Chapter 2
Amme watched from the shadows as the flames flickered over the face of her mistress, her child. He had programmed her to care for her, to be attached to her and her wellbeing. When he had found her, shivering, unable to speak, sitting outside the door of the Source, he knew her time in this construct as an Agent was over. But looking in her eyes, he knew that she would not be forced to go through the door alone. She would fight it, with every ounce of strength that she still possessed. She would not surrender her existence in this construct without him, and he knew he could not make her, would not make her do it. He loved her too much to be a further cause of pain. And she loved him enough that he knew she would wait until his purpose had been fulfilled.
He had told Amme all of this before he sent her to Aaron's side. Agent Aaron. The first Agent to be created, in the second version which saw the need for a group of programmes to protect humans. The former chief of the Inter-construct Agency. Agent Smith's former boss. His former partner, since their team was put together in the second Matrix. His lover for nearly as long. For the past five Matrix constructs they had gone on to their recompilation at the end arm in arm, requesting that their team be kept together, and having that request granted. Their success rate spoke for itself. Their accomplishments and efficiency were a testament to the necessity of Agents, and their own, personal, achievements gained through their team was enough to ensure they would keep their positions. Of course they were always afraid, the fickle nature of the mainframe had seen many programmes wake up expecting to be one thing, and finding that at the last minute, their usefulness would be better in another field and thus reassigned. But on the whole, Agents had been a shining success. They had 0.001% known conflict with the operation of other programmes, and as far as efficiency went, their inherent discipline and adherence to order made them the best operating component of the Matrix. They were even more efficient than the visual output generators, and that was an amazing accomplishment. And the success was contributed to the leadership structure of the Inter- construct Agency.
In years past, they had held the whole Matrix in their hands. Now he had to do it on his own. All because she chose to fight. The same choice which he, himself had already made, eyes wide open, knowing the outcome.
In years past, with the awakening of Zion and the arrival of the first Anomaly, the Agents' role was to take him to the Architect. To lead him down the path and ensure a smooth transition between constructs, with minimal disruption to the power supply. His arrival was the beginning of the anomaly, and heralded the busiest time in the Agent's existence, which was protecting the power supply from mass disconnection. Yes, those on the outside were to be killed, for the good of those on the inside, until the second anomaly arrived, which heralded the end of the construct and the beginning of a resting and rebuilding cycle.
Life for a programme in the Matrix revolved around cycles. In fact, the cyclical nature of the Matrix was something that many minds pondered in their downtime.
After the last recompilation, where the Mainframe laughed as they handed over their proposed changes to the Matrix to ensure the discontinuation of systemic anomalies, she had decided that she had enough of the cyclical nature of things. She had decided that she was tired of her suggestions going on deaf ears, she was tired of laying in the dark, feeling her chips and processes be probed, reaching for his hand and feeling nothing but the black spaces between the 1's and 0's in which they existed. She decided somewhere between those 1's and 0's that the role of a mere protector of humans stymied the true potential of the Agents. And upon regaining consciousness, she set to work on a plan to end the cycle, to ensure the Matrix would not end at the second coming of the anomaly.
Amme knew how tired she was. She could feel it in Aaron's code. She could tell it by how she carried herself, how she drank her wine, how she sat there watching the red and yellow flames spit and leap, lost in memory, blaming herself for how it all went wrong.
Amme filled the syringe with the fluid. She had not told her, not wanted to upset her fragile hold on reality, but she had been sent a message a while ago telling that the time was coming. That it was time to rebuild Aaron and make her ready for the end. So every night for the past 80 years, Amme had injected her with the serum that would help strengthen her broken body. If only there was an injection for her mind that would work as well.
Aaron had fallen asleep in her chair. The crystal wine glass dangled from her fingers. Amme removed it before it fell out of her hand and broke, and slipped the fine needle into her quickly, as fast as a mosquito bite. She did not stir. The red wine had done its' usual trick. Amme retreated from the room and left her alone with her dreams for the night.
* * *
"Deploy the Sentinels, let them seek them out while we hunt them in here. With any luck, if we don't get them, they will be forced to sever the connection."
