Chapter Three: A Beginning
"Yoohoo, hey, time to wake up."
I become aware slowly, the memory of pain fading away, the sensation of someone prodding me in the arm taking over. I open my eyes.
I am lying on my back somewhere very, very white. A hospital room? No. Hospital rooms have walls. The past few hours, with emphasis on the last three minutes or so, flash through my mind. Must be some kind of construct. Am I an agent yet? I'd get up and find out, but that would mean trying to move, and the memory of extreme pain makes it very comfortable to just lie here.
Somebody appears, leaning over me. He is wearing a charcoal gray suit and a helpful expression. "Hi there and good morning. I'm the Compiler. Think you can get up now?"
"Uh." I successfully locate my arms and manage to lever up against what must be the floor, since I'm lying on it, after all. "Where am I?"
"This is a programming interface with the outside world. Only accessible under certain special circumstances." He smiles. "Like this one."
As I sit up, I get a look at myself. Wow. My clothes are different from what I had put on this morning. I'm wearing an impeccably tailored suit, and it's the most comfortable thing I've ever worn. I had been getting together an agent costume ready for Halloween, but that was nothing compared to this. My hair is pulled back into a severe ponytail, and I somehow know that the broken ends which had always plagued me would never bother me again. I become aware that I'm also wearing the sunglasses, and from what little I can see in this place I can tell my vision is better than it ever was, even when I wore glasses or contacts. I turn to get a better look at the Compiler and see behind him a small metal table with an open laptop on it. I can't see what is on the laptop's screen, but guess it has something to do with programming.
I become conscious of a slight weight at my side, and know without looking that it's my gun. Something feels like it's missing, though. I reach my right hand up to my collar. There is an earpiece running out of my shirt collar and dangling down onto my suit. I remember what Smith's earpiece looked like in reloaded and stick a finger down my shirt collar. Yep, it plugged right into me in the little hollow right above my collarbone. For some reason this doesn't worry me in the least. As if I'd done it a thousand times before, I move to put the earpiece in.
"Wait just a sec, there," says the Compiler. "We need to get all your subroutines up and running before you get connected to the agency. And that's what I woke you up for, so why don't we get started."
Woke up? "Uh, how long was I out?"
"Ten hours. Normal for a human mind to sentient program conversion. I was able to transfer you completely to disk and adjust your physical parameters while you were unconscious, but for final mental adjustments and data upload it is better for you to be aware."
"Physical parameters? You changed how I look?"
"Well, somewhat. There's your outfit, of course, and then I cleaned up your body's code. Deleted unnecessary routines, modified existing ones to give you the maximum strength and speed allowable by the system. Didn't really have to change facial features or height as you naturally fall within acceptable agent parameters."
"Oh." How nice. I get to my feet slowly. Now that it's been brought to my attention I can feel the difference in the new me. Before, I had nearly always felt slightly tired and not as strong as I'd like. Now, well, I feel as if I could punch through a concrete wall without bruising. No walls around to test it out, though.
The Compiler nods, satisfied, as I stand up. He moves to stand at the laptop and flexes his hands over the keyboard. "I'll connect your combat and pursuit knowledge files first," he says. "I see you've had some small training in martial arts, and it'll be easier for you to handle and access if I supplant those and add on the new files."
"You sure you're called the Compiler and not Tank?"
"Quite sure." He sighs, shakes his head, and begins typing at lightning speed. "That movie. If you insist on saying 'I know kung fu' after this, I'll be forced to work some nasty surprise into your code."
"I'll be good."
He pauses and looks up from the keyboard. "I hope you're ready, because here we go." He presses the enter button.
It was that feeling you get when you everything clicks and you suddenly realize what's going on, times a million. It overwhelms my year of Tae Kwan Do training, and I realize just how little I knew. Hand to hand combat, the finer points of takeoff and landing when jumping 'impossible' distances, the use of guns (especially the one in its holster by my side), driving and piloting any vehicle, and exactly how to dodge bullets was now in my head like it had been there forever, and moreover as if I had learned it all perfectly from the ground up, muscle memory included. I knew with all certainty that I would make my first jump. To do otherwise would be contrary to my programming, to myself.
