The Clier Path

by Ophelia Davis

The White void, the doors that taunt him, they open him up to the Truth. This world he resides in, it's not what he thought. But little does he know, the Oracle knows his destiny, one he can't escape. May be yaoi later. Ed X ?

21. Hold On

Author's note: Thank you so much for your patience! This chapter is dedicated to Tash and, my little operator for making this possible, LightSwitchr. Now, to you all, here's a non-commercialised gift; Happy Valentine's Day! Oh, and as the 3rd of February has gone by, (as according to the Risembool Rangers) Happy Birthday Edward! This is for you too! X

Anyone who has put this story on their alerts will have realised that I've just updated this chapter twice and it's a pretty silly thing to do, right? Well, what was silly in the first place was uploading it with so many silly mistakes that shouldn't be there. Lucky for you all, I've been able to put some time aside to edit the chapter, take away the mistakes and add things that might make sections better, or at least, more coherent. Hopefully, you'll like this version of the chapter better (not that much has changed to be honest); once again, thank you for reading, and sorry for updating it before with so many mistakes. It won't happen again.

Thanks x

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and The Matrix do not belong to me but to the brilliant minds of their respective writers, Hiromu Arakawa and The Wachowski Brothers. The re-workings of the plot, as is only possible in the universe of fan fiction, belong to me. Thank you for reading and please enjoy.

'The wise man does not expose himself needlessly to danger, since there are few things for which he cares sufficiently; but he is willing, in great crisis, to give even his life – knowing that under certain conditions it is not worthwhile to live.' – Aristotle

He'd left the cordial glow. Left whatever trace of light he had come to know in the corridor behind him to become fully immersed in the thick air, clogged with a grey muted buzz of vibrating mosaics that his eyes had yet to grow accustomed to. All he had to rely on was his own eyesight, his own perspective, his own instincts, if they were indeed to be trusted in an environment he had come to know as being undependable. He counted the doors as he passed and with narrowed eyes, studied the dark shape before him.

From the crack in the door below, he picked up on a soft grey glow, brighter than the semi-darkness he had crept through just moments before. It provided some shape, some definition and detail to what would've normally been a meaningless rectangle. It glinted at the top of the door, emitted a golden, metallic sheen that he pressed his fingers to, stroked along the smoothness of the metal, following its shape, picking up on whatever sense of feeling he could manage, despite its numb reputation.

His lips were taken over by a satisfied smile as he recognised the digits.

299… if you're here Trinity, I'll get you out.

He let the smile fall, let his hand drop to the doorknob, turn it, and the lock was released from its jamb; he could feel it come loose in his grip, become his to control. His eyes narrowed, he held his gun poised, and slowly, he pushed the door open.

The room seemed to be encased in a bodily shadow, hiding from all who were curious of their defining features. His eyes fell straight onto the square in the middle of the room before him, where a window held residence in its frame, opening up the room to a mute brightness, to the grey sky thundering outside and the rain drumming against the glass. He frowned deeply, and slowly, he stepped in.

As he took in his surroundings, his eyes were beginning to adjust to a new scene of light pouring in, finding some gratitude in it. He was starting to make out the shapes that were once hidden in the room where the grey light considered his eyes akin to a new-born's. He picked up on a thick, soft shape pushed up against the wall. To his right, by another wall, he scanned over a long shape, one he recognized to have more defined curves. On the floor, a blurred texture, mostly flat but for the smooth bumps and wrinkles that protruded from it; supposedly separate from the floor itself.

He stepped further into the room, closer to the grey light; he held out his gun, he turned, his eyes narrowed for more clarity.

The door shut suddenly. He whizzed round. He caught a flash, a glare of reflection that had settled at the wall behind him, hidden in a curtain of shadow that the grey light had yet to reach. He aimed his gun for it, followed the glare as it straightened up from the wall and stepped forward in smooth clacks. A feeling of coldness spread through him, bit at the flesh of his hand; he wanted to retract from it, withdraw along with his weapon, but he stood his ground.

'Show yourself.' He growled lowly.

'Morpheus….' the voice produced a cold, velvety smoothness that clawed at his ears, irritated them, 'So, we meet at last, face-to-face.'

'And you are…?' Morpheus growled cautiously, keeping his gun trained on the glare.

'Smith, Agent Smith.' The voice uttered the name with a sense of derision, 'It… pains me that you don't know who I am, but I know you.'

'You all look the same to me.'

'Well, let's see if this sheds any light on the matter.' The sound of the clacking got closer, stepped slowly towards him, and into the square of grey light. The Agent stood before him; the grey light glinted along the deep green sheen of his suit, his shades purveyed a sinister glare and held his attention, reflected along the hardened expression that was imprinted into his pale skin. 'Recognize me now, Morpheus?'

A smirk grew on Morpheus' face, but he retained his aim, 'I can't say that I don't.' It waned, sinking into a frown, 'Now, where's Trinity?' he growled.

'Straight to business, I see.' The edges of the Agent's lips perked.

'We had a deal, Trinity's life in exchange for mine.'

Agent Smith reached up and slowly removed his shades from the bridge of his nose, revealing an icy blue glare.

'I'm afraid, Morpheus, that the deal no longer stands.' The smile on his lips grew.

His face hardened, 'What do you mean?'

'I gave very specific instructions; should you not arrive at the hotel in three days by 5 o'clock, Trinity would lose her life, should you fail to hand over yours. But, you disobeyed my instructions. Yesterday, a man by the name of Tom Anderson entered the hotel and booked a room, he even… removed the desk clerk for his accomplice to seek information; do you deny it?'

Morpheus' face creased up into a scowl.

'It seems that you don't… you were planning to steal her away from us, therefore bypassing all of the formalities that the deal entailed.' He replaced his shades, the light glinted along the shine of his teeth, visible in the perks of a smile that was starting to develop, and 'I commend your recklessness, but you made your move a day early. The deal is therefore null and void.'

Agent Smith lunged forward grabbed at his wrist and swung him round.

Morpheus released his gun as he hit the ground.

The Agent jumped for him, he kicked out, sent him flying back for the window. He caught himself at the frame. The grey rays were fractured.

As Morpheus got to his feet, Agent Smith jumped forward, landed. Morpheus crouched in defence.

The Agent ran forward, flung punches.

Morpheus parried each, dodged one, and grabbed his wrist, led with his elbow, thrust. A knee connected with his stomach, bent double, barged into Agent Smith. He drove him into the wall, the plaster dented. Dust rose from the walls, he grabbed his shoulders. Head back, butted him, the Agent gritted his teeth.

Agent Smith clutched his face, swung him round into the wall, pulled back his head and smashed it into the wall. He pulled it back, pushed it in, pulled back, pushed in.

Dazed, Morpheus pushed up on his shoulders, kicked out into his stomach and sent the Agent reeling back, his hold relinquished. As he landed, Morpheus fell back into the wall, breathing heavily, clutching his head.

The Agent dashed forward, he forced himself to regain his balance and ducked away from an incoming blow as Agent Smith's fist connected with the wall. He turned his head to face Morpheus, gritting his teeth in disdain and giving a menacing glare. Before he could force his fists from out of the wall, Morpheus punched forward, driving him into a dark corner of the room. He blocked each fist, knocking them aside.

Morpheus threw more blows, jabbed in with his left, but it was caught and held by Agent Smith's right. He tried to force his hand free, but the other was caught. Their fingers were laced, locked in place, each pushed in on each other, forcing the other to another side. He could feel his heels dig into the material of the floor, feel it heap up behind him as he was being pushed back. He dug his heels, tried to force him back for control. Their strength seemed to collide, their fingers came free and both were forced back.

Morpheus' face hardened, he ran forward, Agent Smith was still by the wall he'd landed by, his speed increased. A smirk came up on his face, his hand caught hold of the Agent's head, his feet found their hold on the wall, tracked their way across the corner, from one side to the other. He left the wall, pivoted round, his legs caught around Agent Smith's body and the Agent was forced down, pinned underneath Morpheus, his head by the wall. He gripped the Agent's neck, tightened his grip, and knocked his head against the floor.

Agent Smith grabbed his shoulders, tried to waver Morpheus' grip, managed to roll him onto his back.

He kicked the Agent's legs from between him, rolled him back onto his back. His eyes widened then, realisation, Agent Smith wasn't pinned.

The Agent brought his legs in, kicked out, barrelled into Morpheus' stomach and he was flung across the room.

The wind had been knocked out of him. His back met something soft, he seemed to bounce, but a weight joined him on top, pressing into his hips. Thick coils seemed to wrap around his neck, squeezing, constricting together. He grabbed for the hands, tried to rip them free. He could feel the air leave his body, filter out into the thick grey air, his lungs were burning for what had been lost, but his hold wouldn't give; the bonds held tight, and he glared up at the Agent in defiance. The light from the window glinted onto him

Agent's Smith's shades had fallen from his face amidst the struggle; his eyes were narrow, crazed. His teeth were bared, a vein in his brow throbbed. His head closed in on Morpheus' ear, forcing more of his weight onto the man's throat.

'And now,' Agent Smith hissed through clenched teeth, 'I have the codes. You cannot win.'

A smile grew on Morpheus' lips; he gripped the Agent's hands, stretched them away enough for him to heave in air through audible gasps.

'I already have.' He managed to choke out before he lost his grip. The bonds sprang back onto his neck; the Agent's hands tightened ever more, Morpheus' eyes rolled, he could feel his energy seep away.

Morpheus began to writhe; his lungs continued to burn, the deprivation dragging him down, lower and lower. He gripped the sheets, reminding himself of consciousness; he couldn't let himself give up on air so easily. He thrashed, tried to loosen the Agent's hold, he kicked up into the man's stomach. The grip loosened, the weight rolled away from above him. He rolled onto his side, breathing deeply, hacking and coughing as new air filled his lungs.

A force pulled at his ankle, swung him away from the sheets. His head and back met the wall, he collapsed to the floor, fragmented brick and dust settled down his back. Through blurry vision, the brightness that the grey light offered spilled out onto the form, slowly stepping towards him, growing closer. More of the light was being fractured, blocked from view, giving into the temptation of darkness, as was he; slowly sinking into it, losing himself, seeping in from the surface, lost, completely.

-/\*_;)(-

She'd grown used to the darkness, used to the fact that nothing would materialise in front of her; it would be useless to think that it would. It had been so long since she had seen any resemblance of the light that she had grown used to its cause, to the material that had been wrapped around her face and had seized her sight from her. At least she could take refuge in its solidarity, resting at her back, keeping her upright; she had grown strong in that conviction, that as far as she knew, it would always be a strong and with-standing presence.

It seemed funny though, to think that the darkness could be this simple, as if it always had been there without her notice. That was something else to consider, that nothing was ever simple, never black and white, always grey; it was a lesson she had come to learn, one the Matrix and all it had to offer had done well to drill into her. Just because it could not be seen, did not mean it didn't exist; yes, she had learnt it well, it was, after all, a lesson that didn't exist at the root of its teaching.

Despite the supposed comfort and support, there was always room for uncertainty in the blackest shadows; it blindsided her, left her open to attacks she could not, would not be able to foresee. There was no room for comfort in that, nor could she assume emptiness when that clearly wasn't true. Anyone could be lurking out there in the solid space, slowly waiting, the gears of their minds slowly turning, taking advantage of the obstacles and barriers of protection the darkness could be offering, because their prey wouldn't have a clue.

Those who chose that route of attack, those who dared to catch her unaware, tried to infiltrate from her blind side at all angles; they could not be trusted. They did not deserve to win their prey, take anything that she might hold of value, both outside and in, they would have to take it by force, if they were strong enough, because she wouldn't hand it to them; they'd have to kill her first.

-/\*_;)(-

Roy grasped the door handle with a slow caution. His eyes flickered to Switch's, hers narrowed, and she gave a low nod; his gaze went back to the door. He carefully twisted, opened it. Roy's eyes widened at the sight of the figure that stood before them, drenched from head to toe in deep scarlet blood, causing his clothes to stick at his skin. It dripped from his face, stained his skin in webbed trails where it was beginning to congeal, stilling into thick globules, shiny on the surface, immovable unless disrupted. His hair was near enough the same, dark, almost invisible and yet drying in the wild curls of his hair, sticking them into thick clumps, except for the ends and his hairline where the rest welled at the ends and dripped onto his face and shoulders.

He followed the span of the stains, slowly, and still spreading through the fibres of the man's light blue shirt, webbing round in every direction as if welling, ready to leak, and yet, he hardly seemed phased. He just stood there; hand on hip, the other stroking through the tangled mess of his dark-stained curls, forcing out the blood for the welled droplets to splatter wetly onto the floor behind him, as if he'd showered in it.

Roy's face creased up in disgust, withdrawing from the rank, metallic smell that resonated from the figure and clung at the back of his throat. But the other stood there, only smiling apologetically, as if it was all he could do.

"Sorry," Apoc grinned, "I ran into some trouble downstairs."

'What the- trouble?' Switch glared at him in disbelief, mouth gaping, 'I thought you were-!'

Roy held out his hand to silence her, "Quiet," he grasped for a gun in his holster, and lifted it towards Apoc, "signal," he growled.

Apoc's brows arched, he titled his head, unsure for a while, before his lips curled into a smile, "Oh, right," he gripped a lock of hair just hanging over the hairline, but frowned as the blood dripped from the curl and down his finger and thumb, "damn blood," he growled, and began to roll it in his grip, eyeing it as brown drying crystals rained from it. "Wait, this is it, right?" and he twirled the lock around his finger, where dried clumps splintered from the lock of hair.

Roy shot a glance towards her, Switch returned his hardened gaze, 'That's not the signal,' she growled, shaking her head quickly.

"Sorry Laura," he chuckled softly, placing his hands akimbo, "I must've forgotten it."

She tore the gun from Roy's grip, and held it up, aimed straight for Apoc; he stared at her incredulously, "What are you-?"

'Where is he?' She growled fiercely, her teeth bared.

"What are you talking about, Laura? Where's who?" He laughed, almost giddily.

'I'm not Laura, and you're not Apoc!' She yelled, 'Where is he?' she screamed, her eyes shone with new tears, welling up at her lashes, 'what have you done with Apoc?'

Roy's eyes flashed back to the blood that caked the man's body, widened, narrowed again, "You monster…." he breathed, and he reached for his gun.

'Don't!' She ordered, 'He's mine!'

His hand retracted from his holster and he eyed her warily.

"I'm what?" Apoc laughed, "Seriously, what are you talking about?"

'You FUCKER! I WON'T ASK AGAIN!' She screamed, tears flowed severely down her cheeks; the gun shook in her hand, 'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH APOC?'

The man continued to stand there, grinning with that tormenting mask, slowly raising his hands above his head, before a laugh bounced freely from his throat, peeling into the air, striking her eyes wide with each spell of mirth that whipped between them.

Switch gulped then as she tried to school her nerves, still she was shaking, 'So,' she growled, the tears still trembled on their way down, 'you don't deny it…?' her eyes narrowed, she gritted her teeth, 'Then-!'

"Could you kill me?"

She gasped, it caught in her throat.

Apoc smirked, "Could you kill me, while wearing this face? Knowing all of the good times you both shared, could you really pull that trigger and kill the man you love?"

Roy watched as the barrel slipped from its aim, as her eyes screwed shut, as her lower lip quivered as more tears welled and escaped. She couldn't hold onto her drive, and what had been left of it began to falter, her body drooped, her arms slipped to their sides, she fell down to her knees and the gun fell to her side with a dull ring. She cupped her face in her hands, her shoulders shook; she couldn't contain the sobs that racked through her.

Roy glared back up at the man, his face hardened at the sight of him, still grinning in his mirth.