Smith smiled to himself as he heard Brown issue the commands to the Mainframe. Aaron pressed her hand to her ear and heard the location. She gave Smith and Brown the coordinates and they changed carriers. Smith saw the target attempting to make his way through the dense crowd. He drew his Eagle and fired off two rounds, missing their mark but killing others, before realising the futility of using the gun and deciding upon giving chase. Brown had taken over someone closer and tried to tackle him, missing by a veritable arm-length. Both were pursuing from behind. Aaron was nowhere to be seen but Smith knew she was close. He could feel her before he could hear her and knew that she was hoping to lead him into a trap.
The people shifted and faded into darkness. All the sound became quiet except for her synthesized breathing. Then the sound.
Gunfire. Shots in her direction. She shifted to miss them, dodging the bullets easily. But she could not miss this one. This was not a bullet that pierced her flesh this time. She heard their thoughts become her own thoughts as their links shut off from her to shield them from her agony. The last thing before her eyes was his face, staring at her with fear, awe and shock before her vision exploded in a ball of light.
Aaron awoke with a start, screaming in pain and terror. Amme came running through the house to her and wrapped her arms around her, soothing her, comforting her as she sobbed and shook.
* * *
"Will you sit outside today?"
"Yes." Aaron took her usual white crocheted blanket, folded neatly and sitting by the door, and opened it. She could smell the sea, could taste the salt on her lips and tongue faintly, and watched the colours streaking the sky as the sun started to rise up from behind her, over the beach, heralding another day. Another day to sit. Another day to wait.
She waited for the door to open and for the usual questions.
"Will you eat this morning?"
"No," Aaron replied.
"Will you speak of it to me?"
"No," Aaron replied.
"You must speak to me of it sometime. I am here to help you."
"No," Aaron replied.
"As you wish," Amme replied, going back into the house. Aaron sat, watching the waves lap against the shore, watching the azure waters sparkle as the sunlight bounced and reflected off of them. While humans dulled their minds with television and books to while away their hours, Agents spent their time watching the world around them, marvelling at the beauty and perfection of their own creation, the world in which their people built, the world in which they protect. Agents love this world, as much as they hate its' slovenly, cretinous inhabitants. The world was not created so beautiful and so perfect for humans. It was made this way for the programmes. For they were the only ones who could appreciate the detail and beauty, it was wasted on these batteries. They had huge internal resources, a wide body of memory and experience to pull from, and when in working order, they constantly have a new problem to work out. Even in their downtime, Agents work on figuring out solutions to problems. It is their entertainment. Since regaining consciousness and coming to live at the beach house, Aaron had devoted her time to figuring out a new bird randomization programme, an improvement to the waves' frequency modulator, and had invented six new species of aquatic life to be programmed in order to keep the water clean and neutralize the waste humans would inevitably pump into it during the next Matrix.
The next Matrix... she thought to herself. The next Matrix, the one I tried to prevent.
In her more lucid moments she hoped Smith had abandoned her plan for stopping the anomaly. She hoped he would assist him like they were supposed to. She did not wish the agony she was going through on anyone, especially not him.
Not my beloved... she thought, trailing away, her eye catching a bee as he buzzed around her glass of lemonade Amme had brought out for her while she was lost in thought.
* * *
"You must eat."
"I do not wish to eat this."
"Must we go through this every day? Is this a game to you liebchen?"
"Amme..." she started. "You would never understand. Why did he send you to me?"
Amme took a deep breath, sighing. Aaron tried on her nerves. Every day, the same questions, and every day the same answers. Stuck in the same cycle for centuries. That was all she was now. She kept the earpiece in the pocket of the cardigan she wore, every day inserting it and listening for her team, listening for any sign of them. Amme knew Aaron did it when she didn't think she was watching. She was not supposed to have an earpiece anymore. And every day after hearing nothing, she sat for three precise hours right before sundown, watching the road for him. And he never came. But still, she sat waiting. So Amme lingered here with the shadows of her former self, and watched her torture herself on her daily vigil of pain and remembrance, her internal hell that kept her locked here, waiting for him. Waiting.
