AN: Woah. I haven't posted anything on this in a LONG TIME. Well, here it is.

Matrix, Twins. etc (c) Wachowski's.

STuff that's mine (c) Me.

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.

DUAL BIOGRAPHY - The life of the Virii Twins after the explosion, from Twin Two's POV

By Kobra aka Karina of Darkness

Chapter XXXIII: Death.

He looks at me with strange eyes. It's like he almost...understands. But, could he? I don't think humans can comprehend such matters...but can they?

"I know." He says quietly, softly, "Because you'll die if you don't. And so will I."

"We are...sorry."

"He's not." Adrian glances over to One, "You're sorry, but not him."

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, showing only the faintest emotion. But inside, I feel...torn. I know Adrian is right. Once, he wouldn't have been. We would have never felt sorry for him. But now.....I do, and One doesn't.

It feels so...different.

Adrian looks up at me with those eyes. I would say I saw wisdom in them, if I hadn't previously told myself humans were incapable of it. Wisdom that a video-gaming, impulsive, teenage human shouldn't carry.

It's befuddling.

Have I ever even used that word before?

This boy sends my thoughts into a muddled pile. I send my thoughts into that pile. The silence is deafening as I think to myself.

"Are you going to?"

"Of course."

One glances at me, his impression disapproving, "What are you waiting for, Two? Slit the boy's throat so we can get out of here."

I turn around to face my twin. I lick my lips as if to say something, but nothing comes out...vocally, or mentally.

"What is it, Two? You're acting very strange." He cocks an eyebrow at me, "Are you coming down with a virus? Perhaps we should get your coding checked?"

"No....we're fine."

"No, you're not. He is, yes, but you're not." Echoes Adrian from the background.

"That boy is a nuisance. Should we kill him instead, Two, or are you going to be human about it?" One's lip curls faintly. I can't tell if he means it sarcastically or disgustingly.

Wait.

I can't tell something about my own brother.

My own twin.

My mind begins to scheme with reason. This is impossible. I can tell everything about him. I can see all around his mind. I can tell you all his thoughts. Maybe I really do have a virus.

My stomach begins to churn, and I know my excuses are wrong.

We've grown apart, him and I.

He looks at me again. His features force into a frown as he scans over my thoughts.

It feels uncomfortable.

It's never felt that way before.

"One.....we....we don't know."

"You don't know, Two." He replies coolly, the slightest hints of coldness in his voice, "You are the one who doesn't know."

I can't take my eyes off my brother as he practically slides across the floor. Taking the back of the head of the only silent figure in the room, he pulls Neil's head back and exposes his fleshy throat.

Neil virtually explodes. His head is wrenched out of One's grip by sheer desperation. The albino boy turns and tackles my brother onto the floor, the reflective sunglasses thrown off his face. The boy grabs a fistful of dreadlocks and pulls then, the other hand fighting for the switchblade. Of course, both of One's hands on his weapon did not match Neil's single, and my twin's body twists, throwing the boy off him. Neil goes rolling across the floor and crashes into the wall with a loud THUD.

One gets up off the floor and growls low in his throat. He steps toward the dazed Neil, and wraps his empty hand around the boy's shirt collar, lifting him clear off the floor.

Neil and One stare into each other's eyes. Neil's legs kick furiously; his hands struggle to get One to release his collar. Clearly, One has no intention of such.

It is a simple movement. The flapping of a butterfly's wings, the strong hand strokes made by the Olympic swimmer, the skillful movements of a professional typist, the sliding of a glass pane in a door, as the door is opened. Upon that list, is the sliding of a blade across flesh.

Neither of us wanted blood on our clothing. One's slash was diagonal, pointing down. Neil's blood, instead of gushing out or continuing its course into his veins, arteries, and capillaries, spills down his neck and body. One drops the dying boy, skillfully avoiding the blood, keeping his hand clean. It is only a matter of perhaps forty-five seconds that Neil's front is completely drenched in crimson. His eyes are lifeless; he does not move.

He is dead.

One smoothly closes the blade and places it back into his pocket. It's no different from what we've done so many times over. Get in, kill, get out.

But why can't I kill this boy? It's more dire then normal....my existence cannot continue correctly while he lives.

