A/N: Hey, so you found your way into this fic, huh? :) Well first, just to let you know: Sorry, but this story was written utterly ignoring Matrix Revolutions. Not because I don't respect the the work of the Wachowski bros, but because I... erm... haven't actually seen that movie. ducks from everyone as they proceed to point and laugh at her So I don't even know what happens. Basically this picks up after Reloaded, and goes with the theory that Trinity fell pregnant during the rave/love scene.

Now, let's pretend that Neo, Trinity, Morpheus and all the other Matrix characters have miraculously defied a 17-year aging process (yes, this is yet another daughter-of-The-One story, but I honestly didn't steal this plot from anyone but my muse), and that the war between man and machine still rages... and for God's sake, I don't own the Matrix or any of it's affiliated characters, concepts, or otherwise! Hope you like.

There is a legend of the Heir.

It is a fleeting tale, a fragment of a memory, that can only be glimpsed briefly before it vanishes deep within the consciousness of our kind. With it, it carries enigmatic and mixed messages: of hope, of despair, but most of all, of triumph. Is it the Heir who is the key to the triumph of Zion, and the future of mankind, against that of the Matrix? Does the Heir's very existence alone rebel against a machined, mechanical world? Is it the Heir who is to carry the legacy of The One? Or is this whisper merely the basis to his very undoing?

These myths carry a spark, a glimmer of hope; but so too does the Heir carry a seed of destruction. Destruction of what? Only time – and choice – will tell. What is for certain is that the Heir will have the inevitable ability to bend time and space to their will, both that of this world, and that of the Matrix. For the Heir represents an amalgamation – a fusion – of the reality of this world, and the surreality of the Matrix. This fusion and these powers, of course, the Heir will have gained from her parents.

In a world struggling desperately on a hook, with lives and freedom at the mercy of machines, any source of hope is eagerly acknowledged and seized, despite potential shortcomings. Whether or not a human child - despite their legacy - has the power to change the course of mankind, believers are yet to prove.

"And there he stood. Tall, fearless, incredibly compelling. The shadows of the late afternoon sun bounced lazily from his reflective, mirrored glasses. As the gentle wind whipped his dark hair slightly, his gaze wandered downwards, pondering as to what mystery lay behind the words of the Oracle. For the meantime, his presence was the only one remaining in the run-down courtyard. Or... was it?"

"As our hero's gaze rose upwards, his eyes now found themselves staring into dark pools of unfeeling, unyielding hatred. A flock of black crows chose that very moment to scatter in fear, fluttering wildly in all kinds of frenzied directions. Meanwhile two pairs of dark, menacing eyes that harboured a burning pit of evil returned our hero's gaze with an unimaginable malice. It was a face our hero recognised all too well. For he was looking directly into the face of..."

The elder woman gives a theatrical pause, leaving her listeners breathless with suspense and anticipation. Her voice reaches a dramatic crescendo as she leans forward ever so slightly.

"An agent!" she exclaims, eyes gleaming.

The youngest children gathered in the front rows give squeals of delighted fear, while the older children murmur excitedly, shuffling forward and waiting eagerly for more. The elder leans back in her chair and gives a half-chuckle, continuing her story with the same melodramatics she seems to have a talent for utilising.

"But this was no ordinary agent, you see. It was Smith. The same agent who had first tried to kill The One! The same agent who The One had destroyed with his own bare hands. And yet, Agent Smith was back from the dead, and this time, he wanted revenge!" More squeals follow, as the children beg and plead for the elder to continue.

"The One was calm – for he is fearless in times of chaos. His nemesis, Agent Smith, the most formidable of all agents, drew ever closer, his eyes blazed with fury and vengeance..."

From a distance, far away from the group of enthralled children, but close enough to hear every word of the story, stand two figures. One is the main character of the very story being told; he is draped in a tattered coat, and although he has long since abandoned his adventurous thrill-seeking ways, I can still see the fearless hero in him that so many people have told me about. Although I guess it's only natural for a daughter to admire her father like that, to perceive him as invincible, all powerful.

An amused and nostalgic grin tugs at his lips as he detects the immense exaggeration of his famous encounter with the (many) Agent Smiths. His smile stretches wider as he reads the reactions of the children, who are bouncing around like hyperactive little fleas. Obviously this particular story gets the adrenaline running. They can barely contain their glee.

