Prisoner of War

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix, the Matrix owns me.

Summary: Have no fear, my dear readers. Esmeralda has failed at her suicide attempt thanks to Agent Smith's quick reflexes. However our rebel diva has been momentarily stunned and rendered unconscious. In the meanwhile, Smith is prepared to go to any lengths to get he wants. He's already killed for her, but would he be willing to lie to the Source and risk deletion or live an exiled existence to satisfy his lust? You'll have to read on if you want to find out, and while you are at it please take the time to review.

I would like to thank all of you that were kind enough to let me know what you think of the story so far.

Author's Note: This chapter is told from Esmeralda's POV in second person format.

Warning: Again there will be sex and plenty of it. If you are a prude or a born again Christian then turn back now before you're corrupted, as for all of you other naughty gals and gents, enjoy!

In addition the latter half of this chapter will take place in Esmeralda's nightmare where a very evil Agent Smith will ravage her. Needless to say it will be dark, foreboding and not for the fainthearted. Again, if this is not for you, then turn back now!

Chapter Three

Confessions

"Esmeralda, no! Oh my God no!" were the last words that Agent Smith had said to you before the world went black. Prior to being cast into the abysmal darkness of the void, you had seen Smith running towards you at such incredible velocity that the very structure of the Matrix had bended and concaved around him. The walls of the interrogation room warped inwardly as if they were being crushed like an empty soda can as result of the speed at which Smith was moving. It was a sight to behold and for a split second you had marveled at the strange phenomenon with stunned wonderment.

As you had put the gun to your head, images of your life had flashed rapidly before your eyes, they were the reflections of a fabricated existence. False memories of your mother helping you blow out your birthday candles on your fifth birthday, followed by happy scenes of warm family gatherings, Christmas celebrations of years gone by danced before your eyes. Sadly every single recollection had been a lie.

You then recalled the day you met Ramses and how he had later set you free. Zion then came into view and your life there. Memories of dancing with Ramses and Anubis at a temple gathering in joyous celebration of true freedom had melded and melted into the counterfeit reminiscence of your father leading you in your first waltz at your quinceañera. His warm smile, the feel of your tiny hand in his large calloused one seemed so real to you, so comforting and safe. Despite the knowledge that your childhood memories were nothing more than scripted falsehoods, you couldn't help longing to see your Papa again and now with the aid of Smith's gun you wouldn't have wait any longer.

"Adios, Agent Smith," you had said with dignity. You knew that you were doing the right thing. It was the only way out of this impossible situation. Then just before pulling the trigger you had sent up a silent prayer to the spirit of your father, I'm coming home Papa, your little Esmeralda is coming home.

You now find yourself floating through a dark tunnel and in the distance you see a pinpoint of light. At first it is very faint and seems so far away but nevertheless you are drawn to it. As you continue to drift forward it becomes brighter, and larger like a fiery super nova the closer you get. The light's luminescent glow is warm, peaceful and its pull is powerful. What emanates from the radiance you are beholding is pure joy and love. Somehow you know that this is right, wonderful and it feels like home. You prepare yourself to welcome whatever is waiting for you at the end of the tunnel. Desperately you want to become a part of the awesome power that is calling to you and washing over you in a peaceful wave. Converging with the communal collective of enlightened souls that await you in the great beyond is your only solemn wish.

"Esmeralda", someone's voice softly says, like a whisper on the wind. The sound of your own name was so faint at first, that you think that it is a figment of your overactive imagination.

"Esmeralda!" there it is again, only this time it is stronger, more forceful. Then without warning you suddenly sense an unseen force start to roughly tug at you, pulling you away from the mystical illumination as if you are caught in a strong undertow. You begin to struggle against the invisible hands that are dragging you back into the shadows of the tunnel by twisting your body and kicking your legs.

Your mouth opens as you try to scream for help, but your throat feels constricted, silencing your vocal faculties. Now the voice that spoke your name calls out to you again in a familiar tone.

I know that voice, you tell yourself, ceasing your attempt to escape when you realize to whom the voice belongs to. No, please God no!

"Wake up, Esmeralda! I know you can hear me!" intoned the disembodied voice, as your heart is struck with fear and disappointment. There is no mistaking its owner. You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the rich deep baritone with the menacing undercurrent could only belong to…

Smith? It can't be! I shot myself to get away from you! I am supposed to be dead!

Finally finding your voice you say out loud, "I'm dead, don't you understand? I am free of you, and your fucking Matrix!"