I also realize that with this influx of data has come the knowledge of how to transfer myself into and out of a host within the matrix. It is quicker than it looks in the effects shots of the movies. Slightly over a second, at the most. I also now know that here I am not overwriting a host but am just myself, something impossible anywhere but here. And with all this comes the sure knowledge that getting killed in a host will sting a bit, but not be the all-encompassing pain that I remember from back in that interrogation room. And it doesn't last. All pain and trauma stays with the host, with a full physical code restoration in the next transfer. The mental information continues straight through, though, and the slight dissonance of suddenly having your sunglasses back on and no wounds can come as a bit of a shock in the heat of battle. I realize the whole knuckle- and neck-cracking regime in the movie isn't just to give Morpheus more time to stand up, but to bring the physical and mental back together.
"Looks like that batch of files went through just fine," says the Compiler, distracting me from my study of what's gotten into my head. "We can go on to the more delicate manipulations now." He presses a few more keys on the keyboard. "This will clean up and adjust your present physical movements and mental processes to agent standard."
He presses the enter button before I have time to say anything. I confess to a slight tremor at this, wondering if I'll still be me after the information goes through. I wouldn't stop him, though, even if I could. The first thing I remember liking about the agents in the movies was just how smooth and identical their motions were. And the whole everyone completing everyone else's sentences didn't seem like it would be so bad.
In fact it seems natural now, such that I can't think of how it could otherwise be. This data erasure and change was much more subtle and complete, I realize. It is already over. My posture changes ever so slightly, and when the Compiler sees this, he smiles. I now have the attitude to go with the suit.
"That's gone over perfect," he says. "You're nearly a full agent."
I smile ever so slightly as he says this. I am thinking much clearer now than I had been a few moments ago. No residual human frailties of vagueness and regret and discomfort. I find I am now unconcerned about the details and worries of my past life which had earlier seemed so critical. It is just that. Past, and relegated to certain data files which I needn't access without specific reason.
"Now we just have some final instructional and assignment-specific ops files, and then I'll get you connected to the agency mainframe and you can transfer on over to your sector headquarters."
"Where am I to be assigned?" I say. My voice is smooth and confident, as it will always be from now on.
The Compiler pulls up a file on his computer. "Northern California. The mainframe doesn't like to put agents made from humans where they're likely to encounter anyone who used to know the human part. But also somewhere not too foreign." He waves a hand at me. "To take advantage of any residual special cultural knowledge. And there's a new team of agents being formed in the North Cal sector right now that you'll be part of. It's just easier on everyone involved, this way."
I nod. Northern California is a quite acceptable posting.
The Compiler is typing at his keyboard again. "Here we go. This'll be information on agency objectives and protocol." He looks up meaningfully. "Your purpose."
Something from the old me comes to the surface briefly. 'I know because I must know. It is my purpose.' I had always liked the Keymaker.
"Let's see. You'll also get names and visuals of all known rebels and exiles active in your sector. And general and specific street maps. Also methods of interaction with human law enforcement. And your name. That kind of stuff." He presses the enter key and the information appears in my program.
My old human life and self dwindles off into almost nothing. The name Renee Ackerman is disconnected from who I am as my primary reason for existing rises to the surface. Attempt to terminate rebels and potential rebels unless able to convert them to our side. Track down and pacify dangerous exiles. Protect the matrix. It is a comforting mantra.
"Feels good to know exactly why you exist, doesn't it?" the Compiler says conversationally as he taps a few final buttons.
"Yes."
"Well, that's it. Congratulations, you're an agent now. You can put your earpiece in now, Agent Lee."
I straighten slightly as I hear my name spoken aloud for the first time. And it is my name. My full name. It is bizarre to think it had ever been anything else.
I bring my right hand up, curl my earpiece around the top of my ear and plug it in without any wasted motion or missteps. It fits perfectly, of course, and I know there is no way for it to fall out unless I take it off on purpose. Which is unthinkable. As I lower my hand, I instantly feel connected to something much greater than myself. A two way connection. I realize that I have somewhere I need to be.
"Thank you," I say to the Compiler.
"Goodbye," he says.
I put my hand to my ear in the classic agent pose and transfer myself away and into the matrix.