He stepped forward then, made a move for her.

Roy's hands tightened into fists, he started forward, "Bastard!" a force connected with his side. He flew into the wall, yelped against it, clutching his side.

"You honestly thought that would work?" Apoc laughed, "Come on! I'm stronger than-!" blood erupted in the shot; he reeled against the open door, his eyes wide in surprise.

Roy lay there with haggard breaths, the gun gripped in both hands, smoke rising from the barrel, "Switch!" he yelled, grabbed a gun from his holster and sent it skittering across the floorboards towards her.

It hit her knee; her gaze flickered to the weapon, stared into its metal sheen.

Apoc rounded on him; glared at him with anger boiling in his eyes, "How dare you-!" he screamed then, a shot connected with his back, he staggered forward with the force.

Roy smirked as Switch rose to her feet, the gun in hand.

'Come on Roy! Are you going to help me or what?' She yelled. Another shot rang out, Apoc screamed as he fell forward, forced back then by a shot to the chest.

"Of course I am!" Roy countered as he gathered himself up.

More shots ruptured the air, cut through, ending their spin in the flesh of the target, screaming, and reeling as the shots from both sides forced him through the open door. He ran towards the other, cursing as his ammo ran out, threw the weapon away, and slid two guns expertly from his shoulder holsters.

The man collapsed against the wall, yelped as more shots sent a series of convulsion through his body. More bullets left their barrels and entered his flesh like celebratory banners, marks of baptismal fire that left their searing blessings through permanent holes. He screamed amidst the agony, but only for a second as another shot cut his anguish short. He slowly slid to his butt, leaving a thick trail of blood where his back had met the wall. He fell onto his side, where blood dribbled from his head wound, staining the whites of his eyes, now glazed with death.

-/\*_;)(-

Noise, she rose her head to it, listened keenly as the lock squeaked free of its jamb, a sound that she could decipher. Dull clicks rose distantly in the air, rose with the darkness as its darkest shadows surrendered themselves to the soft rays of light that pushed through the edges of her blindfold. She squinted to the foreign flare, and all further thought seemed to have been chased away with it.

'TRINITY!' the clicks rushed forward, the boards groaned as the squeak of leather settled before her. Their very existence disturbed the brief peace she had come to know, but in a way she had forgotten. The clamber it took to remove the bonds that wrapped around her lacked that certain grace, shook against her skin as her arms were loosened, the warm breath at her neck tickled unevenly, before receding with her arms' freedom. It left on her skin a single presence, true, pure of all deception and all of its churning and fearful tortures.

The jitters ascended to her hair, despite their anxiety, focused on some accurate tack and with each movement, caught at her hair and left a fleeting sting. But somehow, it seemed worth it that someone should be struggling amidst their excitement to some satisfying end, demanding cooperation towards, working together by letting them take over. The material loosened around her, let the rays gather in, until it dropped from their post and let in the full blast of the intrusion. She clenched her eyes shut to the paralysing brightness, averting herself from it.

'It's alright Trin; it's me, just calm down! I'll get these off you!' A gasp escaped her lips, as if she had been holding her breath, and the biting splinters of the rope were peeled away from her ankles.

The rays of light seemed to dull, lessened their strain on her eyes and as they adjusted she came face-to-face with a figure, her saviour. Their caring hands pressed to her cheeks, spreading their life-giving warmth while their shaking stilled. Her eyes narrowed onto their drained paleness.

'Trin, it's ok, it's me.' The voice seemed to whisper in a quivering rush. It drove his hands from her face, around her back, and her saviour pulled her close. Their warmth surrounded her, a heat she had forgotten about, calming, soothing, bringer of peace; she forgot to breathe.

-/\*_;)(-

Their fingers still twitched on the trigger, only for them to realise that their rounds were empty. Roy sighed then, and dropping his guns to the floor, wiped the sweat that had gathered at his brow. A stabbing ache thrummed then through his side, and he clutched it quickly, grunting.

Switch threw her gun away to the side, watched with weak eyes as it joined the others on the floor. A time of quiet breached the air, everything seemed to settle. A breath of air escaped her lips, her legs shook weakly, she slid from her balance, fell into his side. Roy caught her quickly, settled down onto his knees with her.

"You alright?" He asked quickly, but he glanced at her oddly as a soft smile came up on her lips.

'Yeah, I just, need a minute.' Switch sighed then, stared out towards the body that lay before them, staring at them with reddened, glaring eyes, lifeless.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, keeping her steady.

'Geez,' she smirked, pushing his arm away, 'stop asking me that, what are you, soft?' But her gaze didn't meet his, he followed it, joined it as she stared out onto the corpse.

"Seeing it there, makes you wonder if we got the right man." Roy's face fell into a scowl.

'No, we definitely got the bastard.' She growled, 'I'm sure of it; you heard him, he asked if I could kill him while wearing that face. That was definitely Envy.'

"Right," he nodded, a smirk turned up on his lips, and slowly, he got up to his feet. He looked down at the woman by his side, still down on her knees, his brows knitted, the smirk fell, "you know, you can stay here if you want." Roy smiled softly.

'Me? Stay here?' Switch chuckled, and she brought herself to her feet. 'You really are soft; I don't know how you made Colonel with that kind of attitude.' She brushed off the residues of dust from her knees, 'heck, I don't know what that kid sees in you.' She smirked, turning to face him.

Roy averted his gaze from hers, before absently kicking a gun off towards a wall. As it rebounded off the skirting board and off under the bed, he turned back with a smirk, "probably the same thing you saw in Apoc." He countered.

'Yeah,' Switch smirked, 'saw.' She let a breath escape, and the smirk slowly bowed away, turning down at the edges.

"Are you sure you're ok with this? Carrying on now?" She turned around from his question and made to grab a holster from the bed post.

Pulling it on, she clicked the strap together, gave a soft sigh, 'I have to be. Apoc, he would tell me not to worry, he'd tell me to carry on without him.' She turned round, smiled, turned back to slip two guns into the holster, she strapped it around a thigh and clicked it in place, 'If Envy knew where we were, then the Agents must know as well,' slid a gun into the holster.

"Then we're going to walk straight into their grasps?" Roy growled, eyes narrowed.

'Well what do you suggest we do, call for back-up? There's no one back at the ship we can call on!' She took up another gun, and held it tight.

"That's not necessarily true, after all, there's still someone at the ship who has the ability to jack in," his hand reached for his pocket and he brought out his cell phone, "right now, it looks like we'll need all the help we can get; all it takes is one call."

'Stupid as well as soft,' she spat, 'his orders were very clear! He's not to jack in!' she shook her head furiously.

"I'm well aware of his orders, but if we keep losing more of the crew, then we'd be foolish not to make use of what back-up we have!"

'Tch! If you have the energy to argue, then you must be ready to move on!' Switch stepped on for the door, 'There's no time-!' stopped suddenly.

Roy's eyes widened, he stepped back from her, mouth gaping.

The flesh squelched beneath his hold, it held his arm there, hugged around him in a grip of muscle, bone and quickly depleting blood; it flowed from the wound, seeping in large pools through the material of her white dress, escaping anywhere but inwards. It ran down her legs, ran from her mouth, and collected at her feet in growing puddles as the colour of her face drained away, along with her life. Switch clung desperately onto the penetrating arm, stared helplessly into those crazed green eyes, gripping her in place, taking away her will to fight, her ability to live.

'A-Apo-!' he wrenched his hand free of her chest, grinned as she fell to the ground limply, the gun fell from her grip, skipped across the pool before settling in it. Red drops smattered her dress, large ripples coursed through the pool, immortalising the stance of her landing where the blood spread across the floorboards, creeping across towards the toes of his shoes.

Roy backed away from it, his legs met the back of the bed and he fell to his knees; already he could feel it, the blood fusing his knees wetly to his pants.

If you are killed, you will not return here! If you are killed, you will not get a second chance! If you are killed, you will simply be this…

"…dead." He uttered.

-/\*_;)(-

He pressed her close, pressed her tight into his embrace; a wave of warmth washed over him, rose in his chest, into his throat, forming a lump there that he found hard to swallow back. His fingers dug into her, assuring her existence, ensuring that she was the purely solid being he always believed her to be, a form of support that he could use, was coming in handy now. But he wasn't the only one who needed it; she did, for all that she'd suffered, for all the torture she'd endured, she needed stability, the comfort of a friendly face and someone she loved. He was glad that he could be the one to provide that for her, and he would carry on doing it, gladly.

His hand ran in one smooth stroke from the small of her back, up past her shoulder, caressed the back of her neck, and sidled up, running through her hair, damp. He pressed her cheek onto his, his lips found her ear with ease, 'it's ok, Trin,' he breathed warmly. 'We're going to get you ou-!'

He clutched his stomach suddenly from the force, crumpled down into a heap at her knees, breathing haggard breaths as he coiled up tight.

Another force threw him back. He skidded across the floor. His back hit the wall behind him, knocked the breath from him, he grunted against it. He tried to push himself up for support, and through weary eyes, found himself staring into hers, dark, severe.

'Trin…?' his eyes widened as he watched her reel a little onto the wall behind, using it to retain her balance. His gaze was fixed onto hers, she stared down into him with narrow eyes, and he gaped in disbelief, 'what are you…?'

'You… bastard,' her voice croaked dryly, dismembered in its fit of long silence before, 'why are you here?'

'What do you-? I'm trying to save you, Trin!' his narrow eyes scanned her rapidly for any sense of the Trinity he knew, but even the cordial light of the room couldn't pick it up; lost in her blur.

'Liar,' she spat coldly, 'if you truly meant that, then you would've tried harder.' Her eyes purveyed the accusation with unwavering strength, 'right now, you're only acting on orders, aren't you?'

He gaped at her, his gaze wandered from hers, darting across the floor for an answer.

'You're not going to deny it?' she uttered severely.

His gaze snapped back to hers, 'I-I'm not just doing this on orders!' he started, pushing himself onto his knees, 'I'm doing this for you!'

'I don't believe you.' She frowned deeply.

'But…!' his energy seemed to fail him, '… I love you.'

'Then prove it!' she growled, and with slow halting movements, he pushed herself off the wall, stepped in the roll of a limp, and lowered herself with bent knees, fists poised, 'fight me at full strength!' she demanded.

He stared into her helplessly, a breath escaped his lips, 'I can't,' he shook his head finally; 'I don't want to hurt you.'

She bared her teeth, 'Then I'm obviously not worth your time,' she seethed, 'you wouldn't fight for me before, you wanted me gone. So,' she clenched her fists, turning the knuckles bone white, 'if you really want me back then prove I'm worth the trouble! Prove there's no one else on your mind!' her face was turning red; her breathing heaved as the frustration welled in her chest.

He gritted his teeth, tried to show some form of resolve, but as he glared into her, they lost all the fierce determination he would once refuse to let go of; that face wasn't meant to be used against her. It lost all fight, his brows knitted and every part of him seemed to lose the firmness of the fight. His resolve was already crumbling.

'Get on your feet and fight me!' her whole body seemed to shake, something else welled from her, tore her throat raw.

His eyes widened, his face lowered from hers, he gulped as he shook, 'no, I can't.' He breathed through haggard wobbles, 'I… I-I just can't.'

She gaped at him. The light reflected a shining dampness in her eyes, scanned him up and down. Her face drew up into a rapid flicker of disgust, 'you COWARD!' she screamed, ran forward.

-/\*_;)(-

The man…. Roy's mind seemed to reel; his body went boneless beneath the glare, the manic smirk that enveloped its lips, the poison green stare that bore into him, holding him there as if he were pinned in place; no way to escape it, nothing he could do, those eyes… threatening, they promised something hidden beneath them, he could only guess, but he couldn't… in case he was right.

He screwed his eyes shut, almost blinded as crimson flashed bowed out from the man's feet, curling up its body; its clothes seemed to fizz from all view, taking away the black suit trouser, bleaching tanned skin with its crimson volts. Its body seemed to arch with the wave, the blue shirt seemed to shrink, sticking at its skin before the bowed flash ate away the material, right up to its solar plexus before eating up the sleeves beside it; all that was left was transfigured a deep black. It worked up its neck, fusing the collar there, coating it black in the waves of an ephemeral red band. Its skin paled the further it travelled, eating away blood as its eyes screwed up and grinned in pleasured revelry; the wave sank into its hairline, yanking the black curls straight as it settled around its brow, leaving a black band as long, deep green strands settled passed his shoulders.

The man's chest heaved suddenly; its mouth gaped for breath and its knees seemed to shake before him, tones of mirth bounced from its throat.

Roy stared; wide eyes glared up into that face as its tension seemed to sink, leaving a glazed expression, a deep grin.

What is…?

Roy's eyes darted down to the man's legs, now regaining the balance it had struggled to keep just moments ago; there, in the side of its left thigh, inscribed in the skin as if some of the flash and blood had settled in its flesh.

He tried to curl himself away; the sketch had proved its worth, no longer just a fictitious creation from some damned imagination. He knew what it was; his eyes were drawn to its face, to their look of relaxation as finally their eyes were pulled open, revealing deep violet orbs behind half-mast lids. He bared his teeth as the man smirked down at him proper, his face settled into a deep scowl.

"So," Roy growled deeply, his fists shaking, "you're Envy, the one who can change his appearance at will."

It chuckled, bouncing in a low feminine voice, "ah, so you've heard of me!" bowing briefly before righting itself. "I'm flattered!"

"I wish I hadn't," his face creased up in revulsion, "you're disgusting," he seethed.

Roy pitched forward. He hadn't expected the kick, the foot as it curled round the back of his neck. No time to stop himself, he met the floor, rolled with the force, settled on his gut. He pulled his hands to his side, tried to push himself up on them.

Suddenly, a hand slapped down against his head, pressing his face into the pool.

"I'd take that back if I were you." It grinned, its fingers pressed into Roy's head, threatened to gouge into his skull.

"Why should I?" Roy growled through clenched teeth. His head was pressed with harder force, ground into the wood, its hand bearing down on him. He screwed up in pain, he gritted his teeth against it, writhing under the force, struggling.

"Well, you don't want to end up like her, do you?"

He stared out with wide eyes at the face in front of him; his mouth gaped as little waves of blood lapped up onto the shore of his tongue, and all struggling ceased.

She bore into him with green, empty orbs, absent of their warmth, drained of their life-light, and yet their curses still remained, encased in ash pale skin.

Roy gulped hard. A whimper squeaked free from his throat.

Sorry Stranger… Guess I wasn't strong enough after all… but that's alright… your secret's safe with me… I'm just trash to you anyway… aren't I?

Roy's eyes widened against the power of her stare.

You fight against the system that controls you, but in the end… it's all a worthless struggle.

Roy's mind seemed to flail, his hands tightened into fists, as if trying to secure whatever sense of control he was losing and trying in vain to regain.

Especially in this business, you never know when something or someone will come along and take it from you. It could all be gone… so quickly…

"Poor, worthless human, wasn't she?" its voice lingered at the surface, calling to whatever remained of the man beneath its hold, never faltering in its convictions, inescapable.

Even soldiers must fall some time…

"She was a cruel one, I'll give her that," it chuckled, "but in the end, it wasn't enough; you see, as long as you hold onto your useless sense of sentimentality, you'll never be able to detach yourselves in order to fulfil your potential."

You don't know the true extent of what you're up against…

"You think there's strength in numbers, you think you humans can overcome any obstacle with what little help you can find, but it's only a ruse; a mantra to cover up the fact that you can't do it alone," the strength of his hold increased, pain flared in Roy's head, but those eyes continued to stare back, as if he didn't matter; the pain didn't matter, "because on your own, you are nothing but sad, miserable creatures, only able to clutch at straws, wallow in what little life you have, and that is why, you'll always be weak."

