A/N: So… sorry this took so long, but school was killer last week. Anyways, if I get the chance, and I'm not quite positive that I will, I will do my absolute best to post the next chapter this week. Still working on character development, but I don't seem to get it right. Help and feedback would be greatly appreciated. And if you want to understand just who Pan is, I suggest you read Pandora the Brave, but you don't have to.

D/C: I still don't own the Matrix or anything related to it, but I do own Rhiannon and Rory, Dahr, Pan, 917, and the rest of the Alines.

Rhiannon: Chapter 12

The Rebel, the Clock, and the Virus

The day was drawing to a close, and Dahr Zados wanted very much to take his girlfriend out to celebrate her first capture, but it wasn't a Tuesday. She seemed to have been anxious at first, but she had gotten the hang of interrogating pretty quickly, and although she had been unable to get the rebel to talk, it had been her first time. Besides, there were many agents who did not interrogate their own prisoners. Some people had the talent, others did not.

Rebels were scum. Who cares if they died?

Rebels were honourable, courageous, and noble. How could they deserve to die?

A thousand and more thoughts whirled through her mind. Everything from her sixth birthday to the nature of the Matrix rocketed through her soul, barely giving her time to think about each one before speeding to the next thought. Her friends sat around her, singing, their faces lit by candles. The roller-skates on her feet were heavy, but it didn't matter; it was her first real birthday party. She made her wish, "I wish for understanding."

"And a pony," she added.

The world was a cruel, horrible place, and she, unfortunately, lived in it. An empty thought struck her. "I should call Nick."

It was a strange thought, not entirely random, but strange nonetheless. Nick had been like an older brother; he of all people would know what to do. Of all her friends, she trusted him the most. Nick asked her to keep a diary, and she had. Now she was glad she had. She sat up, mopped her face with her sopping pillow, and forced herself to get her diary and her cell phone. She crawled back into bed with the items and dialed Nick's cell phone number. He would be glad to hear her voice. She had not spoken to anyone from her old life in over six months. They would be so glad to hear from her.

They are worried sick, Rhiannon's cynical voice thought. She closed her cell phone. She could not call Nick.

This sent her back into tears.

She would probably never see her mother again, whom, though she was a little crazy, Rhiannon loved with all her heart. Her mother was probably worried sick, if she was even alive at all. And her friends… Kate, Scotch, everyone… she thought. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… She realized how evil the Matrix was all at once. It wasn't something she slowly realized at all. It had been right in front of her the whole time, throughout her search for truth, and like a snake, it had bitten her. Suddenly, Rhiannon knew with all her heart that the Matrix was the worst thing that had happened in the history of man.

In that pivotal instant in her existence, Rhiannon made several decisions. Her first decision was to help the rebel, Reynolds, escape. Her second was to run away, far away; as far away from the Agency as possible. Her first decision was good; her second was not.

Rhiannon checked her clock. It was still early evening, no later than eight o'clock. She sat down at her desk and worked out her plan. When she was finished, she began clearing away all traces of her existence. All of her papers she burned. She made her bed up like it had never been slept in. She emptied her slight wardrobe, vanishing everything but one outfit. Before she erased her hard drive and returned the background to its manufacturer's image, she scribbled a phone number on her hand. Rhiannon called a small knapsack into her hands, and she stuffed her diary and cell phone into it. For the second time since she disappeared, she felt the need for something she had left behind her: her worn and ragged teddy bear.

It was no bigger than her open hand, and its fur was incredibly dirty. It was missing its left ear, and tufts of cotton stuffing peeked through. It was soft and lumpy, and squeezing it always made her feel better.

Rhiannon willed it to herself, and was half-surprised that it came. She tucked it into the small bag as well. She set the bag in the seat of the one chair in her room, the same chair over which she had draped her clothes. The clock still only read nine o'clock.

Rhiannon sat on the edge of her bed, and waited.

As soon as the time came, she changed her clothes and tied back her raven hair into a loose bun. She slid her small knapsack onto her shoulders and secured it tightly. She slipped on her gun belt and fastened her gun into its holster on her right hip. As an afterthought, she slipped her hand under the bed and felt her fingers close on a black, hard katana. Rhiannon tucked it into her belt, feeling its weight rest comfortably on her hip. She checked herself in the mirror.

Slacks, black drape-necked tank. Hair tucked neatly into place, not a single loose strand. Black boots. Red stain on her lips. No fear.

