AUTHOR'S NOTE: All original characters from the Matrix trilogy belong to Warner Bros. and the brothers Wachowski; I'm just ad-libbing.
Sorry for the huge delay in uploading this chapter – Have I been busy? Yeah, you could say that ^^. Anyway, apologies for this taking so long-I hope its been worth it.
Morithil.
SERAPH
"The strongest and the fiercest spirit
That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair. "
-Paradise Lost. (bk. II. 44)
The last time he'd visited her it had been different.
She was the same, the perpetual cigarette and apron, the smell of baking cookies in the oven.
This time she had instructions.
Seraph had sat down at the table with her and listened. Listened while the Oracle had explained to him the danger that he was risking by helping her.
"They're not ready yet", she'd said, with a token glance at the cookies browning on the top shelf of the oven. Simple though the remark was, Seraph knew without any other words being spoken, that the Oracle meant more than she said, though in order to clarify herself, she continued.
"Damn, we're not ready yet for what has to happen. Like I've always maintained; this war can't continue indefinitely. There's a chain of events that has to take place first, and when the time comes, you will need to make your choice. Not now, Seraph, although Lord knows you've done enough for this side already. You may be needed in the future, and if you're going to be around the future, then you've got to lay low for a while".
Ashes flicked into the tray in the centre of the table. A smouldering butt end. The future not yet written, but already forming on the cards.
"Oracle, do you speak of-"
She cut him off with a wave of her hand and a readjustment of her spectacles.
"I don't, Seraph, that's the point. I'm not saying more than what needs to be said. Besides, you know who I'm talking about".
He'd nodded silently, fully aware of the enormity of the situation they were in. The One. Was it now that he would be discovered? Seraph dismissed the thought gently. First he had to focus on his situation.
"There is a powerful one among us called the Merovingian. I know you have heard his name. I have arranged for him to take you into his service. It's not pretty work, Seraph, I'll be honest with you; he's all about grandiose statements and intimidation tactics, and he's quite fond of manipulating others of his kind as he is humans. But you can hold your own. It'll keep you off their radar, and for all appearances, you'll just be doing what most of us from the machine world are doing; looking after our own. Don't turn this down now Seraph, when you leave it'll probably be of your own accord, but for now, look after yourself".
Seraph paused before speaking. The Oracle was helping him now, keeping the agents off his back while the time was not yet right. He was grateful to her.
"Thank you, Oracle, but who shall protect you?"
She chuckled, the rich sound that filled the small kitchen.
"I'll be just fine. I have recruitments to make. My kids need some guidance, Seraph, and I need some company, not that I haven't always appreciated yours".
Seraph lowered his head to conceal a rare smile. The Oracle noticed and smiled back.
"Oh, before I forget. There's something here for you. The Keymaker gave these to me after I informed him of your work. You'll need to be able to make quick getaways in the future".
She slid a chain on which several keys were attached across the table to him. Seraph picked up the chain carefully before looking up questioningly at the Oracle.
"Those will be very helpful. They open all kinds of doors in case you need to leave through the back".
Seraph nodded. Keys to open back doors in the Matrix. A passport to travel through the Matrix with more ease and speed.
He nodded his thanks and rose. The Oracle rose with him and saw him to the doorway of the kitchen.
"Seraph? It's cold out there. Look after yourself".
Seraph bowed and exited the flat. Outside it was snowing, and he gathered his loose white shirt around his chest, not to protect against the cold, but to allow himself to slip the key chain into one voluminous sleeve.
The park was quiet with the falling snow, and white mounds had covered the green grass. Seraph vaulted over the closed gates, and walked through the trees undisturbed.
Though the air was freezing, Seraph felt not the cold. He reached a small clearing, peaceful in its icy serenity.
The garden would have looked like this in winter.
Then discord struck the peace.
SMITH
"Their fatal hands
No second stroke intend. "
- Paradise Lost. (bk. II. 712)
It had been worth the wait after all. Seraph alone in a deserted clearing, no interfering humans to gawp and point. Not that engaging in often fatal combat in front of the unplugged humans had ever been an issue for Smith.
In all else excluding combat, Smith was the personification of subtlety.
Every word, every smooth gesture was calculated, never dramatic or obvious. Agent Smith was minimalist when it came to expressing himself. He was not here to induce camaraderie or other such sickly links with others, he was here to enforce.
The hands that lay casually on desktops or clasped in his lap formed brutal fists when needed. Smith did not spare anything his brutality or pull his punches. Few who received the merciless power of his fists stood up or indeed moved from the floor by his feet.
Neither would this rebel, one from the machine world, no less. It was not acceptable.
Snow fell, brushing his jacket lapels and shirt cuffs.
Smith did not brush them off. Cold was not an issue for him.
The snow fell more quickly, heavier on the ground, blurring the distance between them. Smith could still see Seraph as clearly as he had moments before. The whirling snow did not pose an obstacle. Snow landed gently on his body, but did not, as it should have, begin to melt on coming into contact with a warmer surface.
It had come into contact with something colder than itself.
Seraph, fingering a shirtsleeve, stood motionless.
"You have been following me".
"Yes".
Smith responded in the affirmative, his eyes cold behind his dark glasses, reflecting the whiteness of the snow at his feet.
"The others have not succeeded as you have".
"Yet you were all intended for the same purpose".
"I did not come here to exchange pleasantries."
Seraph nodded in agreement and walked slowly, moving a few paces to the right.
"That is true".
Smith was a little surprised by Seraph's peaceable manner. It was blatantly obvious that he was there to fulfil his purpose and eliminate Seraph from the Matrix. However, the other programme seemed to read his thought patterns.
"Why have you come alone? It is usual for you to move in groups of three, not alone".
Smith had no answer for this. He was in no doubt as to Jones and Brown being less than adequate to track the elusive Seraph, as even he had found the process challenging at times. However, he did not fully understand his own reasons for separating from the others and-
His own reasons.
Surely he was here simply to enforce, he had come here to carry out instructions-
Had there been instructions? Seraph was to have been questioned, but it became disturbingly clear to Smith that he had not come here to interrogate Seraph, and in fact had no intention of doing so.
He had come here to fight.
Smith brushed aside the worrying notion that he had disregarded his instructions and had been following his own, and taking several steps forward, pounded his clenched fist in the direction of Seraph's almost placid face.
So be it, he thought with unfamiliar heat building inside him.