The streets were dark, empty. The street lamps gave off a faint yellowed light, and they were too few and far between to do anything but add to the shadows. In those shadows, seven walked.

There were two who led. Neo and Trinity were the ultimate pair. Their identical trenchcoats rippled as they walked in the same pattern. They did not need to speak, for the bond between them was perfect. Their senses were finely tuned, both to the Matrix and to each other.

Close behind them were Sox and Flare. Sox was a red-head in her late teens that Neo and Trinity had picked up three years ago, who had a mild obsession with striped knee sox. She was, of course, wearing a pair now, the black and white horizontal stripes that covered her shins gave her comfort in some insane way. Sox was known both for her temper and for her talent with the twin-pistols form of combat.

If Sox was fire, Flare was ice. He was older, in his thirties, and clearly dedicated to his work. He had been recruited for the Neb nearly a year ago, switching from a boon-dock outpost to the heart of the battle. He was a trained medic, both for in the Matrix and in the real world, and he had deadly accuracy with a rifle. He was thin and wiry, with yellow-tinted glasses that gave him a constant link up with Tank and Dag back on the Neb.

Right on their heels was Kat. Kitti-Kat, as they nicknamed her, was the tomboy, the girl wearing a black baseball cap over her twin sandy pigtails. Of all the histories of the Neb's crew, Kat's was one of the worst. Her older brother, Mouse, had served with Neo and Trinity and the rest a few years back, only to get killed by a rogue member of the crew. Strangely enough, Mouse's little sister followed in his footsteps, and Trinity and Neo snatched her up the first chance they got. Her black leather jacket hid several dozen rounds of ammunition, and despite her little girl appearance she knew exactly how to load and fire the semi- automatic she was holding.

The last two were Psi and Gunner. Psi was the shrimp of the team, only a single handgun on his belt. He didn't need guns. Neo had known Psi for years, for he had been in the Oracle's care since long before he made his first visit to her. That little boy who could bend spoons had come a long way, and he was now in his teens. Psi couldn't quite bend the code like Neo could, but he still knew how to read it, see what was going on. Enough to recognize agents as they were forming. That was his job, to get the agents before they became unstoppable by everyone BUT Neo.

In turn, it was Gunner's job to protect Psi. The little middle- Eastern guy had next to nothing in the way of physical power, and Gunner more than made up for it. He was the big black guy, the one who loved automatic weapons and the strangely addictive grey gunk that everyone on the Neb jokingly called 'coffee'. His minimalistic dark-hued pants and muscle shirt made sure everyone saw his rippling biceps. Even as Gunner walked down the street, he constantly turned to walk backwards, gazing at every nook and cranny of the deserted street. He was rear guard as well, and he knew it.

The still night air was pierced by a ringing sound. Neo and Trinity both instantly flipped open their cell phones. Neo held the phone to his face with one hand, a firearm in the other. Trinity was similarly cautious, her eyes scanning the street.

Tank's voice was on the other end. "He's on 42nd and 8th."

"Any agents coming?" she asked, both to the Neb's skeleton crew and to Psi.

Psi shook his head, "Not yet."

"Not that we can see," Dag affirmed. Dag was Tank's assistant, a Zion- born code reader. "I'll let you know if I spot one, of course."

"Of course," Neo agreed. "Team, let's move. Morpheus is waiting."