opposite corner as though the movement will hide him better. He can feel his heart rate shoot up. He doesn't bother to sound calm—he's panicking now.

"I don't know, but if you don't want to find out, I suggest you get out of there."

"How?"

"I can guide you, but you must do exactly as I say."

Neo takes a breath, "Okay."

"The cubicle across from you is empty."

He can't possibly know that. The knowledge is coming from thin air.

Neo stammers into the phone, "But—but what if they—"

"Go, now!"

And he does—dodging across the hallway just as a series of footsteps round the corner.

The voice comes again over the line, "Stay here for just a moment."

Neo nods, though the gesture is all but pointless, trying to see, without moving, if the men are still standing outside his cubicle door. A few seconds pass and the footsteps move on.

"When I tell you, go to the end of the row, to the office at the end of the hall. Stay as low as you can."

He nods again and waits.

"Go now."

The adrenaline takes over then. It's the same maze through the cubicles he's used every day, to and from, for a good two years—and he still narrowly avoids at least three wrong turns. He locks the office door as soon as he's inside.

He can't help but wonder how many times, in the past two days, he's experienced the cliché of feeling his heart come abruptly to a halt.

"Good. Now, outside there is a scaffold."

Neo turns to the window, and yes—there is a scaffold—just outside. "How do you know all this?"

"We don't have time, Neo. To your left there's a window. Go to it."

The omniscience is getting to be disturbing, but he has no room to argue. The voice waits, unsettlingly, until he's standing at the window before it gives the next command, "Open it."

He does.

"You can use the scaffold to get to the roof."

Neo draws back into the room—this is too much. That was too far. "No way! No way! This is crazy!"

"There are two ways out of this building. One is that scaffold. The other is in their custody." The voice doesn't waver or change its tone. "You take a chance either way. I leave it to you."

Neo opens his mouth to protest just as the phone line goes dead. It couldn't have cut off there. Not then. Not with that. He stares at it for a moment in disbelief before dropping it to his side. His own voice comes out uselessly, "This is insane...why is this happening to me? What'd I do?"

The window is still open as he steps up to the ledge, "I'm nobody. I didn't do anything." A breeze comes through the opening, and he winces.

"I'm gonna die..."

But it's only once he climbs through and allows himself to look down those three-hundred-some feet to the pavement that the thought really hits him.

"Shit!"

He jerks back again, drawing himself against the wall, beginning to hyperventilate. His hands are shaking where he's gripping the window frame. This isn't fair.

And even so, in a moment they'll come through the office door.

He allows three seconds to collect himself before he dives back out, clinging to the building as he makes his way around. The scaffold is beyond the corner—now eight feet away—now six—now four. He stops—seizes up and wraps his arm around the subdivider blocking his way. He can't get past it. To get around it he'd—have to—

He looks down.

There's a burst of wind and suddenly the cell phone isn't in his hand anymore—his grip isn't on anything anymore. He throws himself against the building and clings to it, still seeing the vertigo and the hundreds of hundreds of feet to the—

No.

He's not dead. He takes another breath and waits to register that he is, in fact, still alive. He didn't die. He didn't just die. He shudders and pulls back, edging towards the open window and the way he came out.

It's not worth it. They can arrest him. They can do whatever they want.

"I can't do this."