Title: Bodhidharmazan 3

Author: TheRedPony

Rating: PG

Disclaimer:

Matrix universe and associated characters: Wachowski brothers.

Agents universe: co-owned by Stormhawk and Overlord Mordax.

Every thing else is mine Baby.

All Chapters of this story are covered under this Disclaimer.

Word Count: 9595

Summary: The last of the trilogy. In total 36143 words. Wow Any ways we reach the end of Zane's battle for internal peace with his role in the Matrix.

Notes: This is a slash based story, but the rating if for violence only. Sequel is now in the works. There is a lot of religious ideas in this story, as there always is in my work.

Please read and Review.

Sometimes I feel like I'm glad to be free,
Sometimes I still want your arms around me
Sometimes I'm glad to have left you behind,
The Crazy English Summer has put you back on my mind.

Sometimes I feel like i'm fine on my own,
Fifty Thousand miles from home.
Sometimes I'm weak and the past is my guide,
Summer returns and puts you back on my mind

-Faithless

Zane found him self-walking through a more slummy part of town then he was used to. He had grown up with money, and had always known it. This area would normally have sent him looking for new trekking grounds, but not today. No longer could he see this place as ugly. There was beauty here too, he realized. Every bit of trash or wisp of hot steam smoking from the sewer grates, even the old mangy alley dogs, each had their own dance and play of code. Humans had eyes he decided, but only programs could really see in this place.

It was raining softly, and gossamer gray clouds muted out the sun. The effect left long draws of code dripping from the sky. It was not green like one would expect but infinitely finite, crystal clear, and stretched like those photographs of rain with the too long exposures. Zane felt a bit like that. Film that was bare and vulnerable by a lens left open. He was alone now, as much as he had ever been.

The agents stood like black writhes; powerful and aggressive, but subtle in there beauty. Humans now seemed dull. They left dent like impressions in the code, that sucked back up to fill the gap when they moved on. Programs like the roaches or the dogs, even the rats he had seen, had an intriguing quietly. He could not place it; he was drawn to them.

Zane had begun to wonder if he would ever see one of the humanistic programs, like the exiles he fought. His question was answered when he walked right into on. He knew her to be a program in an instant. She was beautiful and dressed in cream and soft greens and rose hues. Her skin was dark but she seemed to glow in the drizzling rain. She smiled at him and took his hand.

"She has been waiting for you Zane. I was sent to make sure you found her."

Zane found him self, most unexpectedly riding in an elevator with an exile. It had been a mere twenty some hours since he had awoken ready to squirm his way into an exile strong hold. The maneuver had cost him his human body. Whether is had cost him his humanity was as yet untested. Now instead of slipping in unnoticed he was being ushered by this exile next to him, to see some unknown exile.

The door on the lift opened, and he stepped into a gray hallway. There was graffiti on the walls, and the whole of the place was dingy and only one scummy window let any natural light into the musty space. A yellowed florescent bulb flicked above his head, and he followed the lady in white towards the end of the hall.

She smiled then opened one of the apartment doors. Zane was ushered inside, but he froze only three feet into the room. The woman frowned and touched his shoulder reassuringly. She spoke some words he did not hear, and led him towards the kitchen. He passed several children looking up expectantly at him; there was also a man, an exile in white.

The woman smiled again, she did that a lot. She had said her name at some point but Zane had not listened. His vision, the dance and shimmer of code was over whelming. He did not here the woman who drew up beside him.

"Hello Zane, I wasn't sure you would make it on your own."

He started and turned to face an older black woman standing beside him. "How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot about you Zane. You have caught my attention because you just may be the one I have been looking for?"

He stepped back. "Who are you?"

"Some call me the Oracle."

"You're the one who helps the rebels."

"No I help those who need helped."

"Well I don't need helped, I'm a recruit."

"Are you sure about that Zane? How many recruits have been like you? Recruits are human. What are you?"

Zane was silent for a moment, then replied "I am a program, and I am a recruit. The agents are programs so I can still serve."

"Programs have a purpose Zane. What is your purpose?"

His answered failed him then. He looked to the woman, lost and confused. "I do not have one. Am I an exile then?"

"Exile is a choice not a sentence. You must know what you are before you can make that choice. Turn around Zane, and read the sign above the door. It says 'Know They Self', I told Neo the same thing."

"I don't want to be like Neo. It is because of him that I am here now."

"I know. I sent him."

"You're the reason I lost my life, and the one I love?"

"Do you not walk now, do you think he loves you no longer?"

"I may walk, but I am just a shadow of code. I am not whole any more."

"Do you think of Agent Brown as just a shadow. How true can your love if you do not see him as a person."

"Don't say that. He is a person. I love him."

"You can not give love, until you can love your self. Agent Brown must learn from you. You must show him love."

"I don't know how."

"He can feel what you feel Zane. He knows your every emotion." Zane blinked and looked started at her. He felt violated; the agent was stealing his emotions and had never said word of it. "I see the anger in your face Zane, but know that it was you who gave him this gift. With your kiss you showed him your every emotion. You linked your code to his."

Zane collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs; is anger melting like salt in the rain. "What have I done to him?"

"You have shown him the light. The agents need love." She smiled softly. "Only when the two sides can learn to love and understand each other can there be peace?"

