Lullaby
There is a boy. There is a boy, and every day he is sitting at the corner, with an even smaller boy in his arms. There are two boys. There are two boys, and every day they are sitting at the corner. One boy is sixteen, the other is six. They share the same eyes, hair color, face structure. They are brothers, and they are just two little boys. They sit at their corner together, waiting for the time when their father will come and take them to their home, twelve miles away. And every day their father is late, and they are left alone together. And the older boy will take his brother in his arms, and rock him back and forth until he is asleep, and when the father finally comes the two brothers leave. The boy will sing his younger brother a lullaby, and this is how it is. This is how it has been ever since we came here.
I know, I have seen them. I have watched them and accumulated. I have observed and I have learned. I have learned so much.
"Jones?"
And so has he.
"What are you looking at?"
My name is Jones, and his is Brown. These are our names, given to us by the Source to match that of mankind's names. These are our names, and they are all we have now. After the Source took everything else away.
And I look down at him, Former Agent Brown with his wondering eyes now staring at me, wanting to know my answer. Brown, you always want answers, and I am not always able to provide them for you.
Smith isn't here to answer his questions anymore, and he comes to me. But I am not like Smith, and do not know such answers. We are not like we were once…I try to deny such a thing, but it becomes too apparent to not see. We are changing, we are learning, we are dying.
"Nothing." I tell Brown, and shake my head.
Here we are, where we have stayed and allowed the days and nights to pass. This place where we have found sanctuary. This place where few Agents tread, and there are many empty buildings for us to live within. This place, far from the center of this city, a discarded part of it, where many are forgotten.
Only the unfortunate live here, like those two boys. Like us.
This building where we take refugee, where we sleep, and talk. This building that is decaying and dying like us. Too forgotten for anyone to bother to just destroy it. Holes cover the floor and walls. Watermark rise where there are leaking pipes. Layers of dust stain this entire place, even our suits. And we can't stop it. This is all we have to hide.
Our hiding spot Brown calls it. I suppose it is. Our hiding spot where we hide from the rest of the world, where they can find us. Where the Agents can find us. Just like we used to, they will hunt us down and they will kill us. I remember what it was like. So many Exiles fell to our might, died by our hands wield Desert Eagle guns. That is how it is. We killed Exiles, we are now Exiles. They are going to come for us. They are going to kill us.
There is no denying the truth, they are better than us. Faster, stranger, smarter. They shall come for us and they are going to kill us.
I mean…they already got Smith didn't they?
It was already difficult just to get this far. Just to realize the choice of Exile. It's so much different than it was. It was such a breakthrough for us. Brown and I, this concept of choice. So we chose to run from deletion. This deletion we came to know as death. We ran, and we met our upgrades. They fired their guns, and the chased us throughout the streets. They hurt us and beat us. But we still run. Run and prolong the inevitable. We run Brown and I, we run from our death, we want to live for as long as we can.
But our time is coming to an end.
And I stand in the corner of the second story room of our hiding place, leaning on the broken wall and staring out the window. I can see them, the boys. I can see them huddle together trying to get the rest of the world to leave them alone as they sit in their corner as Brown and I stand in our hiding place. The older boy has a black eye, given to him by his father without a doubt. Many Rebels that were killed by us had dysfunctional relationships with their families. But the brothers nonetheless stay together on their corner. It is almost dark, their father will be coming soon…hopefully.
And the older boy holds is little brother close and rocks them back and forth. He sings a lullaby and soon the little brother is asleep.
"It can't be nothing, if you watch it so intently." Brown says.
And I smile.
"It is nothing worth your curiosity, Brown." I tell him.
And I return to the boys.
"You don't speak much anymore." Brown says again.
I don't even turn to him.
"I don't like it." He continues.
"I am sorry…. So much has happened recently." I explain.
He stands across the room, leaning on the opposite wall, and lowers his head. Then he pushes himself towards me. And comes to me, and rests his head on my chest, leaning on me for support. And this is all I can truly give him.
"We used to tell each other everything." He says, burying his head deeper in my chest. "I miss that."
"That was with the earpieces, Brown. Thoughts were transferred, it was not our doing…."
"No, you're wrong. We spoke of things, and we didn't tell Smith."
I smile. Brown…
"Smith wouldn't have cared." I tell him.
"That's not the point."
We are learning. We are changing. We are dying.
And in this process of learning, changing, and dying I have come to learn, Brown, that there are some things I cannot tell you.
"We should be looking for him, we've been hiding too long. If we find him…then maybe he'll help us. Remember, Jones? He always helped us before…" Brown says, looking out the window by my chest.
We had a connection, all three of us, through the earpieces. We could hear each other's thoughts, each other's voices.
