Chapter 4: Dinner and a Movie
Old Harlem by midnight. A wretched hive of scum and villainy.
The streets were dark and desolate, an inner-city desert of abandoned concrete canyons broken up trails that ran nowhere and everywhere. Every wall had holes, and every ho had balls.
What?
In truth, the quarter was one of the safest in the city. To live in the O.H. was to simultaneously have the mentality of a Pilgrim-loving townsperson of colonial Williamsburg or Renaissance faire extra crossed with a particular liking for Humphrey Bogart movies and a healthy dose of steampunk thrown into the melting pot. At least, it was when it was first started. Now it was some sort of boho-ex-neo-post-Fauvian high art kids' club, where film noir revivalists hung out and used extended metaphors.
None of that mattered at three in the morning. Any street could still be a dangerous place, even if the thugs agreed to dress in Prohibition-era get-ups and spoke with Bugsy Malone accents. Trinity knew it well. Even as she stalked across the grimy sidewalk she scanned her surroundings. Each alleyway lurked eyes, no matter rats or another drugged-up auteur.
Past one black passage a voice called out, "Where ya going, toots?"
She stopped and looked in. In crept a degenerate dressed in a workingman's outfit, complete with a visited cloth cap and suspenders. He was holding a half-empty flask of whiskey, and his companion in the shadows held a knife drawn and in the position to throw.
There were reasons why the rebels wore sunglasses aside from style. Trinity shot the shadowed fiend dead-on. The workingman looked shocked. He was expecting the girl to give them at least a few good lines before they could be provoked, and as gentlemen of the gutter, could have a right to reply. She was much more straightforward than could be expected.
A fracas broke out. The man charged at Trinity, scoring a lucky hit and smacked away her Desert Eagle with his bottle. She neatly sidestepped, turned, and kicked him across the back, sending him straight down in a quick fall. More ran out from the alleyway, and she defeated them all with moderate difficulty.
After the last drunk fell, Ash stepped into the scene.
"Hm. I suppose I should switch to a higher AI setting," he commented wryly.
"Yes. But I'd think you'd learn more about programming if you focused on levelbuilding instead of just boosting the difficulty," Trinity replied, throwing a bottle at him. Ash caught it. It was a whisky bottle, miraculously unbroken and full after all of the drunk fighting.
"Nice atmosphere. But this block is built from a preexisting template and I recognize these program designs from the character library. Start creating your own designs."
"Hm. Like this?" Ash opened the flask and took a swig. Abruptly, four brawlers dropped on top of them from an overhanging fire escape.
They fought. Trinity could easily dispose all of them with ease, but decided to observe how Ash fared instead, watching him while dodging two. The detective's training in the martial arts was quite beneficial; he was nearly as good as the others, though his response times were still human.
Ash noticed her lack of interest. With a whispered command, more fighters burst from alleyways where no doors had previously existed. Trinity pulled out twin Uzis, but found that they did not work in the program. Ash smiled as she fought several off.
"I never had a chance to properly thank you for rescuing me."
"It was nothing. It had to be done."
"Why?"
"You would have died otherwise."
"Why were you following me?"
Trinity did not answer, and her unmoving expression of hidden eyes did not change. Ash paused the program. Tens of hovering bodies of beaten brawlers filled the air. He asked the question again.
"Morpheus has his reasons… Mr. Ash."
He looked at her, his amusement still apparent. "Sweetheart, that gives me a masterful deduction. I deduce your real name is not Trinity, but you take it from your hacker handle. The others do the same. Why not name me after mine?"
"White Pawn?"
"I have others."
Trinity walked to Ash and placed a hand on his shoulder. "If you must know, it's an anagram from my real name. It sounded more appropriate."
"What's your real name?"
"((Censored))."
Ash laughed, and Trinity pushed him with the hand on his shoulder. His back hit the wall, and he smiled slyly.
"Well, I suppose it doesn't sound as odd job as ((Classified)) Ash."
"Don't call me sweetheart," she smiled.
They disappeared in a flash. The dark streets of Old Harlem remained the same as always, with grimy sidewalks and floating thugs… until the next time a user accessed it.
They found themselves standing in a dojo, tatami-matted with papyrus walls. Ash looked around.
"Sparring? In our street clothes?"
Trinity shrugged. "This is the least cluttered level."
She bowed, anyway. Ash returned the favor, keeping a close eye on her at all times. They assumed positions, and waited for the other to make the first move.
As they waited, they circled each other, walking smoothly, ready to block the attack.
And waited.
Finally Trinity, sensing enough time had gone by, leapt towards Ash in a flying kick. Unlike would-be young kung fu masters, her attack had a graceful flair as her glittering black trenchcoat billowed behind her, rather like a cape. Ash dodged, artfully rolling out of the way before she had hardly left the air.
When she landed, she quickly turned toward him. He had already punched- clean and strong, using his whole shoulder. Trinity brushed it away with a block, and aimed to kick at his stomach. Ash was ready, and caught her leg. She looked at him with an amused expression.
"You've been practicing."
"Thanks."
He let go and moved back as she jumped, kicking a wide arc with the leg Ash had been holding, completing a full back flip. After she landed Ash tried to hit her again with his fists, but she was took quick, dodging all over the place. His strikes were less forceful this time, aiming for simple contact, but amazingly he could not make a single hit. Simultaneously he concentrated on making sure she could not him, shifting around and striking from all directions with various speeds, like a jazz saxophonist's manipulation of music. Ash's quickly-improvised tactics and changing pace was too much even for her. She became fed up. Focusing her perception and effort, time seemed to slow down for her as she kicked him straight in the chest, knocking him back several feet.
"Oof," he said as he hit the ground.
Trinity walked up to him, gazing at him with unobstructed eyes. She held up her sunglasses in her hand. A lens was missing.
"We should spar more often," she said, reaching out a hand. "We both have things to learn."
Ash blinked, and found his hat on the floor beside him. He put the fedora back onto his head, and stood without her help, declining politely.
"Of course, this is where I say I held back on purpose as a gentleman," he graciously bowed, taking off his hat again in mock-salute.
Trinity put on her sunglasses, her expression still fixed in mild amusement. They had patched up mysteriously. "Of course," she stated, and disappeared.
Ash stood, ruminating. Then he, too, disappeared.
-----
The crew had gathered around Tank in his chair, having left behind all of their duties and R and R.
Trinity spoke. "As this is Ash's first mission, it will be fairly low-key and straightforward," she began.
A bird's eye map of the city streets appeared on a screen. It started from the central of the metropolis and panned south, then west, across boroughs and districts represented by wireframe green. Tank stopped at one particular block, and a red circle surrounded one particular building.
"This would be the City Science Experimental Facility Number Nine, Polymorphic Software Division," said Morpheus.
"Frankenstein's lab in the Matrix," commented Switch dryly.
"Recon and rumor reports that new upgrades are being created there."
"That's no big deal," Cypher piped up, "That's the whole point of Polysoft, isn't it? All of the low-level hacks and shortcuts, all of their macros to control Coppertop pods and sewage systems are crafted there."