"I do not think there will ever be peace."

"With the way the sides see each other now? No never."

He looked up at the motherly woman "If there was peace, we could be together. No more would families be ripped apart. No more recruits would die. The death would end. I want this." He smiled hopefully.

"I knew I had found something good, when I spotted you Zane. Go out to the living room and see Seraph." She walked to a drawer then opened it and removed a small silver key with an intricate oriental pattern carved into it. Smiling she pressed it into his hands. "Give him this. He will take you were you need to go. When you find your answers you can come back."

He bowed his head respectfully "Thank you Oracle. Perhaps I am more lost then I thought before."

Zane looked around him. Every were was stone, twisting bare branches, and heavy low lying fog. The land was frosted and the crystals of ice glittered in the muted light. It was a garden, but it was barren and dead in its winter form. There was even a pond but this was frozen over in cloudy ice and nothing below its surface could be seen. Zane shivered and rubbed his arms before forcing himself to remember that this world was not real. He was not really cold.

"What is this place Seraph?"

"This is the White Garden. It will show you all you need to know. Right now it has been neglected. Keep the key, for you are the new Master of the White Garden, its protector and caretaker."

They had entered this place via a door in the oracles home, opened by that silver key, which Seraph was now placing in his hand.

"This place is mine?"

"Yes, bring it to life." The man in the white coat smiled then turned down the far path. "Remember Zane you are the Master of the White Garden. You might rethink the suit." With that he stepped into the mist and melted away into the abyss.

Zane frowned while looking around. The place was most overgrown. To start with he would need to trim away the massive amounts of vines and branches that were stifling the life from the garden.

Tucked behind some maple trees he found a small house with a sleeping matte, may sets of white robes, food stores, and of course garden tools. The house was built with rose wood, and made with intricate interlocking joints, so that no screws or bolts were needed. The doors were made of rice paper screens and it was just enough to keep the snow out. In the back was a bathhouse with a place to light a fire to heat the tub above. In all it was a cozy home, though he was thankful he did not feel the cold, for the building had no insulating ability.

From the garden tools, he selected a strong sturdy saw and chisel and hammer, some salve for cut trees, and two pairs of hand pruners. He took his new treasures and set to work.

The moon had grown full and faded to black two times in cycle now, and Zane was proud of his garden. The juniper had been taken back to there primitive bonsai forms sprouting from between the boulders like miniature windswept trees. The maples had been taken back to graceful forms. He had chopped and stacked wood in neat piles. Some had been split to make planting boarders. Bark was striped and crumbled to make mulch and mixed with raked leaves for fine plant cover.

He had even learned to use the clamps, chisels and saws, to cut shingles for the roof of his quaint hose, were it leaked. He sharpened his tools often to fill the time. Bulbs were planted and clumps of ornamental grasses were dug and divided to fill the beds. He had even set boulders to build stone benches and sitting areas in the garden. His heart ached to see even one bloom though. No mater how much he worked, the garden refused to yield even a single flower.

He was sitting on one of those stone benches pondering a few clumps of iris leaves that were poking through some of the last drifts of snow. The garden was coming back to life, but it was taking forever. The weather was becoming more spring like by the day. Still the fog never lifted. Day and night his garden was shrouded in mist. This before had never bothered him, but he sat up suddenly and looked down the path as far as he could see. Then he turned his head and looked down the other way.

Too his left he could see the pond and his little house, beyond that was the stand of cheery trees, and past that was the path fading into the mist. He looked right, and saw the beds were he had planted red spider lilies and beds with the black irises. Just past that was the oldest bonsai tree in the garden that stood just a hand higher then his head, up on its rocky perch. Just a bit further that path rounded a bend and vanished in the mist.

For two months he had worked and lived in this garden and never wondered what was down the path. He stood and walked towards the old bonsai, then past it nearing the bend. He was quite pleased to find that the path did indeed go on, and he smiled as he neared a cherry grove.

His face quickly feel when he saw the white ribbons flashing in the trees, were he had tied them. He ran forward and found him self at the end of his garden, near his home. He turned around and ran back the way he had come only to run smack into the rocky out cropping that the old bonsai called home. The path did not loop. It was arrow straight. The end of the garden was only the beginning again.

He spent all his energy that day, running back and forth on the paths attempting to fathom what was happening. He walked it slowly, he ran quickly, every thing he did found him unable to break through the mist. Once he even tried tying a ribbon to the bonsai but when he reached the other end of the path, and saw the white cloth flapping, ghost like in mid air, it was enough to scare him into not doing that again.

Finally he was hot and tired and just gave up. He carried his tools back, wound up the white ribbon and went to bed with out the comfort of any food, though he did not need any. He was the master, but it appeared he was also the prisoner of his own garden.

That morning Zane woke with resolve. He loved his garden and he did not really need to see past it any ways. He gave up worrying about the path and rose with a smile on his face. He whistled with the birds and hummed to the song of the creek that flowed into the now thawed pond. In his panic yesterday he has missed the ice breaking up.

He surveyed the garden and strolled along the beds sipping warm green tea. Something bright caught his eye, and he reached down to dust the last bits of snow away. He smiled. His hand was brushing a brilliant blue iris bloom. He laughed with joy in his heart. The garden was coming to life.