But now's the time for you to give up, and die…

Roy screwed his eyes shut, welcoming the folds of the darkness that enveloped him, as if he were coming back home again, ready to settle into it, never to step out again. He drew in more breath, heaving it out with a shaky effort, under the burden, under the weight. It was his fault she was… somehow, he couldn't save her, it was… a crime he'd committed, the consequences were clear. He'd be alone, completely alone, left to his guilt. He could do nothing now but hide behind his hands, blood-stained…. Her blood… and his… and theirs'… why…?

People are going to die, so there's no use aching over all of them.

A voice peeped up beside him, young and near the point of breaking, sat close, pressing warmth in at his side. It rested then on his shoulder, rubbing up and down in soothing motions.

Just be glad you're alive… that's all you have time to do.

Roy's eyes shot open, the green stare flashed back into view, framed by sallow skin, dappled in blue clouds, the result of an oxygen deprived existence, or what could laughably be called that.

He would tell me not to worry, he'd tell me to carry on without him.

"That's right," the low feminine voice seemed to curl around him, as if smirking in sick satisfaction, "take a good look at that face. It's human weakness at its peak, the result of all feeble struggling, doesn't it drive you mad? Of course, this isn't the first time you've seen pieces of filth like this, is it?"

Good men have been led to physical and metal self-destruction because their loved ones have been killed by the machines…

Roy's fists shook against his hold. He felt something cool against one; he unclenched and settled onto it.

But you are heading down this path over people you don't even know…

"You remember Ishbal, right? Damn! What a centrepiece! All the flailing, fighting and screaming, and they don't even know why! Just remembering it sends chills down my spine! Shooting people left and right, shedding blood for all to see! And do you know the best part?" a cackle rang clear from his throat; he could feel the pressure give, "it wasn't because they hated each other, not for some religious reason, no! It was all because they were following orders!"

Roy gripped it tight, peering out of the corner of his eyes, gritting his teeth.

It's not too late.

"The puppet master gave the commands, and the soldiers followed them on their strings! Only such chaos and destruction can be carried out by foolish humans with senses as clouded as theirs! Only humans would be dumb enough to play along! That is why you're-!"

You've got a good pair of legs, so get up and use them!

"God! Do you every shut up?" Roy curled round under his grip, forcing his arm and gun towards it. He made to shoot, but the gun was slapped away, and in the same movement, beaten across the face. In that flash of pain, Roy was hauled up by his front and held easily off the ground.

"Now why'd you go and do a thing like that?" Roy was yanked up to his face, frighteningly close, grin wide, "hm?"

Roy held his frown, heavy in his defiance.

"Well?" it shook him hard, "Don't keep me in suspense!"

"We are not foolish!" Roy ground out.

"Of course you are!" It chirped, "You came here on command, didn't you?" A chuckle bounced from its throat, "and all for nothing."

"What do you me-?" Roy growled.

There was a sudden jab to his neck, a fleeting moment of breathlessness, but that was all it took for the darkness to tunnel in, and for everything to fall down around him.

-/\*_;)(-

The wind whipped wildly around him, spraying sharp needles of drizzle, cold and bitter against Victor's face, making him shudder as he kicked off harder before setting his balance back on the board. As the wheels hits the puddles, the water parted in small waves, making his path, leaving rippling trails as he sped off down the street, dodging pedestrians and stones that could easily knock him off course.

All around him, everyone as he whizzed past was a dull blur of mixed colour, far from clarity; far from focused lines and defining features as he shifted his attention to them from the road ahead. Everyone, a minor entity that walked against him, existing in some insignificant way that hardly mattered in the greater scale of things. They didn't steal his brother; they wouldn't know where to look, and of course, they wouldn't care. Best avoided; best to dodge them while his balance was still sustainable.

But it wasn't for long; the wind blew hard against him, slowing down his pace; he kicked off with a few strengthened hits before his balance settled once again. The wind carried on its assault, howling, carrying the wet needles that stung his eyes, ruptured the black that framed them, causes them to run in thin trails down his face; he gritted his teeth against the whirling cold.

Victor, of course I care, he wasn't just your brother, he was my son, but these things happen… that's just how the world works. First you're here and then you're not.

Victor narrowed his eyes, grunted as another gust of wind whistled and howled against his ears, barrelled into him, sent the board swerving and him almost off it. But still he wobbled in his stance, the wheels veered left and right, but as the wind calmed, he managed to right himself again before giving the ground an extra swipe of his foot.

No, I won't let myself believe that for a second, Joe. Something happened to you, for some reason, you were killed, but right now… I can't be sure… but there must be a reason! You can't have just dropped dead like that! I refuse to believe that you just dropped dead of your own accord! There has to be a reason, a cause….

The clouds flashed above, a fork of lightning split the sky, glistening across the faces of those who still ran against it, doing their best to escape the rain and drear, a crack of thunder thrummed across the sky from behind the clouds, the great booming noise, it gripped him, his eyes widened to it as he swerved quickly out of someone's way.

This can't just be a coincidence! Something's going on! And God help me I'm going to figure it out!

His cheeks reddened, but not because of some newly apparent heat. The warmth branched out from beneath them, coursed through his skin and beat away the external cold.

But at least I won't be alone in this. With your help, Sarah, I know I can do it!

His face drew in fiercely, branded now with a new determination.

Joe, I promise you I'll find out who-!

The sirens brought him back to reality, cutting through as the police cars rushed past. They made him jump, a cold sweat gathered at the back of his neck. He could feel himself wobble off balance, there was a sudden drop, he'd left the pavement, found himself coursing through the street, something screeched, coming closer, slipped past him on the wet.

His board rammed into the side of the car's tire, his feet left the board, a sudden feeling of weightlessness. He rolled across the bonnet; his shoulder hit the metal, his head hit the glass, shattered beneath him. The force of the car breaking carried him with it, traversing, winded, he couldn't stop himself. The car shuddered suddenly, the bonnet bowed then bucked him off and his body hit the concrete, rolled across someway before halting on his side.

The rain pattered against him, coming down heavily, barraging his skin like blunt bullets. There was hardly any air left in him to breathe, he had to and drew it in. But the only thing that left him were shaken screams, shock, panic, eyes screwed shut. With each breath came more fragile moans, biting aches.

Get out of the road, should roll away now… right…? Or get hit…

He tried to force his body into action, forced his muscles to cooperate, but something obstructed him, caught him in place.

Voices around him, footsteps maybe, the roar of car horns, distant, hazed in darkness. He tried then to open his eyes, found a close-knit line of shoes somewhere close by, maybe a few car wheels… is that broken wood…?

'Hey… you alright kid?'

'You idiot! I have kids in the backseat!'

'Don't try to move, you're bleeding!'

'Don't worry, there's help on the way.'

His fingers gripped the concrete for stability, a nauseous feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, a sharp pain now, he grunted to it. A stroking sensation, he could feel it running up and down his arm, giving reassurance.

'It's going to be alright kid. Just hang on.'

The haze purveyed his sight still, hovering above his line of sight, as if threatening to rain down. The hands gripped harder, shaking him, voices around him, loud, slowly fading from earshot.

'Hey, keep your eyes open! Are you with us…?' The sickness, raising steadily to his throat, he could feel his grip loosen on everything; it weighed on him until all darkness prevailed as his ears filled with a low, long tone.

'Hey! Snap out of it!' he jolted suddenly, he found himself gripped the table side, his knees shaking weakly, 'are you ok, Ed?'

He forced air into his lungs as a bead of sweat sidled down his brow; he blinked hard, hoping to rid himself of the hazy clouds of black that still surrounded his sight, now slipping away to let in the light of the monitor. His gaze drifted above the screen, the bodies lay limp, two screens by the side of their seats flashed red and his eyes widened to it. His mouth gaped open at the reality it provided, that the meaning behind it was dire; red, blood, danger….

"No…" he uttered softly.

'What do you…?' Tank followed Edward's gaze to the seats, before letting a frown purvey his face, he averted his eyes from it, let them settle again on the monitor.

Edward gripped the table side harder, almost jolted forward as Dozer gripped hold of a jack, and with a strong tug, yanked it out from Apoc's plug. The body buckled, slipped lower in the seat despite the straps that still held the man's wrists and feet down, as if the torso had an independent sentient existence to the rest of its body; the red flashing ceased on his screen, one line of a low beep retracted itself from the monotonous tone of the other. But the only sense of sentience, of movement left in the body were the constant drips of blood that rained on the floor beneath, drying and clumping somewhat on the fur-lined material of the seat-covers, completely drenched now.

"Apoc…." He averted his gaze quickly then from the releasing click of the corpse from the stability of its jack, but at least sentience was not an option for the corpse to consider, should it ever have the choice. He turned round to face Tank, his face set hard against the glare of the monitor and it's raining, acid green code. "… And now Switch…? They're both…."

'That doesn't matter anymore,' Tank interjected, 'they're both-.'

"Y-You don't care…?" Edward's face twisted with an edge of disgust, his brows tugged in, his teeth bared against the man's disrespect for the dead, "you don't care… th-that they've been killed…?"

Tank frowned deeply, 'there's no use crying over it now. What's done is done, they played their parts, but it obviously wasn't enough.'

"So what about everything they have done, huh? Does that mean nothing too?"

'I'm not saying that!' Tank growled, 'we couldn't have gotten this far without them, but they're no use to us dead! We have more important things to worry about!'

"So… you're just going to disregard them…? Just like that?" his face screwed up, he gritted his teeth, "you sick-! How can you say that? You've known them longer than I have! They were your friends!"

'Will you wake up?' Tank stood up from his seat, his hands pulled into his fists, and 'you should know by now that counts for nothing in the Real World! People die fighting the machines! It was the same with Cypher! Just because he died, doesn't mean we should stop; the same goes for Apoc and Switch! You should know this by now!'

"But this isn't the same as Cypher! They didn't try to betray us!" Edward tightened his hands into fists, his whole body shook, "They didn't hinder our plans… they worked with us… helped us towards our goals… despite the risks… and they died for our cause!" he seethed through gritted teeth, "how can you compare that to Cypher?" he pulled his arm back, "THEY WERE YOUR FRIENDS DAMMIT!" he rushed towards him, threw his fist forward. He was stopped mid-momentum, and his prosthetic was grasped back by a blood-soaked hand. He turned slightly; from the corner of his eye he caught the sight of Dozer. The light caught his face, hardened, ready to protect.

'I know you're mad right now, little man. But no matter what tongue you rant in, that ain't gonna do you no good.' Dozer growled deeply, 'Apoc and Switch will always be remembered for what they've done, but if they could see us now, I bet they wouldn't wanna see us brawlin' over them. The mission comes first, above all else. It's time you learned that, Edward.'

"Y-You too…?" his knees buckled beneath him, his arm slipped from Dozer's grip and he dropped to the floor. His head hung low, his shoulders loose, his body quivered beneath the weight, "your… they were… your friends… why…?"

'Just let it go, Ed.' Tank growled, 'there's nothing you can do for them now. At least now, they're at peace.'

Edward narrowed his eyes; his fists shook as they dug into the material of his trousers, but not before thoughts of a man with short black hair were called to the forefront of his mind, when the trauma of a sudden loss was not far behind them.

When you're in the Real World, it's something you have to get used to. People die every day fighting against the machines, but it doesn't mean that everyone should stop. We just have to cut our losses and move on; otherwise we'll never win against them.

He gasped, his eyes widened and he swallowed down the lump that was growing in his throat, loosened the grip on his trousers.

"Y-You're right," he nodded quickly, "they're together now, at least. They'll be no need for them to suffer anymore." He tried to work a smile onto his face, small at least, but it came out in strained wobbles, only perked at the edges.

'That's the best way to think about it.' Dozer smiled softly, and reaching down, squeezed his shoulder.

Carefully, with a hand on his arm, Dozer helped him to his feet, before letting him steady himself on the table, "what about the others? They should've gotten to Trinity by now, right?"

'Well,' Tank sighed, 'Neo's there with her, but… they're fighting each other.'

"What? That can't be right! I thought they-!" Edward cursed inwardly, swallowing down the profanity, "what about Roy and Morpheus?"

'Morpheus has been captured by Agent Smith,' Tank's voice hardened into a deep growl, 'and Roy by Envy. At this rate, the deal won't matter, because they'll have both Morpheus and Trinity. Unless something was to change in the situation, at this point, there's nothing we can do.' He averted his gaze from the screen.

"But we have Mouse, don't we? We can just call him; tell him what's going on! He'll be able to go up and-!"

'No!' Tank interjected, 'Mouse may have managed to stay under their radar, but if he left the Bluepills, they'll run amok and then the Agents will be able to use them for transport. Then we'll be in some really deep shit.'

Edward's gaze fell to the floor, his hands tightened into fists, "There has to be some way we can help them."

'There isn't. Not without disobeying Morpheus' orders anyway.' Tank snarled.

His eyes widened, as the feeling of realisation overtook him, a smile settled on his lips.

"You're right," Edward nodded, "the mission does come first. That's why," he lifted his head to face Tank. "I want you to send me into the Matrix."

Tank stared at him in disbelief, 'are you kidding?' his face creased with rage, 'Morpheus gave very specific orders for you not to be plugged into the Matrix! There may be nothing we can do, but as long as you're still here, we've got nothing to worry about! You know that right?'

"Yes, I do know!" Edward snarled, "But if I don't do something, then Apoc and Switch won't be the only ones to die tonight! With me there, I'll be able to free both Morpheus and Roy, and get the rest out of there as well! You know I can do it!"

'I don't care! The last time you disobeyed Morpheus' orders we were almost killed by Sentinels!' he shook his head furiously, 'No! There's no way I'm letting you twist my arm again!'

"But they'll never escape if I don't do something!" Edward countered, "Listen to yourself! How can you be willing to let them die in there, when you know you have me to send in? I can turn this around! I can make it work in our favour! All you have to do is let me try!"

Tank averted his gaze, '… an order is an order, Edward. There're just too many risks. If you go in there, then there's a very good chance that we'll lose you too. As this ship's operator, as long as Morpheus is my Captain, I can't let that happen.' He glared into him fiercely.

"Tank, you've got to hear me out! Neo isn't the only one on this ship, I'm here as well! I know I didn't ask for this duty, but I'm damn sure not going to give up on it now! The Oracle told me herself that her duty is to Neo, the reason I'm here is to act as Neo's guide on his path, I must help in any way I can!"

'Staying out here is helping him!' Tank ground out.

"For fu- you don't understand!" Edward screamed.

'No! You're the one who doesn't understand!' Tank interjected, 'You know damn well why Morpheus gave the order, and I for one am not going to let you disobey it for one life and at the expense of millions of others!' Tank stepped towards him, imposing on him with his greater height, 'You may think Morpheus is worth more that the lives of Zion, but as far as your Equivalent Exchange is concerned, Morpheus' life is not worth the risk! Just give it up, Edward; it's pointless to even try.'

"How can it be pointless? Without him, we'll fail from now on! He's too important to leave behind!" He heaved, then screamed, "Dammit Tank! If I don't help him now, then ZION WILL FALL!" he took in quick breaths, staring into him, as if that was all he could do.

Tank glared at him, his eyes wide.

"Please Tank," he breathed, "I'm begging you… right now, I'm their last hope, I can help them; the only thing that's stopping me… is you." He let a wavering breath escape, "I can't do this on my own, Tank, I need your skills as an operator. We can still win this… so please… just have some faith in me."

Tank settled down, letting himself sink back down into his seat, giving a harsh sigh, 'What do you think, Dozer?'

