1.02 – Heritage
I woke up in my bed, and the first thing I did was feel my ear. No shrimp. Was it all a dream? What was that black and green thing I saw at the tournament? I went to the bathroom and turned on the light. I was pale, and I looked like I was about to vomit. I vomited. I was wiping my mouth when there was a knock on the front door. I got dressed, and walked to the front door, making sure not to wake up any of the other orphans. Yeah, I was an orphan. My mom died while giving birth to me and my dad disappeared when I was four.
I made it to the front door where I saw possibly the most beautiful woman in the world. She wore black sunglasses and a black suit that would accent the curves in a pencil. Her red hair was French braided and tied back into a bun. Yeah, you could say I was in love, but love never agreed with me before, so I let it slide.
"You Shotokan?"
I was taken aback; Shotokan was the name I used in tournaments. How would she know me?
I tried not to hide my shock "Yeah."
"Follow me."
Next thing I knew it, I was in the back seat of another limo with three guns pointed at me. Maybe I should avoid limos in the future, I told myself.
"What's going on?" I asked.
The girl with the braid looked at me. "What was the dream you had last night?"
I thought it would be a good idea to humor them.
"I dreamed that three men in suits grabbed me and put a shrimp in my ear."
They looked at each other, and the girl in the French braid pulled out something that could've been pulled out of a science fiction movie; like a nuclear powered blow-dryer.
"Which ear?" she asked. I pointed to my right. "Put your head on my lap."
The man in the front seat looked uneasy, but shrugged it off. I put my head on her lap, right ear facing up. I felt the end of the blow-dryer-thing press against the side of my head around my ear. Up to that point I had been enjoying myself. Then she turned it on. I was in so much pain I didn't realize that she sucked something right out of my goddamned head.
"I thought so." She said.
I sat up. "Thought so what?" I could say without any shame that I was panicking.
"You were bugged."
She threw what looked like a spring attached to an LED light out the window.
After a few uneventful minutes, we arrived at a building that had seen better days. The side of it hung a sign reading "Heart O' the City Hotel." I decided that this would be a good time to put on my lucky ring. We climbed a couple flights of stairs when we stopped in front of a door with the number 4F nailed to it. The girl in the braid turned to me and asked me if I was ready. I said I wasn't, but I turned the knob and went in anyway.
Inside sat a man in a red leather chair wearing an even redder trench coat. Opposite of him sat another chair which was almost identical, and in between sat a coffee table that held a telephone, glass of water, and a small pill bottle. He turned to me, looking at me through half dollar shaped shades, and held out a hand. I took it.
"Good evening, Shotokan. I am sorry about waking you up so early, but I'm afraid our meeting couldn't wait any longer." He gestured to the opposing chair, "Please, sit." I took him up on his offer. "Do you know who I am?"
I decided to guess. "Argonaut?"
"Correct. Do you know why you are here?"
Again I guessed. "You can answer my question."
He sat down. "And what is your question?" I told him about what I saw in the tournament. "Ah. What you saw was a tear in the Matrix."
"What's the Matrix?"
"An even better question." He said, "The Matrix is what would best be described as a prison. As a friend of mine once said that The Matrix is a prison that cannot be seen, smelled, tasted or touched. A prison only to confine," he pointed to his head, "This."
He put his hand down, "The reason that you have been brought here, however, was because fourteen years ago, a young man came to me with the same question. I told him what I just told you, and I asked him if he wanted to see the Matrix for himself. He agreed on one condition. Do you know what that condition was?" I shook my head, and he leaned towards me. "The condition was that I would give the same offer to his four year-old son when he was old enough." He let that seep in. "Do you know that man's name?" I didn't have to answer, and neither did he; we both knew who he was talking about: A hacker known throughout the cyber world as the alias "Onore" who gave birth to a son at the age of fifteen. His name was Michael Kotta.