I stand proudly beside my father, and although I don't usually like to let on, I am just as engrossed in the story as the young children. I mouth the words of the story along with the elder, feeling my eyes glitter with exhilaration.

"...Hundreds!" the woman suddenly cries, a hand clutching at her heart dramatically in a mock faint. "No – thousands! Thousands of Agent Smiths, swarming, snarling, spitting, like a pack of bloodthirsty, fire-breathing wolves!" Gasps emit from the crowd of children. "And, oh my, Neo – trapped! What was he to do? There was nowhere to go, nothing to do, but fight! Fight them all!"

A cheer erupts from the children, and I suddenly look up towards my father, giving him a knowing grin. He raises his eyebrows and returns the grin – this is my favourite part of the story.

"Pow! Down went one. Pow-pow! Fighting like a lion! Bang! Without a fear! His body, curling, coiling and springing like a leopard! Pow! Neo was taking all the agents on single-handedly, like some kind of... fighting God! But there were so many agents, slashing with their claws, roaring, like dinosaurs, until finally, his eyes fell upon a..."

The elder trails off suddenly, a clenched fist still hovering in the air, and the children who have been led this far by her story sit frozen. Their shoulders strain from leaning forward, ears thirsty for the next words to come out of the elder's mouth, eyes wracked in suspense. But instead of continuing the story, the next sentence to leave the elder woman's mouth is, "Oh, Neo. Hello." A warm smile spreads across her aged face as she recognises my father.

Murmurs of awe ripple through the crowd of children, as every child scrambles to turn around, craning their necks to get a view of 'the One'. Dad gives a shrug, raising an eyebrow and cocking his head to the side, saying, "Hello, Nokomis. I see you've led your audience on quite a roller-coaster ride. Though it seems to me you story-tellers are stretching the truth more and more every day."

The elder gives a laugh, and there's a twinkle in her eyes as she says, "Stretching the truth? Neo. You know as well as I do, that it is the stories that keep our spirit alive. It is the stories that give the children – and the lives to come – a history, and hope. So would adding a little enhancement here and there really do any harm?"

"I guess not," he replies, giving the elder a grin of his own.

The elder woman's eyes soon fall on me, and she calls out suddenly, "My, my, young Apex! Taller and more beautiful every day... Care to join us?"

I freeze, looking around at the children whose eyes are now round and pleading.

"I'm sure you know these wonderful stories better than I do. You could even take over the story-telling."

I open my mouth to protest, but then I feel my father giving me a slight nudge with his shoulder towards the group. The elder is right of course – I know the stories of my parents' adventures in The Matrix better than anyone... except for my parents themselves. I was born into them. They are my legacy, my heritage. I've been hearing these stories since before I can remember, from my mother, from my father, from their friends and comrades, and from other elders in story-telling sessions much like this. I dream about them.

I even remember when I was a child, I would take over these story-telling times, sitting in the middle of the circle in the centre of attention and proudly recite stories of my father's adventures, my mother's many close encounters with agents, and the escapades of the Nebuchadnezzar. I loved seeing the rapt faces of the other children around me, I loved the attention they fixed upon me. Yeah, being the only daughter of 'the One' and Trinity in a land of millions of fascinated, staring eyes was a great place to be.

Well, that changed.

Once I entered adolescence as an awkward, unmanageable twelve-year-old girl, I quickly learned that who I was isolated me from others my age. Suddenly I was different, an outsider, when I desperately needed to fit in. Being the daughter of Neo abruptly changed from being a gift, to a hindrance. As superficial as that sounds. Some of my peers overexerted themselves trying to become my friend, simply because their families wanted to be looked down favourably by my parents. Others decided I was too fiery, too famous or simply too dissimilar to them to be tolerated, and dedicated their efforts to making my life a living hell. But most just avoided me altogether, either because they were frightened, they didn't know what to make of me, or they just didn't care. Real friends were few and far between.

It didn't help that the more fanatical believers in my father were constantly stalking me, following me around and harassing me, which gave my now-overprotective parents incentive to have various confidants accompany me whenever I strayed from their eyes. And when you're a neurotic pre-teen struggling desperately to fit in with the crowd, bodyguards are a nightmare. When I was a child I was quite used to and even enjoyed it when complete strangers would give me gifts: toys, jewellery, candles and other weird things. Now my parents feared I would be attacked or kidnapped, and were suspicious of anyone who approached me. I was treated like a glass doll, and most of my fellow teens hated me for it.

