Author's Note: This is my first Matrix fic. I don't know why I wrote this, but the idea just came to me, so I'm using it. I noticed that most Matrix fics center around Trinity and Neo or some added-in character. I'm not saying those are bad; many are quite good, actually. Ack! Anyway, I decided to show the views of two other crewmembers aboard the Nebuchadnezzar.

P.S. Sorry if any facts or stuff from the movie isn't right.

Title: Memories of Times Past

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Some later, maybe. Of course, it's a movie, so you should have seen it before reading about it...

Summary: Switch and Apoc's lives before and after they were freed—before Neo.

Disclaimer: If I owned the movie, do you think I'd be wasting my time doing this?

Setting: This story is set before the movie, of course.

*** = setting change

italics = thoughts

italics = emphasis

~The Ugly Duckling~

*Switch's Point of View*

I grew up thinking I was the ugliest girl in the whole world. I felt like the ugly duckling among a bunch of beautiful swans. How was I supposed to know that one man would change all that? How was I supposed to know that one man would make me feel like the queen of those swans? How was I supposed to know that one man would change my whole world?

***

I was "born" in the Matrix, as most humans are. My mother was pretty enough to have been a halfway decent model. She wasn't as beautiful as some, but better looking than most average women. I always thought that my mother didn't like me. Oh, she loved me, sure, otherwise she wouldn't have kept me around. Yet, somehow, I knew she didn't like me. I felt that she was ashamed of me. She was forever trying to change my appearance, to change who I was. Maybe if she hadn't tried to change me, I wouldn't have turned out the way I did. She didn't like taking me to public places. She didn't want people to know that she was the mother of such an ugly child. Throughout my childhood, I tried desperately to get my mother to accept me, but to no avail.

My father was a whole different story. He knew and accepted who I was. He loved me unconditionally, and I loved him for that. Then he died. I was six at the time, not old enough to have known everything about him, but old enough to have some memories. From then on, my mother got more and more distant. Sometimes, we didn't talk to each other for days at a time.

My life was a living nightmare during my early years of school. Nobody liked me. Some kid had pronounced me "Cootie Girl" in kindergarten, and I was stuck with that name until the beginning of fourth grade. Apparently, since I had cooties, no one wanted to get near me. The students that my teachers put next to me shifted their desks away from mine. Kids called me names and pulled my hair, which was longer then than it is now. I cried almost every night. Part of that was caused by the loss of my father. Yet another part of that was caused by my unreachable mother. Still, most of it was caused by the torture I went through every day, trying to get an education.

Life at school got a little better during the next three years of elementary school. People still didn't like me very much, but at least they stopped openly showing it. My home life had not gotten better, though. If anything, it had gotten worse. My mother started dating again when I was nine. She went out almost every night and didn't come back until the early hours of the morning. She almost always came back a little drunk and sometimes more. I still don't know how she managed to get to work everyday. In those times, I felt like I had lost two parents instead of one.

My mom had a steady boyfriend when I was in sixth grade. Roger despised me. He was nice to me in front of Mom, but anyone could tell it was an act. Anyone, that is, except my mother. She thought he was crazy about me. The truth was, he didn't want me around. I hated him.

My mother tried to change me whenever she wasn't either at work or with Roger. She kept trying to get me to reach some standard of beauty of hers that was simply unimportant to me. She didn't take me to get my hair cut often—she only took me so I could get trims from time to time while she had her hair styled. She wanted my hair to be long in hopes that it would make me prettier. She tried to get me interested in makeup. She bought me tons of dresses and stylish clothes. I didn't want all that. I didn't want the hair ribbons, or the lipstick, or the poofy dresses. I just wanted my mother. I wanted her to love me the way my father had. I didn't want my mom to give me stuff because she thought I was ugly and needed improvement. Frankly, I didn't care what I looked like. Not anymore. I had begun to hate my mother's obsession with beauty. She was beautiful, her boyfriend was handsome, but her daughter was nothing special to look at.

It was during sixth grade that I finally started thinking for myself. I was growing up and I was going to do what I wanted, instead of what my mother wanted. One day, I was standing in front of my full-length mirror, looking at my hair. It was long and straight and perfect, and I hated it. It represented my mother's dislike for me. It represented the fact that she couldn't, or wouldn't, accept me for me, as a good, loving mother should. That day, I made a decision. Mom wouldn't like it, but I didn't care. Besides, that was precisely the reason why I was doing this. I was beginning not to care about anything anymore.

At school, I was impatient. I wanted to just get through the day so I could do what I had decided to do. Finally, the last bell rang, and I ran out of the classroom. I kept running until I reached the street, out of breath. Usually, I walked straight home after school, but today I was going to make a short stop along the way. When I reached my destination, I took a deep breath, then opened the door. I looked around as I entered. People were sitting in barber chairs getting their hair cut. Some women were seated beneath the hairdryers. Other men and women were sitting in the waiting area, flipping through magazines. A young woman approached me. "Are you lost, little girl?" I read her nametag. Rhonda, it said. "No, I'm not lost," I replied. "I'd like to get a haircut."