Morpheus eyed him. "System incursions report that as of three weeks ago, they have begun building security upgrades. For Agents."
"That's impossible!" interjected Mouse. "The Machines aren't stupid enough to place blueprints and raw coding in the Matrix, where we can get to it."
"Apparently someone's glitched," replied Trinity. "Polysoft Labs has gone under rebuilding to strengthen the building's code. They're underestimating us. Ever since the time we rescued Ash until now, we've been sifting through it. It's cracked," she finished, producing a minidisk.
Morpheus began. "The system, like the greater System, is doomed from the start. In their arrogance and haste, the Machines have neglected to do much more than they could have. Security is at the same degree as normal, and there is reason to believe that they still do not know that we know the reason why their laboratory exists. As a result, a two-person team will be able to infiltrate their facility, retrieve their research, disrupt operations, and exfiltrate home."
Mouse smirked. "And the two persons are…"
"Morpheus and me," said Trinity.
"What?!?" blurted Mouse. "Then why are we here missing our off hours? What do you officers need, then, moral support?"
Trinity pressed a button and the screen flew eastwards and north, bypassing several streets and blocks. A green circle appeared around one building in particular.
"This is the home base. A closed-down bar. Not a particularly classy establishment, but it'll do. It has the only operational hard line in the neighborhood. It's close, only about three miles away from the lab. The route is good, and Agents would have a tough time setting up blockades. Apoc will drive, and Switch will provide back-up should the need arise. Cypher, you'll guard the line with Mouse and Ash."
Cypher turned to the detective. "Luck's on your side, pal. My first op was to break into the new high-security bank on Parkway Avenue. A front for the goonies."
"Really? The cops hired me to inspect that one. I suppose you all have programs that can hide your fingerprints?"
Morpheus cleared his throat. "We shall brief you on the equipment you will employ after this, detective," he said.
He continued on about some more of what was to be expected within the facility, but Ash had lost interest. He continued listening, storing every piece of fact within his mind, whilst quietly observing the others. They all seemed less-than-excited about the mission. Judging from the mood, it seemed quite routine.
"The security," said Morpheus, "will be minimal. There may be automatic turrets and defensive protections, but that is largely to hinder rivals of industry. The Machines encourage violent competition among humanity, so that we may not join together and fight against the true enemy. They are willing to toss the best and brightest of corporate… operatives into their security networks in order to learn new tactics against Man."
Oh, come on, not another One sermon. Thought Cypher.
"Zion has given us this mission because it connects to our greater mission, our greater purpose- to find, confirm, and bring out the One. For seven years I have watched over him. Now the turning point has come. I shall save him, I shall make him perfect. Indeed, if we postpone the Machines' activities for a mere five months, everything will be ready."
"And the war will be over by Christmas," muttered Cypher.
Morpheus acted as if he was deaf. "Tank will instruct you on the equipment we shall use. Those who guard the hard line, listen well, for these new versions will be used next time." He and Trinity left the room to prepare.
Tank grinned and began. "Alright then, the first new widget for this fall season will be an all-purpose Skin Glove, patent pending. Worn on your avatar, it not only deletes any mark- fingerprints, footprints, shed hair, saliva, blood- from the crime scene, but it also takes away any of that clunky, muffled mitten feeling from an actual glove, giving you full sensitivity- get your mind out of the gutter, Mouse. And continuing on, this little baby will crack the newest electronic locks like there's no tomorrow, and I do mean that…"
-----
Trinity ran through the carriage, returning fire. She ducked into every other compartment, reloading infinite clips of ammunition. Her charge followed. She gave him the case, ordered him to take it, shouted at him to. He did.
They crept through the next car. The agents behind had moved slowly when they could have easily besieged them via the roof. Something had changed there, shifted. The commands they had previously received were obsolete; now they would follow a different path of causality.
The Pundit cursed the security avatars' taskmasters. Tactics was always spurned in favor of strategy.
In the next carriage the detective had fallen, nearly seizing up. His RSI flickered, blinking in and out of existence. It was obviously causing a great deal of pain, his observer reasoned. The real world asserted itself with all of the force of childbirth.
The Pundit stood next to him. The instrument he wore was attached over his ear and protruded a green plastic lens over his eyes. It was an application which manifested in the Matrix as a scanner. In raw code all it did was to interface with the sentient program's own coding, but even the Machines had formality.
He scanned every single line of Ash's decaying RSI. As he was forcefully being ejected his old shell corrupted. Should he ever return to the forsaken dreamworld he would receive a new coat crafted by the human insurgents' Constructs, free of the control of the Matrix. Right now he was dying.
The code dissolved predictably, and the Pundit switched to the physics simulator. Like a small black hole, everything around Ash in a three-point-five-five-six micron radius was sucked into the vacuum left by his exiting shell. Not only was he drowning as he finally gasped the frigid, bloody nutrient fluid of his lifepod, the part of his nervous system still attached to the Matrix felt the world around him collapse and crush him. The Pundit wryly found an analogous situation; a man in the hull of a damaged deep-sea submersible being killed by the cold sea in more than one excruciating way.
His lifesigns were within acceptable range, however. Modern extractions usually had no more than an eleven percent chance of failure.
A change occurred. Somewhere on the train, a clock skipped a beat. Detective Ash laid on the ground flat, unmoving. It was an illusion. He had already been unplugged, his physical body tranquilized within his lifepod.
"Rewind and replay," spoke the Pundit.
The scene flowed backwards, Ash's prostate body reanimating as his torso went upright and his limbs grasped at this throat. The code went berserk once again, shimmering in the blurs of electronic snow. By his command it stopped at the moment when Ash's extraction began. Ash did not fall as much as land; he knelt on one knee, arms stretching to the ground on his sides. The Pundit walked over to him, scanning the first lines of distortion. He commanded the program to run again. Nothing.
"You cannot and will not find any anomalies in the avatar code," spoke a voice.
A door appeared on the wall. Behind the doorway two agents strolled in, escorting a third. The Pundit placed his right hand on his right temple, whilst the lead agent did the same to his left earlobe, tugging at the customary earphone. Both transmitted and retrieved identification codes. It was the closest the Machines had come to saluting.
"Agent Red, superior of the triumvirate of Red, Bird, and Finn?" he asked.
"Affirmative. Middle level affairs facilitator, specialist investigator higher-level persona sentient A.I. entity designate CodeIdent: Pundit?" replied the suited program.
"In the flesh," he confirmed, almost absent-mindedly while checking the results. "You were the ones who followed him to Trinity, yes?"
"Correct. We are the unit commissioned to find and seek out that insurgent. This native was utilized in the trap."
"Why Ash?"
"He was- is a useful go-between previously employed at times by the human authorities. We selected him from a list of possible subjects of interest to the militants."
"Interest… for extraction?"
"Or possibly for termination."
The Pundit frowned. "Clarify. How are you certain?"