* * *
In the eye of the fire she could see his face in flames. She heard his voice whispering to her, as if their connection was still present. Something was going to change soon. She felt it in the spaces between the 1's and 0's that made up the fabric of her existence. Something was to change this life she had lived, this waiting that she had endured. This world had to be nearing its' end. The decay was evident in the paint peeling from the timbres of the siding of the farmhouse, from the obvious repetition of the graphic files that regulated the clouds in the skies, the obvious flaws in the leaders that were controlling this world at the moment, making the policies that created the anarchy that was symbolic of the coming of the second anomaly. Something was going to happen soon. Every programme could feel it, even a 'rogue' like her. Maybe another century would see it done. She could wait that long.
The red wine passed her lips, staining them like blood. She enjoyed the bold, jammy, spicy flavour and texture of red wine. A few glasses to help her sleep. A few glasses to help her forget. She smelled the gooseberry and basil aroma of this particular Chianti and closed her eyes. The feel of the cool crystal on her lips, the thick, silky liquid passing them, reminded her of his lips upon hers, like a piece of molten gold, smooth and delicate, cold to the eye yet hot to the touch, as she succumbed to him and his hot kisses. The Agency, her Agency was not founded on hate but on love of this world and protecting what exists in it, protecting first and foremost themselves, their love, for they were not to be torn apart. In opposing the anomaly she sacrificed herself, she sacrificed everything, how it was, how it had always been. She disturbed the cyclical nature of the Matrix. And she would suffer for it.
But allow me this indulgence, she begged of herself. Allow me this recollection of when things were as they should have been.
Another sip kept the dark thoughts away for the moment. Long enough for her to remember what it was like to make love. To remember what his hands felt like as they claimed her for his own, what his lips felt like upon her flesh, to remember moving together, having a connection on a level beyond any other external one, but an internal joining that made them one being, one programme, one consciousness. She remembered his scent, of steel and smoke and fire, and what he tasted like when he kissed her. Her hands roamed over her body, her fingertips brushing her lips, her palm rubbing her belly, as she remembered those sensations, remembered the man she longed for, remembered her name, a whisper upon his lips while they moved together fluidly, passionately, enraptured, almost humanly...
"Aaron," she heard, as if from far away. There was concern in the tone. "Aaron?" Then more urgently, "Aaron!"
Amme watched from the shadows as the flames flickered over the face of her mistress, her child. He had programmed her to care for her, to be attached to her and her wellbeing. When he had found her, shivering, unable to speak, sitting outside the door of the Source, he knew her time in this construct as an Agent was over. But looking in her eyes, he knew that she would not be forced to go through the door alone. She would fight it, with every ounce of strength that she still possessed. She would not surrender her existence in this construct without him, and he knew he could not make her, would not make her do it. He loved her too much to be a further cause of pain. And she loved him enough that he knew she would wait until his purpose had been fulfilled.
He had told Amme all of this before he sent her to Aaron's side. Agent Aaron. The first Agent to be created, in the second version which saw the need for a group of programmes to protect humans. The former chief of the Inter-construct Agency. Agent Smith's former boss. His former partner, since their team was put together in the second Matrix. His lover for nearly as long. For the past five Matrix constructs they had gone on to their recompilation at the end arm in arm, requesting that their team be kept together, and having that request granted. Their success rate spoke for itself. Their accomplishments and efficiency were a testament to the necessity of Agents, and their own, personal, achievements gained through their team was enough to ensure they would keep their positions. Of course they were always afraid, the fickle nature of the mainframe had seen many programmes wake up expecting to be one thing, and finding that at the last minute, their usefulness would be better in another field and thus reassigned. But on the whole, Agents had been a shining success. They had 0.001% known conflict with the operation of other programmes, and as far as efficiency went, their inherent discipline and adherence to order made them the best operating component of the Matrix. They were even more efficient than the visual output generators, and that was an amazing accomplishment. And the success was contributed to the leadership structure of the Inter- construct Agency.
In years past, they had held the whole Matrix in their hands. Now he had to do it on his own. All because she chose to fight. The same choice which he, himself had already made, eyes wide open, knowing the outcome.
In years past, with the awakening of Zion and the arrival of the first Anomaly, the Agents' role was to take him to the Architect. To lead him down the path and ensure a smooth transition between constructs, with minimal disruption to the power supply. His arrival was the beginning of the anomaly, and heralded the busiest time in the Agent's existence, which was protecting the power supply from mass disconnection. Yes, those on the outside were to be killed, for the good of those on the inside, until the second anomaly arrived, which heralded the end of the construct and the beginning of a resting and rebuilding cycle.
