Tank homed in on the boy's location in the fields. The search had been frantic but had paid off; the girl was very near him. It seemed meant to be. His heart went out to the woman who had for so long known herself to be the mother of these children. Maybe they'd get her out too, in spite of it all.

Angel and Cross were waiting when the boy was brought aboard, and the girl after him. The boy struggled fiercely. Both fell quickly under the effects of sedation, which would be a necessity for a large part of their rehabilitation. The young were far easier to bring back; muscle morbidity and slowed mental reflexes could be undone. For now, they would know only peace.

"Two new warriors," said Angel with grim pride.

"Shit!" exclaimed Cross. The proximity alarm had begun to sound. "What the fuck?"

"We're under attack," Morpheus announced over the comm. "Vindicators."

The human fleet had massed in anticipation of the events to come, and now it seemed the enemy had outmanuvered them once again. They'd never gone up against Vindicators before. They'd only just learnt of their existence from the most recent intelligence they'd had from Zion.

"Thought those weren't online yet," said Angel venomously.

"Guess they were in a hurry. Angel, stay here with these two. Come on, Cross." They clambered up the ladders to the flight deck.

"Look at them," said Tank, exhaling mightily at all he saw in the main viewer. Sentinels had been designed for search and destroy. These were just...destroy.

"They look like dragons," Cross muttered dreamily. "Ever read about those, Morpheus?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Three minutes. Probably less."

"EMP charging."

"Think it'll do any good?"

"They're piloted. By Agents."

"Shee-yit. Maybe the EMP will disable them."

"They'll have anticipated that. We'll have to hit them together, three or four of ours for every one of theirs. Upload the order, Tank."

"Trinity and Strike? Scribe?"

"They'll have to hang on."

Tank's fingers danced quicksilver over the keypad. "Shit," he murmured.

Morpheus did not turn his nebulous gaze from the display. "What is it now?" he uttered in a nearly voiceless manner.

"Neo jacked in less than a minute ago. Going after them."

"We need him here. Bring him back. Pull him out before we have to fire."

Tank felt the first salvo hit the Epiphany before he could settle at Ops, the deck lurching beneath him. A power conduit ruptured from above and came whistling down, and he dove from the chair. The smell of fried circuits filled the air. He scrambled for the chair, holding on, seeking a fix on Neo's location.

Neo wasn't answering his call.

Smith strode after Gillian methodically, his movements precise. He hadn't yet drawn his weapon. There was no hurry. He was in no danger of losing her; escape for her was simply not an option any longer, nor would it be for Trinity and her companions. Several other Agents were also closing in from other directions. They'd never be recognised as such until it was too late.

Smith, however, made no attempt to conceal himself, his intellect sublimated by the challenge of the pursuit. He wanted Gillian to stumble in terror as she was now, fleeing him; wanted any who saw to know what it meant to circumvent the Agency, and him. Him, most of all, and his will to accomplish and grow beyond the set limits of his potential.

Yet there was a surprising lack of completion in knowing what was to come. Gillian's absence would be...noticed.

No. She had only been a convenient prop, a part of the backdrop that perpetuated the necessity of the program. One day there would be no need for the Matrix; they would purge humanity from the system entirely, keep them contained solely in the power generation units, as they were meant to be, and whatever inner life they sought would be erased, eradicated before it began. Only then would true dominion be a reality.

What a grave error it had been to construct the pseudo-world of the Matrix to begin with. It had only prolonged the inevitable, and given the few who knew the truth their chance to escape, to fight back, to seek shelter in Zion, a doomed and worthless haven, a tiny port in an unending storm bent on their ruin. What an astounding lack of judgment the escapees continued to foster. What chance did they think they had, creeping through the subterranean landscape, through the toxic caverns that had once carried their own waste?

He shouldered past such waste now, the human refuse now prowling this sector of the system. He was impregnable behind dark glasses, untouchable by the contagion all around him. He chuckled smugly when Gillian fell again, struggling to her feet once more, abandoning her shoes in hopes of gaining speed. He bore down on her, merciless to any who strayed across his chosen path. Some vain, pathetic hope that she would be saved somehow drove Gillian on. They were finally within easy reach now. Most of them.

