Bang!
Thomas
A. Anderson grasped his stomach quickly. A fair amount of blood had
oozed out, even though the shot was just fired. He looked down at the
gunshot wound. His hands, he noted, were entirely bloody now, the
cloth surrounding the wound area completely covered with blood. He
staggered back and knocked into the wall. He simply couldn't believe
that he would be killed like this.
Bang!
He felt mad at
himself for being so helpless. Unable to even save himself. Now,
there were two wounds in his abdomen. Blood squirted out quicker than
before. He breathed in deeply, and, not surprisingly, he found that
action alone was gradually getting difficult. He broke out in cold
sweat, both from the excruciating pain and the realisation and fear
that he was about to die a very slow and painful death. He couldn't
do anything about it, except to just endure it.
Smith raised
his Desert Eagle handgun again. "Good-bye, Mister Anderson,"
he stated in a monotonous voice, betraying only a slight hint of the
pleasure Smith was experiencing.
BANG!
He staggered
again, this time from the impact the bullet sent through his body. He
wondered why this shot was so deafening. In fact, he wondered why
everything he saw was starting to blur and swirl, and why he was able
to hear even the slightest footsteps from the adjacent room. Perhaps
this was what it was like to die. It was not so bad after all, he
thought. At least, when he died, everyone would be somewhat happier,
including himself. He wouldn't have so many things to worry about
then.
But what about Morpheus? Or Trinity? Or the rest of the
Nebuchadnezzar crew, for that matter?
It didn't matter now. He
was a goner, and it wouldn't help to feel bad about everything.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he was slipping into the darkness which was
enveloping him. He couldn't hold on any longer. He gave in to the
darkness.
In the real world, his heart stopped.
In the
Matrix, he collapsed onto the floor, dead to the world.
But in
his mind, he was free at last. Completely, totally oblivious.
It
was bliss.