Now I'm seventeen, and the only things I'm interested in involve mechanics or machines of some sort. Ever since I took apart Dad's com-link when I was seven, only to piece it back together again with no trouble, even managing a modification – I've loved building machinery. Robots, radios, engines, any electrical device really. Years of taunts, indifference and over-friendliness have caused me to turn away from the world of the human race, and into the world of machines. And yes, I do realise the irony of this.

Even now, as I approach the group of animated children, I long to tear away from them and hide in the engineering level of Zion. Because machines don't judge me, appliances don't stalk me, and engines don't have high expectations of me. Machines don't know who my parents are, and they don't pressure me by constantly pointing out, "You are meant for great things, Apex." And most of all, they don't isolate me, they don't make me feel as if I'm an outsider, as if I don't belong.

Even though I am proud of who I am, and who my parents are, there's always that doubt, that niggling thought, that holds me back. What if I – Apex, the daughter of the One – fail? What if I don't have what it takes to do... whatever it is I'm supposed to do? What if I let them all down, and let my parents down? What if I'm not ready?

I just want to be normal! My eyes scream to the children as I settle on the worn ground. I want you to drop your ludicrously high expectations of me, I want people to treat me like everyone else, I want a plain, uneventful, ordinary life. Can't you see I'm just like all of you? Why do you look at me like I'm different, like I'm... a freak?

I'm finally able to drag myself away from the story-telling session, and I quickly run to the nearest express elevator, hitting the E button. E for Engineering Level. The doors close quickly and I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, some time to myself.

I spend most of my time down here, doing odd jobs, watching the real engineers at work and just poking around all the various machinery. As the doors open with a hiss, and the hot burst of air – mixed with heat and sweat – greets me, I stride forward, eyes darting around in search of something to do. I like it down here – that feeling of hard work, accomplishment, and mystery surrounding the mechanics of most of these machines gives me a strange sense of comfort.

Most of the mechanical operators, repairmen and engineers down here treat me like one of the gang, rather than tip-toeing around me carefully or feeding my ego with flattering stanzas. Actually, the guys down here make a serious point of not inflating my ego just because of who my parents are. And that suits me fine.

A boy one year older than me approaches, blonde hair spiked out of his face, clothes worn and covered in grease, and skin coated in sweat and machine oil. He grins as he recognises me, and calls out, "Hey Little One, what's goin' on?"

I wince at the nickname. I have a variety of them down here, all along the lines of 'Little One', 'The One Junior' or 'Little Neo'. Stuff like that. Sometimes it makes my blood boil, but most times I can laugh it off.

"Tech," I acknowledge, returning the grin. "What's with the skin, grease boy? The grunge look went out years ago."

Tech automatically touches his face with his fingertips, removing some of the layers of dark grease which coats his face. "Must have got that from those air generators," he mumbles absent-mindedly, wiping more oil from his face before continuing. "Hey, got a job for ya."

I fall in step beside him as he leads me down the walkway, the hissing and groaning of machines reverberating around me. "What kind of job?" I ask curiously, raising an eyebrow. Tech says nothing and only gives a lazy shrug, which indicates that he wants it to be a surprise. That, or it's the kind of boring, dirty, undesirable job that nobody else would do. Either way: I'm in.

Tech's the closest to my age down here, being eighteen, so we get along like brother and sister. Tech has the same warped sense of humour, moodiness and fascination with machines that I do. He's my closest friend, but he also happens to be an incredibly bad influence on me, as my father points out repeatedly. He is much given to dangerous and juvenile antics, such as dares to walk across the city's power generator, throwing cherry bombs off the sides of the residential complexes, and building weird and crazy robots and setting them free in crowds, gatherings or at important meetings.

Yeah, that's him. Tech has gotten me in and out of plenty of sticky situations, but I always hang around him because he's different and quirky, exciting to be around. And he understands me.

Now he steers me to the left, leading me through the maze of wires, cords and spare parts that litter the ground. "Tech," I begin, "Just tell me where we're going!"

"Patience, Apex," he says, punching my shoulder lightly. "It's all about patience."

Finally he halts, turning my shoulders to face his right. In front of me stands the massive water supply of Zion, and through the fibreglass of the tank I can see various appliances at work recycling the water. Of all the machines in this level, this is the one I've been told not to touch, under any circumstances.

"Tech!" I exclaim. "Is this one of your stupid dares? Don't be an idiot, we're not supposed to touch this!"

