Protector of Men Ch 59
Only twenty minutes before, Trim had asked Kemp to go around and check up on Kesia and Alias. There were no squids on radar - he made sure of that. Cover had handled everything perfectly: the ship was resting on the ground in case of emergency EMP, Alias was with Kesia, ready to take them all out, and Kemp was the liaison between the two groups. Things were moving smoothly for the moment, and they were grateful for it. For now, nothing was happening.
They continued to ride the elevator down in silence. It glided down past each floor silently, joining the three in their quiet dejection. Each of them watched the top bar as it displayed their status of descent. Twenty six, twenty five, only twenty some odd floors to go, Zandra thought resentfully. Only a little longer until they'd be tromping their way back home without their intended spoils. Empty handed and heavy hearted. Not like her little epiphany would do them any good even if it was true; the battle was already over.
But then the elevator slowed to a premature stop. Both Shade and Cover looked to Zandra, but she too had no clue as to what was going on.
The elevator doors suddenly opened to reveal the two white men that had unsettled Zandra only minutes before. One smirked, the other snarled as they each took one of her arms and led her out. She didn't even have time to comprehend what was going on before she was being roughly transported away. Shade and Cover gave each other a look before following them down the gray hallway ahead.
Zandra tried to wrestle herself out of their vice grips, but it was no use.
"We'd watch it," one whispered to her, leaning in so that his rough hair brushed her cheek. Zandra shuddered at the feeling. Triumphant, they continued down the barren hallway. They allowed Cover and Shade to follow. They knew they were in control.
The door ahead of them unlocked with a click; one of them ushered Zandra in while the other held the door for Cover and Shade. They eyed him suspiciously, but he only smirked back at them through his reflective lenses.
Zandra was not at all surprised to be in a room much too big for its portal. She was in fact relieved, for it meant that the restaurant was in fact more than just that. Her hopes were raised – maybe Neo is here after all…
"Boys," a velvety voice called out from somewhere, "What are you doing with those people?"
Zandra watched the two men confer silently before responding. The voice sounded familiar, but Zandra was busy watching the men.
"We were told," one said, letting go of Zandra's arm,
"To bring them here," the second finished, also letting go. Cover and Shade were perplexed – 'them?' Did that mean that they had intended for him and Shade to follow?
- "Such a crazy man," the woman chided, stepping out from behind a standing mirror,
"He is always getting you old programs to do the menial work while he sits and drinks. Slob." Zandra said nothing, her mind still reeling from the impact of that one word. Programs. The twins frowned at her response, clearly not flattered.
"What is it this time?" she asked the two twins, a face of masked curiosity. They had nothing to say, staring forward as if she hadn't said anything at all.
"Doesn't he worry I will lead them to Neo?" she mused, twirling her hair mindlessly. Zandra stood motionless, the information flooding her brain as if a dam had just been broken. Everything finally made sense. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't realize when Persephone suddenly took interest in her.
"Why do you look so surprised?" she asked, approaching Zandra with a look of pity on her face. Zandra did not reply.
"You convey so much with only a look," she continued, caressing Zandra's face with her hand. Zandra flinched unconsciously; Persephone's eyes darted to Shade.
"Hm. You all look like you're enjoying this lovely mess," she sighed. The woman let her hand drop from Zandra's cheek and retreated.
"Boys," she announced, looking in their direction, "I'm going to find my husband."
The two nodded as she left them, then turned their ravenous eyes back on Zandra.
He was restless in his lavish prison, pacing incessantly up and down next to his undone bed. Something was happening; he had a feeling that something was wrong. If he was going to try and get out, now would be the time.
He hoped that it was Zandra coming to get him. It was possible, definitely, but a small part of him doubted her. Hell, he couldn't even trust himself anymore after what he had done. This was all happening again because of a stupid choice. Choice, he remembered ruefully, was always the problem. And where had it gotten him? Into a self-imposed prison where he was nearly forced into prostitution by a program. A program! Neo hated his existence, and everything that had previously held him back – fear of discovery, fear of 'deletion', if that was what would happen… - was not a problem anymore. It couldn't get any worse; things could only get better. And this was his chance.
But there was something more to it; something nagging at him that wouldn't go away. Zandra wasn't the only one there he recognized. Who was it? It had been so long since he had encountered anyone other than Zandra or Emory that his memory began to fail him. There was something about the code around him that was different, someone there that he remembered… but he couldn't recall what. Neo sighed loudly and refocused his efforts on getting out. Things would be so much easier had the Keymaker not been killed…
He walked up to the door of his room, tested the handle. Of course, it was locked. But it would not be as easy as changing the code, he reminded himself, certainly they would have put special degrees of protection against him. Maybe if Persephone came in again, he could lure her into letting him out. No, that wouldn't work, she'd know…
Neo sighed again, his shoulders slumped in temporary defeat.
Things were unnaturally quiet back in the entryroom. Zandra tried not to stare at the Twins, but it was hard not to. All they did was stare at her, and it was extremely unsettling for her.
Shade broke the silence first: "What are you?" was his badly worded question. He regretted asking it even as the words passed his lips. It was too late though - he had already spoken.
"What are we?" One answered, his lips contorted into a cruel smile.
"We are… dangerous," the other finished, mimicking the other with a similar grin. It was soon silent again.
The Merovingian was having a tough time in the restaurant. A few… guests… had appeared that he did not approve of in the least.
"I assure you," he said hurriedly, a little nervously, "That there is nothing of the sort here. I am a trafficker, not a policeman."
"I know he's here," Smith said, moving closer to the Merovingian, "You're not getting in my way."
More Smiths closed in on the man, quickly overwhelming his sense of defense. Long ago had all the programs and people evacuated the restaurant, and now it was only the Merovingian and his henchmen against the seemingly endless Smiths. Things were not looking good.
But the Merovingian still had his façade of coolness.
"You threaten me?" he asked the Smith closest to him. Every Smith now had an expression of disgust, of unbelieving confusion.
"Where is he?" they finally asked, waiting for a response.
They were all quiet for a moment; some of the Smiths cracked their necks or twisted their ties. One of them checked his gun.
"Boys," the Merovingian called, summoning his men from the dark recesses of the room, "Take care of this blagueur (1). I have more pressing needs to be attended to."
And thus the second fight begun.
1. "Clown,"
