A/N: Please excuse Mikhail's accent, I did the best I could. So yes, the
'typos' in his dialogue are supposed to be there.
Disclaimer: The Matrix is owned by Warner Bros. and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by myself and Stormhawk. Tib, Zelda, Blackbird_King, and Mikhail are mine. Movies, songs, web-pages, books, etcetera belong to their respective creators unless otherwise mentioned. That being said 'The Nature of Reality' does indeed belong to me.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 4
Tib lingered outside the immense west building of his college for a moment, enjoying, almost marveling at, the warmth in the air. He stood by one of the small, recently-planted trees that no one really expected to get any bigger than it already was, and breathed in the place, the other students on campus seeming more vital decoration than individuals.
"Dahvedt," a voice said behind him, "Dahvedt."
He turned, wondering if the syllables were meant to be his name, the name he barely remembered to respond to anyway. And the dusty haired boy found himself facing a tall young man, with rough features and curly brown hair.
"Yes?" he asked, immediately recognizing the accented stranger from his art course. Tib had heard he'd moved with his parents from Russia.
"You are Dahvedt Mahdeson, Ahm I right?"
The stranger's lips were pursed in a slight frown and Tib nodded cautiously.
"For Professor Rhodes' class, dhe so-called landscape prohject. You did the strange vone, yes? The tangle of wires."
Tib grimaced, that piece of course, the one they'd finished critiquing the other day. The one he's gotten a decent grade on, but almost the whole class hated. The assignment was to do a landscape, any kind of landscape, with only a week until it was due.
"Yeah," Tib told him. "I did that one. I know it sucked."
For the past twelve days, Tib had felt haunted. He looked over his shoulder everywhere he went, expected kidnappers and imagined dark scenarios where he was hunted by people whose faces he could never quite see. He hadn't gotten more than twelve hours of sleep total since last week and he hadn't eaten for three days. He was sure his blood had been completely replaced by caffeine. Not even the net gave him peace anymore, though he was on line almost constantly. The project he had done all in one night, while ignoring GameplayerXX's IMs.
The stranger shook his head vigorously. "I lihked it," he insisted. "You are a computer person, I assume?"
He nodded. "I guess you could say that."
"There are people who live nearly dhere whole lives ohn computers. It is dhere whole vorld. Fascinating."
Tib was growing very, very uncomfortable. This was one of them, wasn't it? One of the people with Morpheus. "That's the idea of the painting," he agreed hesitantly.
"I thought so." He paused. "You used vhat, four colors total?"
"Black, white, blue, and yellow. I mixed my own green," he shuffled his feet thinking of the seven long hours he'd spent with nothing but the painting.
"Impresif."
Then it occurred to him. "You turned in a blank canvas."
The stranger threw his hands up and chucked. "You caught me. I could not think ov anythingk to paint this time. I did manage to con the professor into barely passing me, though."
He stared. "How'd you do that?"
"I told him it was, Antarctica."
"Impressive," Tib said.
"Vhy thank you," he gave a mock bow. "My name is Mikhail, by the vay." he held out his hand.
Tib twitchy and strung out on Pepsi eyed him nervously, and blurted before he could contain himself, "Are you with Morpheus?"
Mikhail's grey eyes flickered strangely, and then he raised his eyebrows confusedly. "The gohd of dreams?" He laughed. "I em afraid I em not much for mythology."
Tib immediately felt his face grow warm. "I'm sorry," he shook his head apologetically, "I've been really tense lately, I haven't been sleeping well."
Mikhail spread his hands, "I forgive you," he said with a wry grin, "Sleep is an unlucky habit for mortals, isn't it?"
"You can say that again. I'm lucky if I manage two hours a night. I just end up waking up."
"Then perheps instead of trying to sleep all at once you should try taking ket-naps," he suggested.
"I'll give it a try. So..." Tib said, rocking uncomfortably from foot to foot. "You liked the painting, huh?"