He shakes his head, pointing to one of the many power apparatuses that line that bottom of the tank. "The third power dynamo is jammed," he explains, stepping forward to take a closer look. "We know that one of the excess parts has come loose and fallen inside, but-" he turns to look at me, grinning. "Nobody can reach it. We need someone small to climb in. You, for example."

I start to laugh at their predicament, but eye the apparatus doubtfully. If it's still operational, despite being jammed, I could get electrocuted. I could even become trapped inside along with the excess machine part.

Tech catches my uncertainty and says, "Don't worry, I've cut its power. And I'll help you climb it. If you get stuck, I can reach in and pull you outta there easily."

"Ok..." I answer warily, then my hands grasp the handrails as I begin my ascent. Tech is right behind me, quipping about falling in the tank and being eaten by machines, until I swing my leg down and kick him in the shoulder. Finally we've reached the top of the generator, and Tech leans over to remove a protective metal sheath.

"Jump in, kiddo," he instructs. "I gotcha."

Gripping Tech's arm tightly, I swing my legs inside, then lower myself inside the power dynamo, using an inactive object as a foothold. Tech leans inside to keep a grip on my arm, and calls, "It's on your right, Apex! See? It's jamming the wheel."

I spot an iron bar caught between the wheels of the dynamo, lean over, pluck it free, and toss it up towards Tech.

"Hey, watch it!" Tech gives an irritated groan as it hits his nose, but manages to catch it and throw it outside.

"Ok, now get me out of here!" I demand, trying to use his arm as a vine to climb out. Tech laughs then seizes me underneath my arms, hoisting me effortlessly out of the generator.

"There, wasn't so hard, was it?" he remarks, placing the metal sheath back where it belongs. "Doesn't exactly take the One to do that."

I scowl at him, half because that he's making fun of my father, and half because he's referring to me as my father. "Shut up! Don't call me that!"

"Whatever, kid."

"Don't call me kid either!"

Tech laughs, knowing that he's stirring me up. "Alright, c'mon, let's go piss Cable off. He's trying to weld a whole lotta rusty ship parts into some machine. He's got no idea what he's doing."

I grin, and race Tech to the bottom of the power dynamo. It's times like these I treasure, times when I don't have the burden of living up to my parents, when I can just be like any other kid. When I can just be me.

Two sharp raps at the door startle Neo and Trinity from their conversation, and both look towards the door expectantly. Assuming it's their daughter, Apex, Neo approaches the door swiftly and unlocks it. It swings open with a rusty creak, only to reveal a tall, bronzed figure neither Neo nor Trinity have seen in some time.

The figure pauses, waiting to see their reaction, then sweeps into their living quarters dramatically. "Surely," he begins, with a glimmer in his eye, "It is not custom to keep guests waiting outside?"

Trinity leaps to her feet, a delighted smile plastered across her face. "Morpheus!" she exclaims, as Neo shakes his hand warmly. "How have you been?"

Morpheus still possesses his strong, imposing demeanour, despite aging. He places his muscled arms behind his back in a respectful gesture, and says, "The question is: where have I been?"

Both Neo and Trinity are well enough acquainted with Morpheus to know that the question is rhetorical, and wait patiently for him to continue, taking their seats again. Trinity gestures for Morpheus to take a seat opposite them, and he obliges.

"I," he begins, "have recently taken the time to travel extensively with The Hermes and its crew, and it has come to my attention that a situation has risen up... regarding the Matrix and Zion. A situation I'm afraid, I may have to ask for your assistance with."

Trinity shifts uncomfortably, while Neo speaks up. "What kind of situation?"

Morpheus averts his eyes for a moment, as if mentally rehearsing what he is about to say, before meeting the gaze of Neo. "Difficulties have arisen, problems regarding the people whom entire fleets have been trying to set free, to unplug. The percentage of people unplugged you see, has dropped dramatically, and disturbingly. There have been incidents where the ones we are trying to set free have been tracked down and killed before we can make contact. The situation is perplexing, and alarming. Although at this time, one is not able to pinpoint the direct cause, there are several theories that have been... circulating."

Morpheus folds his arms against his knees. "One is that new programs have been created, and somehow designed to locate and destroy potential targets, thus eliminating them before they can be unplugged."

"Agent programs, perhaps?" Trinity asks uncertainly. "Upgraded ones?"

