Disclaimer: Fan Fiction Inspired by the films The Matrix and The Matrix: Reloaded written and directed by Larry and Andy Wachowski © Warner Bros. Entertainment (1999, 2003). The Ghost in the Machine and The Hecate Cycle © oqidaun / M. L.Nicholson

Credits: Opening and Closing Lyrics from "The Last Day of Summer" Bloodflowers The Cure (Fiction, 2000)

Ratings:

Complete Work: R for Language and Violence

Chapter Twelve: R for Language

Chapter Twelve

While You Were Sleeping

Nothing I am

Nothing I dream

Nothing is new

Nothing I think or believe or say

Nothing is true

The blast wedged a thin shard of glass between his index and middle fingers like a slight imperfection.  The broken piece of concrete beneath his hand elevated the shard in such a manner that the sunlight crafted the illusion of melting ice.  His blue lips forever parted and forever silent might also have furthered the charade of winter had not the day been so bright and the grass so green.  He seemed peaceful—another illusion. 

The gray fingers reached down and wound around a tuft of the strawberry colored hair like a ghostly harper seizing the strings of his favorite instrument. 

"She liked you, yet should have known better."  The twisted body offered no answer and its vacant eyes remained fixed on the empty window three stories above.  Oily black smoke escaped the apartment like an eager soul escaping its broken shell. "You should have known better." The figure in black ripped the lock of hair free, pausing only a brief moment to smile at the way the scalp moved loosely over its shattered skull. "Your time was up my friend. In fact," he exhaled and leaned closer.  "Time, itself, is over." 

She showed little emotion, yet was gentle when she plucked the broken glass from between his fingers. It was such an illogical thing to do and did nothing to ameliorate the situation.  With so many things out of place, sometimes the tiniest of details meant the most and sometimes they provided little more than a momentary distraction. He was one of the last to die, yet dead nonetheless.  Only a handful remained and they were so clearly marked for death that even the resistos avoided them and the patient monster at their heels.  No one paid attention any more with the exception her and her reluctant confessor. 

Nearly a year had passed since the night in the hangar and she knew little more than a shadowy story about a missing girl and a rumor of a monster let loose in the labyrinth. 

The shard of glass tumbled out of her fingers and she wiped her bloody hand on her dark colored pants.  The sound of sirens drew nearer and a ladder truck rounded the corner.  The firemen would extinguish the fire, the coroner would dismiss the death as accidental and the neighbors would return to their homes. Everything would be conveniently forgotten. Cautiously, she slipped into the alley between the buildings and headed towards the rundown hotel she had been hiding in for the past seven weeks conducting her investigation and waiting for her opportunity.

"Another?" The voice behind her—always behind her now—did not startle her.

"What do you think?"

"That makes thirty seven."  He arched his eyebrow to accentuate the matter-of-fact nature of his statement.

"Really? I thought it was thirty-eight. I guess I'd counted the fellow who'd been cleaved by the el-train as two by mistake."

A benevolent creature in the midst of a nightmare, she knew he watched over her, monitoring the madness into which she felt herself descending. In the beginning he had been angry at her disobedience, but he grew curious and finally his curiosity transformed into a kindness of sorts. In a lighter moment she had questioned his interest and he dismissed it snidely, noting that her dogged dedication to a lost cause possessed an allure comparable to a gruesome automobile accident or a burning building.  Whether he admitted to being motivated by curiosity or pity, he remained in her shadows. 

Smith cleared his throat. "How many remain?"  

"The strongest are gone. Only a few are left behind."

"Then when it is finished will you return to us?"

"Are you mad?" She began to walk away. "It'll never be finished."

He raised his voice. "It's taking care of a problem we have been unable to address properly."

She turned angrily. "It's not in your control and don't delude your self that the mainframe has any idea how to contain it.  There's no way to know what it will do next?"

"The daedalus anomaly is not my primary objective."

"Of course, that's me right? By all means chase down and delete the rogue programs, but pay no heed to the bull in the fucking china shop. "

"I have no time to waste on you. You don't become my primary objective unless you wake up one morning and find your self in the body of a tall, twenty three year old African American male resisto named Morpheus.  Only then would you become my priority, however, there are others who feel differently and it is not to my advantage to keep redirecting their attentions elsewhere.  Alsace is making arrangements on behalf of his associates to which I am not allowed access.  You may want to take precautions with regard to the individuals you—"

"I'm not afraid of Jones and I sure as hell don't give a shit about Alsace.  And I don't need you to take care of either for me. I don't even know how to access this."  She tapped her temple for emphasis. "As far as Alsace goes he also knows that it's not going to stop with the voids—that's why he's cutting deals." 

"Regardless, that is where you need to stop."

She dismissed his advice and nervously ran her hand through her bright orange hair. "I need to find her?" 

"Who?"

"The old woman." The irritation surfaced in voice.

Smith ripped his mirrored glasses off and stared at her in disbelief. "You are malfunctioning."

"And you are afraid."

But the last day of summer never felt so cold

The last day of summer never felt so old