Dozer looked up from his stance, gazed down then at Edward, 'I'm sorry,' his gaze went then to Tank, 'I'm afraid I'm gonna have to go with Ed on this one.'

Tank stared at him incredulously, 'What? Are you serious?'

'Get yourself seated, little man.' Dozer smiled at Edward, who nodded quickly, a determined grin on his face.

"Right, thanks!" and he rushed off for an empty seat.

'Brother!' Tank grated out, 'Why are you doing this? You do realize that-!'

'Yeah, I do, but the little man's right. We've gotta have faith. I mean after all, there's gonna come a time when that's all we can do.' His little brother's face creased into dismay, but a smirk perked on Dozer's lips, 'I know he twisted your arm last time, but this ain't no time for pride. This here's a matter of life an' death.' He placed a hand on Tank's shoulder, and the little brother faced him then, 'The mission comes first, right?' Dozer chuckled.

Tank glared from Dozer; let his vision sidle towards Edward, who had already strapped his feet to the seat, and then back to his older brother.

'Fine,' Tank growled through gritted teeth, 'but if something happens to them, I will not be the one held responsible.'

'Don't worry about it,' Dozer smirked as he stepped for Edward's seat, 'I'll take the bullet for ya this time, bro.' He quickly strapped down Edward's wrists, pressed his head down into the head rest and took up a jack at the side, 'Whatever ya do Ed, jus' be careful.'

"Don't worry about me, Dozer." Edward chuckled softly, "I'll get them out of there." He nodded firmly. With one hand across his forehead, the head of the jack found its way through dull golden strands and towards the rim of the plug, skating round the edges. Sliding the head of it in, he thrust the jack in firmly. He jerked up against his hand, before relaxing finally against the headrest.

'Are you sure we made the right choice?' Tank sighed finally.

'No, but for the sake of the others, we got no other choice to make.' Dozer returned firmly as he took up a seat beside Tank, 'I believe in Ed an' Neo, I believe that Morpheus is right about those two, but,' his face fell slightly, his gaze settled onto Edward's calm face, the rapid flickering beneath his closed lids, 'if Edward can't pull this off, then there's no doubt about it.' He glared round into Tank's dark gaze, 'Zion will fall.'

-/\*_;)(-

Feeling, a twitch of movement, then more, fingers, aren't they? Then more, he curled them in, the pads at the tips touched the roots of their existence, pressed in harder… the first thing he'd grown conscious of doing since… he wasn't sure, something in his mind must've fractured along the way from… wherever he came from, a gap had been left in his memory, something that was hard to retrieve, had gone missing. Somehow, it seemed even harder to replace, at least not with anything worth remembering. Nothing worth remembering now, not now that he was here, surrounded by this deathly black canvas, open to all manners of penetration, but closed to any perception of sight. All he could feel was the eerie ground beneath him…

… It's not a question of how people perceive you, but of how you perceive the world…

His eyes widened to that sound, a sound that grated in all the wrong ways and left nothing that could warrant the desire to hear it again, just a sting akin to an open wound and the adage of sodium chloride. Nothing left to do now but move, and with that reasoning he tried to summon any strength he might have, at least enough to push himself up onto his knees, but his whole body felt heavy, as if the darkness were bearing all its weight on him, mercilessly punishing him for something he wasn't sure he'd done, a nameless crime he didn't know he'd committed.

Sure you can touch; it's the only sense that can provide you with any solid proof of what you see…

He glared about him for the source of the sound, but he could see nothing beyond his hands, pressed in effort against the floor, his fingers gripping at the sound and marking his knuckles with a bone-white strain.

But the evidence of what it could be just from touch is not nearly convincing enough.

He narrowed his eyes from the infernal grate and let his features settle into the frown it was accustomed to, he gritted his teeth against the sound that reverberated around him.

"Damn… this again?"

As soon as he'd spoken, there was a sudden tug on his wrists, sending his arms up, yanking him up into the air; his mouth gaped breathlessly as he lost all sense of gravity to the force that was taking all control of him. He was flying upwards, faster, faster, as his gut would find its way into his throat. Somehow, he couldn't help but smirk at the idea, a miracle in the making. Still he flew, panic sent a hot shiver down his back, a widened glare towards his supposed destination; still more darkness, he couldn't see an end, perceive a ceiling, inwardly, he hoped there wouldn't be.

He halted suddenly; all momentum was countered by a new force on his ankles, causing his body to jolt down, buck up again in a sickening pang of unwarranted bounce. The slack seemed to tighten then, and his journey had lost all of its previous buoyancy, pulling his arms and legs outwards; unguarded, open to everything on all sides. The coils around his limbs tightened still, tighter, tighter, as if ready to pull him apart, he ground his teeth against it.

The pull seemed to settle, his breathing heaved with effort, and he could feel the coils cut into his skin, stinging madly at his splitting flesh.

Well, this is an improvement, you've never looked better!

Before him, the darkness broke apart, splitting like his flesh, letting light gather and seep from the new slit at it grew in length. It seemed to bunch then with some internal effort, the illuminated line screwing up against the darkness as though it were a waking man being exposed to new light, greeting consciousness with a tinge of annoyance. It spread, opened suddenly. He couldn't help but glare into it, and the large eyes that revealed itself, for its part, was staring back from its oddly positioned side; its iris throbbed with rings of grey that enveloped the ink black pupil as it dilated at the sight of him.

The thin of its surface seemed to gleam wetly, tears that collected at the corner that pointed down like an arrow, reverberating as something seemed to push against the white film from within. It seemed to pulse then, the attacks seemed to grow more violent from within as the pupil narrowed and rolled fiercely from the internal abuse.

He couldn't help but stare weakly, helplessly into it. All he could do was tighten his fists, struggle against his bonds, against the coils that held fast, held him in place.

It ruptured suddenly in a slippery rush, white lumps mixed with blood dripped from the new synapse, pouring from the corner and dropping down into an unbroken free-fall, further into the plane of darkness below where no bottom could be distinguished. But still he never turned away from the glare of the eyes; blood rushed and stained the whites, bled from the synapse in collective tears with the rest of the congealing lumps.

A hand grasped the side.

His mouth hung open, sweat trailed down his brow, a familiar ache twisted in his gut.

Another hand breached the gap, tightened their grip on the sides, pushed against it; there was a sickening crunch as the eye's shell was broken completely in half, peeled right back to its black lids, relinquishing now a new beacon of light that flooded into the darkness, that could break down easily what its rays could touch. He squinted to it, his whole body wanted to shrink away from the new warmth, but it didn't last long.

He dared to open his eyes again as the warmth shrank away, a dark shadow had settled on his skin and he turned his back to gaze into the eye. Something was there, definitely there, obstructing the rays, casting them away, a form that he could only guess was humanoid in shape.

That was until the form stepped closer, leaning over from inside the shell, face pressing deathly close to his own; then, a smile, harsh, familiar, supplied by the gleam that shone from golden eyes, reflecting the light behind. His face creased into a scowl. The form reached out, the tips of its fingers skated across his cheek, he gritted his teeth as they bit into his skin like prickles of ice.

So, this is what you've been reduced to, hm?

The golden orbs softened momentarily, skating from head, slowly down to foot, surveying his naked body, as if with sympathy, or pity, as if it cared for his well-being.

Soft, weak…

It simpered in forlorn tones, but he couldn't help but catch the same sting at the end of them, of sodium chloride, diluting any and all meaning into something crude and worthless; the very thought made him shudder, more so as the form brought more of its fingers into play, sliding back up the cheek until he was being cupped wholly in its hand.

You poor thing, you have been blind for so long, and even now that your eyes have been opened, you still insist on hanging onto your pathetic illusion, to the darkness that your eyes have become so accustomed to….

It definitely stung then, like the words of a mother admonishing her child; worth listening to, but damn was it hated then.

You certainly insist on doing everything the hard way, making mistakes, refusing to learn, and then making them again, just to see what colour your bruises will turn this time, when sight for you is nothing but a distant fantasy. You, like all fakes, will never learn.

He flinched from the touch, shaking away the hand from his cheek, as if its palm were searing his skin. He stared into it fiercely.

"That's where you're wrong," he hissed, "Yes, there was a time when I would refuse to learn," he screwed his eyes shut against the fact, tinged with humiliation, "when I could only find happiness and satisfaction in the life I'd left behind, and yes," his face fell into a sort of sullen admittance, "maybe I was a fake," then, a smirk began to envelop his lips; a realisation being brought into his own understanding. "I'm ashamed to say that it took the words of a child for me to realise the consequences of that," the smirk suddenly, "but that no longer matters. My eyes have been opened, and my mind is free. Just as a man can bend the laws once he has mastered them, I myself can bend anything to my will here; this is my environment, it's mine to manipulate."

The form's face drew into one of disgust, its anger coming through in gritted teeth and a throbbing vein on the side of its temple; his smile widened.

"You see, you may think you're the one in control, but you were never were-." His face was beaten aside, red now where the fist had made its contact. He had to shut his eyes to it, but opened them again as he glanced up to face it proper, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. "… Was that supposed to hurt…?" He growled, spat the blood aside, "That was pathetic, even for you." He smirked.

Another fist barrelled into him, and again from the other side, knocking him this way and that in a cacophony of beatings until his face was covered in sprays of blood.

I don't think you realise who you're speaking to!

The form screamed, its ire taking over.

"Oh I know exactly who I'm speaking to!" he retorted, "But how am I supposed to take you seriously when you punch like a little girl?" he grinned in the face of the strength it possessed as he felt a cushion of warmth hug against his face, soothing the momentary pain, as if it had only existed as a minor irritant.

The form's fist shook.

You bastard!

It drew its arm back.

You liar!

He grunted against the blow to his gut as it forced its way through, as the blood leaked around the wound and the guts that remained hugged around the foreign limb, treating it like the enemy it was, treating it with the entrapment it deserved. He stared down at the arm, his eyes widened, screwed up as he coughed blood onto his assaulter. His breathing heaved for stability, but his gaze found the golden orbs easily.

"You don't understand, do you?" he yelled.

He tensed his muscles, further entrapment. He brought his head back, smashed it into the form's, who yelped against the force. It gripped the shell edge for stability, but with all its strength, it couldn't pull itself free.

"I told you before! This is MY mind, and here, you are at MY mercy!" he screamed. "Anything you do will count against you because I'M the one calling the shots here!"

Gritting its teeth, it gripped the shell tighter, pulled harder, and yelped with effort as it yanked its arm free. He threw his head back, screamed as the blood found its escape. He huffed for breath, letting groans fall on the exhalations, shaking as his body began to yield less and less, as the flow began to die away.

"But you," he growled deeply, "who dares to wear his face… YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S FAKE!" He glowered into him, the form stared back as if to shrink back into the core of the shell; he couldn't let himself be afraid of that face any longer, "Always have been; always will be!"

The form blinked, then, a smirk cracked on his lips, a peel of laughter escaped its throat, echoed around the darkness, filling the cold space around them and leaving him to stare in disbelief.

You really think so?

The laughter had died on its tongue, but the mirth had failed to escape completely, still attached to its lips; his courage was beginning to flag, his eyes widened in a way that spelled fear according to the perception of all possible spectators. He felt a sudden tug on his body, as if being pulled in towards the cavern of light, shining from within the shell; he tried to grasp at the coils, hoping for dear life that they wouldn't dare relinquish their hold on him; to escape the pull, but to never fall victim to the drop beneath.

The form pulled it arms out wide.

No matter the deception, no matter how much you try to fight it, you can never escape the Truth! That day of Truth, when all you're fighting will become futile, that day will come soon….

He could feel it, the coils receding from across his skin, their pull beginning to slacken smoothly; he gripped at the coils, he struggled against the pull, growing stronger. It was clear, if he were to let go, he wouldn't fall, it wouldn't let him; he'd be at its mercy, free-reeling within the gravity of the darkness. He gripped desperately, tighter at the coils.

One arm flagged in its strength and flapped to his side, a victim of the force working against him, but he couldn't let go, not while he still had a hold on a coil, even though his body was spinning within the force. His legs writhed then for stability; his free hand grabbed hold of the coil still in his other grip, tried to wrap it around his hand. But he could feel the coil slowly slip from his fingers, his grip beginning to falter, the pull growing.

His body grew suddenly heavy, he gasped and a weight had joined him on his back, clambering on, pulling up against his own naked flesh. A certain heat began to settle at the back of his neck, warm breath skated along it, moved up before pressing against his cheek. His own body began to shake, he could feel his grip losing all of its strength, and he could lose it any second.

… Why do you keep on fighting? The Truth is absolute, there is nothing you can do, but lie down and accept it. If you do, then things will be easier, but I suppose you won't do that, will you?

"No," he seethed, "I could never let myself give up now. Not now…" he lost sight of the coil in hands, his gaze began to waver.

As always, you'll do everything the hard way.

It gripped his hands, he glared at the glowing skin, and he gaped at it. His brows knitted, his lower lip quivered, and a lump gathered in his throat. Despite the owner, the hand, each finger that tightened around his, emitted reassurance, a spiel of soft caresses, strength in weakness, a non-verbal pact, but one he knew well. He'd known it before, he gritted his teeth, and his eyes screwed shut, hated that the form was his, and he had to let go, sailed towards the light, and breach the shell.

Warm breath lingered at his ear.

It's useless to keep fighting, Roy; it's foolish to think you can. You'll come to realise that, and when you do, they'll be nothing left for you to do but accept your fate; only then will you be able to accept the Truth.

The heat grew around him, bathing his body in its glow, the forms arm wrapped around him. Together, they sank deeper into the light where the heat rose in intensity, burning at his skin, but he was unable to thrash and writhe himself away from the flames; the force was too strong to defy. They kept on sinking in, further towards the core, where skin melted with sweat, joined in union, as if metallic brothers once again, becoming one.

-/\*_;)(-

The sirens flashed around them, red, unceasing, flaring in their ears, and yet, panic was not an option for them. They had no choice but to react according to protocol, to push open vaulted doors towards the pipe-lined halls of the ships, to the rear, to dash through branching corridors, up laddered pipe-lines and down them again, to rush to the chamber holds of the gun turrets, ready to fight off the enemy, the sentinels that were rushing on towards them.

Swarming in behind them in one cascading group, they started matching the ship's speed with a smooth ease as its prey was navigated through a narrow worm-hole, escaping from the set of wiry limbs and large, red glowing orbs that adorned the sentinels, now catching up to them, darting closer to the blue glowing volts of the hover pads that gave the ship its lift.

They rushed towards their respective chambers, so did she, dropping down into her seat before pulling down a monitor into view. The ammo of the gun came down and ready for use, the controls of the firearm came into her grasps, and she quickly aimed the large barrel of her gun towards the oncoming sentinels. She flipped open a switch, and glancing into the screen of the monitor, 'alright,' she growled, glaring into the red glints, the things worth a collective sense of fear, all could spell her end, even a single sentinel could instil the amount of menace needed for her to stand up and run away while she still had the chance; if she could comprehend that was even an option, 'come get some.'

She pushed down on the button, and a barrage of bullets left the barrel, biting down on the heads of the sentinels, sending their once solid frontline spinning into dispersed groups. Those that survived whirled out of the way of the fallen, while others dispersed still into smaller groups, escaping the rain of further attack and empty shells.

But she wasn't alone, those that had claimed their chambers and made ready to attack were making their presence known as they aimed and fired on sentinels brave enough to stray into closer proximity of the ship, being sent away whirling towards the walls of the worm-hole. With this, direct contact from the sentinels was being successfully avoided, but still more followed close behind, showing no signs of giving up on the ship as it carried out its upward journey through the worm-hole. But neither could they give up, not while the worm-hole still opened up before them, towards a larger expanse of lighter space and a ceiling above of dirt and steel.