"One can only speculate. I was witness to an 'eradication' as such aboard The Hermes, where one target – a young woman – was somehow traced, abducted and murdered moments before preliminary contact could be made by a crew member."

"So what kind of indication was there that this woman was a target?" Neo questions. "This program – or whatever it is – must be monitoring interest shown from outside the Matrix-"

Morpheus cuts him off, shaking his head. "But that is exactly what we cannot comprehend. When this particular woman was eradicated, no contact had been made at all. There was no way a machine or program could have sensed our interest in her, or her potential as a target."

Contemplative silence engulfs the room, as each former member of the Nebuchadnezzar sits in their own personal space, lost in thought. Finally, Morpheus is the one to break the silence.

"This process is rapid and extraordinarily precise, and if we don't get to the source of this phenomena I fear the situation will progress to epidemic proportions. Entire crops of targets could be lost, which in turn will affect the population and growth of Zion. This brings me to my current appeal."

Morpheus stands, his tall, impressive figure reminiscent of the fearless captain Neo and Trinity know so well. "Neo, Trinity, I ask for your assistance in this matter. Already several captains and I have approached the councillors regarding this issue, and all solutions involve investigation within the Matrix itself. I think both of you, in your time, have proved you are the best, most capable and unsurpassed Special Operatives Zion has to offer. Your aid, old friends, would be as appreciated as it is needed."

Neo and Trinity exchange a glance, and finally Trinity is the one to speak. "Morpheus, believe me, Neo and I do understand the weight and the precariousness of the situation. But do you remember why we withdrew out services for seventeen years in the first place?"

Morpheus nods. He was expecting this. "Your daughter has needed you. I understand that. I understand that you chose to devote every waking moment – since the day she was born – to her. And she has been raised quite well, I might add. But Apex is no longer a child, she is a young woman. She no longer needs her parents for such basic essentials as nourishment, supervision, and protection. It is the potential targets, those at risk who are still trapped within the Matrix, who need you now."

Neo savours these words carefully, and looks to Trinity. "He's right, Apex is no longer fully dependent on us. And this program is something we need to help fight. In the long run, this will end up affecting Zion, which includes Apex."

Trinity is still adamant, shaking her head. "No, we can't leave her alone. She's not safe. She's not ready."

Morpheus chooses that time to interject. "I can arrange accommodation for Apex with Zee and her family. Zee has agreed that should the situation occur, she would be willing to provide Apex with lodgings, food, and protection. Zee is a woman of her word, as you know Trinity. Apex will be safe, I assure you."

Trinity looks uncertainly from Morpheus to Neo, the troubled look of a mother unwilling to desert her only child. Finally she sighs, and says, "Alright. We'll need further details of the task sent to us tonight."

Morpheus smiles, steps forward and places a firm hand on Trinity's shoulder. "That will be arranged. Thank you, Trinity, Neo. I will be in contact."

I'm guessing it's about five-thirty by the time I leave the engineering level, clutching random radio parts I've scavenged to my chest. In the past I've learned that in order to not be mobbed by cults of 'the One' fans when I'm alone, I have to sprint home as fast as I can. So I take the elevator directly to the residential complex, then sprint west, up three flights of stairs straight to our door, not stopping for anything or anyone.

Already, there are offerings and gifts surrounding our door like pirate treasure. Candles, hand-carved wooden cases, food offerings, blankets... I step around each offering carefully, scoop a piece of fruit up off one of the baskets left behind, and pound at our door furiously. I hate being locked outside, especially when there are weird stalkers or weeping mothers lurking around. I chew my piece of fruit quickly until finally the door swings open, and I dart inside.

"Hi Mom," I say, my words partially distorted through my full mouth.

Mom watches me from the doorway, looking sternly down at the fruit I'm gnawing on. "Apex, don't eat the food they leave. At least not until I've washed it or cooked it. You don't know where it's been, where it's come from or what they've done to it."

I shrug, swallow the last of my fruit, and head to the living room, dropping the machines parts to the floor. I can feel Mom hovering behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. She looks far away, distant, and... worried. Mom's usually pragmatic and tough as steel, so I ask, "What's wrong?"

She snaps out of it, and turns away. "Nothing. We'll talk about it at dinner."

I straighten up, and watch her leave the room. Talk about what, exactly? Now I'm worried, and my mind guiltily replays over the events of the day, wondering if I've done something wrong. Maybe they want me to stop hanging around with Tech down at the engineering level.