"Intercepted Zion transmissions confirm that he is among those who were sought by the insurgents to either be offered defection or to be eliminated."
"Subject Ash worked as a police consultant and as a private investigator on native cases. He is of no great importance to us," added Bird.
Another agent, Finn, pulled out a file from within his jacket and continued. "There was a proposal from several network node administrators to… draw him into our cause."
The Pundit's eyes widened, or would have if he had not switched off his emotional emulator. Needn't seem too human in front of these anthropophobic subordinates.
"You are stating that he was to be inducted into the Relocators, and serve in that imbroglio?" he asked incredulously.
"No. We are stating that, while a freelancer, the subject 'Ash' had been a notable police collaborator and cordial to the authorities, and would have been an expedient addition to our native force," Bird coolly replied.
"So you wanted him in the Specials, then. Are you not aware that the Auspices Program has been a complete failure and a massive security risk?"
"That is a debatable point. Clarify."
"The A.P. tests have resulted in multiple deaths of loyal officers. If your superiors had decided to follow the advice of the Expert System your clever little scheme wouldn't have killed off the most capable natives!"
"Incorrect. I am aware that of the five police commissioners in the program, two who are still active," said Finn.
"That is because one was assassinated, one had gone into psychosis, and the last defected to the insurgents!"
"We maintain a considerable improvement over the estimated figure of five percent. That is success."
"An incredibly Pyrrhic one."
Agent Red spoke, "You are incensed that you were assigned to this investigation."
"I am not and you are not telling me why Ash was implanted with a listening device."
"His status as a possible Specials candidate was leaked, and you do not wish to interact with us."
"I am simply concerned with my own department's…!" He paused. These sentries were actually causing him to exhibit emotions free of his internal (now deactivated) emulator. Apparently, the way to A.I. transcendence required only a session of (attempted) negotiation with an annoying counterpart.
He restarted the cycle. "Was he a part of a deliberate sting operation? Why was he chosen as the decoy?"
"If you wish to know the details of the operation you may access it at Precinct Zero, or perhaps on the channels, should you have sufficient clearance. Subject Ash's involvement was in a ploy to capture the renegade 'Trinity', and all followed standard procedures. End log," finished Bird.
"For whatever reason you were assigned to this insignificant investigation, we hope that the Expert System's leaders recognizes your true assets in due course, so that you may be reduced to preserving realistic human geopolitical stabilities, and rather not interfering with guardians of the construct," stated Red, simply, without emotion.
The Pundit was indeed angry. "Continue on with your BI33ER-esque doctrine of belligerence. The Expert System will solve the mysteries of the Matrix long before an Agent does."
Finn and Bird's expressions remained stoic, but their postures furtively shifted to a fighting mode. Even they were irate with this verbal fusillade.
"Are your superiors so intent on stopping petty insurgencies that you would squander our resources and leave us helpless in the face of the One and his counterpart?" the erudite program further challenged.
Red replied, "You fancy yourself a part of the literati, an intellectual. Very well. Then perhaps we are the police and the military and the secret services. Remember who has the strength in the internal power struggles of your precious plaything kingdoms- and who fills up the mass graves."
And with that the agents left.
-----
"Tank. We're in."
The seven fighters stood around a black rotary phone on a desk. It was almost pitch black, but the modded sunglasses they wore had perfect image enhancing capabilities.
"Not my style," breathed Ash, awestruck, "but these are some nice specs."
Trinity glanced at him. "You'll get used to it soon enough."
The phone was in a little office. On the mahogany desk was a typewriter. As the seven left the room, there were three posters of also-ran has-been pugilists on the walls.
Where have I seen that?
They exited into the barroom, which had nothing more than a polished counter shiny from the daylight. On the windows of the bar were the inverted words "Joe's Place".
"Of course!" Ash exclaimed. "Joey the Bookie owned this pad. He got knocked out of the business a while ago. Trouble with the mob."
"You a gambling man?" asked Cypher.
"Nah. I keep contacts with other detectives. I knew one who knew Joe. He's been out of town recently- no one's seen him. I think his name Hard…lee. Hardy."
"I thought you only stayed in Old Harlem," said Trinity.
"This is Outer Heaven, right? Where the grim mock city meets the mocking, grimy City? Yeah, I've hung around this area more than once. Close enough to home. It's more crime-ridden, but this is where the money's at."
"Regardless, this establishment should be secure," said Morpheus. "The last visit here was from City Inspectors condemning this building; since then, no vagrants have used it." He paused for a second to brush a puff of dust off his flawless alligator-skin suit.
"Why hasn't it been demolished yet?" asked Switch.
"The status of 1060 Peoria Street is officially a loophole suspended in cyberspace. No one guards the most despondent in the Matrix, the Machines least of all."
"Meaning…?" asked Ash.
"The dead and diseased poor of this construct is of as much use to the Machines as anything else."
Apoc and Switch moved to the door. It was boarded shut, or so it seemed; they pulled down the planks as easily as plucking petunias. Oddly, the door was locked from the inside, and there was no way to unlatch it. They were about to shoot the lock when Ash stepped in, having found his detective kit still intact in one of his trenchcoat pockets. He picked it open in ten seconds.
"Very pro," commented Mouse.
The opened, and the day poured in like golden syrup on pancakes. In front of the broken down restaurant was a gleaming,'71 black Lincoln Continental. Apoc unlocked the doors on the left, Morpheus sat in the front passenger seat, while Trinity and Switch were in the back.
"Cypher, you have seniority. Guard the line well," said Morpheus.
"Affirmative that, padre."
Morpheus rolled up the car window without replying, and they drove off.
Cypher rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and spoke snidely to Ash. "Here comes the grind."
-----
Apoc drove the car through the dirty city streets, across littered pavements, between concrete caves. The shiny Continental, best-colored for nighttime drives, burned retinas as it bounced photons all across the metropolitan area, garnering at least some heightened attention.
They stopped in an alleyway half a block from CSEF #9. The car was parked in a secure location behind dumpsters- besides, when you find a strange-looking muscle car in the City parked in a place you least expect it, you tend to overlook it instead of risking your neck. Not many exiles lurked in the area, anyway.
The lab itself was in an incongruous area. They were still in Outer Heaven, the triple point where the vintage outskirts of Old Harlem, the glitzy eastern stretch of Diamond Road, and the shabby apartments of the once-impressively-art-deco-but-now-a-slum Proyas City collided in a two-mile radius orgy of style, decadence, gunfire-related deaths, and all things film noir. One third of the inhabitants were real mobsters from the O.H., one third were bubble-headed rich-kid dilettantes, and one third were the indigent. Not exactly the intellectual center for the minor Third Renaissance movement of the City.
Of course, it was the best place to hide. A house of study, lost amongst the Matrix flotsam of clubbing and shooting.