"Smith was different." I tell Brown.
And I cannot tell you everything, Brown. Like the fact that Smith is dead. How could he have survived this long? We have barely escaped the Agents before, and we are together. Smith…Smith was alone in this world, there was only one of him, and three Agents. To believe he could have survived all these months like us…that is just foolish. Human.
But it is merely one in many things I have come to choose to not tell you, Brown.
You are so fragile, Brown. Wondering and curious. Always asking questions, but never finding answers. And you refuse to accept that maybe you're safer not knowing those answers. You are an Agent, Brown. You possess strength and speed far greater than any human. You have held a gun and taken lives. Yet somehow remain blind to these horrible times…. To all this blood shed and war.
But I am here, and I will keep you safe from such truths. You won't be able to handle them. I am here, and I will protect you as I always have even if you do not realize it. And I will be here when our time comes and death is inevitable. I will sing you a lullaby and you will go to sleep.
There are things I cannot tell you, Brown. So many things…
And I wrap my arm around him, because this is all I can do, this is all that I can give him.
I can see them. Those two boys, brothers, sitting in their corner.
And I wonder why. Why they go on living like they are. Waiting in the sun, and rain for a father that rewards their loyalty with abuse. I wonder why we continue on living when I know our death is inevitable. And such a thing we cannot escape. Death, we brought such a thing to others, and we run from it, but it will find us, and not even I can protect us from such a thing.
Why we continue on, why we subject ourselves to live among the very things we were created to kill. Why we allow ourselves to change. To die this way.
Why I allow Brown to die this way…
Over these months, these four months of Exile we have learned so much. Where we are left in the open world, surrounded by death and decay. Sadness of humans crying. Joy of humans laughing. And somehow we become like them. Somehow change from Agents Jones and Brown. We change and we become different people. No longer ourselves, we are dying.
Dying, and we can do nothing to stop it.
Already I see him differently, already I know more about him. I watch him sometimes, sit on the floor and toy with his sunglasses, and observe the world around him. And I watch him change, I watch him die. And I know the same thing is happening to me. We are dying.
We are dying in this horrible place, the only place we have ever known. Can't you feel it, Brown? Dying…
And I can see them. Those boys in their corner. The brothers with their lullaby.
Brown…there is so much I want to tell you, and all of it I can't. I don't want to change anymore than we have. I don't want to change. I want to remain as we are, with you and your questions, and my inability to answer them.
I don't want to die, and change into someone else. I want to still be an Agent. I want to kill humans with you, and protect you from anything. Smith…humans… But that's changing, it's dying. This horrible place shifting us.
And that is when we hear gunshots.
Brown jumps as we look for their source, and I watch as the two boys look around. And the older boy holds his brother closely. Then we see them. Agents on the ground, firing their guns at us.
So we run.
We run like we have learned, run, run for what we believe to be our lives. We run for the hallways and the stairs, and we can still hear the gunshots being fired. I push Brown forward, and towards the stairs, where we run to the rooftops.
We've done this before.
I hate this.
And once on the rooftops, we jump like we used to. We jump unlike any other humans within the Matrix. We jump and run, and the rooftops welcome us. The buildings grow taller as we jump onto them, and we make twists and turns.
It is then I turn around to see the Agents jump from the ground to the rooftops. And very elegantly they land and look towards us. They don't even begin to chase us then, they stare at us, and tilt their heads like we used to. They allow us to run for a few moments, because they know it is inevitable, they will kill us. We may fight them, we may run from them but we will die.
Their names are Johnson, Thompson, and Jackson. And they have taken our place.
I don't need to say it. This is something I don't need to command of Brown. We both know it already.
Run faster.
We have learned quickly how to run, how to hide. How to use the empty space between shadows to our own advantage. How to stay silent so we draw no attention. We have learned very well. How to use this horrible place to our advantage.
So we run faster, knowing that they are chasing us. We fall from the tallest buildings to the smallest of apartments, just to gain some distance between us and them. We turn corners and fall into alleyways. But to no avail.
I can see it in Brown's eyes, as he lowers his head and pants. I can feel it too. We are tired, exhausted. We have been running and running, and still they manage to find us. Back then we ran, but we usually caught whatever we were running after quickly. But to run like this, no stop, not even former Agents were created to handle such stress.
So I grab him by the back of his jacket, and we fall back to the ground, back to where humans tread, and I push him into the window of some random building. Thankfully it is empty and abandon like so many others in this city. Then we run some more. Run as fast as we can, because as soon as we enter the hallway we hear gunshots. And I feel a tug on my ankle.
I hate this.
And for some reason I stop running. Brown pulls me by the arm, making me run again. We run down the hallways and the stairs, down the three floors into the basement. Where we wait, where there is no more place to run. Where we wait for them to come for us, to stop us there, kill us.