Shrugging it off, I assemble the strewn pieces of equipment on the floor, reaching underneath a chair and pulling out my heavy, tattered toolbox. I settle on the floor among the scattered odds and ends, busily reconstructing this old radio I found. It's only after about ten minutes of work, when I'm well and truly lost in my own world, that I feel another presence lingering in the room.

Dad. He watches over my shoulder as I work, then slowly takes a seat beside me. I look up briefly, but he's not looking at me, he's looking at my hands. I'm not really in the mood for conversation anyway – too occupied with my newly found gizmo – but still, he speaks.

"What're you building there, Apex?" he asks, leaning forward slightly.

I give him a fleeting glance over my shoulder, saying, "Radio. I'm turning it into a two-way. You know, a com-link."

After a moment's pause, Dad slides off the seat and onto the floor beside me. "I thought you'd finished building one of those."

"Yeah I did," I reply distractedly, trying to unscrew a particularly rigid bolt. "But Tech broke it by accident." I use the term 'broke' very loosely. In reality, Tech shattered it to pieces when he fell from an air ventilator with the radio strapped to his arm.

Even with my eyes focused firmly on my task, I can feel my father's frown. "Tech? You still hang around with that kid?" he asks.

Here we go. I sigh, turning my head to meet his gaze. "Yeah. He's my best friend, Dad."

Dad narrows his eyes. "Huh, with a friend like him, who needs enemies?" I don't reply, and turn my angry stare back to the floor while Dad continues. "Tech makes you do stupid things, Apex. The pranks, the daring games... you might think that stuff is funny, but it's reckless and dangerous. And it doesn't help that you two are practically joined at the hip. That kid's going to get you into serious trouble one day. Remember the robot incident?"

I can't believe Dad's still mad about that! Now I'm struggling to keep a straight face. Last year, Tech and I built this 'dancing robot' called Squeak, which rolled around, danced, chirped and convulsed like a maniac. We had fits of hysterical laughter whenever we set Squeak loose, and then one day Tech dared me to set Squeak free in the middle of a councillor meeting.

I never turn down dares.

Mom and Dad were mortified, and Tech nearly gave himself a hernia laughing. Even now, I can feel an irresistible grin spreading across my face at the memory.

"It's not funny Apex. I don't think Councillor Tobin found it amusing when the robot jumped into his lap."

That sets me off. Councillor Tobin's petrified face while Squeak gyrated in his lap has got to be the funniest thing I've ever seen, and I dissolve into a fit of giggles, burying my head in my lap.

"Apex!" I look across at Dad, and although he's trying to be serious, I can see the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Hey, at least the robot lightened him up a little," I remark, and eventually Dad grins.

"What are we going to do with you?" he sighs, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Alright Apex, pack it up. Time for dinner."

Dinner is typical – rice, some sort of meat (tuna tonight), all mixed with vegetables... even though I know it's all genetically modified, I wolf it down, daydreaming as I usually do. Soon fifteen minutes goes by, and I realise Mom and Dad have been completely and utterly silent since they first sat at the table. This, of course, is absolutely unnatural, and finally it clicks within me that something is very, very wrong.

I glance up, narrowing my eyes at them suspiciously. Mom's poking at her food, only taking the occasional mouthful, her mind clearly elsewhere. Not a trace of my sharp, resilient mother here, she just looks like any other weary and anxious woman. Dad's eating okay, but he's totally avoiding my eye. Guilty about something, maybe? I have no way of telling.

They both exchange a glance now and then, a knowing, conspiring look, but neither of them is looking at me. Oh great, what have I done now? What? The atmosphere is thick, tense and it's killing me.

Finally I drop my fork, and lean back in my seat. "Alright, are you guys gonna tell me what's wrong?" I ask, frustrated. "What'd I do? Why are you mad?"

Mom lowers her cutlery to her plate also, giving a sigh. I brace myself for a lecture, when she says, "Apex, we're not mad. But there's something your father and I have to tell you."

Dad stops eating as well, looks at Mom through the corner of his eye, and then takes a slow sip from his drink. Looks like Mom's doing the talking.

"We had a visit from Morpheus, earlier today," she begins, folding her arms on the table.

"Morpheus?" I interject, a grin spreading across my face. I have been in awe of the infamous captain Morpheus since I was little, even though he's always drilled it into my head about how 'important' I am. I can't even remember the last time I saw him. "Aw, why didn't he stay? How's he going? What's he been doing all these weeks?"

