03:18.

The hell club had been created shortly after the first cycle, with the original intention of being a meeting place for those who rejected the dream world but were nevertheless hopelessly bound to it.

However, as the second cycle went on, it transformed into a loathsome breeding ground for the exiles, former agents of the system, and as humans made their way into the equation, there would be massive uprisings. A strict ban on weapons had little to no effect, as no one took it seriously, so death and deletion were on the rise. It took someone like the Merovingian to explain the rules of cause and effect, to display the logistics of natural order in a world full of oblivious minds.

Of course, there were still many who refused to listen. They were the undead programs, those who would fall only to an extensive burst of code transmitted to the central nervous and life support systems. There were also the oblivious human beings, whose ignorance of the system posed a threat to the programs. But the Frenchman would handle this in time, becoming more well known as he made lasting change.

There was only one consistant, unsolvable problem, and this was the dilemna of the savior. That "One" who would turn the war over in humanity's favor, which in turn would eliminate the escape world that many called home. He had survived the first version, a female, and whether a second messiah would arise -- or indeed had arisen -- was uncertain. One thing was sure: should the Matrix meet it's doom again, he would do anything in his power to protect both himself and the woman he held dear from annihilation.

Suddenly, the bustling sounds of the club jarred him from his thoughts, centering him as he made his rounds.

"Lambert!" spoke a program above the cacophony of noise. "Lambert, I thought I recognized that face. Having fun?"

He turned to see a woman in a snow-colored dress, clashing against everyone around her yet matching her perfectly curving hair. Something about her seemed unusually familiar. "Who are you?" he asked.

She laughed without inhibition, tilting her head back. "Ah, you don't remember me, do you?" She lifted the back of her hand to eye level, baring the digits 01 in bright, fiery red. "Does that look familiar to you at all?" she joked. The numbers instantly disappeared, and she lowered her arm.

01? The machine city? What madness was this? Had she transferred over to the Matrix to escape deletion, like he and his future wife had done?

The woman tried to explain. "I was one of the programs responsible for loosing you from your organic shell. After serving out my usefulness, I was able to get here though the Leech."

Through the Leech? He quickly recalled a program from the machine world with attributes similar to the earthly creature, but was this whom she was referring to? His forehead wrinkled, processing the information. "You have done something horribly wrong, following me into this place."

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, daintily swinging to the music.

He grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to be serious. "Foolish woman! That exit was taken only as a means to avoid deletion, and was then sealed. By coming here, with however many others who may have altered, unknown forces may use than passageway to their cruel ends."

"But what do you care?" asked the woman, avoiding his narrowing gaze.

His eyes grew wide. "Because, you tramp, my wife-to-be is planning to wait at that connection point within the hour!" He shoved the woman to the side and darted out of the club, hoping he would make it.

Outside, he quickly jumped into the car. "Drive, you worthless creations!" he shouted. The stretch-limousine pulled out into heavy traffic, hurrying to get to the station. Of all the things he wished to discover while exiled in this world, the most prevalent were the keys to programmer access chambers. There was no doubt in his mind that he would succeed in finding them, but the few backdoors he had uncovered were enough to evade most of the system's enforcers. As for the rest...

"Here, here!" he cried, and the limo jerked to a halt. Before waiting for his men to open the door, he lurched out and made for the stairway. Reaching the bottom step, he could see an empty chain of cars set to take him off to the access byway to meet his love.

But then he saw her.

No.

The servants held him back, and he was unable to overcome his emotion at what he could see. The woman's body slumped over in the stretcher, carried by two oblivious humans. Her face was bloodied and bruised, but she was still recognizable. It really was his love. What kind of person would commit such a horrible act?

"Persephone!" he screamed, and fell to his knees. He found his voice tightening, the horror forced out through his lungs. Why?

His agony echoed into the night.

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