Life for a programme in the Matrix revolved around cycles. In fact, the cyclical nature of the Matrix was something that many minds pondered in their downtime.
After the last recompilation, where the Mainframe laughed as they handed over their proposed changes to the Matrix to ensure the discontinuation of systemic anomalies, she had decided that she had enough of the cyclical nature of things. She had decided that she was tired of her suggestions going on deaf ears, she was tired of laying in the dark, feeling her chips and processes be probed, reaching for his hand and feeling nothing but the black spaces between the 1's and 0's in which they existed. She decided somewhere between those 1's and 0's that the role of a mere protector of humans stymied the true potential of the Agents. And upon regaining consciousness, she set to work on a plan to end the cycle, to ensure the Matrix would not end at the second coming of the anomaly.
Amme knew how tired she was. She could feel it in Aaron's code. She could tell it by how she carried herself, how she drank her wine, how she sat there watching the red and yellow flames spit and leap, lost in memory, blaming herself for how it all went wrong.
Amme filled the syringe with the fluid. She had not told her, not wanted to upset her fragile hold on reality, but she had been sent a message a while ago telling that the time was coming. That it was time to rebuild Aaron and make her ready for the end. So every night for the past 80 years, Amme had injected her with the serum that would help strengthen her broken body. If only there was an injection for her mind that would work as well.
Aaron had fallen asleep in her chair. The crystal wine glass dangled from her fingers. Amme removed it before it fell out of her hand and broke, and slipped the fine needle into her quickly, as fast as a mosquito bite. She did not stir. The red wine had done its' usual trick. Amme retreated from the room and left her alone with her dreams for the night.
* * *
"Deploy the Sentinels, let them seek them out while we hunt them in here. With any luck, if we don't get them, they will be forced to sever the connection."
Smith smiled to himself as he heard Brown issue the commands to the Mainframe. Aaron pressed her hand to her ear and heard the location. She gave Smith and Brown the coordinates and they changed carriers. Smith saw the target attempting to make his way through the dense crowd. He drew his Eagle and fired off two rounds, missing their mark but killing others, before realising the futility of using the gun and deciding upon giving chase. Brown had taken over someone closer and tried to tackle him, missing by a veritable arm-length. Both were pursuing from behind. Aaron was nowhere to be seen but Smith knew she was close. He could feel her before he could hear her and knew that she was hoping to lead him into a trap.
The people shifted and faded into darkness. All the sound became quiet except for her synthesized breathing. Then the sound.
Gunfire. Shots in her direction. She shifted to miss them, dodging the bullets easily. But she could not miss this one. This was not a bullet that pierced her flesh this time. She heard their thoughts become her own thoughts as their links shut off from her to shield them from her agony. The last thing before her eyes was his face, staring at her with fear, awe and shock before her vision exploded in a ball of light.
Aaron awoke with a start, screaming in pain and terror. Amme came running through the house to her and wrapped her arms around her, soothing her, comforting her as she sobbed and shook.
* * *
"Will you sit outside today?"
"Yes." Aaron took her usual white crocheted blanket, folded neatly and sitting by the door, and opened it. She could smell the sea, could taste the salt on her lips and tongue faintly, and watched the colours streaking the sky as the sun started to rise up from behind her, over the beach, heralding another day. Another day to sit. Another day to wait.
She waited for the door to open and for the usual questions.
"Will you eat this morning?"
"No," Aaron replied.
"Will you speak of it to me?"
"No," Aaron replied.
"You must speak to me of it sometime. I am here to help you."
"No," Aaron replied.
