Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
The Schizophrenic
"Things seem so perfect...." Andrew thought to himself. And it did, the town of Workbenter itself was a nearly perfect town. Beautifully shingled houses of different colors branched off of a square-grid street system. Rows of maples outlined the 2-4 foot area of grass between the warm sidewalk and the smooth pavement of the street. Farther down the road, one could find the Home Comfort bed and breakfast, the All in One hardware store, and Ole' Al's Cafe, where just two months ago, in celebration of the local baseball team's state championship, half of the fathers of the boys on the team, and even Ole' Al himself had gotten boozed up. John Statsmoore, the father of the teams starting catcher, had bet the team's pitcher's father that he couldn't land a jump on his old dirt-bike from the cafe's roof, onto the bed and breakfast roof, which was about ten feet away, and three feet lower than Al's. It was a fifteen foot drop into an array of thick pickers bushes and brier patches. Being totally cocked out of his mind, he accepted. By the end of the night, the father who had attempted the jump needed a total of 28 stitches for his three gashes and a sprained ankle. He got dumped a hefty $200 fine from the police, and a $800 one from the bed and breakfast, seeing how his dirt bike got tossed mid-air through one of their master-bedroom windows. Yep, this is the kind of town the Brady Bunch would have lived in. With a half-walking, half-skipping pace, he started put towards his new temporary job as a bookstore clerk.
"It's off to work I go, it's off to work I go, hi-hoe the Derry-O, it's off to work I go." He sang to himself with a fulfilled smirk on his face.
When he got there, the manager explained that it was his job to assist the customers with finding their books, giving them tips as to what book to buy(the manager said he may have to fib a little in doing this, seeing how there was a huge abundance of books in the store, but Andrew had figured that he wouldn't have to, since he was constantly reading two, three, or even four books at a time.), and registering out how much the books cost.
After giving him his instructions, the manager gave Andrew a suspicious look. "Got that?"
" Yes sir;."
"Good. Well, I've got some papers to sort through in the back, so just holler if you need anything."
"Okay." Andrew said, although he couldn't think of anything he would have to ask him about this simple job.
The manager hustled out through a back door. On the other side of the checkout counter, there was a young woman, perhaps nineteen or twenty, with red-streaked black hair and a dull, yet beautiful and smooth complexion. Walking up to the front of the counter and sticking out his hand, he said,
" Hi, I'm Andrew."
" I'm Natalie," she said, shaking his hand softly. "He thinks were all idiots, so don't take it personally."
"I didn't."
"Oh, well good."
"So how busy does it get in here?" He said, already feeling his attraction to her.
"Ummm," she said, bending over in his direction so her elbows rested on the cool countertop, revealing her smooth, soft breasts, "we usually get a lot people in here. Most of the people in this town are always reading. I can't blame 'em though, it can be a drag most of the time, anyways."
"I see," he said, realizing he was staring at her cleavage and quickly jerking his head to another direction. This made Natalie giggle in amusement.
"So why are you working here? I mean, by the looks of your Rolex and spiffy clothes, I'd say you were stable in life." She said.
"Well, I'm not rich, if that's what you mean. But I'm not very unstable, either," he said (he wanted to tell her he wasn't just some rich, caucasion suite. Although he usually acted as if he was, he wasn't. He did not know how he knew this, but he knew it nonetheless, this unseen feeling of wild power buried deep within him, once and awhile bubbling and oozing up to the surface, only pop and disappear in his unsure nature.)
"I see." She said.
Just then, a superficial, truly white collared man stormed through the entrance, and approached the checkout with an impatient pace.
"I need the 2003 financial guide."
"Umm, okay just let me find it on the computer."
"What!? You don't even know if you have it!? It's a new release!"
His inconsiderate tone and ass-hole talking sent a sharp pain through Andrew's head, causing him to grab it suddenly.
"I'm new."
"What about her, do you know where it is in here..." The pain in his head grew "...Or are you stupid, too?"
The pain was building up, ready to explode.
"Would you shut the fuck up, you fucking cunt!!!!!" Andrew screamed in his mind at the prick. The words "calm down" came out instead.