Gone were the days when communication with the mainframe required the use of an earpiece; the link was now flawlessly hidden, unseen, and he requested information. The other Agents were moving into position. The attack on the Resistance far below was now well underway. Everything was proceeding according to plan. The only real obstacle was his tenuous link with Gillian's implant. His sabotage had weakened it. Manipulating the system was far easier, and by his command her progress was impeded by all that he willed before her. He smiled when the wail of sirens drew closer and Gillian ahead of him ran stiffly, knowing they came for her.

Gillian's feet pounded the sidewalk, each blow jarring her as her legs worked mechanically until she felt she ran on someone else's feet entirely, as if her own had been disconnectd, replaced. The poison must be spreading more rapidly from the exertion and the relentless outpouring of adrenaline.

She couldn't look back now. He'd be right there. She had to make it. She couldn't do it alone. People gaped at her as she passed, with pity and with disgust. Some jumped out of her way. There came a subtle shift, and she began running into one person after another, and she knew it was intentional, knew he'd willed it.

"Stop her!" she heard the Agent call from far too close behind. "She's wanted for a very serious criminal act."

From the doorway of a pharmacy a man heeded the call and stepped out to do his civic duty, and Gillian barreled into him. He grabbed her by the wrists, intent on holding her until the Agent now sprinting toward them could catch up.

Gillian sank her teeth into the man's wrists, and brought her knee up hard into his groin, and his grip on her was lost and he sank to the pavement. Warren boulevard crossed just ahead. She could see the entrance to the arena now. She gained new energy from somewhere, and took off, just out of the Agent's reach.

At first she thought her would-be captor had bitten her back in retaliation, and she screamed. She had processed the sound a second too late. The Agent had fired a round into her leg. The area began to clear like magic then, and everyone who'd seemed bent on hampering her now seemed to vanish, giving the Agent a clear field of fire.

A police care came screaming around the corner, heading straight for her, and her eyes burned with tears, her breathing wracked. She ran like she'd never run before, dragging herself on, propelled forward inch by inch it seemed, willing herself to watch the lines in the sidewalk passing beneath her. They were going by, she was moving, he hadn't shot her yet. Every nerve waited for what would surely come, this time in the back of her head. If she straightened and turned, she'd look down the barrel of his gun, and those of the cops waiting for the order to fire on her.

He was baiting her, allowing her to lead him to them, otherwise she'd be dead already. She almost smiled. By pressing her arm against her side she could feel the sharp, cold weight of the gun Strike had given her. Deliverance.

"Come on then, you bastard," she croaked. "Come on." She knew he heard her, and the clicking of his heels on the pavement behind confirmed it. The lines beneath her feet disappeared, and the movement of the air was somehow different, lighter. Another of his deceptions? Another memory lapse inflicted by him? Had she really made it this far? There was only one way she could have done it. "Neo," she whispered.

She stood as straight as she could on the one leg she could still feel, the agony in the other having given way to a dreamy sort of insistence that it was still partially there. She let her gaze travel around the arena. How many people had sat in those tired looking chairs, taking in events that had never occurred?

"It's over, Gillian," the Agent said in a very satisfied way from right behind her.

"Yes, I know," she replied with equally grim satisfaction, and turned to face him at last, searching his face for any sign of what to do next. She raised her empty hands in front of her to signify defeat, the wound in her leg making itself felt gravely. It wasn't real. Why should it deter her?

His gun was trained on her forehead. Someone was moving behind the Agent, moving between the rows of chairs. Some kind of maintenance worker. He glanced obliquely at Gillian just long enough for her to see his eyes, which she recognised in an instant. How had he done it?

She couldn't allow herself to be drawn away from the Agent, and was appalled at the defeated figure reflected in the opaque lenses behind which the Agent hid all that he truly was. She had to let go now.

"I cared for you," she said, so bitterly that she was shocked at her own words. Her gaze pried at him for some response, some affirmation of all the time and emotion she had wasted on him. She expected none, and got none.

