Thanks again to all reviewers; replies are at the end of the chapter.
Chapter 21: The equation trying to balance itself
Waking up in a construct is rarely fun.
My eyes, which were, at the time, used to the black surroundings that my closed eyelids had forced upon them. When I opened my eye and saw the impossibly bright light coming from every direction, it was a minor miracle that my retinas didn't burn out.
I kept my eyes closed for a long while after that. Every few minutes I would open them fractionally to try and get used to the light, only to be close them again soon after with a fresh stinging sensation within them.
"How you managed to survive continues to elude me."
The voice was male; it seemed to be tinged with contempt and at the same time, somehow, pity. I managed to overcome my instinct to look at the newcomer and instead turned my head to face where the voice had come from with my eyelid held firmly closed.
I heard a sigh; this was followed by a strange fizzing sound. Almost like shingle being tipped onto a cardboard floor. When I opened my eyes again, I found that the room was much darker.
There wasn't much to look at. I could only make out a faint outline of the other guy's head. There was a table, two seats, one of which was occupied by me. There was also a window slightly overhead which showed a crude silhouette of what looked like a palm tree.
"Better?" Asked the voice.
It was about then when the confussion, fear and the faint recollection of what happened struck. I remembered being carried off by a sentinel, I remembered passing out. I also remembered the sentinels ripping themselves to pieces. Now I was in a construct. My theories as to what was to come were not overly pleasant.
"Much," I responded, trying to make out more of the person who took the second seat on the far side of the table but to no avail. "Where are the others?"
"The survivors are being seen to. They were in much worse shape then you. Two people onboard the Hammer known as Mauser and AC were killed. I'm sorry"
"No." A faint numbness filled me, the closer death is to me, the more disturbed I tend to get. Knowing that two colleagues were dead was harder to accept then it should have been.
The lighting increased slightly, revealing four walls, a faint grey ceiling, and parts of the person's face. I shot to my feet, knocking my chair aside in the process. It was him, the program that had rammed his hand into my gut five months ago and turned me into one of him. (The machines had given a report of what had happened during that month to all major news networks. The story played for weeks.)
Anyway, I recognised the face. It was everywhere in the Matrix, paranoid nuts frequently charged through the streets screaming 'He is still among us!' He was the Demon's role model; and one strange band had even used his face for an album cover. As you have undoubtedly guessed, I was talking with Smith.
Rational thought fought its way through the fear, more confussion came with it. This guy was meant to be evil, and he was telling me that the wounded were being seen to, and offering condolences for the deceased. The situation was making less and less sense by the minute.
Smith simply stared at me with a blank face. After about two minutes of silence, I decided I had no other option but to pick my chair up off of the floor and sit down. The lighting improved somewhat as I did so.
"I imagine you have questions." He said.
******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Manticore threw the photograph down on the table and we closed in around it to see the person within it.
The creature looked like your bog standard homeless person. His hair and teeth were dishevelled. His clothing had more holes in it then a guy who fell on the sharp end of a pitchfork. An almost involuntary stab of pity found its way into my head.
"He's called the Train-man." Said Manticore, who had apparently decided that we'd stared at the photo for long enough. "We need him dead."
I looked up and stared at Manticore for a few moments. I knew the guy well enough to know that he didn't make a habit of killing the homeless. Thus suggesting that this was no mere homeless guy.
"Why?" Dragon asked after a few moments of silence.
"He's the one that's been uploading demons and exiles into sentinels."
The pity was soon replaced with anger. For all the bitterness I felt about being forbidden access to Zion, I still didn't want to see everyone there get torn to pieces by squid shaped killing machines. Killing the guy who was making this possible was beginning to sound appealing.
"Isn't he just another lackey of the Merovingian?" Asked Hydra who was still staring at the photograph.
"He is," came Manticore's reply, "according to the Oracle, the Merovingian and all his servitors are working to help Neo."
"Who's the Merovingian?" I asked, once more feeling a lot like the idiotic new guy among the group.