There is no response except the echo of your own words reverberating on the walls of the channel. Then the abrupt sensation of someone's hands clamping themselves onto your shoulders and start to shake your body greatly startles you. Once again you try to break free, as your fingernails find the walls of the tunnel and start clawing, but whoever has a hold of you is much too powerful.

You scream, hoping that the sound of your voice will scare off your unseen assailant, but you continue to be thrashed about like a helpless rag doll.

"Let me go! Let me go! LET ME GO!"

"Wake up Esmeralda, it's only a dream! Open your eyes!"

Your eyelids being to flutter furiously, as the voice that you've now positively identified as Smith's tells you again to open your eyes.

"Abre tus ojos, Esmeralda!" he commands you in your native tongue.

You wish to remain where you are but you know that Smith won't let you. So very much against your will, your eyes open slowly only to find the hated sight of Agent Smith's shielded gaze looking down at you as his hands are still shaking you into full consciousness.

"I must have pissed God off in the worst way, because if I'm dead then I'm in hell!" you ferociously growl at your captor, slapping his hands off your shoulders.

"God damn you, Smith! Why didn't you let me die, por que?" you ask him anxiously as your head pounds from a massive headache. Groaning with pain, you bring your hand to your head and discover that it has been bandaged. You conclude that Smith must have tended to your wound while you were cataleptic, but why? Your blurry vision can still make out the agent's silhouette, sensing that his proximity to you is uncomfortably close.

His brings his hands down to rest at his sides as he looks contemplatively at you. After what seems like an eternity he finally gives you his answer, and it chills you to the bone, "Because I still want you, Isis and I mean to have you any way I can."

Oh my fucking Christ! What in the hell does he mean by having me any way he can, your mind questions frantically. He can't be serious? Smith is a goddamned program; he can't be feeling anything towards me. It's impossible!

Impossible? Come on chica, who are you kidding? You saw the way he was enjoying your oral talents, and despite the fact that you almost bit off his wiener, you loved the feel of him being inside your mouth, says the nagging little voice inside your head.

Shut up! Shut up, shut up! I only did what I had to do to get away! Any woman in my position would have done the same!

Sure they would have. They would have let Smith paw and slobber all over them then drop to their knees like a ten-dollar puta, just like you did. So much for being a Latina of the '90's, you've probably set back the entire women's liberation movement with that little stunt. Way to go Isis!

The pain in your head only heightens your self-deprecating thoughts. You try your best to ignore them and turn your focus back on Smith.

With a raspy voice you ask him, "What happened? Why am I still alive?"

"You are alive because despite your best efforts to destroy yourself, I've managed to save you," he replies with a touch of arrogance.

"How? I had the gun pointed at my head, there's no way you could have stopped the bullet from entering my skull from halfway across the room! It is physically impossible!"

Smith smirks mockingly at you as he says, "My, my, my Miss Campos, how quickly we forget! Didn't your rebel training teach you anything? This is the Matrix. In here the laws of gravity and physics do not apply to the mind that has been set free, or has reached a certain state of enlightenment, Nirvana if you will. Isn't that what your ridiculous dogma tells you?"

"Fuck you, Smith!" you retort, angry with yourself for not thinking of a better comeback.

He chuckles a bit, arches one of his eyebrows over the rim of his sunglasses then says devilishly, "In due time, Esmeralda, in due time."

"Don't flatter yourself! You still haven't answered my question, how did you save me?" your demand is tense and infused with loathing.

"Very well, I will try to break it down to the simplest explanation possible, although I seriously doubt that your tiny human brain will be able to grasp what I am about to tell you. I saw that you had picked up my sidearm and what your intentions were. I was also acutely aware that I only had a few seconds to prevent your untimely demise. I simply used my superior abilities to divert the bullet's trajectory so that it only grazed you, thus avoiding your death."

"Wait a minute, we were both naked, I remember you running towards me in the nude. Why are we now fully dressed?" you ask suspiciously. During your exchange with the arrogant agent, your vision was becoming clearer and now you allow your eyes to roam around the very unfamiliar surroundings. Gone are the stark white walls of the sterile interrogation room, as you notice the trappings of an extravagantly elegant yet tastefully decorated boudoir. The furnishings are ornate and definitely masculine revealing the occupant's sense of style and flair.

The hard cold surface of the metal gurney you had been strapped down to has now been replaced by the firmness of a comfortable mattress covered by a luxurious cream and burgundy colored jacquard bed comforter and expensive matching designer sheets. You also discover that your head has been resting on a fluffy pillow.