~@~

The halls were deserted. She forced the steel elevator doors open and stepped onto a service ladder. With her mind, she struggled to close the heavy metal doors, and upon her success, she called repelling gloves to her hands. She slid down the ladder; yellow lights floated past her. She reached the executive level and performed the same mind trick on the door. She crept to the second elevator, and repeated the process. When she stepped onto the prison bay, she motioned at the rebels.

They eyed her warily. She had never been good at charades, but she made one door disappear and they understood what was going on. Concentrating, Rhiannon attempted to vanish every door, and nearly succeeded. She had been unable to open a few doors at the end of the row, but fortunately, no-one was being held there. She led the escapees up the elevator. They snuck down the executive hallway and out the front door. Once outside, they scattered, most heading for pay phones.

Reynolds remained.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

Rhiannon simply shook her head and, picking a direction, walked away.

Reynolds ran up and leapt in front of her. Jogging backwards, he said, "I'm Rory. Who are you?"

Rhiannon did not answer but tried to get around him. Rory stopped her.

"Look, you saved our lives. At least tell me who you are."

Again, Rhiannon stepped around him.

"Where are you going? Can I help you?"

She was already several feet away, but she stopped and seemed to consider his offer. She turned on her heel. "You want to help me?" she asked, her voice cool and clear as the night air.

Rory nodded.

"Then take me to the One. I have business with him."

"I can't."

"Then you can't help me." And before Rory could object or change his mind, Rhiannon space-hopped away.

Rory looked at his feet. After several seconds, he walked away. As soon as he turned the corner, Rhiannon leapt down from the roof of the building, she continued on her way.

She checked the phone number she had scrawled on her hand and hit 'Send.'

Ring.
Ring.
Ring.

A snobbish-sounding, heavily accented voice answered the phone. By the time Rhiannon had finished making her appointment, she was sickened by the hacking the receptionist had made. As she walked down the street, her phone rang. She answered it.

"You've just won a million—"

"We don't want any," she snapped, and hung up the phone. She stuffed it back into her bag. As she walked pass more and more people, she realized how many odd stares she was getting. She scowled at the people; she was in a less than pleasant mood. For the first time in her life, her existence was not guaranteed, and she was lacking in the purpose department.

The nightlife in this part of town was fairly hopping, even at nearing one people were still arriving in custom sports cars. Rhiannon was not in the mood to deal with people, so she slipped into an alley.

"Hey, darlin'. Can I getcha somethin'?"

Not what she wanted to find.

"Go to hell."

"Oh, she's a feisty one," a second person said. Rhiannon felt the predators surrounding her. There had to be at least five.

She started with diplomatics. "I'd like to be going now."

The leader, as she presumed, said, "You won't be going anywhere, dollface."

Rhiannon reached for her katana, but a sniggering youth caught her wrist. He was fairly strong, and when she tried to wrench her arm from his grasp, he only held on tighter. The rest of the gang laughed derisively.

"Unhand me, uncivilized delinquent."

"Ohoh," one of the brutes laughed.

Rhiannon smirked in the dim light, hopped her arm out of the boy's clutches, and whipped out her katana, downing three of the thugs in the process.

"Any other takers?" she asked the remaining two boys who were dumbstruck at her speed. They ran pell-mell and barely clambered over the brick wall at the end of the alley.

It was four in the morning, and Rhiannon had been wandering aimlessly for nearing five hours. She sat down on one of the few vacant park benches and watched the early birds scratching in the grass. Sleep was still her enemy but had not attempted any sieges or attacks since two days before. She had two days until her meeting with the most powerful of exiles, and she was more than anxious.

The sun rose and set.

Rhiannon lay sprawled out on a cheap motel bed. The alarm clock went off at one. Rhiannon opened one eye, slammed the clock to the floor, and rolled over. The clock had the sense enough to shut up.

Two o'clock.
Three o'clock.
Four o'clock.
Five o'clock.
Six o'clock.
Seven o'clock.
"Stop," she mumbled.

She woke up ten minutes later. The sun was dark and her room dim. "Oh bloody hell," she mumbled. "What freaking time is it?"

She lifted the battered alarm clock, read it, and cursed. She had wanted to look for some suitable outfit to wear to her rendezvous, but she had overslept considerably.

"Damn you, alarm clock. Now I shall have to use the sodding internet. You know why I hate the internet?" she asked the alarm clock, picking it up and carrying it over to the empty table. "It's too easy to spy on people."

