Emphatic

A/N: This is my very first Matrix fan-fic, rewritten under a different title and pen-name, and with a few modifications in it. If you recognise the name Trin303, or Dark Trin, and the title I See The Light, then it's the story you read before, only different. Feel free to reread it, but it won't be amazingly different, just slightly improved I hope.

Now, it's all about the ass kicking!

Summary: Trinity wakes up in the Chateau and finds it difficult to remember how she got there. Then she recalls the distinct feeling of death, and remembers the war. Did Neo survive to end it? And if he did, will he still be alive when she gets back to the real world?

Setting: Post-Revolutions.Rating: PG-13 for mild swearing and some violence. Just in case!

Disclaimer: None of the characters from The Matrix belong to me. They belong to the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros. I am neither of these brothers, I'm not a brother at all, and I don't have one either, okay? I do not make money of this hobby; it is just a hobby!

None of the characters from belong to me. They belong to the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros. I am neither of these brothers, I'm not a brother at all, and I don't have one either, okay? I do not make money of this hobby; it is just a hobby!

Chapter 1 – Reawakened

A feeling washed over me, one that was unpleasant almost to the point of being painful. The closest description is being dragged out of a long, vertical hole in the rough ground, hauled up and back into the bright light of the harsh, cruel world. I was waking up slowly. Was I actually dead, and couldn't tell? My body felt weak and deeply scarred, and I was so exhausted I found it difficult to even lift my eyelids. When I finally opened my eyes, the darkness around me was too harsh for me after what seemed like an eternity of deep, perfect black. I squinted, trying to adjust to it. When I finally could make out some shapes around me, I realised my surroundings were completely unfamiliar. The only light source was a tiny window up in the very far right corner of a plain white stonewall, and it was completely barred. It didn't let any air into the room, so I felt hot and damp. I looked across the room, and saw nothing. The floor was made of a cold, smooth stone, the kind that makes your skin prickle just looking at it. Then I found my exit. The only exit apart from that tiny window was a cast iron door with a bolt on it.

Great.

As I lay there on the cold stone floor, without even a pillow or blanket to keep me at all comfortable, I moved my body a little, testing my muscles and trying to move my limbs. My stomach and legs panged with a strange tingling sensation. I lifted my old grey sweater - torn and stained with oil from long days and nights of work on the Nebuchadnezzar – to reveal bruises and circular scars. My memory slowly crept back to me like someone rewinding a tape. I closed my eyes as I remembered what had happened. I remembered lying there, on the cold metal catwalk, his hand wrapped tightly in mine. I remembered hearing his quivering voice when he was struck by the harsh realisation that I wasn't going to make it any further. I remembered hearing him as he sobbed, and watching as no tears came from his damaged eyes. I remembered how hearing his soft, quivering voice, made the pain he felt so apparent that it struck me harder than I'd ever been hit before. It was a feeling not unlike dying, as I found out a few moments later. I wanted to weep, I wanted to let him see how much I loved him but I couldn't let myself show weakness to him. I knew if I showed weakness it would make it harder for him. So I kept myself quiet. I had needed to tell him how I felt. I needed to feel his lips on mine. Even now I could feel the pain of the ribbed metal rods as the protruded through my stomach and thigh. And then the feeling of physical death came back to me. I felt it up until the very nearest point to death and then my mind went blank, white like the end of a roll of tape, white and menacingly painful. My eyes opened wide again and I gasped loudly. It had felt so real to remember it.

Then suddenly I was ripped violently from my thoughts when I heard the outer bolt on the iron door behind me sliding and clanking back, and then the door being thrown open and smacking against the stonewall. To my utter amazement, two silver-grey figures entered the room. I recognised them instantly. They moved gracefully and peacefully, looking like angels with their pale white skin and long dreadlocks, disguising the cruelty I knew they possessed. I remembered that one of them 'owed' me for shooting him on the arm. I hated them from the moment I saw them when we met that French bastard and his wife in the restaurant. They didn't even try to hide their obvious desire, and they teased me about it. If I hadn't been finding it so difficult to move at that time, I would have launched myself forward at them and beaten them with all the energy I had. But there was no time for ifs then.

They grinned evilly at me, showing a slight sense of passion behind their greyish faces. I winced. I felt two pairs of hands on my shoulders as they wrenched me up into a sitting position. Any place in my body that had been injured in that crash drew attention to itself now, giving me an overall overwhelming throbbing sensation all over my body. I cried out in agony, before I could stop myself. I tried to struggle, shrugging my shoulders and twisting my body, but each movement felt like I was being stabbed in all of my joints. I hadn't properly moved since that terrible night, so I was far too weak to make anything more than a lame attempt at pulling away. I was useless but I didn't stop fighting against their strong grip, even when they started to drag me out the door. I hated the feeling of their wiry hands wrapped around my skinny upper arms, thin from lack of any kind of food.