What the fuck is going on? How did I get here, you wonder to yourself.

As if he had read your mind and right on cue, Smith interjects, drawling on with his long-winded elucidation, "You are quite right, we were without the benefit of clothing, which I found to be quite liberating, I might add." He punctuates his statement with a predatory smile.

All you could do is roll your eyes to show your disgust at Smith's last comment. The continuous throbbing pain in your head is causing you to feel very nauseous. The pulsating pounding feels like a herd of elephants stomping around in your head, making you want to puke on Agent Smith's shiny black Italian designer shoes in the worst way.

Unfazed by your obvious repugnance, Smith goes on, "Suffice to say that the same aptitude that allows me to dodge bullets or alter their course, also gives me the power to manipulate certain Matrix codes if I so desire. Hence our change of wardrobe, but you are also probably wondering how you've arrived here, I'll get to that part soon enough."

"Smith what about the hour you were given to get the information you needed? There was a deadline! You were supposed to kill me no matter what happened during the interrogation, and if you didn't kill me then most certainly those two assholes waiting outside the door would have gladly done it for you!"

You blush furiously, feeling the blood rush to the surface of your skin. Your ears feel hot as the thought of the two agents that you had seen earlier eavesdropping on the opposite side of the door pisses you off. They must have listened to everything you and Smith had said and done to each other, the idea of it thoroughly embarrasses you.

They must have gotten an earful.

"If by 'assholes' you mean my fellow agents, Brown and Jones, then yes, they would have carried out their orders. Luckily for you, however, when the bullet abraded your skin it still created a very bloody surface wound. As you may already know, no matter how superficial a head injury is, the bloodletting is usually quite substantial in quantity because of the amount blood needed to carry oxygen to the human brain."

"Spare me the anatomy lesson, agent," you spit at Smith, not bothering to hide the contempt you are feeling.

Still wanting to get to bottom of the mystery of your continued well-being you say, "Besides it still doesn't explain how I got here!"

Annoyed by your constant interruptions Smith's responds with a low and dangerous growl, "If you utter another word, not only will I not tell you what transpired, I will make good on your suicide attempt by pulling the trigger myself! Have I made myself perfectly clear, Esmeralda?"

As the gravity of his words sinks in, you nod dumbly acknowledging his threat.

After he is assured of your cooperation and silence, Agent Smith proceeds with his revealing dissertation, "Now as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the bullet from my gun had only grazed your temple, but the force at which I diverted its trajectory had knocked you out cold.

Naturally I had quickly checked for vital signs and found that you indeed still had a pulse, albeit a weak one. With only mere milliseconds to spare before my collegues burst into the room to investigate the source of the gunshot, I manipulated the appropriate lines of codes that restored our garments thus saving you from any impropriety."

How gallant of him, don't you think, Isis, asks the little voice that lives in your head.

Both you and Smith can fuck off!

Then much to your vexation, Smith continues to drone on, "However there was still one minor detail that needed to be addressed. Regardless to the fact that you were in an almost comatose state of deep unconsciousness, it would never convince my associates that your demise was genuine. So I injected a dose of one of the many agency approved drugs used in standard interrogations to simulate your death, GHB."

Shocked, bewildered and dismayed, you can hardly believe the words that the agent has just uttered. Smith shrugs his shoulders in response to the shocked look on your face as he says nonchalantly, "It was already on hand in the interrogation room along with other instruments of inquisition."

As the magnitude of what he is telling you is starting to spread through your mind like a malignant growth, you angrily ask," Mother of God, you gave me the date rape drug? You bastard! Who in the hell do think you are? What gives you the right to pump that shit into me?" you roar at your captor.

"Please, Esmeralda," he starts to respond, dismissing your words with a wave of his hand, "let's not be so overdramatic, shall we? GHB, if administered correctly, will only affect a human being's central nervous system temporarily. More importantly it causes the heart rate to dramatically drop as well as cease all motor functions. Although there is still brain activity, it is undetectable to an agent's naked eye. A CAT scan or an EKG would have to be performed in order to determine if there are still signs of life."

With a blind rage coursing through your battered body, you try lift yourself off the bed in an attempt to swipe at Smith, but the pain and wooziness cause you to fall short of your goal. Falling back onto your pillow, you let out a frustrated howl, as tears well up in your eyes. Impotence and disappointment weigh you down, as you resist the inability to control what is happening to you.

Too weak to move, the fight in you is all tapped out for the moment, realizing you have no choice but to lie on this strange bed and listen to Smith's prattling. With any luck though, you'll probably pass out from boredom.