"Yes, very much. It...spoke to me. You see, I am something of a ...'computer person' myself," Mikhail's cheshire smile had a mocking edge to it, as though laughing at a private joke.
"Really? ... You're not in my class," he said fretfully. Mikhail seemed pleasant enough, if a bit...eccentric.
"Bah, who needs cless? I am not much more programming besides. I em more of a ...user, you see. "
Tib smirked. "By which you certainly couldn't mean hacker, could you?"
"Oh no no no, of course not! Vhat a shameful activety," he grinned flamboyantly, then grew a bit more serious. "But. This 'Morpheus' you mistook me for, I think I may have heard ov him somevhere."
He pause, wondering what Mikhail would say if he told him what was going on. Would he think it was a joke? "He's an international terrorist who I'm waiting for contact from because I think he kidnapped by best friend."
But instead of laughing, he grew yet more serious. "Thet is a serious situation, my friend. Perheps you would be the wiser to let this friend go."
Tib shook his head determinedly. "No. I'm going to find him."
"Thet is an unpleasant prospect. What if he has died, Dahvedt? His troubled spirit may drag you with it for compeny."
"I don't believe in that sort of thing," Tib told him.
"Perheps you should. The world is a stranger place then you know. Take me for example? How do you know I am who I seem to be, eh? You have only my vord to go on. For all you know I could be a goblin from hell come to devour your soul."
"...That's creepy, Mikhail."
He grinned, spreading his hands in assent. "But you see? You see vhat I mean? The vorld is strange Dahvedt, and you are getting yourself into one of the strangest parts. So," he took a small notepad and a pen out of the pocket of his leather jacket and scribbled something on it. He tore off a page and handed it to him. "Call me anytime. I do not sleep either. But," he grinned, and put a hand tragically to his forehead, "I hev kept you far to long. Go, shoo." He waved his hand, turned around and carefully opening the door hurried into the science wing.
"Wait!" Tib said, pulling the door open just as it swung shut. Mikhail had accidentally given him his pen as well. Tib looked down both sides of the long corridor, but the Mikhail was no where to be seen, and the hall wasn't particularly crowded, either.
Tib shook his head at the weird Russian and his disappearance. He walked back out onto the green campus in the warm air and looked at his watch. His eyes widened, the bus, he'd nearly missed it!
He ran all the way to the stop and, by some aberrant stroke of luck, made it just in time.
***
Somewhere else, someone watched. It was Sparks, on the Logos, and he'd been monitoring Tib for just under two weeks.
"Well, that was odd" he muttered to himself as the green scrolled by and Mikhail dropped off his radar. Of course what about this particular candidate wasn't a little off? He barely ate, hadn't been sleeping, and only was poking around in this stuff because he thought Morpheus had 'kidnapped' his best friend. Sparks shook his head. He'd contact the kid tonight, just because he was starting to feel bad about putting him on high twitch alert like that.
Sparks shook his head. "Nutcase," he muttered at the screen.
***
When Tib got home he stopped briefly in the kitchen; he could smell the chicken his mom had in the oven, but that just made him feel sick to his stomach. He pulled a mug from one of the bottom shelves and poured himself some coffee. Normally he didn't bother with the stuff, but he was out of Jolt and he thought that if he drank enough Pepsi to have the same amount of caffeine he'd probably throw up, again. He'd thrown up the toast he'd tried to eat before class.
He picked up the mug (a Mickey Mouse one), hefted his bag so it balanced better on his shoulder and headed off to his room. Opening the door found it the same as it had ever been, a dim, badly ventilated pit, the closest thing Tib had to a physical safe-haven. It didn't look like the place had been searched, at least, not to Tib's eyes, but with all the clutter, who really knew? He shut the door behind him and sat heavily down on his bed, indecision tugging his spirit down like the tattered ends of his jeans, continually trod upon.
