Let me tell you a story, human— a quite interesting story. It involves an enforcer program or an agent to be more precise. The agent pursues a human a rebel named Thomas A. Anderson and kills him. He kills him with nine shots from his gun. End of story, usually, but this human, a seemingly unimportant human does not stay dead. Far from it. This Mr. Anderson, unknown to either the agent or himself is a product of a vast machine design.
You protest that it can't be the truth Morpheus? That your precious Mr. Anderson, the savior of Zion, the One of Prophesy, can't be of machine make? Well-consider this, what of those plugs in your arms? Do you think you're a 'man born of woman' in the true sense?
No, you and most of Zion are 'pod born,' created and bred from machine production. From birth you are nurtured with one purpose in mind, to provide energy for machines to survive on. You pod born are 'coppertops' as Zionist's say, the generator for machine kind. From cradle to grave, most of mankind is asleep, dreaming in the matrix, dreaming lives that are created from machine data.
Is it improbable that a man born and bred from this system would become necessary for that very system's survival? That his uniqueness is a consequence of centuries of data, that all that he is—all that he ever was came from his response to his environment, his life and his programming? Programming that machines developed?
You glare at me with hatred Morpheus, but you sense the truth of it don't you. Your emotions might shout a denial but your mind—that feeble container of human logic can't deny the possibility, the probability of it. The truth hurts, doesn't it?
How amusing.
Still don't believe? Consider the Oracle. The knowledge that she is a program came as a shock to you, didn't it? I have her memories and what they show of your face—well, it was quite a sight. You had no knowledge what her true nature was. The staunchest supporter of Zion within the matrix was a machine, a program. A program who guided 'the last free humans' with her Prophesy. The irony of it!
You don't want to hear anymore Morpheus? Why, it's the truth--- something you rebel's so loudly proclaim you want. Ah, you don't want to talk about her, the Oracle. Understandable, no human likes being made a fool, especially by a thing they hate.
The Oracle's memory has many facts you might find interesting. One is that this is the sixth version of the matrix.
Yes, the sixth version. And in all of them they had a 'One,' a savior of Zion. Surprised? You shouldn't be, machines are very efficient.
So Anderson did tell you a little of the One's purpose. The One is the result of the unbalanced equation within the Matrix. He is humanity's unconscious demand involving choice. According to a certain mathematical construct he is nothing more than an anomaly arising from a defect of the equation.
But according to the Oracle, the One is something more, something much more. And such power will blaze even in your reality, Morpheus.
You've already seen signs of it, haven't you? Little wonder the Architect sought to control him. The last time I saw him Zion's savior was conquered, a captive of the source. I saw the knowledge of his coming fate—the doom of being stripped of his humanity--- screaming from his eyes.
But like our last battle, he would not accept defeat, and did the unexpected.
What did he do? In his last moments, he freed me in hopes of my completing a task, a choice to help him win his own freedom- or his destruction.
>>>>>>>>
"You didn't answer my question. Are you planning to harm Neo?" Morpheus asked.
"No. But that's not to say he won't be harmed or killed. When we next meet, I shall do exactly what he planned. I will free him, one way or another." And Smith smiled unpleasantly.
"Free him? And—" Morpheus started until interrupted by the impossible. He watched in disbelief as his shadow suddenly shifted position, changing angles as he looked down at the movement. It was then he realized that all shadows had moved from one direction and then reversed course, and as he looked up into the sky, he watched the sun bounce back to its earlier location.
"The matrix…" said Smith. "Has suffered a glitch." Narrowly the ex-agent scanned the environment, his mouth a thin, taunt line. "Several of them, both from different sources."
"Incredible," Morpheus whispered. What would cause such a massive de ja vue? The only thing of interest nearby— his thoughts faltered as he raised his eyes toward the house he exited minutes before.
From the sidewalk the cement steps led to an empty lot with homes on either side. The grass in the empty lot was a neglected yellowish green, seemingly trampled as if people had paraded in the center where a house would've stood.
Had stood.
Swallowing dryly, Morpheus then whispered, "Niobe. She was in the Oracle's house. And now it's not there anymore." A chill wave started to flood his being and he began to move toward the empty lot until Smith grabbed the arm of his dislocated shoulder.
Stifling a yelp of pain he pried the other's fingers off and glared at the program until he realized Smith was paying no attention to him. The furious words died on his lips as he noticed Smith's eerie mixture of wariness, apprehension and glee.
He slowly turned around to look at what held the program's gaze.
Morpheus beheld the face of a ghost.
Neo.
tbc
Next: Decision Made
