Protector of Men Ch 33

Brown came out to meet her and Cover. He strode over to them casually, enjoying every moment that he wasted for her, enjoying the look on her face as he walked over to them as if he were on an casual evening stroll. He especially enjoyed watching her expression change from horror, to rage, to impatience – his was an expression of carelessness. He wore a sick smile as he walked up to her.

"Where is he?" she asked, spitting out the words as if they were sour in her mouth. She couldn't waste time talking with this machine, she had to go, had to get Stephen.

"Oh, Ms. Richards, let's not be hasty again," he said, "We remember what happens when we are hasty?"

He was talking about her previous run-in, when she had tried to escape from the car when she was kidnapped.

"That wasn't haste," she replied. Brown pressed his earpiece against his head and turned to one of the buildings. Cover was silent behind Zandra, as they waited for something to happen. In a moment Jones came out, hauling Stephen's unmoving body by the back of his shirt. Zandra held in her panic as they dragged him out of the building, and into her obvious sight. He was bloodied and bedraggled, Zandra dreaded the feeling welling up inside her – he's dead…

"No, Ms. Richards," Jones said, "He's not dead."

"But he could be if he doesn't talk," said Brown. Jones reloaded his gun and pointed it at Stephen's face.

Don't give in, he shouted at himself, don't tell them! He knew that he probably wouldn't get out of this alive, and was now resolute in his decision not to speak. If he was going to die soon, he might as well let it happen while saving the integrity of their one weapon – at least the one weapon he had heard of. He knew that if he spoke, the machines would be able to fix whatever Alex had found out in her project, and change it so that the Matrix wouldn't be observable. He had to stay silent, for the rest of the resistance.

"Mr. Witt," said Brown, turning back towards the injured Stephen, "We will only ask one more time."

Jones sighed, still aiming his weapon at the defenseless Stephen.

"Ms. Richards," he started, letting his arm fall to his side, "Is there anything you'd like to tell us?"

The situation was getting worse by the second. Should she speak, and tell them what the inherent glitch was, or should she stay quiet and risk Stephen's life? Both of her choices were undesirable, but if she had to choose, which would she? Time ticked by as she vacillated between her two decisions. Cover silently pleaded with her, don't tell, don't tell…

"The glitch," Stephen started, his breathing growing labored under the stress from the two wounds, "It's-"

"That's right, Mr. Witt, you can tell us," started Jones. Brown gave him a dirty look, and he became quiet again.

"It's ah," he scrambled for the words under the intense pressure of both his injuries and his risk of further injury, "It was how black holes… when we saw them… the forces…" Stephen was now gasping for breath. Zandra wanted to help him, but knew she couldn't move. Don't do this!

"And?" asked Jones, ignoring Brown. He shoved the gun closer to Stephen's face, and he began to speak again.

"It, ah," he was having trouble remembering his train of thought, his mind kept eluding him… "it… showed the Matrix…." He had to continue if he wanted to live, "how it changes….."

Jones smiled, and pocketed his gun.

But Brown didn't smile, and didn't move his gun. He gave Jones another look, which was not returned. Zandra was stuck, unable to do anything in their dire situation. What has he done?, she silently lamented.

Brown aimed his gun and shot. Three times. And then he shot at Jones, who was terminated in a blinding flash. Stephen lay on the ground and didn't move.

The shots echoed in Zandra's mind before she could even anticipate it. It was already over before she registered what had just happened.

Brown then turned to Zandra and Cover, and aimed his gun at them. She wouldn't have it. Before he could pull the trigger, she was on him, turning his own gun on himself, pulling the trigger for him. He too was then terminated in another white flash. Gone. Now it was just her and Cover and Stephen. He writhed once on the ground, letting out his breath in staccato expulsions.

"Stephen," she cried, falling to his side. He had three new gaping holes in his abdomen, one in his leg and one in his shoulder. Blood was spilling from him and onto the dirty ground, running across the cracks of the cobbles as if searching for a home. He began to cough, and turned to his side to let blood pour out of his mouth. The bullet wounds began to froth with each desperate sigh of breath. His eyes were wild with pain and shock. He was losing, he knew it.

"Stephen, don't do this," she told him, taking his hand. He held it limply, and tried to tell Zandra, I'm sorry, I had to…

"Alex," he whispered, specks of blood spraying into the air. It was all he could manage. It hurt too much to breathe, he might as well just quit.

"No! Stephen," she repeated, tears forming on her eyes. Cover merely stood where he was. There was nothing he could do.

"I'll… I'll be…," he mouthed. He coughed again, and threw up blood on Zandra. She didn't care. She gripped his hand tighter and drew it to her chest. She could smell the blood in the air, and feel it on her hands and clothes. It was damp and warm, giving her the only solace she would find in the desperate scene. Her tears fell onto Stephen and meshed with his blood, flowing thicker and darker with each second.

"It's not real," she repeated, watching him grow more distant. His coughing grew more shallow, his eyes began to wander. "Don't go," she whispered, holding on to his hand, wishing he would never let go…

He sighed a last time and was finished. Stephen was no more.