Dad silences me with a hand, and continues on from Mom. "Morpheus has been busy lately, and he's brought us some... not-so-good news."

I look from Dad to Mom, trying to guess from their faces what this not-so-good news is. Someone's died! is my first thought. But no, they don't seem upset enough for that. Just worried.

"You see, there's been some problems in the Matrix," Mom explains, briefly looking down at her plate, before meeting my gaze again. "And Morpheus needs your father and I to help out. That's all. We'll be leaving with the crew tomorrow."

Ohhh, is that all? I breathe a quick sigh of relief. Suddenly my frown returns. "But... I'm coming too, right?"

Mom and Dad exchange a look, and my voice becomes more insistent. "Right?"

"Uh... no, no you won't be coming. You'll be staying with Zee and her family until we get back. Zee's agreed to take care of you, and..." Mom trails off, looking at my father again.

My frown deepens, and I look down at my lap. "Oh. Well, how long are you gonna be gone?"

Their uneasy silence answers my question, and I look up, eyes spitting fire. "You don't know?" I exclaim. "What if you're gone for months? What if you don't come back?" This line of interrogation raises a new fear in my mind. "This is something dangerous, isn't it? Why did Morpheus suddenly ask for your help out of the blue? What if something happens?"

"Apex, calm down," Dad says gently, "Morpheus just needs our help, that's all. We won't be gone any longer then we have to be. And you can take care of yourself."

"I know, but..." my voice turns from indignant to pleading. "Can't I come anyway? I can help out with ship repairs and stuff."

My parents shake their heads in unison, and my anxiety grows. I can't explain to them that, even though I've been desperate to prove I can cope on my own for some time now, there is no way I could handle one or both of my parents being killed on some crazy reconnaissance mission led by Morpheus. They're all I have. No brothers, no sisters, no aunts, uncles, cousins. It's always just been Mom, Dad and me, and now the chain is being broken. I suddenly realise I don't want to be the one left behind.

I visualise their ship lost in oblivion, and my voice reaches a desperate crescendo. "I don't want you to go! What if something happens to you?"

Dad leans across the table, quietly touching my hand with his. "It won't. There's nothing to be worried about, ok? We've made the decision to go. You know your Mom and I can handle ourselves."

"You haven't done anything like this since before I was born," I grumble. "Someone else should go. You two have probably lost your touch."

In spite of the mood, Dad gives a quick grin. "Gee, thanks."

I don't reply and pull away from him, stabbing my plate with my fork harder than I should.

"Promise you're coming back."

There's another unnerving silence, and I look at my mother pleadingly. "Mom, promise."

"Of course we 're coming back," Mom finally says, raising an eyebrow.

My face creases, and I fight the onset of tears coming. "You hesitated," I accuse.

"Apex, stop it," Dad says firmly, "You're making a big deal out of nothing."

Maybe I am. God knows I'm prone to exaggeration – and I've inherited my Mom's temper. Now anger consumes me like a raging inferno: I'm angry with my parents for leaving me, especially when there's a chance they won't be coming back; I'm furious at Morpheus for not being able to handle his own damn mission, and for recruiting my parents when he knows I could be left alone in the world; and most of all I'm angry at myself for being so selfish and immature, for yelling at my parents and not being able to help myself. I decide to take a vow of silence, and keep my irate gaze fixed firmly on the cold contents of my plate.

"Apex," Mom says, "Your father and I will be fine. We've made the decision to go, and we'll be back before you know it. And you'll have fun at Zee's without us hanging around. Go pack your things, we'll have to leave early tomorrow."

There's staunch determination in her voice, and the realisation hits me that this is final. The decision is irreversible, and no amount of arguing, screaming and crying is going to change that. I look from Mom to Dad, blink, then push away from the kitchen table and head straight to my room.

It's late now, and I'm lying on my side in bed, my mind a churning vortex of emotion. I still don't see why I can't go with them – if this stupid 'mission' thing is as safe as my parents claim it is, why can't I come too? I'd love to be onboard that ship in broadcast depth, helping out the crew...

I hear my door being slid open, and quickly deepen my breathing to make it look like I'm asleep. Luckily I'm facing the wall, and after a few moments of silence I'm convinced I'm alone, until the sudden sagging of my mattress informs me that somebody has just plonked themselves down next to me.