Smith in the meanwhile has sat himself down on the edge of the bed to face you; removing his sunglasses he places them carefully onto the marbled surface of the nightstand. He looks down upon you with a clinical eye, scanning you perhaps for further signs of distress.

In spite of the hate you feel for this machine the shocking color of his eyes continues to astound you. The depth and brilliance of his gaze remind you of the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean where you used to swim in as a child. You remember how the warm frothy waves of the sea would wash over your sun-kissed skin as you played with your parents on the beaches of Isla Verde.

Your early childhood had been spent frolicking the days away exploring your island home of Puerto Rico. Your mother had taught you its history from the earliest records of the Taino Indian settlements to the time of the Spanish invasion. The hiking expeditions you and your mother went on always contained an element of adventure and discovery as she would take you to every nook and cranny of the island in search of its rich and proud past. Because of this you were instilled with a sense of pride for your heritage at an early age.

Your father on the other hand shared with you his love of music, especially the musica criollo or Creole music, a lively mix of African percussion and the acoustic guitar riffs of the Spanish conquistadors. Papa had been a bandleader in his younger days and was quite an accomplished musician, mastering the flute, piano and guitar. He would still play his music from time to time with his former band on balmy summer evenings. The sounds of the waves lapping at the Puerto Rican shore seemed to accompany the rhythm of the music, and to you it was magical. You used to listen to your father and his friends play for hours on the front porch of your beachfront house as you danced until your Mama would come to fetch you and put you to bed.

But like all good things, your idyllic life had come to an end when your father was offered a well paying position as a music professor on the mainland. Despite your mother's protests, everything you had ever owned were packed away into boxes and shipped to your new home in Mega City. The rest as they say, is history.

The feel of Smith's hand on your forehead abruptly rips you away from your reminiscing. Jerking your head away from his probing fingers you say with a threatening whisper, "Don't you dare fucking touch me, ever! "

Seemingly unmoved by your pathetic attempt to sound in command of your faculties, Smith respond curtly, "I was merely trying to detect if you had caused yourself further injury. You really shouldn't try to move around so much, Esmeralda. You need to give yourself the proper time to rest so that you may fully recover."

"Recover to what end, Smith?" you ask, "So that you can have a healthy target when you and your agent goon squad hunt me down again?"

With an exasperated sigh, he replies, "No, Isis. You may not believe this but harming you was never my intention."

"You're right, Smith, I don't believe you. Give me one good reason why I should."

His reply shakes the very foundations of your beliefs, "Because I have placed myself in the most precarious situation that a program can be in, and as a result I may face deletion or exile."

Curiosity gets the better you, wanting to know what could possibly be the cause of Smith's destruction you ask, "What could have happened that would doom the great and powerful Agent Smith?"

He sighs in resignation as he replies, "I've committed the highest offense that a being such as my self could perpetuate against his own kind."

By now, you are hanging onto every word Smith utters as the truth is painfully revealed to you.

With trembling lips you bring yourself to ask your next question, "What, Smith? What is it?"

His tortured eyes lock onto yours, once again feeling his gaze reaching into the very soul of what you are.

"Treason, Esmeralda, I've committed treason," he firmly replies.

With wide wild eyes you return Smith's hard gaze. Disbelief and denial grip the outer fringes of your mind. It's not possible, you think hysterically, Smith wouldn't betray the machines, he couldn't, it's not part of his programming.

Oh yeah? Well kissing and groping you isn't part of his software package either.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try not to listen to the little know-it-all that resides in your mind, but she will not be silenced.

Isis, oh Isis, the voice calls out to you mockingly.

I know that you're trying to ignore me, but guess what? You're going to listen what I have to say like it or not! Smith is not himself and you know it! You've known this since the moment he captured you! Don't you think that if he wanted to kill you he would have done it by now? Or better yet, he would have allowed the bullet you tried to fire into your brain do the deed for him!

I'm not listening to you, shut up; you fire back at your conscience.

Girl, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see what's going on here! He wants you and he will do anything to have you. He's said as much. Come on, what is his crime against the machines? Think, Isis, think! Consorting with the enemy, or in other words, fucking with them!

Yeah right, he's done all this because he wants a booty call? Hello? He's a freaking machine!

Keep deluding yourself, but you know deep down inside what I'm saying is true. And besides, you want him too, don't you try to deny it!

"Shut up, you stupid bitch!" you say out loud, as Smith is taken aback by your outburst.

