By Jake Newman and based on the Matrix Trilogy by the Wachowski Brothers. Characters in this story which appear in the Matrix Trilogy do not belong to me. Some dialogue may be similar to that found in the official Trilogy.
Chapter 2: Contact
Chris Smith's journey home from school was certainly not as eventful as his journey earlier that day. He had caught the bus home, and although he fought his questioning nature that told him to walk home and revisit the tunnel, the tunnel remained the only thing on his mind. The bus took a different route to that of Chris' morning travels, and when the bus made the first turning off the course of his morning route he found himself looking deep down the other road, as if looking would answer his questions. He was still unsure of what he'd seen but he'd decided what he was going to do to find out.
When Chris arrived home he greeted his parents and rushed upstairs to his room. He opened his bedroom door and his eyes adjusted to the overwhelming volume of light coming through his bedroom window. Chris took his bag off his back and dropped it onto the floor, his spine extending from the relief. He moved over to his computer and switched it on, a series of beeps, clicks, flashing lights and cryptic computer messages ensued, all of which Chris understood. When the computer had finished loading Chris started his Internet program and dialled up to the Internet. He lied back in his swivel chair and with his hands behind his neck, cracked the knuckles on his left and right hands and then cracked his neck. After the tortuous computer screeching that connected his computer to the wealth of information that would help him, he typed in the address of his favourite search engine. "Where to start", he asked, as if maybe someone would answer. "I s t h e w o r l d r e a l ?", he typed, triumphantly he prodded the enter key. A series of results swamped his screen, his eyes scanned rapidly, looking for words, which words he didn't consciously know but he was sure that he would recognise them if they appeared.
One link stood out above the rest, "How real is the world around you?". Tentatively, Chris' hand pushed the mouse towards the link and abruptly, almost in fear, he clicked it. The screen was black with strange green letters inset into the background and a large grey java-applet sat patiently centre screen. Chris watched in anticipation as the different files loaded which made up the applet and finally it started. "Name", it asked, "S M I T H", he typed. A chat like interface initialised and a long list of users appeared on the right hand side of the screen. Nobody was typing, the chat room was silent. Chris typed, "C a n y o u h e l p m e ?" and pressed 'send'. Moments later his message appeared on the screen and moments after that a response came, "D e p e n d s w h a t y o u ' r e a f t e r ; )". "T h e t r u t h", he replied. Someone else replied, then someone else too, then someone else, the room became flooded with people talking, but Chris' words were forgotten. He tried again but his message only stayed visible for a few seconds and nobody was listening to him. He sat and thought, "I'm wasting my time, I'm not going to find anything. I probably just imagined the whole thing. I mean, what am I hoping to find? The reason why nothing makes sense? The meaning of life?"
In a split second, his computer monitor flashed bright white and then switched off, leaving a deep black screen reflecting his face. Chris wasn't worried, just annoyed. "My damn computer's always crashing…", he told himself. Chris moved his hand towards the reset button of his computer. As his finger made contact with the button, he blinked and felt the button disappear from under his finger. Immediately he opened his eyes, he could see nothing but bright light, he felt weightless, disorientated and strangely sick. "Am I dead?", he asked himself, but before the electrical impulses could process a response to this question, Chris' feet were back on the ground, but he was no longer at home. "Hello Chris", a male voice said.