A laptop appeared on the desk as Rhiannon dragged the phone cord over to it. She opened up internet explorer and found the online mall she wanted.

~@~

"Honey, I can't find my laptop."

"Did you look under the couch, dear?"

"Why would it be under the couch?"

"Then don't look under the couch."

~@~

Two nice sets of clothes later, Rhiannon was headed off for a bar, somewhere. "Now, Clocky," she addressed the Clock, "I want you to be good and sound the alarm if any you-know-whats come by."

"Oh, Gawd, I must be cracking up. I'm talking to a clock."

The air was filled with the hazy smoke vapours one would expect in an old-fashioned gambling parlour, and the faint sound of the Twenties was nearly overridden by the crack of the billiards and the slapping of cards. The occasional clacking and scracking of roulette was not to be outdone, however, and could be heard over every bit of low conversation. Rhiannon herself was not interested in gambling as she was drinking, and although she was still sixteen, a fake id was not hard to procure. She sat down on a barstool near a suited man who looked vaguely familiar and yet completely strange to her sight. After her third glass of scotch, the man ordered her brandy.

"You lost?" he asked after she had taken a sip.

She gave him a strange look before answering. "Yeah, I am kinda," she said.

"Did you ever wonder if any of this was worth it?"

The man was clearly either drunk or miserable. Or perhaps both. Still, Rhiannon answered him truthfully, "Every waking moment."

The man smirked and waved to the bartender for a refill. "I never knew how much I enjoyed the life I had till I lost it. It was simple. All I had to do was follow my orders. There were no personal angles involved." He paused for a while. "What if this world was just a big hoax? Every bit of it?"

Rhiannon didn't know how to answer that question.

"Come off it, girlie. You aren't a rebel; don't pretend to have no idea what I'm after."

"You must be—"

"Yes, I am. And no, I won't."

"Won't what?"

"Nevermind, kid. What matters is that you don't do anything stupid."

"Stupid?"

"Yeah. Like blowing up the agency."

Rhiannon winced. "Why would I do that?"

"Revenge," the suited, sunglassed, brown-haired man said. "Sweet, unattainable revenge." Again he paused. "You can't have it. Revenge is pointless. There is no way you can force them to feel your loss."

Rhiannon felt the truth in the ex-agent's words.

"But you can make them wish they'd never existed," he declared with malice.

The man was going crazy with rage or something; he nearly shattered the glass in his hand, his grip was so tight.

"Or you could do something constructive," Rhiannon said thoughtfully. "You could work against them, to make sure that they can't harm another the same way."

The man turned on her, his fiery, frigid gaze stinging through his shades. "That benefits the whole reason why we're here. And that is not revenge."

The man was angry with both sides, obviously. He blamed one for the other, and vice versa.

Rhiannon tried to reason with the man. "It can't be possible to fight both sides at once. Why not just take revenge on the agency? And destroy it?"

"I don't care if the agency remains. That's not as important as punishing the one reason we're here anyways. The pestilence, the plague, the cancer, the virus—"

"The humans?" Rhiannon offered.

"Call them what you like, but they are the enemy, they are the foe. It is because of them that I have to deal with the nonsense that is reality. It is because of them you cannot lead a normal life."

Rhiannon's heart stung. He had just found the chink in her righteous armour. Her life had been interrupted and stopped altogether, just for a war.

"Come," he said, turning and offering her his hand. "Join me and we can rule this world. Together."

Suspecting drunkenness in the agent, Rhiannon simply stared at his hand. He couldn't be serious, she reasoned.

"Join me," he repeated.

Realizing that the agent was not drunk and that he was not merely talking aloud, she decided to skirt the offer. "You're Agent Smith, aren't you?"

"No," he said, turning back to stare at the liquor bottles on the shelves behind the bar. They glowed dully in the hazy light of the smoke-filled room. If one turned one's head slightly, they very nearly sparkled against their reflections, but the light was just dim and smoky enough to prevent that effect. After several minutes, he said, "I'm Smith …just Smith."

Rhiannon nodded, and looked down at her drink, staring past the wooden counter of the bar.

"They don't deserve to be here. They had their chance; they had their era." Smith was looking around the bar, watching men deal cards and lose at pool.

Biting her tongue, Rhiannon sat in silence. She did not want to listen to the angsty, bitter virus any more than she had to; he had already given her plenty to chew on. After a moment of thought, Rhiannon had an excuse to get away.