The four-story lab was dwarfed by the run-of-the-mill derelict apartments that surrounded it. Inside the innocuously-antiseptic waiting room were three security cameras in the open, four cameras hidden, and five-point-nine billion biometric profiles stored on a Machine-augmented Cray supercomputer disguised as the Gateway on the receptionist's desk. The average retrieval time of the correct facial recognition file was point-six-six-seven nanoseconds. The receptionist herself was a police counter-terrorist operative, whose perfectly mimicked emotions could distract any interloper for at least the seven and a half minutes it took for a full assembly of thirty heavily-armored SWAT troopers to burst into the building and start breaking asses and ripping sHt! up.
All standard measures.
Trinity and Morpheus walked to it. No use sneaking from behind, for the silvery cylindrical structure was built so close to the adjoining buildings, there were no alleys around it at all, an engineering marvel within the Matrix. This unorthodox design was precisely why the two officers had no choice but to operate in a way that would cause them to immediately denounce and throw into the brig the crewmember who would ever use it.
Morpheus opened the duffel bag he had taken out of the car. It was blue and plastic.
He tossed it into the building in a bowling motion, and pressed the remote control's button. It was red and rubber.
The C4 blew the waiting room up- cameras, Cray, receptionist, and all. It was gray and plastique.
The flames shimmered with a slight shade of green for a second. Not even the Matrix could flawlessly depict millions of augmented code shattering into the normality of a perfect fireball.
No corporate spy could have pulled off a better plan without incurring heavy casualties. As the Zion freedom fighters had known after decades, sometimes a straightforward method is better than any degree of stealth or trickery.
The two strode into the charred remains of the waiting room. The blast had the helpful side effect of disrupting the entire area's ground lines. The wi-fi node was easily shorted out by a device hidden in the engine of the Lincoln Continental. The Machines had undoubtedly buried some sort of auxiliary communications device in the vicinity, but there would be interference from the Real World specific code in the building. In short, the lab was temporarily cut from the outside- and from aid.
The door behind the wreckage of the counter opened. In stepped a dark suited man wearing sunglass and Secret Service earphones.
"Cease and desist," he commanded, and lifted his Desert Eagle to their faces.
-----
"What time is it now?" carped Cypher, for the eleventh time.
Mouse, who was stretching across several of the bar stools while looking through a programs catalog of pinups, gave him a look.
"I'm just saying… they've gotta been gone for at least a whole hour. "Nine years of damn sentry duty and it's always the same boring shit."
"Sure thing, old-timer."
"Don't call me that. I may be a geezer vet but I've been laid a hundred times you have, kid. Real men don't need no digihos with binary boobs."
"So you like loosey-goosey Zion bitches?"
Before the older man could rip off the wisecracking youth's mouth off, Ash entered the room, two bottles in his hand.
"What's refreshing, Private Tracy?" asked the latter.
"I would guess… these?" he tossed one to the former, who had suddenly brightened up.
Cypher read the label, paled, smiled, and handed it to Mouse. "If you're really over-18, take a sip, minor."
He twisted open the cork in a heartbeat and drank. In less than that, he spit out the entire contents to the floor.
"What is this crap? It tastes worse than the smeg soup this guy cooks up in the Neb."
"Hey, I ferment the stuff at very fine temperatures, you know!" Cypher retorted.
Mouse took a good look at the bottle. Whatever color the drink had been had decayed into a very upsetting yellowy grey.
"Don Pérignon? Must be a knock-off."
"Whatever suits you," muttered Ash, and took a swig from his bottle.
Cypher gaped at him. "Easy on the liquor, Ace. We're on duty."
"How can you drink that?" asked Mouse.
"Call it a lack of funds. Bad alcohol desensitizes you to nausea. Kind of how blood desensitizes you to killing, hm?"
"You don't know half of it. Don't kill my appetite," Cypher said, testily.
He sat restlessly. First he fiddled with his pockets for a moment, taking out a leather wallet and flipping through the cards. Cypher picked out a few choice ones and studied them, then put one in his jacket pocket and his wallet in his pants. Then he rearranged it, putting his wallet in his jacket and his card in pants. He stared out the window for a while, and felt his pants pocket for his wallet. Upon finding none he checked his jacket, looked through the wallet, and couldn't find it, and looked animatedly around the bar for it before finding it in his pants.
"That's it!" he shouted. "I've fucking bored of waiting for them. Time for a lunch break."
"Oh, no," snickered Mouse.
Cypher leapt out of the barstool to his feet.
"This is something Morpheus owes me, okay? Don't even start," he snapped, taking out his cell phone.
"Operator," answered Tank, a whole world away.
"I'm doing a scout run to the place across the street. Going to… case the joint from all available angles, you know? Traffic low. You and base are on speed dial."
Tank sighed, feeling a fervid argument looming.
"Fine. Twenty minutes and you're out, or whenever they start coming back. Quit calling this number, and have a happy meal."
Cypher switched off the phone and pulled out a pair of electronic goggles from his jacket.
"Keep the place clean," he instructed Mouse, "and have fun."
"Go fill your emptiness before Morpheus comes in and busts your balls," the kid replied, putting them on.
Cypher laughed. "I can take him."
He got up and hurried to the entrance, then stopped at the door and turned.
"You want to get some grub, private eye?" he asked Ash.
The detective shrugged and poured the decanter's sickening contents into a sink. He then stood.
"Sure."
-----
Trinity shot the suited man, who jumped to the ground and rolled before realizing that he was dead. Morpheus walked up to his body and placed another bullet between the black lenses.
"A rather mediocre sort of agent…?" he wondered as he unbuttoned the jacket.
Inside was an I.D. badge that proclaimed the man was a member of one City Security Board, Eastern Department, UNRED-sponsored.
"Another alphabet soup faction on the urban battlefields."
"The Security Board? Sounds big," commented Trinity.
They entered through the open door and continued, passing offices and boardrooms, typical administrator stuff. Whoever they could find they would pistol-whip, though they knew there was a chance of security possession of the incapacitated. There was far less resistance then, though the security system had a few tricks of its own, already anticipated- wall-mounted machine guns would shoot out wherever they went, and some of the tiles in a kitchen they passed concealed trapdoors that inexplicably opened into an abyss. The human resources were still lacking, as the beige-uniformed rent-a-cops were far less than real police.
Blazing a bullet-ridden path through the building, they stopped at in a hall where an elevator laid at the other end. In their way were three guards, dressed from head to toe in riot gear.
The freedom fighters shot them. Dozens of bullets entered their body armor, but they didn't even flinch. The three pulled out batons, and charged.
Morpheus took two large steps towards them and one small one to their side. The one on the very right missed him, and the martial arts master masterfully struck the guard with a blow the back of the neck, tripped him across and outstretched foot, and then punched the back of his head, rattling his skull against the helmet. The over-armored turtle was out cold; he didn't even struggle to get up.
Trinity dropped her two Uzis and jumped straight up as the two men gathered around her. She pirouetted, kicked both men in the head with both legs, and landed spinning. They fell without a single blow, their hands still gripping the batons and their arms still recoiled to strike.
Morpheus picked up the helmet of his downed opponent.