"Calm down?" The pain was surging forward. "Don't you tell me to calm down!"
But Andrew did tell him to, anyways, and he stood his ground.
"You have some nerrr.. You little.. You.. Aghhhh!" The prick stormed of the store like an unruly child, stamping his feet on the sidewalk, only to have a green piece of gum stick to the sole of his foot. Then, the stuck up prick, he turned, and actually gave Andrew the finger. Or, at least, Andrew thought he did. But by now, the screaming pain in his head was too great, too powerful, so much that his sense were blurred into a total gray, and all he could think of was how that guy, that prick, had screamed at him, how he taunted him, and looked down on him. And then he saw the green gum, and thought how well it would feel if that green gum was the prick's head, squashed like a melon beneath his foot.
"No!" Andrew thought to himself, this wasn't him, it wasn't how he thought. But then Andrew thought as though he wasn't himself, but a more violent, powerful being.
"Are you okay?" Natalie asked.
"I'm fine. Where's your bathroom ?"
"Down there." She pointed to a door parallel to the one the manager passed through. The pain was too much, he couldn't handle it, and after stumbling through the bathroom door, locking it behind him, his knees sliding on the tiled floor, he gave into it, and it consumed him.
It was eleven am, and Maggy Higgins had just left the grocers' when she saw someone, apparently a businessman, come storming out of bookstore and start to pace down the street in a childish manner. "Temper, temper," she thought to herself.
Suddenly, a black blur went swooping from the bookstore roof down to the angry man, where it landed, picked him up, threw him atop a 20 foot high roof, and jumped up to the same spot, where both figures were hidden behind the steep wall. She could hear the man's screams, like that of a shot dog smothered in fear. She tried to get back into the store to call the authorities, but her elderly body was shocked into temporary paralysis. The screams continued for a minute, and then she saw the body of the businessman thrown into the air like a rag doll, a rag doll which landed luckily a thick maple tree, hitting several branches on before falling onto a thick patch of grass, his body cut and battered, as he was bleeding profusely from several gashes.
Andrew awoke in foggy daze, his mind totally clouded over, yet somehow relieved and satisfied. At least the pain was gone, he thought to himself. He got off of the bathroom floor, not remembering exactly when he passed out, but figuring he had just hit his head.
"Are you okay?" Natalie asked, as he returned to the desk after appearing suddenly from the doorway.
"Yeah, fine."
The Next Morning
"So much for a Brady Bunch neighborhood," Andrew thought aloud to himself, throwing the newspaper he had been reading. The very top of the front section read: Brutal Beating of Local Stock Broker- Police looking for suspects. Other headlines included: Local fundraiser a Hit, and Hacker 'Trinity' Hacks into FBI: You could be at danger.
Apparently, the prick from the day before had been beaten viciously, and in all, he need 235 stitches, he had a broken nose, a fractured skull, and two compound fractures.
Suddenly, there was a knocking at the door.
"Hold on," Andrew hurried to the door. "Hello?"
In the doorway stood two local police officers, who apparently had some questioning for him down at the station. He went with them confused, but with no resistance.
At the station, a small, old looking building in bad need of shingle replacement, Andrew was brought into a totally white and painfully plain interrogation room, with no windows or stress marks along the wall, aside from tow round holes in the back; Andrew thought they were probably fist holes. Apparently, he was here because a witness to part of the beating saw someone 'jump' off of the bookstore roof and beat the man down. To add to it, the roof is only accessible through a sunroof in the bathroom, and only three people, Natalie, the manager, and himself had access to it.
The questioning stopped abruptly, apparently because their were more officers who wanted to question him. About three minutes after the original police left the room, three other tall, lean white men with thin, black sunglasses and wearing clothes as plain as the room itself entered. The perfect posture, and unchanging facial expressions of nothingness of these men reminded him eerily of robots seen in old sci-fi's.
"Hello, Mr... Statsmoore?" the middle one, apparently in power, said.
"Yes."
"We have been given some very disturbing information about you. Apparently, you have beaten a man half to death."