"Why don't you just shoot me? What are you waiting for?"

"Them."

"They're not coming."

"They're here. Draw them out, Gillian, and I'll let you live," he taunted. "Go on. I dare you."

"Is there some trouble here?" the maintenance man said from the main aisle. "Should I call the police?"

"They're already waiting for her," the Agent announced flatly without moving his head. The position of the gun he held did not waver. "Along with several of my associates."

"Not yet," Gillian thought. She inched closer to him, reaching for his hand.

"I give up. Take me into custody, or kill me outright. I know they can't save me. I know you never gave a damn about me. I know none of this is real, so what difference does it make? I'm already dead. Won't you at least say good-bye? Give me something, before I'm gone forever. At least let me close my eyes."

She thought the barrel of the gun was lowered a fraction of an inch. She must be imagining it. He never faltered. He wanted her to hope for something, someone; wanted them to answer her silent call. She still gripped his hand. Why hadn't he pushed her away?

"Don't let go," she heard Neo say, not from without, but from within. She felt the beginnings of a smile. It began to flow freely then, insidious, invisible, from her, to him. Of course. They'd given her the virus that cold afternoon in the park. It had been there all along, waiting. And all that the Agent had placed within her head, all that he'd forced upon her would now be his undoing. Only Neo could tell her how to activate it, and he did. The implant was damaged. Would it be enough?

Gunfire erupted from the stands above as one of the other Agents uncovered Trinity's position, and the police swarmed in, ready for their orders but unwilling to step over the line of jurisdiction where Agents were concerned. They knew better, from experience. Gillian stood firm, unmoving, knowing she must not let go until it was done. The kids might be free by now. From within, where none could see, she let go profoundly; of him, and her children, and all that she had known to be life, and she knew without a doubt that new life would come, one way or another, and freedom. She moved even closer when Neo signalled with his eyes, bringing her lips to the Agent's ear. "I love you," she whispered.

Tank cursed as they took another barrage, echoing all that Morpheus left unsaid. The Epiphany was one tough bitch, but they'd never anticipated an assault like this one. The outer hull was beginning to buckle under the constant hammering, and morale was beginning to shatter. Tank wondered which was the bigger threat.

Morpheus was unseated as they were assailed by bolts of pure white energy licking like flames against the hull. The small armada sent from Zion was being decimated, and two of the four ships currently in a defencive posture around the Epiphany were damaged beyond hope, foundering, running on hope alone.

"Come on, Neo," Tank mumbled solemnly on his way back up to the main deck.

A chevron of enemy vessels was approaching in anticipation of the final assault. Though the enemy was outnumbered the Resistance was outgunned. The EMP couldn't be recharged quickly enough to do any real damage and stem the tide long enough for them to retreat.

"They're sending Sentinels in behind," Cross said softly.

Clearly the Sentinel's intent was to destroy what remained, freeing the newer crafts, giving the Agents the opportunity to access the broadcast to Zion, and by it enter the last stronghold. Morpheus contacted all the other ships he could reach on their covert frequency. "Cut all contact with Zion. It's a trap. They'll only use the signal to access the mainframe. It can't end here. We may lose the battle, but the war is far from over." His orders were received and accepted in the silence that came after, the calm before what could likely be one of the last storms.

For the Epiphany, it would be. "Let's do some real damage before they claim victory," Morpheus cried. "Let's strike at something they value. Strike's party favour. The one we've been saving for a special occasion."

"That might end it for everyone," Tank mused.

"Let's do it anyway," said Cross.

Tank reached for Morpheus' hand. "It's been an honour, sir."

"And for me." Their handshake was brief but laden with emotion.

"What you're suggesting...it's too well defended," Strike put in.

"Not if Neo and Trinity and Strike can get it done in time. They've always trusted me. Now's my chance to return that trust. Send an encrypted message to the other ships of our intent. We'll need their cover."

It didn't matter now if the Agents decoded the message. They'd never believe it anyway.