But they don't. And for a moment we stop in silence and wonder why, as we slip down into the floor, sitting there.
"Jones!" Brown yells.
I don't know why he yells, until he grabs my ankle. And I see the blood dripping from it.
They shot me.
They got me, and I didn't even notice it, I didn't even stop it. I didn't even know I could bleed…
"Don't touch it!" I tell Brown.
I didn't know I could bleed…I didn't know…I didn't know….
---------------
The night has come in this virtual place. My wound is healing, bandaged up by my own sock. It was shock I've decided that allowed me not to feel the wound until hours later. And hours later, it hurts so much. Blood still drips from it, and stains the floor. I can't help but flinch, and tighten. I never knew such a pain. I never knew this could happen. And I try not to worry Brown, who was so frightened by the sight of blood. The sight of my blood.
They left us, because they believed we weren't much of a threat. Especially when one us is wounded. I remember…Once one mission is over another begins…somewhere in the Matrix a Rebel is always running to their Exit. It never really ends. Perhaps they just had something better to do.
It doesn't really matter though. They left us, they allowed us to live another day. They left us, to bleed and lick our wounds. Possibly to die from lack of blood. We are not human, but we are still bound by the laws of the Matrix. If we go to a hospital, they will find us. There is nothing we can do. We can only sit here, in the dark, where no one can find us. We only wait here, dying by ourselves.
We are dying now, and now we are bleeding.
I hate this.
"It appears as if it hurts." Brown says quietly.
He leans on my shoulder as we sit by the wall. And he shakes his head as he says that.
"It is not so bad." I try to reassure him.
"It hurts, I know it does."
Then he leans onto the wall, and onto my shoulder.
"It will heal." I tell him.
"We need to get the bullet out, or else it will become infected. We need to make it heal, right now."
"No…Not now."
"But…"
"Things can wait…go to sleep, I know you like sleeping."
I know you like to see the back of you eyelids. I know you like to dream, dream of so many things. Dream of freedom, of the Real World. To wake up to me, and tell me ever detail of your dreams. I know how you love such things, your mind creating its own Matrix.
Go to sleep, Brown, it is late. Go to sleep, and dream.
Go to sleep and forget about all this. Forget about my blood, and our problems. Forget about dying. Forget about the Agents, coming to kill us. Forget about our late Smith. Forget it all. Go to sleep, where everything is all right and perfect. You deserve such a place.
Tomorrow…Tomorrow we will deal with all this. We will heal my wounds. They don't hurt as they did. Tomorrow…
Go to sleep, I will sing you a lullaby.
We are dying, Brown. This horrible place is changing us. Even now I can see it in you, Brown. You are not the same, you've changed. You've changed from our freedom, our running. You want to know the answers to your questions, and you will leave me to go and seek such answers. Brown…you're changing. Dying. You already leave me sometimes, your own independence. Brown…you can't leave me… Smith left us already, why do you wish to leave?
This horrible place. Where we wait to die. I hate this place.
This horrible place. With the brothers sitting in their corner, singing their lullaby. Don't they deserve better? Don't we deserve better? Killers, murderers, Rebels call us. They shouldn't even try to understand us.
So go to sleep, Brown. Sleep, and dream. Stop dying for this one night.
And Brown rests his head on my shoulder, and closes his eyes. He shall dream now, until tomorrow. I do not sleep, I do not dream. That is human, I am not human. I am Agent Jones. And you are Agent Brown. But we are forgetting that Brown….
I hate this place, Brown.
And you can't see how horrible it is…it's killing us and you don't even know it.
Sleep, Brown. I'll sing you a lullaby, and you may sleep.
"Goodnight, Jones. See you in the morning." Brown says, before sleep.
Yes, the morning…
"Goodnight, Brown." I tell him.
I will see you again, Brown. I will make us stop dying.
He sleeps now, Brown sleeps, leaning on my shoulder for a pillow. And I get out my gun, shaking my hand with it, remembering how to hold it, how to fire it, how many people I've killed with it.
This is my lullaby.
We are dying, and I can't stand it any longer. I can't just stand and watch us die, I can't just slowly die. I can't allow you to leave me Brown, I won't be alone when I die this death.
I will not allow any harm to come to you. I won't let them hurt you, those upgrades. This pain, it hurts Brown. It is too much for you, I know. There is so much that can hurt you…
But I'm not going to hurt you. I'm singing you a lullaby.
Then I put the gun to your head.
Please don't be angry, Brown. It is better this way. This way, we can be together.
And I pull the trigger, then I put the gun to my head. Then to mine. This is our death.
This is my lullaby.