He looked over at the glow and hum of his screen saver (anime blondes this week, including Serena, Mihoshi, B-ko, and Fillia) and looked away with a fit of nausea. He couldn't touch it, not right now. He wanted to talk to someone but he couldn't stomach the feeling of being watched, the waiting for whatever was going to happen to spring upon him with the suddenness of a shoot the monkey pop-up.
Tib looked at Lara, expertly affixed to the back to his door with scotch tape. He watched her stand there, confident and proud with a smirk on her lips. Being haunted by a terrorist cult wouldn't phase her, she'd just go about her business, after all, what was the use in worrying until they came after you, weapons blazing? Tib snorted.
"You must think I'm being really stupid right now," he told the poster. "Making myself ill over something like this. But didn't it ever scare you, the first time the bizarre intruded on your world? Did it keep you up at night? Did it stop you from eating? Did you find yourself shaking every time you stood still enough to tell?"
Lara smirked.
"Yeah, I didn't think so. Nothing ever bothers you," he adjusted his glassed and took a deep breath. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I did something to get my mind off the whole idea."
She stood confident and proud.
Tib smiled wanly. "Thanks for your help Ms. Croft."
The emaciated fan boy stood and walked out of the room, leaving Lara Croft to watch the computer monitor scroll blondes until he got back.
***
"Jesus," Sparks rolled his eyes. This was not a good idea, this was so not a good idea. The kid was obviously unstable, and on top of everything now he was listing his other symptoms to a poster, an admittedly hot poster, but still the point remained. And anyway, at the place he was at, if Sparks didn't contact him he go through the rest of his life like this. "Poor kid."
"What was that?" Niobe asked from behind him.
The operator gave a start. "How many times Niobe?" he asked her tiredly, "You always do that!"
"Just tell me Sparks, what's this 'poor kid' about."
Sparks bit his lip. "It's Tib, captain, I don't think he can handle this. We oughta just leave him alone."
"No," the woman said firmly. "Everyone deserves a chance to make the choice for themselves, and we'll give him his. It's been long enough Sparks, I want you to establish first contact as soon as possible."
He nodded. "Of course captain."
to be continued...
Disclaimer: The Matrix is owned by Warner Bros. and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by myself and Stormhawk. Tib, Zelda, Blackbird_King, and Mikhail are mine. Movies, songs, web-pages, books, etcetera belong to their respective creators unless otherwise mentioned. That being said 'The Nature of Reality' does indeed belong to me.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 4
Tib lingered outside the immense west building of his college for a moment, enjoying, almost marveling at, the warmth in the air. He stood by one of the small, recently-planted trees that no one really expected to get any bigger than it already was, and breathed in the place, the other students on campus seeming more vital decoration than individuals.
"Dahvedt," a voice said behind him, "Dahvedt."
He turned, wondering if the syllables were meant to be his name, the name he barely remembered to respond to anyway. And the dusty haired boy found himself facing a tall young man, with rough features and curly brown hair.
"Yes?" he asked, immediately recognizing the accented stranger from his art course. Tib had heard he'd moved with his parents from Russia.
"You are Dahvedt Mahdeson, Ahm I right?"
The stranger's lips were pursed in a slight frown and Tib nodded cautiously.
"For Professor Rhodes' class, dhe so-called landscape prohject. You did the strange vone, yes? The tangle of wires."
Tib grimaced, that piece of course, the one they'd finished critiquing the other day. The one he's gotten a decent grade on, but almost the whole class hated. The assignment was to do a landscape, any kind of landscape, with only a week until it was due.
"Yeah," Tib told him. "I did that one. I know it sucked."
For the past twelve days, Tib had felt haunted. He looked over his shoulder everywhere he went, expected kidnappers and imagined dark scenarios where he was hunted by people whose faces he could never quite see. He hadn't gotten more than twelve hours of sleep total since last week and he hadn't eaten for three days. He was sure his blood had been completely replaced by caffeine. Not even the net gave him peace anymore, though he was on line almost constantly. The project he had done all in one night, while ignoring GameplayerXX's IMs.