"All right, then," she replied. "How are you planning to pay?"

I showed her the cash I had brought with me. I had taken some of my allowance money, what little of it there was, to pay for this.

"Well, why don't you wait until a chair opens up, okay?"

I nodded and sat down in the waiting are. After about ten minutes, one of the barbers ushered me to the chair she was working at. "How would you like it?" she asked.

"Short," I replied. I flapped a hand toward the area around my neck. "Around there." I watched as long strands of blond hair fell to the floor. When she was finished, I inspected her work in the mirror. The ends of my hair were now above my shoulders. I smiled. Perfect, I thought to myself. This would show my mother. She would never try to change me again. I picked up my bookbag and headed home.

I met my mom at the door when she got home from work. She screamed when she saw me. Her purse and keys dropped to the floor, forgotten. She rushed to my side and touched my hair. It was great to see her freaking out like this. "Oh, what have you done?" she wailed.

"I thought my hair was too long," I said matter-of-factly. "Don't you like it?" I scooped up her purse and keys and handed them to her. "Hmm?" I asked. "You still haven't told me what you think."

"I think..." she said as she accepted her things, "I think it looks... fine."

"Really?"

"Uh huh," she answered. She was obviously lying through her clenched teeth. "But uh, next time, please get my permission before you do anything like this."

"Sure," I said, having no intention at all of doing that. It didn't matter for the time being. I was satisfied. My mom could not do anything now. There wasn't anything anyone could do to restore my formerly waist-length hair. Never again would my mother control me as she had for so long.

Mom and Roger got married the summer after sixth grade. I was not in the wedding. I think they were relieved that I wasn't involved in it. Part of the reason why I refused to take part in the ceremony was because I didn't want her to marry Roger. He didn't like me, and I knew that the moment he became my stepfather, he would make my life even more miserable than it already was. If I had supported my mother's decision, it would have been like betraying my father.

The wedding was beautiful, and I loathed every minute of it. Roger could never replace my father. My father loved me; Roger did not. My father knew who I was and accepted me; Roger did not. Somehow, I knew that my life was going to change and I was not going to like it.

When I was twelve, in seventh grade, I developed my first crush. At that time, I was going through a growth spurt. I got taller and skinnier, but I didn't... develop... much. I still felt that I wasn't pretty. I had no interest in makeup and didn't care much about fashion. Paul was the cutest guy in seventh grade and the most popular. I liked him a lot, but he didn't know I existed. A lot of other girls liked him—I knew I'd never have a chance with him. I figured I'd just let my crush run it's course, and I'd eventually get over him.

One cold day in December, Paul came up to me at lunch and asked quietly, "Can I talk to you for a sec?" I checked behind me to make sure he wasn't talking to someone else. No one was there. I turned back to him and nodded, dazed. I let him lead me to a quiet area without a lot of people around. He cleared his throat and started speaking. "Would you like to go to the Christmas dance with me?" I was shocked. I pinched myself to see if it was a dream. It hurt, so this was definitely real! I couldn't believe it. Was he kidding me? Did I want to go with him... Of course I did! I said yes automatically. He smiled and said, "All right. Pick you up at seven." I gave him my address and phone number. He ran back to his friends, while I walked off in the opposite direction, still not completely believing what had just happened.

Soon, it was the day of the dance. My mother had been very pleased when she found out who I was going with. After all, the most popular and good-looking guy in school couldn't be wrong about me, could he? My mom had even bought me a dress and everything. She tried to get me to put some makeup on, but I would only accept lip gloss and clear nail polish.

The doorbell rang. I ran downstairs to answer it. I took a few deep breaths before opening the door. "Hey, Paul," I greeted him.

"Hey," he answered. "Ready?"

"Yup." I grabbed my coat and walked outside, closing the door behind me. Paul's dad was waiting for us in the car. When we got in, he started the engine, and we were on our way to school, where the dance was being held.

After we got there, Paul and I entered the gym together. A lot of streamers and cheap paper and plastic decorations were on the walls. Paul went to get me some punch while I looked around the room. After that, the music started and we danced. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. I mean I was inches away from the guy of my dreams! What more could I ask for?

After one of the songs ended, Paul and I sat on the bottom row of the bleachers, exhausted from dancing so much. Some of his friends were close by. He glanced at them, then scooted closer to me. I tried not to show my nervousness about the fact that his face was mere inches from mine. He turned my head so I was facing him, then he leaned in. My eyelids slid shut as he kissed me. I was too occupied at the time to notice that Paul's friends were hooting and hollering. I was shocked at the total neutrality of the kiss. I didn't feel anything. Where were the fireworks? Where was the magic? The kiss felt empty, lacking passion and feeling. It felt rushed, like he wanted to get it over with. He pulled away as quickly as he had swooped in. He turned to his group of friends. "Where's my hundred bucks?" he asked eagerly.