I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder, but no words are spoken. It's Mom. I'd recognise that musky perfume anywhere. I make an effort to ignore her, keeping my eyes shut and my body turned away, but her presence lingers until I finally respond to it. Stirring, I glance backwards at her, and two piercing blue eyes meet my own.

"Apex?" she asks, as if making sure I'm awake, but I know she's just testing the waters. My response will tell her immediately what kind of mood I'm in.

And I'm still angry. So I don't reply, instead narrowing my eyes at her accusingly.

"Don't give me that look," she says almost scoldingly. "What are you so angry about? I thought you'd jump at the chance of being away from your parents for a while."

She's right, of course – she usually is – but the main reason I'm angry is that she won't tell me what kind of assignment it is that she and Dad are 'helping out' with in the first place. Morpheus just needs a hand with something. Your father and I are just helping him out. It's just a minor task. Blah, blah, blah. Will somebody give me some credit for reading between the lines here?

I know that this is out of the ordinary, and I know there's some kind of danger my parents are getting involved in – and it involves the Matrix, a place that to my knowledge, they haven't stepped foot (or mind) in for some time. I feel like a seven-year-old, whose parents won't bother telling her what's really going on and resort to communicating via sign language and word-mouthing above her head. Being left out in the dark about this mission is unbelievably annoying, and not only that, its worrying me.

"I hate being left out of things," I reply bitterly, growing even angrier because I'm unable to express my own fears in a remotely-intelligent statement.

Mom nods, but reasons, "I know you do, but Apex, there's practical reasons why you can't come with us."

"No, it's not that," I interrupt fiercely. "You and Dad aren't even telling me what's going on! When I ask you if this mission is dangerous, you don't give me a straight answer. When I ask you what the mission's about, you say, 'Classified information'. When I ask when you'll be back, you don't even reply. You won't tell me anything!"

In the silence that follows, Mom shifts closer to me and places a soothing hand on my head. "There's reason for that too."

"But I tell you everything," I protest, even though that is by no means true. "If you'd just tell me straight out what's going on, I wouldn't be so pissed off." Clearly she's not going to cave in to my pushing, so my tone changes. I ask the fearful question that's been hovering in my mind all night, refusing to leave me in peace.

"What if you don't come back?" I try not to let fear tremor in my voice, but it does anyway.

Mom considers this for a minute, and I suddenly realise I've made the mistake of letting my mask drop. Instead of the angry, uncaring teenager throwing a temper tantrum, Mom now sees that I'm simply afraid, and have been using my resentment to hide this.

But it's what she does next that takes me by surprise. She gently wraps her arms around me, cradling me like a doll. I squirm, try to protest, when her lips part and she suddenly sings, "From the moment I wake up... Before I put on my makeup... I say a little prayer for you..."

"Mom!" I exclaim in surprise, half-embarrassed. She laughs warmly, which eventually elicits a reluctant grin from me.

When I was a kid, I used to have nightmares, from which I woke up screaming and crying. Mom would come into my room during those times, sweep me into her arms, and sing me back to sleep. Yes, my tough-as-nails, obstinate, steely mother – singing. Of course, she hasn't done this for years, but it's one of those memories that will never fade, and always put a smile on my face.

I was the only one Mom ever sang to. I doubt she ever sung Dad a goodnight tune. She never even seemed to sing along to traditional tunes like 'Happy Birthday'. But I was different. Whenever I was upset or scared or just lonely, she would sing to me, and me only. It was a Mom-and-me thing, something we bonded over, something that made me feel special.

And now she's doing it again, and despite the peculiarity of it, I find my anger is evaporating, my smile growing and my fears forgotten. I even pitch in with a lyric or two.

"Forever, forever, you'll stay in my heart and I will love you. Forever, and ever, we never will part and I will love you..."

In this instant of time, nothing else matters but my mother gently stroking my hair, the sparks of hope I'm beginning to feel inside, and the warm feeling of being loved and cared for. I stop caring that tomorrow I may never see her or my father again, I stop worrying about what might happen to me while they're gone. I even forget that I'm the daughter of the couple pivotal to the survival and existence the people of Zion, of our world. I forget that one day, I too am destined to continue a legacy that I want little to do with.

With a dopey grin on my face, I murmur the last lines of the song before my eyelids droop. For a moment I catch a glimpse of my father standing at the doorway, watching us. But soon I'm a baby in my mother's arms again, and slip into sleep.

A/N: Not all of this is that sappy! I swear! ;) Let me know what you think.