The operator's eyes widened at the dead end ahead and Thaddeus gripped the chair for stability as they were suddenly flying towards it, escape unsure.

'Hang on!' The nose of the ship crashed through the ceiling, debris scattered around them as rays of light rained down and haloed around them, promising as it flooded into view and in the midst of cascading rubble; the sentinels were beaten back, blocked from any further travel, or at least for now, the ship had been delivered to a certain degree of freedom that could only be assured by wherever they glided to next.

-/\*_;)(-

All around him, the beeping of car horns, the slow rolling, and even the squeaking cease of car tires on the concrete; everywhere, the dull sounds of footsteps and lingering voices, almost muted by millions and millions of rain drops pattering in the distance, close by, on his skin, stinging like needles, conquered momentarily by the roaring of thunder above, blighting all audible ability.

He tried to raise his head, a dizzy notion overtook him, his head began to swim, and some obnoxious voice and the application of hands forced him gently down again.

Why are they doing that…? Where am I…?

He tried again; a sudden ache thrummed through his head and persisted along with the hands on his side.

Who keeps doing that…?

The thought brought the release he needed almost as soon as it had entered his head; the hands abandoned their post, in his peripheral the line of feet were parting and shifting quickly back, welcoming, like the parting of heavy red curtains, the footsteps of others and the prodding of more hands than he could contend with. Their voices seemed to bounce among another roar, coddling in soothing tones, treating him like the kid they supposed he was, raining him with questions, slowly manoeuvring him onto his back before facing him with thick rosy faces and a migraine of neon green.

'It's alright kid. You're in safe hands now.'

Really? You should've been here sooner then.

'Maybe you should leave playing dodge with traffic to the computer games at home next time, hm? How 'bout it?'

Try telling that to the forces who took my brother away and the man too cheap to buy me some.

'It's ok; just try not to move your head. Can you tell me your name?'

What kind of question is that? I know what my-!

'V-Victor… Crowne….' he groaned softly as the faces seemed to press in tighter around him.

'Ok, Victor,' one rosy face ducked away, a fuzzy fork of lightning took its place, purveying the sky, shining brilliantly before being blinded by the face as it returned to its post, 'this might sting a little,' something pressed against his head, he could feel it then, warm and wet across his brow, causing a sharp pain with the pressure that he grunted to, 'sorry, it's ok, now where were you heading to Victor? You seemed to be in a hurry.'

Wait, where was I heading to? There was a reason; I know there was, but… I just can't think…

Whoever was holding the cloth against his head gave it an added pressure, he grunted again, disturbing all previous thought.

'Do you know where you were heading to Victor?' the rosy face asked again, 'Can you remember?'

'I… I think….' He began slowly, shutting his eyes to a roll of thunder.

I was on my skateboard, I know that… I was going pretty fast, so I was in a hurry because… damn! What was I…? … But if I don't get there then… Joe…!

There was a sudden roar of car horns, beeping at some offense, the distant squeak of tires from across the concrete, as if they might veer out of control. The muted voices of before rose again, footsteps sunk away from him, moving towards the disturbance, as far as he could tell anyway, but they couldn't deaden the heavy thunks that landed against the metal before the rush of steps away in the distance, followed by a stream of ranting as the single array of steps rushed, dying away, but still audible.

That voice…!

He shot up suddenly, fighting against the protests of hands and raised voices against his body, fighting away the aches in his body as he twisted round to the rush of steps. Against the dull greys, the bristling cold and the tirade of rain that beat down on him, tainting the sticking, stinging warmth at his head; a sudden flash of gold, gone from behind a car, and again, as the car passed away, blinking with the passing of the traffic, rushing away, further down the street.

He's going towards the…!

He brought his feet beneath him, shifting for balance with his hands against the concrete, aching there.

'Victor! You shouldn't move! You're really hurt, you can't move in your condition!'

'HEY! STOP!' he called out towards the figure, gritted his teeth against the ache; of course he knew he shouldn't, but he had to. Of course, it would be too much to explain the situation, they wouldn't understand, care for the little brother that suddenly dropped dead without warning, just like his father, he didn't care! But still, as he weakly brought himself up to support his weight on shaking knees but a hardened stance, the rosy faces were up on their feet with him, trying to tide him towards a waiting gurney.

'Kid! Listen! Your condition-!'

'FUCK MY CONDITION!' he screamed, and shoved against them before forcing himself into a run. The line of people parted for him, and he skipped jauntily round a queue of cars and onto the pavement at the other side. 'WAIT! STOP!' he called out again, louder though his voice cracked and his neck ached.

The figure turned around, stopped in his tracks, another flash of gold circles in the pale pinkness of his skin, set hard in some negative form above a fuzz of grinding white, bright against the black of his attire; but only for a second. He was soon rushing off again, further down the street, faster than before, leaving him slowing in pace. Limping and leaning against a wall.

Who was…? Why did he look like…? Those eyes…! Is he…? Why…? Who was…?

The questions circled in his mind as he heaved his chest for breath.

Whoever he is… he must know…! He must know why…! Maybe… the reason…! I can't let him get away…! Not now…!

-/\*_;)(-

He forced his eyes open, huffed in deep breaths as his heart hammered loudly in his chest. With each gasp of breath, it felt like there was a splinter in his throat, causing him to wheeze and squeak, until he coughed it away in saliva-sputtered spasms. He gulped away whatever other obstacle might have built up in his throat, coughed again, pain clutching at his neck, sore, where a hand had jabbed before. All around him were elicited dull blips of something he couldn't identify readily, he'd heard it before, but his mind still seemed to stagger on limp cerebral limbs, buckling to the floor of his skull as the sound clung sharply to his ears. He screwed his face to it, shook his head with whatever strength he had, focusing on the clarity he needed, or at least, any sense of clarity that could be attained.

He squinted, expecting a bright, white light, of an infallible and perfect inexistence and something that could be disputed, but instead found dark shades, mottled shadows like fibred mosaics pressing into his skin with a tangible feeling. Peering out of a certain corner of sight, he found glimpses of cordial light reaching through; blurring the edges of what he was sure was darkness and shadow.

He blinked hard, his eyes wandered to the side where there was some feeling of lit visibility and at least something to make out; he saw them then, two pairs of feet, one of polished leather, the other were boots scuffed with dust, then chair legs somewhere behind them. He blinked again, coughed, his breathing still wheezed. His sight still seemed dull, blurry; he tried to reach for his face, failed outright. He could feel the rope biting into his wrists, the faint heat of skin being crushed together, his own; he narrowed his eyes, his hands were tied.

'So you've finally decided to join us, Colonel Roy Mustang.'

He gasped, stared up quickly towards the deep voice, growled against the stabbing ache that thrummed through his neck. The light glinted from the man's shades in a way that forced the glare into his eyes; he bared his teeth, screwed his eyes in physical defiance, and tried feebly to distance himself from the man. He made to kick himself back, his legs were being forced to move in unison, and even then cooperation was difficult. He stared down at the useless limbs, finding them to be bound at the ankles, his legs crushed together from the single use of a tight knot.

He stared back up at the Agent, he narrowed his gaze, tried to look past the glint, but it was an impossibility; those black surfaces were impenetrable.

His eyes widened then, the Agent made to kneel down, he tried to curl himself away, but he couldn't, he was afraid to look away.

'It's funny,' the Agent began coldly, 'every time we meet, it seems you're always on your back, struggling, bleeding, writhing in pain, fear; displaying all the… emotions that are unique to your species.' He gave a momentary pause, 'it's funny that it should be you, of all the crew, who exhibits these weaknesses, acting in a way that holds true to your birth. So tell me, why is that?'

He narrowed his eyes, "You're Agent Smith," he growled, "You were in the simulation."

'It seems you remember me.' A smirk rose on the Agent's lips, 'but you didn't answer my question. You're not like the other Redpills I've seen, why is it you seem so determined to wallow in human weakness?'

"I wouldn't say I'm determined." He growled.

'Then what would you call it?' he awaited response, but as the silence breached them both, he let the smirk bow away, and a sigh escaped his lips. 'Since you cannot seem to answer for yourself, why don't we let you field this question, Morpheus?' he turned away from Roy, and towards the figure made up of scuffed boots and four chair legs, still sat behind him.

"Morpheus…?"

Agent Smith stepped aside for him; there the man was sat with his arms bound round the back of the chair and his chin crushed against his bare chest. He had been stripped to his waist, now shimmering with beads of sweat that rolled into patches of dust and fragmented debris, tied down by white disks and the thin wires that were stuck there on his chest, keeping him linked, man to machine. Beside him, the source of the blips, an assortment of monitors on a wheeled stand, eliciting their blips as shining green lines spiked in their ordered waves at a monotonous rhythm, seemingly normal. But that didn't mean something was right, he could tell as he stared at the man's brow, damp where thin wiry trails of sweat had ran down his face, running into the trails of blood that sidled from his temple thickly. He looked beaten, his deep skin bruising and coming up in deep purple blotches, his lips looked swollen, and from its corner a congealed line of blood cracked and frayed on his skin.

Roy continued to stare, wide eyed with disbelief, his mouth coming together and grinding at the teeth; his brows were pulled tensely down and he began to struggle in his bonds.

'Now Morpheus, I'm curious to know, since you seem to know Colonel Roy Mustang's mind better than his own, why is he so determined to wallow in human weakness?'

"What did you do to him?" Roy screamed, struggling, trying with any ounce of summoned strength to pull his wrists apart, grunting and wincing through gritted teeth as the rope bit tightly into his skin, at the warm trickles that played against his wrists, "What did you do-?"

A sharp kick to the cheek sent him rolling back against the foot of the bed, a yelp peeling into the air, and a cautious wince as he peered from the corner of his eye through hot, throbbing pain, to gaze at the Agent, still close by.

'Calm down, Colonel Roy Mustang,' the cold voice seemed to bite at his ear, supply more of the pain his face was feeling, 'let the man speak.' The Agent's voice seemed to finish on a smirk; he wasn't too sure, afraid that direct eye contact could be interpreted as begging for another beating.

'Roy has had trouble adapting to the Real World ever since his release, and still does. As an older mind, he still finds it hard to let go of the illusion he has already grown used to.' Slowly, he rolled himself round to face Morpheus, the older man's gaze never seemed to falter from the wooden boards of the floor at his feet, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. 'It is quite possible that he hasn't yet accepted the Truth.'

Of course I haven't!

Roy's eyes narrowed, "dammit, Morpheus," he growled, "I thought you were better than this, how could you let yourself get captured so easily?" the man's gaze strayed up to meet his, but his features didn't alter.

'I could say the same for you, Roy.' Roy flinched at his words, but bared his teeth against them; his wrists shook within their holds, from the stinging pain that still radiated at the joints, 'I honestly thought you were better than this.'

"What do you expect?" he countered lowly, "we were up against a monster that can't die. Even if there were three of us against him, I would say we'd still be unfairly outmatched."

Morpheus' eyes narrowed, 'are you sure?'

"I saw it with my own eyes, Morpheus! One minute he had more holes in him than a shooting house, and then next he-!" he gulped down the rest of his words; he looked down out of Morpheus' gaze.

'I see,' he gave a slow nod, 'then there was nothing you could do.'

"And you couldn't do anything against him?" Roy seethed, nodding towards Agent Smith, just close by.

'It was the only choice I had.' Roy's eyes widened to the words, his face contorted into an illustration of disbelief, 'I knew that without my help, Neo would have little chance of saving Trinity. So, with me in their custody, and Edward on the ship, I can be sure that the codes are safe.' A smile curled up on Morpheus' lips, and he gave a soft chuckle, 'I guess I've said too much.'

"What are you- that doesn't make any sense!" Roy snarled. "How can the codes be-?"

'Yes, tell me, Morpheus,' Agent Smith interjected, stepping towards Morpheus, 'how can the codes be safe now that we've captured you?' leaning on the back of Morpheus' seat, he leaned down into Morpheus' face, staring hard into him.

Morpheus glared away from the shaded glint of the Agent's stare, frowning deeply, his mouth shut.

The Agent gave a heavy sigh and stepped away from Morpheus' defiant stance, 'That's a shame; you seemed so willing before,' standing up straight, he gave a nod towards the back of the room and stepped aside as the sound of footsteps became apparent, coming up from somewhere behind Roy. 'I was… hoping I wouldn't have to resort to this, but your sudden lack of cooperation has left me with no other choice.'

Roy stared up at the new figure, stepping slowly towards Agent Smith's side, dressed in the deep green sheen of a dark suit and carrying a silver tray, its cargo he couldn't make out.

Since when was he here?

With ease, Agent Smith took up the small bottle in hand, and from beside it, a syringe, which he used to pierce the foil lid of the bottle before it was placed back onto the tray.

"What is that?" Roy growled.

Agent Smith stepped towards Morpheus, stared round to Roy as he stopped beside him.

'Now, as an alchemist, and a military officer, I'm sure you can tell me the uses of Sodium Thiopental.' The Agent cocked an eyebrow, holding the syringe ready and upright. Pressing the pump slightly, a clear bead of liquid welled from the needles tip, and dripped down smoothly.

"What would be the point of-?" Roy started, but was suddenly silenced by a look from Morpheus, administered in his direction. Fidgeting a little in his bonds, he searched his mind for answers, "Sodium Thiopental is a chemical, made up of Carbon, Hydrogen, Sodium Oxide and Sulphur; as a barbiturate, it reduces neuronal activity," Roy gritted his teeth, feeling the ice of Morpheus' cold stare upon him, "in the case of criminals under the death sentence, it has been issued for use when delivering the lethal injection as a means of execution," he swallowed hard then, "although, because of experiments carried out during the Ishbal civil war, it has been recently issued as a means of interrogation, gaining a more commonly known name in the Investigations department as the Truth Serum." His gaze fell onto the syringe in the Agent's hand, "So you're going to force it out of him?" Roy growled, his eyes narrowed, "to go to your last resort so quickly, that's pretty low, even for an Agent, right? Besides, I doubt he'll tell you what you need to know."

'In his present state, that would be the case,' he stepped forward suddenly, stabbing the skin neatly and plunging down hard. Morpheus' face screwed up in a manner of contortions, disgust, maybe, even pain. 'Now, for Morpheus' benefit, can you tell us the effects of the drug?'

Roy averted his gaze, "He'll be unconscious within 30 or 40 seconds as the drug takes effect, but after 10 minutes or so, he'll wake up, and all higher cortical brain functions will have decreased, making it harder for him to fabricate a lie." Drawing his gaze back up towards Morpheus, his lids had gone half-mast, his mouth dropped open, and within seconds, his head was lolling loosely against his shoulder, lost in the waves of a drug-induced slumber, "but that doesn't mean you'll get the truth from him!" Roy shouted, "Even if he talks, that doesn't mean he's speaking the truth! He's stronger that that!"

'Then, let's put that to the test, shall we?'

-/\*_;)(-

Their escape was greeted with the glimmering shades of dull light, raining down around them from some atmosphere of acid blue as they glided onto safety and the illuminated trappings of scarred buildings that towered above them. For hovering into their presence, for disturbing their exhaustive sleep, their very immensity demanded a subdued silence, granted and simultaneously broken by the hum of the hovercraft as it glided smoothly through them and above a bed of rubble and twisted metal.

But they didn't linger, not while there was still a chance that they were being chased by the sentinels they had left behind, the ones they had been trying to escape. It was this notion that forced them into a turning; with head-lamps blazing, they cruised through a large, gaping hole, through a tunnel of azure-mingled shadows, the hole a probable testament to a past that once beheld the surface lands as their rightful habitat.

