Notes: I've read a few fics about Trinity before she was unplugged , but never any about Neo. Thought I might go down that path. Matrix spoilers, as usual.
Throwing his keys aside, and closing the door with his foot, Thomas began pulling at the knot in his tie. The apartment had that musty smell again. He considered opening a window, but if he was honest, he was so used to the smell that he was pretty attached to it. He did a quick circuit of the small two-room apartment, knocking the power button on his computer as he passed, on his way to the kitchen to prepare yet another mouth-wateringly delicious microwave meal.
Waiting the seven minutes for the cold plastic container, filled with a goup pretending to have something to do with chicken and vegetables, he leaned absently against the counter of his kitchenette.
Yet another lonely night. No one to talk to. No one to come home to and discuss his day with. Occasionally he'd mutter things to himself as he sat in the swivel chair at his desk. Most nights he fell asleep there. No one to sleep beside. Just a cold empty bed. He could hear the computer making it's usual start up noises. It was like he followed the same routine day in, day out. Get up, go to work, come home, eat a microwave meal, and then sit in that damned chair, staring a meaningless pixels, just a whole bunch of different coloured lights. Yet at times he felt like the company of the computer was better than any other. It didn't argue back, or tell him what a screw-up he was. It did what he wanted. He could live his whole life through it, doing everything that mattered. Work, play, talk, download music... get answers.
It was what he craved most. Answers. Just something to tell him what exactly was the point. Was he missing it? The routine killed him. It drove him slowly insane, as if every morning, as he dragged himself into work, usually late due to all-nighters sitting in front of the computer, a digging painfully into his brain, infecting all of his thoughts.
He was lost in his thoughts most of the time. He had no real friends, and little contact with others. There was, of course, the young woman next door, whose cat bothered him occasionally, but despite being the same age as her, or near enough, he never really had anything to do with her, except to return her cat to her every now and then. She was one of those, sophisticated, popular types, a cell phone constantly attached to her ear, and always with perfect nails, hair and clicking shoes. He couldn't even remember her name if he was honest. Never really cared much.
Other than her, there was his landlady, Martha, he may occasionally make some mindless phatic talk with or give her a hand with the odd job she had around the house. She'd not long lost her husband, so he felt mildly obligated. And of course, his final lifeline to the outside world were the few people who came to see him for business, usually to collect some illegal programme or to give payment. He knew their type. Heavy metal, mind- screwing drugs and no consideration for what life was really about. They were feel-good-timers. Always living for today, never caring about tomorrow. As a teenager, Thomas had to admit he had been the same. He'd done the whole heavy metal, drugs and party scene, but he never really cared for it much. He'd always been a bit of a loner, and he'd only ever really done a few mild drugs, just to be accepted really. He found sometimes that it was a method of escapism. In truth, he'd always felt a little bit outside the box, but it had persecuted him more these last few years.
That was why he started searching for Morpheus. It added a new purpose to his routine- find Morpheus and find the answers. He'd heard about him in a hacker chat room. He hadn't been talking, but he was absently following the conversation of a couple of others. Their ideas had intrigued him. One was talking of how he was 'getting out'. The other seemed to know what he was talking about, and Thomas had felt, once again, a feeling he'd experienced most of his life- he'd felt out of the loop. Though since discovering computer, and finding his niche, he'd always felt that if he didn't belong in the real world, he at least belonged in the cyber world. And that's why it hit him hard. These were hackers talking. He was one of them, and he had to wonder why he didn't know.
In following the conversation, he picked up on a couple of key words- 'Matrix' being prominent. He returned to the same chat room over and over, eavesdropping through cyberspace, picking up all the information he could. He'd learned how to watch the actions in a chat room without being visible himself and it became his nightly ritual for a while. He ran searches for 'The Matrix', but found very little and after a while he discovered Morpheus. He was described as a Terrorist. At first, Thomas had to admit he was a little worried. He didn't want to become involved in terrorist activities. He admitted that much of what he did was highly illegal, but terrorism was pushing it a bit far. But his curiosity took over.
Morpheus knew the truth. To Thomas, he was the light at the end of the tunnel, the only person he could find who actually seemed to know what this 'Matrix' was. Many explanations crossed his mind. Was it some secret government agency? Or a terrorist league that was so underground that no one knew about it? There were a million explanations, and Neo realised that no amount of Internet hacking would ever give him access to the answers. Whatever The Matrix was, it was the best kept secret in the Universe. And of course, that just fuelled his inquiring mind more. He was hungry for information, answers, or even just something different. Something that explained it all, or maybe made it all make sense.
Beep, beep beeeeeep.
The incessant whirring of the microwave came to a halt. He grasped his meal and threw him self haphazardly into the swivel chair at his desk. The computers had loaded. He sifted hid way through a bunch of log on passwords. Security was everything. He punched into the search engine 'Morpheus'. Why not give it one more go, he thought, I might get something new. For a while he watched as endless newspaper cuttings, reports and miscellaneous data connected to the 'terrorist' scrolled across his screen. He jammed his headphones on and after an hour of his head drifting closer and closer to his desk, he fell asleep.