The stranger shook his head vigorously. "I lihked it," he insisted. "You are a computer person, I assume?"
He nodded. "I guess you could say that."
"There are people who live nearly dhere whole lives ohn computers. It is dhere whole vorld. Fascinating."
Tib was growing very, very uncomfortable. This was one of them, wasn't it? One of the people with Morpheus. "That's the idea of the painting," he agreed hesitantly.
"I thought so." He paused. "You used vhat, four colors total?"
"Black, white, blue, and yellow. I mixed my own green," he shuffled his feet thinking of the seven long hours he'd spent with nothing but the painting.
"Impresif."
Then it occurred to him. "You turned in a blank canvas."
The stranger threw his hands up and chucked. "You caught me. I could not think ov anythingk to paint this time. I did manage to con the professor into barely passing me, though."
He stared. "How'd you do that?"
"I told him it was, Antarctica."
"Impressive," Tib said.
"Vhy thank you," he gave a mock bow. "My name is Mikhail, by the vay." he held out his hand.
Tib twitchy and strung out on Pepsi eyed him nervously, and blurted before he could contain himself, "Are you with Morpheus?"
Mikhail's grey eyes flickered strangely, and then he raised his eyebrows confusedly. "The gohd of dreams?" He laughed. "I em afraid I em not much for mythology."
Tib immediately felt his face grow warm. "I'm sorry," he shook his head apologetically, "I've been really tense lately, I haven't been sleeping well."
Mikhail spread his hands, "I forgive you," he said with a wry grin, "Sleep is an unlucky habit for mortals, isn't it?"
"You can say that again. I'm lucky if I manage two hours a night. I just end up waking up."
"Then perheps instead of trying to sleep all at once you should try taking ket-naps," he suggested.
"I'll give it a try. So..." Tib said, rocking uncomfortably from foot to foot. "You liked the painting, huh?"
"Yes, very much. It...spoke to me. You see, I am something of a ...'computer person' myself," Mikhail's cheshire smile had a mocking edge to it, as though laughing at a private joke.
"Really? ... You're not in my class," he said fretfully. Mikhail seemed pleasant enough, if a bit...eccentric.
"Bah, who needs cless? I am not much more programming besides. I em more of a ...user, you see. "
Tib smirked. "By which you certainly couldn't mean hacker, could you?"
"Oh no no no, of course not! Vhat a shameful activety," he grinned flamboyantly, then grew a bit more serious. "But. This 'Morpheus' you mistook me for, I think I may have heard ov him somevhere."
He pause, wondering what Mikhail would say if he told him what was going on. Would he think it was a joke? "He's an international terrorist who I'm waiting for contact from because I think he kidnapped by best friend."
But instead of laughing, he grew yet more serious. "Thet is a serious situation, my friend. Perheps you would be the wiser to let this friend go."
Tib shook his head determinedly. "No. I'm going to find him."
"Thet is an unpleasant prospect. What if he has died, Dahvedt? His troubled spirit may drag you with it for compeny."
"I don't believe in that sort of thing," Tib told him.
"Perheps you should. The world is a stranger place then you know. Take me for example? How do you know I am who I seem to be, eh? You have only my vord to go on. For all you know I could be a goblin from hell come to devour your soul."
"...That's creepy, Mikhail."
He grinned, spreading his hands in assent. "But you see? You see vhat I mean? The vorld is strange Dahvedt, and you are getting yourself into one of the strangest parts. So," he took a small notepad and a pen out of the pocket of his leather jacket and scribbled something on it. He tore off a page and handed it to him. "Call me anytime. I do not sleep either. But," he grinned, and put a hand tragically to his forehead, "I hev kept you far to long. Go, shoo." He waved his hand, turned around and carefully opening the door hurried into the science wing.
"Wait!" Tib said, pulling the door open just as it swung shut. Mikhail had accidentally given him his pen as well. Tib looked down both sides of the long corridor, but the Mikhail was no where to be seen, and the hall wasn't particularly crowded, either.