"Super-bulletproof augmentation doesn't work for everything," Tank noted, reading the code.
The duo walked to the elevator. It wouldn't open.
Trinity pulled out a PDA from a nonexistent pocket and connected a wire into a USB port on the elevator control panel. Within seconds, the floor lights turned from red back into white, and the door opened with a ding.
Onto the next level.
-----
The restaurant was directly across the street from Joe's Place, yet it was astoundingly richer. It was nothing like the five-star eateries downtown, yet it maintained a completely sumptuous appearance in the rough 'hood. On the other hand, it was also completely ordinary, albeit noir-flavored, with its displays of bright lights, sparkling glassware, impeccable service, and a bored-looking pair of young metrosexual musicians playing classical music on a violin and a flute in the corner.
"You ever eaten here before, P.I.?" asked Cypher.
Ash shook his head as he sat down. "Can't say I have."
An aforementioned servant with an insufferable arrogance declared his temporary vassalage for the meal.
"We'll take your best bottle of, uh, Dom Pérignon. Give us two steaks, medium rare. Cut it from your finest cow."
The waiter nodded both submissively and passive-aggressively at the same time and left for the kitchens.
"Snooty bastard. But the steaks here are to die for. Makes Outback's taste like an outhouse," Cypher said.
Ash nodded, scanning the room once again while lighting up a Pascal's Wagers. The restaurant was much more modern looking than the other nearby businesses, but that was the quirk which was called Outer Heaven. If Diamond Kids ever got hungry between touring the neorealist art galleries and dodging bullets, this was the place to go. A few were dining now, oblivious to the rundown conditions outside, conversing lazily on Poiret and Picasso. A few others seemed to be from the original O.H. At one long table sat six men in pinstriped suits in heated discussion. Minor crime lords and their stooges, no doubt. He suddenly panicked. This was his first time home, and he had no idea of what to expect after being taught of the truth. Nervously, Ash took a drag.
"Tell me something, Cypher."
"What?"
"How many people are out to get us?"
"Huh? Oh, the resistance. Just about all of the major authorities, the government, hacker rings, people trying to find and join us, family members of people we freed, family of people we've accidentally killed, uh, bounty hunters, organized crime-"
"Two tables behind you, to the right. No, I mean my right. No, your right- right, them. I've got the exit route. Let's leave before the waiter comes back."
Cypher blinked, staring at the alarmed detective. Then he drew his head back and laughed, hitting the table hard.
"Jee-sus! You're jumpy. Listen, private eye, we're in the underworld right now. We're as badass as much as any other Mafia punk, and we've got bigger guns. Why'd you think you were trained, anyway? Both of us combined and kick the crap out of the entire room unarmed, including those mooks behind me. Besides, their kind don't settle things by shooting in public, especially when it's in a place they own."
"What about the agents?"
"If they really wanted us today, we'd be dead by now. The system can't look into every single person's eyes at once, hell, they can't even send their soldiers around without taking over a Coppertop's shell. If you ever see one of those suited bastards, run your ass off, but don't worry- they can't find you all of the time."
"Then who do we watch out for?" Ash asked, not placated.
"That's easy. Cops."
As if on cue, two policemen walked in. They headed directly for Ash and Cypher. The detective leaned against the table to hide that he was reaching for his revolver, but Cypher pulled out his wallet and kicked him under the table.
"Hello, officers," he greeted calmly.
"Sir, this is a no-smoking restaurant," said a cop, who promptly snatched away Ash's cigarette and crushed it on the spotless carpeting.
"You are wanted for breaking and entering, trespassing, assault and battery, extortion, grand larceny, embezzling, and something around thirty computer crimes," said the other to Cypher.
"Wow… that's a pretty hefty list of accusations. It must be hard memorizing that for every criminal that's out here, ha ha," Cypher laughed. "You have any idea which one I am?"
"You are Brian McGuillings, also known as Toggle."
Cypher shook his head and grinned.
The policeman reached into his jacket, causing Ash's heart the skip a beat. The officer pulled out an open notebook.
Well, I guess he really doesn't have it memorized.
"You are Donovan Patrick Henry, also known as Calhoun."
"That's very flattering, but no."
"((You're Not Cleared For This)), also known as Church?"
"Don't know him."
"Robin Fairfields, also known as Sidewinder."
Cypher chortled loudly. Ash could see the mafiya men in the background cursing in East European. Were they upset that their meeting had been compromised or the police had not thought them important enough to harass?
"Do I look like a girl?" Cypher asked rhetorically, and pulled out a stack of cash. "Tell you what, you've given me enough of the protocol shit, and I'll just get to the part with the cash transaction shit. Got that, copper?"
The other cop, who had been silent so far, spoke. "You are suspected of lying to federal agents while under oath."
Cypher pulled one bill in particular away from its fellows. On it was a picture of his namesake, the limited edition fifty-thousand dollar bill.
"Which one of us do you want?"
"An old lady claims that a person fitting your description snatched her purse at the park, but as she was near-sighted but had her glasses were in the purse in question, we only want you for questioning."
Cypher sighed and took out a credit card.
The first cop took out a credit card scanner from his pocket.
"A homeless man under the influence claimed that you filched a nickel from his mug and then proceeded to jaywalk all over the streets. When police arrived, you weren't even in town that day," the cop was smiling.
They typed in their account numbers and PINs, and swiped the card. After receiving their satisfactory gratuities, they nodded.
"Sir, thank you very much for cooperating with police authority."
"Just doing my duty as an upstanding citizen."
"One last question: where did the money come from?"
"Ethercash. Bypass several networks and databases, and the currency basically creates itself."
"Ah," the cop said to his partner, "no wonder there's a recession going on."
"Well, chief, I think we should count our small blessings that there's still a demand for crime-fighting guys to clean up the streets."
They were laughing as they departed. After the coast was clear, the waiter returned with their order, and also some side dishes extra. Cypher nodded thanks and began wolfing down his meat immediately.
Ash, who had been at the edge of his seat for the entire conversation, declined.
"I think I've lost my appetite."
-----
The system is indeed incapable of constant surveillance of every single entity interfacing in the Matrix, and the reasons are many.
One of which is the fact that the Machines have long learned from the humans that one should not repeat the failures of history. That is, one should repeat the successes.
Considering that humanity has been under their control for generations, the plan has worked very well.
Yottabytes of information are filtered through the most sophisticated processors every single day, blind contraptions that record every single gust of wind, every stirring of an insect, every word ever spoken.
If any single program tried to access even one-septillionth of that information, it would die immediately as a whelk's chance in a supernova.
The superhyperultraquantumcoumputers built for the task analyze the data for trends and patterns, sorting out the relevant. After several more levels of sifting, it is suitable for comprehension for a typical program.
The intricacies of this system are many, but the point is that a lot of the processing power and memory is devoted to keeping a record of every single moment of the Matrix. Machine philosophers have often wondered if every single past instant is therefore another Matrix of its own, and whether if that Matrix's course of history would branch off or remain identical to the current one, thus proving or disproving the Butterfly Effect.