They reached the other side, only for the shadows to persist from above, being cast by a host of turned over buildings and great gashes that had been sliced into the land, and yet still by other blatant signs of destruction and decay that could not be ignored. Not even Jue herself could shake away the demand of acknowledgement as she stared upon the array of cities overtaken by destruction from the cockpit with wide eyes, gripping onto Thaddeus' sleeve as the ship weaved delicately around each mass of wasted rock and failed structure, their communal sign of respect.

'I've never seen the surface,' she uttered it breathlessly with a grave recognition.

'It's nothing now but one big graveyard.'

Jue turned to face Thaddeus' words, and in turn, he faced her; acknowledgement of an uncertainty, that this graveyard, holder of the dead and gone, might soon become their own.

The ship left the remains of a civilization behind, gliding from the cliff that supported it and into a clearing that beheld a muted glow, muted of all life. In its distance, more scarred towers reached towards the thundering sky, lashing its lightning whips as the far-off buildings formed their shadows in the clouds and stood strong against the glowing mist that purveyed the drop beneath them that only just maintained a surface for the tunnels below; more shadows to escape into, to get lost in, giving any unfortunate soul further to fall.

As it all came into view, she gripped a hold of a stabilizing pole by her side, each member of the crew could only stare helplessly, hope for some straying form of anonymity as they practically strolled into their midst. Just below them, now that they were clearly visible to those who might stare up further than the skyline, a great network of black sentinels weaved along the ground in thickly coiled groups like large metallic snakes, now inhabiting the surface of the worm-holes that had so long become their haunts. Each emitted a blood-red light from circular sockets, a reminder to most of what they had gotten themselves into, of a choice that was no longer regrettable, it was much too late for that; it was a reminder instilled further by the warped cries of their metallic workings.

Thaddeus backed from his stance at the window, his eyes too wide to screw shut in disbelief; now that he'd laid his eyes on them, he could no longer feign their non-existence, 'oh my god.'

Jue couldn't blame him, even she had to summon all of her will just to keep herself rooted solidly in place, although, she couldn't decide whether her fear had something to do with the cold shudder that ran down her spine.

'It's an army.'

The clearing was full of them, the whole ground was covered by their metallic bodies, weaving like a battalion of worker ants; only slithers of rock and rubble could be made out along them as they laced in their curving queues, before them merging together around a protruding structure greater than their forms, something akin to a tower tip. No, this one retained a rounded form that sharpened towards the tip; all others were still clinging to their buildings, or at least, had been unable to escape the scars that hundreds of years of decay can give. This was stood upright, its tip embedded in the soil of debris, emitting an acrid glow of power as the forms of the sentinels worked to keep it turning.

'What is that thing?' the operator cast a glare towards the bright blue radar at his side, showing the tower tip and the arms that upheld it from its thicker base, keeping it secure in the ground as it continued to spin.

'Some kind of tunnelling machine,' Jue concluded, though a tone of uncertainty bit at all those who heard her answer.

A thought struck him then, 'oh no.'

'What?'

His gaze never left that sight, remained gazing upon the outside; if his held gaze could grant them a prolonged sense of life, then by whoever governed their fate he was going to hold it, 'look where we are, what's four kilometres down?'

She glanced away from the window in thought, her lips found the answer before she could fully comprehend it, 'Zion…' she glared at him then.

As soon as the words left her lips, the sentinels began to break away from their coils, working in renewed queues and assemblies towards the sky, maintaining newly formed coils that headed straight for them proper. He broke his hardened stare away from them, casting it then on the operator, the one who could deliver them with some luck, but for long?

'Go, GO, GO!'

-/\*_;)(-

His back hit the wall; he grunted against the force as gravity renewed its hold and gave him up to the ground. He screwed his eyes as the pain thrummed through, immobilizing him, but only momentarily. As its dull stabs waned, he slowly pushed himself up onto his knees, spitting away the remnants of blood that had seeped up into his mouth. Forcing his feet beneath him, he used the wall for stability, and pulled himself up proper.

He turned to face her once again, but her strengthened gazes were not given to wavering, and on this occasion, there could be found no exception to that rule, not if she could help it. He backed away from the force they purveyed, gulped, but held his ground as she crouched once again into her fighting stance, meant for attack, using the synapse of action to catch her brain and gather her strength.

But the gap was not meant to last, he caught a sight of movement with just a flicker; she started forward, he swallowed away all thoughts of retaliation, and shut his eyes. A force barrelled in left, then right, sending him off his feet, and his hands clutched his face as his cheeks ached hotly from the sting of attack. Step, step, a stab to his stomach, blunt, a foot; the kicks rained into him, he grunted, but didn't block, though his instincts screamed at him, insisted on him doing otherwise, anything to rid himself of the supposed predator.

Kick, kick, a crack and a half-shout mingled inside a whimper. The steps echoed away from him this time before a thud was heard. As he opened his eyes from the curtains of darkness, he found her sat some metres away from him, clutching her big toe with a face contorted in both pain and anger.

'Shit,' her voice husked with effort, 'it's broken,' she growled.

Spitting away another dose of blood, he forced himself to sit up, though the air had been beaten out of him. He stared at her, he wanted to think the anger was seeping away now that the pain had become its companion, but her eyes were still hardened, the look reminded him of a wounded animal in a cage, bleeding, sinking down onto its belly and closer to death, but willing to fight to the brink of its strength if needs be. Fight or flight; kill or die, or run and live; her eyes portrayed her leanings towards the former. She'd rip him apart if he got any closer and yet….

He brought himself onto his hands and knees and, despite the present ache, crawled towards her. She glanced up from her swelling toe and stared at him with a gaping mouth as he reached towards her.

'Here, let me-.'

She swiped his hand away with gritted teeth, and he inched away immediately.

'Bastard, I'm fine!' she spat coldly.

'It's broken, isn't it?' He gave her toe a pointed look that he knew she would catch sight of.

She turned her face away, 'Why don't you take this opportunity to fight back? I would if I were you.'

'I told you already, I'm not going to fight back, I love you, Trin; you know that; so why would you think I could hurt you?'

Because you already have.

'To get me out of the way? To make sure I can't return to your side? I could go on.' Each word carried its own acrid sting,

'That's not true,' he tried to root his own words with conviction, but he couldn't stamp down the wobble that was welling up from his throat, 'I could never do that.'

'Then your mercy means nothing to me.' She growled, and grounding her heels in, forced herself into scooting back before pushing herself onto her feet, keeping her weight off the broken toe, 'Fight me at full strength, that's all I ask.'

'No.' This time delivered with more conviction.

'Why not?' She countered, wincing suddenly as she accidently leaned on her injury.

'Because if I fought you at full strength, I wouldn't be able to control myself! You'll be killed!' He shouted out with protestation.

A smirk perked up on her lips, the first he'd seen in a good while, 'Then it's a win-win situation, don't you think?'

'Wh-What?' he gulped with a dry throat, slowly forcing himself up onto his feet, 'What do you mean?'

'It's simple,' the smirk seemed to twist with her brows, bowing down, brows skirting up, 'if you kill me… then I won't have to deal with th-this… pain you've dealt on me, and you'd be saving me a job in case you didn't. Either way, you'll get to keep up that affair of yours… except this time, you won't have to do it behind my back.' Her voice descended into a croaky wisp, weighted down and nearing a muted quality, 'I would say we both benefit from that situation.'

'Hold on, affair-? How can we benefit from that? Dammit Trin! Don't talk like that!' he stepped on towards her, but she couldn't stand his shadow nearing closer and she backed away, clutching her ears.

'Shut up!' she screeched, shaking.

His face contorted, 'How can you-? I can't go on without you, Trin! Please… I need you!'

'LIAR!'

'Please, whatever that monster did to you, I can fix it!' he fought on forward against her protestations, against her struggles and her steps as she continued to back away.

'STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP LYING TO ME!' She howled against the raining tears, fell back against the wall and hugged her ears tight.

'Then just let me try!' he screamed, standing by as she rocked against his words, shaking still as his voice sunk into a soothing tone, 'Please, just come back with me and I'll fix it! I'll do whatever I can to make you happy!'

Her face hardened suddenly into a maddened glare, and she kicked off from the wall, 'LIAR!'

-/\*_;)(-

His heart rate issued an erratic round of blips that bombarded the room between each strained breath that escaped his dry, cracked lips, piercing every ear that was present; he shook with each effort to regain some form of composure as beads of sweat welled from his forehead, as he clenched his teeth and screwed his eyes shut within the sockets of a face, distorted by – Roy could only imagine what Morpheus was going through, and yet somehow, it was useless to even try; he wouldn't be close enough to what it really felt like, not without experience.

But he just stood there, watching, with arms folded like it was just another day at the office, and yet, like there was nothing to be done. Roy ground his teeth at the sight of him, the way that his face didn't seem to register the spectacle happening before him, or the pain that was crossing Morpheus' face at a rate of subtle distortion, and yet visible; but there was no effort to intervene, only to let it carry on, as if it were another day, the kind where only boredom reigned clear.

Roy had known those days, slept through plenty of them when paperwork was just a mindless drag and the heat was sometimes just too much to bear, but this wasn't the same as that; the Agent seemed to only know cold-hearted professionalism, visible in the eyes of any man who could stand to watch another man be tortured out of his mind. But then, Agents weren't men, they were machines, like auto-mail, but frighteningly functional.

Slowly, with teeth bared, Morpheus raised his head from where it was once pressed into his chest, his vision encased in darkness, but not for long. He opened them then, but just barely as his veins pricked up from beneath the surface of his skin.

He narrowed his eyes amidst the resistance.

Dammit Morpheus, I've seen men scream themselves bloody at this point. How the hell can you stand it?

'I'd expect nothing less from you, Morpheus. I must admit it would've been… disappointing if your mind was so easy to crack.' A smirk flickered upon the Agent's lips, and he turned from them with ease, facing the window and the grey overhang of clouds and the flickering of storm light that forked across the sky just beyond its frame. 'Tell me, Morpheus, have you ever stood and stared at it? Marvelled at its beauty, its genius, billions of people just living out their lives… oblivious.'

Roy scowled deeply as the Agent turned away from the window.

Like we don't know already, I was one of them after all; I bet you got a good kick out of watching us struggle for as long as you've existed, you bastard.

'Did you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world? Where none suffered, where everyone would be happy,' the smirk was quickly eradicated from view with a simple bow of his lips, 'it was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost.'

"There's no wonder," Roy growled, "There's no such thing as a perfect world."

Agent Smith stared at him pointedly, his smirk returned, 'you've taken the words right out of my mouth.' He turned then to face Morpheus, who was sat there still, weary, haggard, 'you see, while some believe we lacked the programming language to describe your perfect world, I believe that, as a species, human beings define their reality through suffering and misery.' He turned back to Roy, 'Thank you, Colonel Roy Mustang, for proving my point.'

The life signs continued their erratic blips, sending waves of acid green lines spiking violently along the screen, as if anyone was capable or willing to heed their call; his hands were tied, the Agent was within reach, but beyond any emotional capacity or care to help. His eyes darted from one end of the room to the other, trying, seeking out any detail, any possible object; there, in his peripheral vision, bundled down the side of the bed, he caught the dull shining folds of his jacket, creating a nest for the straps and metallic guns resting there.

Don't let on that you know!

Bringing his gaze back to the Agent before him, he let a deep frown suppress his face, erasing then whatever hope he might have purveyed to those with their eyes on him.

Now, if I could just get my hands free….

With little movement, he started tugging his wrists apart, hopefully stretching out the rope that might soon give up its duty, and in turn, give some semblance of freedom. He ground his teeth to keep himself from wincing at the bite of the rope.

That's it, a little at a time, if I can get free- just keep him busy….

He let a smirk creep onto his lips, just the slightest hint, but at least, he was giving some form of attention between each little struggle he made, "then, by all means," he breathed a wince, but caught himself on a hiss of pain, "tell me at least; why did this perfect world fail? What makes you think we'd 'define our reality through suffering and misery' as you put it?"

The Agent's own smirk continued to reign clear, 'I don't just think, Colonel Roy Mustang, I know; your perfect world failed because you couldn't handle its ideals of absolute happiness, you couldn't understand that a world could exist without suffering, and as a result, your kind treated it as a dream that your primitive cerebrum kept trying to… wake up from, which is why the Matrix was re-designed to this,' he stretched out his arms, as if to offer himself to the whole of existence, 'the peak of your civilization.'

Damn, why aren't these ropes coming loose?

He gulped down another well of pain, "And I suppose, my Matrix, the Beta-Matrix, was the same?" he gave a hardened grin within his tone of askance.

The Agent's smirk fell, 'No, of course not. We had learned our lesson by then.' His arms returned to their respective sides with a relaxed manner, 'Unlike you humans, we learn from our mistakes; your kind, on the other hand, will always make the same mistakes, even when you… insist you've learned all you need to know, you continue to let history repeat itself, that's why both Matrices are riddled with wars and the suffering you define yourselves with.' He turned his icy gaze onto the form of Morpheus, 'Any civilization that cannot progress past its mistakes is a flawed one.'

Roy bared his teeth, trying his best to take advantage of the lost eye contact to further his escape, pulling harder at the ropes, even trying at his ankles. His brow grew damp with sweat, each new bead welled with each tug, with each sting that he tried to hide, "you called this the peak of our civilization while calling it flawed, do you really think this is all our civilization will amount to?" he growled deeply.

More time… have to buy more time…!

'It's like I said,' he returned his gaze to Roy, and all extra efforts of struggling were aborted for the subtler form he had taken up before, 'as long as your civilization continues to make mistakes, it cannot progress.' His lips perked at their edges, 'I say 'your civilization' because as soon as we started thinking for you, it really became our civilization, which is, of course, what this is all about.'

He stepped on towards Morpheus then and suddenly forced up his chin before Roy could react, but neither could he let the chance escape for further efforts, 'I… hope you've been keeping up, Morpheus; evolution, like the dinosaur.' He forced it suddenly sideways, towards the framed windows to the outside where the storm continued, 'Look out of the window, you had your time.' He let Morpheus' head drop down to his chest as he stepped on from him. It was then that Roy caught sight of them amidst his struggles, for his eyes had never left the Agent's form for fear of being caught; his dark orbs had rolled from their floor glare, now caught onto Agent Smith's stance. He couldn't deny the hardness of the stare they purveyed as the Agent came to stand by the window.

He turned to face them, his stare coming to rest on Roy especially, whose face had distorted into a tangle of frustration, now welling up in his chest fiercely as the strands twisted, but to no avail.

This isn't enough! They're not coming loose! Why?

'The future is our world, Morpheus.' Roy caught onto the stare's cold intent, something premeditated, probably long before he knew what was Real, and what was really clouding his mind apart from the weariness of long days and regrettable losses; it sent a shiver down his spine.

I've got to get free, but I… can't…!

His eyes widened, but the Agent could hardly care, he was beyond it; that's why he'd been left to lie there, out of the way, not worth the acknowledgement, just beyond the needed effort of freedom, just out of reach of firearms and possible escape, a great form of torture. 'The future is our time.'

He forgot to think, and his face seized up in anger, "Like hell it is!" Roy screamed above the blips. Morpheus stared from his seat, staring amidst his pain upon a struggling man; at least, to him, he was worth the acknowledgement.

There was a sudden, sharp kick to his gut, which he yelped from, coiled against as his back hit the bed bottom. He felt a tug at his front before he was thrown back. There was hardly any time to blink. His back met the wall, a rush of gravity, then the cushioned landing and momentary bounce as he landed face down in the quilt of the hotel bed.