"Ah, the time!" she cried, checking her wrist. There was no watch, but she carefully kept her arm out of his gaze as she rushed through an apology before tearing for the door.

~@~

Scotch sat on her bed, tapping away at her keyboard, running internet searches for eight different things at once. Her good friend Ree had disappeared nearly a year before. No-one spoke about her, or about anything related to her. Sometimes Scotch wondered if Ree had been only her imagination. Even her twin never mentioned her, and Duct always told her exactly what she was thinking.

Scotch was searching on the internet for fansubs of Fushigi Yugi, spoilers for Harry Potter VI, purple hair dye, MRIs for Biology 2, scanlations of Ranma Half, a new car, her lost friend Ree, and a man called Morpheus. So far the only profitable search was Fushigi Yugi, which was yielding several promising websites. No new spoilers for the best book in the world, no decent hair dye… her biology homework was nowhere near completed. Those MRI scans were essential to her presentation, but she could not find them. It's just as well, she thought, looking at the clock. It's nearly four am. She shut down her laptop and crawled under her blankets. Scotch snuggled into her comforter as she fell into a deep sleep of reassuring dreams.

~@~

Mandarin collars rarely gave Rhiannon any trouble, and when they did, she usually took it as an omen of strife. She had no idea why she did this, seeing as how she rarely wore shirts with Mandarin collars. Ripping it off, Rhiannon snarled at the outfit that she had summoned. She tossed it aside with a righteous sniff and summoned another. This one bore a similar collar, and as she attempted to put it on, it gave her trouble, too. Disgusted with her clothing, she threw it away from herself, as if it were some repulsive rodent. She summoned several more outfits but found none suitable. She wanted to appear as the dauntingly sophisticated assassin she was supposed to be. She wanted to seem fearless and untouchable, like a wild mustang. All of the clothes she had attempted to don were bugged her in one way or another. This one's collar was too tight, that one's waist was too high, this one's belt sat funny, that one's colors made her look yellow, this one's shoulders were constricting, that one's ribbon got in her eyes, this one's sleeves got in her way, that one's hem was scratchy. Not one of the things she had summoned made her feel comfortable and mobile, yet gave off the sophistication she desired.

Eventually, she gave up and sat on her bed, wrapping herself in a blanket. Turning to Clocky she said, "I hate clothes."

Clocky answered by moving his long arm one sixtieth of a degree.

"I agree, Clocky. I should just go like this," she looked down at the woolen blue blanket. "Or maybe not."

Her cell phone rang, causing Rhiannon to jump nearly to hit her head on the ceiling, but only nearly. She eyed the phone warily, but answered anyways.

"Hello?"

"You," stated a girlish voice on the other end. "Are you called Robot Jones?"

"Um… no."

"Good. Don't come see the Merovingian today. Don't come tomorrow either."

"What?" Rhiannon asked, confused. "Why? Why not? What happened?"

"Don't come. Because I told you not to. Because the Merovingian will not help you. Because he found out what you are."

Rhiannon blinked. The girl had answered each of her questions. This was confusing. "What do you mean? Who are you?" Rhiannon asked, bewildered. She heard voices on the other end.

"Pan, what are you doing?" one voice asked. The same voice said incredulously, "Pan? What the hell?" The voice changed tone again and said, "Who are you talking to?" The second tone said, "You aren't allowed to use the phone," and was finished by the first tone. "Without permission. Remember?" Rhiannon heard the girl answer, "I'm talking to someone. And don't call me Pan, too."

"Put the phone down, Pan." "No more pizzas from Italia."

"To-oo."

"Gimme that."

The phone was snatched away and fumbled about before being slammed onto the base. Rhiannon blinked.

"Clocky," she said, turning to her beloved red alarm clock. "That was really, really weird."

~@~

Rhiannon had not given up on mysterious, assassin-like clothes, and she eventually settled on a pair of black silk pants and a red cap sleeved tunic. Clocky apparently approved of the gold embroidery on the tunic, because Rhiannon spent several minutes modeling it for him. Then she realized that Clocky was telling her that it was nearly time for her appointment. She snatched her knapsack, shoved her cellphone, her teddy, and Clocky inside before dashing out the door, pulling the chain across with her mind as she sprinted for the elevator.

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

So… I hope you liked it, gimme some feedback, a nice comment, I dunno, help please! I ain't to sure about the way Rhiannon's comin' across. Tell me whatcha think or want, and I'll do my best ta make it happen. Ja!