"He is a program that has built a metaphorical empire for himself here in the Matrix," the tone of Manticore's voice suggested that he had given this speech before. "He knows virtually every significant going on throughout the world; he has operatives that carry out his bidding in every corner of the world. He is considered by many to be the most dangerous being within the Matrix. Thousands of people are dead because of him. The war between humanity and the machines was to him a good source of entertainm..."
"Basically," interrupted Hawk, "He's an arsehole who deserves to be sliced in half."
"And we need him dead too." Added Manticore.
"Why would he be helping to destroy Zion? That's pretty ambitious, even for him."
"The humans of Zion have got in his way once too often, apparently. Thanks to them, he lost the Key maker, several minions, and was humiliated at his nightclub by the human known as Trinity."
"Who?" I said through my teeth. No one seemed to hear me, or if they did no one seemed to care.
"Basically," continued Manticore, "he wants to make sure that nothing like that happens again, ever."
"And we get to disappoint him I assume." I said. They heard me that time, and a series of grins broke out of the assembled faces.
To be continued.
Right, now for replies.
Naz: Once again I think that I've replied to your review in a reply in ARGH! Where are my limbs?! So I'll just ask 'how go things?' As I haven't done that in a while. Also, I ate sommerfield's cumberland rings today and i felt queasy soon afterwards, that might have been a mix of the rings and the pineapple juice now that i think about it. Anyway, Thanks for reviewing.
Agent Josie: And I call me pedantic. Very well, your seemingly spontaneous drive 'towards' London was unexpected. Anyway, thanks for reviewing. Also, can you think of a use for about 50 ring pulls?
Tai Wilson: Its spelt 'vacation' according to the Microsoft spell checker. Oh well, Spring break, or the Easter holiday as we British persons call it draws ever nearer sire, patience, and thanks for reviewing.
Dark Puck: Thanks, it's always nice to see new reviewers. Twitch not sire, for Locke's character shall not be bashed out of shape. I'm trying to keep everyone in character as much as possible.
Chapter 21: The equation trying to balance itself
Waking up in a construct is rarely fun.
My eyes, which were, at the time, used to the black surroundings that my closed eyelids had forced upon them. When I opened my eye and saw the impossibly bright light coming from every direction, it was a minor miracle that my retinas didn't burn out.
I kept my eyes closed for a long while after that. Every few minutes I would open them fractionally to try and get used to the light, only to be close them again soon after with a fresh stinging sensation within them.
"How you managed to survive continues to elude me."
The voice was male; it seemed to be tinged with contempt and at the same time, somehow, pity. I managed to overcome my instinct to look at the newcomer and instead turned my head to face where the voice had come from with my eyelid held firmly closed.
I heard a sigh; this was followed by a strange fizzing sound. Almost like shingle being tipped onto a cardboard floor. When I opened my eyes again, I found that the room was much darker.
There wasn't much to look at. I could only make out a faint outline of the other guy's head. There was a table, two seats, one of which was occupied by me. There was also a window slightly overhead which showed a crude silhouette of what looked like a palm tree.
"Better?" Asked the voice.
It was about then when the confussion, fear and the faint recollection of what happened struck. I remembered being carried off by a sentinel, I remembered passing out. I also remembered the sentinels ripping themselves to pieces. Now I was in a construct. My theories as to what was to come were not overly pleasant.
"Much," I responded, trying to make out more of the person who took the second seat on the far side of the table but to no avail. "Where are the others?"
"The survivors are being seen to. They were in much worse shape then you. Two people onboard the Hammer known as Mauser and AC were killed. I'm sorry"
"No." A faint numbness filled me, the closer death is to me, the more disturbed I tend to get. Knowing that two colleagues were dead was harder to accept then it should have been.
The lighting increased slightly, revealing four walls, a faint grey ceiling, and parts of the person's face. I shot to my feet, knocking my chair aside in the process. It was him, the program that had rammed his hand into my gut five months ago and turned me into one of him. (The machines had given a report of what had happened during that month to all major news networks. The story played for weeks.)