Tib shook his head at the weird Russian and his disappearance. He walked back out onto the green campus in the warm air and looked at his watch. His eyes widened, the bus, he'd nearly missed it!
He ran all the way to the stop and, by some aberrant stroke of luck, made it just in time.
***
Somewhere else, someone watched. It was Sparks, on the Logos, and he'd been monitoring Tib for just under two weeks.
"Well, that was odd" he muttered to himself as the green scrolled by and Mikhail dropped off his radar. Of course what about this particular candidate wasn't a little off? He barely ate, hadn't been sleeping, and only was poking around in this stuff because he thought Morpheus had 'kidnapped' his best friend. Sparks shook his head. He'd contact the kid tonight, just because he was starting to feel bad about putting him on high twitch alert like that.
Sparks shook his head. "Nutcase," he muttered at the screen.
***
When Tib got home he stopped briefly in the kitchen; he could smell the chicken his mom had in the oven, but that just made him feel sick to his stomach. He pulled a mug from one of the bottom shelves and poured himself some coffee. Normally he didn't bother with the stuff, but he was out of Jolt and he thought that if he drank enough Pepsi to have the same amount of caffeine he'd probably throw up, again. He'd thrown up the toast he'd tried to eat before class.
He picked up the mug (a Mickey Mouse one), hefted his bag so it balanced better on his shoulder and headed off to his room. Opening the door found it the same as it had ever been, a dim, badly ventilated pit, the closest thing Tib had to a physical safe-haven. It didn't look like the place had been searched, at least, not to Tib's eyes, but with all the clutter, who really knew? He shut the door behind him and sat heavily down on his bed, indecision tugging his spirit down like the tattered ends of his jeans, continually trod upon.
He looked over at the glow and hum of his screen saver (anime blondes this week, including Serena, Mihoshi, B-ko, and Fillia) and looked away with a fit of nausea. He couldn't touch it, not right now. He wanted to talk to someone but he couldn't stomach the feeling of being watched, the waiting for whatever was going to happen to spring upon him with the suddenness of a shoot the monkey pop-up.
Tib looked at Lara, expertly affixed to the back to his door with scotch tape. He watched her stand there, confident and proud with a smirk on her lips. Being haunted by a terrorist cult wouldn't phase her, she'd just go about her business, after all, what was the use in worrying until they came after you, weapons blazing? Tib snorted.
"You must think I'm being really stupid right now," he told the poster. "Making myself ill over something like this. But didn't it ever scare you, the first time the bizarre intruded on your world? Did it keep you up at night? Did it stop you from eating? Did you find yourself shaking every time you stood still enough to tell?"
Lara smirked.
"Yeah, I didn't think so. Nothing ever bothers you," he adjusted his glassed and took a deep breath. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I did something to get my mind off the whole idea."
She stood confident and proud.
Tib smiled wanly. "Thanks for your help Ms. Croft."
The emaciated fan boy stood and walked out of the room, leaving Lara Croft to watch the computer monitor scroll blondes until he got back.
***
"Jesus," Sparks rolled his eyes. This was not a good idea, this was so not a good idea. The kid was obviously unstable, and on top of everything now he was listing his other symptoms to a poster, an admittedly hot poster, but still the point remained. And anyway, at the place he was at, if Sparks didn't contact him he go through the rest of his life like this. "Poor kid."
"What was that?" Niobe asked from behind him.
The operator gave a start. "How many times Niobe?" he asked her tiredly, "You always do that!"
"Just tell me Sparks, what's this 'poor kid' about."
Sparks bit his lip. "It's Tib, captain, I don't think he can handle this. We oughta just leave him alone."
"No," the woman said firmly. "Everyone deserves a chance to make the choice for themselves, and we'll give him his. It's been long enough Sparks, I want you to establish first contact as soon as possible."
He nodded. "Of course captain."
to be continued...