Such philosophers are often booted from the Machine World for questioning the Matrix/Real World duality and thus complicating the plotline by a factor of infinite, and are exiled to the Matrix, where they often die from boredom or wander about the world as specters, as their purpose requires them to have no physical shells.
The Pundit, who, like most higher programs, had a shell, and was disproving the Butterfly Effect at the very moment as Ash said "I think I've lost my appetite."
(Obviously he couldn't hear it, as he was in the Machine World and not in the Matrix.)
The bookroom looked like any typical depository. There were googleplexes of them, though he had no need to traverse through billions in order to find what he wanted. As a program, he was inserted into the section, though for formality all of the code was simulated so that an average human could have seen him.
He opened the right filing cabinet. Agent Red popped out and stood in front of him.
This was the archived form of Agent Red exactly as he had witnessed Ash forced out of the Matrix and disconnected.
"What were the most anomalous aspects?" the Pundit asked.
The archived copy flickered before replying. "I'm sorry. My responses are limited. You have to ask the right question."
The Pundit would have rolled his eyes had he been human. Instead he looked over the possible queries and asked them, one by one. The negotiations had been a failure. Though the agent was obligated to answer his questions earlier, anyway, the Pundit declined asking. This replica was as good as the real thing- less bellicose, too.
Thirty seconds after the exchange the program closed the cabinet. Five billion possible questions, covering each possible aspect that the agent had observed while in the train. Nothing of use. The Pundit was starting to question not what the answer he had been directed to find, but rather what the question was.
A courier interrupted his introspective free-thought stream. The Hermes-like mailman walked into the room and instantly disappeared in a beam a light. He had brought a message that was marked with an opening summary of:
TRACE PROGRAM ACTIVATED AND INITIATED
The Pundit read the message, deleted it, and overwrote its memory space. It collapsed in lines of burning code.
-----
The elevator opened on the fourth floor. Seven guards dressed in full body armor greeted them. Two quickly ran into the elevator car and were taken hostage, their bodies serving as full-sized shields. Trinity and Morpheus dove into the room, rolling on the floor and shooting every which way. They continued past hallways and offices, massacring more guards, most of who were clad only in their uniforms with no protective gear. At periodic intervals, gatling guns popped out of walls and began shooting. They shot them.
-----
Meanwhile, Ash and Cypher dined and wined. Or at least they tried.
The detective's stomach quivered. He felt the same weakness he had known back in the train car, moments before he took the pill.
"Listen, I'm really not hungry," he insisted, pushing away the sirloin.
"Eat some meat. C'mon, I'm paying for it," laughed Cypher, pushing it back.
"It's all right," Ash returned it.
"It's good stuff. Grade-A cow flesh. You'll never get another taste of it back in the 'real world'," back it came.
"No thanks," he shoved it back forcefully, rocking the champagne.
"Okay, okay, relax. Don't spill my drink."
"Sorry. I'm feeling kind of sick."
"All right, I hear ya. More for me, anyway. How about a drink, then?"
Ash looked at the decanter and felt worse.
"You getting a flashback from the stuff you found in the wine cellar? Here," he said, taking a glass from a tray a nearby waiter carried, "have some water."
Ash gulped it down. It fizzled like seltzer, and was lightly sweet. His nausea disappeared.
-----
The automatic door slid open. A lone, elderly scientist decked out in lab coat stood by a console, trembling.
Trinity walked up to him and put her gun to his head. The man cringed, but did not scream.
"Doctor Bodleian M.Sc, my regards," addressed Morpheus.
"Wh… what do you want?" trembled the doc.
"This facility was under City administration for the development of experimental computer programming techniques, was it not?"
"That information is not for me to divul-!" he gasped, feeling steel against his skull.
Trinity cocked the pistol, a movement that had no actual use in real life situations in the heat of battle other than as an intimidator towards captives or as a dramatic gesture prior to being killed through vanity and slowness.
"We are here not to receive, for we already have, but to confirm," Morpheus said. "Was this laboratory used to create weapons-related programs?"
"NO! We coded hypothetical processes, that's all! There was nothing for real-world munitions or weaponry!"
Morpheus leaned towards him, causing the scientist to shrink back towards Trinity's gun.
"What hypothetical processes?"
The scientist hit a button on the wall. A display slipped out beside him. It carried a clear plastic shell enclosing a computer chip.
"Thank you, but we already have that," said Trinity. She took a step back and jumped straight up, kicking the display. The glass shattered into smithereens as it hit the ceiling. The doctor waved his arms around like a startled chicken, flapping and squawking, running away in circles. When he opened his eyes, he had moved nary two meters away from the two gunmen.
-----
"What was that about?" Ash asked.
"Wha?"
"The good cop, bribed cop interchange."
Cypher shrugged. "They didn't have anything on us, not really. Just a general description. Us renegades don't really hang out here much."
"They really had no idea about who you were? Wait- it's the clothes, right? The leather and the sunglasses."
"You're the detective. You see, there's a reason why we all wear freaky, cramping clothes and go to raver clubs wearing these at three o'fucking clock in the morning. You ever see a hacker who looked like us, for crying out loud?"
"Yeah. Kids."
"Right. Kids. Poseurs and wannabes and what do they call it? Gimmicks? Sounds like it. There's no cop this side of downtown that knows what real cyber-crims really act like."
-----
"We already have all of the computer files. They are useless. The City always has something else in hardcopy."
Doctor Bodleian gulped. "You have our LAN-only files?"
Trinity pulled out her PDA. "We cracked the firewall the first five minutes we got here."
"All of our printed material is on the bookcases around you. Or obliterated already."
"Not so. This facility contained a safe in its schematics, and a secondary safe behind it that was not in the schematics."
The doctor looked defeated. "Then you already know about the…"
"Real information being kept in plain sight? Yes. I am sure that not one single personnel ever lives a day without seeing you, director."
The wizened old man slumped. "Please don't kill me."
"We have no desire to."
"Then how do you expect to retrieve the papers?"
"We have our ways. But tell me, what were you studying?"
"I've never even read the lab findings! I can't tell you anything important!"
"What were you searching for?"
"I don't know what's written in the report!"
"Then tell us why you worked here."
"I don't know! Stop!" shrieked the old man.
Trinity took out a metal cube the size of a toy block and shoved it down his throat.
-----
"So," continued Cypher, his mouth stuffed with beef. "I heard about you. Trinity rescued you from a choo-choo, right?"
"I found her in a train on the eastbound Trans-Sibir line. She gave me the pill there."
"Why were you there? Trying to find her?"
"Yes and no. She was trying to find me at the same time."
Cypher chuckled. "That woman has never been a straight-shooter."
"Preaching to the converted. She can really sneak around."
"She's been like that ever since she brought me out of this place."
"Nine years ago?"
"You pay attention."
"I'm paid to."
"I keep on forgetting that you're a private dick, Tracy."
"That's not a term I would prefer."
