Disclaimer: Wish I owned it, then I'd be rich.
Note: Agent of Storms was supposed to be a one-chapter short story, but due to the encouragement of quite a few people, I am continuing. But at my own pace. When the ideas come, I'll use them. That's just how I do it.
Read on, stop pretending you have something better to do.
The Agent of Storms Chapter 2: Template
Clank! The hammer hit the handle of the sink, and the annoying squeaky noise stopped. He scratched the belly that protruded from his under-sized white T-shirt and then the man proceeded to lumber back to his sofa. As he sank back into the grooves that had been worn into the sofa by years of sitting, he reached for his beer. After taking a few gulps, the unkempt man set the beer onto the coffee table, amidst the circular stains which marked its surface from the condensation of water on amber beer bottles.
He looked at the old television with hollow eyes, turning up the volume to tune out the sound of the busy New York street below him. At least he had shut up that damned faucet. He grabbed a handful of the three day old Doritos that were on the corner of the coffee table, and he lazily munched them, as if even eating were work. Channels flipped by on the TV screen and his dulls eyes scanned them. He gulped down the stale, halfway chewed chips.
Squeeeee. That damned faucet. He squinted his eyes. He hated that sound, what would it take to make it go away? The sound shifted. It was still high-pitched, but now there was something familiar about it. It pulsated, and kept changing tones. He had occasionally heard that analog to digital melody when screwing up phone numbers, or when his wife's kids were. about to get on the internet.
He twitched. It was an involuntary movement. He shook his head back and forth, and felt his body distort. All at once, he felt another consciousness well up inside of him, and it was almost as if the two could co-inhabit his body. He was now being devastated by violent tremors from his own body, and then he felt himself being cornered. If he could've escaped, he would, but there was no where to go. His arm swung out, smacking his bowl of Doritos from the table. Somewhere at this moment, his body was being removed from a power plant, tubes and wires being ejected from his body, and he was being dumped into a vast sewer system. His body would drown, and die, not being able to swim because of his flaccid, unused muscles. And eventually a new battery would be inserted into his station, and along with billions of others, it would feed power to the machines that enslaved humanity. Forcing them to hide underground in the city known as Zion.
A slender, soft hand adjusted the neck-tie and then reached for the cool beer on the table. He pressed it up to his sharply drawn lips and took a long sip. He made a mock sigh after that, as if truly refreshed by the alcoholic beverage. But of course, he was just a sentient program in a digital Matrix. A program designed to defend this false reality. He could not even taste the nonexistent drink. He tossed the beer to the floor of the messy apartment, the golden liquid spilling over the dirty carpet. As he stood up, he ran his hand through his shimmering hair, and then patted down his suit. His luminescent blue eyes found the nearest door, and he stepped towards it. His hand gripped the handle of the door and twisted it open. Before he walked into the hallway, he flicked the light switch off. And when the door was closed behind him, it was totally dark in the apartment.
Note: Agent of Storms was supposed to be a one-chapter short story, but due to the encouragement of quite a few people, I am continuing. But at my own pace. When the ideas come, I'll use them. That's just how I do it.
Read on, stop pretending you have something better to do.
The Agent of Storms Chapter 2: Template
Clank! The hammer hit the handle of the sink, and the annoying squeaky noise stopped. He scratched the belly that protruded from his under-sized white T-shirt and then the man proceeded to lumber back to his sofa. As he sank back into the grooves that had been worn into the sofa by years of sitting, he reached for his beer. After taking a few gulps, the unkempt man set the beer onto the coffee table, amidst the circular stains which marked its surface from the condensation of water on amber beer bottles.
He looked at the old television with hollow eyes, turning up the volume to tune out the sound of the busy New York street below him. At least he had shut up that damned faucet. He grabbed a handful of the three day old Doritos that were on the corner of the coffee table, and he lazily munched them, as if even eating were work. Channels flipped by on the TV screen and his dulls eyes scanned them. He gulped down the stale, halfway chewed chips.
Squeeeee. That damned faucet. He squinted his eyes. He hated that sound, what would it take to make it go away? The sound shifted. It was still high-pitched, but now there was something familiar about it. It pulsated, and kept changing tones. He had occasionally heard that analog to digital melody when screwing up phone numbers, or when his wife's kids were. about to get on the internet.
He twitched. It was an involuntary movement. He shook his head back and forth, and felt his body distort. All at once, he felt another consciousness well up inside of him, and it was almost as if the two could co-inhabit his body. He was now being devastated by violent tremors from his own body, and then he felt himself being cornered. If he could've escaped, he would, but there was no where to go. His arm swung out, smacking his bowl of Doritos from the table. Somewhere at this moment, his body was being removed from a power plant, tubes and wires being ejected from his body, and he was being dumped into a vast sewer system. His body would drown, and die, not being able to swim because of his flaccid, unused muscles. And eventually a new battery would be inserted into his station, and along with billions of others, it would feed power to the machines that enslaved humanity. Forcing them to hide underground in the city known as Zion.
A slender, soft hand adjusted the neck-tie and then reached for the cool beer on the table. He pressed it up to his sharply drawn lips and took a long sip. He made a mock sigh after that, as if truly refreshed by the alcoholic beverage. But of course, he was just a sentient program in a digital Matrix. A program designed to defend this false reality. He could not even taste the nonexistent drink. He tossed the beer to the floor of the messy apartment, the golden liquid spilling over the dirty carpet. As he stood up, he ran his hand through his shimmering hair, and then patted down his suit. His luminescent blue eyes found the nearest door, and he stepped towards it. His hand gripped the handle of the door and twisted it open. Before he walked into the hallway, he flicked the light switch off. And when the door was closed behind him, it was totally dark in the apartment.