"Esmeralda, are you all right?" he asks, the grim expression on his face replaced by one of compassionate concern.

"I'm o.k." you reply quickly, maybe a little too quickly. You see Smith's eyes narrow into two blue slits of suspicion.

"Please don't lie to me, Esmeralda. We're beyond the point of petty deceptions, aren't we?"

"My head just hurts, that's all. I'll be fine, really," you say, trying to sound convincing to the machine that is not only your captor and jailer, but now your savior as well.

"Very well, I realize that these revelations may have upset you. We can resume this conversation once you are feeling better."

"But, Smith…" you begin to protest, but you are swiftly hushed by Smith's index finger being brought up to your lips.

"You need your rest, Esmeralda," Smith says gently. Then he gracefully gets up from the edge of the bed and starts to walk towards the door.

Then as an afterthought, Agent Smith slowly turns to face you, "I have to go now. There are some matters that I must attend to, but I'll return as soon as I can. If there is anything you need just call the concierge, he will take very good care of you. If you need to take something for the pain, I've supplied the medicine cabinet with a bottle of Demerol and some antibiotics to ward off infection."

Without thinking you say, "Thank you, Smith"

"Oh and one more thing, don't try anything funny with the pills, Isis. I've saved your life once, but I don't know if I can perform that feat twice."

Something deep inside of you knows that your suicidal tendencies were just a momentary act of desperation not to be repeated. You slowly respond, "I won't O.D. if that's what you're worried about."

His lips curl up in what appeared to be a slight smile, but it disappears as fast it came. He then makes an about-face and silently exits the room, leaving you alone with your recriminating contemplations.

Shortly after Smith left, you fall into a restless sleep. Your slumber is the direct result of your body surrendering to total exhaustion, but it will not be a peaceful one…

Hellish images of death and destruction grapple with your subconscious as your dreams hurl you into the battle to end all battles, the final war between man and machine, the Second Renaissance: Armageddon.

This can't be happening, you tell yourself. You've only seen some of the historical data that had managed to survive the war in the Zion Archive, but it had been enough to demonstrate the enormity of the conflict. But this all happened a century before I was born. Why am I here in this time, this place?

A loud crashing sound behind you causes you to jump, you dare not turn around but you know that the machines are in hot pursuit.

No time for analysis, haul ass girl, move!

Your body reacts as instinct takes over. You start to run towards the scorched landscape of what once was a shining city of glass and steel, now reduced to nothing but smoldering ruins by the machines. Overhead your eyes behold the horror of a black gloomy sky choked by thick rolling clouds that block out any source of light or warmth from the sun. The only illumination is the cracking lightening ripping across the heavens.

The screams and moans of those unlucky survivors emanating from the wreckage, alerts you to the fact that they've been found by their metallic adversaries in the aftermath of the carnage. You try to drown out their cries of despair and anguish by placing your hands over your ears, but it's no good you can still hear them. You want to help but you know that if you do, you will be captured as well. So you do what you are driven to do, run for your very life.

So you keep going, moving as quickly as you can through the debris, your heavy combat boots crunching over what you soon realize are the skeletal remains of your human brethren. The ground is littered with bones as far as the eye can see.

You try to desperately find shelter from the onslaught of the enemy but every building in sight has been leveled or gutted out. There's nowhere to hide. Then suddenly there's a glimmer of hope as you catch sight of someone in the distance, a lone darkly clad man standing in the center of the chaos seemingly untouched by it.

A wicked violent wind kicks up and starts whipping through his auburn hair. And yet, despite this, he remains stoically unflappable, like a statue of stone. He then silently beckons to you, motioning you over to him with a gesture of his hand. Unsure of his intentions, you hesitate until you hear him speak your name.

"Esmeralda, hurry, there's no time. We must leave this place, now!"

Disbelievingly you say, "Smith, is that you?"

But your voice is lost in the incredible roar of the wind; its velocity has been steadily getting stronger with each passing minute.

"Hurry, Esmeralda," he says again, his voice a booming harbinger of impending doom. He then adds, "They're almost here and I don't know what they'll do to you if they catch you."

Lurching forward, you try to run towards him, but your legs feel as if they are weighted down. The power of the wind pushes you back, almost knocking you to the dusty soil below your feet. No matter how much to try to go forward you've gained little ground. Smith is still so very far away, unreachable and unattainable.