"Private detective, typical film noir. You were also down on your luck, am I right?"
"I've had successes. I caught Johannes Käse."
"I saw that. It was all over the news. Vast, hidden connections, they said. Suggestions of hidden manipulation by sinister big-name mob groups. You discovered him, some schmuck who used to be a thug."
"The secret to good detective work is luck."
"It takes luck to find cheating wives?"
"That's police work, same as dusting for fingerprints and forming motives. The real way
to succeed is to find the inconsistencies in the pattern that no one else does. That takes some random insight and chance. That takes… luck."
"You really into Lady Luck?"
"Not really. I don't believe in fate."
"But you just said…"
"I'd like to think that there are a few things in life that are out to protect me."
"So do I, but I'd like to be home up to my ears in naked women and eating steaks between bouts, if you know what I mean."
Ash smiled sardonically. "The Real World not what you thought it was?"
"You know it, buddy. Morpheus really sold me with his tale. How did Trinity do it?"
-----
GRZHNGRHNZHNGRFFUGRNZZBK
Doctor Bodleian's body shook as the metal pipe ran into his organs. He convulsed and contorted, his limbs flying around, struggling in vain. Trinity pressed down on the cube that was in his mouth, wrestling with tiny switches with her thumbs. The machine hummed and clicked almost routinely. Then it stopped, and the pipe slid back into the cube.
"Seventeen seconds," said Morpheus. "You are growing more adept at using the probe."
"I suppose I should be proud."
"You supposed correctly."
He took the probe and opened the claw that poked through one side of the cube. A plastic tube holding a wad of papers was in it.
The doctor remained prone on the ground. Morpheus assured her that he was still alive.
"Shock," he diagnosed. "He's been implanted by a device that stimulates his nociceptors when he talks about the forbidden subject."
"So that's why he kept his air passages open…"
"Everything has a reason, Trinity."
Morpheus opened the tube and discarded it. Lactic acid stained the carpet. He skimmed a few pages, and nodded. It didn't look like gibberish. Even if it was false information, it had its uses.
Trinity pocketed several datadisks, and walked to the elevator. She pushed a button.
And turned. It was a blur, but after her adrenaline had kicked up she saw all clearly.
The scientist struggled to his feet. Below his waist, his pants were black. His tie changed, his skin less wrinkled, his face- an earphone! Morpheus pushed him out of the window before she saw sunglasses.
On the pavement below, a very angry Agent Smith stared at four stories above.
-----
"I was in a rush, and she offered me a deal," said Ash.
"Freedom and liberty?"
"Truth and knowledge."
"You sound like a Gnostic. Keep on talking about insights and things that you know that no one else does, dickie."
"I'm not."
"Huh."
He took a wine goblet and turned it in his hands, examining the crystal. "I always thought those heretics were dead, ancient history. But now I realize…"
Cypher swallowed a piece of steak. "What?"
"The more things change, the more they stay the same."
"You think we're Gnostics?"
"I didn't say that. But how do you know of them?"
"Me? I'm a real book-learning, literate kind of guy, for sure."
"You read about early proto-Christian sects that died out before there was even a need for Apostolic Succession?"
"No. Morpheus told us about them. That they were also lost seers of light and enlightenment and all that crap. He did say we were following in their footsteps."
"Hm."
"I think a lot of what he says is just… Morpheus. But he is right about one thing."
"And what's that?"
"There really is a lot of hidden knowledge in this world."
"You don't need to know the Apocrypha to know that."
"Shut up. This is the time period when all that ancient stuff makes a cultural comeback, anyway."
"What?"
"Oh, nothing."
-----
Five squad cars surrounded the building. Police officers were running around, and a fire truck and ambulance had arrived on the scene. Trinity nodded to Morpheus.
"What must fall down must first go up," he quipped as he climbed out onto a windowsill.
-----
"On the train… you felt the… stirring, right?" asked Cypher.
"The escape?"
"No, that's different. A whole different kind of pain. No, before that. Did a program try to break into your I/O signal?"
"I don't know. You mean when an agent takes over your body?"
"Right. The way it kind of oozes into your body, the paralysis? It feels like everything's being blurred out, and someone else is in control. Literally the truth. Crazy haze."
"Yeah, I think I did." Ash remembered the unpleasantness before he took the pill.
"They don't have to stimulate the nervous system too fully, those damn machines. Their electrical synapses just criss-cross into yours, so part of you still feels the world. Or maybe the fake world, I should say."
"I remember it more clearly now. I felt like blanking out for a second."
"That's the way they slip into your body, man. That's the way they take snatch you," Cypher drained his cup.
Ash looked at him. He seemed rather intense as he gazed into the bottle.
"Have you ever been taken over by an agent?"
"Oh… no. I've heard about it, though."
Ash took the bottle, poured a cup, and drank.
-----
The duo jumped across the gap from the lab to a nearby apartment. Wayward bullets struck the air behind them before Smith ordered the men to stop. The two scampered up the dilapidated fire escape and onto the roof, running as fast as they could. There were five more cars on the other side of the building, and they had not been told by anyone not to fire. Bullets flew past them.
As they reached the end of the building they heard the creak of rusted metal. The agent was coming.
"Never stand your ground," Morpheus reminded her. There was no need to.
-----
Cypher finally finished his steaks, wiped his mouth and sat back.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"You can't even believe. How long have you been on the ship? Two weeks?"
"Ten days."
"Lucky bastard. I had to wait three months to come back here. False world, my ass!"
"I guess they need me to be a part of this, since the 'One' is coming back and-"
"Don't get me started on that."
"Sorry."
"You don't understand it. Give a guy a day on real-world food and he'll be disgusted. Give him a week on it and he'll start starving himself. Give him two weeks and he'll be more willing to cooperate, maybe he'll eat it all from time to time. Give him a month and he's finished, he gives in and is used to it. Give him six months and he remembers real food. He'll be dreaming it. He'll be craving it. He'll fantasize about it. That's when withdrawal hits home, because you never get used to eating yeast." Cypher stopped and stared at his empty plate.
"Morpheus doesn't give you many furloughs, does he?"
He looked at his knife. It laid in a puddle of reddish oil.
"I'd give anything for more steak."
-----
Three more gaps, two more buildings. The agent was swift.
Trinity, the more nimble of the two, ran swiftly while firing behind. Utterly useless, as the agent was both too agile and too fast to actually be hit, though it kept him preoccupied for a bit.
The police were having coordination problems downstairs, still arguing about whether the chase constituted a local or federal business. It was simply a ploy to get the fed to take care of the two perps, since there was no one really representing the agents present. No need to lose either men or prestige, the lieutenant reasoned.
He stared as the suited G-man leap across buildings at less than a bound.
"Sir, one of their official's here," informed a young sergeant.
"Finally, someone to give us some damned answers," he answered.
To his disgust, it was none other than one of the City Science eggheads, decked out in a typical lab coat.
"Officer, we maintain the right to our own property. It is under sovereign authority."