The screen flashed.
Wake up, Neo.
Throwing his keys aside, and closing the door with his foot, Thomas began pulling at the knot in his tie. The apartment had that musty smell again. He considered opening a window, but if he was honest, he was so used to the smell that he was pretty attached to it. He did a quick circuit of the small two-room apartment, knocking the power button on his computer as he passed, on his way to the kitchen to prepare yet another mouth-wateringly delicious microwave meal.
Waiting the seven minutes for the cold plastic container, filled with a goup pretending to have something to do with chicken and vegetables, he leaned absently against the counter of his kitchenette.
Yet another lonely night. No one to talk to. No one to come home to and discuss his day with. Occasionally he'd mutter things to himself as he sat in the swivel chair at his desk. Most nights he fell asleep there. No one to sleep beside. Just a cold empty bed. He could hear the computer making it's usual start up noises. It was like he followed the same routine day in, day out. Get up, go to work, come home, eat a microwave meal, and then sit in that damned chair, staring a meaningless pixels, just a whole bunch of different coloured lights. Yet at times he felt like the company of the computer was better than any other. It didn't argue back, or tell him what a screw-up he was. It did what he wanted. He could live his whole life through it, doing everything that mattered. Work, play, talk, download music... get answers.
It was what he craved most. Answers. Just something to tell him what exactly was the point. Was he missing it? The routine killed him. It drove him slowly insane, as if every morning, as he dragged himself into work, usually late due to all-nighters sitting in front of the computer, a digging painfully into his brain, infecting all of his thoughts.
He was lost in his thoughts most of the time. He had no real friends, and little contact with others. There was, of course, the young woman next door, whose cat bothered him occasionally, but despite being the same age as her, or near enough, he never really had anything to do with her, except to return her cat to her every now and then. She was one of those, sophisticated, popular types, a cell phone constantly attached to her ear, and always with perfect nails, hair and clicking shoes. He couldn't even remember her name if he was honest. Never really cared much.
Other than her, there was his landlady, Martha, he may occasionally make some mindless phatic talk with or give her a hand with the odd job she had around the house. She'd not long lost her husband, so he felt mildly obligated. And of course, his final lifeline to the outside world were the few people who came to see him for business, usually to collect some illegal programme or to give payment. He knew their type. Heavy metal, mind- screwing drugs and no consideration for what life was really about. They were feel-good-timers. Always living for today, never caring about tomorrow. As a teenager, Thomas had to admit he had been the same. He'd done the whole heavy metal, drugs and party scene, but he never really cared for it much. He'd always been a bit of a loner, and he'd only ever really done a few mild drugs, just to be accepted really. He found sometimes that it was a method of escapism. In truth, he'd always felt a little bit outside the box, but it had persecuted him more these last few years.
That was why he started searching for Morpheus. It added a new purpose to his routine- find Morpheus and find the answers. He'd heard about him in a hacker chat room. He hadn't been talking, but he was absently following the conversation of a couple of others. Their ideas had intrigued him. One was talking of how he was 'getting out'. The other seemed to know what he was talking about, and Thomas had felt, once again, a feeling he'd experienced most of his life- he'd felt out of the loop. Though since discovering computer, and finding his niche, he'd always felt that if he didn't belong in the real world, he at least belonged in the cyber world. And that's why it hit him hard. These were hackers talking. He was one of them, and he had to wonder why he didn't know.
In following the conversation, he picked up on a couple of key words- 'Matrix' being prominent. He returned to the same chat room over and over, eavesdropping through cyberspace, picking up all the information he could. He'd learned how to watch the actions in a chat room without being visible himself and it became his nightly ritual for a while. He ran searches for 'The Matrix', but found very little and after a while he discovered Morpheus. He was described as a Terrorist. At first, Thomas had to admit he was a little worried. He didn't want to become involved in terrorist activities. He admitted that much of what he did was highly illegal, but terrorism was pushing it a bit far. But his curiosity took over.
Morpheus knew the truth. To Thomas, he was the light at the end of the tunnel, the only person he could find who actually seemed to know what this 'Matrix' was. Many explanations crossed his mind. Was it some secret government agency? Or a terrorist league that was so underground that no one knew about it? There were a million explanations, and Neo realised that no amount of Internet hacking would ever give him access to the answers. Whatever The Matrix was, it was the best kept secret in the Universe. And of course, that just fuelled his inquiring mind more. He was hungry for information, answers, or even just something different. Something that explained it all, or maybe made it all make sense.
Beep, beep beeeeeep.
The incessant whirring of the microwave came to a halt. He grasped his meal and threw him self haphazardly into the swivel chair at his desk. The computers had loaded. He sifted hid way through a bunch of log on passwords. Security was everything. He punched into the search engine 'Morpheus'. Why not give it one more go, he thought, I might get something new. For a while he watched as endless newspaper cuttings, reports and miscellaneous data connected to the 'terrorist' scrolled across his screen. He jammed his headphones on and after an hour of his head drifting closer and closer to his desk, he fell asleep.
The screen flashed.
Wake up, Neo.