Andrew was immediately enraged by the propaganda. "What!?? No, you have the wrong man!" Andrew's head began to slowly throb at this bullshit.
"And your record would agree with you, Mr. Statsmoore. However, whether or not you committed this atrocious act or not is not of any question, but what is of interest to me, Mr. Statsmoore, is exactly what of it you remember."
"Look, I saw this guy before whatever happened to him happened okay, I work at the bookstore he went to. But I was sick, I ran into the bathroom after he left and I passed out, okay? That's it!"
"It is as we expected." The man to the left said.
"Indeed it is." The one to the right continued. The pain grew in his head.
"We cannot take the risk."
"He must be destroyed!"
"Goodbye, Mr. Statsmoore." The front officer said, pulling a pistol from his side, and pointing it straight at Andrew's forehead.
The pain in his head exploded. The front 'agent' gasped as Andrew was no longer himself, but a more powerful split personality, veins surging up to the surface of his skin, as his muscles slightly rippled, and his eyes changing from blue to green.
"Motherfuckers!" He screamed, smashing a fist through the left agents face, stunning the other two agents for a moment.
Regaining sense, the front agent re-aimed the gun and fired three shots, all of which Andrew flung sideways to dodge at amazing speed. The right agent's eyes widened in disbelief, Andrew's foot tearing through his throat. The remaining agent quickly jumped up, firing 5 more shots which Andrew easily dodged, then threw the gun to the side, this time firing punches rather than guns. He punched left, right, left, meeting once to Andrew's chest. Next, Andrew, ran to the wall, jumped at it, and, spinning around, pushed off of it using his feet, diving at the agent with all his strength. They struggled for some time, punching and kicking, but Andrew realized he couldn't win in this confined space, so he kicked open the door, ran out of the station, officers shocked then angry, running after him, but not being able to catch up. Andrew jumped atop the station's roof. The agent followed, and they were soon staring each other down.
Andrew made the first move, throwing a fist at the agent's face, but he missed , and was kneed in the stomach several times, until being thrown to the ground. He got up, and charged once again, fist first. He met the agents face this time. They struggled for several minutes, each punching and kicking the other, jumping and flipping to dodge the others attacks, until the Andrew missed with a hard right hook, and the agent used it to throw him violently into the ground, brick being sprayed away like food crumbs everywhere.
The agent hovered over Andrew's fallen split personality for a moment, pondering.
"Who are you?" he finally asked.
"Me?" Andrew's mysterious, darker half said quietly. "I'm Superman."
Smith laughed at this "things" psychotic state.
"And who are you?" This so called 'superman' asked
"Me?" The agent laughed again at this psychotics hysteria. "My name is Smith."
"Hello Smith."
"Goodbye, Mr. Statsmoore.
Agent Smith raised the barrel of his pistol and pointed it firmly at "superman's" head. But as the monotonous clicking of the trigger reached both of their ear's and the bullet came upon the human, piercing through his flesh mercilessly, the eyes which stared Smith in the face were not those of the self-thought "superman", but of Andrew. And then, Smith had killed not one, but two filthy, dirty humans, viruses by nature, with the single stroke of a trigger.
BEAUTIFUL , Smith thought to himself as the blood ran from Andrew's skull to the side of the roof, down the wall, and out into the dirt, where it was soaked up, to be recycled, and brought back into the artificial nature of the matrix.
Andrew Statsmoore was in his own self innocent. He was unaware of the oppressive system known as the Matrix, and served as a slave to it. However, due to his belief in the Matrix as an authentic world, he was also a victim to it's rules, rules which were created in likeness to man's own, true reality. This artificialy engineered reality offered death, destruction, and disease- both mentally and physicaly. And it was this which led to his demise. Andrew's other, schitzophrenic self, was also a slave to this world, but suffered from a form of mental disease, in which it so strongly and genuinely believed it was a being with supernatural powers, that the laws of the Matrix were bent and broken around it, for in the system, he knew of the rules, but he also knew that these rules didn't apply to him. But regardless of this, the agents of the system once again proved too much for humans- even superheroes.
