A/N: hm. well. I went back and decided to scratch Rhiannon for several reasons, among them being my absolute hatred for the character and the other being my revised version of that story has no room for a meeting between the two girls. The next three chapters have been edited and changed, removing Rhiannon and opening a side story that could possibly be expanded later. hope you enjoy this version better!

D/C: if you are a flying pig, then I own the Matrix. But only if you are a flying pig. See the first chap to save my poor fingers from writing a whole one out, thnx.

Pandora the Brave:

Chapter Four

The Twins are lounged out on oversized, overstuffed armchairs. The living room is full of such chairs and similar sofas, all gathered around a huge wide, flat screen tv. All of the furniture is arranged so that one can watch tv from any position on said furniture. One always lays with his head closer to the tv, whereas his brother, Two, always lays with his feet closer to the tv. Pandora, their charge, is sprawled in much the same way on the loveseat.

"So what"

"exactly are you?" the Twins ask.

Pandora is unperturbed by the strange question and continues to stare at the tv for several minutes. Just as the Twins are about to ask her again, she says, "I dunno. What are you?"

"You don't know"

"what you are?"

"Nope," Pandora replies. "What are you?"

"We," One motions with the most despicable smile, "are programs."

"Ghost programs," Two elaborates.

"Huh," Pandora says. "I don't know what I am. I don't know who would, either."

"You could be a program."

"You grew like six inches to a foot about a week"

"after we got you."

"Why don't you"

"do that again?"

" 'Cuz it's not my birthday," Pandora says, although she is thoroughly engrossed in the cartoons dancing across the screen.

"What?" both Twins say at once.

"Huh?" Pandora asks as the tv sucks her brains out through her eyes.

One turns off the tv.

"Hey! I was watching that!"

"You know"

"your birthday?!" the Twins ask, wondering at the little girl, as Persephone had asked her several times over the past few months.

"Uhuh… Sorta. I dunno what day it's on," she answers still watching the blank tv. "It happens about the time I grow up."

The Twins are interested now. "What the hell"

"do you mean?"

Pandora wants the tv on, and has gotten up. She walks over to One and starts fighting for the remote. "I mean that," she says as she snatches at the remote control. "Every year." Her teeth are gritted, and she snarls at One, who snarls back. "Gimme the remote!!"

"Can we let the girl finish?" asks Two.

"Here! Take it!" One throws the remote to Two, who holds it away from Pandora with one hand and holds her back with the other.

"I want to watch the tv! Givit back!"

One imitates her, "Givit back! Givit back!"

"Hey!" she turns on One. "At least I don't watch the damn home shopping network!"

"We watch the home shopping network?" asks Two, raising his eyebrow.

"We thought we wanted to know about this 'growing up' business?"

"We do!"

"Well then. Pandora?"

Pandora stomps back over to Two and snatches the remote, but he snatches it back. "No remote," he says.

"until you tell us"

"about growing up."

"You guys are mean." Pandora pouts.

"Tell us"

"Now!"

"EveryyearonmybirthdayIgrowupthreeyearsorsookaycanIhavetheremotebacknow?" Pandora said quickly as she snatched the remote.

"Uhhubbadubah?"

"What?!"

"'Sephone, I have figured out what ze hell kind of a sing zat child of yours is," the Merovingian announced triumphantly.

"Really?" Persephone inquired coldly. "What kind of a hell sing is my child?"

"A mistake!" he declared.

Persephone gave him a bloodcurdling glare.

"Honestly! I swear, my dear. Ze girl est une error de le Matrix. She ez ze culmination of all ze motherless ladies' vishes. Ze women have wished a child into ze world." He paused. "I sink." [think]

"You sink?" Persephone asked.

"Yes. La fille a une code. It'z too encrypted to understand. Maybe if ze girl would let me—"

"No. I do not want you picking her apart to zee what kind of a code she 'as. You would not put her back toghezer."

Little Pandora was being tucked into bed. Her neat pink room was dark and in order. Persephone sat down on the bed and bade the little girl goodnight. She mumbled in return, her little eyes barely open. Pandora zonked out instantly after Persephone turned out the light. The door closed.

Pandora opened one eye. She put her ear to the wall and decided that it was safe. After scrambling into a dressing gown, she pulled a candlestick out of a drawer, and stuffed it into a holder, whipping some matches out of the open drawer. She deftly lit the candle, tucked the matchbook into the pocket of her robe, and closed the drawer without a sound. She opened the door and crept down the hall.

Pandora made her way for the Merovingian's study, tiptoeing silently through the corridors. As she reached the door, she heard a creak down the hall. Quick as a flash her candle was out and she was crouched on the ceiling, her vibrant blue eyes searching the shadows for a creature on which to blame the sound. A light shone bright through the hall, harsh and orange against the soft darkness, but welcoming and cheery just the same. Pandora was repulsed by it, simply owing to the fact that she preferred day to be sunwashed and night to be moonlit. She shrank closer to the ceiling as the black shape of a person walked out of the door, shut off the light, and walked right underneath her. Ordinarily Pandora would have dropped just in front of him as a prank, but she had a job to do. As soon as the man had disappeared, she landed silently on her feet and crept into the study.