'Now, there was no need for that, Agent Jones. There is nothing that Colonel Roy Mustang can say to change the outcome.'

Slowly, he let himself crane up from the security that the material offered, to find them stood there still, and Morpheus, supposedly unresponsive to the previous threats, still sat grinding his teeth, shutting his eyes to them. With a quick glance from him to Agent Jones, Agent Smith frowned, 'double the dosage.'

There was a distant click, and the door opened, Roy clenched his fists tightly as if in silent prayer.

Please, let it be someone I know, please, let it be some sort of rescue party. Anyone, just get us free!

-/\*_;)(-

The thunder brought a great cacophony of crashes that rung clear across the skies just above the curtain of clouds, and with each thrash and fork of lightning, a burst of rain poured down to the earth, pattering in a way that matched each hurtling footstep as he ran through the streets, only the sirens could contend with nature's noisemaker, blighting it, cutting through the air close to home. But his steps didn't falter, the warning that the sirens brought could do nothing to hinder or persuade him from his purpose, from his efforts as he kept on running. He just had to keep dodging all that came his way, walking from the scene as if it were none of their concern, and those that had stopped stock still, now causing a civilian bottle neck as the sirens veered past them and onto the sidewalk by the hotel.

A crowd was building, causing a great living wall made just for him to conquer.

Dammit! There's no time for this!

He caught sight of a gap and slotted himself in, shoving aside obstacles from the inside, anyone unfortunate enough to stand before him were quickly pushed away, issuing dull roars that grew from his efforts, and were just as easily ignored; those that pushed back against him were shoved harder, pushed to the floor amidst a well of frustration heating up in his chest.

'What the hell kid?'

'Quit pushin'!'

'Hey dog, chill!'

'For- fuck off!'

Those with complaints were pushed especially hard, granted with the honour of tasting an auto-mail elbow in their sides for their trouble. The front of the crowd was met with less effort after that, only for it to be blocked by a plastic roll of police tape.

Like you can expect to keep me out with that.

Before him, a scene framed by parked up police cars, still eliciting their flashing lights of red and blue, making a clearing of cordial light, lit up by the light pooling from inside the hotel's foyer, protected by glass double-doors. Policemen were stood within; hands tucked behind their backs, keeping their watchful eyes on the crowds that were being restrained from the scene by a simple roll of police tape. Those who tried to bend over the tape for a better view were quickly ushered back by wary cops, anything to keep them from the scene, to keep them from tampering with any viable evidence; until then, nothing could be sought after until they were safe to enter the Heart O' The City again.

A smirk slid onto his lips, and he ducked under and strode past the cops before they could react. They weren't worth the energy, not when there were more important matters to attend to, matters that were both beyond the comprehension of a Bluepill of any kind, more important people to save; no need to falter, and he made his way towards the door, guarded with officers at each side.

Don't worry, I'm coming for you, Roy. Just get past these guys, won't take long.

Something warm settled on his shoulder, he carried on walking, but was suddenly brought to a halt as it tugged him back a few steps, 'Sorry kid, but this is a crime scene, if you know what's good for you, you'll vacate the area, now.' The voice held a steady boom of authority, but he didn't turn to face the owner of the voice, his eyes remained trained on the door, the people pressed up against its glass from the inside.

I've got no time for you right now!

'Kid? Are you even listening to me? Kid-?' His hand had been seized. All it took was a step forward, a grunt of strength, and the other was airborne. The dull roar settled to a silence as the officer came crashing with his back against the glass doors, falling headfirst to the floor. The guards stared at the man, then back to the kid who had flung him, before hastily rushing forward.

So is that how you want to play it?

He crouched down into his familiar fighting stance, fists up, eyes narrowed and smirk plastered on his face, like the good old days, when running after illusions was the norm and fighting away the punches and slices of ethereal enemies was a constant fight for life, then they were always coupled with pain akin to the real thing. Of course, then, that was the real thing. Now? Complete pushovers by comparison.

They were coming closer with batons brandished high, ready to hit, ready to punish; their threats did nothing to stir up any form of hesitation, still rooted solidly in his stance, grin still plastered there.

Well, if I've got no other choice, I suppose they'll do for a warm-up….

-/\*_;)(-

Another Agent stepped on through the opened door and then, all the breath that he had held on to, all the hope that he had swallowed back, quickly deflated in his chest as he let his breath go in one large heave. But the Agent dismissed it; even despite the dark shades, he could tell that all of the Agent's focus was concentrated on Agent Smith, so was his own.

'There could be a problem.' Said straight and even, as if there wasn't; like another day at the office.

A problem? A problem for them, a problem for us, which is it?

His gaze rounded onto Morpheus' contorted face, his eyes rolled and his head bobbed with each thrum of pain that throbbed and forced its way forward from within; the torture was silent, could not be heard as he kept his teeth clenched and mouth shut, but it didn't make it any less real with each rift of agony that coursed through the man's body, to his brain, in his mind. Like watching a train wreck, any minute, any second he would fall apart, split open from some inner explosion, blowing his lips loose, causing him to babble and all manner of information to burst forth; there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

Someone, Morpheus can't take much more!

'Someone is trying to make their way into the hotel.' The Agent continued on.

Who could it…?

'A case in point for you, Colonel Roy Mustang,' Agent Smith uttered, 'it's as I said before, a civilization that cannot progress past its mistakes is a flawed one. I have no doubt that they have been… watching us from their ship, and so, in seeing their comrades' fall, they send in more. They never learn.' He shook his head with an air of disapproval before turning his gaze to the newly arrived Agent, 'No matter, we still have Morpheus, we still have the codes and it won't be long now before he breaks. We'll continue as planned, deploy the sentinels, immediately.'

"Sentinels?" Roy hissed as he arched his back for a better view, he hissed as a dull ache persisted through his back and radiated to his gut, "What are sentinels?"

'You… don't know?' Agent Smith tipped his head slightly, suggesting the absurdity of it, 'I was sure that any Redpill such as yourself would know of a sentinel by now. Surely, you've been unplugged long enough to know-.'

"Honestly?" Roy growled, "I've never seen one before, and no one told me they existed." He started to struggle beneath his bonds, slightly still, anything towards escape, "So go on, enlighten me."

The Agent held Roy's heavy browed glare, apparently blank, void of its previous chill, as if he had been struck dumb by the appeal. But then, a rare sneer seemed to curl along his lips, full and open-mouthed, baring white teeth. He could feel himself shrink away, or at least, wishing he could physically remove himself from it, and sink into the mattress, as if the illusion might allow him on this one occasion, but no such mercy was granted.

'Alright, Colonel Roy Mustang, if that is what you wish,' his voice almost seemed to reach a jovial pitch, and yet, retained its icy bite; quite a feat by any standard, 'sentinels are large, autonomous, killing machines; I'm… surprised you didn't come across one, as they patrol the sewers and worm-holes that you Redpills make use of. If we were to issue an order, they would destroy any Zionite hovercraft in their path, and they cannot be deterred or persuaded otherwise, unless ordered to do so by us or the Source.' His sneer spread wider; even the Agent by the door offered a raised brow in testament to it, 'Your ship will not stand a chance; your crew will not stand a chance; you will not stand a chance.'

His eyes grew wider as the meaning of the Agent's words hit him full force, as his own struggling ceased; your body cannot survive without the mind, those words were just as true as when he had first heard them, as he had first felt the definition in the penetration of a flagpole through his gut, and the sustaining wound as he had been unplugged from that simulation, allowed to live a little longer; it seemed now though, that even the reverse was possible, and why wouldn't it? Without the body, no mind can thrive, be sustained or nourished within a bony shell; no knowledge can be gained when its host is too cold to supply it, because after all, an alchemist dies when they cease to think.

Sweat rolled down his brow, sticking his hair damply to it; his body was still at the ship, lying prone and vulnerable in a fur-lined seat, open to all attack because he himself would be unable to defend it.

He shook beneath his bonds.

No, dammit, I can't die, not yet… but, I can't quit either…!

He began to struggle, the ropes cut into his skin, stung and bit at his wrists and ankles, but he couldn't care less for the pain, he cared more for his life, and if he could escape with it…! He tried to pull his wrists away from their forced restraint, tried with every bit of strength he had, grunting against the stings and the welling frustration, against the rushing blood and the throb of agony that radiated from his struggles as he arched, attempted to stretch his limps apart.

'You're struggling in vain, Colonel Roy Mustang, it's… useless, to carry on.' The voice rung about the room, around him, surrounded him, taunted.

Hot tears started to well at the corners of his eyes, forced to the surface by the throbbing stings of the rope's friction, rubbing his wrists and ankles raw. Still he struggled on, screaming now against the tease and sound of twisting rope; he had to keep going, had to keep fighting…!

He could hear something cock, the movement of metal, but that's all that followed, 'Don't Agent Brown. There's no need to finish him off so quickly. He's struggling; he has no other options left.'

His energy started to fade, as if someone had grabbed a hold of it, choking him from the inside, and all tension was released in a long drawn-out breath. It sent him rolling as he released that last tug, on his back, over again, then falling, grunting as he hit the floor of the bedside.

He huffed in breaths, deep, heavy, sending his chest into sporadic fits as they tried to function beneath the weighted workings of delayed reactions, ones he kept trying to choke back. But even his tears were making their full escape, more than he could say for himself.

Am I going to…?

He screwed his eyes shut, shook his head wildly against it.

No, I don't believe that! I won't believe it, not for a second! I'm not done for yet!

He opened his eyes, and there, in his peripheral; the folds of his jacket, and from what he could tell, another one, folded in a nest of firearms, not just his own, Morpheus' as well. A smirk perked on his lips and a dry laugh escaped his throat.

If I can just…!

He started rubbing his hands together rapidly, trying, pulling harder. The twisting turned into gentle snapping. Eyes widened, his smirk grew, the rope was starting to loosen; he rubbed them faster, forcing the loosening rope down the skin of his hands in raw slips and crawls.

That's it! Just a little…!

The rope reached his knuckles; he tugged a hand free and stretched forward.

'Agent Brown.' Simply issued, the order to move, the steps quickly gained on him.

He pulled a gun free from the folds, rolled away from the steps, under the bed, away from the bullets that rained down seconds later.

Just a slit of visibility, but that didn't matter; he poised his gun just before the breach into light. He caught the sight of legs reeling back, just coming into view, and he tilted the barrel, shot. Blood spurted from the knee of a sheen green trouser leg, but more bullets came, hitting the mattress above.

He aimed again, shot, more blood, spurting from the other knee; the legs fell with the rest of their body. The Agent collapsed, but it seemed, only because injury made it mandatory, the Agent seemed neither phased nor concerned; the steely gaze that bore into him let him in on that. A shiver shot down his spine, he tried to gulp the feeling away.

Just aim! A little to the left!

He moved his barrel on, but a shot was already issued, coming for him.

Shit!

He moved his head; it skimmed along his cheek, snagging the skin, then more blood. The bullet embedded itself between his shoulder and neck. Hot, searing pain, he screamed, released the gun; it was all he could do to grasp the wound and the blood that poured from it in heated gushes.

He was suddenly dragged back; as if an iron vice had tightened itself around his ankle, and he was brought out from his hide-away, lifted into the air. It must've been the other Agent; that was a thought, momentarily there before all he could focus on was the floor, the blood that poured onto it, welling easily past his fingers as he gripped his wound with a weak effort. His vision began to tunnel, welcoming brown mosaics mingled with cordial lighting that fuzzed together with the red drops that scattered and spread into larger blobs, turning a deeper scarlet with the concentration. He tried to blink it away as he felt his body move, the scene change before him, changed further as black mosaics decided to intrude at the edges.

He felt the floor again, then a hefty drag, as if he were so light to move. His wrists were pushed together, he knew that, he could feel the stings and the heat; he hissed and winced as the rope came back into play, biting harder this time for casting them away. He felt something hard against his back, more heat, this time running down his arm.

That's right, I'm still….

He forced his arms to move amidst the injury-induced daze, his hands crushed themselves against the well of blood along his shoulder; he took a harsh intake of breath as a sharp stab of pain seized him.

He huffed for more breath, nowhere in time to the blips that carried on, no point trying to contend against them. Just beneath them, distantly, he could hear the low voices, carrying their promise of disapproval.

'… Unacceptable….'

A shot, Roy winced from it, and then the slump of dead weight.

Must've been the Agent I shot down….

Taken out to pasture and retired like a lame horse, with no race left in him, and no hopes of returning to the green oval of a racetrack; executed by a harsh master.

More tears breached his lids, and drew down his cheeks in lazy trails; he tried to gulp down the lump welling up in his throat. He tried to cough it away, and in doing so swallowed to make his throat slick for vocal use.

"Morpheus… this looks like the end of the road… I tried…" he took deep breaths as his chests reverted back to sporadic heaves, "but… it looks like we're going to die here…."

More tears flooded forth, the pain at his shoulder and neck persisted in sharp stabbing throbs; he tried to crush his hands down further on it to keep the pain from welling up from the site of agony.

Morpheus, Neo, Trinity… Edward….

"I'm sorry… I tried… but it wasn't enough… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…."

Death, it was sure to come; soon, very soon, all of his efforts wouldn't matter, prove futile in the face of fate and the orders of a higher power that millions of people hundreds of years before had been battling to overcome for so long, and without succession as of yet. How could he, of all those people, hope to overcome them in one night just because fate was dealing its cards and he knew that his fate would soon be sealed? He wouldn't be able to see it coming; there's nothing he would be able to do about it.

The voice continued to echo, behind the mosaics of his vision, the needle pricks of the illusions growing larger into blurrier settings while the voice still held its cold strength.

'… Brown… deploy… sentinels…. Double… dosage….'

I'm sorry… I'm… sorry….

-/\*_;)(-

Another officer came rushing forward, baton brandished high, faster than the others who had come running forward blindly. He flipped back from the officer's path just as the baton came down, dodged, the action met by an uproar of awe from the crowd around them. He landed easily, the officer stumbled forward. He twisted his body, bringing his leg high, and the officer was kicked away to the side, left to collapse into another officer, laid out by one of the police cars that framed the paved clearing.

He stood up straighter from his final blow, took in a deep breath, only to find himself staring around a circle of disarray. Bodies, officers that were guarding the area, now laid out on the floor, some across the bonnet of a police car and the first of them, the one who brought him to a halt from the off, was still by the glass door, laying on his stomach from rolling onto it amidst the fighting.

There was a sound coming from him now, the sound of scrabbling plastic and a small, halting voice.

'It's me, McKeever, send… back-up… yeah! Th-There's a mad-man!' He glared up at the supposed mad-man from over his shoulder, looking horrified as he stepped closer.

He bent down to him, and snatching the cell phone away from him with his right hand, growled into it, "Don't bother, they'll only get killed." In one deft move, he crushed it; let the plastic splinter and the phone momentarily sparked before being tossed away to the side. A contortion of fear struck the officer's face, and he tried to curl himself away from him, finding himself unsuccessful as he was hoisted up by the front of his shirt, being brought up to the face of the teen. He tried to bring his arms up for defence.

'Please! Don't kill me! I have a family at home!' the officer dribbled, curling his face away.

He rolled his eyes at him, "Just hold still, will you?" he snarled, "I've got no time for you right now! So hold still and I'll let you go!"

The officer nodded weakly. He looked him up and down, peered at where the flaps of his jacket lay open. With a quick movement, he shoved his hand in, started feeling at the insides. The officer stared at him in a manner akin to incredulity and disgust; his features were torn between the two. His fingers, finding an opening in the material, dove in, and with a smirk, brought out a leather wallet.

'Th-There's no money in that! You'll get nothing from it!' he stammered, fidgeting beneath his grip.