The Schizophrenic
"Things seem so perfect...." Andrew thought to himself. And it did, the town of Workbenter itself was a nearly perfect town. Beautifully shingled houses of different colors branched off of a square-grid street system. Rows of maples outlined the 2-4 foot area of grass between the warm sidewalk and the smooth pavement of the street. Farther down the road, one could find the Home Comfort bed and breakfast, the All in One hardware store, and Ole' Al's Cafe, where just two months ago, in celebration of the local baseball team's state championship, half of the fathers of the boys on the team, and even Ole' Al himself had gotten boozed up. John Statsmoore, the father of the teams starting catcher, had bet the team's pitcher's father that he couldn't land a jump on his old dirt-bike from the cafe's roof, onto the bed and breakfast roof, which was about ten feet away, and three feet lower than Al's. It was a fifteen foot drop into an array of thick pickers bushes and brier patches. Being totally cocked out of his mind, he accepted. By the end of the night, the father who had attempted the jump needed a total of 28 stitches for his three gashes and a sprained ankle. He got dumped a hefty $200 fine from the police, and a $800 one from the bed and breakfast, seeing how his dirt bike got tossed mid-air through one of their master-bedroom windows. Yep, this is the kind of town the Brady Bunch would have lived in. With a half-walking, half-skipping pace, he started put towards his new temporary job as a bookstore clerk.
"It's off to work I go, it's off to work I go, hi-hoe the Derry-O, it's off to work I go." He sang to himself with a fulfilled smirk on his face.
When he got there, the manager explained that it was his job to assist the customers with finding their books, giving them tips as to what book to buy(the manager said he may have to fib a little in doing this, seeing how there was a huge abundance of books in the store, but Andrew had figured that he wouldn't have to, since he was constantly reading two, three, or even four books at a time.), and registering out how much the books cost.
After giving him his instructions, the manager gave Andrew a suspicious look. "Got that?"
" Yes sir;."
"Good. Well, I've got some papers to sort through in the back, so just holler if you need anything."
"Okay." Andrew said, although he couldn't think of anything he would have to ask him about this simple job.
The manager hustled out through a back door. On the other side of the checkout counter, there was a young woman, perhaps nineteen or twenty, with red-streaked black hair and a dull, yet beautiful and smooth complexion. Walking up to the front of the counter and sticking out his hand, he said,
" Hi, I'm Andrew."
" I'm Natalie," she said, shaking his hand softly. "He thinks were all idiots, so don't take it personally."
"I didn't."
"Oh, well good."
"So how busy does it get in here?" He said, already feeling his attraction to her.
"Ummm," she said, bending over in his direction so her elbows rested on the cool countertop, revealing her smooth, soft breasts, "we usually get a lot people in here. Most of the people in this town are always reading. I can't blame 'em though, it can be a drag most of the time, anyways."
"I see," he said, realizing he was staring at her cleavage and quickly jerking his head to another direction. This made Natalie giggle in amusement.
"So why are you working here? I mean, by the looks of your Rolex and spiffy clothes, I'd say you were stable in life." She said.
"Well, I'm not rich, if that's what you mean. But I'm not very unstable, either," he said (he wanted to tell her he wasn't just some rich, caucasion suite. Although he usually acted as if he was, he wasn't. He did not know how he knew this, but he knew it nonetheless, this unseen feeling of wild power buried deep within him, once and awhile bubbling and oozing up to the surface, only pop and disappear in his unsure nature.)
"I see." She said.
Just then, a superficial, truly white collared man stormed through the entrance, and approached the checkout with an impatient pace.
"I need the 2003 financial guide."
"Umm, okay just let me find it on the computer."
"What!? You don't even know if you have it!? It's a new release!"
His inconsiderate tone and ass-hole talking sent a sharp pain through Andrew's head, causing him to grab it suddenly.
"I'm new."
"What about her, do you know where it is in here..." The pain in his head grew "...Or are you stupid, too?"
The pain was building up, ready to explode.
"Would you shut the fuck up, you fucking cunt!!!!!" Andrew screamed in his mind at the prick. The words "calm down" came out instead.