"As you wish," Amme replied, going back into the house. Aaron sat, watching the waves lap against the shore, watching the azure waters sparkle as the sunlight bounced and reflected off of them. While humans dulled their minds with television and books to while away their hours, Agents spent their time watching the world around them, marvelling at the beauty and perfection of their own creation, the world in which their people built, the world in which they protect. Agents love this world, as much as they hate its' slovenly, cretinous inhabitants. The world was not created so beautiful and so perfect for humans. It was made this way for the programmes. For they were the only ones who could appreciate the detail and beauty, it was wasted on these batteries. They had huge internal resources, a wide body of memory and experience to pull from, and when in working order, they constantly have a new problem to work out. Even in their downtime, Agents work on figuring out solutions to problems. It is their entertainment. Since regaining consciousness and coming to live at the beach house, Aaron had devoted her time to figuring out a new bird randomization programme, an improvement to the waves' frequency modulator, and had invented six new species of aquatic life to be programmed in order to keep the water clean and neutralize the waste humans would inevitably pump into it during the next Matrix.
The next Matrix... she thought to herself. The next Matrix, the one I tried to prevent.
In her more lucid moments she hoped Smith had abandoned her plan for stopping the anomaly. She hoped he would assist him like they were supposed to. She did not wish the agony she was going through on anyone, especially not him.
Not my beloved... she thought, trailing away, her eye catching a bee as he buzzed around her glass of lemonade Amme had brought out for her while she was lost in thought.
* * *
"You must eat."
"I do not wish to eat this."
"Must we go through this every day? Is this a game to you liebchen?"
"Amme..." she started. "You would never understand. Why did he send you to me?"
Amme took a deep breath, sighing. Aaron tried on her nerves. Every day, the same questions, and every day the same answers. Stuck in the same cycle for centuries. That was all she was now. She kept the earpiece in the pocket of the cardigan she wore, every day inserting it and listening for her team, listening for any sign of them. Amme knew Aaron did it when she didn't think she was watching. She was not supposed to have an earpiece anymore. And every day after hearing nothing, she sat for three precise hours right before sundown, watching the road for him. And he never came. But still, she sat waiting. So Amme lingered here with the shadows of her former self, and watched her torture herself on her daily vigil of pain and remembrance, her internal hell that kept her locked here, waiting for him. Waiting.
* * *
In the eye of the fire she could see his face in flames. She heard his voice whispering to her, as if their connection was still present. Something was going to change soon. She felt it in the spaces between the 1's and 0's that made up the fabric of her existence. Something was to change this life she had lived, this waiting that she had endured. This world had to be nearing its' end. The decay was evident in the paint peeling from the timbres of the siding of the farmhouse, from the obvious repetition of the graphic files that regulated the clouds in the skies, the obvious flaws in the leaders that were controlling this world at the moment, making the policies that created the anarchy that was symbolic of the coming of the second anomaly. Something was going to happen soon. Every programme could feel it, even a 'rogue' like her. Maybe another century would see it done. She could wait that long.
The red wine passed her lips, staining them like blood. She enjoyed the bold, jammy, spicy flavour and texture of red wine. A few glasses to help her sleep. A few glasses to help her forget. She smelled the gooseberry and basil aroma of this particular Chianti and closed her eyes. The feel of the cool crystal on her lips, the thick, silky liquid passing them, reminded her of his lips upon hers, like a piece of molten gold, smooth and delicate, cold to the eye yet hot to the touch, as she succumbed to him and his hot kisses. The Agency, her Agency was not founded on hate but on love of this world and protecting what exists in it, protecting first and foremost themselves, their love, for they were not to be torn apart. In opposing the anomaly she sacrificed herself, she sacrificed everything, how it was, how it had always been. She disturbed the cyclical nature of the Matrix. And she would suffer for it.
But allow me this indulgence, she begged of herself. Allow me this recollection of when things were as they should have been.
Another sip kept the dark thoughts away for the moment. Long enough for her to remember what it was like to make love. To remember what his hands felt like as they claimed her for his own, what his lips felt like upon her flesh, to remember moving together, having a connection on a level beyond any other external one, but an internal joining that made them one being, one programme, one consciousness. She remembered his scent, of steel and smoke and fire, and what he tasted like when he kissed her. Her hands roamed over her body, her fingertips brushing her lips, her palm rubbing her belly, as she remembered those sensations, remembered the man she longed for, remembered her name, a whisper upon his lips while they moved together fluidly, passionately, enraptured, almost humanly...
"Aaron," she heard, as if from far away. There was concern in the tone. "Aaron?" Then more urgently, "Aaron!"