The Trainman made it back to the Chateau restaurant, bleeding and coughing.
"My God, what ze hell happened to you?" the Merovingian shouted as the program stepped into the lounge, dripping blood onto the hand-woven carpets.
"The Agents... they've gotten some freaky kids to help them. They must want to end her peace."
The Merovingian smiled. Johnson and Thompson were his own creation, developed by him specifically to foil the Oracle's plans. He, of course, had programmed them into wanting to end any peace the One might make.
He hadn't, however, programmed them to attack his minions.
He looked up. The sound of gunshots rang throughout the halls. The Merovingian raised his eyebrow.
The building shook. The Merovingian grabbed the table, and Persephone smiled her fake smile. The Trainman and the other exiles present looked around warily.
The building shook a second time. The Merovingian dived out of the way as a helicopter burst through the priceless stained glass window and began firing.
One exile leapt up and fired an automatic pistol at the gunner, but was shot before he could get more than two rounds off.
Another, more intuitive program drew his Desert Eagle and took out the gas tank. The small group ran through the wreckage into the kitchen.
Persephone withdrew a key from her purse and opened the door into the Chateau.
Agents Johnson, Jackson, and Thompson were standing in the middle of the floor with their pistols drawn and aimed not at the Merovingian, but at his Exile workers.
Cain loaded his M240 assault rifle, and some of the other exiles aimed directly at the Agents as well. It was their horrible fortune to know that the weapons would most likely have no effect.
"What was it you said, Madame?" Johnson said a mock French accent. "How many people carry silver bullets in their guns?"
He fired. One of the exiles dropped to the ground. Beads of sweat appeared on the Merovingian's forehead.
Cain was too impatient to wait any longer. He fired. The Merovingian and Persephone ducked as the bullets flew at the Agents. Johnson and Jackson skillfully dodged, but a lucky shot hit Thompson in the neck.
He dropped to the ground, dead.
"Give us the Trainman," said Johnson simply, as the rest of the exiles drew medieval weaponry from the walls.
"Who are you to order me?" said the Merovingian.
The Agent aimed at him and fired. "I am Agent Johnson."
The Merovingian looked at himself. Artificial blood was dripping from the wound. He looked up. Johnson fired a second time. This time, he was more accurate. The bullet pierced the program's head.
Persephone looked away.
The exiles rushed in. Johnson and Jackson leapt across the exiles' charging mass, and then began firing. Cain and some of the more advanced programs dodged, leaving the bullets to hit the wall and several less important programs.
Persephone silently drew her large pistol from her handbag, and pointed it directly at the now sword-wielding Johnson. She was prepared to fire...when a large pointed something knocked it right out of her hand. The gun landed and fired, and Jackson winced as the silver bullet shattered his heel.
Johnson turned and fired, but she had already fled.
The Exiles, few of whom had not fled, looked up. The five figures stood on the balcony.
"Get out of here, you little humans," a lycanthropic program smirked. He stopped smirking when a sonic energy blast knocked him off his feet.
"You're late," said Johnson irritably. The leader smirked. "We thought you could use some help."
One of the group was already helping Jackson to his feet when he morphed out, leaving a pained waiter. She shrieked as she saw the blood was now flowing freely.
"Do you have any stakes?" Johnson asked.
The leader's eyes widened. "What?"
"Silver bullets will do fine, too." He frowned and decided to inform the Agent, "We don't kill."
"You're going to have to soon. A large terrorist faction has been discovered and they'll kill you before you apprehend them." Johnson let that news sink in a little before continuing, "Mr. Grayson, you can't really believe that a group of terrorists won't kill you because you're young."
"Don't call me Mr. Grayson, okay, Johnson?"
The Agent smirked. "Fine. Fine."
Persephone pegged him in the head. The red-haired girl screamed as loud as she could before launching green energy at her. The program simply moved out of the way and allowed the blasts to hit the Merovingian's body.
"Now surely you can do better than that," she smiled, and opened the door into a hallway. The exiles followed her quickly as the teenagers leapt from the balcony. One grew immensely and began to charge the door, but it was closed. He drove through it.
The changeling burst through the railing and began to fall down the cliff, but changed into a bird just as quick and flew to the top.
"Dude, how'd that happen?" asked the largest, a half-human/machine.
"Something's not right here. Doors don't just go everywhere," he answered blankly.
"The French woman, she had a key," muttered a cloaked team member. "That key must be able to open separate sections of this building."
A small pad began blinking on the leader's belt. He flipped up the pad and looked at the screen. It was static, but a voice was coming through with perfect sound.
"My name is Morpheus. I would like to meet with you four," was all he managed to hear before the click of a dial tone. He shuddered. Cryptic messages were never good omens.
"Titans, move. Cy, trace the location," the leader ordered. "Can't, man," replied the half-human. "Something screwed up the frequency."