"Calm down?" The pain was surging forward. "Don't you tell me to calm down!"
But Andrew did tell him to, anyways, and he stood his ground.
"You have some nerrr.. You little.. You.. Aghhhh!" The prick stormed of the store like an unruly child, stamping his feet on the sidewalk, only to have a green piece of gum stick to the sole of his foot. Then, the stuck up prick, he turned, and actually gave Andrew the finger. Or, at least, Andrew thought he did. But by now, the screaming pain in his head was too great, too powerful, so much that his sense were blurred into a total gray, and all he could think of was how that guy, that prick, had screamed at him, how he taunted him, and looked down on him. And then he saw the green gum, and thought how well it would feel if that green gum was the prick's head, squashed like a melon beneath his foot.
"No!" Andrew thought to himself, this wasn't him, it wasn't how he thought. But then Andrew thought as though he wasn't himself, but a more violent, powerful being.
"Are you okay?" Natalie asked.
"I'm fine. Where's your bathroom ?"
"Down there." She pointed to a door parallel to the one the manager passed through. The pain was too much, he couldn't handle it, and after stumbling through the bathroom door, locking it behind him, his knees sliding on the tiled floor, he gave into it, and it consumed him.
It was eleven am, and Maggy Higgins had just left the grocers' when she saw someone, apparently a businessman, come storming out of bookstore and start to pace down the street in a childish manner. "Temper, temper," she thought to herself.
Suddenly, a black blur went swooping from the bookstore roof down to the angry man, where it landed, picked him up, threw him atop a 20 foot high roof, and jumped up to the same spot, where both figures were hidden behind the steep wall. She could hear the man's screams, like that of a shot dog smothered in fear. She tried to get back into the store to call the authorities, but her elderly body was shocked into temporary paralysis. The screams continued for a minute, and then she saw the body of the businessman thrown into the air like a rag doll, a rag doll which landed luckily a thick maple tree, hitting several branches on before falling onto a thick patch of grass, his body cut and battered, as he was bleeding profusely from several gashes.
Andrew awoke in foggy daze, his mind totally clouded over, yet somehow relieved and satisfied. At least the pain was gone, he thought to himself. He got off of the bathroom floor, not remembering exactly when he passed out, but figuring he had just hit his head.
"Are you okay?" Natalie asked, as he returned to the desk after appearing suddenly from the doorway.
"Yeah, fine."
The Next Morning
"So much for a Brady Bunch neighborhood," Andrew thought aloud to himself, throwing the newspaper he had been reading. The very top of the front section read: Brutal Beating of Local Stock Broker- Police looking for suspects. Other headlines included: Local fundraiser a Hit, and Hacker 'Trinity' Hacks into FBI: You could be at danger.
Apparently, the prick from the day before had been beaten viciously, and in all, he need 235 stitches, he had a broken nose, a fractured skull, and two compound fractures.
Suddenly, there was a knocking at the door.
"Hold on," Andrew hurried to the door. "Hello?"
In the doorway stood two local police officers, who apparently had some questioning for him down at the station. He went with them confused, but with no resistance.
At the station, a small, old looking building in bad need of shingle replacement, Andrew was brought into a totally white and painfully plain interrogation room, with no windows or stress marks along the wall, aside from tow round holes in the back; Andrew thought they were probably fist holes. Apparently, he was here because a witness to part of the beating saw someone 'jump' off of the bookstore roof and beat the man down. To add to it, the roof is only accessible through a sunroof in the bathroom, and only three people, Natalie, the manager, and himself had access to it.
The questioning stopped abruptly, apparently because their were more officers who wanted to question him. About three minutes after the original police left the room, three other tall, lean white men with thin, black sunglasses and wearing clothes as plain as the room itself entered. The perfect posture, and unchanging facial expressions of nothingness of these men reminded him eerily of robots seen in old sci-fi's.
"Hello, Mr... Statsmoore?" the middle one, apparently in power, said.
"Yes."
"We have been given some very disturbing information about you. Apparently, you have beaten a man half to death."