Adrian glances back at his brother's body, the blood draining from his face. He goes stark pale, mimicking his brother's complexion. The boy had not seen the killing slash. For that, I am grateful.

He looks back at me. His wise eyes disappear; instead, they show human fear.

"You will, kill me...?" He asks, his voice yet a whisper.

"Yes." I reply quietly, "We have too."

He nods, "We read about that in school. About survival of the fittest. Eat or be eaten. You know the food chain. How some things have to kill other things to survive, otherwise they'd all die. I remember doing a report on survival of the fittest. I did a contest in my class, and I remember that Zeruda won. Well, her name wasn't really Zeruda, but of course, that's what we all called her. She kicked everybody's butts."

I let him ramble.

"It was funny; really, how badly she beat everyone. She was like 'pow pow bang!' and 'poof!' they were all on the ground...but, not really...." he looks up at me again, the sense crawling back into his eyes, "Do you want me to shut up?"

"Don't care either way."

"Say it, Two." One slides back across the room still he is next to me.

"Say what?"

"You know." His eyes narrow. Suddenly, I see why we always wore those glasses. His eyes are frightening.

I swallow, ".....I....don't care."

The word is like a fruit, a bitter fruit that tastes terrible, but brings an aftertaste of absolute joy. This word, this "I", runs though my mind.

"You may continue talking if you want; it is of no matter to me." My voice becomes smoother over the first person. I turn to One, "Brother?"

"Yes?" He looks at him, eyebrows knitted together.

"I feel separate."

"We are sorry."

"Do not be. It is not lonely. It is...different, though not lonely. Not as I expected it to be. I am...going to close it...close the link."

"You will die. We will both die, if we are not connected."

"One.....just now, I noticed that we aren't each other anymore. We are too disconnected, to be connected."

The words don't make sense on my tongue, but apparently, he knows what I mean.

Slowly, the link closes. I feel his mind pull from mine. His senses retract. I can no longer see what is hidden behind that pale mask. His thoughts disappear from my mind, as do mine from his.

As the last shred is torn, a horrible agony fills my mind. The agony of "I". But that agony will heal in time. I know. This, I know.

....it is done.

My own brother...is suddenly a stranger to me.

"I will be in the Chateau." At first, confusion flickers across my features. I don't know his reasoning to why he is goign to the Chateau. But again, it registers. We are apart now. Just as I am I, so he is I as well. He is singular, just as I am.

"Very well." I respond, giving him a slight nod.

He phases, leaving only myself, Adrian, and the dead Neil in the telescope room of the observatory.

"How would you like to die?" I ask Adrian unemotionally.

"Quickly. Without pain. Just....like that."

"Anything else?"

"...No."

I stride over to him; look into his dark blue eyes. Those eyes, quivering with fear and yet they hold immense wisdom. Eyes of a human. Eyes of a child. I won't forget those eyes.

I take his chin gingerly in this thumb and forefinger, pushing his head back carefully, so I don't hurt him, and trace a line over his fleshy throat with my other thumb, wondering upon how to kill this boy. His skin trembles under my touch, and I almost pull my hand away. But I can't. This boy has to die.

Has to die.

I pull out my switchblade and flip it open. The blade gleams, though there is little light for it to do so. Perhaps I am merely imagining things. No matter.

I press the flat of the blade against his throat. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

My hand flicks unconsciously. I do not register the movement, though I know it's happening. The dull THUD of the body hitting the floor does not register either. The next thing I'm consciously aware of is the suddenly heavy weight of my blade in my pocket. Adrian's body is on the floor in front of me, the cut in his throat clean and almost bloodless.

My code tingles. I feel a strange buzz run through every part of me. It starts at the tips of my dreadlocks, then runs into my head, giving me a headache for a half-second. My eyes throb as that buzz runs through them, and my nose twitches and my lips tingle, as if someone had kissed me. My collarbones are set on fire for an instant, the flames running through every bone in my body.

Then, in an instance, it is gone.

I look down at Adrian's body. Someone will find it here, of course. Give it a proper burial. I check to see that he is indentifiable, and, luckily, his wallet is on him. I have nothing more to do here, so without another word, I turn on my heel and in a swirl of silver, I am out the door and into the corridor of the Matrix.