At school, I had a hard time concentrating. All my thoughts were centred around the story Smith had told me. Should I believe him? Could I? Was I going crazy?

How did I know this all wasn't a dream?

Hadn't I known it, I wondered, that this all wasn't real? I had had those feelings often enough. Smith had called me special (at that thought I pushed out my chest automatically and sat up very straight), so I might be able to feel something.

But what was the sense behind all that? Why had Smith picked just me? How special was I? And what did he mean by it?

What are you up to, Agent Smith?

My English teacher was still talking about differences between British and American schools, a subject which didn't quite make me shiver with excitement. I gave my textbook a weary glance, then took out my exercise book and started scribbling.

We are lost souls caught in a Mind Field
The World has ended long ago
Our sleep is deep, deep as the ocean
If we are dreaming, how should we know?

Well, at least it rhymed. But I could do better than that. A rhyme for "field" might not be a bad idea. Shield? Yield? Sealed? I marked the third line with an X to remind myself that it had to be changed, then put the pen down and had a look at my watch. The time was going at such a slow pace that it surprised me it wasn't going backwards.

Suppressing a yawn, I wrote ARAGORN RULEZ across my desk in big red letters, then started a pencil drawing of Darth Vader's TIE Advanced X-1 on the last page of my text book. After surveying it critically and being more or less satisfied with my work, I flicked a small paper ball at my mate Aurel's head. Of course he wanted revenge for that, and we had a nice little battle and soon after a nice little essay for punishment, which led me to the conclusion that I better had continue drawing.

The lessons went by terribly slowly, and Aragorn got concurrence from Wolverine and the Green Goblin before the time was up. When finally the bell rang, I hurriedly stuffed my things into my bag, threw it over my shoulder and hastened out, with a short "bye" in Aurel's direction.

Smith was waiting for me at the gate, among several mothers and fathers. This made me smile, imagining he really were my father. He certainly wouldn't mind if I spent all my brain cells on books and films and stories I was making up instead of working hard for schools and if I didn't practise on my violin too diligently. My own father could be a real nuisance sometimes as far as this was concerned. There were occasions when I even found myself hating him.

But then again, I wouldn't just send my father away and let myself be adopted by Smith. Maybe my father deserved quite a lot of not being nice and obedient, but certainly not being sent away. After all, he was my father. And one could have a good time with him, too.

Moreover, how should I know if Smith really was such a great father?

"Hello, Ian. Did you have a nice day?"

"Nope, it sucked. Hi, Smith."

My parents would have told me off for language immediately, plus remind me that it was all my fault if my day wasn't interesting, that it might improve things a lot if I paid attention. Smith did none of that. He simply said: "Tell me."

I shrugged. It hadn't been that bad after all when I considered it, only that I was so excited about seeing Smith again that I really couldn't wait. "It was just boring. And guess what? I got some extra work for being naughty."

My parents would have exploded. But Smith's expression didn't change at all. "Explain what you mean by being naughty."

"Chucked a paper ball at a buddy."

"I see. Did you at least hit him?"

Positively surprised at his reaction, I grinned up at him. "You bet I did. On the ear."

"Well done", he remarked, though there might have been a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice. "I assume you are heading straight for home now, or aren't you?"

"Yeah, more or less." As a matter of fact, I usually did, but I didn't want to appear as a good boy.

From the throngs of students, a dark-haired eleven-year-old with a mouthful of braces waved at me, beaming. "Bye, Joaquin!"

"See ya tomorrow ", I answered, and, to Smith: "That's my friend Flo." As the Agent raised his eyebrows, I explained: "That's short for Florean. He's on the hockey team with me."

"Are you going anywhere?" he asked as we crossed the street.

"What? Oh yeah, I think I'll have some sweets", I came up with quickly, seeing the small candy bar ahead, already fumbling the pockets of my jeans for coins.

Again I got raised eyebrows. "Before lunch?"

I grinned. "My mother needn't know."

"Do all human children act like that?"

I shrugged. "I guess so." Pushing quite an amount of change over the counter, I picked all my favourite kinds of candy. Normally I didn't spend my money on food, because you eat it and then it's not there anymore, but today I felt like being a very bad boy. Smith was watching me quietly, waiting patiently for me to walk on.

"Right", I said when again trotting beside him, feeling very generous and acting the big spender. "Would you like to have a sour drop? Or how about a toffee? Or a jelly bean in chocolate?"

"No, thank you", he answered politely. "I don't eat."

"No?"

"My organism does not need food necessarily."

Stuffing one of my special jelly beans from the little paper bag into my mouth, I tried to imagine what this must be like and found myself somewhat irritated. "Don't you drink, too?"

"No."

"Bloody hell! Do you ever have to go to the bathroom?"

"I have none of your human problems, Ian."

"That's… queer."

"No, it's not. It is a higher standard of efficiency."

"Come on", I said, laughing as most do when they're unable to cope with some fact. "You're just afraid your teeth might fall out. Or you have a weak stomach. You dread being sick."

"Stop being silly, Ian."

But I was very much in teasing mood at the moment, and there was a lot I could not quite cope with. "You're afraid your mom will find out. No, you're afraid the machines might, and then they'll have to program a dentist for you because your teeth can't stand a bit of toffee."

"Ian", Smith rumbled gently. "You are being extremely silly."

"Hey, I know it! You're afraid of the big bad dentist!"

For a moment Smith didn't say anything, then he seemed to be coming to a decision. "I'm having none of this, Ian. Give me that toffee. Right now."

Unable to hide my triumphant grin, I passed him one of the small brown sweets and watched with delight as he put it in his mouth. "Like it?"

