Communications with Zion resumed at last, and Trinity took what seemed her first deep breath in months. Promise was safe. Safe. They'd never see her again, not if they succeeded in what they were about to do.

The Agent-piloted crafts were now idling harmlessly, thanks to the virus. The Sentinels were in retreat, but for how long? What would they send in next? The Resistance was wasting no time in commandeering as many of the new Enemy fighters as they could, and capturing the Agents aboard them. They were taking booty for the first time ever. There was a lot to be learnt in the days to come, if they made it, a lot to be used against the Enemy.

Many more of their own were being taken away, some in pieces. The Epiphany had taken a beating but was still in the game. The endgame. The fleet began to pull back at Morpheus' order.

Several decks below, Scribe stood in a sort of vigil next to Celt. Neo and Tank had gotten her out. If she was to die, she'd die free now, and so would her kids.

"What are her chances?" Scribe asked Angel.

"50-50. Same as the rest of us. The EMP she discharged against herself voided the implant, but she's still going to have to rid her system of the silicone and the other toxins. I'll put her on dialysis during her rehab."

"Save her," Strike said gently. "For my sake."

"You really care about her, don't you?"

"Yeah. She's been through some heavy duty shit. She didn't bail on us. I want her to make it so I can tell her just what that means personally."

Angel smiled somberly. "I'll do my best," she replied, and left Scribe alone with Celt for a while, studying him a moment before departing. Her smile widened at the tender way he laid his hand over Celt's, as if he felt his touch could cure all that ailed her if he could somehow reach her where she was now. Hell, maybe he could. Angel found herself hoping that the woman would make it. Scribe had fought longer than most, and had never given an inch. He had something real for this woman, and she'd be lucky to receive it, once she recognised it for what it was. The way back would be long for Celt, after all the years enmeshed with the worst the Matrix had to offer.

"There's another ship coming in," Strike called. "One of ours." He was glad to be back aboard, back where he belonged. They had nearly reached their final destination.

"The Sentinels?"

"In full retreat, sir."

"Communication incoming. It's Phoenix, sir."

Morpheus spoke first. "Hello, old friend. Guess you heard what we're about to do. We'll need your help getting the Unplugged out before the strike."

"The fleet is on the way. ETA, three minutes. You got the last part in reverse. I'm going in. You mean far too much to be sacrificed, Morpheus. You, and the One. I'm here because the Oracle told me I would be. Can't go against her when she lays it down, bro. Carved in stone. I'm tired, Morph. I'll rise from the ashes. Count on it. I've already offloaded my crew. It's just me. Give me the package and I'll deliver it. I've still got family in there. This is for them."

A dark and palpable tension settled like smoke over them all, and Morpheus was still. "We won't have much more time before they purge the virus and come back online," said Trinity.

Strike made a buzzing sound, indicating that Trinity had guessed wrong. "All respectable viruses replicate themselves, Trin. In this case, each cycle is better than the last. Didn't want 'em to get bored."

Morpheus laughed at the irony. He had once been told under heavy duress that humanity was on a comparative scale to a virus. There was no cure for that one any more than there was for this. For now, both were here to stay.

"Phoenix-"

"Time's wastin', Morpheus. I've made the decision. Offer's on the table."

Morpheus steepled his fingers, deep in thought. "Strike, Tank. Let's do what the man asked."

"Yes, sir!" Tank cried jubilantly.

The hours ahead were grueling, and the entire fleet moved as one, with one purpose, the damaged beside the whole, until no more could be brought aboard and the reserves from Zion came to take all they could. By the end of the mission the Unplugged numbered near 100,000.

The last phase belonged to Phoenix, and he was heedless of all that was still online where he was going. By the splitting of an atom, millions in the fields were doomed, but those who had been saved would carry the legacy of the lost. The cost to a world already scarred beyond measure they could not count, and the fallout would be more than what would manifest in the physical sense. Whether they had done themselves in by detonating a one-megaton warhead in the power plant, no-one could say. It was a chance they were willing to take as a species, and they did.