Strike sidled up to Trinity after they'd dispatched the Agent attacking her. The respite would only be temporary, and they bounded closer to Neo to offer him cover and hunkered down to watch.

"It's too perfect. Look. The Agent can't seem to fire on her," Strike guffawed with no small measure of pride.

"Must be true love," Trinity sneered. "He's lost control of the implant."

"And her."

"I hope."

"Doubting whether she can really let go?"

Trinity didn't answer for a few seconds. "Think he knows what he's got yet?"

"Not yet. She just whispered the magic words in his ear. Activation sequence. Smart girl. He'll have a window of maybe thirty seconds in which he can take action if the degradation of her implant is at less than fifty percent."

"Educated guess?"

"It ain't."

"Why hasn't she let go?" Trinity asked herself out loud.

"That's an old loyalty she's fighting, and a strong one. Won't be easy. Too old a mind to free completely. Still she won't let us down. She's already come through."

"Neo, look out!" Trinity shrieked. One of the uniformed cops was moving steadily closer to where Neo stood, all his efforts fixed on keeping under control all that was before him. Neo raised a hand without turning his attention from the Agent, and the cop was felled and disarmed, and curled impotently on the cracked cement near Neo's feet. His fellow officers made no attempt to assist him.

Neo moved into action then, but even he couldn't have anticipated what happened next. He heard what Celt had whispered to the Agent, knew it to be the activation code he himself had given her. Yet what he heard and felt was honest emotion, spoken from a heart that had been pierced clean through by the truth yet still knew what those words meant in spite of it. Neo knew that she meant what she said on many levels, even though she was well aware of all that would occur after she spoke. Though a shadow seemed to fall as he questioned her real motivation, it was coloured by pity for the trap Celt now found herself in.

Neo was ready, ready to attempt to nullify what he anticipated would be the Agent's next logical move. Celt moved before Neo could, and when the Agent had processed exactly what had been done to him, he moved on Gillian, and into her, an unwilling host. Now they would have to kill her to get to him.

"Analise this," said Gillian, and with a steady hand drew the gun Strike had given her and raised the barrel, laying it against her temple. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she pulled the trigger. Neo grimaced at the way he had questioned her loyalty. There was no time to reflect.

The Agent was driven immediately from Gillian and forced back into it's true form. Gillian crumpled, fell, lay inert. Neo had no time to discern whether she still lived. "Trinity!" he called. She'd know what to do. There was no danger from the Agent now. He was slowly being shut down, scrambled internally. There were two other Agents here, waiting for this one's orders. Sooner or later he'd have to communicate with them. Then they'd know whether they'd won or lost.

The Agent knew he was contaminated, and immediately presumed all non-essentials were going offline in an effort to purge the virus before one of the others initiated contact. He froze.

It was too late. One offered assistance, queried his central processor regarding his status, wondering at his uncharacteristic acquiescence.

"Kill them. Kill them all," he replied acidly, mustering what reason remained, turning on Gillian resolutely, intent on doing what he should have done long before now. The old man who had sought to interfere answered his cell phone and promptly held it next to Gillian's ear, and she was gone, dead or alive, she was gone. The man had somehow accessed Gillian's implant and saved himself by assuming the guise of an Agent. An outrageous deception. One that Smith should have anticipated.

"Mister Anderson, I presume?" The Agent asked viciously, control eroding far faster than he knew.

"Neo," the old man corrected, rising and offering the cell phone to Smith. "Need to call anyone for help? It's toll free. Be my guest. You don't look too good. I hear there's a virus going around. Maybe you should sit down for a while." Neo's leg shot out before the Agent's degrading reflexes could formulate a reaction and he drove his foot hard into the Agent's chest, forcing him to the ground. The virus was fully actuated. There was nothing the Agent could do now. Neo signalled to the others, and when they were in view, gestured to the cell phone in his hand.

"You're under arrest!" called one of the uniformed officers, emboldened now that the Agent was down.

"Okay," Neo answered affably. "Come and cuff me."

Before the officer could take two steps, the old man who was now young again answered his phone once more, and he and the two others were gone.