He was sucking the toffee thoughtfully, as if analysing it. When I at last believed that there wouldn't be any answer, he finally said: "I have to admit that it doesn't taste bad."

"Want some more?" I asked, still with a big grin on my face.

"You mentioned sour drops…"

Very content with myself, I offered him the whole bag. "Serve yourself."

He didn't just reach into it, but took it from me and had a curious look inside. "Something about sweets must have a strong effect on humans", he stated. "It might be the sugar."

"Yeah", I said, "it just might." And it might have an effect on Agents as well, I mentally added.

Smith nodded at a low garden wall alongside the sidewalk. "Why don't we take a little break here?"

"Right." We sat down together, and I deposited my schoolbag beside me. The sun was shining down on us warmly, the sky was blue and it was a lovely day altogether – just slightly spoiled by the prospect of the parental thunderstorm awaiting me when I came home late.

At my side, Smith was busy with sampling a sour drop. I waited for him to say something, but when he didn't I gave conversation a try myself. "Smith? May I ask you something?"

"Yes, Ian?" he asked back, fishing one of my coke fizzers from the bag.

"What d'you need that cable thingy for?"

"What cable thingy?" he wanted to know, pronouncing the expression I had used with something like cultivated contempt.

"That wossname, wire earphone thingy or however you call it."

"Oh, you mean that", he said, reaching into my bag of sweets yet again. "It connects me with the Mainframe, and via the Mainframe with other agents."

"What's the Mainframe?"

"To you, a great big computer." And with this he took a bite of a chocolate banana.

"Hey!" I protested. "They're my favourites."

"Mine too, until now. Let's see… that frog-shaped sweet looks interesting. Feels like rubber." After trying it, he added: "Tastes like rubber, too. Like rubber with sugar on it."

"Will you stop munching up all my sweets!" I protested. "You're acting very human, you know."

That did the trick. Immediately the Agent returned the bag to me. "I will analyse these samples and send them back to the Mainframe."

"Ha ha ha, you're just another saccharose addict", I teased him.

Smith gave me what you could call an elegant kind of dirty look. "I really wonder why I put up with you", he sighed.

"You mentioned I'm special."

"I did."

"What's so special about me, then?" I asked, stuffing a jelly bean into my mouth with some satisfaction.

"There is a legend told among the free humans of Zion, a legend which has reached the knowledge of the machines. When the Matrix was created, there was a man who had the power to alter it with his mind. And when he died, it was believed among mankind that he would return. That he would be reborn."

Licking my sticky fingers, I gaped at him. Tell me I am the Chosen One, I begged him mentally. Please. Tell me that I'm special. That I'm chosen by Fate.

"I know, Ian, this sounds just like a silly belief of your kind, but we found that it was true. He returned. In fact, he returned more than one time. There have been six of them now, altogether. Each of them was expected to free the human race and defeat the machines forever. But they all failed. And each time one of them failed, the Matrix was reset from the start." He paused and looked at me. "You know what I'm going to tell you, Ian, don't you? Your facial expressions are so easy to read."

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding wildly, my brain transcending the border to the world of myth. "That I am the seventh Chosen One, and that you think I will succeed where the others failed. And therefore, that you will fight me."

To this Smith reacted most unexpectedly: he actually laughed. "You amuse me, Ian. You greatly amuse me. It is said that there is nothing, in a special small way, exceeding the brilliance of a child's mind. And this way is the one of fantasy. Of imagination. No, my dear boy, I must disappoint you: There will be no fighting."

I couldn't quite suppress a sigh of relief.

"And about the rest of your musings… There is no proof yet if you are who you obviously would like to be."

Now I sagged with disappointment. "But you think it could be me, don't you?" I tried.

Smith sighed. "The fact are these: It is about the right time, you have about the right age and you have about the right mind. We have been scanning the Matrix for potentials matching those criteria, and in my opinion you are the most likely one. But this proves nothing, mind that, Ian. Sometimes a program can be subject to error as well."

I looked up at him. "You mean you actually err in what you do sometimes?"

"Not in what I do, Ian. In what I do, I follow my programming. There can be no error as such. It happens when I try to do things I was not originally designed for."

"When you do some thinking, you mean?" Whoops, I thought at the very next moment, that was a bit impertinent of you. I was preparing to apologize, but obviously – to my great relief - Smith was not angry.

"Not with every kind of thinking. There is a difference between clear, logical thinking and abstraction. There are various stages of abstraction, of course, and I am programmed to master several of them, all the necessary ones. But there are more, and those were considered unnecessary, for they bring with them the potential to distract me from my work, you see, to affect my efficiency. I was not made for that. And yet… I find myself using this kind of thinking over and over again."

While speaking, he had been looking straight ahead. Now he turned his head to face me and took his dark glasses off, and his mysterious blue eyes bored into mine. "The truth is, Ian, that I am as different from other Agents as you are from other humans. And this is the only reason I did not kill you immediately when our results pointed towards you. I realized that from the pit of lowly mankind a mirror was held up to me. And then and there, I made my decision. I am ready to face a certain degree of inefficiency in order to obtain an even greater weapon I believe in. I desire to learn how exactly the human mind works, and I'm going to take whatever risk there is. And who would be a better teacher than you, Ian Joaquin Redmount, the human child that we found to be special? Show me what it is like being of flesh and blood and steered by an illogical mind, and you will find me an apt pupil."

In this moment I truly realized what it was like when you were so overwhelmed that your jaw was all stuck and you couldn't utter a single syllable. My head was buzzing with swarms of mad insects, and I felt not capable of rational thought any more.

"Yes, Ian", intoned the Agent softly, "you are a Chosen One. But of the other side."