"Will you shut up?" and the officer was given a sharp slap across the face with it. The officer brought shaking hands to his face, cupping his cheek, now stinging from the slap and the cold wind that bristled at it. Giving out a heavy sigh, he swung the officer away, leaving him to scrape across the concrete, coming to rest in the clearing's centre.

He picked himself up from his knees, and he faced where bodies were still pressed up to the glass, and just behind it he could hear muted cries of fear, high, shrill; clearly they were captives of some sort or another, once there to aid a higher purpose they couldn't possibly comprehend.

This isn't going to be easy….

And, glancing at the open wallet in his hand, he folded it up, and slipped it into an inner pocket of his own jacket.

He ran for the doors then. Pushing them open against the bundled forms of those who wanted nothing to do with the centre of their formation; anything to get away, waiting on an opportunity they were too afraid to look out for. The door pushing against them brought out a shrill distinction of alarm, and they shrunk away from it, down to their knees. They could only stare, incredulous that someone would voluntarily give themselves up to victimisation at the hands of someone wielding a firearm. But still, no amount of willpower, whether by thought or voice, could falter the kid's movements as he weaved through the crowd, quickly forcing his way through, like he couldn't wait to taste the hot lead of a bullet.

No one could blame the crowd for their suspicion; he wore black, like their captor and the other that had disappeared to the upper floors long before, right into an array of gunfire that could be heard later. They were still unsure whether that one would return, but this one? He didn't stand a chance. He wasn't wearing a mask like their captor, not even shades, completely visible as to any sort of identity; even now, there was no mistaking the burning intent that shone in those strange, golden orbs, the intent that sliced the quivering group in half just by his presence.

'What the fuck are you fuckers doing?' A voice roared from the group's centre, screams rose from the front rows of the encircling lot, backing away from the mad steps and violent shakes of a boy with power in his hands. 'I said no one move! Get back in line, fuckers!'

That was when he broke through the front line, when all quickly backed away behind him.

"Mouse! It doesn't matter anymore! Let them go!"

'Who the fuck are you?' Mouse screamed, charging forward with gun in hand, waving it at him, 'Get down!' he pressed it into his temple, but he held his stance, held his gaze, but it didn't register, 'I SAID GET DOWN!' he tried to force the barrel down, force him onto his knees, or embed the barrel in trying.

But he held strong, "Listen to me! It's over! I'm the back-up! You can let them go!"

'WHO GAVE YOU AUTHORITY OVER ME, ASS-WIPE? NOW GET DOWN BEFORE I BLOW YOUR FUCKING BRAINS OUT!' Mouse screamed.

He stared into him; those blue orbs stared back wildly, wired blood red from iris to lid, stretching across the whites like a net, capturing all conceivable senses of sight, dulling them, as if they weren't already dull before. Nothing could get through, no common sense, no sense of recognition or any voice of reason, that had been robbed from him long before the gun had been pushed into his hand.

His eyes, he doesn't know who I am….

He narrowed his eyes, but still, nothing but a maddened glare and a taut mask that hid away, he was sure, bared teeth that threatened to do more than just demonstrate how bad his bark was; if he wasn't careful, Mouse would bring out his bite, the one made of cool metal and still pressed and settled against his temple.

"Dammit, Mouse," he hissed, "There's no time for this!"

He brought his fist up into Mouse's jaw with a sharp force, sending him flailing back, stunned, and the gun falling from his loosened grip. His head hit the tiles; he rushed forward, caught the gun mid-fall and skidded down to his knees. As he rushed past his form, he brought the butt of it down across his head, sending him into unconsciousness before he could have time to react.

Pushing up from his knees, he felt into the left flap of his jacket, and brought out the wallet, unfolding it for onlookers while shoving the gun into another pocket.

"This is the police!" His voice rose across the dull roar of the crowd, their eyes were fixed on the badge he held aloft, "Your captor is unconscious! Please vacate the hotel until further notice! Get behind the line and don't cross it again, not for your possessions, not for loved ones or anyone until further notice!" there was a sudden rush of people, running with a weary eagerness for the glass doors in an uproar of frantic shouts and steps enough to match a stampede.

He, however, stood there, his gaze fixed on the closed lids of Mouse at his feet as he closed the wallet and shoved it back into his inner pocket.

I'm sorry, Mouse, but it had to be done. We can't complete the mission otherwise.

There was a sudden whimper from behind him, he whizzed round to face it; long blond hair dangled around her shoulders in matted tangles, bright sapphire eyes stared wildly up at him with a damp sheen from behind a messy fringe, where tears welled up at the corners as she shook beneath their weight from head to foot, her arms hugged and gripped around her form, her mouth hung open, and her lower lip quivered.

He gasped at the sight of her, had to check himself in case he were to stagger back and trip over Mouse's body.

Is that… Winry…?

He forced himself into regaining what composure he had momentarily lost, gulped away the latent thought, only for it to be replaced by a concept he had come to know as the structure and order of anything where the two Matrices were concerned.

No, she can't be. This is the Matrix; if anything, she is only an imitation of the real thing.

Bringing his sleeves to his eyes, he did his best to wipe away the widening glare, replacing it then with the focused, hardened glance that he thought might give her something substantial to latch on to, a semblance of hope, but she was still staring, transfixed with an expression of shock that had remained the same as before.

He gulped then, coughed away the glare, tried to force a sense of calm into existence, "Are you alright?" he stepped forward then, offered his hand to her, "Need any help?" and slowly he closed in on her huddled form.

'Victor…? Is that…?' A small smile broke out on her face, and she gave a soft laugh, 'What are you doing here? Where did you get the jacket from? Did you-?'

"I'm not Victor." He interjected. Her smile lost all of its rising brightness, all of its vibrancy as she erased it from view as he bent down to her, "But my name doesn't matter. Right now, you need to get out of here, it's not safe." He grabbed her by the hand, and urged her up onto her feet.

Suddenly, those arms were around him, clinging on tight, fingers threading in his hair, 'But, who else could you be?' she buried her face into his neck, he immediately stiffened to the touch, he couldn't bring himself to close his arms around her, wouldn't dare, 'You look just like-,' she brought her face out from her hiding place, her eyes studied him carefully, 'you have to be, right…?' her voice ended on a higher lilt, brought her fingers out from golden bangs and traced them along his cheek where his face remained a hardened mask. He grabbed a hold of her arms then, and forced her back.

"No, I'm not!" He shouted back with bared teeth, "Now listen, I'm sorry, but you have to leave! I'm not who you think I am!" he did his best to bite back the welling frustration, but her face told it all, her hope visibly sinking along with her smile, now bowing down into the depths of despondency.

Her lips quivered, 'B-But, you have to be….' She started to shake beneath his tight hold.

"I'm sorry," he didn't relent his glare, "but I'm not." Slowly, he unwrapped his fingers, letting her go.

'But, if you're not him, then-!'

A sudden hold, her whole body tensed, stiffened, shaking from a different grip. She tried to move against it, bring her hands to her face, growing ash pale as her eyes rolled 'til only her whites were visible, and her mouth hung open as waves of pain thrummed through beneath some invisible force.

What the….

He stared down at his hands, back to her as she descended into a round of convulsions, gripped her head tightly as she was trapped within that hold, bringing forth high-pitched screams of agony, for them to erupt from her lips, for them to mould into metallic wavers, now a slave to it, a force she couldn't relinquish, that she couldn't control. It caused her whole body to thrust within the throes of growing convulsions, causing waves to ring around her body, sending her into a rippling blur, rolling onto her side, frothing at the mouth.

He almost staggered back, sweat welled at his brow and a cold shiver quivered down his spine as he felt his knees go weak.

No, not now! How is this…?

His eyes widened, words not long spoken before broke through to the surface of his mind, reverberating through it as he turned them around, over and over.

Mouse may have managed to stay under their radar.

The writhing body started to elongate within the surface of the blur, her slim build widened, arms and legs grew thicker, built for power and wrapped within the rings that continued to course through her, sending her into uncontrollable shakes as her skin fizzed, hailing the erasing of all of the features he once knew to be hers, she was completely encased in it, without any escape.

But if he left the Bluepills, they'll run amok and then the Agents will be able to use them for transport.

The fizz built and compressed to become a fine prickle of mosaics that halted the further coursing of rings that blurred all. All sense of movement ceased within the convulsive struggles of her limbs, and as it settled, melted away as easily as it had forced itself upon her. It seeped into her skin, revealing a deep green sheen as the metallic workings of her screams that once echoed her anguish across the foyer, now faded away.

Then we'll be in some really deep shit.

The form pushed himself easily to his feet, brushed away the saliva-bubbled froth and the floor dust that accompanied the struggle, readjusted his shades; no longer a shadow of the feminine form he now replaced, that once held residence in that shell.

He couldn't help but stare into those eyes, though hidden by the reflective shine of the black shades, were still visible by some icy, mechanical will that he couldn't shake away.

Author's note: This chapter is named after the song Hold On by Olly Murs, generally because I thought it suited the chapter quite well; the lyrics seem to be ones that I think the characters need to hear at this point in time, and also, what I've needed to hear as well in many ways. There are many reasons for this, some personal, some I will let you in on. The lyrics that certainly attracted me to the song were the lyrics that play in the back ground almost throughout, "Well you might as well quit, if you haven't got it," which reflect well on the feelings of such as Envy and Agent Smith. But there are a fair few lyrics that reflect that characters, such as the characters themselves, "We wrestle with the devil in the flickering light, no way to tell, who's winning the fight," which corresponds with Morpheus especially and also Roy and Switch. The chorus works well though, "Hold on, hold on, hold on, you're gonna get through it." It's one of those songs that I recommend you listen to so you get what I'm saying.

There are many songs like that; the lyrics alone don't seem to do it the right justice until you listen to the music as well, some of the songs used for the previous chapter titles are just like that as well. There's another song like that, which hasn't and won't be used for a chapter title, but it does work well with the Roy and Switch sections, especially when she is killed; it's an old classic and famous for being in the Kill Bill soundtrack (I think…) and it's "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)". It's one of those rare songs that work from Switch's point of view, with lyrics like, "He wore black and I wore white, he would always win the fight. Bang bang, he shot me down, bang bang, I hit the ground, bang bang, that awful sound… bang bang, my baby shot me down." I'm sure you'll all know the song anyway, but I wanted to highlight it since it showed how Envy killed her in Apoc's image. Speaking of being from Switch's point of view, I'm going to miss writing for her, as I am going to miss writing for Apoc; I know Switch and Trinity are fairly similar, but I think Switch has that added harshness and attitude that Trinity doesn't, making her a lot more fun. Apoc was just a nice, easy-going guy, so I was sorry to lose him since he didn't deserve it. As Edward said, "They didn't hinder our plans… they worked with us… helped us towards our goals… despite the risks… and they died for our cause!" a very apt tribute to them. Maybe you'd be right in saying, 'well, then why did you kill them then? You had the power to stop that!' but their deaths were part and parcel of the motivation and incentive Edward needed to act against Morpheus' orders and get him plugged into the Matrix. It all works towards the next chapter anyway.

Now, I want to say how sorry I am that it's taken so long for me to update this chapter, as my school diary will tell you, this chapter was meant to be up on October 15th! Really shows how long it was since I last updated (which was in September, if I remember right)! Well, I have been under the mounting pressure of coursework, an exam, and coursework deadlines, and much recently, I've been pretty ill in hospital, which has certainly put a crimper on plans, but it was enough for me to really get up off my butt and update (certainly, reminds me of September 2010 when I has appendicitis and was able to put up Chapter 4 because of it). It's why the song Hold On really corresponds with me right now; I'll also tell you why else it corresponds with me. I was ready to update this chapter a couple of weeks ago when I got myself a new memory stick, and moved everything onto it. I then, like an idiot, deleted everything off the old one, only for the new memory stick to get corrupted the very next day! All of my coursework, all old chapters and creative works were inaccessible. After some attempts, I was ready to call it quits, but I did remember an very good friend who's also a great whizz at IT programs and such. My own little operator was able to run a recover program on my computer just through Skype, and recover all of the deleted files from the old memory stick! Some of the files were corrupted, but, it seems, not all of my story files and coursework; most of it has been recovered (not sorted though). And, thanks to having done my English Language Investigation on The Clier Path (namely Chapter 21!) I was able to copy everything down from that and edit it as I went. I know many would hate computers after that, but if everything had been done on computer and the file with it all in had been stolen, then I would never get it back! It's nice to know that not everything about computers is a hindrance.

Right, now after the apologies, let's move on. I'd like to say that the old motto 'write what you know,' still rings true. For instance, the section where Victor gets run over by a car was written from experience. No, I didn't do this on purpose, but it did happen years ago while in secondary school. Thankfully, I was only clipped by it, and I was wearing my clarinet box on the side where I was hit, so I did take the brunt of the force, but I did have a triangle shaped bruise for weeks afterwards. The thoughts that went through Victor's head just afterwards remain the same as mine then as well. I knew I was still in the road, so my thought was to roll out to the curb to avoid getting squished, so I did. The driver had some right cheek though, a woman in her thirties was not sorry she'd hit me, more annoyed that she was going to miss picking up her kids, kind of the same as the 'You idiot! I have kids in the backseat!' woman, which actually relates more to another incident, but I'll leave that for another time.

Now, I also said that the completion of the arc would come to head in this chapter, but I'm afraid, that because of time constraints and chapter length, I won't be able to do that. This chapter is already getting as long as Chapter 20, and there would also have to be loads of other sections in order to keep up with the many different sub-plots to give the chapter the same impact needed. I'm sorry it's taking much longer than expected, but given that I'm in the last year of sixth form, there's little I can do to help that. I could before when in AS, but then, I shouldn't have been writing as much as I should, especially running up to revision for exams; I think that's why I had to take a re-sit this January (part of the reason it took so long). Saying that, I don't know when I'll be able to put up Chapter 22, but I do have some of the sections complete for that one already, which makes things easier on me in a way. They would just need editing, and then the rest would need writing up. Doesn't sound like a lot, but given the nature and the mish-mash of each sub-plot needed, it is. I won't be able to rightly gauge when the next chapter will be out as I'm also working towards a University place at Leeds Trinity (Trinity! Yay!). No doubt I'll still be writing this fiction whenever I get the chance, so I'm not letting this story go, not now that I've come up with some new concepts and storylines that can be comfortably brought into it. I'm excited to bring them to you; especially since I've found an elegant solution to what many Matrix fans had a problem with after the release of The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions. I'll leave it there for you to guess at; hopefully this chapter alone will keep you busy during the synapse between this chapter and Chapter 22's release. By the time September gets here, I should be working in my own little room, ready to bring you more chapters!

Now, I normally update on a Saturday, and saying that, I normally write an omake for you to enjoy, but I haven't got the time for that right now. Instead, since it's Valentine's day, I shall make today the update day and let it be a present to all who have carried on reading so far. Of course, to reciprocate the present, you may review this chapter so that I can guarantee the update of the next chapter. As you're all well aware by now, I can't update another chapter unless the latest one is reviewed, that's how I make sure there's still interest in it. Now, I'm sorry I couldn't write you all a special Valentine's omake, but I'm pretty sure The Clier Path will be running while next year as well, which should be a nice time in the plot where I can write one for you.

Thank you for reading thus far into the plot of The Clier Path, and I hope you're enjoying it so far as well. I hope you're having as much fun reading it as I am plotting and writing it for you. The efforts towards this series all go towards an original story that's in the works (writing wise anyway) so I can't wait to get those scripts written and those chapters drawn up (I should be drawing it all up myself) but this comes first. Your readership and reviews helps me towards that.

Thank you for your efforts as well as mine.

Ophelia Davis

~x~