At the top of the flight of stone steps, my body now aching even more from the forcefulness of them pulling me over cold stone steps, they dragged me into a tall, elegant hallway that I knew I recognised. Memories of the arrogant Frenchman and his self-obsessed, strangely passionate and frustrating wife came to mind, but I had no time to think about them, for it was not long before I was being hauled backwards, kicking and wrestling, up one of the two curving flights of stairs and onto the floor above. I was dragged to a pair of glass doors, and then out onto a stone balcony. They were sure to make me pay for all the things I had done, especially now in my weakened state, but I had stopped struggling now, and had started to fight with the blazing sun overhead. Usually the Matrix sun did not damage me or hurt me, even without my black sunglasses on I could withstand it, especially because it was not real. But there was a distinct feeling of pain in my eyes, the sort of pain that a person gets after waking up in the morning and someone has just switched on the lamp, only one hundred times more intense. Then something occurred to me that hadn't occurred to me before now. I was dressed in my real world clothes; a threadbare, oily grey sweater, black pants and heavy black boots that caused my legs to feel even weaker than they were at this time. Where was my usual Matrix outfit? Why wasn't I wearing my black latex catsuit, boots, and black sunglasses? I wasn't even armed with my usual array of weapons. I eventually squinted and closed my eyes, as I could recall doing at every meeting I had with these two men.

I suddenly had to force my eyes open, as I heard the soft, swift sound of metal grinding very quickly on metal, and turned towards the sound. I could just about make out the shape of a switchblade in one of the twins' hands. His brother grabbed my lower arms and forced them behind my back, lifting me to my feet. I let out a yelp and a soft moan as I stood, and felt my back pressing against the twin's white-clad chest. The first brother approached me, armed with a switchblade and a very satisfied, evil and slightly passionate grin. I felt vulnerable, but not defeated. I struggled as much as I could manage against the strong grip of my captor, but it was no use, for he only held me tighter.

"We have a choice," One said.

"Yes, we do."

"We can kill you now."

"But that would be no fun."

"Or we could torture you."

"But that means having to wait to see your pain."

"We do not like that."

"No we do not."

I squinted at the first twin, my head slowly tilting to one side, deep in thought. They puzzled me. I had heard of twins knowing when the other was upset, or feeling pain, but this was ludicrous. Each one knew what the other was thinking, and so finished off his sentences. They interpreted the other's actions before they were performed, and so worked almost beautifully together in battle. I realised I had never heard them argue, which was most likely due to the fact that they could alter their plans because they already knew what the other was thinking. They planned things aloud, just so I could hear them, but I still could not understand their idea. I hated not being in control, and I knew I had to know. Where they going to torture me for a long time out here, and then drag me back into that little room downstairs in the cellar, and bring me back for more later? Or would they save themselves the trouble and me the pain my killing me now, out in the heat of the blazing fireball above, allowing me to die on this beautiful stone balcony?

My attention was drawn quickly back to my attackers as I felt the icy cold metal of the switchblade pressed dangerously against my throat. "What do you think?" asked the one wielding the weapon.

"What do we think," corrected the second twin, letting go of my arms and standing out of the way while his brother pushed me backwards.

"Oh of course," One said with a smirk.

"Let's play with her."

One muttered a sign of approval, his smile widening and the desire in his eyes showing even more. I realized then that I hated him, and his brother. He leaned towards me, pulling the blade away from my throat as he went. His face was close to mine, and I could feel his cold, damp breath on my cheek. I shuddered. He moved towards my lips with his greyish blue mouth, and I winced. I could feel him nearing my mouth now, and as he attempted to kiss me I saw my chance. My low strength would make me clumsy and my blows weak, so they would have to be cunning ones, but this was the only chance I might have to attempt escape. I thrust my heavy boot up between his thighs. He doubled over and grunted, gripping his groin tightly. While he was distracted by his pain, I brought my fists together behind my head and brought them down as fast as I could manage to the back of his skull and he collapsed head first to the ground. His brother was just starting to react when I spun around as fast as I could and chopped him in the throat, making him yelp, and kicked him in the chest. He went hurtling backwards against the stone.

I saw this as my only chance to make a run for it, so I took off towards the two shut glass doors that we had come through. I charged through them, shielding my face with my arm from the glass that shattered down onto the tiled floor beneath my feet.

Well, thanks for reading my first chapter. I made it lengthier than it was originally, and hopefully it seems more detailed now. Hope you enjoyed reading it, drop me a review telling me of any improvements you'd like to see. Thanks.

- PsycheSoul