I stared at him, disbelieving. Money? He asked me to go to the dance with him for a lousy hundred dollars? My first kiss wasn't even real. I pushed Paul away from me and ran out of the gym. I stopped running when I reached a nearby park. I was exhausted from running and sick to my stomach from the knowledge of what had just taken place. I sank down onto a park bench, crying. How could he have done this to me? I thought he had really liked me. It turned out that he was just using me to prove himself to his friends and earn some quick cash while he was at it. What a jerk! And what a fool I was to believe that he actually liked me.

That's when it started to rain. Great! That was the last thing I needed. Now my dress was soaked, and I was freezing. Why hadn't I remembered to grab my coat on the way out? Sitting there, cold, wet, and miserable, I reached a decision. At that moment, I swore to myself that I would never show weakness like that again. No man would ever take advantage of me. It was kind of like swearing off men. I didn't want to get hurt again. I think I toughened up then, grew some armor. I hardened my heart. I wasn't going to let anyone get close to me again. Ever.

I didn't feel like getting home right away, so I just sat there, not caring if I developed pneumonia from the cold. I guess I dozed off then, because the next thing I knew, the rain had stopped and the sky was very, very dark. Wonderful. I was soaking wet, dead tired, and had no way of getting home. I wondered what time it was.

Having no other method of transportation, I started walking in the direction of my house. I trudged along for an hour, shivering.

When I finally got home, it was 2:00 a.m. Mom and Roger were still up. Roger, who was probably more than a little drunk, started yelling at me. "As long as you're under my roof, you will obey my rules, and my rule is that you are home before 10:30!"

His roof? It was more my roof than his. He hadn't bought the house. He hadn't lived in that house his whole life. What made him think it was his? Just because he married my mom didn't mean that he was my father. That morning, at 2:11 a.m., I knew that I truly hated him.

During the next few years, I got more and more distant from my so-called "parents." I got more interested in computers. They were something I could get involved with that would take me away from everything else. I could just concentrate on a computer and not worry or think about anything else.

Then, when I was fifteen, I discovered something on the Internet. It was something about the "Matrix." The only matrices I had ever dealt with were in Algebra, and this was clearly not about mathematics. I was intrigued. I tried to find out more about it. There wasn't a lot of information about it, and whatever I did find disappeared soon after I discovered it. One thing I noticed was that whenever there was information about the Matrix, someone named "Morpheus" seemed to be involved.

I learned all about computers, and soon I was an experienced hacker. The name I went by was "Switch." I met other hackers over the Internet, and one day, we arranged to meet each other. I knew it was dangerous and that these people might not be who they seemed, but I figured that meeting these people was better than staying at home with Mom and Roger. Luckily for me, they were who they seemed to be. They were all around my age and wanted as badly as I did to find out what the Matrix was. We started hanging out together.

After two years of research, I still didn't know exactly what the Matrix was. I spent all my free time trying to figure it out. My grades started slipping. Mom and Roger got mad at me for that. Roger came close to hitting me several times. When it came time for my report cards to come out, I hacked into the school's system to change my grades. If I flunked and didn't graduate, I'd never get away from the house that was no longer mine.

Our "gang" did some illegal stuff. Mostly, we stole computer equipment. Our stuff wasn't good enough. We had to have the best in order to figure out the Matrix. I was usually the lookout. One day, they gave me a gun. I was a surprisingly good shot. I never actually shot anyone though.

I graduated from high school and moved out when I was eighteen. I lived in an apartment with one of my friends and attended a community college. I really only paid attention when technology was mentioned. Pretty much all of my free time was spent with the gang trying to find out what the Matrix was.

Then, one fateful night, Morpheus contacted me. There wasn't any time to get the others, so I went alone. I stood there on the sidewalk of a street that didn't get much traffic. A car appeared and stopped in front of me.

"Get in."

So I did. There was a guy driving the car, a girl about my age sitting in the front seat, and a guy sitting beside me, the one who had told me to get in.

We got out of the car in front of this old, abandoned building. The three people in the front led me to a room with huge doors. I entered alone.

"Morpheus?"

"Yes."

Morpheus was impressive. He seemed to exude power.

"So you can tell me what the Matrix is."

Morpheus said to me, "First, you must choose." He held out both of his hands. "If you take the blue pill, you stay here and don't get any answers. If you take the red pill, you will discover the truth."

I looked down for a moment, considering. Mom. Roger. My stupid education. I hadn't had the best life in the world. How bad could whatever Morpheus and his gang had to tell me be? I had waited for years to find out what the Matrix was. Here was my chance. What did I have to lose?

I reached for the red pill.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author's Note: Um… If you like this, review. If you don't like it, then review too. Just don't be so mean about it…