The Lt. snorted. "It takes a lot of gall for you to say that. There is no way in hell this sort of mess is going to be under your 'sovereign authority' after this sort of disturbance has just blown the street up in half. There's been calls about gunfire for the last forty minutes, so don't try to infringe on a police investigation, professor."
"On the contrary. We are happy to oblige. In fact, we'll be happy enough to volunteer you experimental weaponry that can assist you in your search."
"Experimental, huh? I've got no time for superhero bullshit."
"You are obligated to, as under CS Regulations Chapter Eleven, 'Of Duties to the Community', the laboratories and law enforcement bodies are in coexistence and cooperation. Regardless, I believe you will find our technology to be satisfactory."
"Get a move on it, then."
-----
"Still not eating?"
"No."
"You ever wonder why you signed up for this?"
"Not yet."
"Ten days. Still waiting to find the end of the yellow brick road."
"It'd be gray here."
"Ha."
-----
They slid down a pipe, landing three stories down in a dumpster. They quickly jumped into the car. Apoc had already jumped the ignition, and Switch had already been staring at the space above her for the entire waiting period. As they drove off, the agent landed on the car roof with a thump.
Apoc instinctively swerved to the left, brushing the narrow alley's wall. Not much of an effect. He drove out into traffic at full speed and braked. The agent held on.
The three passengers vainly shot through the roof, ruining the classic car. The agent still held, dodging. He began to pull out a humongous Desert Eagle out of his jacket, his tie fluttering in the wind. The modified car almost shot back to breakneck speed.
Police were behind. The gun was ready. Apoc's grip on the wheel was steady.
By sheer chance the Continental hit a ditch, throwing Smith off balance with a jolt. He frowned as he held on to the dashboard, staring at the driver and Morpheus.
The man shot. The program dodged.
The car bumped into the 18-wheeler in front. Program fell, but clutched car.
Apoc changed lanes and sped off. The agent was left on the ground, still holding on to the front bumper. The headlights of the Continental were smashed, and the front of the hood was ruined, but the car still roared.
Programmed Durability.
-----
Cypher's cell shook. He answered.
"Get back, now. Boss 1 and Boss 2 are coming back. Mouse out."
He wiped his mouth with the cloth again and took one were sip of the liquor. The check was already at the table. Cypher signed a name and left his card on the bill.
He stood. "Let's go."
-----
Tank had spotted Morpheus and Co. returning. Too busy to flee from the agent to dial a simple number, he thought. The green line remained steady within the sea.
The activity was erratic, but he was ready for it. Not much for the Machines to do but to attempt to cover up the physical impossibilities arising from the shootout. Sometimes glitches occurred in peak processing hours- pebbles hanging in mid air and glass flowing like water and all that. It looked standard.
It lied.
-----
"I'm hooooooooome," exaggerated Cypher, sauntering into the bar. Ash followed, wary.
Mouse looked up from his laptop. "Don't ever do that again."
"There's no agents around. And don't try to give me orders."
"There will be. The fucker's on the ground on Robinson and Vane, but he's still running."
"Running?" asked Ash.
"He could've taken any car, but he's choosing to chase on foot. That means he's plotting something."
"You're as jumpy as the detective here. They're not the creative sort. And there was never an agent that could outrun a car."
"Like I told you, he might-"
He was cut short as the Continental screeched to a halt in front of the bar. Apoc got out of the driver's side, and quickly ran on the road, to open Morpheus's door. The other two got out.
They ran for the door. Morpheus's leather duster flew up in its trademark cape.
Ash arched an eyebrow and looked over the car one more time.
He spoke to the others, who were also looking out the window. "You don't need to be me to know that the car has a driver's side on the left."
Ash pulled out his .38 Saturday night special and fired away. Mouse's jaw dropped and realized the same thing. He pulled out an appropriately archaic submachine gun, followed by Cypher with a light .30 M249.
Ash's first shot hit Apoc. The hacker's face shattered as the shot hit him. As he tottered backwards, the other could clearly see a plastic shield appear over his head, and his leather turned into a flak jacket. He became thinner and shorter too, his body-suited form falling on the grass.
Cypher and Mouse both hit Switch. A bullet through the jugular would unleash an instant spray, but all that appeared was a hole, followed by the armor that the hole was in, and then an entirely different body hitting the ground. "Morpheus" tried to roll to the side, but Cypher peppered him with shots, almost gleefully.
"Trinity" was the hard one. She somehow managed to take a huge jump and propelled into the air man-of-steel style, arms straight forward and firing Uzis as she dove into the window. The three immediately ducked down, and as she broke through the glass, still in the same position, Ash fired into the air three perfect shots.
The body hit the floor and silver fluid gushed aside blood. Cypher ran to the body and turned it over. A helmeted, lifeless face stared behind a clear shield. The shooter was dressed in the same nylon black body-suit as the others.
Cypher poked at it with a gun and said, "Bulletproof."
Tank called Mouse. "This is getting too weird. I'm dialing the exit. Get back when Morpheus returns. ETA: 55 seconds."
"Why the hell didn't you warn us of that?!?" the kid screamed into the phone.
"The whole area's experiencing a clusterfuck. There's no damn way to see anything."
Mouse paused, breathing in. "You mean you didn't see that?"
"I'm not even sure if I know what I saw. I can clearly see everyone else coming back."
He threw the cell phone out of the window. Silence beats talk.
Ash studied the dead figure. There were no identification badges on it, no sort of insignia at all. It looked like any typical dead covert super-stealth spy one could think of, albeit it wore the helmet instead of a black mask and night vision goggles. There were three holes on the torso where the bullets entered, and doubtless matching bullets were lying on the floor behind him. So, nothing out of the ordinary. Except-
He searched through his own jacket's limitless pockets, hoping that it was still here. Ah! Right next to the fingerprinting kit and the online-ordered voyeuristic 20x digital camera. He pulled the tweezers and test tube and scooped the stuff in.
Quicksilver slick. Fluidic as hell. The unknown, creeping liquid touched the body nowhere except where it contacted the ground, like some sort of bizarre murder scene chalk outline.
Another car slammed into the alleyway beside the bar.
Cypher went to the door and opened it a crack, gun in hand.
"Lose the melodrama, Cy. It's them. They were supposed to park there, anyway."
The real four entered. Cypher gave them a brief record of everything that happened after he had returned from the restaurant. Seeing as that was the lion's share of events, Morpheus did not press him for a more comprehensive answer. They were to get a closer look of the bodies, but Tank called another cell.
"Six squad cars coming your way. I think they called an APB. Three agents." Morpheus nodded to Switch, who quickly scattered the materials.
They made their exit. By the time the authorities arrived, Joe's Place was burning.
Endnote: Ouch. I'm never, ever going to estimate when chapters are finished. I hope that this installment has plenty of both mindless action and mindcrunching dialogue for everybody. Please, please forgive the tardiness. Thank you, everybody who is reading this. Truly.
Alternate chapter title: Heaven Ain't Close in a Place Like This