She closed the door with her back to the room, but the huge wide windows lit the room up spectacularly compared to the mostly pitch dark hall where an occasional window cast a square or two of light on the floor or the wall. Even with the tall windows, Pandora still needed more light, so she lit her candle just as swiftly and expertly as she had in her bedroom.

The library was enormous as opposed to Pandora's relatively small bedroom, where she could take less than fifteen steps to cross it. There had to be at least four large tables with ample room for two or three more between the windows and the door. On each table books sat open alongside maps and instruments, and wooden cases were stacked at their feet, as if some great explorer lived in the house, and this were the cabin of his ship. Pandora recognized the Merovingian's flair for decoration instantly, and the beautiful room became oppressive to her. Shaking herself free of her thoughts, she crept to the desk and began rooting through papers for a set of keys.

She wanted to bother the Merovingian when he was entertaining, just to see what he would do or say about her. No doubt, he would pretend he had never seen her and have one of his little waiters come fetch her away, but it was definitely worth the trouble. The stupid waiters were fun to pester, and she could easily get a cookie out of the chief chef, anyways.

Just as she was about to get up to search elsewhere, Pandora felt a crackling in her bones, and she knew that the Merovingian was using his magic keys on the door. Again her candle was out, but this time she crouched under the desk, which was good for her, as the enormity of the room would not hide her on the ceiling from the Frenchman's beady eye. Even so, her place under the desk was not safe. All the snobbish fop had to do was sit down in his fancy leather chair, and Pandora was as good as a scoop of ice cream in the Sahara. The Frenchman stepped into the room picoseconds after she had ducked out of sight, but he did not seem to notice the ruffled state of his stylishly messy desk.

However, the fates were with the little child, and in all good fortune to her, the Merovingian led his guest to a small receiving area a short distance away. They sat down and began to talk in low voices, so that Pandora could scarcely hear them. She sat still for a few fractions of a second before her innocent curiosity got the better of her.

Little Pandora crept out from her place and snuck to the back of the Merovingian's chair.

"So. You hahve fouhnd an ahsassahn for meh?" the Frenchman drawled out in his outrageous accent.

"He is one of those weird programs the System wrote eras ago," replied a gruff, grating voice that Pandora faintly recognized.

"'Ow do you mean?" asked the Mero.

The man said, "Back when the eras weren't so openly corrupt, people woke up a lot, and the System wrote programs to cause trouble. There were millions."

"Ah!" the Mero interrupted. "You mean zhe faery races?"

"Yes," answered the spy. "He is one of those programs, but he is not one of the faeries."

"I zee," the Mero stated, leaning back in his chair to think. After several minutes he continued. "Vhat eez 'e?"

"He was one of the earlier programs, not the mass produced faes."

"So 'e eez a single entity vith no doubles?"

"Yes."

"Anysing ehlse? Names? Suggestions?"

"Name's Loki. He's got a friend named Puck, and they're often seen together. You should just arrange a meeting with him. He'll come."

"Mm. Zhank you. If 'e does not like zhe offer, will 'e… do anysing?"

"He'll fight a bit. Just take 'em captive, he'll turn eventually."

"Zhank you. And have you found anyzhing more on the little gerl?"

"Other than more testimonies backing my previous theory, no." There was a pause as the men sipped their drinks.

"So zhe gerl is still just a miztake of ze zystem, ahnd zere is little else important about 'er. Which brings me to my next question. What ever happened to the box I had you searching for?"

"It disappeared. All records now show that it never existed. Something must have happened to it."

"Aha. Did you ever find out what it looked like?"

"Mahogany, dark wood of some kind. Carved. Hell knows. It might have been stone or gold or something else, but by most accounts it was wooden. And large. As I said, hell knows."

"Mmm… thank you for your help."

"My pleasure," the man replied sardonically. He rose, bowed by the sound of it, and left the room. The Merovingian walked over to his desk and pulled out a small black book. He scribbled something inside it, set it down, and left promptly.

Without a thought to the contrary, Pandora zipped over the great big desk, snatched the small black book, and tore for the door as fast as she could run.

Presently she was in her bedroom, panting and gasping for air. She put her robe away and her candle, too, before crawling tired into bed. The next day she would call this person, hoping their number was in the book and warn them. This Loki was not going to be a prisoner of the Merovingian. He seemed cool. Pandora had no idea why she was going to help the stranger other than the fact that it would be something to do other than bother the Twins. And that it would make the Merovingian very angry. Pandora fell directly asleep.

~@~

It was not until the morning that little Pandora remembered that her telephone privileges had been revoked. It took her several hours to escape her twin babysitters and get to a phone. When she finally reached the man, it was nearly too late and she doubted that he would listen. Pandora decided to execute Plan B: to stop him at the door.

Pandora was going to trick the Twins into taking her to the city, and she would run to the restaurant, where she would daringly stop this Loki person dead in her tracks. Then she would run to tell her mother's stupid husband about it. And if she was bad enough, perhaps she could convince the Mero that it was time for a family outing.

So, plotting, Little Pandora made her way to the Twins' suite, the beginnings of her plan unfolding in her devious little mind.

~MnI~

Well, that's the new version. It's not much different; in fact, it's basically the same thing. Hope you liked it!