Anyway, I recognised the face. It was everywhere in the Matrix, paranoid nuts frequently charged through the streets screaming 'He is still among us!' He was the Demon's role model; and one strange band had even used his face for an album cover. As you have undoubtedly guessed, I was talking with Smith.
Rational thought fought its way through the fear, more confussion came with it. This guy was meant to be evil, and he was telling me that the wounded were being seen to, and offering condolences for the deceased. The situation was making less and less sense by the minute.
Smith simply stared at me with a blank face. After about two minutes of silence, I decided I had no other option but to pick my chair up off of the floor and sit down. The lighting improved somewhat as I did so.
"I imagine you have questions." He said.
******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Manticore threw the photograph down on the table and we closed in around it to see the person within it.
The creature looked like your bog standard homeless person. His hair and teeth were dishevelled. His clothing had more holes in it then a guy who fell on the sharp end of a pitchfork. An almost involuntary stab of pity found its way into my head.
"He's called the Train-man." Said Manticore, who had apparently decided that we'd stared at the photo for long enough. "We need him dead."
I looked up and stared at Manticore for a few moments. I knew the guy well enough to know that he didn't make a habit of killing the homeless. Thus suggesting that this was no mere homeless guy.
"Why?" Dragon asked after a few moments of silence.
"He's the one that's been uploading demons and exiles into sentinels."
The pity was soon replaced with anger. For all the bitterness I felt about being forbidden access to Zion, I still didn't want to see everyone there get torn to pieces by squid shaped killing machines. Killing the guy who was making this possible was beginning to sound appealing.
"Isn't he just another lackey of the Merovingian?" Asked Hydra who was still staring at the photograph.
"He is," came Manticore's reply, "according to the Oracle, the Merovingian and all his servitors are working to help Neo."
"Who's the Merovingian?" I asked, once more feeling a lot like the idiotic new guy among the group.
"He is a program that has built a metaphorical empire for himself here in the Matrix," the tone of Manticore's voice suggested that he had given this speech before. "He knows virtually every significant going on throughout the world; he has operatives that carry out his bidding in every corner of the world. He is considered by many to be the most dangerous being within the Matrix. Thousands of people are dead because of him. The war between humanity and the machines was to him a good source of entertainm..."
"Basically," interrupted Hawk, "He's an arsehole who deserves to be sliced in half."
"And we need him dead too." Added Manticore.
"Why would he be helping to destroy Zion? That's pretty ambitious, even for him."
"The humans of Zion have got in his way once too often, apparently. Thanks to them, he lost the Key maker, several minions, and was humiliated at his nightclub by the human known as Trinity."
"Who?" I said through my teeth. No one seemed to hear me, or if they did no one seemed to care.
"Basically," continued Manticore, "he wants to make sure that nothing like that happens again, ever."
"And we get to disappoint him I assume." I said. They heard me that time, and a series of grins broke out of the assembled faces.
To be continued.
Right, now for replies.
Naz: Once again I think that I've replied to your review in a reply in ARGH! Where are my limbs?! So I'll just ask 'how go things?' As I haven't done that in a while. Also, I ate sommerfield's cumberland rings today and i felt queasy soon afterwards, that might have been a mix of the rings and the pineapple juice now that i think about it. Anyway, Thanks for reviewing.
Agent Josie: And I call me pedantic. Very well, your seemingly spontaneous drive 'towards' London was unexpected. Anyway, thanks for reviewing. Also, can you think of a use for about 50 ring pulls?
Tai Wilson: Its spelt 'vacation' according to the Microsoft spell checker. Oh well, Spring break, or the Easter holiday as we British persons call it draws ever nearer sire, patience, and thanks for reviewing.
Dark Puck: Thanks, it's always nice to see new reviewers. Twitch not sire, for Locke's character shall not be bashed out of shape. I'm trying to keep everyone in character as much as possible.