Andrew was immediately enraged by the propaganda. "What!?? No, you have the wrong man!" Andrew's head began to slowly throb at this bullshit.
"And your record would agree with you, Mr. Statsmoore. However, whether or not you committed this atrocious act or not is not of any question, but what is of interest to me, Mr. Statsmoore, is exactly what of it you remember."
"Look, I saw this guy before whatever happened to him happened okay, I work at the bookstore he went to. But I was sick, I ran into the bathroom after he left and I passed out, okay? That's it!"
"It is as we expected." The man to the left said.
"Indeed it is." The one to the right continued. The pain grew in his head.
"We cannot take the risk."
"He must be destroyed!"
"Goodbye, Mr. Statsmoore." The front officer said, pulling a pistol from his side, and pointing it straight at Andrew's forehead.
The pain in his head exploded. The front 'agent' gasped as Andrew was no longer himself, but a more powerful split personality, veins surging up to the surface of his skin, as his muscles slightly rippled, and his eyes changing from blue to green.
"Motherfuckers!" He screamed, smashing a fist through the left agents face, stunning the other two agents for a moment.
Regaining sense, the front agent re-aimed the gun and fired three shots, all of which Andrew flung sideways to dodge at amazing speed. The right agent's eyes widened in disbelief, Andrew's foot tearing through his throat. The remaining agent quickly jumped up, firing 5 more shots which Andrew easily dodged, then threw the gun to the side, this time firing punches rather than guns. He punched left, right, left, meeting once to Andrew's chest. Next, Andrew, ran to the wall, jumped at it, and, spinning around, pushed off of it using his feet, diving at the agent with all his strength. They struggled for some time, punching and kicking, but Andrew realized he couldn't win in this confined space, so he kicked open the door, ran out of the station, officers shocked then angry, running after him, but not being able to catch up. Andrew jumped atop the station's roof. The agent followed, and they were soon staring each other down.
Andrew made the first move, throwing a fist at the agent's face, but he missed , and was kneed in the stomach several times, until being thrown to the ground. He got up, and charged once again, fist first. He met the agents face this time. They struggled for several minutes, each punching and kicking the other, jumping and flipping to dodge the others attacks, until the Andrew missed with a hard right hook, and the agent used it to throw him violently into the ground, brick being sprayed away like food crumbs everywhere.
The agent hovered over Andrew's fallen split personality for a moment, pondering.
"Who are you?" he finally asked.
"Me?" Andrew's mysterious, darker half said quietly. "I'm Superman."
Smith laughed at this "things" psychotic state.
"And who are you?" This so called 'superman' asked
"Me?" The agent laughed again at this psychotics hysteria. "My name is Smith."
"Hello Smith."
"Goodbye, Mr. Statsmoore.
Agent Smith raised the barrel of his pistol and pointed it firmly at "superman's" head. But as the monotonous clicking of the trigger reached both of their ear's and the bullet came upon the human, piercing through his flesh mercilessly, the eyes which stared Smith in the face were not those of the self-thought "superman", but of Andrew. And then, Smith had killed not one, but two filthy, dirty humans, viruses by nature, with the single stroke of a trigger.
BEAUTIFUL , Smith thought to himself as the blood ran from Andrew's skull to the side of the roof, down the wall, and out into the dirt, where it was soaked up, to be recycled, and brought back into the artificial nature of the matrix.
Andrew Statsmoore was in his own self innocent. He was unaware of the oppressive system known as the Matrix, and served as a slave to it. However, due to his belief in the Matrix as an authentic world, he was also a victim to it's rules, rules which were created in likeness to man's own, true reality. This artificialy engineered reality offered death, destruction, and disease- both mentally and physicaly. And it was this which led to his demise. Andrew's other, schitzophrenic self, was also a slave to this world, but suffered from a form of mental disease, in which it so strongly and genuinely believed it was a being with supernatural powers, that the laws of the Matrix were bent and broken around it, for in the system, he knew of the rules, but he also knew that these rules didn't apply to him. But regardless of this, the agents of the system once again proved too much for humans- even superheroes.