Just then a colossal shadow covers the mass of land you are standing on, casting you further into darkness. The mechanical clicking and whirring resonance that you now hear makes your blood run cold. The deafening noise can only be produced by one thing, an HK-100, a hunter/killer, a Sentinel. You turn around slowly and come face to face with a machine whose sole purpose is to exterminate all remnants of human life on earth, and now it's here for you. As its glowing red visors bore into your wide terror filled eyes and you can't help but tremble.

Whirling around quickly, you start to call out to Smith, beseeching him to help you, to save you from your monstrous fate, but he is gone. The spot where he was just standing is vacant. Your heart sinks as you survey the barren and desolate wasteland that is being further ravaged by the howling wind.

Then you hear the mechanical abomination behind you speak with a hollow voice devoid of any compassion or empathy.

"Surrender human and turn over your flesh, we demand it!"

"No, I will not!" you shout out defiantly into the wind as you turn back to face your enemy and executioner. However you gasp in horror when you see that Agent Smith is now standing where the Sentinel had once been.

"Surrender human," he repeats coldly. The expression on his face is stoic, lifeless. His voice is a flat and emotionless monotone. The blue eyes that had once held such depth of feeling are now masked by the impenetrable shield of his dark sunglasses, rendering them to be indecipherable. This Smith is a far cry from the one that had held you in his arms and almost made love to you.

"Smith," you begin to say, trying to make a desperate plea to the spark of humanity he so willingly demonstrated to you. "It's me, Esmeralda, remember? What's wrong with you?"

Wordlessly he continues to stare at you, he then reaches up to slowly remove his sunglasses and reveal his eyes to you. What you see makes you shriek in terror. You try to look away from this terrible vision, to avert your gaze elsewhere, but you are powerless to do so. To your complete and utter horror Smith's azure colored orbs have been replaced by two black soulless pits. Fathomless, empty and bleak, they are the eyes of the damned. Then suddenly to your surprise you see a flicker of green flash inside the lifeless sockets. Out of sickening curiosity, you move closer to him, wanting to see what the eerie emerald flare is.

Your own eyes widen in horror as you clap your hand over your mouth to stifle a scream. Your mind is frantically trying to process what you have just seen, trying to make sense of it all.

It's code, for the love of Christ, it's Matrix code, your perplexed subconscious informs you.

Indeed the green cascading streams of light were the very same lines of code you had seen scrolling down the computer monitors onboard the Luxor.

You try to turn and flee but Smith is much too quick for your puny human reflexes. He easily catches up and halts your retreat. His hands grip your upper arms like two metal vises. You struggle to get away, but you soon grow tired, too weak to fight him off. Next you feel your clothes being savagely stripped off your body as one of his hands tugs at the long tangle of your hair. Before long you are left naked and vulnerable, shivering as the cold wind sweeps across your exposed goose pimpled skin.

Turning you around to face him, you begin to whimper, "Please Smith, don't do this! I know that you're better than this, better than them, the goddamned machines that created you!"

However, your pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears as you see him reach down to start unbuckling his pants. He grabs your hair once more forcing you to look at his groin area as he fumbles with his zipper. Next his hand slips into the open fly of his pants to draw out what you think will be his penis. But instead of a pulsating erect member, he unleashes a gleaming metallic shaft complete with rotating gears and cogs. Cocking his head to one side he looks at you with his nightmarish eyes then smiles.

Oh God, he means to put that thing inside me! No dear Jesus, no!

Agent Smith lets go of your hair then throws you down onto the craggy ground below. You scream in pain when you feel the jutting bones that shoot up from the earth pierce your flesh. Soon he is on top of you, pinning you down so that you can't get away. You try to squeeze your legs shut to deny Smith entry into your body, but soon enough he has pried them wide open with one powerful hand. With the other he cruelly squeezes your breasts. You squirm and thrash your body about, but to no avail. He's got you right where he wants you.

This can't be happening, this is just a dream! Wake up girl, this isn't real!

Smith's dead eyes look upon your dirt and tear streaked face, and says, "Surrender, and turn over your flesh, I demand it, require it and it shall be mine!"

Real or not, you scream when the sensation of Smith's instrument of torment swiftly and decisively tears into your vagina causing it to bleed. You beg him to stop, but he continues to penetrate you over and over again with battering piston-like thrusts ripping your tender flesh apart. Your hands have clenched themselves into two little fist that start to pummel away at Smith's chest, but he seems unmoved by your attempts to get him to stop. He is driven, purposeful and determined to continue to violate you in the vilest way possible.

You cry and shriek with all of your strength, until your throat is raw from the effort, "Wake up Esmeralda! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

End Chapter Three