Disclaimers: I own none of the characters that you recognize from the Matrix or the Matrix: Reloaded. They belong to the Wachowskis.

Also, in this fic they don't use 'I' 'me' 'my' 'mine' etc. Even when referring to only one of them. I think it adds a certain dramatic effect.

Audrey A:  Very excited, I see. ^_^

Alocin: My logic is that the Twins are cooler OVERALL though Smith has the coolest lines.  And I actually don't KNOW what Smith'll do, that's just their current guess. It may be that or not, I dunno. ^_^

Xx Rin xX (from last chapter):  Thanks for the feedback!

Kathy: You misunderstood, I think. The Twins DON'T go back to the Merovingian at all.

I just spilled milk on my pants, and this is my favorite chapter, though it's short. ^_^

DUAL BIOGRAPHY

Chapter VII:  Contemplation, Mediation and Deliberation

That leaves me alone in the room with the window with no glass and the shattered lenses. Again, a feeling of serenity washes over my being as I watch the sunset. Effortlessly, I move the couch to watch it while sitting down.

A couple of seconds later, I find myself wishing we hadn't broken the window. I would have liked to lean against it, it was cool on this humid night. I take off my glasses and place them on the glass coffee table over the map that the rebel women didn't bother to take. It annoys me, so I reach into my pocket for the lighter I carried all the time. It's not there-----The case ruptured, exploded and melted in the explosion before I could phase. With a sigh, I get up and go into the bathroom in search of matches. After a couple of minutes pass, I find them and set fire to the map after placing my shades in my pocket. The crinkling noise and the short-lived flame it makes calms my fears and worries---the agents, The One, Morpheus, my brother, life, the Matrix, the Merovingian, the list goes on. The sun's descent into the horizon finishes as the stars make themselves known into the fake world I'm living in. The light from the mega-city disturbs them, makes them hard to see from the angle on the couch, but it's all right, I suppose. I move the couch closer to the window, and I am able to see them better.

The view is extraordinary. I suppose that's why we picked this apartment after all, but then again perhaps there was no reason. Maybe it was the window, which again I wish was fixed. I wonder if  The One could fix it.  The flame has burned itself out—there is now a small pile of ash on the table. I move the table in front of the couch to put my feet up as I lean against the backing of the couch. It's comfortable. 

I close my eyes as my thoughts drift off into reality. I know this world is fake, but am I? I suppose I'm not to me, but I don't truly exist in the real world, so perhaps I am immaterial. The humans consider life to exists if it follows a set bunch of patterns. I don't remember them but I know that the machines in the real world don't live up to them, at least. Sentient? Oh yes, I'm most certainly sentient. I wouldn't be wondering if I were sentient if I wasn't sentient. So I must be alive as well. Artificial, perhaps. Yes. That sounds right. Artificially sentient.

I open my again to admire my boots. I believe they're snakeskin. I move my feet; it glistens in the moonlight and the lamp in the kitchen that neither of us turned off back when I was still distributing the groceries. I swear as I realize that the milk's probably gone bad and the eggs no doubt stink…..

"One."

"What is it., Two?"

"Go distribute the rest of the groceries and clean up the eggs, will you?"

"Fine. You're contemplating again, aren't you?"

"Yes."

He mentally sighs and terminates the conversation as I hear him get up and move into the kitchen. I see him in the glass shards that still remain on the window, he's shirtless and bootless again.

I go back to admiring my boots and the way they glisten in the light. They go up to mid-calf. I wonder how I fight with them so well, without being able to work with my ankles like that. Regardless of it, my admiration for my own attire moves to my pants. White leather---very impressive. They are tight, showing off my impressive toned legs. I smirk as I think about the fact that humans think about working for such muscles…..even though the fact their muscles are badly atrophied. Another reason that being a program is much better then being human, and why I'm pleased with my method of creation. We were formed with impressive physiques.

"You're being real vain. "

"Stop eavesdropping on our conversations. We know we're being vain. Admiration, actually."

I ignore him and his comments and go back to my vainness. I look directly down at my shirt, or shirts rather. Currently, I'm still completely dressed in the silver, button-down dress shirt with a tie neatly knotted into the collar and tucked into my vest, which is also buttoned up. My coat is still on, with my twin pockets and both sides much lighter then normal, for my possessions were destroyed in the explosion. We already picked up new switchblades from the knife store some way down, but I still want a lighter and a silenced silver pistol.

The humans say we overdress for casual wear. It's tempting to say that this is the only thing we've worn in our long lifetimes….a couple hundred years, that we were programmed with this outfit, and although our status as exiles allows us to change, we've never done so. That reminds me that we both need nail polish and lipstick—another thing that being exiles changed. We need to constantly redo our nails, which is obnoxious and our lips, which is all right. Come to think of it, we do not need these things, for they are redone when we phase. It's also why we never changed fashions, because when we phase then we'd phase into these clothes, regardless of what we were wearing originally.

I sigh for no reason and run a hand through my dreads. They are perfectly straightened and even, white and long. The human outside (Choi?) said I appeared as a vampire called Nosferatu---which, considering the fact I know a couple of 'vampires', and I look nothing like them---is strange. My reaches up to my head, feeling my tightened roots that moved backwards in an attractive receding hairline. Well, actually, my hair itself does not carry the hairline but it is dreaded backwards, giving the impression of it. It's for practicality---if they were dreaded evenly then I would have my dreadlocks constantly impairing my vision. They do that bad enough on occasion even pulled back like they are.

The hand itself becomes the object of my admiration now. Albino, we're called. It's the disease of having not enough pigment in your skin, hence you're pale, your hair is white, and you don't tan. It's correct as far as a human disease can be for a program---I briefly speculate if our programmer wanted us to be so strange-looking in comparison to the average human, or was he merely feeling original? I dismiss the thought and take note of my rings. I'm wearing three right now, a large silver band on my ring finger, a sapphire encrusted silver one on my middle finger, and a thumb ring with a diamond set in it. They're all on my left hand—One wears all of his on his right. It's one of the few differences we share. I have fuller and thicker lips, he has a more pronounced jaw.  My sight travels up my coated arm, looking at my coat sleeve (leather, I think), and admiring my muscle  through my coat, and the sleeve itself.

I turn to admire my sunglasses, which are now lying near the ash pile. I pick them up and look at them through a lot of angles---rectangular frames, polarized lenses that you can't see through. I realize that both us and the Agents, the 'bad guys', so to speak, both wearing polygonal shade frames, where as the resistants all have round (Morpheus's were completely circular) glasses. 

I don't know how long I sat there and contemplated about abstract things after that but when One placed a hand on my shoulder, it was pitch black out (minus the streetlights).

"Shall we go mingle with the humans? We remember the night crowd is often more…unique in our fashion."

I smirked, "Surely. How is Morpheus?"

"We locked his door. There are no windows in his room, and the kitchen chair is barred against the doorknob."

"Did you clean up the kitchen?"

He nods. He pulls on his dress-shirt and tosses me his tie. I knot it around his neck for him as he buttons the shirt. He does his vest as well, and I hand him his boots. He laces them up his feet and grabs his coat. We both walk out of the room with sunglasses.

AN~~~
This was my favorite part to write. I love writing thought-provoking-type things. ^_^