Zion -- Five Months Later

Turmoil was as near as hope now, as real as the togetherness that bound them all to each other, both the veterans of the Matrix and those newly brought back from the fields. In the beginning, every available space had been annexed for rehab, and the rows of stretchers and the prostrate forms of those who waiting for life to begin often eerily resembled the fields from whence they had been saved. Their progress was slow and steady.

The progress of the Enemy mirrored their own, though in Zion none lost heart at the rebuilding occurring above. It was expected. Too much had been gained to allow any weakness now.

Strike was a man possessed, in his element. Together with the finest minds in Zion, he re-engineered the Agents they had captured, using the one they had originally taken as their prototype, refining the changes they made, installing, recreating. The Enemy's renaissance would be short-lived when it began. The Resistance had Agents of their own now, and when the time came, they'd be unleashed into the system one by one, and the information would flow, and all that the Enemy wished to keep hidden would be available at last. Soon. Very soon.

Gillian lingered aboard the Epiphany. Though it was docked, and most of it's crew in Zion, she found herself unwilling to disembark that day, and stayed behind. The kids were with Trinity and her daughter. They were safe. They were adjusting, though there were moments when the new life, the real life thrust upon them made itself felt clearly in their anger, and their confusion, and Gillian was the cause of it all as far as they could see. It was Promise, Trinity and Neo's child, who seemed most able to get through to Garrett and Amanda. They shunned Gillian much of the time, blamed her for all that had come to light regarding the one they'd known as their father, until Gillian felt closed off from the past, from them, from everything but the training she'd undertaken and the time she spent with Scribe.

He had some strange affinity for her that she couldn't grasp, and felt unworthy of. He was the kindest person she'd ever known, and the toughest, and she felt drawn to him, even though his kindness was the very thing which made her feel as if she'd finally crack and turn to dust and be swept away like flotsam by all the events unfolding around them all.

Scribe was monitoring what was left of the Matrix. The Enemy had regained only 30 percent of power, still the program ran, and she could only guess at what they deemed most necessary, at what they devoted their remaining resources to continuing. Some illusions must matter more than others.

She put her hand on his shoulder to tell him she was there. He didn't seem to mind her silences. Maybe he knew there wasn't much left, and what still existed was too tightly contained to ever see the light. Scribe knew better, but let Celt live it out at her own pace. It was coming. He'd be there when it did. Then she'd realise the connection between them.

He watched her eyes descend, scanning the lines of code, the pathways of the past.

"Scribe," she asked softly. "What happened to him? Where is he now?"

Though the question hurt, Scribe had known it was coming for a long time. "Still out there, Celt. On the mend, and on the move."

She looked away, withdrew. He followed her with his eyes. She was just a few inches past bald. Scrawny. Pale. Haggard. Beautiful. He loved her.

When she turned back, she finally saw it, and the dam burst as he'd known it would, and he held her while she wept, until she was cleansed.

"Now you're really free," he whispered.

Epilogue

In the months that followed, the Resistance held close to Zion, and a memorial was held for Phoenix when all who had been unplugged could pay their respects to the one who had sacrificed himself for them, alongside those who had known and fought with him.

Lives went on, both those just begun and those that had struggled long. They waited; waited to see what effect their moment of truth had wrought, waited for word from the Oracle, who still lived. From their Agents now moving through the system, they gained intelligence daily, and knew of the Enemy's continued rebuilding and of all else they presumed in their arrogance would never be uncovered. Though the Resistance had dealt them a near-fatal blow, the Enemy was resilient, having inherited the same will for self-preservation as was instilled in the race that had created them.

The balance of power had shifted in favour of the Resistance, and they were wasting no time in training the troops and learning the secrets and making ready for the next conflict. Perhaps the next battle would be the last, for them, or for the Enemy. Either way, it was surely coming.